Authors: Robert Mitchell
George Cooper lunged down and fastened his mouth on
to her left nipple, taking great slobbering gulps, treating her young breast as he would a ripe mango. Then both hands were clasping her firm rounded buttocks, squeezing her around and over his thighs until they joined as one.
The grunts and groans quickened their pace. I was hard, my shorts straining. I stepped back and turned to leave, but didn’t see the cocktail table behind me, nor the two empty glasses they must have drained before adjourning to the bathroom. One of the glasses hit the tiled floor with a shattering screech.
George’s head spun round, but he was too late. I was through the doorway in an instant and hurtling down the pathway like a startled rabbit.
There was no liquor in my room, nothing to calm my shattered nerves. The staff weren’t allowed alcohol on the island
, only when we went back to the mainland – once a fortnight for three days. I still had nine days to go.
I sat there trembling, keyed-up, lustful, but with nothing to work that lust out on
. There was only one thing to do. I threw off my clothes, grabbed my togs and sprinted for the beach. The cool water had never felt better. It helped, but not much.
Another four hours to go until dark, and company.
It didn’t end there.
My presence must have frightened the daylights out of both of them. He probably thought his wife had tired of the reef and persuaded the boat driver to bring her back to shore; but if she had, she would have still been there when he came out of the bathroom. Dotty would have looked up thinking to see her husband with a shotgun, but
there was nothing but the sound of my footsteps receding down the path.
George hadn’t panicked. Dotty, on the other hand, had wet herself in fright. George
finally calmed her down, halted the hysterics and bundled her under the shower, washing away the beer. Once she was dressed, and all the seams were straight, there was no way he could stop her from taking off through the back way and tearing down the rock-lined path.
But George, cunning George, didn’t take long to pick on me as the culprit. As if he could call me a culprit, for I had been there legitimately. It was George that was the dirty old man, doing things to a girl thirty years younger than he was. Would I still be able to pull the young ones when I got to his age?
He knew it hadn’t been his wife and it couldn’t have been Dotty’s husband, otherwise he would have had a chair or something heavier smashed over his head. There was no sign of forced entry, so it had to be someone with a key. The maid had done the room in the morning, so it had to be another member of the staff. He recalled the lamp that hadn’t been working the previous evening, but he had made no complaint. He had ignored the blown globe. He had wanted the afternoon to himself – and Dotty.
About an hour after the fiasco he went boldly up to the front desk to lay a complaint. According to his story, he was almost asleep when the door opened and a figure walked in. At first he thoug
ht he was dreaming, but then realised it was an intruder. He jumped up and screamed abuse, but the intruder had taken fright and run off. The sun was shining through the door and he couldn’t tell who it was. Nothing was taken, but would they please investigate and find out who the hell it was?
George had found the light globe
I had dropped on my way out. He knew I hadn’t been an intruder, but he reckoned the story would stir the management and he would get his answer much quicker.
It didn’t take them long to find out that the lamp had been scheduled for repair. One of the maids had notice
d the blown globe. They gave George all the details.
I only found this out the next morning, and by then I was feeling a whole lot better.
I had calmed my nerves with a buxom red-haired piece from some exclusive church college down in Melbourne.
Nancy – one of the receptionists – gave me the details. Nancy was a good kid. We had the odd roll in the hay from time to time when there was nothing else offering around the resort. It was mutual. She used me and I used her. No strings attached. Purely physical; and not a bad physique at that, although a bit hectic for me at times.
It turned out that George had gone out on the game boat and had complained of stomach pains as soon as they had sailed around to the other side of the island. One of the crew brought him back to the resort in the dinghy. The captain reckoned he was seasick, and was glad to be rid of him. George had planned the whole thing. It would have worked too; except for an over-zealous cleaning maid.
Nancy said that I should have thrown the light-bulb in his face as soon as he started to abuse me. She was one of the few staff members who didn’t like him, hinting that there was something devious about him. Nancy was right.
Nothing happened for the next three days. I tried to keep out of their way, but it wasn’t always possible. Whenever I came across either George or Dotty I would feel my face redden. I couldn’t look either of them in the eye. Dotty was the same. She couldn’t talk to me without stuttering, poor bitch; but she had brought it upon herself.
I checked with Nancy and was told the Coopers were booked to leave for the mainland the following day. At least things might get back to normal after they left
, and I could stop dodging around palm trees and pillars and things; and with a bit of luck I might even persuade Dotty to accept a beer or two from me. Was it worth the risk though? The job was fine and the pay was reasonable – for the work involved. Where else could I pick up so many willing young nubile ladies without really trying? It was still something to think about.
It was just before dinner on that final evening when the manager, Jim Munro, called me over and told me that George Co
oper was upset. The bastard had left it to the last minute to stick the knife in and give it a twist. I looked across at Jim, waiting for the axe to fall.
“Yes,” he said, hands in pockets, shoulder
s bent over. “It seems he had his heart set on doing a scuba course during his final week, but those so-called stomach-pains got in the way.” He smirked. “If you ask me, he’s been screwing the dolly birds and been too buggered to do anything else!”
It was all I could do to keep a straight face.
“He was wondering,” he continued, still wearing the grin,” if it was too late to have a couple of quick lessons in the morning?”
Jim wasn’t asking me, he was telling me. He was always out to do the best for a guest, even though that guest was, unbeknown to him, screwing his wife.
“Sure thing, Jim,” I replied, still trying to keep a straight face. There was no great formality on the island, which was probably one of the reasons he had been cuckolded; that and the attitude of misery which followed him everywhere, except when there were guests present. “I can give him a couple of preliminary lessons down at the north end of the beach first thing in the morning. That’ll give him plenty of time to pack before he’s due to leave. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they go on his account.” I couldn’t resist having a dig at poor old Jim. It kept him on his toes.
“Yes, fine. Well, that’s okay then,” he replied.
With that he strolled off to check up on one of the other hundred things he had on his mind. He could have his job. Twenty-four hours a day was not my idea of fun.
Now that it was going to be out in the open I wasn’t worried any more. I could take care of myself in the water, and that extra weight of his wouldn’t help him one little bit, and besides, we would be in full view of the other guests. There would be no funny business from George Cooper.
Promptly at nine-thirty the following morning he was down at the dive shop, and started in by thanking me for making a special effort to give him a lesson at short notice. I fell in with his small talk and we walked down to the beach carrying tanks, regulators, fins, masks and the rest of the paraphernalia. As we strolled along he spoke of the weather, the beauty of the island and a lot of other nonsense; but once we were away from the early birds, their oiled bodies stretched out on the sand, ready for the day’s torture, he went right in, there were no formalities.
“How much?” he snapped, stopping suddenly.
I was closest to the water’s edge as he leaned over and stared me straight in the eye, close enough for me to see the capillaries in his nose. This was a far different man from the one who joked with the staff and smiled at the guests. Gone were the laughter lines; the face now tight, unmoving.
“Thirty
bucks for each half-hour, Mr. Cooper,” I replied, straight-faced, although I could feel a trickle of perspiration running down the middle of my back.
“Don’t get cute with me
, son.” His eyes never left my face as he stood over me, not a muscle moving, just his lips. “I know it was you at the bungalow, and I know you haven’t blabbed to Jim Munro. I’m certain of that; just as I’m certain the miserable bastard wouldn’t do anything about it until I’d gone. Wouldn’t want to upset the guests.” He had Jim pegged right. “I’ve watched the expressions on the waitresses’ faces, and the rest of the staff – not a glimmer of a snigger. You’ve kept it close. What’s your angle, you little bugger?”
The
little
didn’t go down too well. I was only a couple of centimetres shorter than he was, but standing on the high side of the beach had given him the advantage. I stepped up the sand a couple of paces, put some of the gear down and moved to his side.
“No angle,” I said. “If you want to screw the manager’s wife, that’s your business; and hers as well, I suppose.” As far as I was concerned, that was all there was to it. He had been screwing and had been caught. So what? I went on arranging the scuba tank. “Sure, I could have dropped a word in Jim’s ear, or your wife’s.” I fitted the regulator to the tank. “But where would that have got me?”
“Nowhere, my young friend.”
He moved up the beach a step. I countered and he moved again. I stayed put. He could keep his advantage. It wasn’t worrying me any more. I had one of the weight-belts in my hand and it was going to play havoc with his knees if he made any fast moves. I looked up at him.
“Then again,” I said, swinging the weight-belt, “I could’ve put the hard word on you – pardon the pun – for a couple of hundred bucks.” His face clouded over. “Although, on the other hand, the whole thing might’ve blown up in my face. It’s just not worth the money or the trouble. As I said before, what you do is your business. If Dotty wants to hand it about, then that’s her affair. Why should I complain?”
He was starting to look like the old George Cooper again. There was even a smile forming as his chest sank back to its normal position.
“And besides,” I continued. “Putting the black on either of you would’ve had me looking over my shoulder for months to come. Why not forget it?” I laughed, turned to the dive tank and then looked back at him. “Tell me, though, does she prefer light beer or heavy?”
He took a quick boot at my backside as I ducked out of his way, but this time he was definitely grinning.
“Jeff,” he said laughing. At least he knew my name, which was more than most of them did. It was usually:
Hey you!
“That’s probably the smartest decision you’ve ever made.” He was serious again, although he didn’t bother to raise his gut this time. “If you tried to put the heavy on me, life definitely would be miserable for you, but you wouldn’t be in misery for long. You wouldn’t be looking over your shoulder for very long at all.”
With that
off his chest he relaxed even more. “Okay, enough of this scuba-diving crap. Make me out a bill for half an hour and let’s go get a cup of coffee.”
We walked back to the pool area, to the outdoor coffee-lounge, and he motioned me to a chair. It wasn’t really allowed: fraternizing with the guests – not out in the open, anyway. He saw me peering around.
“Don’t worry, Jeff. The half hour isn’t up yet. If Jim Munro gets uptight, tell him I was asking you whether I should go further north next year or come back here.” Nancy was right. He was a devious bastard. “So, forget him. Anyway, maybe I can interest you in something a bit better than worrying about that miserable bugger all the time.”
I sat up in my chair and leaned forward, curiosity aroused.
“How much do you make on this island?” he asked. I told him; keeping quiet about the size of the tips in case he really was a tax inspector of some kind. We had them through from time to time, making checks on the big-spending guests and asking questions that later turned out to be embarrassing.
“Hmm,” he replied. “Not much is it.”
It was enough to keep me happy, but then maybe my needs weren’t as great as his.
“I’ve only got one other question, Jeff,” he continued. I told him to go ahead.
“Right,” he went on. “What do you really want out of life?”
One short question, and one I could ponder over for a day and still not come up with an answer good enough to satisfy the other hundred questions that would then spring to mind.
“Shit,” I said, staring out to sea. “I don’t really know, not right at this minute.” He had me confused. It wasn’t the conversation I had expected when I first met him down by the dive shop. I stirred my coffee a few times to give myself time to think. It didn’t help much. “To be truthful,” I continued. “I hadn’t given it a whole lot of thought. Naturally, I’d like to make a lot of money and enjoy the good things in life. I’m probably not making a lot of money here.” I couldn’t help the grin. “But I sure am having plenty of fun.”