An Island in a Wine Dark Sea

"Yes," he answered. "It's almost nine. The restaurants will be opening."

"I'll buy you dinner."

"Good. Let's go somewhere expensive."

"No, you have to appreciate me for my inner qualities - not my money."

"I've appreciated those inner qualities, my little Sunday school teacher. You have fulfilled my adolescent dreams. Splendidly."

"Actually," she said. "I am a Sunday school teacher. And a preacher's wife."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding. Don't ask any more questions."

They joined again, frantic this time. It was over quickly. Then, they showered together.

Afterwards. she rummaged through her suitcase, "What to wear?" she puzzled.

"Definitely not one of these." He held up a bra. "How about one of my t-shirts?"

She tried on the t-shirt. It was too large. "Isn't it too casual for wearing out at night?"

"Sheila, you're not in Kansas anymore."

She looked in the mirror. "When I raise my arm, you can see my tit through the armhole."

"That's the idea."

It was, she thought, a nice looking breast. She put on an ankle-length, flowery wrap-around skirt to go with the t-shirt.

They ate at a restaurant in a triangle where two walkways met on a tiny plaza with a large pine tree in the center. She ate swordfish and scordalia; he ate a gyro and French fries. They both drank beer. The life of the town flowed around them. She was uncomfortable. She had never been in public without wearing a bra, The outline and color of her nipples showed through the thin fabric of the t-shirt. She had the awful fear of the one chance in a million that she would see somebody that she knew.

"Do you want to go dancing?" Rory asked.

"Yes, that would be fun." That would also be a way to escape from this all-too-public restaurant where she felt guilty and sinful. But Maggie rarely danced. It would be frowned on back home for the preacher's wife to be seen gyrating around a dance floor. She paid the bill.

Rory led her down a narrow street to a door in a wall that opened into an interior courtyard with a bar, a few tables to one side, and a small flagstone dance floor. Recorded music blared from two large speakers. A few couples were dancing. She was relieved to see that her t-shirt was appropriate for the occasion. They ordered beer. More people were arriving. Soon, they were standing three deep at the bar.

A tall man grabbed her arm and half-dragged her toward the dance floor. She looked back in dismay at Rory. He was talking to a tall, blonde well-endowed girl — probably a "Swedesa" as the Greeks called all Scandinavians.

The dance floor was so crowded that Maggie didn't need to worry about her lack of dancing skill. She just stood and shook her body, and held her arms up and felt other people rubbing against her. Rory was dancing now with the young, beautiful Scandinavian whose unrestrained breasts bounced like basketballs.

She frowned. The likelihood that Rory would return to her hotel room was diminishing. Her dancing partner handed her a beer and she drank it quickly. She must get back to Rory. She staggered off the dance floor. Rory was now standing at the bar with his Scandinavian princess.

"Sheila," he shouted above the din, "Meet Gudren."

"My name is not Gudren," said the princess.

"And mine is not Sheila," Maggie answered. Maggie attempted to smile sweetly.

Confidently. If she was going to lose Rory, she was going to try to do it with style — and hide her anguish.

Gudren looked her over. Maggie felt like a cabbage in a rose garden, but Rory said, "Sheila is my lady." He kissed her on the cheek.

Maggie choked up in relief. "He is mine!" She looked at Gudren with what she hoped was a benevolent smile.

Gudren surveyed the situation, returned Maggie's smile, and said, "I should be going. See you around, Hans."

"Hans?" Maggie asked after Gudren walked away.

"My middle name. I was just giving Gudren some advice on how she could meet men."

The advice seemed to have worked. Gudren with the basketball boobs was surrounded by men on the dance floor.

***

Maggie paid the bar bill, taken aback at the cost, and they left the bar and began walking back to the hotel, arm in arm. She was drunker than she had ever been. Both of them felt urgency. The streets were emptying. The night was moonless.

They were alone on the street that ran just above the beach. They embraced, a long lingering kiss, pushing their bodies hard against each other. "Where I slept last night would be good," he said. He took her hand.

He led her down a trail around a retaining wall to a sandy spot beneath a pine tree on a ledge just above the murmuring waves of the sea. "Here it is. Home sweet home."

They stripped their clothes off and threw themselves down on the sand, grappling with each other. The prickly pine needles and the rocks hurt her back. "Ow!"

He rolled off her. "I'll lie on my back to save your skin."

"You Aussies have tough skin?"

"Kangaroo hide."

She rode him to completion, sitting upright, her head facing toward his feet and her eyes looking out at the calm, dark sea. Their climax was like a ripple, gentle and pleasant.

"Do you always come?" he asked.

"Yes, even when my husband fucks me..." She giggled. "Oops, I didn't mean it to sound like that."

He was rustling among the pine needles. "Hey! Our clothes fell into the water."

He retrieved their clothes from the lapping waves of the sea. She wrapped her skirt around herself and slipped on the t-shirt. It was soaking wet. It clung to her.

They walked back to the hotel. A few people were still on the streets. She kept her breasts covered with crossed arms. but she was euphoric. She thought of the line from 'Huckleberry Finn.' "All right, then. I'll go to hell!"

***

It was nearly noon the next day when Maggie woke. Rory was there with a large bottle of water and a pot of tea. She staggered to the bathroom, peed, walked naked back to the bed, drank deeply of the water, and settled onto the pillows with a cup of tea balanced on her chest. "My head hurts," she moaned.

"Can I fuck you while you're drinking tea?" he asked.

"Carefully, please. This tea is hot." She kissed him on the cheek and put the tea cup and saucer on the bedside table as he mounted her. "I hurt all over," she said, "but I feel so comfortable. With you, I mean. I never...well, you know...I haven't had much romance in my life. Not nearly enough. I just feel good." She laughed. "I'm still drunk, I think."

He stopped moving within her. "I have to leave in a couple of hours," he announced.

"What?" She pushed his face away from her cheek to look at him.

"I have reservations to return to Australia tomorrow. I have to catch the ferry to the mainland this afternoon."

"Oh," was all she could think to say.

"I'm sorry. Should I have told you sooner?"

"No, it was best I didn't know." She had tears in her eyes and her voice broke.

"Let's enjoy this last moment." They melded together as one.

After they climaxed, he stayed on top of her. She poured herself another cup of tea.

"Don't move," she said. She set the saucer on his back and sipped the tea over his shoulder. He stayed inside her for a long time.

"It's been fun," he said finally. "I have to pack and leave."

He got up and began stuffing things into his back pack. He picked up the t-shirt she had worn the night before and tossed it to her on the bed. "Here, keep this. It's my favorite. I'll wear my second favorite."

Rory handed her a scrap of paper. "Here's my name — my real name — and my address and phone number. If you're ever in Perth, give me a tinkle. I'll come running. And I'll pay for the beer." He kissed her on the cheek. Suddenly, he looked more like a man than a boy. "It has been my privilege to love you on an island in a wine dark sea."

"Homer," she said. "You do know something about Greece."

"'And jealous now of me, you gods...out on the wine-dark sea.' I studied Classics at the University. I'm an archaeologist. Soon to be employed."

She sat on the bed and cried and her tears tasted salty. He put his arm around her and she cried on his shoulder.

"It's late. I have to go."

"Don't mind me. It went so quickly. I'm just...disappointed." she whimpered.

"Do you have children?" he asked.

"Two."

"I hope they grow up to be like you." He walked out the door.

Maggie folded the piece of paper with his name and address on it and put in her purse. It stayed there until the paper disintegrated years later and she burned the fragments in an empty butter dish on her kitchen table.

***