Island Girl 5

I had traveled to the Caribbean and was on a boat on the way to the island of Dead Man's Chest. It had been made famous by the novel Treasure Island by Robert Lewis Stevenson. As I approached in the Boston Whaler, I saw someone standing on the beach in a bikini and with a straw hat on her head. She was slim and tanned, with a wide smile and a very sexy body that filled the tiny suit like a fashion model on the runways of Paris. She greeted me in the surf, waded out to my boat, and helped me ashore, pulling the boat behind her until the bow was on the dry sand. She tied the line I handed her to a dead tree and came back to the Boston Whaler to help.

"You David?" she asked with that delightful smile. I said I was and she helped me out of the boat. She was there to meet me and show me about the islands for the article I was writing for "Discovery" magazine. She was a professional diver and guide for the Caribbean Historical Society and had agreed to lead me through the British Virgin Islands and take me to sunken wrecks near Virgin Gorda. Her name is Julia and she was certainly was a jewel of the Caribbean. A diver, a guide, but she was also a very beautiful woman with a tiny bikini and a body to die for. I smiled to myself as I walked onto the island.

I could not resist admiring with long clandestine looks at that wonderful body in that teeny tiny bikini, that was wet and nearly transparent against the backlight of the sun. She was a vision in the bright West Indian daylight and had my undivided attention. I watched her barely covered bottom walk up the beach ahead of me, spending more time than I should studying all the contours of that delightful rear end as it moved up the beach.

When she stopped and turned around she was standing in a small camp with a tent, a fire pit, and an aware smile as if she knew I had been studying her round, nearly bare bottom as she walked ahead of me. "See anything you like?" she asked with that knowing smile. I was self-conscious that she knew of my perusal of her lovely ass and I pretended not to know what she meant.

"Oh come now," she said with a scoff, "men like to look. Right?" I muttered something unintelligible and went back to the boat to retrieve my gear, sheepish that I had been caught and flustered that I didn't know what to say.

We camped that night and she took off the suit in front of me, as if daring me to look at her naked, and I didn't disappoint her, watching her get dressed in a kaftan, discarding the suit, hanging it over her pack. "I am not all that modest," she said, stating the obvious. She said the tent was for her things, in case it rained, but that she would sleep outside cause she liked looking up at the stars.

The first night was a long one, with me watching her sleep naked under just a sheet, since the night was warm and she had tossed off the kaftan and I watch her naked form under the thin cover and thought about what was under there. In the morning she got out from under her sheet, left off the kaftan or suit and paraded around nude until we left to dive the wreck at about ten. Her bush was trimmed and her breasts were pert and high and well shaped, her nipples small but hard and erect.

Diving on the sunken hull, she wore that tiny bikini again and swam a few feet under me wearing her SCUBA gear and the very brief suit, which rode up on her bottom as she moved her legs and kept my attention the whole time, leaving her backside barely covered as she swam just a short way under me in the mountain-air clear water of the Caribbean. I was having a hard time concentrating on the sunken hull instead of the beautiful woman swimming below me with the revealing suit and luscious body.

Back at camp she tossed off the suit and left off the kaftan and looked at me like, "Well, you going to look or not." I did and didn't even pretend not to. I figured if she didn't mind I didn't mind. I became pretty relaxed about her nudity, and finally she asked me if I would like to join her. I understood, was glad to have the opportunity, since I was nude a lot at home, nodded and slipped off my suit. It was pretty easy to be nude around her, since she was so comfortable being naked and so confident in her own skin. We were both nude and she didn't seem to notice mine.

The next morning we stayed naked until we left in the whaler for the next wreck dive and again the tiny suit drove me wild the whole day as she swam ahead or below me. It was one thing to see her nude, that was great, but the suit emphasized her shape and was actually sexier than simply seeing her nude, although with her naked so often I wasn't complaining.

That night at the island camp we ate at the fire, then when we readied to hit the sack, she asked me if I would like to share her pad, which was double wide and had plenty of room for two. I had no pad and was happy to share, but I had hopes it could be more. With the regular sized sheet there was adequate space under it for both of us, and I smiled and nodded, hoping she meant for more than just sleep.

"Sure," I said. "Thanks." She held the sheet up and motioned me in next to her. I crawled in beside her and she curled up and put her knees around me, putting an arm on my shoulder. "You're not gay are you?" she asked.

"Not even close," I said. She was so direct in everything, not beating around any bush.

"That's good," she said. When I put the sheet over me she snuggled up against my body and moved hers against my front, and I was unable to control my enthusiasm. She chuckled and said she was glad I was interested.

"I am more than interested," I said, admitting how good it was to be so close to her. Putting my arms around her, I pulled her warm flesh to me and kissed her neck. I felt her hand touch my now erect penis and her fingers closed around my swollen shaft. Her hand was soft and sensuous.

"You are nicely built," she said with a moan in her voice. Then she moved my erection toward her and positioned the tip at her pubic region and moved closer so it touched her wet slit and I pushed my hips forward. The tip of my cock came in contact with her pussy lips and I could feel the petals part and open for me. I slipped into her and eased my erection forward and pushed deeper into her vagina. She sighed and pushed her hips to meet mine and forced me farther into her. I began moving back and forth in her pussy and she moaned, grinding her hips and taking me as deep as I would go.

"You fuck nicely," she said close to my ear with a groan.

"I like a man who knows his way around a woman's vagina," she whispered hoarsely. I didn't answer but kept up the pace. She rolled on top of me and sat up, throwing off the sheet. She put one knee on each side of me and began to bounce over my body, bouncing on my erection with an amazing energy. My stiff cock pushed into her and I repeatedly thrust it in and out of her. She was fucking me cowgirl and I was in sexual heaven.

I continued to piston into her and held her up with my hands on each side of her waist. When she came it was surprising people on St. Thomas could not hear her, five miles away, since she was incredibly vocal and cried out as she came and didn't stifle herself in the slightest. It was obvious she liked sex and it was clear it was not new to her, and I realized that she clearly had had many lovers. I knew it wasn't just me, and I was prepared to join the team. That next morning we slept in longer than usual, and didn't get to the wreck until one in the afternoon.

It was the perfect match up, and we not only had great sex, but we accomplished a great deal on our dives. We got along famously, without a cross word on the trip.

She had come to the island in a twenty-two foot Allclass, which was the perfect diving boat with a boarding ladder, a compressor, and tank racks for the SCBA gear. She anchored her boat on the north side of the island. We worked perfectly together and we're able to accomplish everything we needed to, even with the extracurricular activities at night.

On the fourth day we dived off Norman's Island, on an eighteenth century Greek ship loaded with lumber, the Rokas. I was able to get good photos, keeping Julia out of the shots, since she was nude most of the day as she dove.

On the dive we encountered a large white shark that circled us menacingly for thirty minutes or so, before swimming off and leaving the reef. I became aware of the fact that I felt differently about her safety than I did about most people I worked with. We looked at one another thankfully when it had gone and went back to exploring the wreck. I finished the pictures I needed, including some of the large white shark.

We made love each night after our first time together, and the sex was fantastic, ending in an explosive orgasm for both of us every time. We obviously had become closer than usual for coworkers. We finished one day early, and decided to anchor off Tortola and dive a reef we had both heard of but hadn't been on. We dived nude and made love after the dive on the deck of the Allglass, on the large pad that fit on the bow platform that we moved back on the deck for privacy. It was a slow, deliberate sex that had us savoring the fucking like newlyweds, kissing and fondling passionately. There was an attraction and feelings I had not had before.

When we got back to St. Thomas, we decided to get a room and we spent the next few days reliving our time on Dead Man's Chest, making love, eating in the room at the St. Christian, and resting between sex. We laughed together, joked about the shark, and generally felt a closeness I had never felt before, especially with someone I was working with, which were mostly men. After three days we left the island. She lived on St. Croix, but she decided to come with me, and she came to LA, staying with me at my place next to UCLA, and we agreed she would apply to the school's research department as a diver and researcher. She had a Masters in marine biology and a degree from Boston University in chemical engineering.

It took no time at all for her to be hired by UCLA on the dive team to work for the research department. I had a job to fly to Fiji to dive on a newly discovered wreck and she was assigned to come with me for the trip. It was the best of both worlds, to be able to work with Julia again and to be in the tropics for another dive in fabulous waters with a woman I had grown to think the world of. It could not be better. She had clearly become the center of my life.

We made love the first night on Fiji because for the next two weeks we would be living in a tent, not that we couldn't do the same thing in a tent, but the sheets were cleaner and the room service was better at the Hyatt than they would be on an island in two sleeping bags.

We had a twenty-five foot Charger twin engine double hull cruiser with a compressor and tank racks and a small cabin with two bunks at the bow. We planned to sleep in tents, on the island, especially with the high quantity of insects. It was not like it had been with the Trade Winds back in the British Virgin Islands and the heat was repressive and had us in very few clothes, if any.

On the first day diving on the wreck Julia swam into the ship from the wheelhouse and I glanced at my watch, to simply note when she went in, part of our safety procedure. I surveyed the stern and took photos of the prop, then swam back to where she should be when she emerged from the ship. However, she was not out yet and she should have been.

It was deep and we had to use a gas mixture to allow us more time on the bottom, but we were still limited to the time we spent at that depth, about 140 feet. When she hadn't come out after four more minutes I swam down and looked in. No Julia. I went inside and swam down a stairway to the deck below.

Two levels below I found Julia with her foot caught in between two lengths of lumber that had shifted and pinned her foot. She had very little time and I buddy-breathed with her to allow her to retain some gas in her unit to give her more time for the assent to the surface. I found a length of steel and attempted to pry the two timbers holding her foot. I did not have the strength to move them, so I moved out farther on the lever and tried again. After two desperate tries, I finally found enough leverage to move the timbers and free her foot.

On the way to the surface we had to buddy breath, handing my regulator mouth piece back and forth between us. It took twenty minutes to safely reach the surface. We had to be careful not to risk nitrogen narcosis, allowing nitrogen to gather in our joints. Once there we hugged and I held her for a while on the surface, relieved I had her back and safe.

Since first seeing her on Dead Man's Chest, I had grown to love her and the fact I could have lost her scared me to death. We were in a dangerous profession and I had never given a thought to the fact that I could lose her in a flash at 140 feet below the surface. A shark, an accident in a sunken wreck, or a case of nitrogen narcosis could quickly take her from me.

It was her profession, she was good at it, but my fears began to cause me so much anxiety that I no longer wanted her exposed to such dangers. She was no longer just a coworker, she had become the love of my life, and I began looking at what she did as a danger rather than just a way of making a living.

On our next dive I was a nervous wreck. I could not get myself to relax about the danger to Julia and the very real chance I could lose her in just a matter of seconds. The depth was 125 feet and I kept watching her and not able to get much done because I was so fixated on her safety and being nervous about the dangers. I had never even thought about danger during previous dives with my diving partners.

It was a totally new experience for me and made me realize I could not do my job while worrying so about the safety of my partner. That night we had sex, but I held her tighter, felt her heart beat against my chest, and after we both came I held her with a new intensity, a new significance. We kissed and my kisses were more desperate, more full of concern and eagerness. I told her for the first time, although it was assumed, that I loved her, that I couldn't imagine living without her.

She studied me, said she loved me too, but there was a concern in her voice that frightened me. She was quiet, and the silence terrified me. "I think I need to go back to St. Thomas," she said finally, stating what I knew to be true. "Neither of us can do our job worrying constantly about the safety of the other one. I love you David," she said, "but I am a diver and I need to be in the water. We cannot do what we do worrying about the person we love. We can stay in touch, but we need to do what we do without anxiety and being stricken by worry. Do you see?"

I knew what she said was true, but I didn't want that and I tried to come up with an argument, but I could not find one.

She left two days later, after two nights of wonderful sex and a lot of quiet holding one another. When she left we promised each other to call everyday and be together as often as possible, to meet and take breaks together, but the truth was clear. We simply could not work together and survive mentally. It was painful but true.

I drove her to LAX. At the security gate we kissed, we cried, and we held onto one another like kids leaving for summer camp. "I love you," I said holding her tight. Her kiss was all the response I needed, because it was all the response I got. When she walked away, I watched her until she went out of sight.

I thought back to the first time I saw her standing in the surf on Dead Man's Chest, standing in the water in that wonderfully brief bikini with a smile on her face I would never forget, the suit so wet it was nearly transparent. We had agreed to talk each night at nine, and to be together at least once every one or two months. We would plan that break into our schedules.

As her plane flew her back to the Caribbean I got an ache in my chest that nearly floored me. I would not hear her voice for another day, and I could hardly wait. I would pretend she was a librarian and the most dangerous thing she had to face was a person with an overdue book to pay for. At least I had the mental pictures filed away of her swimming below me in that incredible suit or walking around camp in nothing but a smile and a head band. I could see her perfect, round and very tight ass, those lovely breasts, and the slightly shaved bush. It would have to do every night. Until we met at our room at St. Christian on St. Thomas for some catching up sex and admiring her again in person.