Chapter 50: First Colony

Three of us, Sin, Teresa, and I, are flying to Tortola, BVI on Monday. Teresa will meet up with us in Miami at the airport. She’s flying directly there from university. Haven’t seen her since Christmas. And speaking of, I’m like a kid a few days before Christmas, anxious for the day to arrive and to see Teresa again! In her recent conversation with me, there was hint of promise. Not feeling the least bit bored now, I’m not the only one feeling anxious!

Sophia and Lauren and Lilli are so loving and attentive, you would think I was going away to war, and not expected to survive! What few hours remain outside their warm embraces, every other woman in camp tries finding a slot for me to slot them in. It’s marathon pussy around the clock. Time flies when your having fun, you think? Monday was a long time cumming and slow arriving! (wink)

Monday arrived after a long tedious three days of reassuring anxious women. Why is time so fickle? Races by when you want it to pass leisurely and then drags it’s feet when you want it to hurry up. Our trip wasn’t too complicated. First, a flight to Miami where we rendezvoused with Teresa, then flying on to Tortola.

We hadn’t seen Teresa in months. She’s become a beautiful young woman. She was always a cute sexy teen, but now she’s acquired a magic sexual grace. Like her mother’s regal alluring presence.

In Tortola harbor we wandered the docks and hired a sports-fisherman to deliver us to the hotel wharf on our not to distant island.

Lunch upon arrival, served on the hotel veranda was first order of business after registering and checking in. We chose wo adjacent rooms with a connecting door and a sea view. The girls have two single beds in their room. I have a kingsize in mine.

Island time is slower than continental time. Unhurried and unpunctual. Appointments are only approximate wishful thinking. We whiled away the time admiring the local scenery. The island girls are very friendly and attractive. Sin and Teresa keep pointing them out. Teasing me with,

“How would you like that one, Unk?”

“Could you eat the hole thing? Maybe it could swallow you?”

“Shall I fetch her? Invite her to join you?”

“I’ll take that one for myself. Unk can have her after I’m finished!”

Our real estate agent was expected for lunch. The agent eventually called for us at the hotel around three. He’d been diverted by a more important lunch engagement elsewhere. An explanation without apology. A new girlfriend I expect. His schedule is totally in shambles as a result. Tomorrow is perhaps a better day, at least for him. Reluctantly he agreed to drive us to the gates of the estate. We only got this concession after heavily pressing him. The agent doesn’t have the key to the padlock on the gate but we’re invited to peer in past the bars to see what we may see. I suggest we visit his main office and see his boss.

“Fetch me the manager please. Don’t bother looking at the ‘agent” for confirmation. He may be canned and on his ass before the afternoon is finished.” I’m pissed.

The agency owner was playing hookey from the office, dawdling at home. I talked with him over the phone. Expressed my displeasure with the agent’s attitude and appalling lack of service. The agency owner was cool and unconcerned. His is the only realty on the island. He holds a monopoly. I, on the other hand, am no one special. I’m not listed in Dunn and Bradstreet. Obviously, I couldn’t afford to buy the estate, valued at millions, or I would be listed in D&B. And just as obvious to their expert eyes, he elucidates, this is a poor man’s cheap date to impress the girls. They’ve encountered my kind before. Why should they put themselves out for me? I’ve been screened and disqualified as a serious prospect. Good day young sir.

Who owns the estate property? Some high class aristocrat in England. Someone I’m unlikely to ever meet. Different social circles and levels. Oh, yeah?

Inform the owner’s London solicitor, I will sue him over the insults I’ve endured from his agents! In fact, I demand to speak with him myself, and plunked down a C note on the desk to cover the long distance charges. They hustled and connected me with the solicitor. Surprised me they could reach him. It’s 7pm in London.

I complained about the shabby way I had been mistreated. Suggested he call my bank and ask if I can afford to capriciously, whimsically invest millions in real estate? Or on lawyers if I’m peevish!

I am seriously interested in the property, but I want this agency ejected and denied any commission if we conclude a sale.

They don’t deserve a single dime or shilling or tuppence. Whatever the appropriate denomination is. I’m even willing to pay the solicitor’s airfare to fly down and deal with me personally. He could return with the full asking price in his hand, if I’m properly mollified. Inform your ex-agents I am to have custody of all the estate’s blueprints, maps of the gardens and grounds, and all the keys until your arrival. He agrees. He’s arriving tomorrow afternoon. The real estate agency staff avoided our eyes when presenting me with the keys and tubular map case. We stomped out maintaining aloofness and an upper crust snooty manner. The natives are getting restless and the “peasants” began chattering excitedly as the door closed behind us. We didn’t stay to eavesdrop. We found a taxi and returned to the estate gates and let ourselves in. The taxi is detained to wait for us. After a cursory look around, we returned to the hotel. My companions want the property. How shall we pass the time until tomorrow? Let me think of something. Ah, let’s go slumming!