tagGroup SexIsland Fever Ch. 32

Island Fever Ch. 32



I awoke Wednesday morning to the saddening, horrific news that Pamela's 81-year-old grandmother, Genevieve, passed away due to natural causes in her Maryland hometown last evening. There wasn't any pain or suffering for Pamela's grandmother, thank God; she died, very simply, in her sleep. Pamela was upset upon hearing the news, obviously, already going through the grieving process with all the ladies here on the island offering her whatever support they could to help her get through this tough, troubling time. Of course, I was right there by Pamela's side, too.

Genevieve Maddox was born in 1937 and married her husband, Thomas Prescott, in 1958. She worked as a school crossing guard for 37 years and even ran a snowball stand in the wintertime in front of their home for 17 years. Customers could stop by and purchase a ten-cent snowball from Genevieve with homemade flavors added, such as vanilla, chocolate and/or strawberry. Genevieve sold Christmas wreaths every year to help raise money for her family, whom she loved dearly, and also delivered telephone books. She even had her very own wholesale live bait business for 50 years! In addition, Genevieve prepared crab cakes, codfish cakes and salads in her basement from her own recipes for a seafood restaurant owned by one of her sons. Clearly, Pamela's grandmother led a very long and active, fulfilling life.

Genevieve raised seven children - four boys and three girls. The oldest, John, was Pamela's father. Her husband, Thomas, passed away in 2015 from complications to cancer. But now that Genevieve had passed on as well, she is survived by 17 grandchildren and 25 great-grandchildren.

Pamela explained that Genevieve was known to those in her family as _Mom-Mom_ and gave everyone who knew her many years of laughter, advice and sayings that would forever be cherished. Most importantly, Genevieve taught everyone close to her the true meaning of love and togetherness.

Pamela and I (along with input from Kristanna) kicked around several ideas about what exactly we were going to do. Regardless, Pamela was flying back to Baltimore on Wednesday afternoon to be with her family and ultimately attend her grandmother's funeral on Saturday. There was no doubt about that. But what about me? What about the other ladies? Would I accompany Pamela to Maryland and attend the funeral as well? Or did Pamela prefer to go alone since our romance was still very new, a work in progress? Did she want to come back to the island afterward or simply stay in Maryland and be there for her family, particularly her father? We debated the pros and cons of just abandoning this final week-and-a-half or so of the ladies' vacation and letting them all return home today with full compensation.

In the end, it was mutually agreed upon that I'd travel alongside Pamela to the United States and Kristanna would stay here on the island with the others and be the one in charge. It made the most sense. After everything that had transpired recently, I didn't want to let Pamela out of my sight. Allowing her to trek 3,500 miles by herself wasn't an option. Plus, there was no way I'd miss the funeral as I felt obligated to be there and lend her my support. As for Devon, Trish, Lindsay and Amy, we didn't want to cut their vacation time short and send them home early. It wouldn't be fair to them.

I trusted Kristanna implicitly, of course, and there was no better choice to look after the island and mansion in my absence - keep things in order - than her.

With the funeral taking place this coming Saturday, Pamela and I would return to the island on Sunday and spend the next seven days with the ladies before it was time for them to return home the following Sunday. All the travel (and possible jetlag) would be a hot mess, no doubt, but it was necessary.

I've never been one to gloat and/or brag, but being a wealthy individual has its advantages. Following an extensive amount of research, I purchased an Airbus A319 corporate jetliner from its manufacturer in France two years ago for my personal use. I didn't bust out my private plane - an $87 million investment - or call on its contracted flight crew very often, but felt it would be best (and provide Pamela with the utmost amount of comfort) if we traveled in the lap of luxury instead of going the standard commercial route.

I got into touch with my private flight crew in Peru (Captain Mauro, co-pilot Gustavo and stewardesses Mercedes and Fiorella) and told them that I needed a favor on incredibly short notice. Mauro sent his condolences to Pamela and assured me that he and his crew would be happy to escort us the 3,500 miles to Baltimore via my private jetliner later that afternoon. Mauro said not to worry; he'd take care of everything as it pertained to the airport and the jet itself. All he and his crew needed was three hours to get ready and prepare, and I agreed to meet him at the Jorge Chávez International Airport in downtown Lima at 12:30pm.

Yet again, I had to call on my good friend, Kevin, to travel back to the island for the second day in a row in his helicopter. Last night, he picked Camille up and took her to the airport (good riddance to unwanted trash, by the way). Today, he'd do the same for Pamela and yours truly.

While I made all the necessary arrangements for our trip over the telephone, Kristanna took it upon herself to look after Pamela and tend to her every whim. I could tell that Pamela was extremely close with her grandmother. She cycled through several emotions, many of them over and over, as Kristanna held and comforted her upon the bed in the master suite. It was a scene all-too-familiar because to me, that's what Kristanna was famous for. Comfort and compassion, kindness. The woman was overflowing with it.

How many times had she done the same, exact thing for me? Gave me a shoulder to lean on when I needed it most?

Kristanna cuddled and soothed Pamela as she listened to every word and every little story about Mom-Mom. It was touching and added to the tiny glimmer of hope that I had as the two women I loved more than anyone or anything in the world seemed to be getting friendlier and more intimate together. Could Pamela and Kristanna actually fall in love with each other and the three of us one day become a family? I wasn't holding my breath - Pamela was adamant about having a one-on-one relationship - but it was a nice fantasy, at least.

Something else that was very troubling to Pamela was her father and his well-being. She was deeply concerned for him, obviously, as Genevieve was his mother and he'd suddenly lost her. How was her father doing? Was he okay? Pamela had spoken to him a few times on the telephone already today, but she needed to get back to Maryland as soon as possible and be there for him in the physical sense. Talking to him and sending condolences on the telephone wasn't good enough.

I packed a suitcase in record time and Kevin picked Pamela and yours truly up at 11:00am, then took us to the airport in his helicopter. The trip lasted one hour and 15 minutes.

The private flight crew was excellent as usual; they loaded our luggage onto the plane and made certain its interior was as comfortable and as well prepared as could be. I was the last to board the jetliner and found Pamela having a nice and pleasant conversation with one of the stewardesses, Fiorella. Pamela was still hurting inside, no doubt, but was smiling and jovial with Fiorella, and had her laughing up a storm. I'd always thought of Pamela as somewhat shy and reserved, but this was ample proof that she had an infectious personality and, when she wanted to, Pamela had the unique ability to talk to anyone and make them feel within mere minutes that they'd just re-connected with an old, long-lost friend.

Or was that a byproduct - a false facade - of all those years Pamela spent as an exotic dancer? It'd been her job to be nice and sociable - no matter how she felt personally at the moment - else she wasn't getting paid. It was that simple, really. Was it a switch Pamela could flip on and off at her leisure while reserving her true, genuine feelings for only those select few who were closest to her?

Once our flight was in the air and at its normal cruising altitude, Pamela actually donned a pair of sunglasses as she relaxed in the lounge area. There was no need for sunglasses on the plane, though, and I asked Pamela why she'd put them on. "I don't want Fiorella or Mercedes to see me crying."

My heart sank in my chest, of course, and after some added dialogue, I insisted that Pamela go to the bedroom and lay down. My private jet, dubbed by my father as a flying hotel, was custom-built down to every square inch. It provided luxury at its finest and had all the amenities that a five-star hotel did. Not only could Pamela find refuge and enjoy a nap in the bedroom, but she could take a shower in the adjacent washroom as well. Or watch television, listen to music, even surf the Internet. There was even a fully-stocked wet bar in the dining area. This plane was lavish; ridiculous, even, and the one and only extreme billionaire toy I owned in life.

Fiorella wheeled in a hot, steaming cart full of lunchtime goodness for us to enjoy, but I told her not to disturb Pamela in the bedroom - let her be - as she was most likely asleep. Pamela could have whatever food she asked for later as there was plenty in reserve.

As for me, I literally salivated over the grilled beef tenderloin drenched in a sundried tomato glaze. I also enjoyed bacon-wrapped scallops with roasted red pepper aioli, turkey, swiss and pecan pinwheels, mango teriyaki chicken wings and a grilled vegetable platter with fresh mozzarella.

After departing our only layover - a quick stop at the José Joaquín de Olmedo International Airport in Guayaquil, Ecuador for refueling, Pamela and I were now on a beeline toward Baltimore. Our flight was scheduled to touch down there at 8:33pm, which was nearly six hours from now.

I ventured off to the bedroom and found Pamela lying down and relaxing, with her sunglasses still on. I was unsure if Pamela was sleeping or not, but that question was suddenly answered when she groaned and sat up slightly.

"Hi there, baby." I took a seat next to Pamela and gently clutched her hand as she removed the sunglasses. "You want something to eat? I had lunch already, but figured you were sleeping and asked the crew not to disturb you. Mercedes and Fiorella wouldn't have any issue fixing you something new, something fresh." I could tell that Pamela was still quite upset. She was sniffling, her face red and puffy, and her eyes seemed sort of glossy. She clearly had another hard cry or two after being so talkative and friendly with the stewardess earlier.

"I'm fine. I'm not hungry." Pamela frowned and groaned yet again. "I... I just... I feel so... bad."

"Oh, Pamela. Tell me what I can do to help you," I requested as I tenderly wrapped my arms around her shoulders. "Oh, honey. Did you manage to fall asleep at all?" I kissed her forehead gently. "Why not get some more rest?"

"For a bit, I did." Pamela reached for her cell phone, but tossed it down beside her in anger when she noticed there hadn't been any missed calls or text messages from family members. Aboard my private aircraft, Captain Mauro - my well-paid employee - wasn't going to scold us for using our cell phones while in the air. Although against most aviation laws, interference with the plane's navigation system from cell phones and similar devices was quite negligible at best. It wouldn't affect his ability to pilot the aircraft at all, especially with us being in the rear portion.

"Why don't you go back to sleep?" I lovingly kissed Pamela's right hand and held her even closer. "Get some sleep, honey. We got a long way to go still. Not even over the Atlantic Ocean yet. You'll see your dad and the rest of your family soon enough." She promptly started crying again. When I brought her face against my chest, Pamela began to wail and sob much more profusely. Like, a lot. That was good, because doing so was probably the best - if not the only - therapy for her.

"Just let it all out, baby. Let it all out." I pecked the top of her head with a kiss. "I know it hurts."

"When Mom-Mom was five, she lost both of her parents the very same year," Pamela explained to me sometime later. "She and her two brothers and two sisters were suddenly orphans. They had an aunt who was very close and wanted to adopt, but the state - child protective services, I guess - saw it unfit for a single woman to adopt five children. Instead, all five were split up and eventually adopted into different homes, different families. Not only that, but Mom-Mom's new family changed her name. At a very young age, Mom-Mom lost everything - her parents, her siblings, even her identity."

I frowned. "You didn't tell Krissy and I earlier that she was adopted. I suppose everything worked out?"

"You'd think that losing everything at such a young age would be devastating and that it'd be easy to grow up angry and hateful." Pamela forged a smile, though it didn't last long. "But not with Mom-Mom. The opposite happened. Family became even more important to her, something precious. And when she got older, met Grandpa and married him, started having kids, her whole life revolved around her family."

"When I was little, whenever we went to visit her and Grandpa, she'd make me and my sisters feel like the most important people in the world. Mom-Mom always had time for us and said we were her special, special grandchildren. Both her and Grandpa did. Mom-Mom always said it was okay for us to be spoiled, as long as we weren't spoiled rotten."

"I learned what real love is from Mom-Mom, too. In 2001, when I was only 13 and Grandpa was in the hospital for his open heart transplant, Mom-Mom spent every day and every night there taking care of him, nursing him back to health. From that point on, I knew I wanted to one day find a man and be in love with him the same way my grandparents were. Truly, unconditionally, unequivocally. Grandpa always said he wouldn't have survived without her love and support."

"Mom-Mom was the first person in the family that I told I'd taken up a job as a stripper, too. I knew I could trust her with the news and she'd give me good advice. On the flipside, I originally thought my parents - particularly my father - may disown me if I were to tell them."

"I was only 19 and being the French fry girl at McDonald's wasn't going to cut it any longer. I was frustrated and wanted more money. I wanted to go to college, but my family couldn't afford it and I'd just missed out on a scholarship. Mom-Mom was worried and didn't like my new job - who wants to be told their daughter or granddaughter has taken up stripping - but she didn't condone me for it, either. That... just wasn't her. She said she wasn't going to judge me, but her main concern was if anyone had taken advantage of me or forced me into this new career choice. What made me go this route? Mom-Mom was like, what happened to you, are you okay, has anyone tried doing anything to you at this strip club? And I said no, but if someone does I can always slap them across the face and ask the bouncers to kick them out. And Mom-Mom gave me a high-five and said, _you go, girl._"

"In the end, she was very, very understanding and even supportive of me - my choice to become a stripper, you know - and it was awesome. Just awesome. Mom-Mom also convinced me to eventually fess up and tell my parents too. That didn't go quite as well, but they eventually accepted my career and what I do for a living. It took a while, though." Pamela frowned and ended, "Years."

"How did all of that come about?" I inquired. "I mean, what made you decide to one day become a stripper?"

"I told you about my friend Tessa, right?" I nodded my head as I suddenly remembered Pamela's story from a few weeks ago about her early days as a stripper. About how the older, veteran dancers bullied and victimized her at work because she made more money than they did.

It was simple, really. They were jealous.

Tessa Carter talked Pamela into becoming a stripper, but met an unfortunate end months later when she overdosed on cocaine and heroin one evening alongside her boyfriend. Both paid the ultimate price for it, too.

"I went to high school with Tessa and, just a year after graduation, she's driving a Porsche, she has all these expensive clothes, this nice jewelry. So one day I asked her how much she actually made stripping and I was like, oh my God, that comes out to sixty bucks an hour - more than ten times what I make at McDonald's."

"So I started looking at blogs, forums, reading what strippers wrote online, really getting to know the industry without ever having been in it. I did tons of research. And I asked Tessa lots and lots of questions."

"Then one day I was sitting in McDonald's after work and looking at my 40 hour check. After taxes, it was $158 and some-odd cents. I was having car trouble and those 40 hours I'd spent working weren't even going to cover half the repair costs. I wanted to go to college, but couldn't afford it. So I got on my smartphone and looked up the club where Tessa worked in downtown Baltimore, Bare Essentials. Their website said they were having open auditions later that night and I was like, oh my God, okay let's go do it. I called them up to confirm they were having auditions and they said yes."

"So I went home and got this really cute fur shawl or something and began to psyche myself up, give me the confidence I needed. I told Mom and Dad I'd be out late, not to stay up and worry. When I walked in, Tessa met me there - it was before the club opened that night - and introduced me to the manager. He looked me up and down, kind of nodded his head in approval and asked if I'd ever stripped before. I said no and he gave me a quick rundown of the club, the way things work there. House fees and stuff, the rules, the fines. He made it clear that I'd have all the power in this line of work, not the customers - they were there for me. I borrowed a few outfits from Tessa and did a couple of dances and performances on stage, drawing from my years of cheerleading and gymnastics. The manager asked me if I wanted to work there that night - see if I liked it - and had me sign some papers when I said yes."

"And you wound up making more money that particular evening than any of the other dancers, correct?"

Pamela smirked. "Yes, I did." See, I remember exactly what she'd told me in the past. How could I forget? This woman and everything about her fascinated me. "$743, to be exact. I quit my job at McDonald's the next day, bought some sexy, new outfits - lingerie and high-heels - and it was off to the races after that. Oh, and I got another car."

A young and truly innocent, 19-year-old Pamela (and her sweet, tender body) must've been the centerpiece, the prime attraction, of the strip club that evening (and for the next 11 years counting, no doubt). Good God, just the thought of meeting and getting to know younger Pamela in those days...

"So Mom-Mom understood when I told her about the whole stripping deal," Pamela reiterated. "I knew she would."

"One of her favorite songs was You Are My Sunshine by Jimmie Davis. The last time I saw her - a few days before I came to the island - I visited her at Mom and Dad's house and sang it to her, and she went right to sleep. I had to leave - go to work - so I kissed her and told her goodbye." Pamela glanced away for a moment, heartbroken. "I guess that's going to be my final memory of Mom-Mom." She then smiled faintly, clearly fighting the urge to break down and cry yet again. "Mom-Mom always said I had a great singing voice."

"I know not everyone is super-tight with their grandmother, their grandparents, but Mom-Mom was my rock. She was truly one of my best friends. She was my number-one advocate, the biggest supporter I had. Mom-Mom is also the reason I love to read and write so much - she must've owned 5,000 books and never threw one away or traded one in. She kept them ALL."

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