The Wreck

Wonder of wonders, the guy stopped at our row. He looked from his boarding pass to the seat numbers overhead. He glanced down at Charlie and said, "I'm next to you Little One." His accent was unmistakably Caribbean. While he stowed his bag overhead, Charlie checked out his package. She peeked around him at her mother and her wide eyes spoke volumes. Claire laughed and inclined her head toward our new seat mate. I could almost hear their telepathic exchange:

Charlie: "God, Mom! What a bulge he has in those jeans!"

Claire: "Just wait until you get a look at his tight ass! Woo-hoo!"

I couldn't help but laugh.

Charlie pulled her feet back and kept her gaze level as he squeezed past her. Her face was level with (and a mere foot away from) the considerable bulge at his crotch. She made a show of fanning herself with the airplane safety card. Claire and I just chuckled at the show.

Half an hour later we leveled off at cruising altitude. The flight attendant came down the aisle with the cart and because we were on vacation Claire and I ordered Bloody Mary's. Who cared if it was only 6:30 in the morning? Certainly we didn't.

We noticed that Charlie was making friends with her handsome seat mate. They seemed to be having quite the conversation, punctuated by girlish giggles and masculine laughs. Then I saw Charlie get up and open the overhead compartment. She rummaged in her bag a few seconds and then replaced it. I stopped paying attention, but I did notice that she went toward the back of the plane.

When she returned, she was wearing a pair of short shorts instead of her jeans. She grinned at me when she noticed me watching her. She got back into her seat and immediately reached for the call button. When the attendant came, Charlie said something to her that I couldn't hear. The attendant said, "Certainly, Miss. I'll be right back." She walked away and returned a few minutes later with a blanket which she handed to Charlie.

Claire turned to me with a very wry expression. "Now, why do you suppose she changed into shorts and then asked for a blanket?" she asked me. Suddenly I realized that our little girl was up to some hijinks. Claire and I ordered two more drinks and discussed the considerable merits of drinking early, and on an empty stomach.

The conversation across the aisle dropped off. Glancing over, I saw that both Charlie and her friend seemed to be asleep. Their heads were resting on the seatbacks and their eyes were closed. The blanket covered both of their laps.

When the meal came, Charlie turned hers down. Her seat partner seemed to remain asleep, so the attendant moved on. I was about halfway through my simulated scrambled egg omelet when Charlie leaned over and asked her mother if she could borrow a napkin. Claire handed hers over without comment, but I saw Claire's profile wearing a grin.

When we landed we shuffled back up the aisle and exited into some wonderfully warm and humid air. We got into the terminal at Montego Bay and moved toward the baggage claim. We had to claim our bag before going through customs. As we waited for the luggage to come off the plane, I heard a voice behind me. "Hey, Charlie," I could tell from the accent who it had to be. "Here's my address and phone number. Call if you get the chance." We all turned to look and Charlie introduced us. His name was Philip and I took note that Claire held his hand longer than manners dictated when they shook hands. She was also wearing her most lascivious smile. Philip noticed it too and returned a grin.

We got the bag and cleared customs without any problems. "I need to use the rest room," Claire told me. "Want to come along, Charlie?" Charlie did, so they went in and I waited outside for them.

Five minutes later they came out giggling like schoolgirls. As we walked toward the departure lounge to catch the plane to take us to Negril proper, Claire leaned close and said, "Well, Charlie was the first to score some black cock. She and Philip jerked each other off under the blanket."

"Shit! I knew they were up to something," I replied, grinning back at Charlie. She hooked her arm in mine and we strolled the rest of the way to the side concourse for our short hop to Negril. In due course, the doors opened, we boarded, and we watched the island roll by under us.

When we landed it was only a few minutes before we got our bag. Outside the day was drawing to a close. The humid air contained the same tropical atmosphere we'd found inside the airport but the fading heat outside whisked away by the balmy breezes. The palm fronds rattled with the wind and there was a slight fruity perfume to the air. Other newly arrived vacationers milled around, either waiting for resort vans or haggling with the cabbies. I finally noticed a large black man holding a cardboard rectangle with our last name scrawled on it in magic marker. I led my two women through the crowd and told him we were the people he was meeting.

"Irie, Mon!" he said with a broad grin. "I be Brown and I will be delighted to take you to the hotel!" He opened the sliding door for Claire and Charlie. They slid into the van and I opened the front passenger door for myself. We pulled away from the curb and were soon racing down the highway - on the wrong damn side of the road! I heard some whispering followed by giggling from the back seat. I wondered what they found so amusing, but didn't ask right then. I figured there was a reason they were whispering.

Brown drove with reckless authority. I asked him if he had been with the hotel long. "Ya, mon, I been working there ten year. My brotha and his wife own the place," he told me. Then he began what must have been his standard rap. He was good, though, and it was pleasant to listen to him tell us how he was the man to see for anything we desired during our visit. He would be pleased, he said, to take us anywhere we wanted to go on the island.

"I think we mostly just want to relax," I told him, "though we plan to go back inland to see Dunn's Falls and maybe the closest rum factory." His laugh was deep and full-throated. He told us he could get us a "special tour" of the rum factory because his cousin was the chief supervisor there. I didn't know if that was true, but I didn't care. It was fun just listening to his accent and his fanciful stories. If it saved us some money I was all for it. He made sure to include Claire and, especially Charlie, as he talked.

We arrived at the hotel turnoff. Brown wheeled the van through the break in the roadside vegetation with kamikaze flair. I had to reach up and grab the "Jesus bar" to keep from being thrown from my seat. We came out of the trees and made the turn around the circular drive. Brown stopped the van with a squeak of the brakes right in front of the double doors of the entrance.

He pulled our large bag out of the back of the van after again opening the door for the ladies. I tried to slip him a $5 bill, but he pushed it back at me. "No, mon," he said sincerely, "we will make arrangements later. Do not fear," he continued with a piratical grin, "I will be happy to take your money later." With a wink, he disappeared back around the side of the van and pulled off to some other destination.

We entered the hotel. At the desk, I gave our name and the coffee-colored woman there smiled broadly. "Mr. Fredricksen! How were your flights?" She looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was not pretty or beautiful, but she was what I guess some would call a "handsome woman". She was attractive without being obvious. She was efficient, as well. While she chatted with me, she also got out the registration card and the key to our bungalow.

The hotel was actually two facilities. The owners of the main building had bought out their neighbor who had six or seven small discreet buildings. Only two of these had its own bathroom. The rest didn't have a bath or a toilet included. The advantage of this was that they were much lower in price than either the other cabins or the rooms in the main building.

Because we were on a kind of tight budget, I had opted for one of the smaller bungalows. For bathing, guests in these cabins used the common showers located outside in the enclosed courtyard, opposite the hot tub. For a toilet, we would need to use the restrooms off the beach bar. I was satisfied with the arrangement.

As I was filling out the card, Claire and Charlie wandered around the lobby and out the open doors facing the beach. Mary (who I learned was half owner of the place, and thus, I guessed, Brown's sister-in-law) was patient as she watched me fill in all the information on the card. She handed me a key with a wooden tag numbered "3" and directed me toward the bungalows. I walked out the doors to the beach. There was a path that led off around the corner and across a courtyard. Claire and Charlie were standing a short way down the sand looking at the beach and the surf.

"Well, ladies, are you ready to go see our domain?" I asked them. They turned around and came back to where I stood.

"Gary," Charlie said in an excited whisper, "there are a lot of naked people out on the beach!" I snorted. That was why we picked this place!

I leaned toward her and said in a stage whisper, "Yes, Charlie, I'm sure there are. In a few minutes, we will be just like them!" She giggled and grabbed the large suitcase and dragged it out of my grip.

"Here, old man, let me help you!" she said and I did. Most of the weight was her stuff anyway. She had brought a few of her books for the next semester. I should have bet her that she wouldn't open them.

We crossed the grassy courtyard on the well-worn path and passed a line of trees and a hedge that separated the hotel from the bungalows. The builder had left as much natural vegetation as he could. Each cabin was set in its own little cubbyhole in the thick undergrowth and trees.

We found number three and I unlocked the door. It was small, but held two queen size beds, a table with a lamp, and a small refrigerator. Two metal wall cabinets flanked a small sink that was set into a vanity that matched the upper cupboards. It was weird to see a sink without a faucet, but that's the way it was. On the table was a basket with some fresh fruit and a brown bottle that proved to be a sample of the local rum.

I looked at my watch. Back home it was almost four in the afternoon. In Negril, it was dinner time. A short conference decided that we would simply try the dining room at our own hotel. We had a week to sample the other spots nearby. After dinner, our pretty cocoa complexioned waitress explained that we would be expected at the beach bar for the welcome rum punch party.

The beach bar was a very bare bones affair. It was simply a thatched roof over an enclosed concrete slab. The bar itself was about ten feet from end to end. The wall behind the bar was the only one on the structure. There was a waist-high cooler similar to ones I'd seen as a kid when we stopped at gas stations. That was back before vending machines. A shelf behind the counter held various types of liquor. There were two posters on the wall. One said "Clothing requested in the bar." The other was a commercial poster for Guinness. It showed a smiling woman with rosy cheeks and a beer mug in her hand. The text was, "Guinness is good for you!" I thought about our America. They'd never get away with posting that one at home.

The rum punch was way too sweet for me. Still, it was free, so I choked down three. Claire let Charlie finish her first one and ordered a second one for herself. By the time we finished them it was time for bed. Our first night in Jamaica was sexless. It was too hot anyway.

I woke up and picked up my watch from the bedside table. It read 5:30. Muzzily trying to do the math under the influence of the rum punch from the night before, I decided it must be 7:30 local time. I turned my head and saw my two women spread out next to me. Claire was next to me in the same bed and Charlie was alone on the second one. They were both naked and neither one had been able to stand even a sheet over them during the night.

I rolled over and took one of my wife's nipples into my mouth. As I sucked it, she mumbled and then gave a sigh of pleasure. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled at me. "We're in Jamaica, Stud," she said quietly. "Wanta fuck your wife in Jamaica?" I did want that. And I did that. As we were finishing up, Claire's cries woke Charlie up and she looked over at us. She returned my grin as I continued to pump my cock into her mom. Then I was coming. I emptied my semen into Claire's accepting body and we collapsed. As early as it was, we had worked up a sweat. I suggested a shower. Claire agreed. Charlie said she'd hold down the fort while were gone.

Stepping naked into the morning air in Jamaica is a singular experience. Claire and I each held a towel and wore our flip-flops on our feet. I noticed Claire glancing around to see if there were any spying eyes as she crept out of the cabin. I couldn't have cared less if someone saw us. We followed the path we had taken the night before in reverse. When we reached the courtyard we picked one of the two shower stalls and we both stepped inside. The shower stalls had doors on them. They were more like a restroom stall anywhere else. They were open to the sky and the doors were like single saloon doors. The bottom was about a foot and a half from the ground and the tops were just below shoulder height. If you've never experienced an open-air shower, you're missing a great experience.

The best part for me was when a woman crossed the courtyard in the nude and took the next stall. The side walls were no higher than the doors. Her head and breasts were visible to us, as were ours to her. She was a bit older than we are, maybe in her early sixties, but still very attractive physically. She was about Claire's height and had honey blond hair. We struck up a conversation as we all washed our respective bodies. I could hardly take my eyes off her nipples. They were the largest I'd ever seen. I mean the areolas were large, not the nipples themselves. I doubted I could cover them with my mouth. She introduced herself as Marie. She said she was there with her husband. It was their fourth stay there and they found the resort to be very homey and friendly. Claire was feeling particularly randy, because she began to jack me off as we carried on our conversation with Marie. I didn't come, but it was pretty erotic doing it while we chatted with a pretty stranger.

Before we got out of the shower another couple entered the courtyard and stepped into the hot tub. Since things were beginning to get kind of crowded, Claire left off jerking me and we finished our shower, taking long enough to make sure my erection subsided. We dried off and returned to our cabin. Charlie had fallen asleep again. I crawled next to her and tickled her awake, shaking my wet head to sprinkle her face. She shoved me off her and left for the shower with a towel modestly wrapped around her nudity. Claire and I donned our shorts and tee shirts and went to the beach bar for our complimentary breakfast.

The fare was limited, but good. Eggs and toast were available, as well as pancakes and a nutty flavored coffee. We were told it was the famous Jamaican Blue Mountain brew. We were about halfway through our eggs when Charlie appeared wearing her bikini. She had pancakes and we decided to spend the first day right there near our hotel.

We went back to the cabin and gathered towels and slathered each other with sunscreen. It turned out to be a good idea, because their nipples and my dick -- those parts that rarely saw the sunshine at home -- responded to the application. The women went out while I waited for my erection to subside again, at least most of the way. I trekked back down the beach path to find that Claire and Charlie had laid claim to three lounge chairs. Charlie doffed her bikini and they were both nude. It wasn't crowded, but there was an assortment of both nude and clothed people scattered out along the strip of white sand and occasionally walking past. I spread my towel on the chair they'd saved for me in the middle and relaxed in the warm sunshine.

After broiling a half hour on each side, we decided it was enough for the first day. Charlie spotted a group of younger folks on the beach at the next hotel down the beach. All but two of the seven were naked. She asked permission to go and mingle. With suitable precautions, we let her go, Claire taking Charlie's bikini. She had adjusted to going naked well. I looked at the teenage group she joined. They looked to be a multi-aged bunch. Two of the boys and one of the girls looked like they were probably high school age. There was a smaller boy and two pre-teen girls as well. The remaining girl looked about Charlie's age. All the younger ones were nude but one older boy and one of the high school aged girls had on swimwear. They seemed to accept Charlie -- especially the older boys of course -- and she was soon laughing and joking as if they were old friends.

It was vacation and we'd had breakfast, so Claire and I wrapped our towels around us ("Clothing requested in the bar.") and stepped into the shade of the bar. We were sipping Bloody Marys when Brown rounded the corner. His eyes lit up at the sight of my nearly-naked wife as he pumped my hand enthusiastically. "Hey, Mon! You want a tour of my island today?" he asked. We asked him to join us and he drank coffee while we discussed possibilities.

We agreed to meet him out front in an hour and Claire went to retrieve Charlie. At least she tried to retrieve her. Charlie wheedled permission to spend the time we were gone with her new friends with the provision that she not go anywhere away from the two hotels. I wasn't comfortable with the idea, but Claire said she had met the mother of one of the older boys and things would be fine. In the cabin we dressed again and went to meet our chauffeur.

Dunn's Falls were spectacular. Claire and I waded in and performed the required kissing ritual under the cool cascade. In Jamaica it doesn't take long to dry off. Then we were off to the rum factory.

Brown was as good as his word. He introduced us to his cousin, Rupert Brown. Rupert separated us from the group tour and gave us a personal one. The sweet smell of sugar cane permeated the air. Large machines pulverized the raw cane and water was added to sluice the pulp and its sugary juice into huge tubs for fermentation.

The heat outside paled beside the heat generated by the actual stills. They were wood-fired and I wondered what sort of wages the stokers received. Then it was on to the aging steel warehouse with its rows upon rows of huge wooden casks. Finally we reached the real goal of the tour of any respectable liquor producing facility: the tasting room! I am not a big fan of rum under most circumstances. But that rum was the best I've ever had. We couldn't leave without buying some to take with us. Rupert handed me an additional bottle as a gift.

Brown took us back the long way to the hotel and we got an impromptu tour of "downtown" Negril. It consists of a confusing jumble of buildings along with strips of shops and businesses. I asked Brown to stop off at a grocery and we bought some snacks for the room as well as some bottled water and juice and soda for mixer. As we were leaving the store I noticed a sign across the street. It read "Starlight" in garish letters. The small bulbs outlining the name labeled it as a club of some sort. I asked Brown about it.

"Yah, mon, it's one happenin' place most nights! All the locals go there. Not many tourists come into town at night, but if you want to go I can get you in easy."

"Let me guess..." I began. Brown laughed his big laugh and finished for me.