By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2004 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

It was well past midnight and Mandy Meyers was still wide awake. The cabin was dark except for the discreet cockpit, bathroom and galley indicators and an eerie shaft that emanated from a single reading light. Only the distant drone of the plane’s engine, a cough, or the unintelligible mutterings of a restless dreamer broke the sky’s empty silence. It was that time between countries; the Pacific isle had been left far behind and home beckoned far in the distance. It was the time between today and tomorrow; the time of deep reckoning and making promises that only the unconscious can know. Across the aisle a suited arm stretched up and a light went out. Mandy sighed, shifting restlessly in her seat and solitude. She was plagued by a world of tumultuous feelings that she needed to order before she got home to George and a relationship that she had badly abused and now wanted desperately to repair.

“Still awake?” Suzanne, her best friend and fellow stewardess had slipped into the aisle seat beside her. “We haven’t had time to talk, but after I saw who walked you home this morning I doubt whether you got much sleep last night. I thought a good dinner and glass of wine would put you out like a light, but here you are still standing, or rather sitting. Are you okay?”

Mandy squeezed her friend’s arm. “I can’t sleep. I was forced to look at myself last night and I can’t say I liked what I saw. I can’t stop thinking about the way I’ve been carrying on. I’m ashamed of myself. You must be ashamed of me, too.”

“Not ashamed, but I’ve been worried about you for a long time.” Suzanne took her friend’s hand. “Everybody’s sleeping; do you want to talk?”

“Not yet. I’m scared, Suze. I have to come clean with George. Start over and I don’t know if I have the courage to do it.”

“You do and I’m proud of you, Mandy,” Suzanne said. “I’m going to get you a hefty brandy and leave you to your thoughts.”

Mandy smiled into the darkness. It felt strange being served instead of serving. Three days ago, the airline had called with an emergency request for her to cover a sick stewardess. She’d work the flight over, be flown back First Class after a layover, and get paid for four days. Here she was on the way home again and it felt like she’d been away for weeks. She thought of her husband, George and her eyes stung with tears. She hadn’t realized how much she loved and needed him. She remembered the look on his face when she pecked his cheek before leaving for the airport. He looked like an unhappy puppy, one that was used to being left alone and unattended. She had fifteen years of neglect to make up for and she was determined to spend the rest of her life appreciating George and making him happy.

“Here you go,” Suzanne said, handing Mandy one of crystal VIP snifters. “Sip easy, it’s the good stuff. And try and get some sleep.”

“Thanks.”

Mandy sipped. A sharp heat cut into the lightheaded euphoria that last night’s Kava had left in its wake and the mixture encouraged dreaming. She sighed, closed her eyes and submitted to the swell of memories that claimed her.

Three days ago . . .
The flight over had been somber. She’d attended a cabin full of twenty-five of the world’s finest minds on their way to a think tank on the origins and analysis of world violence. They changed seats every now and then and with heads close together, spoke in soft whispers. The only strident voice belonged to one of the two women aboard and it cut through the subdued mutterings like a knife: “Betty Charles has accomplished more in the field than any of us and is she here? No, because she believes that the seeming motivations for violence are symptomatic and that the real culprits are psychological and emotional neglect or trauma, most likely experienced in childhood. She’s developed clinically successful therapies toward the relief and eradication of the impulse, but she wasn’t invited to this meeting. Why? Because our world leaders are afraid she’d have them trotting from their cabinet meetings to their therapy sessions and that idea scares them more than war itself.” Her guffaw was loud and infectious and for a few minutes a whole cabin laughed.

Mandy served some wine with dinner, but very little alcohol the rest of the flight. In fact, these were the least demanding people Mandy had ever hosted and besides checking on them now and then, there was very little for her to do. With all this talk of violence she couldn’t help thinking about how kind George was, how kind she wasn’t and guilt gnawed at her. As a teenager, Mandy realized that life had dealt her an ace, a physical beauty that exuded sexuality and drew men to her like hungry babies to nipples of warm milk. She became a master manipulator and used her brains and beautiful face, her baby blue eyes and model’s body, to get whatever she wanted. That’s how she’d ended up with George. When her college boyfriend had dumped her during Spring Break, all she felt was shame that she had been deserted yet again and she was determined to find someone to be with; to prove to jock Billy that she didn’t care. (Her father deserted her when she was four; went off to war and got himself killed and her mother had escaped into a bottle.) George happened to be in the parking lot on his way to her apartment to visit Sonita, Mandy’s roommate and George’s girlfriend. Mandy couldn’t leave him alone. She jumped into his car. his arms and his heart with her sad tale and by the time they reached the apartment, he was all hers. She got pregnant, they married and lost the baby all in the space of a few months and they’d been together ever since; at least as together as Mandy wanted them to be. Men were still there to be used and deserted before they deserted her. And she never looked back; at least, not until last night.

Last night . . .
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Suzanne asked, heading for the door.

“No, I think I’m going to take a walk along the beach and jump into bed with a book,” Mandy said.

“Okay, see you later.”

Mandy slipped on a pair of flat sandals and ran her hands through her shining blond hair. She squinted quizzically at herself in the mirror and placed her hands on her large breasts. She massaged them in circles, squeezed her nipples, and buckled slightly as a surge of erotic pleasure sizzled out from her groin to excite the rest of her. She was still not used to the four year old enhancements: how they looked, how they felt, how they influenced men. She’d surprised George with them, made him sit while she danced for him, sat on him, squirmed on him until he convulsed, groaning with pleasure, and she felt warm liquid seeping through his jeans onto her ass. She’d felt so powerful. Even now she could feel the heat, the moistness, the arousing flexing of muscle inside her. He’d thanked her as if she’d done it just for him and she let him believe it.

She thought about her college roommate, Sonita, the nerd with the massive FF breasts. How often had she encouraged her to get a reduction? The fact was that she was jealous of them, jealous of the way men looked at them. She felt guilty now, but only a little. Sonita hadn’t taken her advice and they were still friends as much as they’d ever been. Sonita now taught at the same school as George and lived only a few blocks away from them. Mandy hadn’t seen her for some time. She’d have to make an effort, invite Sonita to dinner when she got home. With that thought, Mandy shoved her room key into the pocket of her shorts and headed out of the Bure.

The night smelled of orchids mixed with the ocean’s salt. Mandy looked toward the beach, drinking in colors that a city could never paint. Rows of velvety moss green trees had knitted themselves down the hillside to border the pink and tan speckled sands. The sky was a swirl of the purples and blues, pinks and oranges as if dawn were melting into day into sunset and nightfall all at once. She skipped the few steps down to the beach and kicked, sending her shoes and sprays of sand into shortfalls in front of her. She ran, picked up her sandals and beat them tambourine-like in a happy rhythm, twirling in circles like a child, an old child who would always dream of a childhood she never had. Mandy felt deliriously happy, free of the past and future, and perfectly alive in the present. She gazed out at sea. A cruise ship waited, its body outlined in a twinkle of proud light. This beauty, this moment, belonged to the island. It was only on loan to her and she like all other interlopers would have to sometime leave its embrace. She felt suddenly sad. Tears trickled into a steady flow that gathered into a storm of relentless sobs. Mandy fell to her knees and cried until there were no tears left and she sat staring mindlessly out to sea.

She felt something; a presence, a magnetic force that demanded that she turn.

“Ah, so many tears.” His deep voice rumbled out of him, washing over her like a soothing balm.

She looked up into a smiling mahogany face, his features more kind than handsome. He was a six foot four tower of a man whose imposing stature was tempered by a red flower that blossomed from behind his ear. His naked toned and muscular torso seemed insolently masculine atop the colorful Sulu that hung low on his hips and fell gracefully to his ankles. He was a primitive god, a part of the mystery of this eloquently beautiful place; strong and vulnerable, masculine and feminine and compellingly attractive.

“I didn’t see you,” Mandy said, scrambling to her feet.

“No, I was in my quiet place. I heard you and waited. Come let me show you something.” He held out his hand and Mandy took it. It was a strong, but soft hand. “What are you doing on my island?”

“I’m a stewardess. I flew over from the states two days ago. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“So many tears,” he repeated. “Are you afraid of leaving here or afraid of what you’re going home to?”

Mandy felt out-of-body as she watched herself strolling along the beach, hand in hand with this stranger. His question loaded the silence between them and made Mandy anxious despite the burgeoning magnetism that was drawing her to him like gravity’s pull toward earth. They walked the length of the beach without another word.

“Follow me,” he said, bending low and leading them into the mouth of a cave. “Welcome to my quiet place.”

It was a cathedral of a space. Nature had carved a perfect arc of a ceiling in the middle of which they could stand comfortably. A pillow strewn hand-woven blanket covered the floor. Three flickering candles and a bowl sat on a makeshift box of a table. A naturally formed circle of a window overlooked the ocean and its gentle lap-lap-lapping against limestone played a sound that was as gentle as a baby’s lullaby.

The man had taken the bowl from the table and sat dipping and squeezing a murky liquid from a cloth ball.

“Sit,” he said, filling half a coconut cup with the liquid and passing it across the bowl to Mandy. “Try some.”

Mandy had never tried Kava, but knew that this was the time to do so. One did not refuse the welcoming cup of Kava. The taste was muddy and unfamiliar and the drink numbed her tongue. The man clapped three times and held out his hand for the cup. He dipped and drank and when he was done, Mandy clapped three times and basked in his smile as her refilled the cup and handed her another. This ritual continued until the bowl was empty. Mandy didn’t feel drunk or stoned in any way that she recognized, but she felt that all was right with the world and that there was nowhere on earth she’d rather be than in this cave with this man.

Mandy watched as he sat back against a pillow, his back straight and his long skirted legs relaxed in front of him. His smile was soft and welcoming, but his body vibrated with energy like an animal that was on alert and ready to spring.

“Come closer,” he said, patting a place beside him.

He spoke through full lips barely parted to reveal glistening white teeth. He was a most intriguing creature. Mandy couldn’t help noticing the rise beneath his skirt. Was he naked underneath? She was conscious of her erratic breath and there was no controlling the hardening of her nipples or the heat that was spreading through her groin, moistening her pussy and nibbling deliciously at her clit. She felt like a little girl with a crush on her teacher and she didn’t understand. She was used to being the one in control.

“Closer,” her repeated.

It was a sweet demand. Mandy sat beside him and let her crossed legs fall toward him, inches away from his thigh. She felt his eyes on her breasts, on her pointy nipples. She watched the warrior’s spear beneath his skirt rising to attention. She felt the tingling moist readying of a woman in heat. And she waited for him to make his move, waited.

“How do you feel?” he asked, turning toward her.

“I’m flying,” she said, stroking his arm teasingly. “Wanna’ catch me?”

“Do you know why you were crying out there on the beach?”

“I don’t even know your name. Mine’s Mandy.”

“Viliame, my name’s Viliame. Now, do you know why you were crying?”

“I know I’m going to cry now if you don’t kiss me,” Mandy said. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to touch and be touched.

Viliame stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and then, holding her chin firmly in his hand, stared deeply into her eyes.

“They’re not interchangeable, you know. Physical communication, sex, is not the same as talking, sharing thoughts. I need both. Why are you avoiding my question?”

Mandy was suddenly irrationally angry and jerked away from him. Who did he think he was accusing her of . . . What? She glared at him, frantically searching her mind for the perfect retort, but there were no words.

“Come,” he said again, adjusting his Sulu, spreading his legs and gesturing for her to sit between them.

Mandy was caught off balance. Where was the word or action that she could rail against? It wasn’t there. He was perfectly calm. She paused for a second and then watched herself climb between his legs.

“Relax.” Gentle hands massaged her temples and she could feel the moist heat of his breath in her ear. “Let yourself go.” She leaned back against his chest and he moved his hands around neck, over her shoulders and across the front of her chest.

“Lower,” she prayed to herself. She felt like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof and her body ached for . . . more.

Viliame lifted his hips, sunk lower and she could feel his cock reaching through the material of his Sulu and her shorts, pressing into her ass. Instinctively, she moved back against him and gloried in the hard feel of his returned thrust.

“You have a wounded soul. I could hear it. To heal you must share it. You must stop using your body to avoid what your heart has to say. Why were you crying?”

Mandy tried to move away from him, from his questions, but she couldn’t. His arms were around her and she wanted to stay, needed to stay. He began to fondle her breasts reverently, as though they were perfect and the first breasts he’d ever touched. He pinched her nipples hard and then softly. He gave them a twist. Mandy was in a swim of erotic currents that darted along her arms and legs. Her mouth felt dry and her pussy very, very wet.

“Your breasts are glorious, but not as glorious as the heart I feel beating inside. Now tell me, why were you crying?”

“I don’t know, I mean, the ocean, the sky, everything was so beautiful and I felt like I was a part of it and I was happy. And then I noticed the ship and it reminded me that I’d be going home tomorrow and the happiness I felt was . . . ”

Viliame had adjusted pillows behind her back, moved over her and was gently lifting her T-shirt over her breasts. She raised her arms like a little girl being undressed for bed.

“That your happiness was an illusion? Maybe it was. You’re married and yet you crave attention from other men. Why? Tell me about your parents, your husband, your life.”

Mandy shivered as the damp air cooled her skin and his fingers moved over her skin with strokes as light as a feather. She felt that every part of her was connected in one glorious erotic circuitry and that his fingers were like keys, unlocking years of repressed hurt and anger. She told Viliame about her childhood and how alone she’d felt. She told him how she’d decided never to be hurt again.

“But you are hurt. Remember the ocean and sand, the smells. Close your eyes and remember how you felt. Remember the tears.”

Mandy closed her eyes and could feel the sand beneath her feet, see the trees, the sea – all of it. She felt a tongue lapping over her breasts that were suddenly and deliciously free. A tongue passed over her hard nipple and then it seemed to be melting inside a warm mouth. She could smell salt from the sea and from his smooth skin that excited her fingertips.

“What do you want, Mandy? What do you really want?”

She arched her back toward the voice, relieved when the mouth absorbed her other breast. The ocean was beginning to roar inside her head and pound deep inside her pussy.

“I want to be safe. I don’t want my husband to leave me.”

“Then why do you push him away?” Viliame asked, biting and suckling her nipples.
He covered her torso with tiny kisses. She could feel his warmth everywhere, touching her outside and reading the inside of her. “You want to love. You don’t want to be alone anymore. That’s why you were crying. I could hear it. Let yourself feel the pain.”

“I want . . . I want . . .,” Mandy sobbed. The feelings were spinning out of control. She squeezed her legs tight, as the walls of her belly convulsed and an overpowering orgasm claimed her, rocking her to her core.

“Ohhhhhhhh.”

Viliame gathered Mandy in his arms and rocked her like a baby. “There, there,” he cooed. He kissed her forehead and cheeks. He kissed the palm of her hand. She was almost asleep when he asked softly. “What are you afraid to go back to?”

As Viliame stroked her hair, Mandy told him all about her escapades with men. How it made her feel powerful to seduce and then leave them. How she’d taken pictures as evidence of her conquests.

“So you wanted to be caught. Want to be stopped. You can do that for yourself,” he said, kissing the top of her head before continuing to caress her.

Mandy had never shared so much of herself and she couldn’t stop. She talked and talked and talked. “Something’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I . . . ”

Viliame stopped her with a kiss. His lips were soft, but insistent. He opened her mouth with his own. His tongue explored her thoroughly, inside and out. “Kiss me,” he commanded.

“I am kissing you.”

“You’re holding back, denying yourself pleasure. You’re in control. Take back you life. Kiss me.”

He licked her lips gently. Mandy felt something opening up deep inside. She nibbled his lips. Her tongue played with his. They seemed joined in a primitive tongue dance and it grew in intensity until it was like fucking.

Viliame tugged, pulling down her shorts and thong all in one sweep. He drew his nails lightly along her thighs and her nerve endings sang. He kissed one knee and then the other.

“Touch yourself, Mandy. Listen to your body. Show me how good you can make yourself feel.”

His wish was her command. Viliame stroked her thighs and arms and breasts as Mandy pried open her pussy lips and began to caress her clit. She could smell her own muskiness and it aroused her. She smoothed and then spanked her clit. She spit on her fingers and caressed some more. She began to writhe with pleasure. It was growing, the pressure inside was growing. She felt so good. She needed filling. She inserted two fingers deep inside her pussy and found a spot that opened a door to a deeper pleasure.

“You’re so lovely,” Viliame said.

He had discarded his Sulu and he held his proud cock, must have been twelve inches of cock, in his hands. Mandy gasped, withdrew her fingers and returned to her clit.

“I can’t help it. I’m . . . ”

“You’re beautiful. Say it.”

“I’m beautiful. I’m beautiful!” Mandy screamed another climax into the night. “I’m beautiful,” she said, gasping and weeping.

“You are,” Viliame said.

He entered her slowly. She absorbed his fleshy head and then the whole of him. The walls of her pussy pressed, convulsed and massaged the length of him. She could feel tiny explosions of warm liquid filling her cavern and bathing him, lubricating his every thrust. She held her breath when he withdrew. And then something broke, some barrier and she was bucking beneath him in a wild ride that was taking them across the plains to the cliff’s edge. He tried to slow her, to tease her, to delay, but it was too late. She rode him until he had no will. They exploded together, wads of his cum filling and mixing with her own juices; spilling out of her. And still inside, his cock shriveling in her warm comfort, he held on to her. They clung together for a long time until she expelled him with a long and satisfied sigh.

“How do you feel?” he asked finally.

“Beautiful and happy,” she answered.

“Have that with George for the rest of your life. Don’t ever settle for less.”


“Wake up, Mandy.”

Mandy opened her eyes to Suzanne’s smiling eyes. The cabin was empty.

“I’m glad you got some sleep. Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I have my car. Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

“My pleasure. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll plan lunch.”

The two friends hugged, Mandy gathered her things and left the aircraft.

She drove home slowly thinking of the sand and the sea and a time that had stood still long enough for her to find herself. Her head felt light, but clear. She was finally going home to George and her marriage.

George wasn’t at home and there were no messages. A chill ran down her spine when she noticed the laptop she’d left in her drawer open on the top of her desk. George must have needed information for her taxes, she tried to assure herself. She checked her email. There was one from Sonita: TO: MANDY MEYERS SUBJECT: FOR OUR PLEASURE ONLY. There were three attachments.

Mandy wept as picture after picture of George and Sonita, making their special brand of love, assaulted her. She sat for hours looking, examining her punishment and then not; just staring at the blank screen.

Finally she hit the reply button.

SUBJECT: TO GEORGE, FOR HIS PLEASURE ONLY
Come home. I have so much to say. I love you, Mandy.