Letters from Blackwell Island Pt. 02

While it took nearly an hour for me to shave him, it took Patrick only twenty minutes or so to shave me, but by the time he was done and had coated me with the post-shave balm we both took a few moments to stand back and admire each other. It was then that things got a little heated.

Before I knew it, I was up against the bathroom wall. Patrick, quite out of character, just picked me up and held me to the wall and in no time at all his penis was fully hard and nudging at my entrance. He looked into my eyes to make sure I wanted it as much as he clearly did, and I nodded my assurance to him that the shaving had indeed inflamed my libido every bit as much as his.

So I opened my legs up to him and he drove himself into me and made frenetic, passionate, fantastic love to me. Usually Patrick takes things slowly, but sometimes even the most patient of lovers can't hold themselves back. He came in me after less than a minute, but I didn't mind at all - the spontaneity of the moment had been breathtaking, and more than made up for me not getting anywhere close to orgasm, and I knew that by the time we moved things to the bed he'd more than make up for it.

Which he did - and then some!

* * * * * *

For my second article for the magazine I'd arranged for Patrick and I to spend a day with one of the island's seven police officers, to learn about law and order in the island's main town and the surrounding villages and other settlements. Marea kindly lent us the Mini Moke (on the provision that we pick up some eggs and milk for her on the way home) to drive into town and meet up with Sergeant Jenni Bakeland at the island's one and only police station.

I was intrigued as to what form, if any, her uniform took - I thought to myself that surely police officers didn't have to patrol the island naked!

I was wrong!

Sergeant Bakeland was indeed naked when she met us in the police station's reception area. The only indication that she was a law enforcement officer was the badge she wore on a lanyard around her neck and the sturdy utility belt with radio, handcuffs, baton etc. that she wore around her waist. She didn't exactly carry an air of authority about her (I could tell that Patrick found her more than a little attractive, the evidence being right there between his legs) but nevertheless I got the impression that she was a perfectly competent policewoman.

She started by giving us a tour of the police station, such as it was, which was little more than just the reception area, an office area for doing all the paperwork that policing generates, the police officers locker area and showers (which were of course mixed - no point in single sex showers when everyone is naked anyway) and the custody suite, which consisted of nothing more than a custody desk, an area for taking mugshots (rarely used, since there was so little crime on Blackwell Island), and three custody cells (equally rarely used).

"We get more trouble from tourists than islanders," Jenni explained as she showed us one of the cells. "Just drunk and disorderly mainly - they tend to get a little raucous at times, especially in the bars on Friday nights. Of course, with the island being such a small community, serious crime is almost unheard of - there hasn't been anything more serious that a few minor instances of shoplifting since I've been working here."

"So it's fair to say your work here is rather quiet then?" I asked her.

"I like to think of it that we do such a good job that nobody dares to commit any serious crimes!" she chuckled amiably in response. "I suppose if you crave excitement this is not the place to pursue a career in law enforcement, but if like me you enjoy being a part of the community that helps to keep everyone here safe so that they can live a peaceful life then it's definitely worthwhile."

"I can tell by your accent that you're not a native islander," I said as I recorded our conversation on my tablet. "Although with the neck beads and Kīeke you definitely look the part."

"I'm from Australia originally - you wouldn't think to look at me now but once upon a time I used to patrol the mean streets of Adelaide!" she replied with a chuckle. "I grew up in a hippy family and naturism was part of my upbringing, so when the opportunity came up to move here I absolutely leapt at it."

"How did you find out about it? I assume they don't advertise for vacancies as far afield as South Australia."

"I was here on holiday - spent three years on a waiting list just to come here - and literally after just an hour after setting foot on the island and getting naked I just knew it was the place for me.

"Being a cop, I thought it'd be fun to pop in to the police station here and say hi to some fellow law enforcement officers and maybe share a bit of "cop talk". It was while I was talking to Sergeant Blackwell - yes, he's a direct descendant of Henry Blackwell himself, before you ask - he mentioned that he'd be retiring soon and asked me if I fancied applying to fill the position of the Constable that would become vacant when his junior officer took his place. I signed on the dotted line right there and then!"

"No interview or anything?"

"Oh, I was interviewed for sure - by Sergeant Blackwell and a couple of representatives from the island's government, and of course I had to prove that I was up to the job. When you've chased down and rugby tackled a fleeing suspect on the streets of downtown Adelaide you can pretty much take on anything!

"By the end of the week I'd been sworn in as the newest officer of the Blackwell Island Constabulary. I briefly returned home to Adelaide to quit my job, tie up my affairs, sell off all the stuff I couldn't take with me, donated all my clothes to the local charity shops, and three weeks later I came back here to start my new job. That was twenty years ago now and I've never looked back!"

"You're not married though," I observed.

Like all single adults on Blackwell she kept her pubic hair, albeit very neatly trimmed.

"Nah, I've never really had any desire to get hitched - I enjoy the single life too much! As a permanent resident though, I had to register my surname. Mind you, that also meant I got to design my own Ohana Māka'u."

She turned to show me her behind, where on her right buttock was a small tattoo of a bird with its wings outstretched.

"It's a Piping Shrike," she explained over her shoulder. "It's basically a type of Magpie. It's featured on the flag of South Australia - a neat little nod to where I grew up."

"It's er, very nice," I responded as she turned back around to face me.

"I never really wanted a tattoo, but since tattoos are such a key part of Polynesian culture it's sort of the done thing here," Sergeant Bakeland went on. "And besides, having one's family marking tattooed on yer bum is sort of the law here, and as a law enforcement officer it'd be hypocritical of me to refuse to have it done."

"Yeah, our landlady explained that to us," I replied.

"It was bloody painful getting it inked though!" she chuckled.

Leaving the police station behind, Jenni took us out onto the "mean streets" of Malmesbury and it soon became clear just how popular she was among the islanders. Pretty much everyone we passed either said hello or asked how she was, or simply just exchanged a few cordial words. I could instantly see how appealing a job it was for a "people person" like Sergeant Jenni Bakeland. She really was an important part of the fabric of the island, and even though she hadn't been born here, the native islanders had clearly accepted her as one of their own. I wondered if Patrick and I would be accepted the same way by the time our year here comes to an end. We'd already made a few friends on the island, and if the way today was going was anything to judge by, we'd have made another new friend in Jenni to add to our list.

"How does the local police deal with the um, red zones?" I asked her as discreetly as I could. "I'm sort of assuming that occasionally things get a little, er, crazy in them sometimes?"

"In all honesty, they're really no trouble at all," Jenni replied. "You'd think that with them basically being a sort of open air sexual play area for the island's grownups that they'd be rife with sexual assaults, but that just simply isn't the case.

"Sure, we have to keep an eye on 'em and make sure that the tourists behave themselves, but there hasn't been a recorded incident of any serious sexual impropriety in years. Having harsh punishments on the books helps to act as a deterrent."

"Harsh punishments?" I queried. "Such as?"

"Nothing dramatic or medieval, before you let your imagination get carried away," Jenni chuckled. "But you can still be birched - in public. The humiliation of it alone is enough of a deterrent!"

"Has anyone been birched? Recently?" I asked.

"Not for a few years," Sergeant Bakeland shrugged. "Last one was about fifteen years ago - a woman, a tourist, decided she'd try to snag a young native guy thinking that he'd be up for a quickie behind a tree. She'd heard all about the fabled red zones and assumed that any guy on the island would be fair game and up for some outdoor sex.

"Trouble is, kids here are raised to respect each other and to always seek consent before even just kissing, and the young guy she'd preyed on, who was simply passing by the perimeter of the red zone on his way back to his family's house, politely declined her advances.

"Anyway, she simply couldn't believe a young and virile man could possibly say no to having sex with her, so she literally grabbed him by the balls and at the top of her voice demanded to know why he wouldn't want to have sex with, and I'm quoting her exact words here, "a hot babe like me - unless you're a filthy queer." Anyway, the whole thing was overheard by a nearby couple already inside the red zone who were... well, doing what couples go into red zones to do, and promptly raised the alarm.

"The woman was taken into custody that same day and the next morning she was put before the magistrate who sentenced her to be birched in the main square outside the town hall the next day. She got twenty lashes in all, but the punishment was as much about humiliating her as it was for the physical pain."

"Do you approve of corporal punishment like that?" I asked her.

"I wouldn't say I approve of it," she responded after a moment to consider her answer. "But it definitely seems to be an effective deterrent. Like I said, that was fifteen years ago and there hasn't been an incident like it since."

After spending a couple of hours out on the streets of the town we returned to the police station where we were treated to lunch courtesy of one of the other officers, Constable Karl Phillips, who was renowned by his colleagues for his culinary skills. I certainly couldn't argue with them - I'd never had lobster that tasted quite as good as the one Constable Phillips prepared for us, and when I asked Jenni if it was just because Patrick and I were visiting she surprised me by responding with a shrug and saying that the reason they were having lobster was just because it was a Tuesday, and Constable Phillips always served lobster on Tuesdays.

"He'll be doing us yellowfin tuna tomorrow," Jenni added. "And it's every bit as good as his lobster!"

After lunch, Jenni took us out in one of the island police's two patrol cars. Driving around Blackwell Island is always a rather sedate affair - the top speed one can ever reach is about twenty miles an hour because the roads are so twisty, dusty and narrow, and in some places pretty steep too. She took us on a round trip of the island, skirting around the base of the extinct volcano that dominated the southern half of the island - a journey of thirty miles in all. On the way we stopped off in some of the little villages and hamlets that were dotted around the island and met some more of the islanders. It was during this excursion that Patrick and I experienced our first encounter with one of the red zones.

Or rather, I encountered one of the red zones, as Patrick decided to stay in the car.

"Is checking out the red zones a normal part of being on patrol here?" I asked Jenni as we crept into the fenced off area marked out with red painted timber posts.

"Just to make sure that if anyone's there, the rules are being abided by," she replied over her shoulder.

"How big is this one?" I asked her in a hushed voice.

"About five acres," she answered. "It's mainly woodland but it extends down to the beach."

"Will we... y'know... see anyone, er..."

"See anyone having sex?" Jenni pre-empted the rest of my garbled enquiry. "Maybe. We'd hear 'em before we see 'em though."

We continued to explore deeper into the red zone unsure if we'd stumble across anyone.

"Shh!" Jenni suddenly stopped in her tracks. "I think I hear someone."

I strained to hear what it was she'd heard, and to begin with I couldn't hear anything other than the normal sounds of nature. But then I heard it - a very distinctive moan.

"I think there's someone up ahead," Jenni whispered, and she started to head towards the sound. "You coming?"

"You mean, you want to go watch them?!?" I whispered back in disbelief that she could be so apparently blasé about spying on a couple making love.

"If they didn't want anyone to watch 'em having sex, they wouldn't be doing it in a red zone!" Jenni replied. "So, are you coming or what?"

Once again we heard a moan coming from up ahead, louder this time.

"Sounds like someone else up there will be coming pretty soon!" I replied.

I'm sorry, I know it was an appallingly bad pun, but at the time I couldn't resist it!

Jenni just groaned at my glib remark and continued to sneak forwards. Going against my normal intuition I followed her. A few moments later we came across them, a couple of islanders - married, judging by the two Ohana Māka'u tattoos on the man's left buttock - in the throes of making love in the missionary position in a small clearing. I was almost hypnotised by the sight of the man's naked behind as his supple buttocks clenched and flexed as he repeatedly thrust his hips into his lover below him.

"It's Erica and Alvin Maitland," Jenni whispered in my ear. "I'd know those two anywhere!"

"Because of the tattoos on his bum?" I asked her.

"Well, there is that," Jenni answered. "But also because Alvin has pretty impressive balls!"

I craned my neck to see between the man's legs, and sure enough I could see what looked like the biggest testicles I'd ever seen on a guy - he really was impressively hung!

"How much would you like to get your hands on those cojones, huh?" Jenni sniggered. "Erica is one lucky girl!"

"This is so wrong," I whispered to Jenni. "We're spying on them! C'mon, let's leave them to it and get back to the car."

"It's only spying on them if we're looking into their bedroom window," Jenni countered. "They're in a public space and they are not committing any crime here and neither are we. Come on, let's at least wait until he comes!"

"Ohh, alright," I capitulated.

So against my better judgment I stayed put, and crouched down in the undergrowth to observe this couple having sex just a few metres away from us.

I won't lie and tell you that I didn't find the scene to be arousing (the feeling of moisture welling between my legs doesn't lie) but I was trapped in a moral dilemma. It was sexy to watch Alvin's muscular buttocks flexing with his pelvic thrusts and hearing his partner's pleasured moans as she laid on the ground with her legs wide apart to accommodate him as she looked up into his eyes, but it also felt wrong that this loving moment of union should be private between the two of them. On the other hand though, this was a red zone just as Jenni had said - if they didn't want anyone to see them doing this, they wouldn't go and do it in a place where people could see them going at it.

The couple's panting, thrusting and groaning gradually escalated and the sounds of their lovemaking began to drown out the sounds of nature - or at least I was tuning out everything else around us and focusing on them. Suddenly, Alvin tensed up and locked his arms straight.

"Ooh! He's going to come! Any second now," Jenni whispered excitedly.

Alvin appeared to make several more thrusts, almost hammering himself into his lover.

"Here he comes!" Jenni squealed.

"Ugh! Hah! Hmmff! Nngghh!" Alvin grunted primally, gnashing his teeth as he erupted into his orgasm.

What a truly arresting sight it was! It was beautiful but at the same time animalistic - this is probably what sex between men and women looked like in prehistoric times. It was just a man and a woman surrounded by nature doing the most natural act together the way nature intended.

"Hah-h-h! Ahh! Hah! Oh, Alvin! Come in me! Ohh, my love!" his partner, Erica ululated as he deposited his seed into her.

Almost as quickly as it began, Alvin's eruption came to an abrupt end and he collapsed exhaustedly onto her. He kissed her for a few moments before rolling off her and onto his back beside her.

"Thank you... my love," he panted.

He took her hand in his and kissed it.

Suddenly, Jenni caught me by surprise and stood up.

"Hi, you two!" she announced brightly.

Rather than shriek or recoil in shock and try to cover herself, Erica simply smiled as she recognised the police officer.

"Oh, hello there, Sergeant Bakeland," Erica responded.

She sounded surprised but not shocked or embarrassed in any way.

"I thought I heard someone creeping around," Alvin added, sounding a little out of breath following his sexual exertion. "How are you, Jenni?"

"Very well, thank you. I was just showing my new friend Allie here around the island," Jenni replied. "Come on, Allie, don't be shy."

"Er, hi," I said gingerly as I stood up. "Sorry to have spied on you like that - it wasn't my idea."

"That's okay, my dear," Alvin chuckled as he propped himself up on his elbows. "You're not the first to see the wife and I making love out here, and you definitely won't be the last!"

Now that I could see Alvin from the front, I could clearly see just how magnificently well hung he was. His penis wasn't exactly huge but it was clearly a little larger than average, but his balls... oh my! I had never seen a more impressive pair on a man before!

"Can we give the two of you a lift anywhere?" Jenni offered. "The car's parked just outside the zone."

"Sure, just give us a moment to clean up here," Erica responded.

She dug into her Kīeke and retrieved a packet of wet wipes. She took a couple out and handed them to Alvin, who immediately used them to clean his gradually wilting penis, and took a couple more to wipe between her legs. Once finished with them they were deposited into a small plastic zip bag, presumably to be disposed of properly once they got home.

"Any chance you could take us up to Hiki Mai Nā Wai?" Erica asked Jenni. "Carrie Kekoa said she'd like us to join her in a spot of fishing if we're in the area."

"Sure," Jenni replied. "Follow us."

"What's Hiki Mai Nā Wai?" I asked, hoping that I'd pronounced it right.

"Oh, it's a lovely spot," Jenni responded. "Loosely translated it means "where the waters meet." It's a popular place for swimming and fishing - two separate waterfalls from two different rivers tumble into the pool and flow out as one larger river.

So that was my first encounter with the island's red zones - it certainly was an interesting experience! Jenni led the way back towards the car with myself and Alvin and Erica following, and the three of them chatted amiably as though being seen having sex was nothing remotely of any consequence whatsoever. Sex, I thought to myself, is obviously seen on Blackwell Island as more of a social activity rather than a strictly private one - or at least that was my initial impression, but I would later discover that sex for the islanders in fact held a much deeper significance.