Butterfly Islands

There are many islands in the Caribbean, large and small. Some are tourist hotspots with resort after resort lining the beaches. These are the types of places we would go when our children were small and we were seeking security and entertainment for them and relaxation without care for us. Those were wonderful times, but they were long ago.

Years go by, children grow, and parents are left to rediscover each other. In our case, we discovered that we really didn't have the same interests, the same hopes and dreams, or the same love that had brought us together in the first place. We amicably divorced and are both happier for it.

I remember so fondly the first trip we took to the Caribbean, cruising the Leeward Islands. I fell in love with island life. We cruised on a tall ship, fourteen sails—the Fantome. It is now years after that voyage yet I still remember fondly as though it were yesterday, standing at the bow of the ship, as the sails went up and we cruised out of port, with the haunting melody of Amazing Grace played by bagpipes over speakers. The romance of it will never be forgotten.

In 1998 Hurricane Mitch threatened the Fantome. The Captain dropped the passengers and non-essential crew safely, then moved on to try to out sail Mitch. The vicious hurricane caught the ship and it went down taking its crew of 31 to the bottom of the sea. The Fantome is truly a phantom now. I will never hear Amazing Grace again without thinking of the Fantome and its crew.

Of all the islands I have visited, there was one small place the Fantome had taken us that truly grabbed my heart.

Guadeloupe, known as the Butterfly Islands, is made up of two large islands and six smaller ones. The islands are French, a Department of France since 1946. One of these small islands is called "Isles des Saintes" or "Les Saintes" This one in particular is my favorite. Just two miles wide and three miles long with its small port town of Terre-de-Haute, it is a quiet and intimate place.

You can roam through town and visit the street vendors and the outdoor cafes, or you can venture off down the roads and discover people and places of another place and time. This was as filled with French charm as it was the charm of the fishermen's houses or the retirement cottages of seniors from Point-a-Pitre.

Oh, and the iguanas. I must not forget to mention them. The island was populated by iguanas, large and lumbering, roaming freely as wildlife. When walking the island one is sure to meet up with a few of these great creatures.

The terrain was rolling and the life was charming.

Steel drums in the night sing a beautiful song.

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Last year, I visited Terre-de-Haute for two months, staying at a little bed and breakfast style inn near the town center. I strolled the island from end to end, getting to know of little shops and restaurants along the way. I also found a quiet beach, more of a resident's beach than a tourist beach. Every day I would sneak my way through the yard of one of the little houses that fronted on the sandy shore, and lay out with my towel on a beach chair to absorb the sun, and then to float in the ocean when my skin needed cooling.

I had been trespassing my way through this private yard to the beach for several days without being stopped.

Although there were no signs posted, it was a French island, and nudity on the beach was acceptable and normal. The beach was never very populated, generally ten or twelve people at any given time. Mostly it was retired people who sunbathed freely on the beach and local children who ran naturally naked in and out of the water chasing waves and splashing.

My nudity did not come in the first day of visiting the beach. I was still too new to the idea of being naked in public. On the second day, after observing the others who were so comfortable with their nudity, I took the daring step of baring my breasts on the beach. Contrary to my fears of being ogled, no one seemed to take particular notice of me and I fell into the routine of semi nude sunbathing. (I was still too shy to bare myself completely. Some things are just ingrained in your character.) ____________________________________________

I would arrive at the beach just after breakfast, to take in the sun and the sea before the heat of the day reached its peak. My afternoons and evenings were taken up by handy-work. I was creating samples of beaded jewelry, which I hoped to sell to Maoganie, the most interesting boutique on the island.

Every morning, I was one of the first to arrive at the beach. And, every morning at the same time, an old Indian woman would come out onto the tiny beach with a rake and clean up the debris, which had washed ashore over night.

How lovely she looked. In direct contrast to the nakedness of the sunbathers, she was covered, from her neck to her knees in a sari. She had tucked the back of her sari up and between her legs, leaving her calves exposed. Her feet were bare. Her hair was salt and pepper streaks of gray and black, braided and hanging down her back to her bottom.

One morning, as I headed through the private pathway beside the little cottage at the close end of the beach, I was stopped.

It was the rake lady. She looked at me with dismay and asked "Why do you come through my yard every day to this beach? You are not staying here with us. This beach is for the cottagers along the shore. They pay me good money for privacy, and yet you stay in town and come use our beach for nothing."

I was chastised.

Smiling patiently at her and with a shamed face I asked her to please forgive me for sneaking through her yard, and using the private beach. I was certain I could charm her into overlooking my presence as a trespasser. She was neither charmed nor lenient, sending me back the way I came.

As I apologized again and turned to depart she stopped me.

"You listen. I have one cottage available to sublet. Where are you staying now?"

"I am staying with Marie Foucault in town." I told her.

"Foucault! That old witch. What are you paying her for just a room and no beach?"

I told her the rate I was paying to Madame Foucault, and she cried, "Foucault is a thief! I will match that. You go tell Madame Foucault that you are leaving and come live on this beach you have been enjoying so freely."

This woman was as bossy an old mother as they come. She was giving me orders, and although my first reaction was indignation at her tone, her offer did entice me. I had no particular loyalty or commitment to Madame Foucault. ____________________________________________

I left to move into the cottage on the beach that evening. Madame Foucault was incensed that I should leave her accommodation to go stay with the Indian on the beach and gave me an earful. I was calmly respectful and listened to her noise, but did not change my plans to move on.

Saturday evening, with my bags in my hand, I knocked on the door of the cottage the Indian woman lived in. This time, upon seeing me, she smiled a huge smile and invited me in.

"I've come back to take you up on your offer." I told her.

"Of course" she said rather smugly. "Here, sit down at the table and I will take your information. What is your name?"

I extended my hand to her and introduced myself. "I'm Roberta. Roberta Metcalf. And you are?"

She took my hand, and instead of shaking it, turned it over and looked at my palm. "I am Arshiya Sahel." After inspecting my palm for some unknown purpose, she put my hand on the table, without shaking it.

We settled our business affairs, and then Arshiya showed me to my cottage, only five doors down from her own.

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The next morning I was the first to arrive on the beach. It was a lovely quiet Sunday. I removed my wrap and lay almost naked but for my barely there black bikini bottoms.

Shortly after my arrival, out came Arshiya. This time though, instead of her rake, she had two mugs in her hand. She came over, handed me a mug (an aromatic tea) and pulled up a chair to join me. Arshiya talked on and on, filling me with an equivalent mix of island gossip and history. This she topped with the bragging of a mother about her children and theirs.

When we had finished our tea, Arshiya took the mugs back to her home and returned with her rake to clean the beach.

It became a routine. Every morning, Arshiya in her sari, and I in a tiny slip of a bottom would chat comfortably until our tea was done and it was time for her to move on to her chores.

On Wednesday morning of my second week, Arshiya told me that she would be leaving on Monday to travel to India to visit relatives. She explained that her son Rehman would be taking a leave from his position as head of the Guadeloupe Department of Agriculture in order to look after things for his mother.

Thursday morning we took our tea together. Arshiya was delightful to listen to; full of rich stories, and most entertaining.

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On Friday morning, I was once again the first and only person on the beach. I removed my wrap and stretched out semi naked under the sun. I closed my eyes and waited for Arshiya and our tea.

"Roberta" called Arshiya and I lazily opened my eyes and sat up straight to greet her.

I was startled by the presence of a man who stood beside her. My first instinct was to cover my breasts, but I did not want to look self-conscious and left my wrap on the back of my chair. For the first time since I had begun my public nudity, I was embarrassed.

He had on swim trunks and nothing else. He was taller than me and extremely fit looking for someone who appeared to be of my age. Usually men in their forties have at least a spare tire if they are not completely obese. This man had muscles, smooth and sleek, not hidden by fat.

I did not look at his face. Bare breasts and eye contact would have been too much for me.

"Roberta, this is my son Rehman Sahel, the head of the Department of Agriculture" Arshiya proudly introduced the man as she handed me my tea. "He has come from Pointe-a-Pitre to visit with me for a few days before I leave. He will look after you while I am gone."

Feeling awkward in my nudity, but not one to forget my manners, I raised my eyes briefly to his and extended my hand and introduced myself. Rehman took my hand, but like his mother did not shake it.

Rehman kissed my hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Roberta" he spoke as he sat down in one of the chairs and joined Arshiya and I for tea. I was not able to get over my shyness of being uncovered in the presence of this man. His kiss to the back of my hand had brought a burning flush to my cheeks.

We sat together all three, and drank tea. Actually, I was drinking more than the tea. I was drinking in the attractiveness of Rehman. He had a wonderful rich voice, with an accent that hinted of British and Creole, as well as the unmistakable sound of one from India.

As usual, Arshiya dominated the conversation. When she would turn to Rehman and engage him, I would watch his face.

His face. White skin, cleanly shaven, perfectly balanced features with a gentle mouth, and expressive rich dark eyes. His jet-black hair was neatly cut and framed his face handsomely.

When our tea was finished, it was Rehman who took the rake and began to clean the beach. Arshiya returned to her cottage. I lay back in my chair and relaxed.

I could not take my eyes from Rehman.

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With the beach cleanly raked, Rehman returned to me and sat again to chat. This time, without his mother's presence, it was Rehman who led the conversation. He was terribly charming, and an excellent conversationalist. We sat together for over an hour as other sunbathers arrived.

"Well," said Rehman "this sun has me overheated. I'm going in for a swim. Will you join me?"

"Yes, sure" I replied. "I feel quite hot myself"

Rehman stood, and to my shock, removed his swim trunks, baring himself completely. I blushed through at the sight of him. My nipples stiffened in spite of themselves. I silently hoped that he would not notice. Nipples stiffen when cold or sexually stimulated. I was not cold.

I stood to join Rehman and he looked at me apparently waiting for something. I looked back to him questioningly.

"Aren't you going to remove your bikini? There is nothing like skinny dipping in the ocean." Once again I blushed, and stammered my answer.

"Well . . . I . . . um . . . I just can't. I don't do that. I feel too shy."

"Roberta, you have a beautiful body. You needn't be shy," said Rehman with a sincere gentleness.

"Ah, but I am. Even baring myself this much takes courage" was my reply.

"Your breasts are lovely Roberta, and look how they have tanned. Your bundd should be tanned as well."

"My bundd?" I asked and wished immediately that I hadn't, because even though I had never heard the word before I had the idea that he was referring to my backside.

"Bundd. It is Punjabi for ass" Rehman explained. "Your ass will be lily-white unless you allow the sun to kiss color into it."

Yet again I suffered from the burning rush of blood that was stimulation and embarrassment.

"Lily-white it is then!" I exclaimed and ran down to the water with Rehman chasing behind. We waded together in the shallowness of the shore out towards the deeper water.

We played together like children in the water, splashing and laughing. After, we returned to the shore and soaked up more sun.

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A new routine was added to my mornings--playing with Rehman in the water and relaxing with him on the shore.

With Arshiya off to India, it was Rehman who would bring out the morning tea. More and more familiar we became, and our attraction was as naked as Rehman's body.

Playing in the ocean, Rehman would lock his fingers together and take my foot in his hands. He would then toss me high out of the water and I would dive backwards and in. We did underwater handstands and rolls. We jumped on each other's backs in order to try and submerge the other.

Somehow, all this touching, taking place in the water, was at once innocent and playful, and conversely sexual and teasing. Within days, our ocean play included kisses and embraces. His hands had explored my breasts underwater. At times I could feel his naked penis against my thighs, his hands holding my ass and pulling me close.

Once, he grabbed my bikini bottom and pulled it off and swam away from me. He stood in the water, holding my bikini over his head.

"Come on Roberta. If you want your bikini back you are going to have to take it from me." I chased Rehman around in the ocean trying to grab my bottoms back from him. After a considerable amount of teasing and torturing, he finally tossed them back to me, and I slipped back into them underwater.

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One day, as we sat drying in the sun after our play, Rehman developed an erection that was bold and spoke for itself. Rehman teased, not hiding his erection but flaunting it.

"See Roberta. My lann is asking for you." He smiled at me with a dare.

We were set up to become lovers. Our play had loosened my inhibitions and openly I teased back.

"Your lann. Lann. Hmm."

"Yes, my lann. My cock. It is telling me I am hungry for you."

"Well Rehman" I spoke "I too have body parts that speak of hunger." I winked to him and smiled.

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In the evenings, Rehman would have me over to play Scrabble. I never won. Rehman had a vocabulary that was unbeatable and some great luck with the letter tiles. I would repeatedly tell him "I will be the winner eventually."

We drank island rum, which loosened any propriety and shyness that might have otherwise existed. One night, Rehman proposed that we play strip Scrabble. The rules were set and the game went on. I was determined that on this night, I would win. It would not be me who ended up naked.

As it was, Rehman did have to remove his shirt and one sock, but I, as usual was being beaten at the game. I was down to one garment. My panties. It was at this point that I begged out. Rehman understood.

More rum flowed, and while Rehman seemed totally unimpaired, I was definitely tipsy. I was also highly aroused. Rehman took my hand and pulled me from my chair, then picked me up effortlessly into his arms, carrying me to the bedroom.

I was nervous and so very excited. We lay together on the bed like teenagers, necking. Our mouths joined and our tongues danced together. Hands were everywhere. Rehman stood from the bed and removed the remainder of his clothes.

"A ha!" I quipped. "You're naked. I win!"

Rehman laughed. "I am defeated. The winner must have a prize."

With that, he returned to the bed, laid down beside me and took my hand and placed it over his cock. I nuzzled in under his arm, laying beside him and playing with his growing erection. Stiff and hard it grew, and as I held it I stroked his velvet shaft, and Rehman became enflamed.

It was clear that we would fuck.

I took Rehman's own hand and placed it on his cock, and he continued the stroking that I had started. I arose from the bed, turned my back and slipped my panties down and off.

"Oh!" exclaimed Rehman. "Your ass! So white against your tan. It shines like a beacon."

I turned and smiled as I stood and Rehman took in the entirety of my nakedness.

He called me to come back onto the bed. His hands pushed my shoulders, forcing me downward so that my face was at his lann. My tongue licked out, tasting the skin of the length and teasing over the tip. I pushed his legs wider, and licked and sucked too on the sac of his testicles. With my hand, I lifted his balls and my tongue softly licked the tender underside.

Rehman was overthrown by excitement. "Suck me Roberta. Suck my cock! I want to come into your mouth."

I lifted the tip of his cock to my lips and looked playfully into his eyes. I licked and tempted.

"You want me to suck your cock?" I licked.

"Hmmm? You want to come in my mouth?" I licked.

My eyes twinkled into his own luscious eyes as I held the smooth head of his cock to my mouth. I licked.

"Should I suck you dry?" I licked.

And then, "No. You may not come into my mouth." I licked.

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I controlled, but not for long. Rehman pulled me up and kissed me hot and passionately, his tongue deep in my mouth, exploring it; me sucking on it. He turned me onto my back and rolled on top of me. He parted my legs, and moved down, his mouth to my fully moistened cunt to return my teasing.

His tongue and fingers licked and probed. I squirmed and moaned, so delicious were his attentions. With two fingers, he held the lips of my cunt apart and licked up the slit.

"Butterfly." He licked.

"Ah! Phudee." He licked.

"I must enter here." He licked.

"Your kuss, your phudee, is wet. Ready. I want it." He licked.

"I want to come in your kuss. Your cunt. To fuck you." He licked.

His voice was thick with desire in askance.

My moans were soft whimpers of resistance. "No. You may not come in my kuss."

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"No?" he asked. "We don't fuck? We go this far and are both ready and you say we don't fuck?!!"

He was incredulous.

I spoke. "I did not say we don't fuck. I said you may not come into my mouth or my cunt. These are places that have been known.

Rehman, you are only the second man to have me in bed. This is special for me. I want it to be special for you. There is one place that is virgin. A special place for you alone. A gift."

I arose and planted on all fours, my backside to Rehman's face.