A Week in the Caribbean

I looked blankly at him.

"Exotic dancers, strippers."

"Oh, okay."

"Anyway the name stuck, as a joke, and you could buy these shirts and stuff with it printed on. It's a better name than what most people called it, which was Clearwater Dumb-Ass, since only dumbasses go there."

"Harsh."

"But probably true. My dad paid all my tuition and everything and I probably went to about two classes in two years."

"And that's how you ended up here?"

Chuck grinned at me. "Not quite. That's a whole sad story and you seem like you need optimism tonight."

I shook my head. "No, I'm interested, that's all. I never even went to university."

"How come?"

"I'm not smart enough."

"You'd have fitted in just fine at Clearwater Dance Academy," Chuck laughed. "You seem way smarter than most of the people there."

"Sounds like you are, too."

Chuck shrugged. "People have been telling me that my whole life, but here I am, drinking the Rainbow Special instead of running a Fortune 500 company."

We sat in silence for a few moments and then Chuck noticed my drink.

"Oh, sorry, I should get you another." He reached over for the vodka bottle and plonked it on the bar next to me. "As of now, the bar's self-service."

I poured it into my glass. "You want some?"

He held out his half-drunk mixture of juice and I topped it up.

"If we're talking t-shirt words, what about yours?" Chuck asked, pointing directly at my left breast. "Who or what is 'Caroline's Hen'?"

"Hen party, like a, uh, bachelorette party," I explained. "Caroline's my sister, she got married two years ago."

"And you all got t-shirts?" This idea seemed to amuse Chuck.

"Yeah. Caroline's was pink, though, as she was the bride."

"Did it get crazy? The party?"

I laughed. "No, not really."

"No strippers?"

"No strippers."

"Oh, c'mon, that's barely a bachelorette party."

"I was already married, I was hardly going to chase after some random stripper," I said, giggling.

"So what did you get up to then? Something to do with hens?"

"No, we just had a night out drinking, you know, a bar crawl. I got pretty hammered and threw up on the train home, actually."

This made Chuck laugh. "Team Manager Tallie threw up on the train home, that's hilarious, I love that."

It was infectious and I laughed too, even though my memories of the night were mostly blurry and unpleasant. "I hardly ever throw up from drinking, so I must have been really bad. I think it was whatever we ate, actually. Caroline brought this big bag of sweets shaped like dicks and they were really good, actually, so I think I ate too many. Combined with all the alcohol."

"Dick-shaped candy, that's awesome."

"My puke was rainbow-coloured from all the sweets, I remember that. It looked a bit like your drink, in a way."

Chuck looked down at his drink, then slowly poured it away. "Well, thanks for that. I think I'll retire the Rainbow Special permanently."

I snorted with laughter and Chuck got himself a clean glass, pouring rum and sugar and whatever else he usually mixed into a glass. "You had one of these?" he asked, pointing to it.

"No, I don't think so."

"Here, you have this one. It's good, I promise."

It turned out to be rum and ginger beer, which did taste nice, although the brown sugar made it too sweet. But alongside the vodka it was quite palatable, and I could feel myself getting much more drunk between the help-yourself bottle of vodka and Chuck making me a second rum cocktail.

"So, what about you, have you got a girlfriend?" I asked, and Chuck looked at me. "You already know I'm married, so it's only fair."

"Hmm, I'll allow it," Chuck said. "Yeah, I have a girlfriend. Two, actually."

"Two?"

"Well, we're not really exclusive, like boyfriend-girlfriend. More like, there's two girls who I usually hang out with."

"Friends with benefits."

"Sorta, yeah."

"Do they know about each other?"

"In a way. Like I say, it's not really exclusive."

This seemed cryptic. "Come on, you can tell me. One of them knows but not the other?"

Chuck had more of his drink. "No, it's not that. It's more... well, my dad's mega rich and I'm his only child, so one day it'll all be mine, right? So there are certain girls who are probably more interested in my dad's money than me, really. It's hard to tell. We have a good time and everything, but underneath, there's always this part of me that wonders, what if I was just a regular guy without any money? Would you even talk to me?"

I blinked. I hadn't expected that as an answer and I felt sorry for him. Well, as sorry as you can feel for a guy whose dad is a millionaire.

"That sucks," I said. "At least you've got your money, one day, that will probably help."

Chuck laughed. "You bet your ass it'll help. As soon as I get my hands on it, we're talking non-stop parties, strippers, drugs, you name it."

"The American Dream, right?"

"The American Dream," Chuck repeated, looking happy. "Anyway, both of these girls are babes and I'm not gonna say no to them, even if they are only after my dad's money."

"Typical man," I said.

"Right." Chuck emptied the last of the vodka bottle into our glasses and picked his up. "One for the road, it's past closing."

I downed the glass against my better judgement. I knew I would feel rough in the morning again, but I couldn't deny I was in a much better mood. I hadn't thought about Simon for hours, and going back to the room seemed much easier now.

"Same time tomorrow?" Chuck asked.

"Maybe."

"Maybe maybe. Get some water before you go to sleep, you'll thank yourself in the morning."

"Say hi to your girlfriends for me."

"There's no trains here to throw up in so you'll have to go easy."

I smiled as I walked, slightly unsteadily, back in the direction of the hotel block, leaving him to close the bar down.

Wednesday

"Well, it's your turn," Chuck said, ice clinking in my glass as he poured vodka in. "I told you about my sad, pathetic life yesterday. I want to hear about yours."

After the last other guests left the bar, we'd abandoned all pretence of using it and Chuck had dragged a bucket of ice, two bottles of vodka and two sun loungers over to the edge of the deserted pool. It was beautifully warm this evening, the kind of warm which reminds you why you went on holiday in the first place, and even this late in the evening it was comfortable sitting out in just a vest and shorts. Chuck had wasted no time earlier in noticing my cleavage, but for some reason I didn't really mind. The reason was probably booze-related.

Lying like this, both facing the pool with its underwater lights glowing a pale yellow, gentle ripples on the surface, we felt more like friends than a hotel guest and the guy who was running the bar. Maybe we were friends: I preferred talking to Chuck at that moment in time than practically anyone else in the world.

"Who says my life is sad and pathetic?" I replied as he reached over with my refilled glass. I took it and sipped, then sighed.

"That sigh says it's sad and pathetic," Chuck laughed.

He wasn't wrong. "What do you want to know?" I asked him, lying my head back and looking up at the black silhouette of a palm tree, motionless in the windless evening.

"Why are you here drinking every night on your own?"

It was a question I'd asked myself enough times. How to answer? Because I don't like my husband? Because I'd rather drink and forget about life than try to live it? Because closing my eyes to sleep when I was sober meant a crushing sense of disappointment and despair?

"Because the drinks are free."

Chuck snorted. "You Brits never want to talk about yourselves. I spend all day listening to Americans and Canadians tell me their life stories over a diet ginger ale and here you are, making jokes."

"Their life stories can't be very interesting if they only need one drink to tell them."

"You're telling me. But you seem interesting, Tallie, that's why I asked you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." I smirked, but relented. "I suppose, to answer your question, my husband and I... we're not really in a good place."

"I noticed that when you were out here earlier," Chuck said, without any judgement in his voice. I'd got better at handling my hangovers and didn't feel so awful when I was supervising the kids in the pool during the afternoon, but Simon and I had had a public spat and things had been terse between us since.

"He'd been going on and on about the fucking suncream and why someone had used his special suncream when they should have used the other suncream and I just snapped at him, told him to stick his special suncream up his arse and fuck off. It wasn't even about the suncream," I said, in a rush, getting it off my chest. "I did use the wrong suncream, but, I'm just so bloody sick of him."

"Good for you," Chuck said, enthusiastically. "I'm on your side, here."

"If Simon told you his side, you'd probably think I was a complete bitch."

"I'm not too worried about that. But usually when couples come to the resort, they're a bit happier together than that. The beds get a good workout, if you know what I mean."

I rolled my eyes and sipped my drink. "That's half the bloody problem. He woke me up at half six this morning; I felt like shit, obviously, but after a few minutes of wondering what was going on I realised he was trying to 'get me in the mood'. But really he's just pawing at my tits and rubbing his dick on my leg, not exactly Mr Casanova."

Chuck laughed so hard he slopped half of his drink over the pool tiles, and I wondered why I had just told him that. I wouldn't tell my best friend about it and Chuck was practically a stranger.

"So did you give in to Casanova?" Chuck asked, feeling around for the bottle to give himself a refill.

"No, I told him to stick it. Caught him watching a porno on his phone in the shower while I was trying to get the kids up and ready later on, though, so I assume he still got himself off."

"Married life sure sounds fun," Chuck commented. "I can't wait."

I sighed again, deeper this time. "It sounds funny but it's exhausting, really. Our marriage is like a wall made up of bricks, and every brick is another little petty argument like the ones today. You just wake up one day and, there it is, it's been built between you and it's too high to climb over any more."

"Would you divorce him?"

"God, no, it's not got that bad. I don't think I could face him coming to pick the kids up at the weekend and trying to be nice to his new wife. No, it's better how it is."

We both sat in silence for a minute, and I watched the palm tree, trying desperately to think of reasons why I shouldn't be depressed.

"You know, I'm not exactly a marriage counsellor but you should stand up for yourself more."

This wasn't really what I had expected to hear from Chuck, and he seemed to sense my surprise.

"I mean it. I saw when you were swimming this afternoon, you let him walk all over you, telling you what to do and where to sit and everything. If my dad spoke to my mom like that she'd whack him, right there, no matter who was watching."

I smiled at the thought. "There are lots of times I'd dearly love to whack him..."

"So, do it, if you want to. So what if he gets upset? He's supposed to be the man in the marriage, you know, the protector, the provider. He should be sitting by the pool, getting you drinks from the cute guy at the bar and teaching the kids to swim, not complaining about his suncream and walking off when you get mad at him."

"That's never been Simon," I told him. "He's a born complainer, always has been. Although I'm complaining about him at the moment, so we're probably just as bad as each other, really."

Chuck sat up, excited. "See, this is what I mean, Tallie. You say you're bad, but you're not. Stand up for yourself."

I laughed. "Life advice from a guy who's twenty-one and has two girlfriends. I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm twenty-two. And I'm right about this."

"It's too depressing to talk about. Let's talk about something funny," I said, feeling defensive again.

"Alright, I've got a good story if you want to hear it."

"I'd love to."

Chuck increased the anticipation by pausing to pour out more vodka, and I was slightly alarmed to see that the first bottle was empty. With it being warm I was clearly thirsty and I started to feel anxious about how much I'd drunk, but when Chuck started speaking I forgot it.

"So, this happened when I was in high school, senior year. Do you have seniors over in England?"

"No."

"It's the final year of high school, before college. Everyone's seventeen or eighteen."

"Okay, senior year. Like High School Musical."

Chuck looked at me like I was a mad woman. "Yeah, exactly like High School Musical," he said, slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching. He took a drink to hide his real feelings. "So, it's senior year and my buddy, Lewis, he's got this white girlfriend, Selena. She's just turned eighteen like a week ago, she was practically the last girl in our year to turn eighteen or whatever, and the two of them are building up to this big romantic anniversary or something where they're finally gonna do it and lose their virginities.

"Now Lewis, I love him, but he's as dumb as a brick. He lives with his brother and two dogs and there's absolutely no way this chick wants to get railed for the first time on a couch that smells of a hound dog's ass. He thinks it'll be okay but I'm telling him, no, man, you've gotta listen to me on this one. But he says, she lives with her mom and about a bazillion brothers and sisters and step sisters and half brothers and whatnot, so there's no privacy at all.

"So, I say to Lewis, hey, man, why don't you use my place? It's huge, my parents will be out at work until late and you can have the entire guest suite to yourselves. Someone could detonate a bomb in that suite and I wouldn't hear it from the kitchen, right, so it's perfect."

"What a good friend you are," I said, dryly.

"Thanks," Chuck replied, either indifferent to my tone or uncomprehending. "The big day rolls around and Lewis, you know, he ain't smart, he's showing me this bag with condoms and whatnot, anxious it's the right thing, and I'm like, firstly, a condom is a condom, and secondly, I'm a scrawny eighteen year old virgin myself, I don't fucking know what to do with a condom either.

"So Selena arrives, all prettied up, and he takes her off to the guest suite. I make myself a milkshake to pass the time. They start making out and getting handsy and Selena starts kissing her way down there and before you know it, his dick's in her mouth."

"How do you know this?" I interrupted. "You weren't watching, were you?"

"He told me afterwards."

"And he told the truth?"

Chuck laughed. "Lewis wouldn't make something like this up, trust me. So where was I, oh yeah, she's blowing him, and then suddenly he thinks, damn, I really need to pee."

"Oh God, it's not one of those disgusting stories is it?" I asked, looking over at him.

"No, no, it's not like that. He really needs to pee so he tells her, listen, I gotta use the bathroom, but because this is romantic and stuff he doesn't want to take a leak in the guest suite where she might hear him. So he grabs his pants and leaves her sitting there so he can go out and use the family bathroom down the hall. Now, I hear him come out and I'm thinking, what's going on, is he done already, I haven't even made my milkshake yet. He walks through to the kitchen and explains that he needs the bathroom, and I'm like, sure, cool, go for it, I'll be here, with my milkshake.

"Now he does his business, goes back to Selena and they get back to it. She's down there, sucking him again, and he's like, oh fuck, I need to pee again. It's been about five minutes since the last time, though, so he's confused, but he tells her he needs the bathroom and leaves. I'm still trying to drink my milkshake and here he is, on his way to the bathroom again."

"Is the milkshake central to the story?"

"Are you the one telling it?"

"Sorry."

"So I ask what's going on, is he nervous or something, and he's saying he doesn't know what it is but she's blowing him and he keeps needing to pee. Says it's never happened any of the other times she's blown him.

"I suggest maybe they skip the oral for today and just get down to the main course, so he does his business, goes back to Selena, and tells her he thinks they should do it. He gets his condom, gets on top of her and starts doing the deed, but he needs to pee again. He powers through this time. Straight away she's super into it, moaning and grabbing him and all that shit, asking him to go deeper or faster and suchlike. He's getting into it, having a great time, really giving it to her, she's going crazy for it, when suddenly the whole area is soaking wet."

I groaned. "No..." I said, not wanting to hear more but also really wanting to.

"Lewis is thinking, holy shit, I just pissed in the condom and it's fucking everywhere. And she's thinking, oh my God, I'm fucking bleeding to death, he's ripped me apart. Lewis freaks out, jumps off her, just fucking runs out of the door."

I laughed, my hand covering my mouth. "He just abandoned her?"

"He was long gone, hadn't even got his pants back on before he was in his car. I'm like, what the hell is happening in my house right now? I go out to see him and he just drives off screaming 'I pissed in her', and then I hear Selena yelling from the bedroom, 'oh my God, I'm dying, call someone'. I think he's pissed on her so I rush over, go into the room and Selena's laying there, under the blanket, looking like she's seen a ghost. I ask what's wrong, she says she thinks she's bleeding out but the sight of blood makes her faint and she can't look. She's really freaky, breathing weird and eyes wide, so I'm just like, okay, let me have a look."

"You looked?" I asked, incredulous.

"Well, yeah, I couldn't let her die, could I? I was expecting piss but you never know. So I lifted up the blanket and there's Selena's bare-ass white pussy, no blood in sight, and no piss, either. But it is wet down there, so I tell her it's not blood and she whips that blanket back down so fast it made my head spin. She spends the next few minutes hunched over looking at it, then she tells me to get out and five minutes later, she's gone too. Now tell me, did you guess it? What was all the wet?"

"No..."

Chuck laughed. "It was her pussy: he made her cum and she creamed fucking everywhere. Couldn't believe it. He fucks her, she cums, and he runs the fuck out of the house."

I shook my head. "That really happened?"

"Honest truth. And you know the worst part?"

"What?"

"My mom got home a few hours later, she goes into the guest suite for some reason, and the place just stinks of pussy. She thinks it's me that brought some girl over, and for the next month all I get is lectures about safe sex and my mom asking when she can meet my girlfriend. And I'm sitting there, never even seen a girl's tits and the only pussy I've been near had just been fucked by some other dude, and Mom's getting the house ready for grandkids."

"That's one of the most ridiculous stories I've ever heard," I told him, truthfully. "What happened? Did they break up?"

"Oh, nah, they've got a kid, now. Selena sometimes did summer work over here for extra money but not really since the baby."

I'd been drinking the whole time he'd been talking and I was definitely feeling drunk now with no idea what time it was. I sat up abruptly, the lounger lurching, and I grabbed the side of it to steady myself. "Oh, I think it might be time to go," I said, trying not to think about the whole empty bottle.

"It is pretty late," Chuck conceded.