Warning : All my stories are pure FANTASY. None of them are real, nor do I wish them to be - the purpose of a fantasy is to be what the reality isn't, what the reality shouldn't be. Any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely incidental, and in most cases is the result of an overactive imagination. I don't know, nor do I think I wish to know, anybody engaging in incest.
"Welcome to Montserrat, Sir, Madam. Your good names please?"
"I am Mr. James Ghiwhite, and this is my daughter Mrs. Sarah Edward. We - actually, she and her husband were supposed to - want to stay here for a week; I believe it was previously arranged."
"Oh, yes. Here it is - your reserved room is HMP 2." The desk clerk, whose nameplate pegged him as Charlie, rang a bell. Almost instantly, a young boy of not more than sixteen came out of the back room. Charlie motioned towards the baggage. "Take these to HMP 2."
I did not understand why the bellboy gave me a funny look. Granted, I look my forty-one years of age, and my daughter looks her twenty-one, but - and then the realization hit me. He must've thought we were newlyweds - a sugar daddy and his fortune-hunting wife. Pointedly ignoring him, I turned my attention back to the clerk. "HMP? Never heard of such a system before. What does it stand for - hill, mountain, and p-something?"
Charlie laughed. "Not quite. Actually, it stands for Honeymoon Package."
"Excuse me, but did you just say our room is a honeymooners' suite?"
"Absolutely, sir. I must say room 2 is one of the best among the islands."
I stared at the young man, gauging the fragility of his head. "Didn't you hear what I just said? This woman with me is my daughter. Not my wife. To spell it out, I am not here on a honeymoon."
For an instant, the smile receded. Almost immediately, though, it was back. "Our apologies, Sir. We never thought of it that way. Mrs. Edward, please accept our apologies - unfortunately, the fact must have missed your husband's mention when we talked."
Sarah, my beautiful, beautiful daughter, smiled disarmingly at the growing fidgeting of the guy. "No problem," she said brightly. "We'll take it."
Now I stared at my daughter. Here we were, on an exotic island, father and daughter, for a stay of one week, and she was suggesting that we spend it in a honeymooner's paradise! Noticing my startled expression, which the poor fellow misunderstood as panic, he offered a way out - "We can put you in single rooms if you want, Sir. It would be a bit of trouble to find adjacent ones, but if you so wish -"
"Nonsense!" interrupted my daughter. "Stop being so fussy, Daddy. Relax. It's just a room to spend the night; after all, you didn't come to this island paradise just to be cooped up in a room, did you? Besides, we will be out most of the time, sunning and shopping. Not to mention sightseeing. Come on."
Before I could even lodge a protest, she was hustling me towards the garden door, after the bellboy. The air outside was fresh, tropical. It was a relief to get away from the dead of winter, back home, with all the rush and traffic of pre-Christmas crowds. The palm trees that dotted the border of the small terrace along which we were walking provided an excellent canopy, keeping the sand beneath our feet cool. It's amazing how careful planting can really cool a place with its shade - after having seen its cousins back in LA, I had thought that the only thing that the trees were good for was for providing a divider between opposite lanes.
Out here, they were in their true spirit, I suppose, in true synchronization with their parent environment. The climate was absolutely wonderful, the greenery fresh and almost as tempting as the blue waters that I could see through the clumps. The shore extended for about a hundred meters of sand and skin, before sinking slowly into the languid waters of the ocean. And even though a gentle breeze was present, I could hear the free lapping of the little waves against the shore.
Sarah linked her arms through mine as we walked towards our suite. On the outside, it looked okay, bigger and in a more secluded region than the rest of the cabins. There was in fact, no room as such - all were cabins, some standing by themselves, and others gathered in a clump at the other end of the resort - these were probably the ones the clerk had offered in exchange. I was glad we had refused - even at this distance, I could make out quite a lot of people there.
Then I thought of how I got to be here in the first place.
Eddie, as I called my son-in-law, was a US Navy Sailor, and damn proud of it. His marriage to my daughter, as far as my knowledge went, was his first, and I had proudly walked her down the aisle a couple of years ago, after his character satisfied me. He was quite a sincere fellow, caring and affectionate, and to boot it all, an orphan - so no lousy in-laws to entertain every other weekend. Both my wife and I had a very high opinion of the lad, as he seemed to have of us.
The only drawback of his work was that it often took him out on the seas for as long as four or five months. It left my daughter enough time to complete her studies, and yet live with the dependence and freedom of a wife. Her life was secure, for Eddie was not the sort of guy who had a girl in every port. In fact, the only other female I've ever seen him with is a girl called Rebecca, a fellow sailor or something.
Apparently, his fraternity had held a Christmas draw - the prize being a week's all-expenses-paid stay here in M'serrat, and he had won. At the last moment, though, duty called - but rather than let an opportunity go waste, Eddie asked me if I could take Sarah on the trip. I had been reluctant at first, but when my wife seemed to have no objection to the idea, I accepted it. Eddie's only request was that I keep her from getting too promiscuous.
We reached the cabin.
There was a small porch in front, a hammock suspended from its roof and a cane sofa with a table fan beside it. A cane-ensconced light hung from the wooden ceiling, providing enough light for reading at night. For the moment, though, it was unnecessary; it was just two in the afternoon. A wooden railing ran along the length of the porch, the door to the cabin at its other end. The varnished look gave a cooled look to the surface.
I tipped the bellboy absently, still entranced by the lazy beauty of the Caribbean. My daughter hugged me from behind, the gentle breeze prodding her sweet perfume into my nostrils. I felt her breasts press against the back of my stomach, and had the briefest of arousals when I remembered the mistake the bellboy had made. I forced the thought out of my mind before it could start spinning fantasies - as it had over three years ago. I wasn't about to be drawn into that moral battle again.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked near my left ear.
"Lovely. But not as much as my darling daughter, just getting there."
She squeezed me harder, a sign that she was pleased. "You are just always saying that." This was just a woman's humility - she was pleased to the point that she wouldn't acknowledge it.
"I mean it," and I sincerely did, "You are still the prettiest sight on earth."
"Thanks, Daddy. You are not so bad yourself. In fact, Mom made me promise not to let you out of my sight; says you are too good-looking for your age. And as usual, she is right."
Now it was my turn to act modest. "Awww! You always say that... when you want to buy something costly! Come on, out with it - how much do you want?"
She pinched my stomach playfully. "Not this time. Just wanted to let you know that you look good enough."
I pondered over her answer, without having any idea why I was. In a perverted way of reasoning, I could interpret it in as many ways as I wanted. It wasn't the words as much as the tone that, on retrospect, I am sure made me think twice about a possible rejoinder. Finally, I just decided to let the conversation fade into silence. Most conversations are ruined by a word too much. Instead, with her hugging me, I took in a snapshot of the paradise around me.
"The water looks inviting. What say we accept?" I said finally, breaking up what could have been an interminable moment of silence.
Sarah slowly slid her arms off my body, trailing them down to my waist before breaking contact. "Okay. Let's change."
I followed her into our room. Room - the name was an understatement. It was very tastefully decorated, the Caribbean origin very evident. It was a huge room, with a door halfway between the walls that I guessed led to the bathroom. There was another door opposite the entrance, but I had no idea where that led. What grabbed my attention, though, were the pictures on the roof, right above the bed. There were around seven of them, arranged in a semicircle in such a way that a person waking up sees them first thing in the morning.
All the pictures showed various positions of Kamasutra, the Indian text on lovemaking. I was immediately taken in by the sheer beauty of the artwork - the characters almost seemed to come alive. I was also aware that Sarah had riveted her attention too on the decoration, and a deep intake of breath suggested that she hadn't entirely been unfazed by the sight. The two painted bodies seemed to be in their own dance for the universe, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. In seven positions they took each other, a look of pleasure on their faces.
I shocked myself by asking, "Tempting, isn't it?"
.... There is more of this story ...