FANUATAPU HONEYMOON
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM
I was looking through the travel brochures when my wife came in. I felt the chill from her glare over my shoulder as I looked upon the tropical scenes, the beaches, the palm trees, the warm sands, the warm waters. "Hmph!" came the frosty sound from her voice. "You aren't thinking about that again this year, are you?"
"I was just looking at the brochures." I said quietly.
"I told you I was never going back to the tropics ever again." Patricia's voice was as chilly as the wind off the snowfall, that cuts you through to the bone.
"We went there on our honeymoon." I pointed out. "And that was nearly eight years ago."
"Yes, and I detested it from the moment we got there, you might remember." Patricia said. "I was thinking either Paris or Milan, this year. Italy ought to be warm enough for you, we can spend some time in Florence or the French Riviera. What's wrong with that?"
"It isn't warm enough." I protested, but I knew it was hopeless. It was true, Patricia had hated our honeymoon. And my real reason for wanting to go back was not one I could tell her about.
"We'll make some beach time for you wherever we go." Patricia ended up as she always did. She leaned over and kissed my forehead from overhead, a gesture I always found annoying and patronizing, but I let it go because her doing that always meant she was leaving.
I looked back at the tropical scenes, the brown barechested male bodies standing near the white, happy people. That was what I'd really been looking at when Patricia came up. Remembering that time, eight years ago, when I'd been married for less than a full day...but had already realized I'd made the biggest mistake of my life!
It's so easy when you're dating someone your parents want you to date and her parents want you to date her, as well. And Patricia was putting on her best face to me, too. I went from feeling vaguely uncomfortable with dating her to feeling it wasn't such a bad thing to feeling it was the easiest thing to do, marry her and have a family with her. Like I said, I was seeing Patricia at her best.
But we'd had a long day of marriage and wedding line and reception and a flight together, and the veneer was wearing thin on that flight. My sweet, gracious, gentle-spirited new wife was showing herself to be bitter, selfish, whiny and petulant. I'd sworn on that flight that if I had a son, when he found the girl he wanted to marry, before they did, I was taking them both on a long, long trip somewhere so they could see each other non-stop for a prolonged period like this. Let them figure out their mistake beforehand!
When we got to Fanuatapu, after a long air flight, a long taxi ride, and a long boat ride, Patricia was about as far from the woman I'd been dating as you can imagine. I was pretty tired myself, though I'd napped during the air flight and had encouraged Patricia to do the same.
And we hadn't even had sex together yet.
Patricia found the sand getting into her shoes, the lack of electricity in the cabins, the mosquito nets (I didn't see any insects but Patricia was slapping at herself every minute or two), all of the things that make a tropical island...well, tropical...utterly impossible and complained about all of it, and that whine was really, I mean really, getting on my nerves.
That, more than anything, drove me out into the night. I had to have somewhere to go, but the bar was closed for the night, everything was closed. I had to go somewhere.
A midnight swim. I would go for a midnight swim. They had enclosed a portion of the lagoon to make it calm and as safe as a pool for swimmers, a midnight dip in the ocean would do me a world of good.
Patricia goggled when I started pulling on the swim trunks, taking out the bath towel. "What in heaven's name are you doing?" she wanted to know.
"You're tired, dear." I said. "I thought I'd let you get some sleep. I slept on the plane ride and the time change is messing me up. I figured I'd take a swim in the ocean and see if that would help me get to sleep."
"Hmph." Patricia really was in a bad mood. "Some wedding night this is turning out to be!"
"You're tired." I said to her and I leaned over and I kissed her; she turned at the last second so I got her cheek instead of her lips. "Sleep and we'll take care of the wedding night tomorrow when we're both rested."
"If I can sleep in this sauna bath!" Patricia was bitching about the temperature now. "How far as we from the equator here, anyway?" Patricia grumped.
"At least a couple of miles." I smiled at her, then quoted from the guidebook for Fanuatapu supplied by the travel agent. "The cabins are cooled by winds from the ocean which always arise after sundown, so you should leave your windows and door open. There is a wire mesh over the window and a wire mesh door you can keep closed, and you should also deploy your mosquito net. Sleep under a light sheet and you should find your night's slumber deep, restful and without incident."
"You're really annoying when you do that." Patricia said moodily. My ability to remember what I had read and could say it back word-for-word was supposed to be enchanting for her; it had been so while we were dating, and downright indispensable while preparing the wedding.
So the smile slipped from my face, but that was all right, she had turned over onto her side away from me. "Put the damned net over me and be sure you keep it closed as you can when you come back in. I find one welt on me and we're heading back to the USA tomorrow, I swear."
"All right, dear." I said and I arranged the net and got the hell out of there!
The cabin was a good ways from the beach and I went from walking to trotting to flat-out running! What had I done to myself? What the hell had I done? God! I ran down to the beach and I dove in and I swam and I swam and I swam! Exhausted after a while from that and the edge of my frustration tempered and diminished, I got out of the water and onto the beach and I let out a howl of raw frustration! I had messed things up! I had messed things up so bad! Oh, God, I had married her! I had married her!
What the hell was I going to do?
That was when I heard it. The sound of laughter further down the beach. Soft male voices, men having a good time! God, I wanted in on that, so bad! Shit, yeah!
I padded down the beach, my feet making soft shushing sounds in the sand, for the ocean was oddly quiet. This small island was protected from the worst of the ocean's fury by the larger island nearby, and I could hear everything in the quiet tropical night. The voices resolved in young men's voices, and native young men, for their speech was not English nor any European language, save a word here and there. I think.
Three guys, all wearing the colorful loin cloth worn by the staff of the resort. They were talking while working out some sort of dance, probably to be done for the guests of the resort. No music playing, they were chanting while they danced, all alone on the beach in the night in the silence. Their bodies were golden brown that shone even in the moonlight of that wonderfully full moon shining not far from the horizon. Their muscled lithe forms were as graceful as snakes in the thrall of the fakir, their muscles flowed under their dun-colored skin like melted butter, shifting and reforming and returning to the original mold. Watching them was...intoxicating! I stood there, entranced by their simple, marvelous beauty of form and expression and culture and life.
They finished the dance and their neat line dissolved into laughter. God, I needed laughter so bad right then! So I walked on in and said, "Hey, guys!"
None of them spoke English! They all spoke some native tongue that was a complete mystery to me. That left us with a language barrier and no way around it. But one of them produced a bottle that held a powerful liquor that I didn't think had ever seen a store shelf, but it went down easy when I took a snort out of it. I smiled, nodded, and handed it back to them.
With gestures, they made me understand that they wanted me to sit and watch them practice their dance. I made myself comfortable on a palm that had bent over (probably knocked down during a storm), and I watched them.
The chant was something less than music, more than speech. It was perfect for their movements, which were soft, sinuous, graceful, and masculine. The best I can match it is the chants that soldiers use while marching to help them keep their cadence, but this was nothing military. This was more...sensual. Their chant was working its way into my brain.
Done, they laughed and I applauded them, gestured to show I thought their dance was great. And it was, at least to my untrained eye.
They sat on the trunk of the palm next to me and the bottle got passed around and I took another drink.
One of the guys, the sole guy on my right, asked me what sounded like a question.
"Sorry, I don't understand." I said. "God, I wish you did understand me! I have made the biggest mistake of my life and I can't figure out what the hell to do about it!"
He looked his question to me. A little taller, a little older than the others (though they all looked too close in age to be brothers), the guy would have looked right in place on the American West plains, wearing a war bonnet and whooping a war cry while wielding a bow-and-arrow. His skin was a good bit darker than American Indians, though and there was a look to all of them as if they had a sizeable portion of African blood in them (I don't think they do, but the general appearance is there in the face and the nose and the eyes). He looked a question at me and I figured that this was the best audience I was going to get any time soon.
So I launched into it. Talked to the three men who couldn't understand a word I was saying, but they politely let me talk on and on about how much I had screwed up my life by getting married because I was expected to.
I talked and I took another drink or two from their bottle and by the time it was all said and done, the bottle was empty and I was feeling purged of my frustration. Which only left...tears?
I wasn't quite crying, but these three could tell I had unburdened myself to them (even if they didn't have a clue as to what I'd said), and I bent over and put my eyes into my palms and my elbows on my knees.
Two hands reached up to pat my back from either side. After a pat or two, they stayed there. They felt good, so nice and warm. The hand stayed on, and began to move over my back, soft, comforting strokes. More than strokes, less than a massage, more like a...confirmation of my worth. I had to sigh softly with my pleasure, had to let my voice vent the sheer delight of being touched, of being worthy, of belonging.
Other hands came over, one from each side, and these touched my legs on both sides. I straightened up at that, but that just meant they could stroke my legs better, their hands went into the inside of my thighs and up to my crotch and the hands on my back stroked, stroked, stroked.
A part of me was awakening with those touches. It wasn't just that my body was taking fire with the old familiar flame of passion, it was like there had been this part of me that had been asleep for as long as I could remember, only vague dreams had come from it all these years, and now, and now, it was rousing and ready to take its place in my life.
The third dancer had moved behind me and I felt his groin at my back, felt his hands come down over my shoulders onto my breasts. Felt his manhood upon my mid-back and the part of myself that had wakened up slid in to the driver's seat of my body and hit the gas!
I had one native stud on either side of me, and I reached out and my hand went up their thighs to their groins; I wasn't too surprised to find that the wraps were their only covering, that their manhoods were exposed and available beneath them. I had already noticed that the natives working at the resort wore a bathing suit under their wraps, but these nighttime dancers had chosen to throw caution as well as their swim trunks to the winds.
I soon had two hard Polynesian dicks in my hands! Their soft laughter was approval and encouragement, I smiled at them and their own fingers were balked by my swim suit. A small, slight pair of racer's Speedos (courtesy of my days on the swim team at college), they were too tight to let their hands inside easily.
The man behind me sent his hands down to my swimsuit and he succeeded where his friends failed, he was able to slip his hands down into my suit and his fingertips brushed the top of my cockhead.
I leaned my head back and his lips kissed mine, I felt my mouth open and his tongue slid inside as graceful as any porpoise, dancing its delight upon my own tongue, kissing my teeth with its tip, mixing our saliva into a frothy nectar that he left when he withdrew, a string of it connecting our lips still.
The other two natives teamed up to grasp my swimsuit and strip it from my body, leaving me naked before these nearly-naked men. I expected them to undo their loin wraps and cast them aside, but one merely shifted it so that the tie which had been along one side was at his front, and then he lifted the flaps aside and his cock was freed to peer at it with its one weepy eye.
The other did the same, and now I was looking at two brown hungry cocks looking for a home. Their owners wore wide smiles that shone white as the moon overhead. I smiled back at them, knew what I needed to do. I turned and lay onto my back on the palm trunk, the rough fibers pressing into my spine. One of the dancers, the youngest of the three, lifted up one of my legs as the middle one hawked spit and lubed up his friend's dong. The eldest took advantage of their preoccupation with my ass to appropriate my mouth for himself, he straddled the trunk and fed his cock into my mouth. That part of me that had awakened knew exactly what to do with it, I sucked on it greedily, feeling the warmth and the musk and the taste of the tropics all in that warm piece of manflesh, and I was so enraptured by it that the touch of the other cock at my anus was a bit of a surprise. I started to protest, but the warm hands of the other two soothed me in incomprehensible words said in warm tones, and I lay back. The third shoved his cock into me, and I grunted, but something in the night and the men and the hooch I had drunk all combined to make it something less than excruciating. It hurt, but maybe I wanted this so much my body cooperated as well as its virginal tissues would permit. Warm hands plied upon my chest and when he shoved again, the pain was less...or less important.
I was loving two dongs at once and it was great, I saw the third man standing to one side, watching his friends make love to me, fondling his cock and I grabbed hold of it, and he laughed and stepped forward a little to make the reach easier, and I now had three turgid pricks busy.
What a wedding night this was turning out to be! Instead of my wife, now presumably sleeping peacefully back in our cabin, I was on a tropical shore, three dark brown studs were sharing my pale white body, I was doing what I'd always wanted to do!
I let go of the cock in my mouth and sat up, now I had two cocks in my hands, one was sticky with my spit, the other was hungry for some liquid of its own. I fed the other one into my mouth, and once I had that one humming nicely, I began to switch back and forth, I wanted these cocks, both of them, I pulled on them and the two natives stepped together, pressing their manhoods together, and I grunted like a pig as I stuffed both of them into my mouth at once!
The third native, the one who had been humping my ass and been kicked out when I sat up (I hadn't meant to do that, actually) wormed his way into this maestrom of men, he got in behind me and sat on the trunk behind me and when I felt his sticky prod knocking at my coccyx bone, I got the idea and stood up long enough for him to sidle in under me, and as I sat back down, he got himself back inside me. He rocked himself under me, enough to wiggle his dong in my butt, and I returned to my banquet of paired cocks above the two of us.
I could have lavished my affections upon this trio of studs all night long, it was with a certain amount of disappointed surprise when the left-hand one of the natives I was sucking began to moan and then his hot seed spurted into my mouth, pelting his friend's dong along with my tongue with salty creamy jizz. I listened to his velvet voice as he guttered his pleasure with foreign syllables, and my lips dribbled his sperm down my chin, the hot dregs of spent lust.
I felt the man under me begin to pick up his pace as his cock hardened in me. No, no, not yet, not another one! I sucked the man left to me with a speed borne of despair. So soon, so soon, it couldn't last, it would never last, I couldn't keep this night forever, it would end and I would have to go back to my new wife! God, she'd wake up and expect me to make love to her! How could I do that now? No, no, not so soon!
But the traitor stud fucking me grew to his climax and sprayed his fountain of spunk up into my body. The man below me was gasping a sound I at least understood, "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!"
And it was just me and the man I was sucking. He had been the one standing watching the other two, the one I had reached up and pumped at first. Now he was my sole salvation from myself.
He seemed to not be in any hurry. I thought he might want to fuck me now my butt was clear, but when he encouraged me to get off the palm trunk and onto the ground, I found he was simply moving us into a 69 position. My own cock was being sucked by him. Maybe he knew he needed more time, and more stimulation, to reach his climax, I only know that he took me in my impassioned state from first erection to my height and he was still steaming in my mouth, fully hard, still untapped.
Or maybe he had a sense of proportion to his lovemaking, or needed to feel the passion of his partner, for as my own climax built within me, he seemed to take on added fire, and as I hit my orgasm, as my cock exploded into his mouth, he gave a gentle groan and his sperm flowed into my mouth as softly as the liquor poured by the bartender in the warm tropical afternoon.
I drank him down, every drop that exuded from his glans, and when he was spent, I closed my eyes and let my exhausted body drop into a languid state. Let this time last forever, I begged the heavens, let this time be mine always.
But it didn't, of course. I had to get to my feet, retrieve my swim trunks, dip into the lagoon again to wash my body from the male musks that still permeated it from my three lovers, and went back to my marriage bed.
My eidetic memory helped me through the consummation of my marriage that next morning. To my relief, Patricia found sex to be as distasteful as a lot of other things, and I was able to keep the conjugal visits to a minimum, after we produced two grandchildren for our parents' joy, we went to separate bedrooms.
Which brings me back to the present day and my brochures. Again, eight years had gone by and it had been two years since my wife and I had had sex. So I gathered up my brochures and I did something I hadn't done in some time. "Darling." I said when I found her.
She looked up in some surprise. "Yes, Charles?"
"It occurred to me there is another choice for our vacation."
"Yes?"
"Why don't we agree that we enjoy different things and simply take separate vacations this year?"
Thank God she looked relieved instead of alarmed. "You mean for me to go to Milan and you go off to some Godforsaken island in the middle of the Pacific?"
"Exactly." I said. "That way you don't have to even see the beach, and I can get it out of my system, so to speak."
"We'll think about it." Which was Patricia's way of agreeing without seeming to be too eager.
"Yes, do think about it." I said and got out of there while I still could. I got well down the hallway before daring to grin.
Fanuatapu, here I come!
[Postscript: I needed a name for my tropical island, and this time, instead of making one up, I picked a real one that does actually exist, but is uninhabited and probably nothing but a large rock in the ocean. So I don't need to be told I got my research wrong in case you know the name, and don't try to go there and hope to meet those three studs; I wouldn't want you to end up perched on a rock out there!]
THE END
Comments, complaints or suggestions?
E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM