Chapter Three

 

Meredith didn’t realize she was gawking until Sheena turned around. Goodness gracious, caught staring! What must these nice people think of her? That familiar rosy warmth took over her cheeks.

“I’d better get a move on,” Meredith blurted, relieved she might never see these people again. Now, where had her purse gotten to?

“No!” Sheena and Joyce both cried.

Meredith spoke hesitantly. “I was on my way to pick up some groceries…”

“I was hoping we might get to know each other better,” Sheena lamented from the top of the staircase. “And I have a surprise I would like you to see. Please, stay for a little while.”

How flirtatious Sheena’s smile seemed. Or was that wishful thinking? Meredith wrapped the cotton belt of her dress around her fingers again and again.

“I really should get going,” Meredith replied so unconvincing even she didn’t believe herself. Sheena’s blind acceptance was irresistibly flattering.

“Why don’t you stay for a bit?” Joyce urged. “I tell you what. I could use a bit of help in the kitchen. Maybe you could give me a hand fixing some drinks and things? I would really appreciate it, if you could spare a few minutes.”

How could she say no to an older individual requesting assistance? Meredith would stay, just for a little while, to help out. The older woman set her to the task of preparing a fruit platter while she assembled a concoction of champagne, orange juice and maraschino cherries.

“Am I right in thinking you’re retired, Joyce?” Meredith inquired as she cut into a long tropical fruit that looked something like a squash. It was green on the outside, with peachy-pink flesh and round black seeds.

“Sure am,” Joyce replied. “I’m enjoying it pretty well, too. I do some fishing, some knitting, some building. I built that deck out there a few years back, and all the furniture on it. Here you go, first one’s for you.” Joyce handed her a glass of the bubbly orange mixture.

Champagne in the morning? How unusual!

Meredith grabbed the flute and took a long sip of the sweet fizzy potion. Bubbles danced across her tongue and burst in pangs of citric sweetness. Out came the giggles she’d earlier managed to contain. The unstoppable laughter continued as she sliced mango and washed grapes. Her sides ached. When the giggles subsided, she asked Joyce a question she’d been afraid to ask the newcomers. Was it rude to ask people where they were from? Meredith wasn’t sure.

“Oh, they’re Sevidlam Islanders,” Joyce replied. “Richard met Sheena and Ash when he was off on vacation a few years back. He got into some legal trouble, shall we say, when he was out there in Sevidlam. They threw the poor guy in jail, threatened to lock him up for a good long time.”

“Oh dear!” Meredith hiccupped, and quickly covered her mouth. “Excuse me.”

Joyce smiled slyly. “Oh dear, indeed. Back then, Ash worked for the Sevidlam government. He was the one who made sure Richard was released so he could come back home to Canada. Not too long after that, Ash and Sheena’s island was flooded real bad. Can you imagine? Their house and everything they owned gone, just like that.”

“That’s just awful.”

“Yeah, poor kids. They’re called ‘environmental refugees’ because an act of God destroyed their island. They can’t go home, but since Ash worked for the government, he was treated special. With Richard’s help, the two of them were allowed to come live here in Canada.”

Of course Meredith had seen news reports covering natural disasters, but for some reason she never thought about what happened to all those unfortunate people who lost everything. How terrible for Sheena and Ash.

When the drinks were prepared and the fruit platter arranged, Joyce led the way to the back deck. Following reflectively, Meredith hoped to learn more about Ash and Sheena’s lives, and perhaps earn another glass of that champagne concoction. When she stepped out onto the expansive deck, filtered sunlight bathed her skin in pure warmth. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the perfume of the outdoors. Heritage roses. Their robust fragrance clung to the summer air. The atmosphere, the drink and the summer sun had produced an effect of uncharacteristic relaxation.

“You two didn’t waste any time,” Joyce said with a casual chuckle.

As Meredith drew her lids open, her heart nearly stopped. On a built-in bench at the opposite end of the isolated deck sat Richard and Ash. They were absolutely nude. Two men—two strangers—naked in Joyce’s backyard. A flutter of nervous excitement turned Meredith’s body into a battlefield. Leave! No, stay. Watch! No, go.

But how could she leave when, just a stone’s throw across the deck, Richard’s hard cock surged toward the well-defined muscles of his tight stomach? A tingling sensation culminated at the summit of Meredith’s lower lips when Ash reached over to stroke Richard’s erection. Was this an unwelcome act? Apparently not! Richard’s magnificent hairless chest glimmered with sweat as he swept a hand across Ash’s brawny thigh. Close your mouth, young lady! You’ll catch flies.

This must have been a common occurrence, because Joyce didn’t seem surprised in the least. Meredith tried to be unnerved, offended, angered, upset by the men’s behavior, but it was impossible. Two gorgeous men lying side-by-side in the summer sun and stroking each other’s rigid shafts? June Cleaver would have been long gone by now, but Meredith was in awe of the men’s breathtaking bodies, of their surging muscles, of their cocks sparkling with pre-cum. This was the single sexiest image she’d ever seen. Richard and Ash didn’t seem to mind her being there, so what was the harm in watching?

A white hand firmly took hold of a thick brown cock while a brown hand slowly jerked off the large white one. This act ought to be the new symbol of international peace and brotherhood. Two masculine males pumping each other’s stiff rods was far more stimulating than a simple black hand shaking a white hand. A warm tingling sensation took over Meredith’s body. She clutched her fruit platter for fear she’d drop it and send porcelain and mango flying. Maintain a safe distance.

The sliding glass door closed behind Meredith. It was Sheena, coming out of the darkness of the house and into the bright sunlight. What perfect beauty! Sheena had somehow managed to affix peach-colored roses in the fullness of their bloom to her nipples so that her ample breasts ended in fragrant blossoms. Another rose, a pink one, was secured to her skimpy thong.

Sheena was a dream image, a painting, a Venus re-imagined by Paul Gauguin. She was a thing to worship, more beautiful and more appealing than all of the women in Jeff’s magazines. As she sauntered toward Meredith, Sheena was perfection in female form, veiled only by majestic flowers.

“So that’s what you’ve been plotting,” Joyce chuckled, taking a seat in the shade.

From the tray, Sheena seized a piece of the pink fruit and held it before Meredith’s lips. Her heart throbbed in her pussy. She could barely keep herself upright.

“What fruit is that?” Meredith gasped as Sheena set the succulent fruit against her lips.

“Papaya. Take a bite.”

It was delicious, the flesh tender, juicy and sweet. Far better than the apples and pears to which she’d grown accustomed. Sheena took the platter from Meredith’s hands and turned to place it on the wooden table by Joyce. A waterfall of silky black hair cascaded down Sheena’s back, reflecting the dappled sunlight as she moved. Wide hips curved into round buttocks and sturdy thighs. Thinner calves and dainty feet lent an overall heart-shaped appearance to Sheena’s lower half. How could Meredith resist squeezing those fleshy cheeks, massaging the expanse of syrupy skin, feeling its smoothness and its warmth?

“Would you like me to bring you a drink?” Sheena inquired.

“Oh, yes! A drink would be heaven.” Another flute of that sweet, fizzy potion would release her from the constraints of a too-active mind. In her High School Art History class, Meredith had studied a famous etching by an artist named Goya, titled The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters. But was that necessarily so? Could the sleep of reason not simply produce a glorious encounter she would never have otherwise experienced?

Champagne bubbles danced on her tongue.