It was our mother who won the holiday for two as the prize in a newspaper competition. Because my younger sister, Tara, was a bit depressed, she gave us the opportunity to spend two weeks in the Caribbean.
Tara was only three months past her eighteenth birthday. Like me she was a blond but less curvaceous due to my greater age. I was fifteen months older! And I was getting to be quite proud of my tits, hips and ass.
"Just make sure Tara enjoys herself, has a good time - and you have a good time too," our thirty-eight year old mother told me, without specifying what she meant by a good time.
Unlike her I knew why Tara was depressed. Her long-time boyfriend had chucked for not being 'kinky' enough for him. She told me they had only fucked three times and he had not given her much chance to learn how to please him, especially after she rejected the opportunity to give him a blowjob.
"I would have done it but I didn't know how and I didn't want him to think I was naïve," she told me. She had rebounded into the arms of a Moroccan fellow who wanted her to marry and to go back to North Africa with him provided she didn't mind being wife number three! Then last week, she met a guy who courted her with flowers and chocolates until she let him fuck her and then he disappeared, being interested only in a one-night stand. The last two guys had never even bothered to make her come, which had contributed to her feeling low. She had never indulged in masturbation and swore she never would, which I thought was silly and old fashioned. But I didn't argue with her about it.
After the long flight to St Lucia, Tara was suffering from jet lag. She went to bed in the hotel room to sleep it off. Meanwhile I took off to tour around the island in a hire car that was small, old and had been inexpertly repaired. However it got me round the island and by mid-afternoon I was on a road which sloped down into Castries, the island's capital. I pulled over into a lay-by to take in the view. Ten minutes later, the car refused to start. I did what any nineteen-year-old blond would do under the circumstances. I opened the bonnet, or hood, and gazed uncomprehendingly inside. It works like magic!
Within two minutes a car drew up. It was a vast old American model covered with chrome. The driver was a handsome black man who asked if he could help.
"I can't seem to get it started," I told him.
"Is it a hire car?" he asked.
"Yes, it is."
"Then it would be best to ring them and let them sort it for you. If you try doing anything yourself, it will give them the excuse to claim you've damaged it and they'll try and charge you extra," he advised me, "Why don't you get your papers for the car and we'll ring right away."
I sat in the car beside him and handed him the folder.
"We'd better go to that parking spot a little further down."
We turned into it and he got out his phone. He found the telephone number, "Damnit! The battery's flat!" he seemed genuinely annoyed.
"I only live half a mile further down, and if we go there we can use the house phone," he suggested.
I wondered of this was a ploy to get me alone in his house, but I was attracted by this friendly, helpful man, assisted by the fact that he was handsome with a deep well modulated voice. I agreed to his suggestion, trying not to sound too eager.
As we pulled up in his driveway a few moments later, he turned to face me, took my face in both hands and kissed me very gently. His tongue flicked across my lips and I felt the hair on my neck tingle.
Suddenly he stopped and moved away.
"I'm sorry! He apologised, "You're so beautiful and desirable I just couldn't resist the temptation to kiss you."
I laughed. I enjoyed the compliment.. and the kiss.
"No need to apologise. I enjoyed that kiss," I said laughing.
He smiled back and moved towards me again. He kissed me. This time I opened my lips and met his tongue with my own. I felt a thrill going up and down my spine as the kiss became harder and deeper. He had one hand round my shoulders, the other pulled at the buttons of my blouse. He slipped his hand in and cupped my tit, his fingers then searching out my nipple through the satiny material of my bra. I felt on fire with desire. I would have let him take me right there but he said, "We'd better go inside and make that call before I get totally carried away."
As I did up my blouse, I asked him what his name was.
"Raoul," he replied, "What are you called?"
"Hi Raoul, I'm Ellen," I told him.
We went into the house, and Raoul called the hire people. They said they would be around in two hours. Raoul then made a pot of tea, produced some biscuits and we sat chatting amiably across the coffee table. I found myself becoming a bit impatient.
Where had that passion I had detected in the car gone?
I stood up, rounded the coffee table and sat beside Raoul on the small settee he was using. It mimiced the situation in the car. I took his hand and said,
"Now Raoul, where were we?"
He smiled , "It was always up to you, Ellen. I didn't want you to feel cornered."
Then he took my face in his hands and kissed me in the exciting way he had in the car. He soon had his hand inside my blouse, caressing my tits. It felt good to me.
