Letters from Blackwell Island Pt. 02

He gave my behind a playful slap as I got off the bed to go and make a start on breakfast. I hoped he didn't object to my purchase of the custom made Kani. I could never fully predict how he'd react to new things, but buying him something that would be worn in his intimate area felt like a massive gamble that had the potential to backfire massively. But there was only one way to find out.

I returned to the bedroom some time later with a tray of hot buttered toast and a jar of Patrick's favourite brand of coarse cut orange marmalade that I'd had specially brought in from Ireland - his eyes lit up when he saw the familiar glass jar that he remembered from his childhood, and he asked me if this was his mystery gift.

"Nope, this is just an extra little treat," I replied with a smile.

Also on the tray was a bowl of Patrick's favourite cereal, a glass of fresh pineapple juice from pineapples grown literally a few hundred yards away from our bedroom - you definitely can't get any fresher than that - and a pot of freshly brewed Irish Breakfast tea.

"Eat up, there's a good boy, and I'll go and get your presents," I said as I placed the tray before him on his lap.

I gave him a brief kiss on his forehead and went to where I'd hidden his gifts the night before. As I expected his first gift, the pair of binoculars, was gleefully received.

"Oh, babe, these are fantastic!" Patrick enthused as he checked out the box, and saw that they were almost identical to the pair of Toby's that he had coveted during our expedition to Aina Ahi.

Likewise my second birthday gift, an iPad Mini just like my own, was equally well received.

"And it's the perfect size to fit in your Kīeke," I pointed out to him.

"Thank you so much, Allie," Patrick said to me, and gave me one of his utterly heart-stopping smiles.

Now, everything hinged on my third and final gift.

"I have one more thing to give you," I said to him as I picked up the Koa wood presentation box with its intricately detailed mother of pearl inlay. "But I'm not entirely sure if you'll like it."

"I'm sure if you've chosen it then I'm fairly certain I'll like it," Patrick replied.

I gingerly handed him the box.

"Oh, it's... a wooden box. A very nice wooden box," he said as I handed it to him. "What sort of wood is it? Looks like walnut - reminds me of the dashboard in my Da's old Rover!"

"It's Koa," I explained. "But that's just the presentation box - the actual gift is inside it."

I bit my lip - now was the moment of truth. Patrick unsnapped the little brass clip that held the box closed and opened it up to reveal its velvet lined interior.

I noticed Patrick's eyes widen as he saw what it was that laid within.

"Is this a... y'know... one of those... er, thingies?" he asked as he looked at the box's contents. "That men here wear on their... y'know?"

"It's a Kani, yes," I confirmed. "A traditional cock ring worn by Pā'ele men. Do you like it?"

"I... I dunno," Patrick said as he examined the ornately decorated leather strap with its bands of malachite, pearl and amber to represent the colours of the Irish flag. "I guess - it's just not the kinda thing I thought you'd ever buy me, that's all."

"I had it custom made especially by Mrs. Laukea down in Malmesbury," I explained. "Here, look - it has the colours of the Irish flag in malachite, pearl and amber, and these black stones are volcanic obsidian. And if you look closely you'll see something rather close to your heart."

I pointed at the little gold leaf design inlaid into the obsidian.

"Is that a... a hurley? And a sliotar?" he asked as he scrutinised the design.

"I wanted it to incorporate something that was relevant to you," I said. "Do you er, do you want to try it on?"

"I... I suppose so," Patrick replied. "There's just one thing though - how the hell does it go on? I mean it's just a strap with like, straggly ends."

"Ah, well for starters you don't actually put it on," I said as I took it out of the box. "It's actually a woman's job to put it on her man."

"You what?"

"Men never put Kani's on themselves. The Pā'ele custom is for a man's wife or mother, or any other female relative or acquaintance, to put it on him - and besides, it's actually trickier than you think."

Patrick sighed.

"I guess I'm just gonna have to humour you here, aren't I?" he said.

"Just hold still while I put it on you."

So I wrapped the Kani around Patrick's penis and testicles and braided and tied the two loose ends together just as Marea had taught me with Aiden. It wasn't quite perfect, but I was confident I'd managed to get it to stay in place without it falling off him, and that it wasn't too tight - at least Patrick didn't show any signs of discomfort.

"Stand up - I want to get a proper look at you in it," I instructed.

Patrick sighed again, and then did as I asked.

"I feel like a right eejit wearing this thing," he grumbled.

The Kani had the effect of "presenting" his penis and testicles, pulling them a little further out from his body so that they protruded more proudly and tautly. I sighed in admiration at the sight I was presented with - he looked so sexy wearing it!

"According to Pā'ele tradition you look like a smart and respectable man," I responded.

I got off the bed and came and stood before him.

"And you're my smart and respectable man," I added in my most sultry tone of voice.

I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him, and instantly I felt his protruding man-parts pressing against my abdomen.

"Please tell me you like it," I said once our lips parted.

Patrick looked into my eyes.

"Because it's from you, I love it," he answered me with a smile. "Just... it'll take a bit of getting used to wearing this thing."

"It's just for formal occasions," I pointed out. "Like when you'd wear a tie for example."

Patrick chuckled, and I felt his deep vibrations conduct themselves from his body to mine.

"Sure, if you say so!" he said. "Does today count?"

"Absolutely," I confirmed. "So you're going to wear it all day today. I've got a few things planned for us today and I want everyone to see how smart you look in your new Kani. We're going into Malmesbury with Marea and Jackson for a few lunchtime drinks, then we're going to go to Fossil Cove for an afternoon on the beach, and this evening I'm taking you out for a romantic dinner."

"Sounds lovely," Patrick replied.

And it was lovely - and I just loved showing off Patrick's new Kani to our friends and to the other Islanders we met along the way. All of them commented on how smart he looked in it, which I guess helped Patrick to overcome any initial embarrassment he might've felt at wearing it. By the end of the day I could tell he had definitely warmed to the idea of wearing a traditional Kani, and I have to say that after seeing him wearing it that day, I wished that every day could be a special day!

An Offer From HQ

The 4th of July - Independence Day for our American friends - and in recognition of that (and to make the many American tourists visiting the island feel at home) the shops and bars and restaurants in Malmesbury were liberally bedecked in the Stars and Stripes - there were American flags everywhere.

And before you ask, the Islanders go to equal lengths to recognise and to celebrate their British heritage with just as much enthusiasm.

On Saint George's Day for example, there were English flags flying from every flagpole, draped over every balcony, and jaunty red and white bunting was strung across every street in the town centre. Some of the islanders even painted the St. George's Cross onto their bare skin. Of course, I should point out that the St. George's Cross is the flag of England, which is not to be confused with the Union Jack, which is the flag of the United Kingdom as a whole. There was even a parade, which culminated an Islander playing the part of Saint George playfully "slaying" another Islander dressed in a furry dragon costume. The poor sod must've been cooking alive in that thing - it was at least 28°C at the time!

And it goes without saying that Saint Patrick's Day was just as enthusiastically celebrated, and of course my husband was well and truly involved in the occasion - even going to far as to have the Irish flag painted on his face. Saint David's Day had also been celebrated in a similar fashion by the small number of Islanders with Welsh ancestry, and plans were already underway for the Saint Andrew's Day celebration in November, for Islanders of Scottish descent.

But the reason I bring up Independence Day in particular is that it was on that day that a momentous thing happened for Patrick and I, and it started when I opened my laptop after breakfast that morning.

At the top of my email inbox was a message from Carole back in London. The subject line said simply: your future on Blackwell - we need to talk.

It looked ominous - had something gone wrong since the last message I'd received from the magazine's HQ? Had the initially good reception for my articles died down? Was the magazine's circulation down? Were Patrick and I about to be recalled back to the UK? With a trembling hand I opened the email and read.

Hi, Allie,

I hope you and Patrick are well. Now that we're six months into your time on Blackwell I think it's about time we had a chat about your future there - the Letters From Blackwell Island feature has become the most popular item in the magazine, according to a recent subscriber poll, so of course we'd like it to continue. When you have the time, could you give us a call so that we can talk things over? Don't worry about the time difference, I don't mind talking at 4am if I have to!

All the best,

Carole

I breathed a sigh of relief, but I still had some unanswered questions. So Carole was clearly still really pleased with my work, but the niggling doubt in my mind that our future on the island still hung in the balance refused to go away. The truth is, I'd really grown to like it here - and I mean, really like it here. I could happily have agreed to stay forever, if such an offer was put on the table. But there was only one way to find out, and so I opened a video call window, went to the contacts page and clicked on Carole's profile. For an anxious few moments I waited for the call to connect. As always when about to make a video call I carefully adjusted the angle of the camera so that I would be showing nothing more than my bare shoulders.

After a brief pause Carole's friendly face appeared on the screen.

"Allie, my dear, thank you so much for getting back to me," the magazine's editor smiled back at me.

From the background of tall buildings behind her it was clear she was in her office in Canary Wharf.

"Yeah, hi, Carole, your email said that you wanted to discuss my future here?" I replied.

Carole smiled and clearly suppressed a chuckle.

"Wanting to get right down to business - I like that," Carole said with a lopsided grin. "You'll definitely go far with an attitude like that! Yes, I would like to discuss your future on Blackwell."

"Are you... are you bringing us home early?" I blurted out, and almost immediately regretted saying it and wished that the ground would swallow me up.

"Good heavens, no my dear!" Carole chuckled, clearly this time unable to conceal her mirth. "Quite the opposite, in fact - we'd like you to stay there for longer."

"Really?"

"Yup! A lot longer, in fact."

Carole leant forward into the camera at her end and adopted a more serious tone of voice.

"The subject of your continuing tenure on Blackwell Island was raised at the last board meeting the other day, and the board unanimously decided to offer you and Patrick an extension to your contracts." Carole said calmly and levelly in a very businesslike tone.

"H-how long?" I stammered.

"Five years," Carole replied.

"Five years?" I gasped in response. "You want us to stay here for five years?"

"At least," Carole said. "And if things continue to go well it could be indefinitely. And we'd like to offer you a pay rise - how does six thousand pounds per article sound?"

"Six thousand? That's..." I did some quick mental arithmetic. "That's seventy two grand a year!"

I gasped - to a previously struggling freelance journalist who was used to a hand to mouth existence it was an obscene amount of money!

"Believe me, Allie, the board believes you're definitely worth it!" Carole chuckled.

"I... that's... I mean... oh my God, Carole, that's just amazing!" I stammered.

"Look, I know you'll need to discuss it with your husband - we all realise that staying on longer affects him just as much as you, so by all means take some time to think and talk it over together," Carole went on. "The offer is on the table, and I'll email the contract extension to you so that you can take a look at it. Could you let us know your decision by, say, the end of the month?"

"Er, yeah, sure," I responded.

"And the same goes for Patrick too," Carole continued. "The photos that accompany the articles are an integral part of the success of Letters From Blackwell Island and so we'd like to offer him a formal contract too - including a salary oh his own. Not as much as yours obviously, but definitely enough to reward his part in the success of the articles."

Holy crap! Things were just getting more and more amazing by the minute - with another bit of mental arithmetic I calculated that together we'd be earning close to eighty-five thousand quid a year!

"I'll, er, I'll see what Patrick thinks," I squeaked.

"Good," Carole smiled back in London. "We'll talk in more detail soon, okay?"

"Yeah, er, sure," I replied.

My mind was racing at about a thousand miles an hour - Patrick and I were being offered almost eighty-five grand a year for basically living in paradise! How on earth could anyone in their right mind possibly turn down such a thing?

"Right, well as you can see behind me it's nighttime here so I'd best be getting home before my husband thinks I've been abducted or something! He hates it when I work late! Thanks again for calling, Allie - bye!"

"Yeah, er, bye, Carole," I responded, and then disconnected the call.

Holy shit! I thought to myself. Did that really just happen?

* * * * * *

"Five years?" Patrick gasped as I imparted my news. "At seventy two grand a year? Holy feck, Allie!"

"And ten thousand a year for you too, just for taking a few photos," I added. "But I know it's a massive, massive commitment so I won't be agreeing to anything unless you're one hundred percent with me. If you'd rather we go home when our year's up as originally planned I'll totally be with you. But I hope you can understand how pissed off I'd be to have to turn down such an amazing opportunity."

Patrick looked at me and fixed me with a gaze that implied he was about to say something serious and from the heart.

"Alyssa," he began, using the full form of my name so that I knew he was being serious. "Before I came here with you I was working for a pittance, pulling pints in a dingy pub in Guildford. And now I'm here with you, in this... well, paradise I guess, and getting paid to live here. Sure you must be feckin' crazy if you think I'd turn it down, wo'an!"

My heart swelled with joy.

"Ten grand a year just for taking a few photographs? Me Da would kill me if I turned down an offer like that!" he added.

"So, I can call Carole to accept?" I asked him.

"No, you can't call her to accept," Patrick replied. "We will call her to accept together. The way I see it, you and me are a team here - with your words and my photos, between us we've almost doubled that rag's readership!"

"You really don't mind staying here?" I said, still not entirely convinced of his sincerity. "For five years?"

"Allie, I'd stay here for life if it's what you wanted," Patrick replied, looking me right in the eye. "I'll hold my hands up and admit that at first I was definitely unsure about living... well, naked like this, but now it just feels... normal, I guess.

"I mean, there are still some aspects of living here that I find troubling, but it's just so beautiful here and the people are so friendly - they've really taken to us, which is definitely not what I was expecting. I was picturing them being like, deeply suspicious of us. Y'know, the meddling journalist and her husband coming to poke around their island home and tell the world what utter freaks they are for burning all their clothes as soon as they turn eighteen and living the rest of their lives in the nip.

"But they're just so... well... nice - I don't think I've ever felt more welcome than I have anywhere else."

"Even more welcome than back home in Guildford?" I asked him.

"Heh! Let's just say that the town has a bit of a history when it comes to the Irish and leave it at that!" Patrick huffed.

Of course I knew the reason behind what he'd said. Back in the 1970's, a couple of pubs in Guildford had been bombed by the IRA. Three men and a woman were later arrested and jailed, but all three were later found innocent after a lengthy appeal and a miscarriage of justice was exposed. The incident and the subsequent fallout from it were later made into a movie: In The Name Of The Father. For Patrick, as an Irishman in a town which had been the victim of a horrific attack by the IRA, he confessed to me that he always felt the locals treated him with a little suspicion that always made him feel slightly unwelcome there. I of course was rather blind to it - I never noticed anyone back home in Guildford treat him any differently than anyone else.

"But it has to be what you want too," I pointed out. "This shouldn't be all about me and what I want."

"But it is what I want," Patrick insisted. "I mean, to begin with I only came here under duress to support you and your career, but now I've fallen in love with this place - sure I'd be happy to live here forever."

"Well, if we're staying here for the long term, maybe we ought to do one last thing to fit in as proper Blackwell Islanders," I suggested.

Patrick fixed me with a look of mild alarm.

"I'm not going into one of those red zones with you, if that's what you're thinking, wo'an!" he responded. "Doing it, y'know, out in the open on Aina Ahi in front of Toby and Angela was quite daring enough for me, thank you very much!"

"No, I wasn't suggesting that," I assured him. "Though I'm determined to convince you one day! No, I was on about us getting an Ohana Māka'u each."

"What? You mean those family marking things?" Patrick replied. "Sure I might just as well get "property of Alyssa Wilkins" tattooed on me arse!"

"It's not quite like that," I chuckled. "Yes, if we follow the matriarchal tradition here you'd have to have my marking in addition to your own, but it doesn't denote ownership of you, just that you're married to me - it's no different to me adopting your surname when I married you. It's just that here on Blackwell we're considered to be Mrs. and Mr. Wilkins rather than Mr. and Mrs. Brennan."

"So, what would you have tattooed on your arse?" Patrick asked. "Would I be able to have a say in it? Seeing as it'd be tattooed on my arse too?"

"Well, I was born in Surrey, so I thought maybe something symbolic of the county - an oak leaf, maybe," I mused aloud. "How about you? What'll you have?"