Chapter 71: Playing in St. Croix

Mark

Primus inter pares. The expression stands for first among equals. That was how I felt about Elsa. I had six ‘wives’ – maybe one or two or more in the making, and certainly none fewer – but they subtly acknowledged Elsa as the queen bee. She did not assert herself with the others to declare herself their leader; if anything, she often appeared passive but actively listening to their concerns or ideas. That alone got their attention more than any declaration she might have made. She was a superb listener, and could even hear what wasn’t being said; some people would say she could read between the lines. She had that extra ounce of caring and love, could be more attentive, was always quick to embrace and kiss, congratulate, or console, and read the mood of others and responded perfectly.

If any of her ‘sisters’ wanted something to happen, particularly within our close-knit family, they talked to Elsa, and if she was convinced then it happened. If she could help, she would. If I sensed a problem or minor jealousy with one of the girls, I mentioned it in an aside to Elsa. Soon, that woman was feeling good again.

I hadn’t realized the extent of Elsa’s influence on the others until the day she was shot. We were all concerned, but the wailing and angst over Elsa’s health belied the huge loss in leadership that she had provided to everyone – even to me.

So, I thought of Elsa as my number one wife – my queen, but I would never say that aloud because of the hurt it might inspire in the others. I loved them and that would hurt me as well if they felt slighted in any way. I thought it better that this was all unspoken. I felt sure that Elsa knew that I knew that she knew, and all that.

Further, with Elsa and all my girls, I apparently had this kinky side to me that wanted to see my ‘wife’ fucked by other men. I wasn’t into humiliation or cuckolding, but I found watching her with another man or men the most arousing thing I could think of.

Thus, when Elsa lay back and Lucas penetrated her quim with his long, thick, hardness and they started to fuck, I started my own mental orgasms as my arousal peaked. I wanted to eat up the entire experience and remember it so I could savor it over and over in my memories. Elsa and I probably made love slightly more than I did with the others, but no one cared except that we loved each other. Every one of the other girls seemed to find comfort that Elsa and I were active and vocal lovers, almost as if we set an example for everyone else about how to behave. For them, if Elsa and I were OK, the family was OK.

The fact that I was balls deep in Marcia only added icing on the cake of deep arousal as I watched Elsa with Lucas. Yes, I loved Marcia. She was sweet and so capable, but I adored Elsa. Talking to her at that party a few years earlier was the best thing I’d ever done. If I had to, I’d give away my billions just to be sure she remained in my life. I felt so grateful for my relationship with her and with all the girls. How much love can one man have?

Completion of the sexual unions left a group of contented and romantically involved couples on the edge of the Caribbean Sea. About half of them cuddled together and the other half went racing, yelling, and laughing back into the water. Somehow a Frisbee magically appeared. A sailboat with four people on it went by a couple of hundred yards off shore, but no one seemed to care; the level of detail in both directions was low but knowledge of our nudity was likely high. I had to laugh when five of our family jumped around and waved at them, drawing attention. They were naked, and I’m sure that provoked some comments somewhere.

Marcia was curled up against my chest. We had stopped panting a few minutes earlier and were simply enjoying each other’s presence and the feeling of skin against skin, and being inside each other’s aura.

Lucas’ deep male voice sounded and broke our reverie. He said in a drawn out mellow tone of regret, “Marcia, I hate to interrupt, but our shift is coming up in a few minutes.”

Marcia groaned, and pushed up away from my body. She kissed me again, and whispered, “I love you,” and then was gone. In her place, Elsa’s nude body slid in against mine. She said, “And I love you too. You are one very loved man.”

We cuddled and kissed for a few moments, and then went and joined the Frisbee game in the waist deep water of the Caribbean Sea.

Elsa organized us for dinner, leading our entourage of the war wagon and three jeeps into Christiansted and a restaurant called The Conch. They had a lounge with a jazz quartet playing, and two couples were dancing on a postage stamp size dance floor as we went in. Later, I suspected we’d take over the place if we hadn’t already.

Marcia and Geck were already at a table near the one we’d reserved. They almost looked like they were on a date, but not quite; something was off. I nodded at them. Lucas was sitting at the bar nursing a diet cola, and checking out each person in the place. Whereas most female patrons wore thin summery tops and shorts or a short skirt, and the men shorts and an upscale t-shirt or golf shirt, Geck, Marcia, and Lucas all had on a jacket and long pants, all be they sporty ones with bright colors or crazy patterns. I knew that each wore a shoulder holster and ankle holster, and had enough ammunition tucked away in pockets to stop a tank or to fight their way out of almost any situation.

I was playing the hale fellow well met with everyone at our table, and even two couples at nearby tables that wondered what our large entourage was all about.

Over dinner, Ryan and Deke engaged me in a discussion I’d had many times with the girls – money. Ryan started it; “Mark, Deke and I would like to pickup the dinner tab tonight. You are always paying, and you don’t need to. You provide the air transportation and so much else for us on these weekends – the parties, food, and everything; the least we can do is pick up a meal and the bar tab now and then.”

I studied the guys. They were of the same mettle that the girls and I were. They wanted to carry their own weight and not ‘sponge off the rich guy’ – me. I think they worried about my silence, but then I agreed. I said, “OK. Tonight, you guys pay, and thank you. I know you’re always grateful, but having you around is such a treat for me. You are some of my best friends, and I don’t want to stress you financially because of my expensive tastes, but tonight ... you got it.”

They looked relieved. I wasn’t sure how they thought I’d react, but what I’d said wasn’t what they expected. We didn’t do guy things, except a little on the holidays we took. I wasn’t a ‘let’s go shoot some hoops’ guy, but I thought they were or might have been until not too long ago. They were all serious about their careers now, and I suspect starting to think about having a family of some kind.

I also felt a little sigh of relief from Elsa who sat beside me at that point. I think she was ready to spring into the argument and defend the guys’ needs to feel more like an equal by helping out. I was learning about the concept of ‘saving face’ from Elsa. What she was schooling me about seemed to be helping in my negotiations with the Japanese and Chinese especially where mutual respect and dignity were highly rated values. I had to respect their position, status, and reputation, and do nothing that impinged on that. Money and any deal in progress were secondary. We could all learn a lesson about this. Elsa knew how it applied to the people around us.

The girls were wearing short skirts, sans underwear as always, and pretty colored tops without bras. Some of the tops were pretty daring too. I did notice that Elsa and Cindy were carrying slightly large purses. They were sometimes the packhorses for the other girls’ cosmetics, but in the outer side pockets of their purses, where they were very accessible, sat Glock 30s and spare magazines of ammunition.

After our dinner, we went into the lounge to enjoy the jazz and dance. The place had more couples in it, including the two separate couples who had sat near us in the dining room of restaurant.

I watched Elsa strike up a conversation with the women in the two couples: where are you from, how long have you been here, where do you stay, and other get to know you questions. She volunteered that she was a pilot, had use of a plane for the long weekend, and had flown a group of her friends down for fun and to look at real estate. She was chatty without giving away too much information about who we were.

I could see the wheels turning in the heads of the men in the couples Elsa befriended. To fly twelve people down from middle America required a pretty good-sized plane, and probably a jet because otherwise the trip would take days.

One of the guys was friendly and talkative. He asked, “Elsa, if you flew everyone down, what kind of plane do you have?”

Elsa smartly said with a proud grin, “I borrowed a Cessna Citation X. Seats twelve including the pilot and copilot.”

“Copilot? Who’s that?”

Cindy turned and smiled at the couples, “That’d be me.”

“Nooooooooooo,” the guy said. “You girls are putting us on. What’d you do, fly down commercial like we did?”

Cindy said, “Wait, I’ll show you.” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out her pilot’s license. I’d studied the beautiful plastic encased license. Along the bottom of the laminated license it listed the categories of aircraft she was checked out in: ASEL, MEL, ATP, B737S, CEXS, CEXPICE.

The man looked at the license, “What do all those initials mean?”

Cindy told him, “Aircraft single-engine land, multi-engine, air transport pilot, second in command Boeing 737 all classes, second in command Cessna Citation X, and pilot in command Cessna Citation X by way of exemption from the two-pilot requirement. Elsa’s got the same set of ratings. We’re sisters by the way.”

The two men’s head swiveled back and forth between the two of them so much that I laughed out loud. The girls loved to break stereotypes. I knew a few more would fall in the very near future.

Elsa

Cindy and I were sitting at the edge of our group, so started to talk with Ward and Sarah Buckley of Cumberland, Ohio, and Terry Ross and Ellen Lee of Nashville. We were just getting to know them when Ward asked about how we got to the island. Cindy and I explained about our flying them down in the Citation, and had to explain all the ratings we had. Many of them were in our logbooks, especially the type qualifications and currency for different kinds of aircraft.