In the marble ruins of an ancient Greek temple high on the hill, the sound of an approaching motorboat penetrated Aphrodite's deep and dreamy sleep. The early morning sun glimmered on the rippling turquoise waters that stretched to the horizon all around, gleaming brightly on the white sand of the beaches, casting colour on the rocky slopes and olive trees of her island. Below her crumbling abode the island was mostly abandoned. Several ruined and deserted shepherds' cottages littered the hill, and, near a small harbour, stood a cluster of white-walled cottages.
Aphrodite turned on the couch on which she slept, rolling over onto her back, her long black tresses tumbling around her. Her naked body stretched languidly and she opened her eyes. Starting at her firm breasts, she ran her hands over herself, caressing life into her long brown nipples, then moving down to the black silken triangle between her thighs. Sighing, she looked across the water to see what had interrupted her sleep.
Approaching the island was a small boat, and at its bow Aphrodite saw a woman standing, her hand shielding her eyes as she gazed towards the island. Another woman sat further back in the boat with several suitcases.
Aphrodite smiled mischievously, and tenderly pinched her nipple between a thumb and forefinger. She kissed her finger, inhaled deeply, puffed out her cheeks, and started blowing a long firm breathe towards her visitors.
The warm breeze gusted down the slopes, shaking leaves from the gnarled olive trees and rustling the grass. A branch swayed, creaked, and crashed over some telephone wires. A window swung open in the bathroom one of the cottages, knocking a bottle of pills off the sill to the floor below, and a medicine cabinet door swung open. In a bedroom of the cottage, the breeze ruffled the hair of a sleeping man, and tilted the mirrored door of the wardrobe. The breeze drifted past another of the cottages, loosening a water pipe which started to drip onto the floor, at first trickling slowly, but increasingly to a steady flood. Down to the beach the wind meandered, where two pairs of damp men's swimming trunks, abandoned on the sand, rolled into the azure water and drifted away.
*
Standing at the front of the boat, Rebecca felt the warm breeze rustling her hair. She caught a scent of flowers and wild herbs, and inhaled deeply. The sight of the island, beautiful in the morning light, and the perfume of the breeze made her suddenly happy, and, if truth be told, slightly aroused. Her nipples hardened under the thin cotton of her summer dress, and she quickly crossed her arms over her chest and glanced back towards her fellow passenger to see if she'd been observed.
Angelique, sitting behind the small cabin, smiled back at her. They had met a couple of hours earlier when they'd boarded the vessel, learning that they were both headed for the same island.
Rebecca considered her fellow passenger. Angelique, was single, and four years younger than Rebecca's 38 years, and had planned a week of solitude, alone with her laptop, to work on a novel she was writing. Ordinarily Rebecca would not find herself in the company of someone like this: while she was neat, dark, and intensely well-organised, the French woman seemed slightly scruffy and rather bohemian. Her short bob of blond hair was a windswept tangle of curls knotted in a bandana, and her nose was decorated with a silver stud. She was dressed in leather sandals, baggy khaki shorts, and an Indian blouse that gaped over her rather impressive cleavage; to which Rebecca had noticed the sailor at the helm helping himself to frequent glances, which Angelique seemed to neither mind nor avoid.
Rebecca, on the other hand, had her dress buttoned nearly to the neck, although her considerably smaller breasts would not have offered much in the way of cleavage even if she was dressed in more revealing attire. She and her husband Barry had planned a week's holiday together, but several days before he had been ordered to attend an urgent meeting. The holiday was booked and prepaid through an online booking agent, so Rebecca decided to venture out alone; had promised to fly from London to join her as soon as he could get away.
As she stood watching the approaching shore she consulted her schedule on her blackberry.
"Arrive. Unpack. Beach (weather depending). Lunch. Rest with book (20 min sleep if required). Romantic walk on beach. Drinks (white wine -- 2 glasses). Romantic dinner. Early bed. Sex."
She quickly made amendments to compensate for Barry's absence, deleting the words "romantic" and replacing "sex" with "book". So far her holiday was going to plan.
"Your cottages are number 3 and 5," the boat's pilot told them once they'd drawn up alongside the jetty, stealing a final visual grope of Angelique's bust. "We delivered fresh food this morning."
""One of the other cottages is occupied... two men... together," his bushy eyebrows lifted conspiratorially. The sailor was a man who held the opinion that, with very few exceptions, men who didn't come from the small archipelago where he had been born and always lived were homosexual. Especially men who took holidays together.
"Otherwise... you are alone here. The caretaker comes on Monday and Thursday to check if everything is ok, and to bring supplies. You can call if there is a problem..."
He handed the women their keys, and threw the boat into reverse, and with a farewell stare at Angelique's chest, left the island.
*
The morning breeze brought Mike to painful consciousness. His mouth tasted sour, and every thought pulsed through his brain like a red-hot blade. His eyes resisted every effort to open, and then tried to focus on the disarray around him. Several empty beer bottles, and an empty bottle of ouzo.
He groaned out aloud. The memories of the night before trickled back, each one eliciting a jab of agony between his temples. He and Reilly had arrived in the afternoon, and had celebrated with exuberance at the beauty of the island that they had all to themselves. Several beers with their dinner... then some ouzo. Finally, down to the beach under the moonlight, to finish the bottle. They'd stripped off their trunks, plunged into the sea...
From the neighbouring room he heard a groan echoing his own.
Reilly stumbled through, a towel around his waist.
"Aspirin... coffee..." he mumbled.
"In the bathroom... get me two... make it three...," Mike replied.
Reilly reappeared , and dropped three pills into Mike's hand. After swallowing them down with mineral water, Mike collapsed onto the bed, covering his eyes with his hand.
"I'm never going to drink again," he moaned.
He reconsidered.
"At least not until this evening."
*
After unpacking her suitcase, Rebecca went out onto her balcony and looked down towards the beach. Her cottage was on the slope above the others, and she looked over the rooftops at the glistening see. There was some rippling a hundred feet out, and she thought she saw some shapes... maybe porpoises. She went back into her room and fetched the pair of binoculars she'd packed. When she scanned the sea again she couldn't find them, but she continued to look out, enjoying the warm sun on her skin.
The sun glinted off something in the cottage immediately below her, and she lowered her binoculars . Through the glass door she saw a figure, sprawled on a bed. As she adjusted the focus she realised that there were two figures, both men. The one was lying with his head on a pillow, a tangle of sheets wrapped around his middle, the other was lying across the width of the bed, flat on his front, naked. The room was in total disorder, as if the aftermath of a most vigorous spate of passion.
"Oh my!" she thought.
Even if it wasn't her own brand of pleasure, and since she seemed to have been deprived of her planned romantic getaway, it seemed some small recompense to be able to vicariously participate in someone else's erotic adventures.
A knock on the door interrupted her mild titillation.
She opened it to find Angelique, looking even more disordered than before.
"Can I use the phone.... mine doesn't work, and my portable doesn't get reception," Angelique gushed in accented English. "My apartment is flooded... water everywhere."
"Sure... come in," Rebecca smiled.
They tried the phone in Rebecca's cottage; it too was dead.
