Chapter 3

The message light was flashing on his phone when Bob got back to his quarters. He ignored it. The first thing he did was stroke his aching prick. It didn't take long - only slightly longer than it had taken for him to bring Julie off. In his mind was the vision of her lying on the bed, naked, her bare pussy lips dark and still engorged from what he had done with his fingers. He snatched up a wash cloth and caught his spend as it eased the pain in his balls. She was some woman.

Relaxed now, for the first time since he had heard her cries for help on the beach, he looked at the phone. It was late. Whatever that was about would wait.

He collapsed onto the bed, and then rolled over, setting his alarm for the first time since he could remember. He wanted to make breakfast special for that special woman.

His last thoughts, before sleep claimed his brain for the night, were of having a brand new niece... a naked, lovely niece... and of what he would dearly wish to do with her. His lips curled into a smile as his consciousness faded into black.

When Julie woke, the sun had just cleared the horizon and was blindingly bright. She stretched, feeling the pain in her ankle immediately. It wasn't so bad now, though. Then she realized her bladder was full, and she began to think of how she would get to the bathroom to take care of that. She also felt sticky, probably from the salt water last night.

Her mind approached that memory carefully, like a voyeur, peeking in on what she remembered... the feel of his hands... of his chest against hers. One hand came up languidly and stroked a naked breast. Her nipples were soft now, but the one she stroked enlarged almost instantly. She took her hand away, aware that she was reawakening feelings that she wasn't ready to deal with just then.

She remembered Roger then, for the first time that morning, and felt guilty. She turned her head to see him, mouth open, still snoring softly. His breath stank of stale alcohol and morning breath. A twinge of disappointment wafted across her mind.

Her bladder called again.

She threw the sheet back and sat up. It was a glorious morning. She tried hopping at first, but that didn't work well and she sank to her hands and knees, keeping the toes of the injured foot off the floor. She felt silly crawling to the bathroom, but the insistence of her bladder kept her going.

She let out a sigh of relief as her bladder emptied, and looked around. Her hair was a mess. It was stiff with salt, and matted, mostly dry across her shoulders and back. She looked at the shower, and then at the Jacuzzi. Crawling to the second, she ran water until it looked deep enough to support and cover her. She eased down into the hot water and fiddled with the controls until air bubbles suddenly jetted against her hips and back. She scooted down until her head was under water, and raised it slowly, trying to get her hair to loosen and flow. Then she put her head in the pillowed area of the tub and relaxed, letting the bubbles wash over her.

Bob woke to the unfamiliar buzzing of the alarm, and instantly remembered why he had avoided using it for years. He slapped at it, and sat up. The sun was just breaking the surface of the sea, and he stretched.

He hopped out of bed and ducked into the shower to wash the salt off his body. Then he went to the resort kitchen and started rummaging through the pantry. He had become used to the routine Bahamian diet, that included fish, Conch and various other seafood, usually mixed with the ubiquitous peas and sundry other vegetables, but he didn't want to foist native food on his two important guests. Tourism had brought with it American cuisine, and, though his usual cook was off for the week, the larder was still stocked with everything to suit almost any taste.

He settled for whipping up a quiche, with sliced tomatoes, and a side of macaroni and cheese. The thing that had most surprised him when he settled on the island was the almost constant offering of macaroni and cheese in every place he ate, usually as an appetizer. He sliced some smoked ham and put it on a low griddle, and then put together an assortment of cereal and fruit. It wasn't until he got splattered by hot grease that he realized he was naked. He often went that way these days. People who booked rooms in Paradise Cove were carefully notified that clothing was not only optional, but rare, and he often went around in little or nothing on a routine day.

He ducked out of the kitchen to put on some shorts, and while there, saw the light on the phone blinking steadily at him again. He had time. Everything was on slow cook in the kitchen. He picked up the phone and punched the button that would deliver the message. It was his sister, and she sounded worried.

"Call me as soon as you get this," came her voice. "We have a real problem."

That was it. Nothing more. Initially, he feared that Julie had called someone to complain about what had happened last night. Not about a drunken groom... but about what Bob had done to her in the ocean. Then he shook his head. The message light had already been blinking when he walked into his quarters. She had been happy and sleepy when he left her. He reflected briefly on how hard it had been to leave her, and grinned. No, it couldn't be that. Maybe they had found the missing luggage, and called Roger's mother. That would be odd, but maybe the phone number on the luggage tag was an old one or something.

Bob had stayed in touch with his sister, but only infrequently, and she hadn't really told him all that much about what Roger was up to. It had been her idea for the honeymoon booking, and Bob had been only too happy to comply. His expenses were low, and taking a week off from the grind of making people happy appealed to him too. The staff had been overjoyed to get an unscheduled week of vacation.

He needed to get back to the kitchen. Still, she wouldn't have been that short unless it was a real problem... at least in her opinion. He decided to go turn down the heat. He could keep things warm for a couple of hours. They should be up and finished by then, with the first thing that would be on their minds when they woke up.

He left for the kitchen to make the needed adjustments, and left the phone message blinking.

The quiche had overcooked, and he muttered to himself as he set about replacing it. By the time he got things situated the way he wanted them, and put the fruit back in the refrigerator, almost an hour had passed. Wiping his hands, he left to go call his sister.

Julie didn't know how long she had been soaking when Roger stumbled into the bathroom and stood, weaving slightly with his morning woody in his hand. He missed the stool at first, splattering the floor, and then corrected as she frowned. His urine splashed into the commode and he yawned, wincing. One hand came up to his head and he groaned. He seemed to notice the sound of the Jacuzzi for the first time, and swiveled his head.

"My head is killing me," he groaned. "What happened?"

"We got married and you drank yourself into oblivion," she answered, her voice measured.

"Oh... sorry," he said lamely.

"Brush your teeth," she said, her voice short.

"Yeah," he said, wincing again.

Instead of brushing his teeth, though, he went and pulled the mirror open, looking for something for the pain in his head. There was nothing there. He picked up the complimentary toothpaste and looked around for a toothbrush. Not finding anything, he turned abruptly and went back into the other room.

"Where's our luggage?" came his plaintive voice softly.

"It got lost," yelled Julie, feeling grumpy again.

"Lost?" he said, coming back into the bathroom.

"On the flight down here," she said impatiently. She looked at his penis, which was shrunken and unimpressive, to her mind.

He looked around. "Oh yeah, we're in the Bahamas."

He got a lot more alert, and looked at his new bride.

"What happened... last night?" he asked.

Julie felt anger tightening up her relaxed body, and that made her needle him. "You don't remember?"

"Sure I do," he bluffed, as men try to do so often. "I remember you looked fantastic and you made me feel really good."

"Well, that's what happened." Julie sulked. "You felt good, and I got left out of it."

"Look, baby," he pleaded, wincing again. "I just celebrated a little too much. I'll make it up to you."

"How?" she asked, acidly. "You passed out on my wedding night!"

"Hey," he moaned. "We have the whole week. Let me find something to make this splitting headache go away and I'll be good as new. Then I can treat you to some real loving." He had moved to the edge of the tub, and bent down. "Give me a little kiss, Mrs. Crandall. That will help, I'm sure."

He was trying to be gallant, or at least complimentary, and Julie realized that. But as his face neared hers she smelled the stale alcohol and turned her head.

"Go brush your teeth. Your breath could kill at twenty paces."

He stood back up and put both hands to his head.

"Please, not so loud," he whined. He looked around again. "I can't find my toothbrush."

"Pick up the phone and dial zero," said Julie. "Tell whoever answers you need a toothbrush."

Julie thought about what she'd just said. She knew quite well who would answer that phone, but she hadn't told Roger that she'd met his uncle. She felt a little like she was sneaking around behind his back, and then pushed that guilt away. If he'd have acted like a real husband yesterday, she'd never have met Bob at all, and would be lying, freshly deflowered, in her honeymoon bed.

"Yeah, OK," he said. He turned around and left the bathroom.

She heard his voice talking, and reached for the little bottle of shampoo sitting huddled with other little bottles on one corner of the Jacuzzi. It took the whole bottle, but she got her hair sudsy enough to feel like it would be clean when she rinsed it out.

"Ask for a comb or a brush too," she yelled through the open door.

Bob walked into his quarters as the phone began ringing. Cursing himself for not forwarding calls to the kitchen, and fearing that she had been trying to call him repeatedly, he jumped to the phone and picked it up.

"This is Bob," he said automatically.

"Uncle Bob?" came a male voice.

"Roger," he said. He almost added "welcome back to the living," but decided not to.

"Yeah... hi," came a voice that was too soft to be normal. Bob envisioned Roger holding the phone away from his ear. Bob had suffered his own fair share of hangovers in his youth, and phone voices seemed to cut straight into the pain centers of the brain during a hangover. He grinned. Served the boy right. "Hey, um... I guess they lost our luggage. Have you maybe got a toothbrush I could borrow?"

"Sure thing, sport," said Bob, softening his voice. "Welcome to the Islands. I have breakfast on the stove for you and your bride."

"Yeah, that's great," said Roger. It was obvious that the thought of food right now didn't appeal to him. "You got anything for a headache?" he asked.

"I'm sure I can come up with something." Bob again decided not to needle the boy. "You coming down with something?"

"No, I'm OK. I just celebrated a little too much," said Roger softly.

"I'll whip up a batch of Uncle Bob's patented hangover juice," said Bob. How's that?"

"That would be great," came the relieved sigh of his nephew.

Bob heard Julie's voice over the phone and grinned. If he could hear it that clearly, it must be torturing Roger.

"Julie needs a comb or a brush too," moaned Roger.

"I'll throw everything together and be down... when do you want me to come down?" asked Bob. "I don't want to... interrupt anything." He grinned again.

Roger laughed weakly. "Yeah... right. Just give us half an hour or so... OK?" he said. "She's crawling all over me right now." He laughed again, weakly, and Bob almost snorted. Roger couldn't perform right now if his life depended on it.

"Be there in forty-five minutes," said Bob.

He hung up the phone, and saw the light blinking at him. He'd better call Susan first. If he didn't she'd bitch at him for taking too long. He picked up the phone and flipped through the book to find her number. He felt slightly guilty for not knowing her number by heart, but he only called her every other month or so.

The phone was picked up before the first ring was even done.

"BOB!?" came Susan's anguished cry.

"What's wrong, honey? he asked, concerned now. She sounded positively distraught.

"HE'S MARRIED BOB!" she shouted.

"Of course he's married, Susan," Bob sighed. If all this was about her baby going off and growing up, Bob was going to be pissed.

"NO... BOB?" She was still shouting.

"Yes, I'm here. Calm down Susan. You don't need to shout."

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Susan shouted. Then her voice lowered, almost as if she was sharing a confidence, and was afraid someone would overhear her doing it.

"He was ALREADY married, Bob. His wife showed up yesterday. She's English... or British... or whatever you call them. She has two CHILDREN with her Bob!"

"What?" asked Bob, his jaw slack.

"We didn't KNOW, Bob," she wailed. "He never TOLD us he got married in London. Her name is Emily! He has a whole damned FAMILY over there, Bob!"

"Wow!" Bob was stunned. He was completely unprepared for anything like this. "She came there?"

"YES!" shouted Susan. Again, her voice dropped. "She showed up here last evening, saying she wanted to surprise him. It's their fucking ANNIVERSARY, Bob... their third fucking WEDDING ANNIVERSARY!"

"You're kidding me," gasped Bob. "He got married again on his wedding anniversary?"

"What are we gonna DO, Bob?" she cried. Her shaking voice broke into sobs. "We couldn't tell her what happened, but she got suspicious. She demanded to know where he was. Fucking Phillip started drinking when she showed up and he got smashed and blurted out the whole sordid story!"

Phillip was Susan's husband. Bob had met him only once, and hadn't been all that impressed. He'd chalked it up to no man being good enough for another man's sister. He found himself smiling that his judgement had been sound. He wiped the smile off his face.

"What did she do?" he asked.

"SHE'S ON HER WAY DOWN THERE RIGHT NOW!" screamed Susan.

"You're kidding!" said Bob.

"NO!" moaned Susan. "She left the children here. Oh, Bob, they're lovely children. A boy, three, and a girl who's only two. I have GRANDCHILDREN, Bob!"

Susan was clearly so distraught that she didn't know what to do.

"OK, take it easy. I'll go down to the cottage and do something. When did she leave?"

"She's on the redeye," said Susan, getting control of her voice. "She's a tough one, Bob. She ran Phillip through the ringer. She practically ripped the information from him. She threatened to sue us and murder Roger and everything!"

She was starting to get worked up again.

"Calm down. I'll take care of things here. She can't get a gun onto the island. They're very strict about that down here. I'll make a couple of calls. The cabbies here all know me. I'll figure something out."

"Call me back, Bob. My baby is down there about to be murdered by his fucking wife... while he's probably fucking his... other wife!" Susan burst into tears again.

Bob muttered a promise to call her back and then finally just hung up the phone.

What a miserable mess THIS was! He almost laughed, but got a grip. The first thing to do was delay this woman... this Emily woman... to delay her from getting to the resort as long as possible. He called a friend of his who was the dispatcher for a cab company. He didn't pull any punches, and explained exactly what was happening. The dispatcher laughed, and said he'd cover the bases with the other cab companies. Anyone asking for Paradise cove would get the scenic tour before she arrived there.

That done, Bob thought about what to do next. His first thoughts were for Julie. The poor girl had had enough trouble for any marriage already. This would crush her.

Then, with an electric jerk, he realized that Roger might be trying to pursue his husbandly "duty" right this instant! And Julie, as anxious as she was last night, might submit to him, out of guilt, if nothing else.

Julie sighed. The water was getting cool. She lay back in the tub and shook her head from side to side gently to get the soap out of her hair. She let her face go under the water and blew bubbles as she continued agitating her hair. Carefully, she drew her face up, letting the water draw her hair down the middle of her back. She winced as she automatically tried to stand up and her ankle complained.

She thought about calling to Roger for help, but was still feeling miffed, and levered herself out of the tub to sit on the edge. She reached for towels and dried herself off, letting her hair swing forward to make a thick blue-black line between her breasts. It covered her bald pussy and she patted it as dry as she could get it with more towels. Standing, she gave her head another unconscious flip, and her hair landed down her back again. She put on a robe, intentionally, and hopped to the door, steadying herself with a hand on the wall.

She refused to crawl in front of Roger, so she planned her route, and hopped quickly to the bed, falling heavily beside Roger, who was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

He looked up, possibly thinking she had run to the bed and jumped on it excitedly. Her bare legs stuck out of the bottom of the robe, and there was a flicker of interest in his brain, until he saw the dark purplish color around her ankle.

"What happened to you?" he asked, wincing.

"I went for a run on the beach last night... after you passed out," she said conversationally. "I turned my ankle. I can't put any weight on it."

He looked at her in horror.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," he moaned.

"Yes... it is," she agreed with him.

"Are you OK? How'd you get back here?" he asked.

Julie thought about telling him, but the perverse streak in her caused her not to.

"I managed," she said simply.

"But this is going to ruin our honeymoon!" he sulked.

The hard little knot of anger in Julie's belly grew, and heated up. If he planned on blaming all this on her, he had better change his plans. She was about to unload on him when the phone rang, jarring the silence.

Roger covered both ears and moaned.

Julie rolled over and the robe flipped up to expose her naked butt. She reached for the phone, which pulled the tie at the front of the robe, stretching the front open until most of her breasts showed.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Julie, it's Bob," came the terse voice on the phone.

"Oh!" she said brightly. "You must be my new Uncle Bob!" she gushed.'

"You didn't tell him we met?" asked Bob.

"No... we're fine... breakfast? That sounds wonderful." she said smoothly.

"I DO have breakfast," said Bob, "but there's been a... development. I need to talk to you both, and it needs to be immediately. You're not... busy... are you?" His voice sounded anxious.

"No, we're not doing anything," she said.

About then Roger uncovered his ears, saw her bare buttocks, and put a hand on one, squeezing it. Julie reached around and batted his hand away, but didn't cover her behind.

"Stop that!" she hissed. "I'm on the phone with your uncle!"

"Tell him to give us another half hour," said Roger, becoming interested despite the pounding in his head. He tried to slide a hand up between her legs and she batted at it again, closing her legs firmly.

"I'm starving," she said into the phone. "We'd like breakfast right away... yes... thank you so much. I can't WAIT to meet you. See you soon."

She hung up the phone and rolled over, exposing her breasts to her husband.

"Can't you behave?" she asked.

Roger stared at her breasts, licking his lips.

"But it's our honeymoon!" he moaned. "Come on, baby, I want to start making it up to you. Breakfast can wait."

"He's already on his way," she said firmly. Now, he's going to come in that door any minute. Do you want him to see me like this? Oh yes, I forgot... our luggage got LOST on the flight down here! Oh well, didn't you say it's a nude beach? I'm sure he's seen lots of naked women around here. Go get the door, honey. His hands will probably be full."

She said all that in a sweet, light voice, but her meaning was crystal clear. She wasn't in the mood. If he was lucky she might be in the mood tomorrow.

"Don't be that way, darling," he tried to say smoothly. "It wasn't my fault that the luggage got lost. That happens all the time. And no, I don't want him to see you like that, nude beach or not. You're MY wife, and I want you to save that for me."

"Oh, you're just being a silly jealous man," giggled Julie, as if his whole speech was some attempt at humor. "We're going to go swimming in the ocean, aren't we? I'll be naked then. I don't even have a swimming suit, darling. Loosen up. It's not like he's going to make love to me or anything. In fact," her voice got suddenly harsh, "NOBODY HAS MADE LOVE TO ME SINCE I GOT MARRIED!"

Roger covered his ears again as she shouted, and moaned. He was about to plead with her again when there was a very firm knock on the door.

Roger lurched to his feet, almost glad there was an interruption. He thought about telling her to cover up one last time, but decided she would anyway. She was a very modest woman.

He opened the door to see a man he vaguely remembered from seeing years back.

"Uncle Bob?" he said.

"One and the same," said Bob jovially. "I have extra strength aspirin, and something that will probably help even more than that."

Roger stood aside and turned as Bob walked past him. He gasped as he saw Julie, who had not covered up anything at all, and was lying loosely on the bed, the robe barely covering her pussy, both breasts completely exposed.