Zoë Jones-Smithers was a mixture of excitement, apprehension and exhaustion as the six-passenger propeller engine touched ground. She and her husband, Jonathan's arrival at Victoria Airport on the tropical island of Mahe was a far cry from their departure in Kansas City. Even though a small Midwest town, MCI had a short walking distance from where they were dropped off at the curb and their walk through the Jet Bridge into the 727 jet plane.
After stops in Washington D.C, Charles DE Gaul airport, switching to a four propeller stainless steel plane with three porthole windows on each side seemed primitive.
When the gang plank was rolled up to the plan and they walked out of the plan onto the hot asphalt tarmac, it hardly seemed like the romantic vacation her husband had convinced her they were a part of. They were to be there for a week before their daughter; Gabrielle finished her spring classes and would join them.
The air was hot and muggy when the door opened. Zoë grabbed her dress with one hand and her wide brimmed straw hat with the other. The unexpected wind was short, but seemed it was determined to blow her summer dress from her.
Her reddish brown hair had been braided into a long French braid down the back of her head. Her emerald green summer dress buttoned down the front. With the last few buttons being fashionably undone, her late reaction with one hand did little to conceal much. Her hand kept her feeble lacy green thong from showing, but her tanned and toned long legs gave a good idea what the rest of her looked like. Her grey lizard skin high heeled boots hid her from below the knees down, but that was not the focus of the ebony black airport aids dressed in dark camaflogue with AK-47's over their shoulders.
The guards / porters were used to it; somewhat. These rich bitches from the west loved to tantalize the local black men. Zoë, on the other hand, was a modest and easily embarrassed middle aged woman. She would never have dressed like this back home where her neighbors might see her. Here, in another land half way around the world, it was a different story. Normally conservative women who have never been topless in their life will do so if there are others. The short, green button front dress was brazen for Zoë; but then nobody would know her and she would be gone in no time at all. But for just that one instant, the guard saw her and recognized the surprise over her lack of modesty. She did not have that brazen tourist look he had seen in others. She was different; vulnerable?
Zoë gasped to herself; "Oh, dear" her mind screamed as she struggled to hold the dress down and not lose her hat. One more burst of wind, and Zoë probably would have let the hat go, rather than show off any more of herself. Blushing, she refused to look up at the guard. "Wow! What was that?" her husband said as he came through the plane door and caught a millisecond glimpse of her thong.
"Oh, it's nothing." She said, refusing to admit she was wearing something naughty. Her daughter had put her up to it. As they were packing, Gabrielle snatched the Mother Hubbard drawers her mother had packed. "You're on a second honeymoon, Mom." She said as she threw them back in the drawer. "Take these." She said as she threw half a dozen of her own scanty panties into her mother's travel bag. "You're away from home. Live a little." She said as she hugged her mom.
Now she wished maybe she had traveled in her normal boot cut Levis. The high heel boots weren't her idea either. Her daughter had packed hers instead. "If you don't like them, you can give them back to me when I get there. We can probably get by with slippers."
By the time Zoë and Jon had the military jeep loaded with their bags, she had managed to control her embarrassment. Holding her hat in her hand and using both hands now to hold the thin summer dress wrapped around her, she was able to gain control of her embarrassment. She was not quite sure how to modestly get into the back seat of the open 4-wheel-drive jeep. Usually the car she drove was about six inches off of the ground. This off-road military car floor boards hit her about the waist. She hesitated. Before she could decide what to do, Rene, the bigger of the two guards came up behind her and grabbed her around the waist. She had two choices. She could try to quickly fight out of his grasp. Knowing that if she didn't cooperate, his hands would almost assuredly slip up to cup her breasts, she placed her hands over his to keep them where they were. "Up you go; miss Smithers." He said as he effortlessly lifted her up and over the back of the open jeep. Struggling to keep his hands lower than her breasts and keep her partially unbuttoned dress from revealing too much, she allowed herself to be deposited in the back seat. Jon climbed up over the sideboard and stepped around the passenger seat to sit beside her.
He gave the driver the card with the hotel's address on it. "We're off, boss." Rene said looking at the couple through the rear view mirror. Zoë may have miss-interpreted the glance in the mirror, but she felt he had winked at her.
"I'll sure be glad to get to the hotel and clean up a little after 16 hours of traveling." She said; trying to pass over her embarrassment of being lifted up into the jeep. On one level, it may have seemed innocuous enough. On the other hand, she was trying to ignore what she knew her husband and the other guard probably saw. As she struggled to keep the driver's hands away from her breasts, she had not been real successful in keeping her dress down. The short garment could not hide her from high up her thigs to the top of her boots. Jon was a little indignant that she had exposed herself, but secretly thrilled at what he had seen. Subconsciously, he probably was proud of how his wife looked to these savages. How strange life can be, he thought. If not for him being raised in a wealthy family and being given a first class education, he could have easily been born in this uncivilized country loading and unloading cars for tourists.
He watched his wife try to control the flutter of the bottom half of her dress as they sped along the rough gravel road. Every bump seemed to amplify the effect of the wind rushing through the jeep. Again, with one hand on her hat and one on the dress, she was not able to hide that much from the guard in the front passenger seat. With one hand on the handle on the windshield and the other on the side of his seat, he was no longer discreet with his stares and the two savages spoke a mixture of Creole, French and English. Any English was so garbled by their accent and speed, Zoë couldn't really tell what they were talking about. Jon did. He caught the racy and naughty inflections of the conversation and their glances at his lovely wife's legs. He was conflicted in knowing quite what to do about it. He also caught what he thought was conversations about a "boat."
Zoë was mesmerized by the castle they drove by; "Citadelle Laferrière" or something like that was what he thought he heard.
Zoë had read about it on the internet. Built in the 1600's by the French it had started out to be a lavish Fortress/ Castle for the Governor of the island. After Napoleon had been defeated, the fortress had been used by the British. It had begun to decline in the years after that. The British did not want to live there. It had become a prison for a while. Zoë stared in awe at the massive stone fortress as they drove by. "Citadelle Laferrière" she repeated in awe both trying to divert the obvious attention to her dress and pay respect to the architecture.
The men looked at each other and smirked. "What did that mean?" Zoë wondered as she searched their expressions inquisitively. It was a short search; she didn't want them to catch her looking at them. It's a woman thing.
The jeep screeched to a halt. They were in front of a two story wooden frame house. It was a white Victorian design with steep gabled roofs and a number of chimneys. The main floor was several feet off the ground and there were a number of screened porches around the outside. There was a dark skinned man in a separate thatched building serving drinks to visitors.
The two guards got out and extended their hands to help both Jon and Zoë out. Jon wanted to get out first and be the one to help his wife; but that didn't seem to be an option without offending one of the men. Jon climbed around the back of the driver's seat and jumped. Zoë wasn't as quick thinking. She reached for the extended hand of the guard, without really understanding how it was all going to work.
Instead of just steadying her so she could hop out, or seat herself and slide out, he pulled. He pulled her down; towards him. With one hand trapped in his, and the other desperately trying to hold her dress together, Zoë was in a slow freefall. She would have preferred to fall face first onto the grass rather than let go of her dress.
The guard spun her 90° and caught her with one arm under her thighs and the other around her back. There was nothing she could do. Her dress parted where it wasn't buttoned. The hem landed almost at her crotch; exposing the beautifully tanned and toned legs for everybody to see. In her panic, Zoë was at first oblivious to the fact that his right hand was now cupped just below her right breast.
.... There is more of this story ...