Paradise on a Deckchair

"You will meet some of the old people tonight, but please excuse them," Max said Their English is not good, eh?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, Thomo's wife Akanisi or Anna to you enjoyed your company when she did your hair and wanted to introduce you to traditional Fijian family life and to join her daughter, her mother and her grandmother and Thomo's mother to cook for you."

"Oh Thomas, that's lovely; what should I bring."

"Just that fabulous smile," he grinned. "You call me Thomo now because you are my friend, and it's easier for you, being one letter less."

"There is a shortened form for my name Thomo – Milly. But I never use it because I am named in honor of an aviator..."

"A women pilot," Thomos said.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"From school – Amelia someone was lost in the Pacific near the end of flying around the world in the mid-1930s."

"Oh Thomo, it's wonderful you know that," Aemlia said, startling him by leaning forward to clutch him around the legs. "I cannot believe that someone so remotely placed like you would know that."

"That teacher was a woman and in her younger day was both a missionary and a pilot."

"So, she too was a fan of Amelia Earhart, one of the bravest of brave women of the Mechanical Age, Thomas."

"That means the Machine Age?"

"Yes Thomo. Thank you for telling me this – I shall always remember this moment."

Max laughed and warned Amelia to be careful as she might be spooking Thomo."

"Not me Max. I'm well out of the Stone Age."

They all laughed and then Thomo picked up the gear; their immersion in dawn glory was over.

Back at the ATV's Max and Amelia waved goodbye to Thomo as he rode off.

Max said, "May I come back to your suite for a shower?"

"Yes of course."

"With you?"

"I-I suppose so."

"That's half-hearted"

"It wasn't meant to be," Amelia replied, her confidence swinging back under control. "Yes of course, I'd love that."

"I'll only soap your back and then reach under your arms to fondle your breasts. Anything that happens after that will be your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes, you sexy charmer."

The ride back almost half a mile of the quite small island was a mixture of real and surreal for Amelia. She saw trees, vines and flowers with real tropical flavor, some of which she'd never seen before but then her own image would float across what she was viewing, pulsating, extremely white and spread horizontally, obviously in the process of receiving sexual favor – only no male was evident. With her arms spread like that, her face one huge smile, she looked like a sated queenly butterfly.

The image faded as they came to a small clearing with three huts and a woman working in a vegetable garden standing upright to wave at them. Ameilia waved back and that scene blurred into a blue background and the she became dimly conscious she was glimpsing a gigantic bed and the woman standing waving had turned into a sleek statue; she almost steered the ATV off the road when identifying the statue as a huge penis. Shaking her head to clear it to concentrate on returning back to the lodge safely Amelia trembled, her blood was surging; she fancied she had a terrified look on her face: that penis was enormous.

With relief that came to the five-hole – yes five hole – golf course and she could see the lodge beyond it. She parked alongside Max's bike on the grass opposite the main entrance. "After breakfast we go to the beach and then walk around my island, or what I dream is my island."

"Breakfast – what was that we had on the reef?"

"An appetizer. For breakfast we eat with Thomo in the staff dinning room – one of the fish we caught this morning. The walk will take us three hours, perhaps four even five if you halt frequently to smell the flowers."

"And swim?"

"Yes, on the north-east beach which has no reef; it shallows abruptly so there is surf – that is if you don't mind swimming where there are sharks."

"Sharks?" Amelia trembled but Max grinned and said he'd never seen anything but harmless-to-humans sand sharks and they kept clear of breaking surf. She wondered what protection he'd offer; and that reminded her he would go without penetration if he was without condoms. Don't weaken in this seductive paradise, she lectured herself: no condom, no entry.

"Will I see where you live and work?"

"Yes, right near the end of our journey."

Friendly staff passing through the foyer and the receptionist – fortunately not Anna – called greetings and Amelia wondered if they would be thinking where those two are going – oh, off to a dirty shower together. But their seemingly everlasting smiles didn't leave their faces so Amelia knew guilt was making her think unreasonably. But why guilt – she was a free agent?

Max was singing in the shower in German, words she was unable to understand. Smiling, she assumed because it was rousing it would be a German hunting song; she smiled, noting her had rather a good voice.

It was one of those showers built into the corner of the bathroom – open, self-draining floor, no shower box with steamy safety glass to hide from or be hidden from.

Her appearance in the bathroom strangled the song in Max's throat. "My God."

Amelia felt the blood flood her face and flow over her throat and across her breasts, upon which his gaze was fixed. She knew she had superb breasts – since around eighteen she'd been told that and admired them herself. When she was twenty-two a very sensitive lover, who wrote poetry, had said, "Not too large, wondrous points, firm and overall exquisitely shaped with taut elasticity that will produce bile in the mouths of envious women who gaze upon them."

She remembered coming over Gaston's mouth later in that erotic session almost drowning the poor darling. These days some of the elasticity had eased but surprising she appeared to be sexier according to what she'd been told by Al; he alleged men loved the sway in women's tits – his exact words. Amelia walked towards Max drawing the curtain over Al's memory. Her life without Al was about to really start because when you're under forty and are without children life seems to revolve around sex and one particular person, doesn't it? Was Max this special person? Amelia almost floated into an orgasm at that surprise thought.

As promised, Max soaped her back, taking a long time about it. She failed to keep her hair out of the water but so what? Millions of woman around the world not receiving special attention like this would give their ring finger to be in this situation. When Max reached under her arms and reached her already firm nipples they tightened into hard rod ends. She sighed and asked about the condom. He sighed and said in his bag out on the bike.

"Run out and fetch it," she giggled, feeling him sticking into her dangerously close to that no-go orifice.

He didn't answer but she felt his grip tighten in frustration.

"Never mind," she said happily, dropping to her knees, breaking through his grip. Something thick and warm popped into her mouth like a homing device. She rolled her tongue and Max groaned, his upper body thudding against the wall. Amelia was aware she was an accomplished cock sucker; she thought that was because she gave the action her full attention and regarded it as a complete sexual activity and not merely something to tack on like an entrée.

Actually she couldn't understand women not being ardent cock-suckers – what else filled one's mouth being so warm and thick AND alive and came with gut-wrenching groans from him? Name anything else in a household activity that kept the male transfixed that wasn't on the TV screen!

Two hands rammed on to her head, not hurtfully, but rigid with suppressed rising emotion, indicating that the now thicker and very much a throbbing cock on the make was about to blow. Pulling away from the manly sized throbber, angry purple and red in color, blood vessels really up proud, Amelia aimed the head at her cleavage and with the other hand softly squeezed Max's balls. He bellowed and ejaculated as if there was no tomorrow; the intensity widening her eyes in glee.

"All this for me," she cooed and Max sank to his knees to join her on the floor. Although his vision could still be somewhat blurred he said "Oh fuck!" as Amelia lifted a breasts and the tip of her tongue delicately slid forth to snare a morsel for a tasting – perhaps the ultimate gesture of subservience a woman can demonstrate to a man,

Amelia pushed Max back slightly to allow her to bend into the water flow.

They both watched silently as the gentle stream worked to dislodge the thick milky streams and blobs from her near flawless skin and wash them away to begin their very unromantic journey to the waste water treatment plant.

Max thrust forward and they had there first real real kiss, no tongues as yet but a passionate meeting of lips. Max stood and pulled Amelia to her feet, keeping his groin away from her anticipating that his cock would still be dripping. He's such a gentleman, Amelia fancied. Oh yeah, after allowing me to do that to him!

Max stroked her bedraggled hair away from her eyes and gave her presumably what he thought was the ultimate compliment, although Amelia didn't quite know what to think."

"I've had my cock sucked in a dozen countries but none of those experiences delivered with your expertise; in my opinion you are the ultimate cock-sucker."

"Thank you darling," Amelia said, pressing against him to kiss all over his wet face, keeping the outside of her thigh against his now drooping cock. "It helps when a gal has something real nice to work on."

As Max turned off the shower Amelia went to the rails and threw him a towel.

As Max finished toweling his face he found Amelia staring at him.

"Will we make love during our walk?"

He leered. "You mean will we fuck? I would think at least a couple of times and then after dinner tonight I propose fucking you senseless."

Amelia grabbed the towel rail for support as she smiled, encouragingly.

The only embarrassing moment for Amelia came when they were dressing: she realized when kissing Max's face in the shower she'd called him darling. Well, he hadn't pulled away in horror or even worse vomited. So either he was immune to women being forward or accepted it as a well-founded endearment. She'd have to wait to find out, wouldn't she?

At 3:30 they reached a reef, creating a bay as at the other end about 50 yards away was another beach and Max told her beyond that was world-class Seerua Beach only the world didn't know about it because of its remoteness.

"This is the reef that Thomo and I usually fish."

"Nice – and where's your house?"

He pointed and Amelia could see the dwelling, just a hut really – open at the front with just a roof and behind that were the enclosed living quarters.

"Come," he said, placing her arm over his shoulders and his arm around her waist. You must sleep now and it's been a long day for you. I'll wake you to see the sunset while we have a drink. I'll take a nap myself."

The bed was on one side of the open section with a cane armchair placed to look straight out along the reef and across the ocean to the far-off islands – four of them from this angle. There was a table and chair where Max said he wrote. Amelia had learned during the walk when they weren't engaged in the prelude to sex that he wrote romantic novels set in Old Germany.

"I haven't spotted any of your books."

"You will not have; I have not yet been translated into English. Just Russian and Italian so far."

"Then you are successful as a writer?"

"More than adequately so. The demand for my books is such that my publisher allows me to locate way off here away from her grasp."

"Does she grasp it often?"

"I don't get what you mean?"

"You cock."

Max flushed and grinned. "Every time I go to her office in Munich but alas she's not high on the list of great cock-suckers. She's fifty-five and has a very greedy mouth."

"Then I hope she'd a good publisher."

"Very good; without her and the excellence of her company I would not have been successful in my writing endeavors. She understands that promotion through sustained publicity is the key. When I first came here five years ago to have this hut built she called a press conference and media published and broadcast her lament: "I've lost my best author; where is he? He's gone into retreat somewhere in the South Pacific – this is a disaster, just when he's become so hot as a writer."

Max smiled. "She wore a silver metallic dress with her tits looking like they were molded by a breast plate and she plied the media with top quality liquor. She charmed their ethics away from them and they pushed to have their stories they produced used. As a result my book sales soared. Then in round two, she flew two magazine journalists with their photographers out here to interview me – Gretel knew all along where I was as she made me a cash advance to buy the power generator to charge my computer battery and install a proper kitchen with gas-fired appliances. Those two magazines published the story of me and my magnificent retreat and that's why I have residential privileges on this resort-owned island. Just over half the bookings now come from Germany."

After putting Amelia to bed for a rest, Max sat at his desk and told her a story - Amelia knew of the name connection – but Max injected either true or make-believe into the story of Princess Amelia Sophie of Hanover.

Under law governing succession to the British throne, Princess Amelia's grandfather became King of Great Britain in 1714 following the death of Queen Anne. Amelia's father became Duke of Cornwall, and was created Prince of Wales on September 27, 1714. Amelia became Her Royal Highness Princess Amelia Sophia of Wales. She moved to Great Britain with her family and resided at St James's Palace in London. In 1727, King George I died and her father succeeded him as King George II. Amelia was now styled Her Royal Highness, The Princess Amelia Sophia.

"She brought the name Amelia to Great Britain," Max said.

"I know," Amelia said, drifting into sleep. Max woke her just before sunset. "Wash – there is a small bathroom inside."

He gave her the chair at the table and he sat on a stool; he looked excited when handing her a tropical cocktail, the base of which was dark rum and brandy.

"Sip it slowly; it's very potent."

"What?" she asked, watching his excitement mount.

"My next novel, I'll insist that Gretel publishes it in both German and English – it shall be my fanciful account of the life of Princess Amelia Sophia."

"What a lovely idea – but based on historical fact?"

"Yes but why do you ask?" "I've always wondered how the Germans seized the monarchy without an invasion."

"Well, I shall tell you."

"No, I'll buy the English version of your novel – it might be your only sale," she giggled.

"You cheeky bitch," he laughed. "Come, we are due at Thomo's home for dinner in half an hour – it will be island style fare. No time for sex."

"No way," Amelia laughed. "I can barely walk as it is."

It had to end. For one thing Amelia was keeping Max away from his writing. She took a photo of the quite large group farewelling her, Max, Thomo and Anna in the centre; it was a photo that would go into her principal album labeled on the cover, 'Memories Forever'.

Max stood with her as Amelia was about to board. She asked for not the first time over recent days, "You'll come to Chicago and stay with me?"

"I promise," he said, leaving Amelia to hope desperately that wasn't a lie.

She kissed the scarred side of his face; he was quite used to her doing that now. He was due to fly to Sydney soon for surgery.

Amelia wept rivers and Max squeezed her tightly and said goodbye darling. She knew that was the first time he'd called her that but was too distressed to really react beyond squeezing him in desperate affection.

The seaplane had arrived with a full load – the tourist season was underway again. But she was the only outward passenger. The pilot was American – lanky and dull altogether making it quite one of the most boring flights in her life. All he wanted to talk about was himself.

They landed in Nadi Bay and as her luggage was being placed in the courtesy car for the short trip to the international airport when, "Say, I'd recognized that ass anywhere – how are you love? Did Max score with you?"

It was motor-mouth Gus, the guy who'd flown Amelia to paradise. Without thinking she cried "Oh Gus," and went crying to him.

"Hush, hush, my baby," he said, "It always has to end."

Amelia attempted to draw away and he freed her – reluctantly judging by his sigh.

"Max is going to write about a historical namesake of mine," she sniffed.

"If Max had any sense he'd write about you," Gus grinned, reaching into his top left-hand button-down pocket of his white shirt. "Remember my lovely, it's not always there for the taking; sometimes one has to work for it."

Amelia kissed Gus goodbye and sat beside the driver wondering what Gus had been talking about...'sometimes one has to work for it.' Work for what? And what was this paper Gus had taken from his pocket and thrust into her hand?

At the airport counter the clerk was shaking her head saying Amelia's ticket was a Chicago-Fiji-Chicago booking of a type that allowed no variation.

"Please call your supervisor, Amelia said, in a tone Al had called her dangerous voice.

"May I help you Mrs Kennedy," asked the extremely tall Fijian. "Yes, I need to cancel my seat back to Chicago later today and instead fly to Sydney and return here and then pick up my paid-for Fiji-Chicago leg. And I want that done without being heavily financially penalized because that's not fair, simply not fair, and Thomo says these are the Friendly Islands so I cannot believe my wishes cannot be met."

"Thomo – you mean Thomo out at Oasis Resort?"

"Is there another Thomo in Fiji?"

The supervisor grinned – only half the guys who take the English name Thomas, but there's only one Thomo at Oasis – he's my younger brother."

"That's very interesting and he's a very nice man. I went fishing at dawn with him and Max and..."

"You know Max as well?"

"Yes and Anna, and your mother and grandmother and Thomo's mother. But I can't see how this is any help to me."

"You're practically family – change the bookings Lily, no penalty – here is my authorization code for this transaction. Try to get Mrs Kennedy on that flight to Sydney due in two hours and then call someone to take her to the VIP lounge."

"Yes Johno."

"I guess you know Max flies to Sydney early next week for a surgeon to fix up those so-called knife wounds on his face."

"Yes, Gus gave me the flight times and Sydney hotel details when I few in twenty minutes ago."

"You know Gus?"

"Yes, he's wearing my lipstick. The old boy's quite a charmer isn't her?"

"Is there anybody of note you don't know in Fiji, Mrs Kennedy."

"The name is Amelia, Johno. And what do you mean by 'so-called knife wounds'?"

"Everyone knows Max goofed up and was tossed on to a reef. He's such a great guy that we all pretend we believe the knifing brawl yarn."

When she stopped laughing Amelia asked Johno if he could phone Thomo for her.

"There's no phone connection – it's too remote. I'll call by radio and connect you to the desk in the VIP lounge. They listen in for radio calls on the hour. Oasis refuses to install micro-wave or satellite communications because the whole idea of being remote is not having easy communication."

"Hello Amelia, I hope there's no problem?"

"No, not at all, Thomo. I've found paradise and want it back. I'd like to apply for that post of assistant guest liaison manager I saw posted on the notice board."

"Why?"

"To remain near to Max, I wish to romance him into something permanent."