Beach Bikini

Kelly and Jen had heard many tales of Sri Lanka's natural beauty, so when a ceasefire was called in the civil war in early 1995, they booked a trip over. Their beachfront hotel was beautiful, clean, and comfortable.

They were walking on the beach when they saw a security guard brandishing his nightstick at a teenage boy.

"Stop!" Kelly called out. "Don't hurt him!"

"He is not a guest at this hotel," the guard said harshly. He barked a question in a language the girls did not understand. Neither did the boy, judging by his blank look. Kelly remembered Sri Lanka has two languages.

"Beach?" the boy asked. His eyes darted to the two girls. "Bikini?"

"We have constant problems with these boys," the guard grumbled. "They come to see the free show."

"What free show?" Jen asked.

"The clothing you foreigners wear. I would never permit my daughters to wear such things." said the guard primly.

"Oh, really?" snapped Jen, tossing her brown hair. "Well, I say he

is

a guest!"

She held out her hand to the boy.

* * *

It had been just a few days since Vishal learned what a bikini was. He'd only read a description, not seen a photo. His mind had been blown. In his village, girls never showed their arms or legs, let alone their torso. They went swimming in street clothes. He had never heard of pornography, which was illegal.

Vishal decided he had to see this bikini for himself. Had to. All he knew was that foreign tourists wore them on the beach - ocean beaches, not the river beaches near his home.

He told his mother he was going to visit his uncle - since neither had a phone, she wouldn't be able to check. He got up at five in the morning to sneak on the bus to Colombo.

* * *

Jen was dismayed to see the line of dirt along the boy's left. "Were you

sleeping

on the ground?" she asked, horrified.

No answer.

"I don't think he speaks English," said Kelly. She led him to their bathroom and pointed at the shower. He made no move, even when she pulled off his shirt.

* * *

Did she want him to take a bath? Vishal saw no water, nor a bucket to bring it from the well.

What he did see was each girl's bikini - everything he had dreamed it would be. Both had luscious mangoes on their chest, their garments pointing out round circles. Their waists curved in so invitingly, tantalizing him. And their legs were so smooth, flowing like a river.

The yellow-haired girl pulled the metal knob and suddenly water came out - hot water. He hurriedly pulled off his trousers. He felt his

pulu

rising.

* * *

Jen gazed at the boy's body. His muscles were not those of someone who did a fixed workout at the gym, slept it off, and partied the next day. These muscles were grown from raw, hard labour, the backbreaking work of bending over and plucking tea leaves, of pulling massive loads through resistant soil. This was the darkened skin of a man of the earth, who toiled all day in the hot sun.

Kelly was touched by the innocence in the boy's face. He had the same expression they had noticed on pilgrims praying before statues of Lord Buddha. A look of reverence, of veneration, of deep, spiritual joy.

* * *

The girls kept asking Vishal questions, far too fast for him to follow. He could not remember the English word for

slower.

The yellow-haired girl took a notepad, pointed to herself, and wrote 23. The brown-haired one wrote 21 and handed him the pen. Did they want his age? He wrote 18.

Yellow-hair pointed at the map on the wall questioningly. Were they asking where he was from? He pointed to his village.

* * *

Jen leafed through the tourist guide. "It's only a hundred miles, but on an old bus with potholes and police checkpoints, oh my god - it takes like eleven hours to get here."

* * *

Brown-hair was talking. Vishal only understood one word:

why.

Was she asking why he'd come?

"Beach. Bikini," was all he knew how to say.

The girls were talking rapidly in English, as if debating something. Suddenly, they were taking off their bikinis.

Vishal was filled with wonder and desire. What they taught in school was true! A girl had no

pulu,

just a triangle of hair. It was even more lovely than the rest of her body. And if that was true, could it all be true?

Minutes later, he was in heaven. The two girls - or were they goddesses? - lay beside him. Their hands and lips drew fire across his body as they stroked and kissed all the way down. He felt a wild torrent of feelings cascading through his senses. A soft wetness inflamed him - it was their tongues, licking him, making him shake with excitement.

Was the wetness now on his

pulu?

He shuddered with emotion as each girl in turn took his

pulu

in her mouth. Ecstasy overcame him like a tidal wave.

They asked him something, he had no idea what. Then brown-hair grabbed a coin, tossed it, caught and looked at it. Yellow-hair chortled triumphantly.

Soon, yellow-hair was holding his

pulu

, guiding it inside her. It was true after all! No one had prepared him for the sheer, overwhelming physical joy. This was beyond any pleasure he'd ever had, a pleasure beyond games, beyond sports, beyond music, beyond swimming, beyond ice cream. It was the most sacred and holy bliss he had ever experienced.

He screamed as he burst.

* * *

The next morning, it was Jen who pleasured herself riding the boy. Kelly was content to lie beside him and stroke his hair. She'd arranged for a car and driver to take him back to his village.

"Were the beach and the bikinis worth it, sweetie?" she asked.

The boy seemed to understand. "Beach. Bikini. Worth it."