First Day in the Caribbean 03-04

"Hey, we can walk this way, too" she said, and danced him around so she was behind, and even though the backpack interfered with her touching him with her breasts, she was able to grab his crotch. "I wonder if I can get my hands inside, too," she quipped. She worked her hands under his waistband and managed to make contact, but it was a tight fit.

He reached behind and put his hands on her behind, pulling her into him. "Try my pockets maybe," he suggested.

So she did, but the fabric interfered. "That might be okay if I ripped the lining out of them..."

"Ak! No! Not my pockets!" he exclaimed in mock terror. "Where will I put stuff?"

"Well," she said breathily into his ear, feeling around and squeezing the base of his penis, "You can always drop things down my shirt. I'll let you fish them out any time you want." She liked that she was getting a response from his nether region.

"You're goofy," he said, and pulled her around so they were facing. "We could dance," and he waltzed her down the trail, spinning round and round.

She squealed. "I don't know how to dance like this!"

"You're doing pretty well," just then he stumbled and nearly fell, and they stopped, laughing. "Maybe I'm not as good as I thought! I do like to hold you, though," and he hugged her to him.

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him wetly and enthusiastically. "It's that backpack you're wearing." She nodded her head sideways. "The place to empty it is just down the trail a piece."

They continued, hand in hand more or less. She liked to squeeze his arm against her breast. Soon the trail opened up on a magnificent vista to the south. A small bay lay below at the foot of a steep bluff. The way down looked precarious, but where they stood was a perfect picnic spot, level and grassy. They spread out his bedspread. She made sure to face him and bend over a lot as she got out the lunch.

She sat down cross-legged next to the food and pointed to where she wanted him to sit, on the blanket facing her. "I will now serve you, sir," she bowed low. She leaned way forward to hand him his sandwich, then again with his soda, and again placing the bag of chips between them.

"You really are an exhibitionist, aren't you?" he commented, smiling with one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, I am. I like to have people I like look at me. I think it's how I show affection. Letting them look." She reflected a moment. "I also like to touch and be touched, but that's strictly more intimate. Although—it improves my tips if I do little things like touch a guy's shoulder, so I do that. But that kind of touching is strictly mercenary. So what about you? What do you like?" she asked over her sandwich.

"Well, I like enthusiasm for foreplay, I guess. I read someplace that the key to good porn is to make the women have unquenchable desire, and the guys have unlimited ability. I'm not one of those guys, but you sure are one of those women, and I like it. A lot. It's very good for my morale."

"Speaking of morale, you're a widower, right? Are you willing to talk about it?"

He sighed. "Well, it happened less than a year ago. Died in her sleep. I woke up in the morning and she was gone. We didn't do an autopsy since she was known to have heart problems and insulin resistance. Waking up that morning was kind of creepy," he said wryly.

Octavia had her hand to her mouth. "Oh, that's terrible! I'm glad she didn't suffer, I guess. Do you miss her?"

"Interesting question. She was a fine person, but our relationship didn't have much spark. I was habituated to her, and as long as I didn't get too fresh, things were pretty calm. She had a lot of friends that she'd socialize with, and I had my hobbies. So it worked out okay, I guess. I suppose that sounds cold hearted, but there wasn't a lot of excitement or adventure."

"Less than a year. Are you still in shock or anything?"

"Hah. No. I decided to pull up roots and go do something completely different with my life, just for the fun of it. Who knows—I'll die too someday. Why not make the best of my time? I had had insurance on her for some time, and her employer had a big policy on her because of her position, so I came out pretty good on the insurance—a cool million, which I have socked away earning interest until I find something to spend it on. I sold the house and most of my possessions, quit my job, and bought a plane ticket. Decided to try a different life. Up here I'll have time to reflect, decide what I want to do next. I can take up scuba and sailing for excitement, and gardening and small livestock when I feel like routine. And it's quiet. I can write."

"You didn't say anything about me," she pretend pouted.

"Well you turned out to be an unexpected benefit! I can't imagine having more fun than we've had lately; even without the hankey-pankey you're pretty good company. And the hankey-pankey is pretty good, too." He wiggled his eyebrows.

She smirked. "I got your oxytocin flowing again, eh?

"See? That's what I mean. You know words like 'haptic' and 'oxytocin.' Tell me why you're waitressing and not teaching English or biochemistry—or psychology—at the college.

It was her turn to sigh. "Our family is pretty close. You saw the photos—we're fisher folk, and when Dad and Gus Mortensen died, we all kind of crashed. I have a degree in marine biology, believe it or not; Bill's degree is in business, and he used some savings to start the bike shop—cheaper than getting a new boat in this case; Mom just sits and watches soap operas all day. Juno, the baby, is away at college in the states. She's probably the least affected. Bill feels like he's failed, not getting back into fishing, but the market was weakening anyway. If anything, we should go into tourism." She looked at him. "You know, scuba trips, small-crew cruises, something like that." She smiled a little.

"Hm. So your dad and Lydia's husband knew each other?"

"Partners. They tried to make it into the harbor ahead of a hurricane and broke up on the rocks. Stupid. The boat would probably have ridden out the storm, but they didn't want to dump their catch. Stupid stupid stupid!" Her breath caught, and he could see a tear trailing down her cheek.

He pulled a hanky out of his back pocket. "Lean over here." She did, and he wiped away the tear. In spite of himself he glanced down her front.

She burst into teary laughter. "You dirty old man! Any excuse to look at a pretty girl's boobs, eh? Daddy would have approved of you." She pitched herself toward him and he fell backwards with her on top. She kissed him repeatedly, between kisses saying "Thank—you—for giving me—something else—to—think about!" She laid her head on his shoulder and lay there quietly for a while. He gently put his arms around her.

Then she sat up and blew her nose on his hanky. "Thanks. I feel better now. So were you a professor or something? What on earth do you do with a degree in classical studies?"

He sat up too. "Hah. Nothing. I've done all sorts of things. Ran a little museum for a while, got into technology when computers came along, been in sales, worked as a carpenter for a while, got into project management, even taught evening business classes. I like to teach, but there's not much of a career for me in it. I was right at the end of a project in a big IT department when she had the heart attack, and they gave me a nice retirement party. I told them they must be glad to get rid of me, which they denied. My boss said if they had been glad to see me go, the party would have been the day after I left, not the day of. One of my colleagues said he was having so much fun that I should retire more often. So I get along pretty well with people, and haven't really learned anything useful, but most of it has been interesting.

She smiled. "So you're smart and dumb at the same time."

"Yup, that's me."

"I think want to play with you for a while."

He blinked, puzzled by the change in subject. "Huh?"

Octavia rolled her eyes and pushed him onto his back, then she sat herself next to him facing his middle. Perfect for playing, as she put it. She ran her hand up his thigh and over the front of his shorts, and could feel his member starting to respond. "Let's see, first we have to set up the playing field. Now where's the goal post? She ran her hand down the other thigh and back up. "Ah! Here's something." She ran her fingers up and down both sides of his stiffening rod, pressing against it more firmly each stroke.

He went "Mmm." and closed his eyes.

She squeezed his member through his shorts and decided it was time. "Now we need to open the playing field," she teased, and unfastened his belt and zipper. His penis sprang from its confines, and she tugged his shorts. He obliged by raising his hips. With the shorts around his ankles, he let his knees fall apart. "Ah! The goal post!" she exclaimed. She made a loose fist and slid it down his member, pulling his skin down and stretching it. A bead of pre-cum appeared at the tip, and she stroked downward again, making sure to collect the moisture. Several strokes and his entire length was slippery. She began to stroke upward, too, and used her free hand at the base to keep his skin from sliding back upwards.

His moaning increased, and his belly jerked spasmodically. She slowed down. "Ah, the game's not over yet. Let's try a different play." She grabbed his shaft with both hands and twisted opposite directions. "They called this a snake bite in grade school. We did it on each others' wrists. Of course you're too slick for it to hurt like that did," and she passed a hand over the top of his shaft, spreading the lubrication around.

She ran her finger around the base of his glans, and made little circles underneath. Then she mixed the motions all up, varying the speed and pressure, keeping an eye on his reactions, estimating when he was close to coming, and backing off to keep him excited but not climax. "This is called a hand job, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he gasped.

"And not quite letting you climax is called edging, right?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah, I think." he stammered. "But the erection will go away by itself if you keep it up too long."

"We don't want that to happen. I like being nice to you." Before long she began to pump her hand up and down his shaft, sliding over his skin, stretching on the down stroke, and cupping his balls with the other. She picked up the pace as his moaning increased in intensity and he began to buck. She pumped up and down as fast as she could, and suddenly he exploded in a massive climax, spewing into the air. As soon as he came, she slowed down and stopped, cradling his member in her fist. She grabbed the hankey and started mopping up, smiling to herself. "You are such a mess, and it was all my fault. But I like making you messy. Do you like me making you messy?" she asked coyly.

"Sure. Thank you. I didn't think I'd come again so soon, but your hands felt really really good, and it was fun watching you. You are beautiful and sexy and you looked like you were enjoying yourself. And you weren't mean to me," he sighed. "I'm told that women who do that tend to stop in a way that reduces the guy's fun, and you didn't."

"Well, I enjoy taking the initiative, but I don't like being mean. I like to give pleasure."

He rolled onto his side. "Maybe you'd like me to reciprocate and see if I can give you pleasure. Hmm?"

She batted her eyelashes. "Yes, I might like that." She paused. "I'm embarrassed to ask, but what do they call the equivalent of a hand job for the lady? I know what it's called if you use your tongue..."

He pushed her over onto her back. "I dunno. Worshiping at the fountain of life? Whatchya got those shorts on for? I wanna worship."

"Y'know, I read someplace that men lose interest in sex after they climax. How come you act so interested?"

He smiled. "My need has been met, true, but I like you enough to want to do things you like whether I need to be stimulated or not." He moved so he was kneeling at her waist and began to unfasten her shorts. Obediently she arched her back and he slid her shorts down, bending forward a little, bringing his face close to her bare pussy. He placed his hand under her back to support her, and kissed her there, then let her down. "You're pretty flexible. Just how much can you bridge, anyway?"

"Maybe if you're lucky, you'll find out sometime," she batted her eyelashes again.

Asch smiled. "Okay, this game is a little different. It's called 'looking for buried treasure.'" He stroked his hand down her front, lifting his palm so it didn't touch her mound, and continued down her thighs. He dragged his fingers back up, again raising his hand so he didn't touch her most sensitive area.

"That's nice, but you're not finding a lot of treasure," she complained, and spread her legs.

He smiled to himself, and caressed her several times more the same way again, stroking one leg at a time and still missing her pussy.

She made frustrated noises, and moved her hips to put herself under his hand, but he stayed coy. "You better find that treasure pretty soon, buster, or I'm gonna shove it in your face!"

"Now there's an idea!" he exclaimed. "Is this what you mean? And he slowly drew his fingers over her mound, barely touching her. She moaned, so he did it again, pressing a little harder. He could feel moisture in her slit, so he dipped into the passageway and spread her moisture up onto her clit, then began making zig-zags, back and forth strokes, and slow, little circles, concentrating right on the edge of her most sensitive area.

She moaned and began to arch her back and rock her hips in time with his motion. He found what she seemed to like best and stayed with that exact stroke, circles right over her clit, gentle pressure. He used his other hand, too, sliding it from her taint to her opening, and gently sliding a finger inside She moaned louder and grabbed his leg with one hand and the blanket with the other, rocking her head back and forth. Another minute of gradually intensifying little circles and his finger in her vagina, and she suddenly screamed, arched her back, and clamped her legs together. He stopped moving and let her enjoy the sensation. Finally she relaxed and heaved a sigh. "I think you found it," she smiled at him contentedly.

He pulled the blanket over them and they snuggled.

They got back to the house just before it got too dark to see. Octavia had skipped along, chattering about inconsequential things, her colleagues at the restaurants, the regulars, who was a good tipper, her teachers at school. Her advanced and nitrox scuba certifications; he ought to take lessons, she knew a good scuba school. Some of the things weren't inconsequential; at least they were pretty personal. Her affair with one of her professors that didn't affect her grade—she pulled an A anyway—then he jilted her for a bimbo, but at least she had learned some extracurricular skills and knowledge. (Her questions earlier about technique had been somewhere between rhetorical and confirmation.) Her almost boyfriend, one of the cooks at Anchovies; he more serious than she. Her concern about what to do about her mother.

At one point she had looked at him sideways, "A cool mil, eh?"

"Yeah. It's mostly socked away. My lifestyle, especially now, I don't really need much. Not much of an appetite for extravagance. Most people who win the lottery gain weight. I didn't."

She nodded acceptance, then began talking about her brother's dream to get back on the ocean.

Lydia had just gotten to the house herself—Asch could hear the truck making ticking noises from the cooling engine. "So you had a picnic out on the point; that's a pretty spot, isn't it? You can almost see where the shipwreck was from there, too. Around the point to the west."

Asch said, "I understand your hubby and Octavia's dad were partners."

"Yes. It was a good relationship. Those two went back to grade school, always were best friends. I've known Octavia since the day she was born. Changed her diapers plenty of times, too, doncha know," Lydia grinned.

"Lydia!" Octavia chided.

"Yup. Might even have some naked baby pictures, too," she added, eyes twinkling.

"Now that might be interesting. I'd like to see a picture of her bare bottom," Asch leered at her.

"And I hope you don't, thank you! Lydia, I'll settle with you later," she harrumphed.

Lydia got serious. "It's getting late. Would you rather get a ride into town, Octavia? It's kind of dark for the bike. I suppose..." she pretended to be dubious, "I could let Asch drive you down. I'm tired and he probably won't crash the truck, right Asch? As in only one beer, right?"

Asch chuckled. "How about no beers? I'm not that big a drinker, and I'm tired enough myself to hit the sack."

As soon as they were out of sight of the house, she moved to the middle of the truck's bench seat, straddling the floor-mounted shift lever. He kept his hand on her thigh and she kept her hand on his leg as they drove. Each of them explored the upper regions of the other's leg. She was careful to keep her foot out of his way, though. "Are we acting like a couple of teenagers, or what?" he asked. "We even waited until we were out of sight before getting friendly."

"Crazy, huh? At least you drive a lot more carefully than a teenager, though. Which I'm glad for."

They reached the edge of town. "Say—I don't know where you live. Give me directions." She got a mischievous look in her eye, but before she could lead him all over town, he added. "Take us straight there. Lydia is sure to keep track of the time. Besides, you need to get some rest."

"Spoilsport. I know some really nice places to park, too. Turn left here."

He dropped her off at a neat, modest house in the middle of a block. She let him open the door for her and unload her bike from the back. She kissed him soundly at the truck, grinding herself into him. "Let me go up to the house by myself. I'd like to introduce you to my family when it's daylight. They can think Lydia brought me."

"Still being like a teenager, eh?" he kidded, but he let her go, and pulled away as soon as she was safely inside. Lydia was still up when he got back to the house.

"Wow! You didn't stop for beers. Don't you like her?" She teased.

"Well, we both need to get some shut-eye, and I'm using someone else's vehicle, so I didn't want to take advantage of their generosity."

"You are just too much of a gentleman." She changed the subject. "You were in IT, right?"

"Some of the time, yes. I don't call myself a programmer, but I'm not afraid of computers...," he trailed off, curious.

"Tomorrow do you think you could hook up some hardware for me? I want a sort of a security system. I'll tell you about in the morning."

"I can take a look, anyway." And they both went to bed.