Barbados Honeymoon

If Kerry hadn't been allocated to work with me during her work experience from university I would never have dared speak to her, she was so obviously out of my league. She is one of those girls who are perfect in both face and body and her face is almost more than that, with a kind of pure beauty. Her only fault in a classical sense is that at 5'4" she is too short to be a fashion model and even had lack of height not ruled her out, she is slightly too well rounded for the catwalk.

When I half-heartedly invited her out I was amazed when she accepted and after a few more dates even more surprised to find that she really liked me. When we had been going out for a while I asked why she wasn't a film star because there are far less attractive females on TV who are meant to be beautiful. Kerry explained that her mother had specifically warned her against trying to use her looks to gain fame and fortune telling her that only a very few ever make it and the rest end up posing for seedy pictures and worse.

It was no surprise to find that she had a past but it was actually far less than I might have expected. "Only the really pushy types had the nerve to try to pick me up," Kerry said, "The ones who looked like really nice guys seemed to watch me from afar and I could hardly go to them. The trouble with the brash males I ended up with is that they were invariably very self centred, thinking only of their own pleasure. Also most of them wanted me as a trophy and not for myself. My mother told me that if I wanted to have a happy life I should try to find someone like my dad. I can agree with that because he's a wonderful man, always quiet and gentle. You're the only man I've met who comes anywhere close."

When I met her parents I could immediately see that my love's beauty was inherited because her mother must have at one time been equally beautiful -- I bet she could still turn a fair few heads. It was also apparent, from the many shared glances and frequent casual touching, that I was seeing an exceptionally happy marriage. Kerry's dad was just as she described, very intelligent but completely unassuming and easy-going. I took to him the first moment we met.

After six months Kerry moved into my flat, with the blessing of her parents, and a year later we were married. Selling my flat and some generous financial help given as a wedding present, allowed us to buy a nice sized house but in a completely run down condition. There was no money spare for a honeymoon so we agreed to delay it for a year. From then on we worked every spare minute on the house and it was over eighteen months before we could consider taking the delayed honeymoon but then fortune smiled on us and we were able to find a very cut price cancellation holiday in Barbados. It was self-catering and the accommodation was little more than a beach shack but it promised to be idyllic. The first day we were so tired from jet lag that we slept late, crept out onto the beach to sleep some more then back to more slumber in the chalet, without ever finding the energy to consummate our honeymoon.

The second day we did some sun bathing and swimming in the morning and in the afternoon found a place where we could enjoy a leisurely cool drink while watching the world go by. The place we chose had a collection of tables on well shaded patio at a higher elevation than the street. Access was by steps and another part of the business premises lay under our feet. From this position we had an unimpeded view of the sea without undue distraction from passing cars in the road below. Our table was near the front railing and Kerry had stood up to get a better view of something that was happening below. Curious, I leaned forward to see what she found so interesting but was distracted by the sight of a beautiful car that had paused briefly, blocked by a low loader lorry parked in front of the building we were in. I don't know a lot about cars but the sleek graceful lines of this vehicle said that in was in the big money league.

I sat back nurturing a quick flash of envy, so when a couple of minutes later, I caught the same car heading in the opposite direction, I too was on my feet. I had only caught a glimpse of the outline before but the car was unmistakable. It had to be a Roles Royce, a vintage model but in immaculate condition. Instead of continuing straight past, the car pulled up and allowed a couple to alight, before the chauffeur continued on his way. My eyes followed this pair as they headed towards the steps leading up to where we were because they were an anachronism, immaculately dressed but both wearing clothes that might have been the height of fashion sixty years ago. They looked to be in their early fifties, she slightly older than him. He sported a navy blazer with gold buttons and a large silk motif embroidered on the pocket, sharply creased cream trousers, very obviously hand made 'deck shoes' and with the whole ensemble topped by an extravagant silk cravat. The lady had what had to be a designer original, a calf length silk creation that flatteringly clung to her slim shape - but it seemed not to have been made to accord with current taste.

When the couple reached the stairs and disappeared from my view I was able to turn my gaze to see that the sight holding my wife's interest was a couple of muscular sweating black men stripped to the waist, unloading the lorry and carrying crates and boxes down into the basement. I joked, 'Put them down you don't know where they've been' but Kerry just laughed and claimed to be just watching local life in action. Rather than her beauty, that was what I loved most about my wife, the fact that she was completely unspoiled and very spontaneous. From then on she gave me a running commentary on the items being unloaded, as if that were the attraction.

Meanwhile the couple had taken a table, not directly adjacent to ours, but with a clear view to it. This gave me the chance for closer observation, which I did with surreptitious glances. The male looked of Mediterranean origin, heavily tanned and quite handsome with an Anthony Quinn type face topped by a full head of jet black hair with dignified white flashes at the temples. He seemed slightly below average height but very heavily built. I had the impression that his female companion was taller than he. Her bone structure said that at one time she must have been a very beautiful woman but that beauty was badly faded.

I was so intent on studying them that it came as a shock to realise that the man was returning the favour with his dark gaze unwaveringly fixed in our direction. I say 'in our direction' but his stare was far more specific than that. By this time Kerry had abandoned all pretence and was hanging over the rail for a better view of what was happening below and the older man's eyes were centred on the tightly stretched material covering my wife's pert round bottom. I knew that look, it happens all the time and I've grown to expect it. It's very understandable because my lovely wife is well worth looking at but while most admirers try to maintain at least some pretence of subtlety, this man's scrutiny was blatant.

At the very moment that anger surged through me, the man's eyes switch to mine but instead of looking guilty at being caught in his voyeurism, his face split into a broad grin and standing, he started moving towards me. Edging past the intervening table he extended his hand saying, "Please excuse me for being so damn rude but quite frankly I was entranced by your lovely companion's sublime beauty. You are a very lucky young man to have won such a divine creature. Her face is worthy to launch a thousand ships and if I may be bold, her figure is simply exquisite." He was a bit over the top but how could I continue to resent a man so fulsome in praise of the woman I loved most in the world."

His wife had followed him and in the introductions that followed I found that her name was Sylvia and he was called Manos. When I said my name was Alex he said, "Named after my most illustrious countryman, I trust that you have the same courage and resolve as he young man," to which I shook my head, modestly disclaiming such a distinction. As compensation for his boorish behaviour Manos offered to buy us drinks but the pair took our acceptance as an invitation to take the two spare seats at the table. Manos immediately took charge of the conversation saying that he loved beauty, going on to explain that he was a connoisseur of beauty in all its forms be it cars, boats or works of art - and adding that whenever it was within his means, he made every effort to acquire it.

I was intending to ask what kind of beautiful things he had purchased but, before I had chance to speak, Sylvia asked me a question. From that point, instead of a four way conversation, Manos spoke to Kerry while I was collared by Sylvia and she was one of those people who demand eye contact, so I found it difficult to glance away. To make things worse, Manos had dropped his voice so I found it difficult to catch even a single word of what he was saying to my wife. I did notice that at one point he placed his hand briefly on her bare thigh as if to emphasise a point and another time lightly caressed her upper arm. I didn't like this but I know that some men are very tactile and make such gestures unconsciously -- although in my experience those men always had a hidden agenda. Then suddenly Manos leaned back and although still looking at Kerry spoke obviously for the benefit of all as he asked, "You seem to like boats, which of those out on the water do you like the most?"

Kerry's eyes scanned the sea before she answered, "I'm not sure which of those to pick but last night soon after we arrived there was a real beauty sailing across the bay." This answer seemed to please Manos. He asked her a few further questions then took a photograph from the inside pocket of his blazer to lie it in front of her saying, "Did it look anything like that by any chance?" Of course it was the same boat and Kerry exclaimed in delight. "That boat is the Aphrodite, my pride and joy. If you can spare the time it will give me the greatest pleasure to take you and your husband for a sail in her," Manos offered.

Kerry was so excited that she jumped up and ran to kiss me -- for a moment I thought she was going to kiss him. After a bit of discussion we decided that the following day would be the best -- Kerry was far too eager to wait any longer. "You will have to make an early start if we want to catch the best of the tide," Manos informed us. "The Aphrodite is berthed in Bridgetown on the opposite side of the island, so you'll have to allow for travelling time. Have you hired yourself a car?" We hadn't and that seemed as if it was going to present major problems as there wasn't a local taxi service. But then Manos thumped the table declaring that he had a much better idea. "Why don't you drive back with us now? I own a hotel in Bridgetown and can offer you overnight accommodation as my guests. We can have a meal, spend a very pleasant evening together and then tomorrow you'll be on the spot for setting off bright and early." We did mention a need to go back to our chalet to collect a change of clothes but on an assurance that he had a selection of garments suitable for evening wear at the hotel; we happily left with him and Sylvia when he used his mobile to call for his limousine to return.

During the journey round the coast road, Sylvia and I travelled with our backs to the driver with Manos and my young wife in the facing seat. The older man sprawled himself confidently on the plush seat displaying his ownership of that exceptional vehicle but I felt that his knee pressing against that of my wife was not done accidentally. At the hotel we were taken to 'our' suite on the top floor. This comprised a bedroom complete with king sized bed and en-suite luxury bathroom, and a lounge that was larger than the floor area of the average house.

Taking my wife's elbow, Manos flamboyantly flung open the doors of a large wardrobe to display a row of exquisite dresses. Inviting her to take her pick, he deftly extracted a white silk garment saying that he recommended that she should try that one first. Then turning to me he pointed to a much smaller wardrobe, in an almost off-hand manner, said that I should be able to find myself a suitable shirt and tie but could make no guarantee that there would be trousers to fit me.

After our hosts had left us alone, Kerry did try on two or three of the dresses but there was only one real choice, a Greek style creation with a bare back and skirt split to the hip -- it might have been made for her and it was of course the one Manos had picked out. She also found some elegant high heel sandals that fitted and a white thong -- wearing a bra wasn't feasible in a dress like that. From 'my' wardrobe I did manage to get a frilled dress evening shirt, a dinner jacket and a black dicky bow but that was all, so I was forced to go down to the restaurant looking rather ridiculous, immaculate from the waist up but with brightly coloured beach shorts and sandals adorning my lower half.

The meal was gourmet perfection and served at a table for four in a secluded exclusive part of the restaurant. However, even before the food arrived, to my frustration, the conversation quickly adopted the same polarisation as it had in the afternoon with Sylvia pinning me in wide ranging high flung discussion leaving her husband free to engage Kerry in what seemed to be a far more intimate chat. It had puzzled me why Manos had spent time dissecting his food into small pieces before even taking a mouthful but now a motive appeared when I noticed that he was eating exclusively with his left hand and that his right was somewhere below table level. I could easily imagine that he was stroking my wife's leg and then at one point, just as I glanced again in that direction, my wife seemed to shuffle forward in her seat as if to give him better access. This suspicion brought me to my senses because I knew Kerry was not the kind to do something like that. I told myself that I was getting paranoid and misinterpreting the natural desire of an older man to flaunt his wealth and charm to a very beautiful woman.

After eating, we all four went back to the reception room of our suite, accompanied by waiters carrying the trays of tempting snacks that I guessed were to provide sustenance later in the evening. As soon as the buffet had been set up and the hotel employees had gone, Manos switched on the music centre and turned to Kerry with his arms outstretched. As they danced away, I found Sylvia standing expectantly waiting to be partnered by me and it would have been churlish to say that I would prefer to stand and keep an eye on my young wife. Sylvia was a dancer of the old school, one hand resting on my shoulder and the other outstretched. I couldn't help comparing her very proper rigid posture to the way that Kerry had literally melted into the older man's arms.

There was the standard set of three dances of quickstep, foxtrot and waltz before the music ceased and Manos led the way to a small table laden with bottles. He served Kerry first but Sylvia declined, saying that she was coming down with another migraine and begging to be excused. I asked for my usual tipple at home, Bacardi and coke. Manos was very generous with the white rum, topping the glass with several chunks of ice. I was certain that there would be more dancing so, after a quick sip I moved to set the glass down intending to be on hand to partner my wife when the music started again. Unfortunately, Manos was one step ahead. I was still facing away when another record started and by the time I turned they were already tripping the light fantastic. At that point I wasn't too disappointed -- just three more dances and I would get my turn.

So I sat and watched -- and possible frustration at being outmanoeuvred caused me to take unwisely large gulps from my glass. But it wasn't just three more dances, the records just went on and on without a break. At first I had not been particularly watching them but, as I refilled my glass, it struck me that they were dancing far too close with my wife giving the impression that she was glued to the front of his body. I think that everybody tries to rationalise anything they are uncomfortable with so I told myself that it was just that Manos had a different dancing style to me, he was certainly a far better dancer. After a time that excuse was not sufficient to explain what I was witnessing because, in addition to them giving the appearance of being moulded together, our host's hand seemed to constantly hover near the borderline of what is deemed appropriate.

At first I thought that it was imagination because both my mind and vision had started to lose clarity. They had taken to dancing in straight lines, moving away for the length of the floor and then turning to head back towards me. As they turned I had the distinct impression that Manos had moved his hand higher than it had been while concealed from my sight. Trying not to make it obvious, I kept my eyes glued on them especially on the turns at the far end of the floor and there was no mistake, Manos was definitively squeezing or stroking Kerry's bottom when he knew he couldn't be seen by me.

It grew even worse because, where at first his caresses had been outside her clothes, he had grown bolder so that now I caught glimpses of his fingers retreating from inside the back of her dress. What caused my stomach to knot up was the fact that Kerry was doing nothing to stop him and from the look on her face seemed to be enjoying his boorish behaviour. So it was up to me but what could I do because if I leapt up with accusations it would surely be denied and I had no proof. Also such an action would ruin everything, to the inevitable displeasure of my wife because I knew how much she was looking forward to her trip in that fabulous boat.

So I sat and seethed, even remaining in my seat when they abandoned all pretence of dancing and just swayed on the spot, getting as close to fucking on a dance floor to get without actually doing it. What kind of man was I, watching my wife being seduced right in front of me and doing nothing about it?

Eventually the music finally ceased and they walked towards, me still with arms around each other. Stopping a few paces in front of me, quite slowly and deliberately, Manos raised his right arm and slid a hand inside the front of Kerry's dress. This was unequivocal and I had to act. Leaping to my feet I started to shout, "Take your filthy hands off my wife," but only the first words had left my mouth when I froze. Time seemed to stand still with them forming part of the frozen tableau except that I could see Manos insolently fondling my wife's nipple through the thin material of her dress.

I was disconcerted by the fact that he was so relaxed. Most men automatically strike a defensive posture when under threat but Manos remained flat footed and confident, even though in theory he would have been bowled over had I rushed at him. He was undoubtedly somewhat heavier than me but I had a couple of inches in height and a large number of years to my advantage. My gaze flickered to Kerry and what I saw further weakened my resolve. The same eyes that had looked at me filled with love that very morning now seemed remote as if I were a relative stranger. Even more striking was the look on her face, an expression I can only describe as curiosity. She was wondering what I was going to do but what I realised with absolute certainty was that, whatever I should decide would make no difference at all to how future events were going to unfold. Resistance suddenly seemed futile. Defeat caused my head to swim and I sank back into my chair without uttering another word.