Letters from Blackwell Island Pt. 03

* * * * * *

When we eventually landed at Heathrow, we were both taken aback at how cold it was. Even though the weather was considered fairly mild for mid December, it was much colder than what we'd left behind on Blackwell. The airport was bedecked in festive decorations, though underneath the Yuletide facade everything was very much business as usual. After spending so much time in peaceful Blackwell Island, finding ourselves in the bustling immensity of Heathrow's gigantic Terminal 5 was quite a culture shock.

Our journey back to our little flat in Guildford involved taking an AirBus coach service which would deposit us outside Guildford train station - it was a pretty tedious ride, but compared to the alternative which involved taking the train and having to head west towards Reading to change to a train headed for Guildford, or eastwards into London Paddington and then taking the tube to Waterloo and getting on a train to Guildford from there. Either way, it would've taken us longer than the coach - not to mention more expensive.

By the time we'd let ourselves in to our old flat we were both absolutely shattered.

* * * * * *

All in all our Christmas break had been wonderful despite the often miserable weather - it was great to catch up with all our old friends and family, pretty much all of whom bombarded Patrick and I with questions about our time on Blackwell, and was it really true that we had to go everywhere naked. My Nana, bless her, found the whole idea of Patrick and I living our lives in the nude surrounded by hundreds of other equally nude people to be among the most hilarious things she'd ever heard. Though she later quietly admitted to me that if she were younger she'd have loved to be able to visit us.

Someone who did ask if they could visit us was Patrick's sister, Niamh. She, rather like yours truly, had an inquisitive streak a mile wide, and she found the idea of living somewhere where nakedness is enforced by law to be nothing less than utterly fascinating. She was also an avid read of Letters from Blackwell Island and confessed that it was the only reason she bought her monthly copy of Estelle Magazine. Needless to say that inflated my ego somewhat, and I invited her to visit us on the island - an invitation she gleefully accepted without a moment's hesitation. Marea had informed us that friends and family of Blackwell residents were not subject to the island's strict limit on visitor numbers, so she wouldn't have to join the three-year waiting list. All that was needed was someone to vouch for her, and a confirmed place for her to stay. Marea and Jackson had previously offered us their spare room for just such a purpose, so all Niamh had to do was make the necessary travel arrangements.

Whilst I was pleased at the prospect of my sister in law coming to visit us, it would be fair to say that Patrick was less than enthusiastic - primarily because it would involve his older sister seeing him in the nude.

"Yes, but you'd get to see her naked too," I pointed out.

"Sure, but why would I want to see her in the nip?" he responded.

Evidently I would have to work on him. But in the meantime I went right ahead and invited her anyway - though I hazarded that it might be a bit of an assault on her senses to begin with. And I hadn't even mentioned the red zones to her. Still, as they say, we'd cross that bridge once we got there.

Seeing in the new year with Patrick's folks in their home near Cork was as wonderful as I'd remembered it from the first time I spent the holidays with them. There was no shortage of jollity, craic, and lots of Blarney and plenty of Irish folk music, and of course a large quantity of "the black stuff" had been imbibed by all before the midnight hour approached. New Year's Eve in Ireland, like many other parts of the world, has plenty of traditions and customs associated with it, and that New Year's Eve with Patrick's folk was no exception. They'd all gone to the local church for Mass as they always did, although not being religious myself I simply sat respectfully quiet at the back of the church. It always brings a lump to my throat however, when I see Patrick praying and receiving the sacrament with the rest of his extended family - his faith, though by his own admission he isn't the most devout of Catholics - is important to him, and I always feel a swelling of emotion to see him worshipping with his closest friends and family.

Aside from the Brennan family's religious observance, there are some rather quirky and endearing New Year traditions in Ireland - for instance, it is considered to be bad luck to leave the house by the front door after the stroke of midnight, so everyone enters through the front door before midnight, but must leave via the back door after midnight. And then there is the frankly bizarre little ritual of banging stale bread on the door. I'm not making it up, before you ask, it really is a thing! Nobody really knows where this particular tradition comes from, but in households across the Emerald Isle it is believed that banging stale bread on the doors and on the walls helps chase away malevolent spirits from the house. It was, as ever, a strange sight to behold, but it was a lot of fun joining in. Patrick's family had always welcomed me, and I loved them as if they were my own family. Even though I came from a Protestant background, there was never any hint of any sectarian malcontent from the Brennan family.

Of course, in the form of Patrick's mother, affectionately known by all as "Ma" even by myself, I'd noticed several parallels with Blackwell Island's matriarchs. Ma Brennan was every bit the matriarch as Marea and all the other senior women on the island, just with considerably more in the way of clothes. She was a woman to be reckoned with, and she exuded matronly authority, driven by a deep love for her family, a proud respect for her faith, and a devotion to her motherly duties that one simply couldn't help to admire.

Patrick's father, "Da" was as kindly a soul as one could ever meet, and it was definitely from him that my Irish beau inherited his good looks. I remember when I met him for the very first time of being vaguely terrified about him. I just had this notion of the stern Irish Catholic father, but I couldn't have been further from the truth. He'd almost immediately put me at ease with his gentle temperament, beaming smile and all round warm-heartedness, and we got on famously right from the start.

That New Year's Eve watching Da Brennan and his sons together raucously singing songs in Gaelic, all of them absolutely battered after at least five pints of stout each, caused me to almost break out in tears of both of laughter and admiration. If I could sum it all up in as few words as possible I'd have to simply say "it was good craic!"

All in all it had been a wonderful evening, but by the time we all eventually crawled into bed in the early hours, some of us definitely more worse for wear than others, our adopted island home was calling to us. It was time for us to return to Blackwell.

Back To Paradise

I couldn't have been happier as I stepped out of the plane and onto the concrete apron of Blackwell Island airport - in only a few minutes both Patrick and I would be blissfully nude once again. The first time we'd been in the airport terminal and had to strip off Patrick had at first been reluctant to disrobe. This time however, he exhibited no signs of unease whatsoever, and just moments after passing the large sign that informed new arrivals that all adults had to be naked from that point onwards, he immediately began undressing. In fact, so keen was he to be unclothed he was even out of his trousers and pants before I had even taken my bra off.

"I never thought I'd ever say this, but it sure feels grand to be naked again!" he chuckled as he tossed his underwear into the plastic basket provided by the island's customs and immigration service.

"Same here," I responded as I reached behind my back and unclipped my bra.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I released my breasts from their confinement in the knowledge that it'd be a good long while before I had to imprison them again. I quickly took my knickers down too, and together we stood totally nude before each other.

"As much as it was nice seeing me Ma and Da again, I've got to say it feels good to be home!" Patrick went on with what sounded like a sigh of relief of his own.

"Is that how you think of this place now?" I asked him as I picked up my basket of clothes, for I wasn't quite sure I'd heard him correctly. "As our home?"

"Well, my home is wherever you are, mo grá," he said with a smile. "So as long as you're here then yes, it's home as far as I'm concerned."

"But the big question is, do you enjoy living here?" I went on as we took our baskets and placed them on the customs desk where they would be taken and returned to storage. "Don't give me that "my home is wherever you are" nonsense, as sweet and nice it is to hear you say that, I want to know what you really think."

He paused to consider his answer for a few moments before his face cracked into the broadest smile I'd ever seen him smile (imagine Alice in Wonderland's grinning Cheshire Cat and you're halfway there).

"This place has changed me life, Allie," he smiled. "A year ago I never would've thought that living life completely in the nip would be as enjoyable as it is. Truth be told, all through Christmas and New Year I actually felt uncomfortable wearing all those heavy coats and thick sweaters - I was literally wishing I could be naked again and back here in the sunshine. Back here with you, and all the friends we've made here. So yes, this is definitely our home now."

"God, I love you, Patrick Brennan," I said with a sigh.

"Well, technically I'm Patrick Wilkins here," he chuckled. "We're in a matriarchal society here, remember?"

It was a nice reminder that here on Blackwell Island it was the women that were considered to be the head of the family - something I'd relished, though I must admit to my shame I have allowed the power to go to my head on several occasions. Though I can assure you that my intentions have always only ever been playful. Such as whenever I call upon him to do his husbandly duty and service me in our bed. Occasions such as right at that very moment, when the sight of his bare naked body inflamed my ardour for him.

As soon as we stepped out of the airport and felt the warm tropical sunshine on our bare skins, I leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"The moment we get home, this fine bottom of yours has a date with our bed," I said to him wantonly as I groped his bare bum.

"Oh yeah, wo'an?" he whispered back. "You'd like that, huh?"

"Yer damned right I do!" I answered.

"Heh! Then it's a good job that right now I'd love nothing more than to let ya ride me 'til the sun comes up!" he responded with an unmistakable snigger.

Just then, we came across Marea who had been waiting for us in her little battery powered Mini Moke - she broke into a broad smile as she saw us approaching, followed by a startled expression a moment later.

"Well, hello there, Patrick - I wasn't expecting that you'd be that happy to see me again!" she chuckled.

I followed her eyes and alighted on a sight I guess I ought to have expected, bearing in mind our little erotic discourse just moments earlier - Patrick was sporting what could best be described as the mother of all erections.

"Blame the missus!" he said as he got into the back of the car. "Sure it's herself's fault I'm hard!"

It was actually quite a breakthrough moment - he didn't seem embarrassed about being so fully and powerfully erect at all, something I never thought I'd ever see. In fact, now that I look back on that moment, he actually sounded proud to be so monumentally tumescent.

"I won't ask," Marea chuckled as she pressed the car's start button and put it into gear. "Though I think I can put two and two together! So, how was your trip home? Had a nice Christmas?"

"It was good, yeah," I nodded affirmatively. "But Patrick and I were just talking that this place feels like our home now."

"I guess Blackwell does get under your skin after a while," Marea responded with a knowing nod.

"Well, there's a lot of skin on show for it to get under," I quipped.

"Very true," Marea acknowledged.

"Allie's right though," Patrick said from behind us. "This place does feel like home now. Though of course "home" to me is wherever herself there is."

"Aww, he's so sweet!" Marea chuckled as we entered Malmesbury.

"Yeah, he's not so bad I suppose," I responded. "A little repressed sometimes, but as you saw a moment ago he's definitely beginning to lose some of his old inhibitions."

"Well, I've lived here almost a year now," Patrick said from the back seat. "Sure I've seen a lot - like, way more than I ever thought I would! I've seen other guys walking around with a stiffy without a care in the world - so I guess you could say my new year resolution is to try my best to throw off the last of my old conservative ways."

"Does this mean you'd be willing to, y'know, go with me into the..." I ventured before he cut me off before I had a chance to finish.

"I'm not making any promises, wo'an!" he interrupted. "I'm just not saying never now."

"Well, it's still a huge leap from where you were when Jackson first mentioned them, but I guess I'll just have to be patient for a little while longer!" I responded.

Well, it was a big step for him, so I guess I ought to give him credit where it's due. We spent the rest of the ride back to our accommodation at Marea and Jackson's place chatting amiably with Marea about our Christmas in England and New Year in Ireland, and of course all the questions our loved ones had barraged us with about our new nude life together. Though of course, the sexual tension between Patrick and I was ramping up with every passing moment -- his erection certainly wasn't going down in a hurry.

"His sister wants to come and visit," I told our landlady and friend. "Would that be okay? Sometime in the spring, perhaps?"

"Of course," Marea replied with a smile. "It'd be nice to meet some of your folks, Patrick."

"Well, Niamh has always been the "free spirit" of the family," he answered. "But sure you'd never get me Ma and Da here in a million years!"

"Well, your families are very welcome to come and stay," Marea smiled as we turned into their driveway and through the gates that led into their eight acre property.

I looked over my shoulder at Patrick as Marea pulled up into the garage beneath our little apartment - he was still hugely engorged! He was definitely as eager as I was to get inside and get straight down to business.

It wasn't as though we had abstained from sex during our three weeks away, far from it in fact, but we had both found that with the encumbrance of clothing getting in the way, our love life had seemed to lose some of the spontaneity we had enjoyed on Blackwell Island. So as you can imagine, by the time Marea stopped the car and switched it off both Patrick and I were both well and truly ready for each other. Marea, bless her, obviously knew exactly what we had in mind (Patrick's sustained state of engorgement being a bit of a giveaway).

"I'll leave the two of you to get indoors - you must be exhausted after your journey," she said as she stepped out of the car. "We'll catch up over coffee later."

I couldn't help but notice the playful wink she gave me - it was obvious she knew precisely what was about to happen as soon as I was alone with my husband. It was a wink that basically said "make sure you give him a damned good seeing-to!" And with that, she stepped over to the main house, leaving Patrick and I to our own devices.

I grabbed his hand, pulled him out of the car, and with his throbbing erection waggling around I led him up the steps and into our little apartment. Just as I'd promised at the airport earlier, his bottom had a date to keep with the bed. The very second the front door closed behind us, our lips were locked together in a kiss of frenzied passion, pent up over the three days and nights of our long journey from the U.K. Our naked bodies locked together, we found ourselves headed straight towards the bed, both of us guiding each other - we were both ready for sex. With a gentle push, I nudged Patrick onto the bed, and as he laid out on his back I shuffled forwards towards him, my knees either side of his slim masculine hips.

We didn't exchange a single word during all of this - we didn't need to, such was our mutual need for each other at that moment - and it wasn't long before I'd picked up his erection and guided it up inside me. We both gasped out of a sense of pent-up need as I lowered myself onto him. We were rutting within a matter of seconds, me with my hips whilst he responded by thrusting his pelvis back up at me - this wasn't going to last very long, but then it didn't need to. There would be plenty of time for much longer and gentler lovemaking in the fullness of time.

Such was the intensity of my desire I came within moments, and such was Patrick's own arousal that he followed my orgasm with one of his own just a few seconds later. The whole thing was over in under a minute, but the brevity of our coupling did not matter a single iota - our itches had well and truly been scratched.

"Oh, Patrick," I panted down at him as his penis throbbed gently and warmly inside me with the last remnants of his seed oozing out of me. "Oh, I so needed that!"

"Me too, Allie," he smiled back up at me. "Jaysus, sure that felt absolutely fantastic!"

The total time it took from the wheels of our plane touching down to the moment when I dismounted my fabulous husband and flopped onto the bed beside him, was easily inside three quarters of an hour. I'm pretty sure it must be some kind of record! It was definitely a personal best as far as we were concerned!

* * * * * *

Later that evening, after Patrick and I had slept off some of our jet lag, we took up Marea's invitation for coffee with her and spent a happy couple of hours catching up on all the island gossip that I'd missed out on during our time away. Whilst Marea, Lisa and I gossiped, our two men talked about the usual "man stuff" such as sports and stuff (I'm afraid I usually tune them out whenever they bang on about boring stuff like that!)

Of course, high up on our list of conversation was how Aiden and Merryanne were getting on, now that they'd returned from their honeymoon and were living as husband and wife.

"How's he doing?" I asked.

"Settling into married life nicely apparently," Marea replied. "He spend a lot of time doing housework, but he definitely wants to be more than just a househusband. He's applied to Honolulu University to do a correspondence degree in English literature. He says he'd like to qualify as a teacher one day and get a job with the school in Malmesbury."

"Sounds interesting," I responded. "Aiden would make a great teacher - he just sort of has the right kind of temperament, y'know?"

"He'll make a great dad too, one day." Marea continued. "Once Merryanne decides when she wants to have children."

Of course, I remembered that according to Pã'ele tradition it was the woman who made the ultimate decision on whether to start a family - the men aren't actually allowed a say in the matter. If a man's wife wants to have a child, he has to do the deed whether he wants to or not. Though of course with modern times come modern attitudes, and I was in little doubt that the decision for the young couple would be much more mutually reached than it had been for Marea and Jackson's generation, and the many generations before them.