A Caribbean Isle

Time flies when you are having fun, and it is concord when you are having fun, surrounded by beautiful girls, and getting nicely dribbly on rum. Before we knew it, we had met 50 people, the warehouse was a nightclub, we were on first name terms with the staff and having a blast. We were showing off our white-man hip shaking, which was mostly in time to the calypso rhythms. We were in the nightclub, givin' it heaps, running around like mad things, smiles here, quick word there- oh yes, we were working it, baby! We weren't working on anyone in particular, but as explained earlier, pfft – we were here for weeks – what did we care?

The evening continued in this vein until, almost before we knew it, there were very few left. In England there is this terrifying moment in a club when it suddenly dawns on everyone that the next dance is the last dance- and there is a mad scramble to grab a member of the opposite sex (or whatever your preference) in a deperate, last chance saloon attempt to pull. It is terrifying on two counts. One – all the girls who you have avoided all evening hove into view, lips smacking and thighs chaffing, blocking out all artificial light as they throw their less 'fat-assed' counterparts out of the way of their target...Two – not having a lass for that last dance is akin to admitting you can't pull, aren't attractive, and are, in the eyes of your contemporaries, a loser.

*Shiver*

Nasty business – anyhow- I digress (again). There was no warning- no DJ announcing 'Last dance folks – grab that moose now you are drunk enough!' (Not that they ever actually said that – but you knew that they were thinking it...)

It went from 'Wind you body' to 'walk your body elsewhere, we're closed'. I can clearly remember Greg, looking round, like a dog chasing its tail- wondering where all the pretty ladies had gone.

The bar was shut- shutters down shut, not just 'I'm sorry we are closed' shut. From heaving to empty in mere seconds- we felt like there was a big secret location that everyone else knew about ands we didn't. We knew it wasn't the same place as last night, as we had been told that was Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Today wasn't any of those – where did they all go?

We wandered home, slightly disconsolate, but talking each other through bits of the evening. Admittedly, I do most of the recalling, as, hopefully without any innuendo attached, I act as Greg's 'Black box'. I monitor and record his flights, and since his memory is terrible – I'm always impressed when he remembers his own name, let alone mine – I add names to faces, people to places and places to times. I am lucky to have a very good memory, so these things all work out. I could, if I ever wished, make up stuff about Greg that would leave him acutely embarrassed, but, and this is now some 20 odd years into our friendship, I have yet to do so. At least, I don't think I have...

A new day, a new dawn – although we didn't see this one, thankfully! Fast asleep, awaking in time for a late morning swim (please note the morning part- impressed?) and to grab some lunch from a market stall. Life is, and forgive me if I've said this before, bloody good!

The day was a bit of a nothing day. It was a Sunday, we couldn't get anything done if we tried to, which, knowing us, was a terrible disappointment. Simply disgusted with such an unfortunate turn of events, we resolved to give ourselves skin cancer as a means to self punish.

Ok, ok, we went sunbathing, and swimming, and had a most fabulous time messing about on a beach and in the Caribbean sea. Terrible, terrible shame we couldn't get anything done...

We tried very very hard to find out what was going on in the evening on a Sunday, but most people either said they knew of nothing, or, they knew nothing was happening. Turns out they seemed to be right, we couldn't even find some ancient lushes to try to feel us up inappropriately.

Still, Monday tomorrow, and that meant the Monday Beach Extravaganza down at 'Arbour Lights – the club we went to two days ago. Sweet! This time I'd like to meet a Swedish Under 19 Massage team. Thanks!

It also meant a day of admin – meeting people we needed to meet, collecting our scuba gear now it had decided to join us from England, checking it all, washing it etc etc. All the boring stuff you, I'm sure, don't want to concern yourself with. You are here for the sex, and there has been pitifully little so far, hey?

TELL ME ABOUT IT!!! I'm here for the sex too you know!

We had a plan of action for tonight, and were more than a little excited! Eat early, get to Sandy Bank, stay there for a while, then head on to Harbour Lights, stay there until we pass out, pull, fall over, get thrown out or walk home. Now that, my friends, is a Good Plan.

So, in our finest glad rags, off we go to Sandy Bank. It is absolutely empty- barely open, sleepy eyed barmen wandering around, pushing rubbish from one end to another...Just as we planned it. Oh, yes, we have a plan, and it is Good.

So we step up, have a beer, get chatting, meet the owner who usually disappears early to let his manager deal with the night, have a laugh, have more beers, buy the owner a beer, he buys us one, we play cards, drinking games, and end up embroiled in a game of dominos. Now, I don't know if you have ever seen them play dominos in the West Indies before- I certainly hadn't- but it isn't quite the same way the my Gran and I played back in the UK. And when I say 'not quite the same' read totally fucking different. I would guess it is the equivalent of backyard football and top pro superstar...different gravy.

You play in pairs, so obviously Greg and I took on their pair. We say down, with a sheet of wood over a table as the board, and sorted the dominos, shared them out...which was when the fun started...double six starts, right? I had just started to say I didn't have it, when BLAM! The dude on my left has slammed his domino down, making the table jump, me jump, Greg jump, our drinks jump, everything! I never thought I'd be the one telling a rasta to chill, but hey, dude- easy there tiger!

Greg, rather haltingly, played his go.

BLAM! The other dude slammed down his 'bone' as they referred to them...What the flying fuck was going on? The dominos were jumping all over the shop, we were having to put them back in order...Sheesh!

The game carried on like this, and as it progressed from BAM to sheepish placing to BAM to my exaggeratedly gentle placing to BAM – and before we knew it, they had won by some distance. Another game, and another, until we were starting to notice that there was some weird kind of communication going on between them, whilst we were oblivious to telepath tricks or subtle nose touching signs...Oh- so, that is how they do it- not that there was a damn thing we could do about it...So we started BAMming our bones down just as hard, buying them drinks, betting on the dominos now, just little bets – a round of drinks, a couple of dollars- we knew we weren't going to win many, but we were going to win friends, and that was way more valuable!

I do not have a clue how they remember where all the bones lay once they have slammed down their go, and everything has jumped out of place. They did though, unerringly putting everything back exactly as it was. When they were thinking about their go, they would be statuesque, immobile, barely breathing, for minutes on end. You start chatting, take your eye off them for a second and BAM! You jump out of your skin. Again. For the umpteenth time this game. Jeez.

We must have been playing for hours. The bar was filling up, a few familiar faces would say hi, we met two really nice white Bajans, who it turned out were the band. We finished getting our arses handed to us by our domino buddies, and went to chat. Fuzzy (really hairy arms) and Paul (no overtly distinguishing features, hence no nickname). Top top guys, we just clicked- they were excellent company, and I like to think we are a fairly witty, fun pair of chaps, and we just seemed to get on. We chatted, they played a couple of (really top drawer) covers, we'd chat, they would get groupies – I'm no man judging expert, but I would say these two were fanny lodestones. They attracted every babe in the place, young and old, black and white. Before you start, we didn't know this in advance, it was just a happy coincidence of getting a couple of new mates. Serendipity, if you will.

Mind you, we might as well have been cicadas for all the attention that was paid to us. When they were singing the girls were just making big puppy dog eyes at them, and when they weren't they were chatting to us, oblivious to all the girls attempts to catch their eye or start a conversation – and unfairly clearly blaming us for stopping them getting to their idols, if the dagger stares we are getting were anything to go by...Which did not bode well for our all action snatch attack.

So we did what we do best- we got drunk, got more smiley, and more silly, inventing games and having such fun, that our infectious humour soon had more and more people involved. Our game of choice at the time was 'Chess' – but in our style! The fact is, it isn't a game. I'll let you into a trade secret – it is just us making stuff up. Therefore there are no rules either. The theory is simple. We sit opposite each other, with a table between us, which is inevitably covered with usual bar trappings – our drinks, an ashtray, beer mats, lighters, cigarettes etc. Staring intently at the table, we rub our chins and ponder, sigh, look exasperated, finally pick up one of the objects, it matters not which one, and move it slightly. Or a lot. Still on the table, obviously. Then, with a satisfied smile on our faces, we sit back. The move can be an exaggerated full length of the table move, or just a slight twist- accompanied by various appropriate comments – 'oh, good move..' 'didn't see that option, damn' 'oh, I've left myself open there haven't I?' 'I did not expect that!'

Eventually one would concede, or claim victory, and sometimes we would pretend that a move was a foul. People always- without fail- stopped to watch. Some asked questions, some loudly exclaimed that they 'got it' (which made us smile- if we were making it up on the hoof- how on earth could they 'get it'!?!). It never failed. We would sometimes bring more items onto the table, and remove them (as if they had been 'taken') always at random, and for whatever reason people loved it. It made them smile, and laugh, and want to be a part of it. This is my second ever favourite game for a pub.

My favourite isn't really a game, more of a gag, and it was perfected later in Australia (what a well travelled bunch we are). To play, all you need is you, a bar, and a lot of strangers. Wait until a fair few ales have been consumed, stand near the busy bar, and stare up at something. Preferably nothing, but stare in a really concentrated way. Wait, stare and wait. Someone will also look up. They might ask what you are looking at, and honestly answer- 'I don't know- I'm trying to work that out. See there? (point at spot in ceiling, the higher the ceiling the better) what is that?'

They will then look harder. This will make two people staring intently. Soon, more will join, and before you know it, there will be 10, 20 maybe more people staring at 'your' spot. Sidle away, go to the bar (which is likely to be easier to get to now) and order a drink. Turn round and look at the crowd you have caused...

Back at Sandy Bank, we weren't pulling, but we were having a laugh. To be honest we were so involved in our game, and making ourselves laugh, we didn't really do too much about it. There weren't any clear cut opportunities, and the night was promising to be a corker, as we had been invited to a party with the band in a few nights, and were off to Harbour Lights in a short while. We had been offered a lift too, with two fit German twins.

Before you get all excited, I can safely say at this stage that nothing happened with the twins, and no, they didn't suddenly become all incestuous and start making out either. To save all of us from a lot of wondering, both Greg and I tried, got nowhere, became friends. Job done.

Fuzzy and Paul both pulled one each, and I think Paul had pulled the other one before...

Harbour Lights was great fun. The club runs down onto the beach, where there are bonfires and chill zones, and we spent the night drinking, dancing and wandering, talking to many familiar faces, and trying to pull in that half-assed way, you know, the one where there are so many choices you just want one to pull you, thus avoiding any decisions or effort...

It worked for Greg, didn't it! Not me, oh no, how unfair. Greg pulled some Lancashire lass, whose house was right next to Sandy Bank, so I wandered home alone. *sniff*.

No, I really wasn't too bothered, as I didn't think she was that hot, and I had spent most of the evening chatting to some of the most beautiful girls there, putting in the ground work, getting them to like me, and hopefully lower their guard and their panties!

The rest of the trip kind of follows this pattern (with some eventual diving, surveys, reports and real, honest to goodness work. Well, our stab at it anyway) but I am sure you don't want to hear of the failures and near misses...so let me focus your attentions on the Ship Inn...

The Ship in, we discovered, is a cool hang-out for just one or two nights a week, and it is situated in St Lawrence Gap, a group of bars and restaurants on the South coast. Greg and I turned up, had a laugh, didn't really know anyone...saw this blonde haired, blue eyed beauty. I can honestly say I have never seen a prettier face, before or since. She had that little gap between her top lip and bottom lip that I find so sensual (as mentioned before!), she had a face so good, I forgot to check out her body. I kid you not. Well, for the first hour or so anyway. Man what a set of cans, and well defined, shapely legs too. This girl had everything- including, it seemed, a boyfriend.

Gutted.

I honestly couldn't keep my eyes off her, she was absolutely outstanding. A Brit too, from the sounds of her accent.

We wandered off, to check out the more available singles, and met a couple of cute black girls who were great fun, flirty and could have been keen, but I couldn't really focus. I ended up heading to the bar to buy us all drinks, leaving Greg with both of them. I started chatting to this white dude with dreadlocks, struck up one of those instant comedic rapports, and had a great laugh as we waited. He invited us outside to meet his mates and so I wandered back to Greg, handed over the drinks, stayed chatting for a bit, they wandered off, after giving us their numbers, and we wandered outside.

There was Luke, so over we wandered, and met Christian, the guy I thought was the blonde's fella. We started chatting, and annoyingly he was a good bloke too, so I couldn't hate him. Then back came the blonde- wow. Even better close up, a real sparkle and a twinkle in those bright blue eyes. Emma. Hello Emma.

We chatted as a group, all cracking jokes and messing around, making each other laugh, having a few drinks and getting on very well. Emma was a model, had some pretty wealthy parents as they come over every year, Luke was way richer even than that- his folks owned a house? Nah, they must rent it, surely??

We had a cracking night. Really good fun. They were a very welcoming group, we felt like we fit right in with them, and could be ourselves instantly. I knew that I had a thing for Emma already, and I was slightly scared that I had made it so blatantly obvious that she would start to dislike me for hitting on her when she was there with her boyfriend, or he would pick up on it and call me out. I was being ridiculous, I knew! I couldn't keep my eyes off her, was always flirting, and when she had been close on a couple of occasions I had even had a semi lob on. What an idiot. How to turn a girl off in one evening by yours truly.

Luckily I am a fairly handsome guy, 6' and athletic- I played a lot of sport in those days to a good standard, so I was in great shape. Brown curly, shoulder length hair, brown eyes with legs and a butt that girls find pleasing, or so they tell me- without meaning to brag, usually the girl pulls me. (That and I'm really lazy...)

No, I didn't pull. For all my much vaunted successes elsewhere, I hadn't managed anything more than that first encounter! Greg was sorted, thanks, having his end away fairly regularly, but Emma had ruined my trip thus far- I couldn't try to pull anyone else while I had her face in my mind...

We carried on meeting up, and we were getting on better and better- she didn't seem to be repulsed, and I tried to curb my enthusiasm – ineffectually I'm sure – but I got to spend time with her, and I got to care for her.

Greg by now had pulled himself a petite model called Dee. She was from the richest family of the lot, to the extent that her dad sent her out with two bodyguards to reduce any kidnap threat! That didn't last too long though, as we went out with her and them once, drove them home (admittedly a little over the limit) and convinced them that Dee would be perfectly safe in our hands- I have never seen a black guy go as white as these two did as we sailed around the roundabout for the 8th time at pace...

My trip brightened up considerably one afternoon at the Sandy Bank beach bar. We were there as usual, Greg, Luke, Emma and I. Christian hadn't been able to make it.!

I was there in my shorts, open shirt, flip flops, chilling out, having a beer or two, sat with one leg up on the bench, the other down, leaning back against the sea wall, when Emma came and sat next to me, and draped her arm round my leg. 'hello' I thought. She was a bit tipsy, and was just playing with my leg hair. Innocently no doubt, as she wasn't really concentrating, and was carrying on the conversation as usual. A couple more drinks, she wandered her hand up the leg a little which got me rapidly inflating! A while later, the hand moves out of my shorts, and rest on top, a little higher. I was having trouble concentrating, but was desperate to act cool, lest I do something to make her stop, or realise what she was doing or anything- just keep doing the same thing!

Hours had passed now, and it was that time when the lights were dimming, the bar crowd was thinning out and the nightclub was just starting- it was a chilled kind of night, and best of all, Emma hand was dangerously high on my leg! I knew that the others had noticed, and was wondering what to do or say, as Emma was going out with Christian, but I wasn't really doing anything (in my mind!!) and I wasn't about to stop her...

Luke made a comment, I forget exactly what, along the lines of 'Has she not found your cock yet?'

I nonchalantly said 'She won't, I hang left'

He laughed. Emma just moved her hand from the right side of my groin to the left one...

Luke just smiled, and wandered off to the bar to join Greg, who was chatting up more lasses.

Which left Emma and I, with her had gently kneading my by now rock hard cock. I looked at her, and my heart skipped, and I kissed her. She was still toying with my cock, and I was kissing the most beautiful girl I had ever met.

We parried tongues, and gently swirled them around, alternating between gentle kisses and real passionate tongue ramming and sucking kisses, all the while Emma was playing with me. She was wearing a blue and white check sundress, buttons down all the front, so I managed to wangle a hand high up her lovely thigh, and felt the heat resonating from her. We kissed and kissed, completely oblivious to everything around us, for I have no idea how long. We were possibly just staying within the limits of what is decent in public, but no one seemed to care, and no one could have stopped us!