Author's notes:
I'm trying a new approach with this story, offering you as the reader parallel perspectives on an erotic encounter, by telling it concurrently from the viewpoint of both individuals, Rick and Blair. So, in other words a 2 for 1 of sorts.
The character of Blair was new and interesting for me to develop authentically, so here's a thank you to those LIT writers who offered instructive insight which helped me delve into her mindset respectfully. Rick's character in contrast, coming from this filthy male mind, spilled out on reflex.
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Friday Morning - RICK
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From the thin slices of morning sunlight creeping through the blinds, the small but unmistakable bud of a nipple was visible beneath the sheet covering her body.
Rick lay awake, admiring the beautiful stranger next to him, still piecing together murky fragments of his prior night. He'd slept naked on top of the sheets it seemed, passing out at some point after their tryst had crested, drunk from both alcohol and the intoxicating pleasure they'd enjoyed together. At some point, she'd apparently slipped underneath the sheet. He'd slept through that.
"Her name is.... Jessica. No... it's Jennifer," he thought. "Fuck. I'd better figure it out before she wakes up."
Long, autumn hair covered her face as she slept, her head turned to the side facing him. Rick felt he might remember her name if he could see her face, but wasn't interested in waking her yet. That said, he couldn't resist the urge to glide his hand down along the sheet, over the length of her body, across her hip and down to her thigh. The subtle action aroused him, blood swelling his manhood.
She stirred beneath his touch, an inhale then a sigh emerging from her as she forced open her groggy eyes. She brushed her hair back and smiled, sleepy, but still charming for just waking up. His hand traced up her leg, hip then stomach, continuing across the nipple, testing her body's reaction through the sheet.
"Mmm....You're horny, baby," she groaned and smiled.
In a flourish of movement, she flung the sheet off her, pushed Rick onto his back and landed on top, straddling him. He smiled back, pulled her down to him and kissed her, mouth open. Morning breath be damned.
"Jennifer. Your name is Jennifer," he remembered silently. The helpful recollection came with other salient facts about the prior night; Serving her white wine at the bar where he worked, her flirty demeanor and their mutual attraction, then their walk on the beach after closing time. Most of all, he remembered her eagerness to return with him to his luxurious house up in the hills.
She glided the cleft of her vulva against his erection. He responded with his well practiced alluring gaze and returned the pressure against her. He felt the wetness forming between them. Without foreplay or hesitation, she lowered herself onto his cock.
Physically, Rick was a living portrait of desirable masculinity.
He was tall, naturally muscular, with wavy, sun bleached dirty blonde hair, then darker body hair perfectly sprayed across his chest and down the center of his toned abdomen. He was tan from countless hours of windsurfing and any other outdoor sport available. His energetic blue eyes, when paired with the chiseled jawline he inherited from his father, made him annoyingly handsome. The local girls on the island generally despised him, that is until he showed interest, after which they desired him.
Last night was the same.
It was noon by the time they'd fucked away the morning, made breakfast and she was dressed to leave.
He recalled over his second cup of coffee that Jennifer was a travelling nurse, working on his island for two more weeks before returning stateside. Recalling her situation put him at ease. She was an attractive and deliciously horny woman, who enjoyed his company both in bed and out, but one who wouldn't be around long enough to get attached.
In other words, she was everything Rick wanted in a woman.
He'd brought her to his house that night on the back of his vintage Vespa scooter. She'd loved it. Zipping up the twisting hillside road in the dark, Jennifer described it in the morning as a highlight of her island experience, besides their night of steamy sex.
She took out her phone to call a taxi to transport her back down the hill to the hospital dormitory, her spartan housing while on the island. Even though he had other obligations this day, Rick would have nothing of that, insisting he take her.
Back on the Vespa, traversing the sharp switchbacks down the hill, her hands were wrapped affectionately around his midsection. The warm Caribbean breeze blowing across their faces, Rick transformed into a charming tour guide, pointing out sights and landmarks visible from various high points along the road.
"That long curved beach you see to the right, the one with the sailboats moored,... that's Cowpet Beach," he instructed. "It's one of my favorite spots on the island." He continued, although with a deliberately non-committal tone, "We could go there sometime. It's private access but I have a friend who lets me use his access code." Jennifer nodded back enthusiastically.
He carried on. "Over there is Bolongo Bay. That's where Mr. Busby's, my beach bar is. You remember that place, right?" Rick grinned confidently as she squeezed his belly and shouted into the wind, "Of course I do silly!"
Rick parked his scooter in front of her building, an older, traditional Caribbean structure adjacent to the newer, more modern hospital. They both got off and Rick embraced her warmly, kissed her on the forehead and said goodbye, for how long he hadn't really considered.
Rick was not born on the island, but had definitely come of age on island time.
He had moved there with his parents in his mid teens. The family officially migrated to the island to adopt a new and relaxed lifestyle, although his mother joked in private that they came to avoid the prying eyes of the tax man. Rick had graduated from the island's only private prep school and convinced his parents to let him start college on the island to complete basic course work before transferring stateside to complete his education later.
Rick's real objective was never to leave.
He loved island life, the carefree pace, the weather, the water sports, but most of all the women; island women, tourists, they all held their own special attraction for him. Six years later, college had become more of a hobby than a commitment, though he kept just enough on his plate to convince his parents he was still trying. They'd returned stateside three years ago and left him in charge of their stylish hilltop home with its sweeping views, private pool and prestigious location. Between having the run of the house and tending bar four nights a week, he was living his own dream.
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Friday Morning - BLAIR
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She was sweating profusely, which validated the sheer difficulty of her effort and what was still to come. The boiling tropic conditions, from the confluence of direct sun, ocean borne humidity and temperatures in the high eighties, created a sauna like environment for Blair's workout. Today was Friday, which meant suffering through a solo cross-fit program outdoors. The beach park on the north side of the island was rarely visited by tourists, and the locals never showed up till afternoon. In that sense, it was her own private outdoor gym.
She paused to catch her breath, physically spent, hurting, especially her upper body. But she was only two-thirds through the scripted workout she'd written out the night before. At least the pull ups were behind her now. Next came jump squats, alternated with up-downs, and thirty yard sprints sequenced in between, in the soft sand. "Suck it up, sweetheart. Let's go," she said out loud to no one in particular.
Daily exercise, and in Blair's case, grueling, painful, exhausting exercise, had evolved into a sacred ritual in her life. The harder the workout, the more concentration it demanded, therefore the more it would carry her away from anything in her day-to-day world that might emotionally wear her down. When working out, she was calm, safe. And when she wasn't, the physical results of her regimen gave her added confidence. This wasn't just a phase. She had years ago resolved that she would continue, to whatever degree physically possible, for the rest of her life.
She finished her final sequence, then carried the twenty pound dumbbells, along with the sand covered exercise mat to her island car, an older VW Beetle. Island cars were those that had been exclusively owned on the island, and because of the minuscule geography, were driven limited miles and stayed in operation forever. She loved hers, even though it was a bit of a chick car. She saw it as a subtle reminder that despite her tough persona, she was, after all, still a girl.
Driving home she passed her ex-lover Kara's apartment building, and resisted the urge to look. They'd shared a sixteen month, loving and caring relationship, and had been deeply committed to one another. But for reasons she still wasn't clear about, it had fizzled. In their final weeks together, Kara had rambled through a myriad of feelings, which grew into reasons, little of which seemed to reflect the reality of their relationship, and none of which made sense to Blair. She summed it up in her heart that Kara had simply fallen out of love with her.
Life as a gay woman in a hetero world wasn't a cake walk for anyone. But living it solo, without a partner, made it tougher for Blair. She was known by all, and knew in herself, that she was a strong, confident woman. That was not a question. But more than most people, she simply craved affection and companionship.
