"Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain speaking. We'll be touching down at Princess Juliana Airport in just about 11 minutes. It's currently a muggy 28 Celsius in St. Maarten, which is exactly what the forecast temperature is for the rest of the week..." Looking out her window Regina could see the island in the distance. She unconsciously gripped Joe's knee beside her, squeezing it as a shiver of excitement and, although she didn't want to admit it -- fear, ran down her back.
Even from here, she could see the tiny white sliver of concrete runway practically bisecting the island. 'Damn that television show,' she thought. Just last month, when she'd been in New York on business, she'd done what she would normally never do, she turned on the television. Flipping through the channels, just to see if there was anything that intrigued her, she'd seen a picture of an airport. She didn't even know what the show was, or which airport it was, but she heard the words "St. Maarten," and paused. It was a documentary about "the 10 most dangerous airports in the world," and the picture on the screen just happened to be the airport that they were scheduled to fly into the following month - today. As she watched, she'd realized it was just that it was tricky from the visual perspective, landing right over the heads of tourists on the beach, and that the runway wasn't quite as long as what most modern runways were. Not knowing much about flying she'd figured that the airlines and pilots weren't going to normally do anything that might be dangerous to themselves and the television show was just trying to be sensational and make it sound bad. At least she hoped so. And now, here as they were about to turn on final, the thought of that television show popped into her brain one more time, and the fearful shiver of "what if" trickled through her conscience.
Forcing the thought of large 747's and Airbus's and tiny runways out of her mind, she smiled instead at the thought that had sent a thrill down her spine, of what she hoped and dreamed might happen. Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced sideways at Joe. Sensing her looking at him, he looked up from the book in his lap? "Almost there?" He questioned, ducking his head a little to look out the window just as the airliner began its turn to final.
"That's it, right there," she answered, her finger pointing to the tiny speck of land. "Do you see the runway?" she asked, the island disappearing from their sight as the bank steepened.
Joe just shook his head "no" in response, the inane tour guide voice of the captain finally coming to an end the background. "Flight attendants, be seated for landing!"
The speck of land had disappeared, as it was now straight ahead of the airplane, and once again little could be seen except the blue of the ocean. In the distance a small boat was heading the opposite direction, the long V of the wake forming an arrowhead with the boat at the tip. Images of what she imagined the vacation would be like began flipping through her mind like slides in a slideshow. Broad sandy beaches with tall palm trees sweeping over the edge; sitting at a beachside bar, a drink with an umbrella in it in one hand, the same image this time at a resort swimming pool with a poolside bar where she was seated on the slightly submerged stool; an image of a crystal clear blue Lagoon, a couple with swim fins and snorkels swimming along hand-in-hand. In her mind she let that image linger; the swimsuits disappeared, replaced by the white of their naked bottoms. She imagined a small secluded cove, a small nook of sand and making love under the tropical sun.
She shook her head, clearing the naughty picture in her mind and glanced again at Joe, realizing there was no way that image included him. The faceless body of her daydream, the tanned muscular body with rivulets of water draining from it, was not the body of her husband. Although she loved her husband dearly and had for years, and although she knew he would do anything for her that was humanly possible, she knew that was never going to happen. As it always did when she thought back at times like this, the image of him collapsed unconscious on top of her, or rather unconscious in her, where he had passed out as they were making love, dominated her mind.
He had almost died. They had laughed together over the years since then about "what a great way to go" that would have been -- the ultimate orgasm. As it was, he hadn't died, she'd gotten over the embarrassment of having to tell the paramedics and doctors again and again exactly what he'd been doing when he collapsed, and he'd been diagnosed with a bundle block, a heart condition that prevented him from doing anything that might over exert himself, ever again.
At first she'd just been so relieved that he was alive. She had never told him but, every time they had laughed together about how she had "nearly fucked him to death," she thanked God that he hadn't died. She also had never told him that over the years that, more and more, she found herself wondering what life would have been like for her if he had died. Perhaps not wishing that he died, just wondering what would have happened if he had died? Not while they were actually making love, she never wished that. How could she live with herself, ever enjoy sex again, if her husband's last act on earth was an orgasm inside her? But, what if he had died in the hospital, or in the ambulance on the way? Little did she realize, at the time when they found that he was going to live, that in not losing her husband, she was being sentenced to a life of vanilla.
With his heart condition, no more could they do the exciting, adventurous things they had done before. Backpacking in the Alps, skiing in the winter, windsurfing in the summer; they had been active in life, but now -- it was all the same. He could no longer take the heat; high temperatures meant that he had to be in air conditioning. Walking through the park meant that he had to stop and let his heart catch up. Lovemaking had always been part of those adventures; different positions, different places. They had fucked in the hot tub after a day of skiing at Val d'isere; they'd made love on a mountaintop and in the moonlight on the beach. They even once managed to get naughty in the sauna at the Frankfurt airport hotel during a layover, not quite being interrupted by two women who walked in and dropped their towels to sit down on them naked; she had barely wiped the mess from between her legs when they came in. Even in those early days, twisting and squirming in the backseat of her mother's Volvo had been adventuresome - but all of that was before. Now, just like their life, their lovemaking was vanilla.
Not that he couldn't perform, he definitely could. His cock filled her just as well as it always had, she could cum just as she always had, but now it was always the same. They would climb into bed, he would fondle her or finger her, or even go down on her, until she would cum or she was ready for more, and then he would roll over onto his back and she would climb on, filling herself with his cock and fuck him until he'd cum, sometimes until they'd both cum.
Not that she didn't enjoy it, most of the time she definitely did. But now, she did all the work. There were times when she wanted to roll over, put her ass into the air and have him take her from behind, pounding into her, his sweat dripping onto her back. There were times she wished he could be spontaneous like the early days; pulling over on a long drive and doing it on some country lane. Even to just lay back and spread her legs and let him fuck her senseless - or better yet, after she worked him over, to have him be able to roll over and do her for a second or third time. Come to think of it, when was the last time they had done it more than once? That was probably what she missed the most; doing it, resting and doing it again. Now, as often as not, sex seemed as much of a chore as doing dishes. She sighed quietly to herself; that's what she really wanted -- not to make love, but to be fucked.
There had been times when they had finished their lovemaking, or rather when she had gotten him off, when she had been less than satisfied and she'd told him. He was always willing to do more, to go down on her again, or to rest a bit until he was ready to go so she could do it again. Not to hurt his feelings, she had told him, but there were times when she needed him to fuck her, she needed a man to ravage her body. She needed him to bend her over the stuffed chair and take her from behind. She needed him to attack her in the kitchen - pushing her back onto the counter, ripping her panties from her legs, tonguing her until she begged him for more, then pull his cock out and do her standing against the kitchen counter. She wanted him to hold her, her naked breasts and arms flattened against the hotel room window, pounding into her from behind as he had on their honeymoon. She wanted it, but there was nothing that he could physically do about that.
He had understood of course, which made it just that much worse. How could she ever cheat on such a man, a man she loved so intimately, who loved her so much in return? Instead of being upset, instead of feeling like she was attacking his manhood, his masculinity, it actually turned him on. Surprisingly he even suggested she should find a lover, someone that could ravage her body the way that he couldn't - at least as long as she didn't fall for this lover and leave him. They had talked about it before, during, and even after their lovemaking; it had always surprised her how hard he would get at the thought of someone else doing her.
In that respect it reminded her of their early years, their bedroom talk of their fantasies; what turned him on, what got her boiler running. They had both shared thoughts of what it would be like to include others in their love life; she admitted that when she was really turned on, that her biggest fantasy was of being on her hands and knees, sucking a cock while being fucked from behind. She'd never confessed to him that neither of the men in that fantasy was him, somehow she couldn't imagine including someone in their lovemaking, but she never told him that.
His fantasy had always been similar, two women at the same time, fucking one while he ate the other's pussy. She even remembered the two women he said he fantasized about the most; her little sister being one, her girlfriend with the big boobs, Lynn, being the other. She'd never really put a face to the man or men in her fantasies, the hard sexy body and gorgeous erection had been more important than the face.
They had never acted on those fantasies, although at one time she had gone as far as to talk with her friend Lynn enough to know that she would have joined them if she had asked. She almost had once, asked Lynn to join them as a present for her husband, but she hadn't been able to open up that much. She'd never quite bought into his fantasy of sharing him with her little sister though and had never spoken to her about such a possibility. Truthfully, they hadn't spoken to each other of those fantasies in years; those were memories from the early years of their marriage.
Still looking out the window, the deep blue of the ocean suddenly turned to aquamarine, and before she could say anything to Joe the beach appeared, skimming under the wingtip. Snapshots of the island appeared; two girls in bikinis walking towards her along the beach, their feet in the water and faces looking up seemingly directly at her; a red pickup truck appeared heading away from her on the road between the beach and the end of the runway, a young boy seated in the back seemingly waving directly to her; a woman on the edge of the beach, ducking, her arm held up in a protective motion, looking up at her plane as the past mere meters overhead. Seconds later the wheels touched the runway, brakes and reverse thrust were applied, the 747 slowing harder and faster than she'd ever felt a plane that large slow down before.
Lynn stood on the balcony of their time share condominium and looked over the complex and the pool below. A smattering of people were in and around the pool and the floating bar but it was far from crowded. She'd been slightly disappointed when they'd first arrived, expecting beach front accommodations and palm trees outside rather than a multi-building complex surrounding large swimming pools, but her disappointment had been assuaged when they saw the room. On the fourth and top floor of the highest building on the hill, she could look out and see the ocean at any time, or like now, walk out and look down at the pool. It was just a short walk down through the complex to a small but convenient beach, but as she'd heard from others -- the best beaches were on the other side of the island anyway. Here were the hotels, restaurants, bars and evening entertainment; elsewhere were sandy beaches, secluded coves and daytime entertainment.
It had taken several hours to get to this point, looking at her watch she found it was after 4 -- the day was virtually shot. When Joe walked up behind her, putting his arms around her and kissing her neck, she nuzzled her head back against him. She wasn't surprised, nor did she stop him when his hands brushed against her breasts. She'd never been one for public exhibitions; but as long as he didn't just openly grope her in public, she didn't mind. A glance around confirmed that nobody could really see them -- they weren't really in public at the moment anyway; she let her hand slide behind her, confirming the hardening penis in his pants. Her mind slipped momentarily into a fantasy; a towel conveniently draped over the glass balcony railing in front of her, if she dropped her pants and leaned forward he could take her from behind and nobody would know...
"What's this?" she whispered instead. "Is somebody happy to be on vacation?" Of course he was, he always was; she was too. But she knew she was going to go back into the condo, probably sit him down on the couch and suck his cock for a few minutes before pushing him onto his back and climbing on top, just as if they'd been home in bed. Essentially that's exactly what happened, although he did surprise her by having her sit on the sofa and eating her to an orgasm before they did it exactly how she knew they would. Despite being in paradise, it was as she knew it would be: vanilla.
"Don't, please?" She stopped and looked at him, she'd been about to put clothes back on.
"What?" Regina questioned, and then understood.
"Go naked for me, you know I love that." She glanced at the door from the bedroom to the living room, instantly assessing the condo. Hidden from view from everywhere as long as she didn't go onto the balcony -- nobody could see or know, but she knew eventually he was going to try to get her topless or naked onto the balcony. He always did; the thought of someone seeing her naked or dressed in her lingerie was one of his greatest turn-ons. She didn't do it all the time, never at home, but on vacations or anniversary trips, she almost always relented and took the chance that someone might see her naked, that someone might see that she wasn't just naked but ready for sex. And she admitted to herself, they had enjoyed some steamy encounters after she'd blatantly displayed herself for others to see, but although she'd always found it stimulating, she considered it was his thing more than hers.
"Later," Regina answered, reaching again for her swimsuit. 'Let's go to the pool for a while, and get something to drink before we find a place to eat." She looked at her watch, "It's already midnight back home -- I don't want to go to bed too early, but I'm kind of tired also."
Joe relented, but pulled her to him before she could put her top on. Fondling her breast with one hand, his other on her bottom, he asked, "Are you going topless?"
"Not here," she answered, pulling away a bit and beginning to fit her breasts to the bra. "I already looked. One woman had her top undone while she was lying on a lounge, but everyone else had tops on." She didn't turn him down, she wasn't averse to going topless on the beach if the whole beach was doing so, but she much preferred someplace more private. She thought of the two women walking on the beach as they flew over; although she'd heard the norm in the Caribbean was European topless, she certainly hadn't seen it -- yet. But she also knew that with his bundle block, and the need to stay cool, hotel pools and ready air conditioning meant that he probably wasn't into much beach bumming either. She shook her head to herself wistfully. Vanilla.
They immediately got into the pool; just the exertion of walking from the elevator to the pool had made them hot in the sweltering tropical heat. A brief sprinkle had seemed to cool things down earlier, however the heat came back intensified once the shower passed. The pool water was cool and the iced drinks at the floating bar even more so. Looking around, Regina realized there were at least twice as many people out now once the direct afternoon sun had begun to drop to the horizon. Looking around, she spotted two young good looking women, a blonde and a brunette just walking into the pool area. She did a double take, they both looked familiar, but she wasn't sure why. She passed on, gradually taking stock of all the swimmers and sunbathers
There were a few sun worshipers out; most were in and out of the water to cool off. A half-dozen older teenage kids, probably college age she guessed, were playing in the water in one area, but those were the youngest people she saw. When she mentioned it to Joe he asked the bartender who told them this particular area was generally reserved for adults; the younger families were accommodated elsewhere. Completing her survey of the area, she found the two young women she'd noticed earlier swimming toward the bar. As she turned back, she found that Joe's eyes were in their direction, he'd already noticed them.
"Joe!" she stage whispered, "these two women, why do they look so familiar?"
"Flight attendants. " He answered immediately, "they were both on our flight this morning."
"Oh, of course," she answered. She hadn't known from where she recognized them, and without the uniform the only thing that looked the same had been their shapely legs and their faces, not that she'd really checked either one of those assets out before. But she realized that his rapid answer meant that Joe had. "So did you recognize their legs or their faces?" she teased.
Joe glanced back at the two women, now closer in the water. "All I can see is their faces."
"You're telling me you didn't see them when they were approaching the pool?"
"I didn't say that," he grinned back at her, just as the two flight attendants reached the semi-submerged stools. She knew he had, he didn't miss much when it came to pretty girls.
Regina looked over and smiled, nodding and smiling when the nearest one said "Hey!" in greeting. She recognized both of them herself, confirming Joe's identification, now that they were closer.
They ordered drinks before Regina asked, "You two have to fly back tomorrow?"
The brunette glanced at her again with a "do I know you?" look on her face, before recognition lit up her smile. "Sorry, I guess I didn't recognize you without clothes on! At least, with a few less clothes than earlier," she laughed. "You were on the flight in today, right?"
The blonde turned out to be Janice, "just call me Jan", and the brunette Lori. They told them they had a couple of days; they and a group of other flight attendants had gotten together and shared a condo. Every couple of weeks they flew in and got to spend two days at a time, a short mini vacation, and then fly back. It was hard to schedule much more time than that, but as long as they swapped out with other crews, the airline worked with them. They all visited back and forth, learning about each other until Joe interrupted to point out that it was almost dark, even though it was only a little after 6.