Carnival

This is an episodic installment in the "Free Love Universe", a collection of short stories about recurring characters which are designed to be read in any order, unless otherwise numbered.

This episode, like all in the "Carnival" series, is best enjoyed in order within that subsequence.

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DAY 4 - SATURDAY

We woke around 10am the next morning to a recent text from Leigh inviting us to brunch. We confirmed and met them downstairs at the restaurant, which Megan and I had yet to even see. It was a similar gazebo design as

The Circle Bar

, albeit ten times the size and positioning its serving stations off to the side instead of wrapped in concentric circles in the middle. We arrived a few minutes before them and spotted Leigh at the hostess stand after being sat. We waved to her, and she walked up to us.

"Where's Kevin?" I asked.

"He got a phone call. He'll be here in a second. Here, this is yours," she said as she handed something to Megan. I caught a quick glimpse - it was the anal lube.

"Happy anniversary!" I exclaimed. "Did you two have a good day?"

"We had an

outstanding

day," Leigh answered. "So fun, so romantic."

"We were wondering whether you'd be walking straight this morning," Megan laughed with a gesture toward her purse where she'd just put the lube.

"Listen, I'm pretending to be fine. My ass is

HURT-TING!"

she said loudly, right as the server approached our table. Megan and especially Leigh looked at the man in absolute horror. He was dressed in his pressed beach resort white linens and, to his credit, maintained complete professionalism, pretending he hadn't heard a thing.

"Could I start you off with any drinks?" he asked.

Leigh's face was buried in her hands and Megan couldn't stop giggling, so I took the liberty of saying, "Four lattes, please." The server nodded and walked away.

"Well that was

fucking mortifying!"

Leigh wailed. "Could he have possibly heard anything more embarrassing?"

"I can probably imagine something," I said, ever a pedant.

"So wait, you're sore?" Megan asked after regaining control of her fit of laughter.

"God yes I'm sore!" Leigh answered. "You two have seen Kevin's dick. He's fucking huge! I don't know what I was thinking. I took three showers yesterday and tried to loosen myself up each time. It did nothing."

"Oh it did something, just apparently not enough," Megan said.

"Maybe, but my ass still hurts. Also, I feel like we owe you a bottle of lube because we used most of it."

Megan laughed and said, "It costs like ten bucks. It's fine."

"But the day was good otherwise?" I asked.

"Oh it was even good with that. We got through it. I do have a giant dragon tattoo on my back, after all. I don't quit," Leigh answered.

Megan nodded in respect and raised an invisible glass as if to toast Leigh's resilience. "I would cheers you, but you can't cheers water - it's seven years of bad sex. And knowing us all, that's a fate worse than hell."

Just then, Kevin appeared over her shoulder and joined us in the fourth chair around our square table. "Sorry babe," he said with a peck on her cheek. He quickly waved at Megan and me while sitting down.

"Happy anniversary," I told him.

"Thank you," he replied. His smile was warm and appreciative.

Our coffees arrived a moment later and everyone placed their breakfast order. We talked for a while, and then eventually that, too, arrived.

"So what are you two doing today?" I asked while blowing on a steaming bite of breakfast scramble.

"Yesterday we had a couples massage, went scuba diving, then she got a mani-pedi and we went out for dinner to celebrate, so today we're taking it a little easier. This afternoon we're going to check out Harrison's Cave," Kevin answered.

"Oh great, we did that yesterday," I said. "It was fun."

"You gonna text that bartender?" Leigh asked suddenly, resuming her line of questioning from two days before.

"So... actually, we did. Yesterday. We met up with her after going to Oistins fish fry," I said. Kevin and Leigh's eyes went wide in that

"Oh reallllllly???"

sort of way, so I continued. "First we went to a strip club. She recommended one called

Ballers."

"You two are fucking legends," Leigh said with a chuckle while still looking down at her breakfast.

"Was the club good?" Kevin asked.

"I don't go to a lot of strip clubs, but yeah, it seemed really good," I replied.

"I don't go to any strip clubs, but it was

incredible!"

Megan said. "A stripper gave me free lap dances, invited Liam to join us, made me cum, and then tried not to charge us."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Kevin asked in pure shock.

"She is not," I said casually.

"Then we brought the bartender back and fucked her together. We made her cum by Liam fucking her while I gave her extra licks."

Leigh dropped her silverware onto her food and smacked Kevin's shoulder. "Why did we have to have an anniversary yesterday?!" she growled. "This is your fault. Somehow."

"You sure we still want to go to that cave today?" he asked back at her, chuckling and swirling his food with his fork.

"I doubt we'll get up to anything crazy tonight," I assured them. "We're going to a chill beach fete then we'll be back here by dinner time for a quiet evening. We want to get a good night's sleep for tomorrow."

"If you say so," Kevin laughed. They confirmed they were still going to the cave today, but I couldn't shake the feeling that they were trying to convince themselves against their better judgement. We wrapped up our breakfasts and agreed that we'd try to coordinate something together tomorrow. As the day before the Grand Kadooment on Monday, we'd both elected to leave our Sundays open.

Megan and I returned to our room and relaxed for a few hours before heading to the beach fete. It was a ten minute walk in the opposite direction as the port, and we arrived a little after noon. Megan showed them our QR codes on her phone and we walked toward the party.

The whole affair stretched over probably fifty yards of beach, with dozens of tables set up in long lines. I spotted multiple man-sized barrels, presumably full of rum punch, beer, wine, and the like, and folding tables with white tablecloths overflowing with beautiful tropical ceviches, sandwiches, and heartier food that required a bowl and spoon. Over a hundred people were already milling about, standing in the shallows or playing various beach games. I saw two frisbees, one American football, and three the-rest-of-the-world footballs amongst the crowd.

"You hungry?" I asked. Megan stared at me blankly - we'd eaten less than an hour ago. "Great, I guess that means we have to mingle with people we don't know."

"Which is

your

job..." she prompted.

I shrugged my shoulders like Danny Zuko from Grease to build my own confidence. I was certainly most comfortable cold-approaching strangers between the two of us. We walked up to the drinks area and stood before the row of four-foot diameter barrels sitting on their side in the sand, and I asked the nearest person, "What do we have here?"

The man I'd addressed turned and looked at me. He was a few years older than us and wearing conservative swim shorts and a common summery linen button up. He was black, meaning he could have been a local or a visitor.

"Well, here you've got Banks," he said, pointing to the nearest enormous wooden keg. His accent was Bajan, so he was a local. Unsurprisingly, his tone was friendly and inviting.

Banks was the main locally brewed Barbadian beer, but it wasn't my favorite. Not bad outright, just not my style. Something about the after taste reminded me of root beer.

"This is rum punch, with Mount Gay rum. Be careful, this barrel alone can get every single person on this beach too drunk for their own good," he continued.

"Great, I'll take a glass," Megan said, stepping forward and grabbing a cup to fill.

"Careful honey, you're playing with fi-ah!" he said with a big laugh. "I think that one's wine, but I don't drink wine so I don't know. And then at the end you can see the water," he said, pointing to three clear containers filled with ice water.

"Want a rum punch?" Megan asked me. When I nodded, she handed me her cup and filled another.

"You two American?" the man asked us.

I nodded and said, "Yep, from California."

"California!" he exclaimed. "I've always wanted to visit California. Beautiful place!"

"It's pretty great," I confirmed. "No matter what you like in life, California has it."

"Welcome to Barbados," the man said, extending his hand for a shake.

"Thank you," I said and shook his hand. "I'm Liam, this is my girlfriend Megan."

"I'm David. Are you here for Crop Over?"

I smiled - everyone asked us this question. "Of course," I said. "So excited for Monday!"

"We don't have the biggest Carnival, but - in my opinion - we have the best. It's the most fun and the safest. You can't beat that!"

"That's what we hear!" Megan said enthusiastically. I noticed her rum punch was already half empty and grimaced. At least we'd had breakfast - that should help.

We talked with David for a while, then drifted over to join his friends. It turned out he was married and here with his wife and her brother and sister. After an hour of fun conversation, Megan leaned into me and whispered, "Want to get some water?"

We excused ourselves and went back to the line of barrels. While filling our cups, an unknown voice said, "Gotta stay hydrated." By its accent, its speaker was American.

I turned toward its source and saw a man about fifty years old wearing a cream suit and white dress shirt. He was probably the most handsome fifty year old man I'd ever seen. He had that absurd Hollywood look, like Richard Gere or Brad Pitt at their best.

"Sure do," I said, a bit absently while holding my cup under the water spout.

He extended his hand and introduced himself, "Malcolm," he said with astounding confidence and friendliness, like a man who couldn't remember the last time he didn't get his way.

"Liam," I said, accepting his bid for a handshake.

"Are you two locals, or visiting?" he asked. The question confused me. Our accents were

clearly

American - had he not talked to any locals?

"We're American. From California," I said.

"What a state!" he said with a smile and shake of his head.

A woman walked up behind Malcolm and wrapped an arm around his back. She had that aura of a fifty year old woman who only looked forty, which was somehow a different look than a normal forty year old. Her creamy dress exuded wealth, like her husband's suit.

"Mary, pleased to meet you," she said with an extended hand toward Megan and me. I was pretty certain these two were the richest couple I'd talked to - maybe ever.

Megan and I shook her hand and introduced ourselves, then Malcom said, "Is this your first time on Barbados?" We nodded. "Isn't it the best? Mary and I make a point of spending at least a month here each year. We rent the Villa up at Sandy Lane."

"Sandy Lane?!"

I choked, and was immediately a bit embarrassed at my shock. Sandy Lane was the nicest hotel on the island where rooms cost anywhere between one and ten thousand dollars per night. The Villa, as he mentioned, was the most expensive unit. Somehow I remembered this from when Megan and I had researched where we wanted to stay - we'd laughed at the absurdity of staying at Sandy Lane.

"Oh it's just wonderful. You've got to stay there next year if you come back," Mary said.

Megan and I exchanged wide eyes. Had these people ever heard of a monthly budget? Would the concept even compute for them?

We chatted with them over another round of rum punches, after which Megan and I were officially

done drinking

for the rest of the fete. Throughout it, I came around about Malcolm and Mary. They were actually very fun and pleasant, despite having no idea how rich they sounded. They also found us "positively delightful", as Mary put it while reacting to one Megan's funnier work stories.

"Listen, we're hosting a party at our villa this evening. You two should come!" Malcolm said to us about an hour later as he started to shift around like he was getting ready to leave.

Megan and I froze - we hadn't expected to be out tonight.

"Please consider - we throw this party every year and it's always a

time!"

Malcolm said.

"That's so kind of you," Megan said. "What is this party like? What would we wear?"

"It's actually quite casual, so if you come, bring your appetite and something you can get wet. The pool is quite the amenity!" Malcolm answered.

I grinned to myself again at

just how rich they sounded.

"If you do choose to come, and it would honor us if you did, tell the gate that you're here on personal invitation to the Villa from the Winstons. They're under instruction not to trouble anyone. You're welcome to arrive any time after sundown," Malcolm continued explaining.

"Okay, thank you! That sounds fun - we'll think about it," I said.

Malcolm and Mary raised their cups to us, then made their way off the beach toward a waiting Mercedes Benz.

Of course

they had a dedicated driver and weren't riding in normal taxis.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked Megan.

"Unless their plan is to murder us, it sounds fun," she answered.

I laughed and nodded. "That's my feeling, too. Want to go?"

"Sure!" she said.

It was only 3pm, so we ate some food from the extravagant spread and chatted with other folks at the fete. By 5pm, the sun was beginning to set and we decided to head back to our place. We felt a bit more sober by the time we got back, which was good because our invitation started in only an hour.

We ended up needing more time than that, as Megan wanted to shower and freshen up before going to Sandy Lane. I couldn't argue after sweating on the beach all day, so I joined her for a shower where we, for once, weren't completely all over each other. Between orgasming about twice a day and feeling tired after five hours in the sun, we were both in the mood for a utilitarian shower.

"I could fall asleep if we weren't going somewhere," I said through a yawn while getting dressed.

"Then it's good we're going somewhere!" Megan replied, also trying to convince herself to rally. "This is way too early to crash!"

We were finally ready to call a taxi to Sandy Lane around 7pm. Megan had opted for her white crochet cover-up again, but this time chose her nicest white bikini to go underneath. The top was halter style, but other than the two white triangles of cotton that covered her breasts, all the connecting straps were crafted from shimmering gold chains. The bottom piece was similar, with two triangles of fabric - one for the front and one for the back - connected by two thin gold chains that rounded her hips. She looked so beautiful and so elegant in this bikini that I couldn't shake the feeling that she looked like the younger woman in a sugar daddy arrangement. My outfit was a lot simpler - I paired my shortest swim shorts, which showed a lot of thigh, with my nicest cream polo Megan had bought for me just for this trip.

We hopped in our taxi by 7:15 and arrived at Sandy Lane by 7:40. "For the Winstons in the Villa," our driver said to the gate. The man's gaze flipped back to Megan and I in the back seat. I thought he sighed and relaxed his shoulders a bit before pressing the button to open the automatic gate. We drove in, and our jaws dropped.

The grounds out front of Sandy Lane reminded me of the gardens behind the Palace of Versailles, but reimagined for tropical vegetation. Enormous oak trees, easily a hundred years old each, dotted the lawn. Their canopies were so large and thick as to create the sensation of having driven into a living cave. Grassy knolls rolled downward toward the entrance, carved up by the main driveway loop and smaller golf cart paths of immaculate cobblestone. The palm trees and tropical undergrowth were too thick to get a good view of the main building until we pulled right up to it, but once we did, we gasped. The floor inside and outside of the building was all shining black and white tile, whereas the walls and ceiling were pink sandstone that felt plucked straight out of a north Italian vineyard. The color scheme was all pinks and reds with gold accents, which I immediately appreciated to be the richest possible beach color palette.

A valet approached our taxi and opened the door, allowing Megan and I to step out. He scanned us vigorously, looking for anything he could take off our hands, but we were traveling light.

Our breath got caught in our throats at the view of the beach, visible straight through the Sandy Lane arching entrance and lobby. A marble walkway dipped into a luxurious restaurant that spanned several hundred square feet of stone patio, lined by an ornate balustrade, before continuing down to the beach and its row of perfectly aligned white and pink umbrellas. The sand was pristine, the staff not allowing even a single stray leaf to tarnish its image. Everyone we saw who worked at the place looked like the butler from Fresh Prince of Bel Air and they moved as if the slightest misstep would immediately cost them their job.

"Do you think I'm dressed appropriately for this?" Megan whispered to me, suddenly nervous about her choices and generally uncomfortable by how

nice

everything was.

"They said people will be using the pool, so I think you're good!" I whispered back to her.

"You did say the Villa, yes?" asked the valet. We nodded. "Good, come right this way."

He led us on a winding tour through what felt like an ancient Roman emperor's private estate. The mood was set by small stone pools cycling their own water through statues of flying babies playing harps or private gardens with hundreds of flowers in full bloom. It was clear, not a single square inch was ever allowed to dip down to the embarrassing depths of mere 99% luxury.

We turned into a hallway which led to the Villa, and somehow I still had the capacity to be impressed. The tile and the pink sandstone were constantly ornate, with intricate designs underfoot and detailed carvings whittled into the walls at regular intervals. Mirrors and candelabras and Renaissance paintings enclosed us. It was all hard to take in.

Abruptly, we stopped, and the valet swooped his arm at a large cherry wood door, hand flat and palm facing up. "The Villa," he said with a small flourish, and pressed the ringer.

"Welp, this is our last chance," I whispered to Megan.

But our last chance had already passed, as the door opened and Malcolm's face lit up at the sight of us. "You accepted our offer - delightful!" he said, stepping back to admit us. Megan and I walked in, and - you guessed it - gasped. Our eyes and senses were overwhelmed by a barrage of intense inputs.

Immediately, I knew we'd misread the situation. Megan's dress was not too sexy at all. If anything, it wasn't sexy enough. Across the room, I counted four tall, early-twenties French models wearing completely translucent, diamond-studded dresses and nothing underneath, their glorious - if a little thin for my tastes - bodies on full display. Megan and I had seen Moulin Rouge when we visited Paris last year and these girls all looked plucked from that lineup. They were about the same height, maybe 5'7" (1.7m), had the same shoulder-length, pin-straight blond hair, the same tight bodies without a blemish or imperfection, the same mid-sized breasts and small but well-toned butts. Their bodies were immaculately shaved, leaving not a single hair on their arms, legs, and of course their inviting lady mounds. Their eyes and smiles all lit up when they talked and laughed, making each one of them exquisitely beautiful.