As soon as Paula entered the University of Miami campus she noticed guys were stopping whatever activity they were presently engaged in and staring at her. Yeah, hot chick in a hot car. That's me. She waved playfully at two jocks rolling on the ground, howling like wolves. She loved it.
The clock on the dash showed a few minutes past three. Right on schedule. She'd be away from here by 4:00, 4:30. At her mom's by 6:00. She'd give Birdy the lowdown on what she was doing, listen respectfully to her speech about why this was the worst mistake of her life, and still make her 8:00 rendezvous with Kurt.
Pi Kappa was midway down the street on Fraternity Row. She focused on the meeting she was about to have with Billy. She had written, rewritten, rehearsed and rehearsed again what she was going to say to him. She was ready. She was confident.
She'd take his insults, knew he'd react angrily at first. She'd let him get it all out, his rage, his hurt. Then she'd wrap her arms around him, reclaim him.
Billy was an extension of her own body and spirit. She was going to make him glad of that. She was determined to bury the mother-son relationship. They would become friends. Someone he relied on, came to for advice. Or comfort when he was troubled. Her son. The boy Mama Taylor had taken from her so long ago. Time to take him back.
Paula parked and to her surprise, Billy bounded out the door and ran toward her, whooping and hollering. Ed and Linden, two of his frat brothers, accompanied him, less verbally.
"Oh wow! Oh Mom, wow!"
Paula laughed. "I'm glad to see you, too."
Billy grabbed his head as if trying to keep it from exploding. "Man, I can't believe this."
Paula was dazed. "Gosh, Billy, I wasn't expecting such an enthusiastic reception." Maybe being away from home for the first time made him appreciate her more. Maybe this was going to be easier than she thought. Right now she just wanted to sweep him up in her arms and hug him, rather ridiculous considering his whopping six-five size.
Which was three inches taller than Bill but without his father's athletic build or ability. Instead he was a towering, lanky klutz. Paula never understood that since both she and Bill were very athletic. From the neck up he was all Paula. He even had Paula's disarming green eyes, along with her red hair, cut in its requisite flat top. As usual he'd used too much butch wax.
She opened her arms for him but he was still acting like a wild chimpanzee. Ed and Linden laughed at his antics. Paula laughed, too. "Okay, what've you guys been drinking?"
"Drinking? You kidding? I mean, look at this. I don't believe it. Dad said he was going to get me a new car, but, man, this is too much."
It took Paula's breath away more completely than if she had been gut-punched. "What?"
Billy caressed a chrome fender as if it were a woman's breast. It made Paula queasy.
"Whoa, hold on, Billy . . ." But he had already shouldered past her, opened the door, and sat behind the wheel. Ed slid into the passenger seat, shoving Paula's purse to the floor. Billy cranked up. Ed swooned with approval. "Sounds like a panther in heat."
Billy and Linden thought this uproariously funny. Paula did not. "Billy . . ."
"Proof once again that Dad never lets me down. Said he'd get me a new car, but like, wow, I never expected anything like this."
Paula tried to focus on why she was here. "Billy, please get out of the car. I don't have much time, okay? We've got some talking to do. I need you to turn the engine off . . ."
Billy looked at her with those same insolent eyes that had first attracted her to Bill. "Hey, Mom, wha'd ya do to your hair? Looks kinda sexy." Ed and Linden laughed.
Paula's face flushed hot. In one swift move, she reached inside, turned off the ignition and removed the keys. "Get out." She glared at Ed. "You too, please."
They climbed out, big, gangly boys, all arms and legs. Even though Paula was tall for a woman, they made her feel like a little girl. Ed decided it was exit time. "Hey, catch you later, Billy." As he and Linden ambled off, Paula heard one of them mutter, "Bitch."
Yes, she thought, and not the hot chick variety. Just a bitch. The motherly kind. She felt twenty years older. Billy stood in front of her, folding and unfolding his arms, shoving his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Paula tried to remember her opening line, but her head was in too much of a spin. "Billy, I, uh . . ."
But Billy grabbed her, pinned her arms with his big hands, and leaned down so she could see how earnest he was. "I gotta say something, Mom. I gotta tell ya what this means to me."
"Billy . . ."
"Just listen, okay? I just wanna say I've learned a lot living here on campus, ya know? I mean, it's a lot different than what I expected. It's like, ya gotta do things right. Like clothes, for instance. You wear the wrong threads, you're nobody . . ."
Clothes? How did we get on clothes? "Billy, if you needed more clothes . . ."
"No, Mom, no, no, you're not following. The clothes situation is cool, okay? No, listen, just making a point. Like parties. Same thing. I mean, there's cool parties and there's uncool parties, follow?"
Paula wanted to say she wasn't following at all, but instead said, "I can't believe you're having a problem with that."
"Not a problem per se, no. Mix and mingle real well, you know that. You've seen me in action. I make all the right party scenes, okay. Definitely not a problem. Same with the chicks."
"I don't think I want to hear about the chicks."
"Chicks dig me. Cool with that. Dance card's filled to the brim.” A cocky laugh. “I mean, look at me. Do you blame 'em?"
He's just like Bill, Paula thought. She wanted to scream.
"And, 'course, gotta belong to a frat. I belong to the best, right? So there ya go, Mom. What's left?"
Well done, Paula thought. "Could it be a car?"
"Right, Mom, good. Yeah, wheels." He threw his arms out as if to emphasize his point. "Wheels. That's how come I been buggin' Dad about it. Without wheels, I mean, not just any wheels but the right kinda wheels, you don't rate. You don't rate big time."
"Billy, you already have a car."
"The Pukemobile?" Billy looked at her incredulously. "Are we talking about the Pukemobile, Mom?"
It was parked two spaces over. A vintage '48 Ford Coupe. Windshield cracked. Rear fender missing. Left side caved in. Chipped paint. Exhaust pipe held on with a clothes hanger.
"Yeah, it was great for high school and stuff, but, hey, this is the big league, Mom. Which is why Dad got me this T-Bird. Definitely major league wheels. I just want you and Dad to know I appreciate it and my grades are gonna come up, okay. I mean, I don't just like take this for granted and all. I'm gonna earn this car, okay? Promise."
"Billy . . .” Paula put her fists to her head. “Please shut up."
Billy said, “Okay,” then threw his arms around Paula in a bear hug, pressing her face against his shoulder and lifting her off the ground. "Thanks, Mom. I love you. I love you so much. I love you, I love you."
"Hey Billy, who's your new squeeze?"
Billy spun away from Paula so abruptly she had to stagger a few steps to regain her balance. Standing before her were two girls in cheerleader outfits. Billy leaned casually on the T-Bird. "Oh, hi Cindy. Hi Jill. Squeeze? Ha, you crazy? She’s no squeeze. She’s my mom."
Jill's eyes grew large. "No way. You’re not old enough to be Billy's mom. Impossible." She turned to Cindy. "Look at the way she does her hair. Don't you dig it?"
"Gorgeous," Cindy agreed. "I wish my mom could see you. I mean, she dresses so matronly and everything. Kills me, really."
They paused and waited expectantly. "Thank you." Paula was about to add, “I think,” but refrained.
"Cindy and Jill are cheerleaders, Mom."
Cindy hit Billy over the head with her pom-pom. "Bet she already figured that one out, Silly Billy. Usually when girls go around wearing funny little skirts and carry pom-poms it means they're cheerleaders."
Both girls laughed. They laughed a lot, Paula noticed. She also noticed they were hardly girls. These were women, young, ripe and voluptuous. The kind you find in the center of Playboy. Both were confidently aware of it.
Cindy moved close to Billy, making sure he was aware of it, too. "This your car, Billy? Looks brand new."
"Yeah, Mom just drove it down for me. Neat, eh?"
"You know, Billy," Cindy purred, "I think this would look real good on me." She winked at Paula, who was aware her mouth was gaping open but was incapable of closing it.
"Hey, there's one way to find out," Billy was saying.
"Yes there is,” Cindy said, flicking her hair back. “Give me a lift to practice?"
"You got it."
"Cool. I'll be back in a few.”
"I'll be here waiting."
Cindy gave Billy a peck on the cheek that seemed to lift him about a foot off the ground. Both girls giggled, then Cindy winked again at Paula. She rustled her pom-pom in Billy's face.
Paula watched helplessly as the girls strolled away. "Bye, Mrs. Taylor," Jill called over her shoulder in a lilting, teasing voice. "You sure have a sweet son." Both girls burst into laughter and ran off down the sidewalk.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Billy said, "See Mom, that right there is what I'm talking about. I've been trying to get on Cindy's radar screen for weeks now, but, like, to her I was the invisible man. Then she sees the T-Bird and, well, you saw what happened.”
Paula was mesmerized by Billy; smothered by his force of personality. She studied his beaming face, tried to see herself there, didn't. He looked like her but he was Bill incarnate. No, she wouldn't accept that. Billy was hers too, part of her body, part of her spirit. Wasn't he?
Paula forced herself to look into his eyes, tried to appear stern. "Billy, I need you to be quiet a moment, okay? I need you to listen to what I've got to say."
"Sure, Mom, sure, sure. You bet."
“You shouldn't have told those girls this was your car."
Billy laughed that same cocky, dismissive laugh she'd heard from Bill countless times before. "Why not?"
"Because it's not your car, Billy. It's my car."
Billy thought this was uproariously funny. "No, no, Mom, you drive the wagon. By the way, how's Maw-Maw?"
Once again Paula found her head spinning. "Maw-Maw?"
"Isn't she in the hospital? Dad called last night, said she'd been hurt or something."
Maw-Maw. Mama Taylor. It was what Billy had always called her. God, I'm losing it, Paula thought. "Uh, she's going to be all right, they think. But she'll be in the hospital for a long time. Now look, Billy . . ."
"Geez, I really hate that." Billy hooked his thumbs in his pockets and gazed at something over Paula's shoulder. "Good ol' Maw-Maw. Remember how she'd play catch with me in the back yard? Her with that 'ol walker chasing the ball all over the place. God, she was so funny. And at night she'd sneak me in cookies when I was in bed. Didn't know about that, did ya? I mean, nobody made chocolate chip cookies like Maw-Maw. Nobody."
A tear rolled down Billy's cheek. It was like a knife slicing through Paula's heart. "I . . . I'm sorry, Billy, I didn't know she meant that much to you."
"I mean, come on, she raised me." He wiped the tear away, looked at the ground. "I don't want to think of her being hurt, Mom, okay? I want her to be well and everything."
Paula's throat was raw. There was an ache from deep within her womb. She folded her arms over stomach; bit her lip.
"Maw-Maw was always there for me," Billy was saying. "No matter how bad I was, she was always there. Always, man."
Paula wanted to scream at him that she was there too. Why didn't he remember that? She looked at her son and wondered who he was. She remembered being given the little pink bundle that had just emerged from her body. His large, liquid eyes gazed up at her as she rocked him, singing softly to him. What happened to the little boy in blue jeans playing in a rain puddle, drawing on the wall with his crayons, singing in a school play -- a hundred different moments, each one a tiny, startlingly vivid tile in a mosaic that somehow didn't resemble at all the young man standing before her.
"Oh God, Billy, do you have any idea how much I love you?" She threw her arms around him, held him close, never wanted to let him go again. But Billy pulled loose, embarrassed.
"Hey, Mom . . ."
This wasn't going right at all. Why was she here? What had she planned to say to Billy? Her mind was a blank.
"Hey, Mom, you okay? I mean, you're kinda weirding me out, ya know?"
"I'm just tired, Billy." And she was, painfully so.
Billy laughed derisively. "I mean, look at how you're dressed. Look at how your hair's fixed. I don't get it. It's kind of embarrassing. I mean, you're my mother."
The sun was low in the sky, right over Billy's shoulder. It made her squint. "There's so much I have to tell you, Billy."
"Okay, so tell me."
But now that the moment had arrived, Paula didn't know where to begin. She tried to conjure up the little speech she'd prepared, but her mind was a blank. Billy was waiting, his eyes drilling into her impatiently the way Bill's always did.
"First of all, Billy, this is my car. I bought it for me, not you. I got tired of driving the wagon; it's as simple as that. And I got tired of the way I dressed and the way I wore my hair and a lot of other things. Can you understand that?"
He was silent for so long that she thought he wasn't going to respond. "If you're telling me this isn't my car, then no, I can't understand that at all."
The hostility was there, the anger. She had expected it. But because she was leaving his dad, not because of a damned car.
"I tried to tell you, Billy."
"You didn't try very hard, did you?"
"Yes, I did. You just wouldn't listen. But you're going to listen now."
He looked at her with such undisguised loathing that it took her breath away. "Some other time, Mom. I gotta split right now. Cindy's gonna be back in a few minutes and I don't want to be anywhere around when she does."
"Billy, wait . . ."
But he was already sprinting away. "I'm outta here."
Paula chased after him, grabbed his arm. "Billy . . ."
"Let go, Mom."
"We're going to talk," Paula insisted.
"No, we're not." He'd become a brick wall. Just like Bill.
"I'm your mother and you will do what I say."
He whirled on her then, as if he were going to attack her. "Whadya you gonna do, give me a spanking or something? Huh? I mean, wha'd ya do, drive all the way down here just to give me some shit? Save it for Dad, okay?"
Paula sucked in her breath, unable to believe what he'd just said. She knew tears were coming, but fought them back. "Billy, I just want you to love me."
"Then why'd you do that to me?"
"Do what?"
"The car. You think I can face any of my friends again? I mean, I'll probably have to switch colleges."
I say love, he says car, Paula thought. "Is a new car really that important, Billy?"
"Come on, Mom, I already told you how important it is, okay? It's the most important thing in the world."
Paula realized she was trembling. She tried to keep her voice steady. "No, Billy, the love we have for each other is the most important thing in the world."
He looked at her belligerently. "Oh yeah?"
Paula grabbed his hand and slammed the T-Bird's keys into it. "Yeah.”
“I know who you're talking about.”
This caught Red off guard. Not easy to do. “Oh yeah?”
“Kurt Younger, right?”
“Yeah. How the hell you know him?”
“Congo. Four years ago.”
“Whoa,” Red guffawed. “Man, that was fucked up before it even got started.”
“To be sure. Lotta good dogs hit the dirt.”
His name was Gator. At least that's what he was known by. His alligator boots, belt, vest, and campaign hat made it easy to understand why. Even the sheaf for his Bowie knife with its twelve-inch blade was made of alligator hide.
Now that Red’s mission had been changed from an expedition to Bogota to a raid on Kurt’s place in Curiosity Cove, he needed to put together an assault team. When he learned that Gator, a true dog of war, was available, he didn't hesitate to come knocking.
A battle-hardened vet, he’d be able to hold his own alongside Red and Kurt. Physically he was similar to Kurt. Six-four. Hard as a rock. Quick on his feet. Not afraid of a damn thing. His head was shaved. His light-blue eyes glowed from within. They never missed a thing.
“All right,” Red said. “Lets get down to it. Why do you want on the team?”
Gator stepped up so that he was facing Red, no more than a foot away. The look in his eyes was so intense even Red was a little unnerved. “Two reasons. Money. I'm expecting a big pay out.”
“Son, that ain't a problem. Second reason?”
“The chance to take out Kurt Younger.”
Red leaned in, bearing down on Gator with those lifeless eyes of his. He stared fiercely into Gator's as if trying to see what was going on in his mind. “Explain.”
“It's personal.”
“Fuck that. It's personal for me too. I told you why up front. Now you tell me why it's personal with you. This is a mission. You know the drill. No secrets.”
Gator took a deep breath then relocked eyes with Red. “Kurt Younger stole something from me. My most valuable possession. My most irreplaceable possession.”
“Which was?”
“My girl.”
Red laughed scornfully. “My God. Your girl? You fucking pussy. Hell, just get another one, you dumb shit. They're all over the damn place.”
Gator was unfazed by Red's response. “Told you. She was irreplaceable.”
Red sighed, scratched one of his clumps of red hair. “Okay, give me the whole story.”
“He fucked her.”
“So?”
“Right in front of me.”
“How'd he pull that off? Tie you down or something?” He tried to keep the laughter out of his voice.
“He didn't know I was there. Didn't know I was watching them. Problem was . . .”
“Yeah?”
“She knew I was watching. Wanted me to watch. Wanted me to see her fucking him. It was her way of getting back at me.”
“For what?”
“For fucking her sister.”
“Well, okay then. That sounds to me like justifiable fucking. Kurt was only doing his manly duty.”
“You don't fuck a fellow dog's girl.”
Red thought about that a moment. “Yeah, you're right. I think that's in the manual somewhere.” He shook his head again, baffled by the importance so many seemingly smart guys put in a piece of ass. “So after Kurt got through doing her, you teach her the error of her ways?”
Gator smiled. It was the deadliest smile he had ever seen. “She paid the price.”
Red was impressed. “No shit?”
Gator held Red's gaze. Said nothing. Red considered everything that had been revealed by Gator, then held up his hand. Gator clasped it. For a moment it looked like they were going to arm wrestle. Instead, Red said, “Welcome aboard, brother.”
They held the clasp for a moment then Red said, “I got a deal sweetener for you. And man I mean sweet. Kurt's not alone. He's got his play-pretty with him. And let me tell you, mister, she's prime cut.”
Red didn't think it was possible but Gator's eyes glowed even brighter. “You saying what I think you're saying?”
“That's right, soldier. You get to fuck her while Kurt watches. Hell, we're all gonna fuck her. And Kurt ain't gonna have any choice but to watch.”
Billy simply stood there staring at the keys. "Oh, wow."
“But you listen to me and you listen good,” Paula said.
“Yeah, okay Mom.” But his eyes were fixed on the keys.
“This car is from me. Just me. Not your Dad. Understand?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Your Dad doesn't even know I bought it.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“It's a gift from me. To you. Because . . .” She found herself choking on what she was about to say. “Because I need you to know how much I love you.”
He raised his eyes, looked into hers. “Okay, I get it. It's cool.”
Was that love in his eyes? For Billy it probably was. Maybe it was the only kind of love they'd ever taught him. Paula was overcome with a sense of failure, a sense of utter worthlessness to a degree she'd never experienced. "Come on, Billy, put your arms around me."
"Sure, Mom." He did as he was told, holding her lightly. Paula squeezed him, clung to him. The tears came now, unchecked, and she buried her face in Billy's shoulder to hide them. But the racking of her body gave her away.
Billy jerked free of her embrace. "Hey, what're you doing? Come on, Mom, stop it."
Paula tried, but failed. "I'm sorry."
"Just don't cry, okay? Oh God, Mom, stop it."
"I'm all right, Billy."
He turned his back to her saying, "Oh shit, oh shit . . ."
Paula desperately wiped away the tears with her fingers, smearing her mascara in the process. "I'm okay, Billy. Really. You know how moms can be sometimes."
"Just don't cry, okay? I can't stand that."
"I won't. I'm through, I promise. Oh look, here's Cindy.”
Cindy came bouncing up looking like a gumdrop on a whipped cream pie. When she saw Paula, her playful demeanor turned to concern. She ran over and threw her arms around her. “What's wrong, Mrs. Taylor? Billy, did you say something mean to her?” She drew Paula's head down onto her shoulder, patted it as if she were a child. “Oh, you poor thing.” Then she looked sternly at Billy.
He threw his hands out in exasperation. “I didn't say anything. Honest.”
Paula found herself laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Could this have possibly gone more wrong? She pulled away, saying, “I'm fine, Cindy. Thank you for your concern. You're very sweet. I'm just being a silly ol' mom. I've missed my boy.”
Cindy put her hands on her hips and struck a cheerleader pose. “Well, there's nothing silly about that, now is there?” Then she turned a smile on Billy so dazzling it made the sun pale by comparison. “So, do I get that ride?”
“You bet. Hop in.”
Billy actually held the door open for Cindy. Paula wondered where he'd learned that. Once she was comfortably seated, he jumped in. The T-Bird roared to life. Paula stopped him before he drove off. "Purse, please. Got some repair work to do.” Cindy happily passed Paula's purse to her. “Thanks. Please don't be long, okay? I'm on a tight schedule."
“Don't worry, Miz Taylor. Be back in a jiff,” Cindy called, waving her pom-poms overhead. Billy left about twenty yards of rubber on the pavement as they peeled off.
Paula moistened a wad of Kleenex in a nearby fountain, then sat at a masonry bench while she repaired her makeup. Thirty minutes passed. Paula wondered if cheerleader practice was being held in the next county over. She glanced at her watch. 4:15. Come on, Billy. She decided to give him another fifteen minutes then leave a message with Ed or Linden and get out of there.
Then it dawned on her. Shit! All her belongings were in the T-Bird. And Billy had the keys to the Pukemobile. She wasn't going anywhere. Damn. She forced herself to take a deep breath. Don't panic. He'll be back any moment now.
But he wasn't. Not at 4:30. Not at a 4:45. Not at 5:00. Oh Billy . . . Then she heard Billy's laugh, saw him about two blocks over, the T-Bird loaded with at least a dozen kids. Paula waved her arms, jumped up and down, and called his name. Then he was gone.
He pulled up at 5:30. All alone, but there were scuff marks everywhere. “Billy, where have you been?”
Billy laughed and looked at the clock on the dash. “Oh wow, is it really 5:30? Geez, sorry, Mom. Cindy wanted me to stay and watch her and I wanted to do that too 'cause there was a lotta interesting stuff to watch, let me tell ya.” He made bug eyes and shook his hand as if he'd just touched something hot. “Then the gang wanted me to take 'em over to the Silver Moon to grab a shake, so, wow, guess the time just got away from me. Anyway, I'm back now, so what was it you wanted to talk about?”
Paula was fuming. “It'll have to wait. Get my things out of the T-Bird and put them in your car.”
“Okay, okay, don't get so pissy. I said I'm sorry.”
While he was doing it, Paula signed over the title to him then slammed it into his hand. ”That's the title. Don't lose it. Give me your keys. I've got to go.”
She shouldered the sprung door open, slid in, inserted the key, and turned it. Again. And again. It wouldn't crank. Paula wanted to scream.
Billy unlatched the hood and lifted it up. “Relax, Mom. Geez. Does this all the time.” He jiggled something then said, “Try it now.” The engine roared to life.
When Paula pulled out of the University, it was well after 6:00. She wanted to bawl but that wasn’t an option. She was all out of Kleenex.
By 6:00 PM Kurt declared the scalloped oysters dish he'd just prepared a work of art. He slipped it into his propane-powered refrigerator and at the same time extracted a chilled PBR. He popped the cap off, took a swig then surveyed the kitchen. It was a wreck. Kurt shrugged. Who gives a shit?
He was ready for Paula. When they got back here tonight, he'd throw the scalloped oysters in the oven and let them cook for thirty or forty minutes. That would give him plenty of time to cut and clean the spiny lobsters, throw them on the grill, melt the garlic butter, and pour the champagne.
Kurt elbowed his way through the kitchen door then climbed the steps to the balcony two at a time. The object of the exercise was to check tonight's field of operation one last time to make sure the mission was a go.
He 'd chosen the far corner of the second story verandah, which was as big as the one below. Due to the house sitting somewhat cater-cornered, it provided a clear view of the lagoon. He knew Paula's reaction to the outrageous centerpiece of the setting would be priceless. It made him chuckle to think about it.
To serve as a table for tonight's feast, he'd nailed to the top of the railing about four feet of ship's planking salvaged from a long ago wreck. Several hurricane lanterns hung above it. Intermingled among them were colored bottles, strings of coins, and a few other trinkets he'd found while snorkeling, a homemade wind chime. The final touch was a genuine ship's bell.
The table was already loaded with two sets of dishes, silverware, an ice bucket for the champagne, flutes, real cloth napkins, a pack of Chesterfields for Paula, and matches. He fired up a Camel himself, then stepped back to survey the overall effect. He was satisfied it was worthy of the fair maiden he was about to rescue. He double-checked the grill, which he had brought up earlier. He made sure it was loaded with charcoal and ready to be fired up.
But something was missing. What was it? Flowers. Damn, he forgot the flowers. No time to buy some in Largo before meeting Paula. He pondered the problem a moment then realized the solution was all around him. The island was lousy with exotic flora. Kurt even knew a few of them by name: frangipani, lignum, and several types of orchids.
His favorite was frangipani with its white and yellow blossom and a scent so sexy it got his blood up. He pictured Paula with one tucked behind her ear giving him that 'come hither' look. His crotch tightened.
He grabbed a bucket and made quick work of filling it. While doing so he noticed a gathering breeze. Trees and bushes were starting to dance sensuously. The water in the lagoon was working into a slight chop. A blustery night was ahead. Good.
Back upstairs Kurt stuffed the flowers into a dozen empty beer bottles. He pictured Paula in the middle of them. Perfect! Not far away, palm fronds swayed lazily. The wind was definitely picking up. Maybe I should move the feast inside, he thought then shrugged. So what if Ma Nature gets a little feisty? It'll just add to the atmosphere. He clapped his hand together. Okay, time to go get his woman.
He shut the generator down. The Black Jack lug-lugged out of the boathouse at 7:00 PM on the dot. Even though it was already dusk, he made damn sure he didn't touch the floodlight switch. He crossed Curiosity Cove's lagoon then glided gently through the tunnel-like corridor that meandered out to the Bay. Once in the open, the Black Jack tugged at its rein, wanting to run fast, run hard. Yeah, I know, Kurt thought. So do I. So do I. A sizable wave slapped at the boat, made it lurch angrily.
"All right, big fella. Let's go get her." He pushed the throttle full forward. The Black Jack roared, lifted up out of the water, and hurled into the darkness.
"Damn it, Billy, why didn't you tell me the gas gauge was broken?" Paula yelled it out loud, but there was no one to hear her. She was stranded on the shoulder of the highway on what was turning out to be a breezy night.
She stood beside the car with the hood raised hoping someone might stop and help her. Someone did. Two young guys in a hot rod. One of them leaned out a window and gave a wolf whistle. "Hey, mama, you need some help?"
"I got all the help she needs," she heard the other one say.
Paula turned toward the nearby woods, yelling, "Honey! You and Max come here quick!"
"Aw hell," one of the boys said, followed by peeling rubber.
Paula hopped back in the Pukemobile, rolled the windows up, locked the doors, and sat trembling. She looked down at the way she was dressed. In the mirror she caught a glimpse of her wild locks, her sexy makeup. All that was lacking was a sign saying, 'Come and get it'.
Any thoughts of hiking to the nearest phone were gone. She wasn't leaving the relative safety of the car. She turned on the dome light, checked her watch. 7:12. Damn! Damn! Double damn! The inside of the car lit up. She glanced back. Somebody pulled up behind her and rolled to a stop. Their headlights blinded her.
Oh my God, Paula thought, I'm trapped. The locks on these doors won't keep anybody out. They'll just break a window. She was pretty sure she knew what would happen next. Please God, no, no, no.
Wait. A red flashing light. Highway patrol. It was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. Paula jumped out of her car at about the same instant the officer was getting out of his. He shined his flashlight on her. "You okay, ma'am?"
He was a regular Marshall Dillon type, except no vest. Instead of a big Stetson he wore a flat-brimmed trooper hat. Paula fought to hold down her skirt in the stiffening breeze. "Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine. Oh, God, am I glad to see you."
"What's the problem?" He had a kind, concerned voice.
Paula heard the hysteria in her trilling laughter. "I'm out of gas, can you believe it?" She noticed the way he looked at her, then at her car. She knew what he was thinking: they don't fit. "Oh, it's not my car, Officer. It's my son's. The gas gauge doesn't work, only he didn't bother to tell me."
He grinned. “Yeah, I got one of those at home. His life expectancy gets shorter every day. And it's Trooper, not Officer. Trooper Madigan.”
“Thank you so much for stopping, Trooper Madigan.”
He motioned to his car. “Well come on, lets get you some gas. There's a station 'bout a quarter mile back."
Paula threw her hands out with a laugh. “In other words, in easy walking distance.”
“Not out here. Not after dark.” He flashed her a big teasing grin. “Not in that dress.” Paula blushed and they both laughed. He's got a little sister, Paula thought. She had always envied her girlfriends who had protective big brothers.
As they rolled into the station Paula was cheered by the bright lights. Trooper Madigan said, “Be right back.” He went into the store and returned a few minutes later carrying a five-gallon can filled with gas. She offered to pay but he said the can belonged to the owner. When she returned it she could add its cost to the fill-up she would undoubtedly be wanting due to the gas gauge being broken. He gave her a stern big brother look. “Right?”
Paula made big eyes to emphasize her point. “You bet.”
When they got back to the Pukemobile, Trooper Madigan put the gas in, then added a little to the carburetor, and helped her get it cranked. Paula thanked him for his help.
"It's what I get paid for, ma'am."
"I know, but I still appreciate it.” She gave him her most heartfelt smile. To her surprise he blushed.
“Well, I guess you're good to go. Be careful now.”
Paula shook his hand. “I will. Thank you.”
Paula pulled into the station a few minutes later and while the attendant filled her tank and serviced the engine, she thought how lucky she was that Trooper Madigan came along. No doubt his high school sweetheart was waiting supper for him, along with two or three rambunctious brats. Trooper Madigan's a vet, she figured. War hero probably. Lots of them around. Good guys.
God bless the good guys.
The attendant closed the hood. He was stooped and wiry and wore blue coveralls that some good woman kept clean and pressed for him. He stepped up to her window. His friendly, twinkling eyes looked out over wire-rimmed glasses.
“All righty then. Comes to $4.25. Had to put some oil in."
“Not surprised.” Paula gave him a five. “Keep the change. Oh, and thank you so much for letting me borrow your gas can."
The old man's smile broadened. "Glad to help, daughter. Your tank's filled to the brim so it oughta get you where you need to go. And 'case you're ever this way again, folks call me Pops. It'd make me feel mighty good if you did too.” He held out his wrinkled old hand, webbed with thick blue veins.
Paula shook it. “Sure, Pops. My name's Paula.”
He patted her hand and let it go. “You be careful Paula."
"I will, Pops." She wiggled her fingers as she pulled out of the station and back onto the highway. She glanced at her watch. 7:30. Thirty minutes till I'm supposed to meet Kurt. Damn. She’d have to step on it if she was going to make it.
As Paula sped into the darkness she thought about Trooper Madigan and Pops, Bob Ballentine and Lenny, Phyllis and Mary. All good people. All wanting to help. Real, everyday people. Raising kids. Building businesses. Doing their duty. These were the kind of people she had grown up with, had known all her life. Like her mom and dad. Like Birdy.
She understood them. How they thought. Because she was one of them. And the sexy clothes and the Marilyn Monroe hairdo didn't change that. Billy made that painfully clear. She was his mother. Bill's housewife. Nothing more. The realization chilled her and she rolled up the window.
My God, what am I doing? This is insane.
The turn-off was just ahead. She had two choices. Take it and keep her rendezvous with Kurt, or go past it to her home in Key Largo. Either way, the road was dark and lonely.
Kurt. He was not like anybody she had ever known. Two things she knew for sure. She was not like him. Never would be. And he was dangerous.
A voice deep in her mind screamed: “Go home, Paula. Home to your mother and Birdy. Home where you grew up. Where you belong. Where you'll be safe. Now. Before it's too late.”
By 7:30 Kurt had anchored the Black Jack about thirty yards out and was starting his second circuit of their usual meeting place. No passion pit tonight. More comfortable accommodations awaited them at Curiosity Cove.
He wore a terrycloth jersey over his trunks, more than adequate with temperatures in the mid-seventies. But the blustery night, thanks to Tropical Storm Judith approaching the Fort Myers area, made the air feel cooler. His body heat, at fever pitch in anticipation of Paula's arrival, nullified the effect.
By 7:40 Kurt had made eight circuits of the area. Guard duty, really, checking the perimeter. Old habits die hard, he reflected. What did you expect to find? Think Red might jump out of the shadows like the bogeyman?
Not likely. Right now Red was making his way to Bogota. Maybe he was already there, waiting for him. It was going to be a long wait.
By 7:50 Kurt knew if he didn't do something to work off tension he was going to blow like the Primacord on the Black Jack’s hull. He slipped off his jersey, waded out until he was waist deep, then dove in. He swam hard, pushing his muscles to the limit. They quit on him about two hundred yards out, but he felt much better. He let the incoming tide carry him back to the mangroves, fully expecting Paula to be waiting for him.
She wasn't.
Kurt checked his watch. 8:05. He shrugged it off. She might have run into heavy traffic on the way down. Or maybe she had trouble getting away from Bill. Nothing to worry about. She'd show up in a few minutes.
By 8:15 Kurt was feeling uneasy. Something was wrong. Unlike most women he'd known, Paula was always punctual. His ears throbbed from the strain of listening for her car engine. But all he heard was the roll of the surf, the whipping of the wind, the persistent clanging of the buoy in the channel. Damn, where was she?
8:30.
Kurt wrestled with a tempest of emotions. Confusion. Anger. Hurt. Frustration. He scanned the woods, willed them to light up, to tell him her big Country Squire was approaching. Didn't happen.
Kurt thought of Red pacing on a beach somewhere in Colombia, preparing for tomorrow's trek inland to Bogota. Both of them were standing in the dark, fifteen hundred miles apart, waiting for their dreams to be fulfilled like children listening for the clatter of reindeer hooves on the roof.
By 8:45 he knew Paula wasn’t coming.
He'd blown it.
He’d abandoned her at this very spot a week ago, his last sight of her in his rearview mirror, her arms reaching out to him, pleading. Now she had abandoned him. All during the past week he’d been cock sure she was scrambling to shut down her Palm Beach life to start a new life with him. Instead, she was . . . What? Buying groceries? Cleaning house? Playing tennis? He didn’t know. He only knew she wasn’t here. With him.
The world around him dissolved away. He stood in a complete void, no sound, no physical sensation. He stepped into the surf and headed for the Black Jack, simply because he didn't know what else to do. Except get away. Far away. He'd leave first thing tomorrow.
Hell, he'd leave tonight. Now.
Kurt climbed aboard, pulled in the anchor, fired up the engine, let it idle just enough to keep the tide from carrying her in.
Where to?
He didn't really give a damn. He had a sudden, overpowering urge to set a course for the open sea and just go until the fuel ran out. Then drift, just drift, alone with memories of Paula. The intoxicating fragrance of her body. The green fire that danced in her eyes. The heat of her womanhood as he penetrated her.
The more he thought about it, the more he liked it.
Kurt pushed the throttle full forward, spun the wheel and made a wide sweep. He took one last look back at the secluded place where he’d discovered it was possible to love somebody more than his own life.
That's when he saw her.
She was running down from the woods, a suitcase in each hand. Even over the roar of the engines Kurt heard her calling his name. He turned the wheel sharply. The Black Jack shuddered, rolled over on its side, threatened to capsize. Kurt didn't care.
Paula tripped and fell flat on her face. One of the suitcases broke open. Clothes spilled out and were scattered by the wind, snagged by the mangroves.
Kurt cut the engines, leapt onto the bow, then sprung into the air. He swam to her, his arms like steam pistons in the water. She was in the water too. Her wet dress clung to her. Her arms reached out for him. Just like Saturday night a week ago. When he abandoned her.
Not tonight. Not ever again.
He tackled her. They both went under, arms and legs intertwined. Kurt picked Paula up and carried her up to their special spot, the place where they had gorged on each other's passions so many times before. He smothered her with kisses, singed her with the fire blazing within him.
He was aware that she was pounding on his shoulders with her fists, but not in a loving way. He pulled her loose. She took a big gulp of air. “You’re suffocating me.” They gazed at each other, panting, laughing at the wildness in each other's eyes. Kurt grabbed Paula's arms, shook her. "You're a fucking hour late!"
Madness jumped in Paula's eyes. Her slap had the weight of her entire body behind it. His head snapped to the side. The bones in his neck popped. The stars he saw were not in the sky. They both dropped to their knees, limp, purged. Paula fell into Kurt's arms, still gasping for breath, sobbing. "My car . . .”
Kurt looked up into the woods. “Yeah, where is your car?”
“In the inlet."
Kurt stared at her, unable to comprehend. “Say again.”
“That's why I'm late.” She was still panting for breath. “It went right off the bridge into the . . .” She threw her hands up, shook her head incredulously, as if that explained everything.
"The wagon?"
“The Pukemobile.”
"The what?"
"Billy's car. His old beat-up coup. The windshield was so cracked I could hardly see out it and when I crossed that rickety old bridge, I ran right off the side somehow . . ."
Kurt actually gawked, something Paula had never seen him do. "You ran off the bridge?"
"Yes, well, over the side but not completely over. It snagged on something. So I pulled on the hand brake and jumped out. Managed to get my suitcases out too. Then I thought if I got here to you, you’d help me get it back on the bridge. That was kind of a dumb thought, wasn't it?”
Kurt shook his head, bewildered. “Yeah.”
“Then there was this awful creaking sound and the car pitched over and now it's lying upside down on the bottom of the inlet under about six feet of water."
Kurt just stared at her, unable to speak. Paula shrugged and said, “No kidding.”
Kurt’s uncontrollable laughter earned him a punch on the shoulder. "It's not funny, dammit.”
But Kurt only laughed harder.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Sorry, sorry . . .” But he kept laughing.
“There I was standing on the bridge looking down at the car under all that water and thinking I'll never get here in time. It was already after eight and I still had a mile to go and I didn't even know if you'd still be here. I hoped you'd still be here. I prayed you'd still be here."
"Easy, Paula, easy. I'm here. I'm here."
But the torrent continued unabated. "I ran as hard as I could but the suitcases got so damn heavy and my sides were killing me and I couldn't run anymore and I knew you'd think I wasn't coming, I knew you'd be gone, and then when I got here and saw you pulling away . . . Oh God, Kurt."
She threw herself at him, knocking him flat on his back. She lay on top of him, clinging to him, trembling, crying.
"It's okay, baby. We're here. We made it."
Kurt rolled her off, sat her up. He gathered up her clothes strewn everywhere, the egret figurine among them, and stuffed them all back into her suitcase. Now Paula was laughing, saying, “Could I have possibly made a worse mess of things?” Kurt was about to respond and she said, “Don't answer that.” Kurt pulled Paula to her feet, held her face so she was forced to look into his eyes. “I've never been more afraid in my life.”
The simple, earnest way he said it astonished her. “Oh, Kurt. It's okay. I'm here.” She kissed him, again and again. “I'm here.”
He scooped her up and carried her out to the Black Jack, waiting for him like a faithful steed. He hurried back for the suitcases, threw them in.
Paula waited in the bow, propped up on her knees, arms held out for him. Several buttons on her dress had torn off, baring a soft shoulder to the moonlight, revealing a breast bulging from a satiny bra. The wind whipped out her hair, her skirt.
Kurt climbed aboard, gathered Paula into his arms and carried her up to the cockpit. He planted a kiss on her that sent shockwaves through her body. She reciprocated with equal ferocity, locking her legs around his waist, pushing against the hardness in his trunks, urging him to do his manly duty. He clearly had other plans. He peeled her off and displayed the roguish grin that appeared so often in her dreams, and said, “Lets go home, Miss Doherty.”
“Lets do, Mr. Younger,” she said, excited at the thought of seeing where Kurt lived.
He fired up the engine and shoved the throttle full forward. The Black Jack growled, reared up like a stallion. Paula screamed out in delight and held onto Kurt.
He spun the wheel. The Black Jack galloped off into the night, the glorious night, with a million twinkling stars.
The nearly-full moon over Florida Bay was unusually bright due to the crisp, clear air. The Black Jack seemed to be flying, an effect the Bay was famous for due to its shallow, crystal clear water. It created for Paula a sense of enchantment and she was swept up in its spell.
Kurt was casting a spell of his own. He held Paula close. The dynamo humming just beneath his skin made her flush hotly. She looked up at him. Etched by moonlight, the lines of his face were even more rugged than usual. Wind rippled through his sandy hair, adding to his wild and reckless look.
“You really are a pirate,” she said, voicing her thoughts.
Kurt looked at her quizzically. “Pirate?”
“They say that once upon a time this place swarmed with pirates.”
“So they say.” He struck a Captain Kidd pose, fists on hips. “Avast ye landlubbers.”
Paula laughed. “Don't call me a landlubber, mister. I was raised on big boats.”
“Yeah?”
She detected the challenge in Kurt's voice. “Yeah.” She hipped him out of the way, and took the Black Jack’s reins. She pushed the powerful cruiser to its limits, maneuvering it through the channel like a champion quarter horse cutting out cattle. Her touch was light and sure. The Black Jack did as she told it.
Paula turned the controls back over to Kurt then gave a little curtsy in response to his admiring grin. “I think she likes you,” he said.
They were silent for a while, caught up in the magic of the moment. It ended when Kurt heard a sniffle then jerked Paula's head up. Tears were running down her cheek. ”Hey . . .”
“It's okay, darling, they're happy tears.”
Kurt shook his head, exasperated. “Guess I'm never gonna understand that one.”
“You don't have to. Just accept it.”
They stayed like that for a while, rocking gently with the boat, neither speaking. Paula pulled away and took a deep breath. “I’m all right now.”
“You are?”
She lifted up the bottom of his jersey and used it to finish drying her face. “Yes, thanks.”
“Okay then.” He stared off toward the horizon as if trying to solve one of the great mysteries of the universe. He ran a hand through his hair. “Happy tears. Jesus.”
Paula spontaneously burst out laughing. She covered her mouth, trying to muffle it.
Kurt spun around as if stung. Paula held out her hands apologetically. “Sorry,” she said. “I get a little emotional sometimes.”
“A little emotional?”
Paula laughed harder, stumbling back against the side of the cockpit. Kurt regarded her in befuddlement for a moment, then also broke into laughter. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”
Paula nodded her head vigorously. “Got a hanky? You’re supposed to have a hanky.”
“In swimming trunks?” Kurt pulled off his jersey and handed it to her. “Here, you can finish ruining this.”
Seeing his magnificent bared chest was too much for Paula. She gave Kurt a mischievous grin then shoved her hand inside his trunks and grabbed his penis. He jolted as if struck by lightning. “Holy shit!”
Paula felt it grow hard in her hand. Rock hard. She squeezed it and he growled like a rutting stag. “Whoa, Paula . . .”
She loved it. She wiped the sticky moisture from the tip of his penis, then withdrew her hand and licked it from her finger. Judging by the fierceness in Kurt’s eyes she was sure he was going to rip her to shreds. She smiled tauntingly. Go ahead, Kurt. Rip away.
Instead he displayed amazing restraint. Experience and a vivid imagination left no doubt in Paula’s mind about what he wanted to do to her, but he obviously had an agenda all worked out for the night and was biding his time. Okay, Paula thought, I can be patient.
But not for long.
“We’re getting close,” Kurt said. “Grab yourself a front row seat on the foredeck. First time in, I want you to have an unobstructed view.”
Paula made her way down from the cockpit then treaded carefully along the narrow gangway to the foredeck. Bench seats lined both sides and joined at the bow. That's where she took up position. She jumped as Kurt’s voice boomed from behind her. “Don’t face forward till I tell you. Turn around and face me.”
She complied, saying, “I like facing you,” but her words were inaudible over the grumble of the engines. She leaned back against the bow, hooked her arms over the railing, and let the empty expanse of the Bay, with its canopy of sparkling stardust overhead, claim her. To her it seemed they were inside a giant snow globe. The Black Jack was at the bottom. The stars were at the top, drifting down on them like snowflakes. Were they really the only two people in the world?
Kurt pulled back on the throttle and the Black Jack sat down obediently in the water. With the roar of the engines reduced to an impatient whicker, he no longer had to yell to be heard. He simply said, “Welcome to Curiosity Cove.”
Paula wheeled around to see a shadowy knob of land suspended in the Bay, clearly an island. The narrow beach that ringed it ended abruptly in a wall of subtropical growth so thick it seemed impenetrable. Kurt steered toward a break in the wall. As they drew near, the break opened gradually to reveal a channel leading into the island’s interior. It was overhung with dense foliage, giving it the appearance of a tunnel. Kurt eased the Black Jack into it.
It was dim inside but Paula was able to identify strangler fig, poison wood, mastic, and pigeon plum. Virgin growth, no doubt, and all indigenous to the Keys. The channel meandered snake-like through it and was just wide enough to accommodate the Black Jack.
Eventually they approached a bend in the channel, rimmed with moonlight. Paula sensed that just beyond it something wonderful was about to be revealed. Kurt grinned at her the way her father did just before she opened her presents on Christmas morning. She smiled happily in return and directed her vision forward again just as they rounded the bend.
The tunnel opened up like a first act curtain, revealing a broad lagoon of crystal water ringed by palms and flowering bushes. No mangroves -- they didn't grow well in fresh water. On the other side of the lagoon, center stage, was Kurt’s house. It sat friendly and welcoming atop a small hill of unblemished white sand, undoubtedly the island’s highest point -- eight, maybe ten feet. It was not as Paula had imagined it at all. It was much better.
“Oh Kurt, it's wonderful.”
The two-story clapboard house might have belonged to Hemingway himself. A wide verandah ran all the way around it, bathed in the warm light of hurricane lanterns strung out like Christmas tree lights, creating a festive air. The verandah was topped by another identical one providing access to rooms on the upper level, each accessible through French doors. Behind the house a windmill’s blades were turning briskly.
It was all very masculine, very Kurt, and pure Key West, even though it was located a hundred miles northeast of the Keys’ southern tip. Paula looked back at Kurt admiringly. “It's got you stamped all over it.”
Kurt beamed proudly. Paula had never seen him do that before. She was beginning to realize there was a depth to him she hadn’t imagined.
Palms swayed lazily, casting soft shadows on a pier of weathered planks and on the slat-backed chairs and shipping crate tables scattered about it. Lashed to the pier’s pilings were poles hung with yet more hurricane lanterns. There were also the requisite fenders in the form of old tires and a large propane gas tank, easily accessible to service boats.
It was a setting rich with mysterious shadows and pregnant with romance. The moon danced wickedly on the lagoon's waters, a lovers’ call to arms. Paula heard the call loud and clear. She looked up at Kurt. Did he?
Kurt thought Paula had never looked more enticing. As she gazed up at him, her coppery hair fell back from her face, making the angles more prominent. Every star in the night sky sparkled in her green eyes. Her skirt gaped open just the way it was supposed to, revealing her long, sinfully shaped legs. Her bounteous breasts, round, fleshy and frosted with moonlight, spilled from their satiny retainer. Kurt wanted to lick that moonlight right off.
Not yet, he cautioned himself. You’ve carefully laid out the evening’s events. You wanted this to be special for Paula. Don’t spoil it.
The night is still young and full of promise.
On the far side of the lagoon stood a slender two-story boathouse with a sharply peaked tin roof and a welcoming hurricane lantern hanging over its open barn doors. The Black Jack’s home, Paula guessed, verified when Kurt glided his noble steed toward it.
As Paula and Kurt exited the boathouse he held her larger suitcase by the handle and tucked the smaller one under his arm. “Hey, I can take one of those,” Paula said.
“All part of the service, ma'am. Please remember to tip generously.”
He circled her waist with his free arm as they crossed the footbridge over the smaller channel that wound through the back of the island. As they ascended the sandy slope to the house, Paula draped an arm over his shoulder and tried to match his long strides.
She was giddy and completely beguiled by Curiosity Cove. Since meeting Kurt she had often wondered what his home would be like. She never imagined anything like this. It reminded her of a scene from a jungle adventure movie. In her mind she heard the thumping of wooden drums, the chanting of restless natives, the tooting of the African Queen as it rounded the bend.
Kurt asked, “What are you thinking?”
“That I'm Katharine Hepburn to your Bogie.”
He laughed. “In her wildest dreams Miss Hepburn wishes she looked like you. As for me and Bogie, you kidding? Guy was a runt. Wad him up and put him in my field pack.”
They climbed the steps to the wide verandah then stopped at the front door. Kurt put the suitcases down and looked at Paula with such affection in his eyes, such warmth in his smile, that Paula thought she was going to melt into a puddle right there on the verandah. Just mop me up into a bucket and I'll be fine.
“Home,” Kurt said.
Paula took in the house, warm and inviting, yet sturdy and confident. Much like the man who owned it. “You never fail to surprise me, Kurt Younger. I thought you lived in a pup tent or something.”
“Really?”
“Maybe a bamboo hut.”
“No kidding?” Kurt considered it a moment. “I'm very impressed.”
“Why?
“To think you'd run away with me to live in a pup tent. You're some gutsy broad.”
Paula wrapped her arms around his neck. “I'd run away with you to live in a refrigerator box.” She inclined her head toward the house. “But we'll make do with this.”
She kissed him, then turned around and used his body as a leaning post. She wrapped his arms around her and sighed as she gazed out at her new world. “Just look at this. Come Monday you'll have to run me over to Tavernier so I can buy some paints and brushes. Got to capture this on canvas.”
She gestured toward the lagoon. “I've never seen water so clear, even in the Bay. It's just so . . .” She threw her arms out expansively. “Perfect.” She laughed with delight. “And that spooky-looking old boathouse. Really. Like something Charles Addams might’ve drawn.”
“Who's Charles Addams?”
Paula gave him a look. “One of my many lovers.”
“Oh. Him.”
Paula slapped him on the shoulder then settled back against him again. “Yes, I can see me spending many happy weeks here just painting, painting, painting.”
She glanced up at Kurt in time to see him look as if someone had just walked over his grave. “What's wrong?”
Kurt shrugged it off. “Just wondered if you wanted to see inside.”
“Of course I want to see inside, you idiot. I'm dying to.”
He bowed slightly. “Then you shall, m’lady. Back in a second.” He disappeared around the verandah.
Nearby were two oversized rattan chairs, beautifully crafted with a palm frond design woven into their backs. They were white with a chipped paint motif. The seat cushions were slightly mottled with mildew. Between them was a matching table. There was also makeshift shelving, a hammock, a rack full of fishing gear, and an old fashioned swing in sad need of repair.
To Paula's artistic eye it was a visual feast. The background score was equally rousing: hurricane lanterns squeaking in the blustery wind, trees groaning, palm fronds clattering softly like applause from a ghostly audience. She heard night hawks yipping from the woods and the gawk-gawk-gawk of mangrove cuckoos out near the Bay. Tree frogs and crickets completed the ensemble. Their spontaneous harmony always fascinated Paula.
Her scrutiny was interrupted by a metallic cough then a low whine. Lights blazed from every window. Paula was familiar with the set up. A propane gas generator provided electricity. Propane also fueled the hot water heater, stove, and refrigerator. The windmill behind the house drew fresh water from the lagoon to a storage tank above the roof. Gravity took it from there. Curiosity Cove was completely self-reliant. Just like the man who owned it.
Kurt jerked open the front door, scooped Paula up in his arms and carried her over the threshold. She was a little jarred by the gesture but then his lips found hers. His raging hunger overwhelmed her, driving every other thought from her mind except that she was pretty hungry too. Let the fireworks begin.
Much to her chagrin, Kurt stood her up inside and said, “Follow me, Miz Taylor.”
Paula held up a warning finger. “No, no, enough of that. Miz Doherty, if you please. I'm going back to my maiden name. Mrs. Taylor is in a hospital bed in Palm Beach.” Kurt cocked his head quizzically. Paula said, “More on that later.”
He said, “Do I look like I give a shit?” He grabbed Paula's suitcases and led her through a narrow foyer lined with pegs for foul weather gear, shelves for footwear and other personal items, and a small bench. The opening at the end framed a tantalizing view of the rest of the house, which seemed to expand up and out as she drew nearer.
She took two steps down from the foyer, entering an immense, lofty room that reached all the way up to the two-story high vaulted ceiling. Hanging from rough-hewn beams were clusters of ship lanterns mounted on spoked helms. They bathed the room in a soft, romantic glow. The walls were made from broad planks of Dade County pine, telling Paula the house was probably built seventy or eighty years ago.
“Gotta put something in the oven,” Kurt said, then trotted off toward the kitchen. Like Pavlov's dog, Paula's stomach grumbled at the mention of cooking. Yes, food would be most welcome. While Kurt was gone, she continued to study the room.
Most eye-catching of all were the wall decorations, an eclectic assortment of paintings, curios from far away places, and objects d'art, all dating back to before Kurt's time.
Among them were a number of trophy fish, the most impressive being a marlin that must have tipped the scales at a thousand pounds. It all stirred her imagination and provided a revealing glimpse into a part of Kurt’s life she knew nothing about.
Paula assumed the staircase directly to her left gave access to a second floor walkway. Bedrooms? Please God, yes. At the far end, separated from the main room only by a ship's railing, was a cozy dining room. Next to it was a narrow hallway, with a glimpse of the kitchen at its end. In the wall across from the dining room were a couple of doors. Bathroom and some kind of closet, she guessed.
The wall to her right was a procession of French doors opening out to the verandah. Directly above them in perfect symmetry was a row of tall windows that tilted out to provide maximum air flow.
The result was a big, airy room that during the day would be filled with light. But pretty damned nice at night too. The same style of rattan furniture from outside was scattered throughout the room, overflowing with wildly colored cushions.
Very comfortable. Very masculine.
Especially the massive bar located mid-room, lined with a half dozen stools. It was all exquisitely crafted in dark bamboo. Paula especially liked how well stocked the bar was. She faced Kurt as he returned. “Is it happy hour yet?”
“Baby, it's happy hour for the rest of our lives.”
“Good answer.” She flicked her eyes toward the top of the stairs inquisitively. “And what may I ask is up there?”
“The answer to a maiden's dreams. Follow me.”
He picked up her suitcases and started up the stairs but Paula stopped him. “Wait, show me what’s behind this big door here first.” She referred to a heavy mahogany door set imposingly in the wall to the left of the great room.
Kurt gave her a crafty smile. “All in good time, my sweet. All in good time.” He led her upstairs to the master bedroom, located directly above the mystery room below. It was a big room with a big bed, an arrangement she heartily endorsed in her current frame of mind. French doors were open to the upper verandah. Sheer curtains danced lazily in the breeze.
Paula noticed that one set of doors was closed, a heavy curtain drawn across them. Intriguing, she thought. There was also lots of closet space and a bathroom next door. Nice. This would do just fine. In her mind’s eye she pictured her and Kurt making that big bed bounce across the room.
Kurt set her bags down then motioned for Paula to join him on the balcony, which she gladly did. She placed her hand on his arm affectionately and he whirled to face her, his eyes flaring. Once again he seemed poised for the kill, ready to pounce.
So why doesn’t he? she wondered. What’s holding him back? She thought of how he resisted her last Saturday night. Now he seemed to be doing it again. What was wrong with him? Or was there something wrong with her? She took a step away, giving him a fuller view. No, his expression confirmed she was okay in that department. What then? Did he need prompting?
She lifted her hands to her hair, ruffling it as if trying to shake out the salt and sand, her breasts almost popping out of her bra. “I need a shower. Care to join me?”
The words were barely out of her mouth before her back was slammed against the wall, her arms pinned above her head. His tongue was in her mouth. His hardness was pressing against her pelvis. The wetness she felt now had nothing to do with their tumble in the surf. Paula broke free of his grip, wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled him back through the French doors toward the bed.
She panted heavily, burned as if running a scalding fever. “Come on, Kurt. Come on, come on . . .”
But he simply straightened up, lifting her off the floor effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around him and threw her weight backward trying to topple him onto the bed. It was like trying to topple a giant redwood. “Kurt!”
“Not yet.”
She leapt out of his embrace. Her anger surged to the surface, flashed in her green eyes. “Don’t do this to me, Kurt. It’s been nine weeks, dammit. Haven’t I done everything you asked? What more do you want? Are you waiting for me to tell you I love you?”
“Do you?”
“Right now I could kill you.”
He smiled then, not recklessly or wickedly, but with genuine warmth and affection. “God, you’re incredible,” he said. “If I had a picture of the way you look right now, I'd get arrested.”
Okay, that was a different approach. “Really?”
She stepped over to the dresser, peered into the mirror and immediately saw what Kurt was referring to. “Yeah, and you'd probably get life.”
Kurt laughed and headed toward the verandah, swatting her on the behind as he passed. “Put your things away. I’ll call for you in a few minutes.”
She pulled her skirt out and did a formal curtsey. “Oui, monsieur.” He wheeled on her and raised his finger in warning. “Do not leave this room until you hear the ship's bell and do not, for any reason, open that curtain. Why are you smirking like that?”
“It's kind of like God telling Eve not to eat that apple.”
Kurt smiled wickedly. “Yeah, but I'm a lot meaner than God.” He was halfway out the door, then stopped. “Do not take a shower just yet.”
“Okay, but what's with all the 'thou shalt nots?'”
“You'll like it,” he said with a wicked grin. “Promise.” Then he was gone.
The bed frame was also fashioned from bamboo and held an honest-to-God feather mattress. Paula plopped down on it expecting to hear squeaky springs. When she didn’t, she dropped to her knees and discovered that a rope web supported the mattress. Clever. She immediately thought about the uses a fine bed like this might be put to.
Paula opened the large suitcase. Among her clothes was the egret Kurt had given her. She placed it on the dresser then finished unpacking. She heard the generator shut down. The overhead light went out but there was plenty of light from the hurricane lanterns hanging just outside the French doors, soft and warm and very romantic. She took a deep breath, elated.
She had escaped. She was with Kurt, hidden away from the world. Completely safe.
Paula had just slipped off her 'cash-and-carry' girdle when she heard the ship's bell clang twice. She stuffed it in one of the empty suitcases then stowed them both in the closet. She stepped out onto the balcony, but it was empty.
“Where are you?”
“Around here.”
Paula followed the balcony around to the backside of the house then stopped in her tracks. A smile lit up her face.
Who but Kurt Younger would think of installing a tub outside on the balcony? And a brass one at that. It was grandly ornate with big-clawed feet. A scene of naked Roman ladies at their toilette was etched in the side. Hanging around the gaudy fixture were hurricane lanterns, gilding it with a golden glow. Without question it had been designed for double occupancy. Paula wondered what cathouse Kurt had stolen it from.
He was already in the tub, a Camel dangling from his bottom lip, his head cocked back recklessly, his eyes challenging hers. He held up a glass of champagne as if offering a toast. “Princess Paula, I believe.”
It was a scene she would someday commit to canvas: Kurt in all his glory, that shit eating grin on his face, that roguish glint in his eye. Shadowy palms swayed behind him. The moon’s reflection bobbed in the lagoon. She bowed regally and said, “In the flesh, m’lord.”
He took a drag on his cigarette. “Yeah, counting on that.”
Paula sat on the rim of the tub. She let her eyes feast on his broad shoulders, muscled chest, washboard stomach, and all those other parts that made her stomach flutter. She ran her hand through the thick mat of his chest hair. “Would it embarrass you if I said you’re beautiful?”
“Damn right it would.”
Paula laughed. He gave her a testy look and hooked a finger in the sleeve of her dress.
“You said you wanted to get out of that wet dress. Now would be a good time.”
Paula knew Kurt wasn’t asking her to get undressed. He was asking her to strip. She knew the difference. In their previous encounters it had always amazed her how fast he got her naked and on her back. But tonight Kurt seemed to favor a more leisurely seduction. That was fine with her. She took Kurt’s face in her hands, kissed him, said “Yes sir,” then stood and gave him a silly smile, wriggling her eyebrows up and down.
The macramé belt came off first. She tossed it aside with a bump of her hips then took her time unbuttoning her dress, holding it together with one hand.
“You’re the first man who’s known what to do with this,” she said, then opened her dress to show him what she was talking about. The look in his eyes made her skin tingle. It’s one thing to believe you’re beautiful, another to have that belief confirmed in your lover’s eyes.
Paula shrugged the dress off then took Kurt’s hand and placed it on her stomach. It was wet and warm and made her tremble. He slid it down into her panties and managed to hit the button first try. She gasped, grabbed the rim of the tub to steady herself. “Careful, that thing’s loaded.”
In reply, Kurt ripped her panties off. Paula staggered back a few steps; naked now except for her bra and high heel sandals. She put her hands on her hips and said, “Keep those. I’ve got another pair.”
Kurt tossed them over the railing. “How ‘bout I buy you a whole dresser full of ‘em. All silk and lace and embroidered with ‘Property of Kurt Younger’ on the front?”
Paula had a flash of herself in the emergency room surrounded by doctors and nurses, her dress being cut away to reveal panties with ‘Property of Kurt Younger' on the front.
Paula peeled the bra straps over her shoulders one at a time, trying to make the movement as provocative as possible. It seemed to have the right effect. Kurt was gazing at her as if she were a steak sizzling on a grill. Now for the coup de grace. She reached between her breasts and unhooked the bra. Gravity did the rest.
She let Kurt feast on the sight of them for a moment, loving the look of reverence in his eyes, then asked, “Room in there for one more?”
“Only if you board now.”
Paula was about to step in when she heard someone laughing. It came from the lagoon, high pitched and obnoxious. Paula said, “Well shit,” and ducked down beside the tub.
Kurt seemed to find the situation highly amusing. “Relax. It’s just my friend Wally.”
“Wally? My God, Kurt, you might have told me you invited someone over.”
Kurt gave her a gruff look. “Hey, Wally’s welcome here anytime. You'll just have to get used to it.”
“Kurt, I . . .”
Paula saw the intruder then, splashing about playfully in the lagoon. She stood back up, her eyes filled with wonder. “A dolphin?”
“Yep. We're pals. Hang out. Play catch. Shoot baskets.”
Paula remembered the dolphin shaped lamp her father had given her. “Dolphins are lucky,” he'd told her. Magical too, she thought, especially this one, cutting graceful figure eights in the silvery moonlight. She waved at him. He stopped then bobbed his head at her, laughing again.
“He likes you,” Kurt said.
“How do you know it’s a he?”
“The way he’s looking at you.”
Paula laughed. Kurt held his hand out for her.
“Enter, Lady Paula.”
She did a mock curtsy then stepped out of her sandals and into the tub. “Oh God!”
“Too hot?”
“No, no, just needs a few potatoes and carrots.” She slid down until only her head was above water, letting the fiery liquid draw the tension from her neck, shoulders and back, aware of the physical toll the events of late had exacted. She groaned and said, “I feel muscles unwinding I didn’t even know I had.”
A wide shelf of ship’s planking bordered the tub. A checkered tablecloth concealed its contents, but couldn’t conceal the wonderful aroma emanating from it. Paula found herself salivating. “Pray tell, m’lord, what’s under there?”
With a theatrical flourish Kurt whipped the tablecloth away to reveal two plates piled high with scalloped oysters and wild rice. He lifted the grill's cover to reveal spiny lobsters simmering. There was also a bucket of ice nearby with two bottles of champagne chilling, a pack of Chesterfields for Paula, a pack of Camels for Kurt. There also was soap, shampoo, and long handled brushes.
Paula was duly impressed. “You made this?”
“No, there’s a takeout joint right around the corner.” He splashed water in her face.
She threw her arms around his neck, slopping water over the rim of the tub. When she leaned back, he was surprised to see tears running down her cheeks. “Hey, what's wrong?”
“I never realized until now just how much you really love me.” She put one hand over her heart and the other over her mouth, stifling a sob.
Exasperated, Kurt said, “More of those happy tears?”
Paula nodded. “You don't know what it means to me that you went to all this trouble. It's wonderful, Kurt. You're wonderful.”
Kurt fired up another Camel, gave her a cocky grin. “Well you know what they say: the way to a woman’s heart . . .”
The lovemaking began during the meal, playfully feeding each other tasty morsels, kissing, fondling, gulping champagne, and teasing while building up the fire gradually. Kurt's makeshift wind chimes along with a few wild birdcalls provided exotic background music that followed no rhythmic patterns other than whimsy. Swaying hurricane lanterns added to the atmosphere, casting grotesque shadows that undulated like pagan dancers around a bonfire.
In Paula's opinion, the food Kurt had prepared was nothing less than oral sex. It was succulent, boldly seasoned the way only a man would do it, wickedly delicious, and perfectly cooked. She was raised on spiny lobsters. In her estimation, nobody cooked them better than Birdy. Kurt just proved her wrong.
Paula gorged herself. It was so damn good and she was so damn hungry. Kurt laughed at her as she shoveled it in. “Nice to see a girl with a healthy appetite.” She was too busy eating to respond.
When the meal was finished, Paula groaned with satisfaction. She laid back so her head once again rested on the rim. “What's the point of sex after that?” Her arms dangled over the edge and her nipples floated on the surface like rose blossoms.
“That was just the appetizer. Wait'll you get to the main coarse.”
Paula laughed and splashed water in his face.
“Want to play rough, huh?”
Kurt grabbed the shampoo, stepped out of the tub, and kneeled down behind her. My God, Paula thought, is he really going to wash my hair?
He did, working the shampoo in thoroughly, massaging her scalp at the same time. “This is hard work,” he said. “Light me a Camel.”
She knocked one loose, fired it up then inhaled deeply. “Yuck. How do you stand these things?”
“Smoke your own, then,” he said, snatching the cigarette from her lips, clamping it in his. He shoved her head underwater. She broke free of his hold, but stayed under, working the soap out of her hair.
When she surfaced, Kurt applied another treatment, but slower this time. The way his strong fingers massaged her scalp made her say, “Oh, that's heavenly. I'm not even going to ask were you learned to do it.”
“Good.” This time when he was finished Paula lurched away, dunked her head underwater. She rinsed the soap out, making a thorough job of it.
When she came up for air, Kurt was back in the tub topping off their glasses with champagne. He threw his back in one big gulp. Paula followed suit, laughing. “Okay, now I get to wash your hair.”
Instead of getting out of the tub, she rose up on her knees and instructed Kurt to lean down. Paula was about to apply shampoo when she immediately realized the strategic error she’d made. Kurt’s face was virtually in her groin. He did not hesitate to exploit the situation.
“Kurt! Kurt! KURT!”
Using both hands, she shoved his head under, held it there a moment then pulled him back up. “You going to behave?”
“Nope.” He dive-bombed her and they wrestled for a while until Paula screamed, “Okay, okay, I give.”
“Good.” Picking up one of the long handled brushes, he said, “I take.”
Wally chimed in with his obnoxious laughter. Paula said, “No fair. Two against one.”
“Told you he was a guy.” Kurt lathered up the brush. Using slow, sensuous strokes, he scrubbed Paula down. She threw her arms over her head, arched her back, let the bristles work their magic on her. What luxury. She was sure she heard a cat purring and equally sure it was her.
Then in a lightning move Kurt was out of the tub again, poised directly behind her. He grabbed both of her wrists in just one of his big hands and pulled her toward him until her back was arched over the rim, half out of the tub, her arms stretched over her head.
Paula laughed then said, “Okay. If I understand this right, my job here is to be completely submissive.”
“You don't have a choice.”
“Wanna bet?” She tried her best to break loose but to no avail. After a few moments she stopped struggling. “Okay, how about this for an idea. I'll just stay like this and meanwhile you can have your way with me.”
“Brilliant idea, Miss Doherty.” Kurt kept his end of the bargain with lion-like agility, using his free hand to leisurely explore her body. Paula was helpless to do anything but let him. Which she gladly did. He kissed her then, making a feast of it, nibbling at her lips, caressing her tongue with his.
Even though it was not the most comfortable position she'd ever been kissed in, there was something highly erotic about it. She did not struggle with much vigor.
Kurt rubbed a soapy finger around the tip of first one nipple then the other, making lazy circles that drove her mad until both nipples were hard as pebbles and tingling.
Waves of ecstasy washed through her veins, her muscles, her mind, possessing them. It was a force that obliterated all resistance. Paula let the waves take her where they wanted. She didn't care where that was.
God, it was good to be a woman.
Kurt's lips wandered over to her ear, his tongue flicking inside it. His hand slid down her belly, stretched taut and flat. It quivered obediently. Her breath quickened. She groaned with pleasure. The power of her womanhood wakened within her, raw, lusty and unfettered.
Kurt massaged her thick coppery bush. In a husky voice he said, “Look at me, Paula.”
She opened her eyes to find him only inches away, his eyes intense, searching. There was something else too, something unexpected, a look that spoke of his overwhelming need to love her. It filled Paula with joy and made her feel immensely sexy.
Kurt's fingers wandered down her bush, stroked her other lips, slowly, tenderly at first, then with increasing urgency, spreading them open, giving him clear access to . . .
Despite Kurt’s iron grip on her, Paula almost jumped out of the tub. The stirring in her groin pushed aside all other sensation. It was a stirring she had no desire to resist, a stirring deep and primal, spreading into her womb.
She wanted to close her eyes. Let it take her.
Kurt wasn't going to let that happen. “No, no, keep your eyes open,” he demanded. “Keep looking at me.”
She did as ordered. What she saw made Paula catch her breath. Through some unexplainable visual transfer she found herself looking out of Kurt's eyes. She saw herself as he saw her, through the eyes of his passion. She saw the flush of her face, the simmering green of her eyes, her wanton desire. It both fascinated and frightened her. Is that really me? Am I really that sensuous? That beautiful?
She saw through Kurt's eyes that she was.
He continued his clitoral caress. Faster. She saw herself respond. Twisting. Groaning. Crying out helplessly. Gasping in anticipation of what was about to happen.
“Keep your eyes open. Look at me.”
Then it did happen and she couldn't see Kurt. She couldn't see anything. She screamed and Kurt wasn’t sure whether it was in pain or pleasure.
He guessed pleasure.
He released his grip and let her slide back down into the steamy, soapy water, a limp rag.
She found herself floating weightlessly in a world where only physical sensation existed, where thought and logic did not.
Then she was being lifted from the tub.
"A sunken living room. I just love sunken living rooms."
Bill tossed his keys on the credenza. "It's okay, I guess. We hardly ever use it."
Betty put her hands on her hips. She looked up at Bill with mock scorn. "Well, shame on you, Mr. Bill Taylor. A room as beautiful and spacious as this should be used often."
Bill shrugged. "It was. Up till about a year ago.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Paula's mother. Her dementia reached the point where she needed lots of attention. Paula had to be down in Key Largo every other weekend or so to help out.”
“How sad.”
“What's sad was how much we didn't mind being apart.”
“Because you realized you didn't love each other anymore. You poor baby. How lonely you've been.”
Betty stood on her tiptoes, pulled Bill's face down and kissed him warmly on the lips. “That's over now, sweetie. You'll never be lonely again. What you will be is happy, happy, happy. 'Cause, my darling, making you happy makes me happy.” She gave him her most coy look. “Anything I can do to make that happen, I'm gonna do.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.” Her little speech opened up Bill's throttle. She darted out of his reach, then wagged a finger at him, giggling girlishly. “Uh-uh, Fireball. There’s plenty of time for Captain Jolly to get his workout. Continue the grand tour first.”
Bill looked like a lion sizing up a gazelle before pouncing. “Well anyway, this has kinda become Mom's room. She reads in here a lot, watches soaps."
"What about Paula?"
"She's either out by the pool or in the bedroom. Or doing whatever it is women do during the day. Hell if I know.”
“In other words, living the life of a thoroughly pampered, spoiled little Palm Bitch wife.”
“Look Betty, if you don't like Paula, just say so.” It was delivered so deadpan Betty wondered if she had somehow just stepped in it. Then Bill winked at her and Betty collapsed in laughter. But even she heard the artifice in it. She slapped him on the arm. “Oh you.”
“So the bedroom is Paula's digs. I sleep there, yeah, but otherwise it's her private boudoir."
Betty took a step closer, looked into his eyes meaningfully. “Bill sweetheart. Sleeping is about to take on a whole new meaning for you.”
Another coal added to the fire. Bill's temperature was definitely rising.
But it wasn't hot enough to throw on the steak yet. "What about your son?" she asked.
"Billy lives on campus now. When he lived here, the rec room was his place. Now that he's gone, that's kind of where I hang out. You know, watch a little TV, read the paper."
“Awful. Just awful. When I think of everything Paula could've done to make your evenings more enjoyable, well, it just makes me want to slap her.”
Bill thought, better not try that one, baby. Paula would turn you into pineapple puree. Instead, he chuckled. “Hey, take it easy. I thought we weren't going to talk about Paula anymore.”
Betty wrapped her arms around Bill's waist and laid her head against his chest. “You’re right, we’re not.”
Betty skipped over to the sliding glass door and looked out across the courtyard. "It's such a big house. You never told me it was so big. Kind of place you expect to hear children running around, wrestling and playing."
"Yeah, well, Billy ended up being an only child. Something wrong with Paula’s plumbing.”
"Well, sweetie, nothing's wrong with my plumbing. I can drop babies faster than most women can drop their pants."
Bill grinned sardonically. "Just what a man wants to hear."
Betty laughed, kissed Bill on the nose. "Don't worry, silly. The door to the baby making room is barricaded. For tonight anyway."
Bill slapped her on the rump. "Good girl." He shoved the glass door open, held his hand out. “Ladies first.”
As they stepped out into the courtyard, Betty sucked in the blustery night air along with the fragrance of Mama Taylor's flower garden. Yes indeed, she thought, I can get used to this so fast it'll break the sound barrier.
A chair scraped on the flagstone. Betty turned to see Bill sitting down in front of the patio table, draping one leg casually over the other. A cigar appeared from somewhere. He fired it up, never taking his eyes off her.
“A little while ago you said you'd do anything to make me happy.”
Okay, here's where we get kinky, she thought. All right, I can be kinky. “Yes I did.”
“Lets start by getting you out of those clothes?”
Betty knew Bill wasn’t asking her to get undressed. He was asking her to strip. She knew the difference. Theoretically. She leaned down so she was eye-level with Bill. She took his face in her hands then kissed him lingeringly. “Yes sir, anything you say, sir.” She gave him her sauciest, most seductive smile.
But there was something in Bill's eyes that chilled her blood. He had never looked at her like that before. She forced herself to keep the smile she wasn't feeling. The big umbrella over the table clanged in the angry wind, echoing her own jangled nerves.
Come on, she told herself, don't blow it now. Be his little Tinker Toy. Think of your kids splashing around happily in this pool. You're here tonight to close the deal. Do it.
But how? She'd never done a striptease before. Never even been to a strip club.
“What's the matter?” There was a hint of impatience in his voice.
“Nothing, dear. Just getting in the mood.”
“Maybe this will help.”
There was a record player on the table she hadn’t noticed before. Bill turned it on and dropped the needle. A drum roll. A cymbal crash. A boom-dum-dum-boom-dum-dum-boom backed by brassy horns. Betty recognized it immediately as the lead-in to that new musical Gypsy about the famous stripper. Ethel Merman belted out, “Let me entertain you.”
Bill called out, “Come on baby, start dancing around a little.” The cigar clamped in his teeth muffled his words. “You said you wanted to please me.”
Betty swiveled her hips, got into the rhythm of the music. She high-stepped it across the courtyard, kicking off first one shoe then the other, right on the cymbal hits. Bill seemed to approve. Okay, this isn't so hard, she thought. I can do this.
Making the moves as provocative as possible, Betty inched her blouse out of her waistband. She worked on the top button while strutting up to Bill, kicking a leg out with each step. She was right in front of Bill by the time she was working on the second button. His hands flashed out, grabbed her blouse and ripped it off.
The violence of the gesture startled Betty. She jerked back with a little scream that had no artifice in it at all. The blouse hung on her in tatters, resembling a shabby boa whipping around in the gusty wind. She went with that concept, wiggled out of it with maximum shoulder shimmy, twirled it around overhead, matching the music's bumps and grinds, then slung it toward Bill.
It landed on his head, caught fire from the cigar, and with help from the wind, exploded into flames.
Kurt carried Paula dripping down to the lagoon, holding her gently as if she were a vial of nitro. Paula was aware of her volatile condition too, knew the explosion she'd just experienced in the tub was just a tremor. The main quake was yet to come.
Best of all she knew that Kurt knew it too, knew what she was capable of, more importantly, knew how to get her there. He’d amply demonstrated that ability many times before. Played her like a cathedral pipe organ with all the stops pulled out. Had her singing Ode to Joy at the top of her lungs. Metaphorically speaking.
When they reached the pier, Wally was already in attendance. He watched them curiously, sensing they hadn’t come to play with him. Kurt stood Paula up then encircled her with big, beefy, hairy arms that completely engulfed her, even though she was a tall buxom woman. When he held her like this, Paula felt intensely safe and comforted in a way she hadn't known since she was a little girl bundled up in her father's arms.
The smell of Kurt overwhelmed her, a gritty musk tinged with acrid tobacco and a whiff of ocean salt from a billion years ago. It notched up her desire for him to a level that made her head swim. His lips drew close to her ear and whispered, “Look at the stars, Paula.”
When she did, the effect was mesmerizing. The black velvet sky splotched with deep purple was bursting with them; so profuse in places they seemed like clouds of glitter dust.
“Try to touch them,” Kurt said.
Paula laughed. The champagne danced giddily in her head. She said, “No problem.” She reached up, stretching until she was on her toes. Her fingers reached for the star farthest away.
It felt good to stretch. Lounging in a steamy bath had reduced her muscles to tapioca pudding. Now every muscle in her body sang out to her, reclaiming the harmony destroyed by a week of tension and turmoil. Music stirred within her, a chorus of pulsating blood, pounding heart, and nerves vibrating like a tuning fork. She laughed and said, “I’ve almost got them.”
“Keep reaching.”
She did.
Standing naked outside on the pier was erotic as hell. It made the girls stand out proudly with nipples once more at full attention and saluting toward Heaven. Well, in the general direction anyway. The wind mussed her hair. Paula liked the rough masculine feel of it. She realized she was primed once again and her fuse was short. The slightest spark would be sufficient to set her off.
Kurt provided the spark.
He produced a towel from somewhere and dried her. The rough touch of it became his hands, the bite of the wind became his teeth nibbling on her neck, her ears, her breasts.
Paula moaned. “If you stop I'll kill you.”
He didn't, but he was doing different things to her now, incredibly gentle things with those big powerful hands of his. Paula wondered if the sighing she heard was the wind tossing palm fronds or her own quavering breath. Were those tiny sparks fireflies or the residue of her passion dancing around in her head?
She glanced up at the moon with just a sliver lopped off. She gave it her most winning smile. In return it drew the tide across the Bay. The sound of its roll and splash echoed through the secret tunnel. The cadence of it mimicked the rhythms within her body. She moved with it, had to.
She smiled at Kurt dreamily, let the music of her body control her, a song of primal seduction so natural, she was singing it eons before she was born. She waved her arms sensuously, imitating the swaying palms. Her hips undulated from side to side, her shoulders rolled in counter tempo, her head rocked to the beat of jungle drums only she heard.
Kurt stood spellbound. Paula’s movements were like watching dancing flames. Even though he was several feet away, he sensed the heat emanating from her. And like a fire, she glowed, especially her eyes, burning green emeralds that challenged him, beckoned him.
The gyrations of her body became more pronounced, more aggressive, challenging him, daring him. She laughed, taunting him. It singed every hair on his body.
The way Kurt was looking at her made Paula feel like Eve, Cleopatra, Scheherazade, and Helen of Troy all wrapped into one. They were all inside her. They were inside other women, too, but usually dormant, waiting. Not so with Paula. Not tonight, anyway. She reveled in her power of seduction, was lost in the carnality of it. No man could deny her. Definitely not Kurt.
He was the only man capable of bringing her to this point. Her desire for him was exhilarating and liberating of both mind and body. She was a dam about to burst. She wanted Kurt to open the floodgates.
She folded her arms behind her head, arched her back, offering her breasts to him. It worked. Kurt’s hands were on her, but instead of kneading her breasts roughly like he often did, his touch was gentle, almost worshipful. She covered his hands with hers, letting him know she liked what he was doing.
She also liked the contrast between the milky smoothness of her breasts and Kurt’s gorilla-like hands, the way her breasts overflowed his massive grip. She hissed and groaned, twisted and turned. She held his hands tighter while Kurt dropped to his knees and buried his face in her groin. His tongue penetrated her with quick, hard stabs.
She gasped and cried out, “Oh God!” and “Yes! Yes!”
He plunged deeper, then grabbed her ass with both hands and pushed her pelvis against him so he could reach deeper yet. Paula jolted, grabbed the back of Kurt’s head and shoved it against her so hard that she wondered for one brief flash if he could breathe. Then decided she didn't care. If he did suffocate, what a way to go. All that was important now was this wild, uncontrollable force bursting from her womb, surging through her breasts. It must not be stopped from reaching her brain.
It wasn't.
The eruption rocked Paula. She screamed out so savagely that birds leapt into flight. It was too much for Wally. He flipped over backwards and disappeared from view. It was indeed a quake of epic proportion. She shrieked, shuddered, bucked, wondered if it would ever stop and prayed it wouldn't.
When it did, it was only because of sheer exhaustion. Paula was dizzy. Her focus was fuzzy. Her ears rang. She was panting like a racehorse that had just won the Triple Crown. She was once again tapioca pudding, very warm tapioca pudding. She grabbed Kurt, clung desperately to him, afraid she would ooze off the pier and into the lagoon.
She laid her head on Kurt's big chest. “Oh Kurt, I'm so, so sorry, baby.”
Kurt was clearly puzzled. “For what?”
“That men can't experience a climax like that.”
He laughed a deep hearty laugh then shook his head in wonder. “Was ever there a wench your equal, Paula Doherty?”
She gave Kurt her most beguiling look. “Never.” She spun out of his arms, jumped on top of one the shipping crate tables and executed a perfect swan dive into the lagoon.
Kurt took a running leap from the pier, pulled his knees up to his chest and bombed her.
Bill whipped off the flaming blouse remnant, threw it on the tiles, and stomped it out.
Betty was frozen in horror, hands over mouth. But Bill was laughing, slapping his knee, relighting his cigar.
“That was pretty good. But you didn't have to go that far to get me all hot and bothered. Come on, baby, keep it going.”
Betty perked up. Everything was okay. She put her hands on her hips, bumping them left, then right in perfect time to bass drum hits, knowing how sexy she looked in nothing but skirt and bra. Bill looked like a little boy in a toy store.
She raised her right hand over her head then her left, performing high kicks, then reached her right hand across with an exaggerated movement to unzip her skirt. But the fastener stuck and she was forced to use both hands to get it loose, looking more than slightly ridiculous. Bill jumped up. “Need some help?”
Betty backed away. “No, no, I've got it. Just sit down and . . . let me entertain you.” She tore the fastener loose then wiggled her hips until the skirt succumbed to gravity. She kicked it off. The rowdy wind sailed it over to the big live oak, where it snagged on a limb. Betty did a couple of pirouettes in her bra and panties. It made her dizzy enough that she almost fell over sideways into the pool, catching herself at the last moment. Bill laughed, applauded, said, “That's my baby.” His approval was evident in the way he was hot-boxing his cigar.
Betty had purposefully worn the only bra she owned that fastened in the front. Still dancing, she whipped down one strap, rolled her shoulder provocatively, then pulled down the other strap and repeated the act.
She slithered her arms free, knew this was it. Make it tantalizing, she told herself. Make it heart stopping. A big gust hit her. It whipped her hair out like a wild woman. She took advantage of the moment to charge Bill like a jungle cat, her eyes fierce, feral. She stopped with her breasts inches from his face. She unfastened the bra and let it hang there, flashing an inch of flesh. “Do what you gotta do, big guy,” she purred.
Bill didn't hesitate. He ripped the bra open to reveal her small breasts with their small nipples, very hard, very erect. Betty shrugged her shoulders. The bra magically flew away. Thank you, Mr. Wind.
Bill used both hands to fondle her. Betty was somewhat disturbed that he still had the cigar crooked between his fingers. The wind made the ashes spark. Then in a lightning quick move he tore off her panties and threw them aside. Betty had never felt more naked or vulnerable in her life.
And frightened.
Bill turned off the record player. He picked Betty up effortlessly, carried her over to a spot in the middle of the courtyard, set her down, then moved back a couple of steps to take her all in. “You want to do whatever it takes to please Daddy, right?”
Betty shivered. She smiled at him, alluringly she hoped. “Of course, darling. I told you that already.”
“That's Daddy's girl. Now raise your arms over your head and keep them there. You can sway around a little if you want.”
Betty did as she was told, watching Bill's reaction carefully. Something wasn't quite right here. She tried to see herself through his eyes.
And then with a stab of panic she did. With her arms raised over her head her breasts all but disappeared, became prepubescent mounds.
Like those of a twelve year old girl.
Now he was behind her, his big hands on her pelvis, reaching around, scratching through her narrow patch of bush. “Call me Daddy.”
“Okay . . . Daddy.”
His hands wandered up her torso, groping savagely, then stopped on her almost nonexistent breasts. He put his lips close to her ears. “You want to make Daddy happy?”
“Yes . . . Daddy. I already told you.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.” She heard her voice quaver.
He kneaded her breasts but not in a pleasurable way. His thumbs rubbed roughly over her nipples. Betty tried to act as if she was becoming aroused, but the opposite was true.
He took his time, enjoying himself, then stepped away, clamped the cigar between his teeth again. “Doesn't seem right you're the only one who's naked,” he said.
Yes, Betty thought, get him naked. Get to the main event. Let him get his load off. Maybe he'll calm down then. She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I can take care of that.”
She stripped him down to his drawers then slid them down. His penis snapped to attention as if it was spring-loaded, aimed right between her eyes.
“Like it?”
This was better. This was natural. She was becoming aroused. “I like it a lot.” Betty kissed the tip of it, ran her tongue over it. “So big, Daddy.”
“Think a little girl like you can handle it?”
The alarm bells went off so loudly inside Betty's head she was hardly aware of Bill grabbing her, flipping her over, setting her down on her hands and knees. Oh, we're going to do it doggy style. Okay. I like doggy style.
Bill grabbed her hands, forced her to hold onto the tabletop. She had to stretch to do so and it did the same trick as before, made her breasts all but disappear. He was on his knees behind her now, his hands fondling her breast mounds.
She felt the pressure of his penis against her, positioning for entry. Just do it, she thought. Then he penetrated her.
But not her vagina.
She screamed out. “Oh God Bill!” She had never had this kind of sex before. It was extremely uncomfortable, not at all pleasurable. The raw wind slapping her face made it worse. Tears burst from her eyes. “Bill, please! It hurts!”
“You said anything. Did you mean it?”
In her mind Betty pictured her kids playing in the pool, having separate bedrooms of their own, going to the finest schools, the best colleges, wearing the most fashionable clothes, having the best of everything. “Yes. I meant it.” She was about to throw up.
“Anything?”
“Anything . . . Daddy.” She sobbed uncontrollably.
The water in the lagoon was fed by an underground spring and it was bracing to say the least. In plainer terminology, it was teeth chattering cold.
Paula and Kurt played like a couple of kids, splashing and dunking, laughing and chasing. Paula did flips off Kurt's shoulders, then when submerged played grab the weenie. She loved the way it snaked around underwater like it had a life of its own. Kurt was equally fascinated by what happened to Paula's breasts when they achieved buoyancy. He wondered how she managed to stay under with those big flotation devices attached to her chest.
This was the sorbet before the main course. A chance to recalibrate their body heat to some semblance of normalcy before resuming their exhilaratingly intimate exploration not just of body parts, but of their souls.
Realization of this escalated their feelings for each other to a depth and intensity neither thought was possible. Often they would spontaneously throw their arms around each other and just hug with all their strength, which combined was considerable, then laugh from sheer joy at discovering this uninhibited, unconditional friendship. This union.
For Paula, finding herself deeply, overwhelmingly in love with Kurt was completely unexpected. She was here to run away from a life she hated, to unleash her full womanly powers, to live her life now and forever more just as she pleased.
As for Kurt, he was determined to let Paula know this wasn't just about sex, that he truly loved her. Clearly he wanted her to believe it. It was there in his eyes. Paula found herself responding in kind.
Kurt was highly impressed with Paula's abilities as a swimmer. She was comfortable in the water, had no fear of it, even at night. She was able to hold her breath for minutes at a time even while performing acrobatic maneuvers. She was as athletic as any man and darted through liquid space like a torpedo.
Having a woman to play with -- outside of the sack -- was a new experience for Kurt. He liked it. Of course, Paula was no match for his physical prowess but then neither were most men. Yet despite her strength and agility, Paula was never less than one hundred percent woman. Kurt liked that too.
The wild antics wore down after a while. They circled each other, treaded water, moved closer. Paula threw her arms around Kurt's neck. He felt her full weight. She no longer made an effort to stay afloat. They kissed, gentle exploratory nibbles. Paula dropped her arms into the water, making herself dead weight.
“Hold me up, Kurt, or I'll drown.”
Kurt grinned that wonderful swashbuckling smile of his. “Forget it. Ain't gonna happen. I got you.” He pulled her over to the dock and effortlessly tossed her onto it, then heaved himself out. He sprawled out on his back, hands pillowing his head.
“Stay just like that,” Paula said, her voice a husky whisper. She licked his lips ever so gently, a feathery touch. She ran her hand through his thick matte of chest hair. Then she raised her head enough so that she had a clear view of his crotch as she pinched a nipple. Her eyes lit up in wonder as she watched his penis grow hard, lift up from the dock. It was such an erotic sight, especially knowing she was the one who made it happen. “Good boy.”
“Yeah, so what are you going to do about it?”
“Whatever I damn well please.” Paula knew from past experience that once she took control of Kurt’s joystick he was pretty easy to control. Tonight was no exception. And once she took control, she wasn’t going to relinquish it.
It belonged to her now. Each time Kurt tried to reclaim it she was as vicious as a mother bear protecting her cubs. He growled, hissed, and pulled at her hair, but it didn’t work. She was operating on her own rules. He’d just have to deal with it.
She straddled Kurt and slid him into her inch by glorious inch. He grunted, groaned, bucked, and was about to squeeze her breasts off, but Paula was not about to be thrown. She wished she had a cowgirl hat to wave over her head.
She laughed. The laugh gradually changed to a scream as the Climax Express raced to points north and beyond, faster, hotter. She screwed her eyes shut, clenched her teeth together. Her body quaked. Here it comes.
HERE IT COMES . . .
The explosion shot white-hot sparks to the tips of her fingers and toes. It seared her brain and electrified every pore in her skin. She lay on the dock tingling.
But the fire was still smoldering. She knew there was another eruption yet to come, bigger even than this one.
Kurt knew it too.
“Holy shit,” Earl said as he lowered his camera.
Red clamped a hand over Earl's mouth and snarled, “Shut up,” in a barely audible tone. He glared at Earl a moment then snapped his head around to give Gator a fierce warning too. He put his lips close to Earl's ear. “You get all that?”
Not daring to speak, Earl held up the camera with one hand and gave thumbs up with the other, accompanied by a nervous smile. He was scared witless of Red, but who wasn't. The look Red had just given them would instantly loosen the bowels of braver men than them.
Earl had taken a full roll of Kurt and Paula having the wildest sex he’d ever witnessed. He used a 35mm surveillance camera specially adapted to be soundproof. It was loaded with extremely high-speed film. The lens attached to it was the fastest available. Appropriate, Earl thought, since he was shooting a very fast woman.
God, the tits on her. And legs and ass to match. That fucking Kurt. Always got the cream of the crop. But this one was something special times two. He prayed Red would keep his promise to let him fuck her. Before they opened Kurt’s guts and let them spill on the floor. 'Course Red would get his turn first. That was okay, long as he got his.
Red had come bursting into Earl's rusty old house trailer earlier in the day, around 3:30. Earl was a big, overgrown, hulking slob and seemed to be proud of it. He'd been on a two-day bender, which was not a problem for Red. It only took him a couple of minutes to slap Earl sober. Earl thanked him and said he felt much better now.
Red laid out the mission for him, explaining that it would be very dangerous, but the rewards would more than compensate the risk. And not just monetarily. As a bonus, he would get to have quality time with Kurt's current playmate, a woman who gave bombshell an entirely new meaning.
Red also said there would be killing involved. Earl asked if the person who was going to get killed deserved it, to which Red answered, “Hell, we all do.” That made plenty of sense to Earl. He swatted at a fly circling his greasy hair. As always, Red explained that Earl’s involvement in the job was entirely voluntary. Either he joined the team or Red would kill him on the spot. Earl signed on without further comment.
By 6:00 PM Red, Gator and Earl had accumulated all the gear they'd need and packed it into a stolen Jon boat. They’d also confiscated outboard motors from some unfortunate civilian -- one gas powered, the other an electric troller. Silent running as they approached Curiosity Cove was essential.
It took them almost two hours to wind their way out of the Glades, then cross a mile of Florida Bay to reach Kurt's hideaway. They dropped anchor a little after 8:00 PM at what Red knew was the only safe landing spot on the island, the place where the back channel from the lagoon poured into the Bay.
The normal approach to the island was through the main channel. That was also where Kurt had rigged most of his alarm devices.
Most, but not all.
Because Red and Kurt had been combat partners for many years, Red knew how Kurt's mind worked. He was confident there would be other trip devices hidden at strategic locations on the backside of the island. When triggered they would set off alarms. He was also confident he could find and disable them. Every trick Kurt knew, Red knew. That's what came of being best buddies. Kurt had been his very best buddy.
Now he was going to kill him. The thought of that made him very angry.
Sensing Red's mood, Earl tried to be as invisible as possible after anchoring the boat then wading ashore. It didn't work. Red turned his heart-constricting gaze on Earl. “When's the last time you took a fucking bath? You smell like a dead polecat. Hell, we won't have to worry about tripping alarms. Kurt'll smell you long before we get near the place.”
Earl was afraid to contradict Red, so he kept his mouth shut. Gator chuckled and said, “Yeah man, you do smell like the shit I took yesterday.”
Red whipped out his monster knife. “Alright, knock it off. From here on in, no more talking. Hand signals only. Remember, tonight is for surveillance and mission prep only. We're gonna do this right. Questions?”
Neither of them spoke. Red said, “Move out.”
Red knew he had two big advantages going for him. First, the blustery weather. It rattled trees and created a sorrowful moan as it rushed over immoveable objects. Secondly, Red knew Kurt's attention would be entirely focused on bushy red crotch candy, not on fending off intruders.
They reached the house about 8:30. It didn't take long to realize the place was deserted. To make doubly sure, Red checked the boathouse. No Black Jack. Gazing around the compound he noticed quite a few hurricane lanterns were lit, swinging in the wind. Obviously Kurt wouldn't be gone long.
Red was right. Kurt glided into the lagoon with his playmate sitting in the bow, while Red, Earl, and Gator watched from the woods. Earl fired off two rolls of film while Kurt and Paula were playing in the tub. He had the panties Kurt had thrown over the railing. They smelled good. They smelled of woman. He stuffed them inside his shirt
When Kurt carried Paula down to the dock, Red had them change to a new position, one that gave them a clearer view. While Earl took more pictures, Gator took mental notes on what Kurt was doing to the woman that made her go crazy the way she did. He wanted to try some of the same moves when it was his turn.
They watched as Kurt picked Paula up again, then carried her toward the house. Earl couldn't restrain himself. “Can't that woman walk for herself?”
Red emitted a growly chuckle. “After what he just did to her, probably not. Okay, my guess is they're coming up on the final act.”
Earl gawked. “You mean they're gonna do it again?”
“Shut up. Not another sound from either of you. We gotta change positions now. Be very damn quiet about it.”
Kurt carried Paula upstairs. She felt queenly being carried from one part of her realm to another. Big girl that she was, most men couldn't manage the task. Kurt did so effortlessly. He stood her up just outside the French doors leading into the bedroom. He kissed her then said, “Wait a minute.” Before entering the room, he grabbed two of the hurricane lanterns swaying in the wind. He hung them from strategically placed ceiling hooks above the bed.
Their warm glow was in striking contrast to the sapphire moonlight filtering in through the French doors. The gusty breeze billowed out the sheer curtains making them whisper and pop. In the middle of it all stood Kurt, naked, hands on hips. He turned down the bedspread revealing crisp cotton sheets. He rolled back the top one, said, “Dive in,” then disappeared down the hall.
Paula didn’t have to be asked twice. She spread out on the bed, luxuriating in the feel of its cool sheets against her simmering skin. She drank in the invigorating salt air then stretched until her toes touched the bamboo rods at the foot of the bed. Queen indeed. Maybe Queen of Sheba. Why not?
Kurt returned with two basins, one filled with hot soapy water, the other with warm scented oil. He bathed her, making it a sensuous act, kissing every inch of her body as he did so. The oil rub down came next. Yeah, Paula thought. I really am the Queen of Sheba.
By the time he got to her thighs, Paula didn’t care who she was as long as Kurt kept doing what he was doing. His touch was expert, gentle, loving. And like all master craftsmen, he took his time.
Soon it was her turn to bathe and oil Kurt. She started by trying to soothe the injuries she’d inflicted earlier. The expression on Kurt’s face indicated she was succeeding.
She rubbed oil on his chest, turning the thick mat of hair into silver strands glistening in the moonlight. His heart pounded under her touch, his skin grew hot. He was primed. Time to put away the oil. She did, then took his face in her hands, kissed him, said, “You need to get out of bed for a second.”
He did. Paula got on her knees, leaned forward and grabbed the bamboo headboard. She knew it was like dangling red meat in front of a starving lion. Kurt pounced back into bed and mounted her, doing it the way she liked, entering her a little bit at a time, driving her mad.
His hunger for her was manifested in his every move. He cradled her dangling breasts in his hands, massaging them roughly. Paula let him have what he wanted. She rode his passion, used it to stoke the flames of her own inferno.
He stopped. Tension built within him until he was shaking from it. His breath hissed out insistently like steam escaping from a pressure cooker. Paula tightened her grip on the headboard, knowing what was coming.
But she was wrong.
Kurt turned her over on her back and remounted her.
Face to face.
For Paula, the missionary position was not the most stimulating. But it was the most romantic.
And Kurt was clearly out for romance tonight. He would not be denied. He moved in and out of her with long, slow strokes. When she closed her eyes in ecstasy, he kissed her eyelids. He moved his lips to her ear, flicked his tongue inside. “I love you, Paula. God how I love you.”
Paula opened her eyes. “I know.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
He kissed her tears away. At the same time he increased the rhythm of his strokes.
Paula sucked in her breath, moaned, moved her hips to match his rhythm. He was trembling, holding back, trying to bring her to maximum pleasure.
She went with it, gave herself completely to what was building inside her. She was not aware of anything else, only the pleasure between her legs. She didn't know where she was. Another country. Another planet. She didn't care.
Her heart raced. Perspiration made her skin glow, despite the wind whistling through the room. It made the hurricane lanterns creak musically. The pressure of her blood engorged lips as he drove in and out of her was so intense she got lost in the eroticism of it. She had no control over her motions.
She reached up, grabbed the headboard, and arched her back. In a voice raw wild with desire she said, “Let it loose, Kurt,” then held her breath.
He did.
The beast roared out of the cage, mauling her savagely, pounding her so fiercely that she had to lock her arms to keep from being slammed against the headboard. Whenever their lovemaking reached this stage Paula often wondered if she could physically take it.
Tonight she didn't care. She was beyond any semblance of control. If she died, she died. Her screams were somewhere between abject terror and indescribable ecstasy.
Blinding white flashes filled her brain. She had no thoughts, no awareness other than the deep climax bursting from her groin, surging through her womb, up into her belly, drawing her breasts tight. She felt powerful yet helpless at the same time.
For Kurt, he had never known such release. His testicles seemed to be in a vise grip and the only relief was to keep pumping. Which he did, thrusting harder, deeper, pounding brutally against Paula's pelvis, hard blows he was incapable of stopping. The feel of her hot flesh pressing against his own just inflamed him further. He yelled out savagely. Adrenalin surged into his muscles, powering them.
They both collapsed from sheer exhaustion, panting like thoroughbreds. Paula wrapped her legs around Kurt to keep him inside her. She held on to him for his heat, for the touch of his skin against hers. She couldn't lose that.
Her muscles relaxed involuntarily. She was vaguely aware of the wind trying to steal her warmth, of the sighing of the Bay, the clatter of palm fronds. She fell into a velvety blue-black nothingness, floating happily somewhere above the bed, free of form and weight. She settled softly, delicately, into the sweet embrace of oblivion.
She was soon followed by Kurt. His last sensation was of his limp penis, ready for sleep, cradled in Paula's warm, moist vagina. Her exotic fragrance of sweat and oil and woman filled his nostrils and tickled his brain.
For a fleeting second, just before losing consciousness, Kurt thought he heard men's voices whispering.
Probably just a trick of the wind, he decided.
Then he was gone.