Sex And Love In Paradise

It's another unbearably hot and humid September day in Florida. It's just too hot to do almost anything outside. You are back in your bathroom playing some game on your iPhone and I am sitting in front of my computer, bored stiff reading poorly written erotic stories online.

I momentarily think about jumping into the swimming pool in the hopes you will join me. But of course, at that exact moment, there is a large and way too close clap of thunder and flash of lightning - so much for making whoopy in the pool!

As I search for something interesting on the internet I hear your iPhone ring and almost immediately hear mom in her room and on the phone complaining about something. Your private intercom system strikes again.

I see a discussion thread by some wacko about how wonderful his party's latest boondoggle is and decide to waste some time having some fun with the fanatics - those people have NO sense of humor.

I notice you heading for Mom's room to solve whatever her crisis of the moment is when the doorbell rings. The dogs go ape-shit as usual. I wonder who the hell is out in the middle of a thunderstorm ringing our doorbell. I hear you open the door and a moment or two later I hear you close it again. I yell to you "What is it?" to which you respond, "Shit, its another Registered Letter, just what we need, more bad news."

Instead of opening the envelope you walk into the office and hand it to me as you say "Here, you read it." Of course I cannot resist playing our usual game and answer you back "Well why didn't you read it?" As usual you ignore my grumbling and head back into your room.

I don't bother to read the return address label. Those things seldom tell you anything useful. I rip the top of the envelope open and pull out a very official looking letter with stickers and seals all over it from Publisher's Clearing House.

"Crap," I mumble, more junk mail. But as I start to toss it into my trashcan it occurs to me that PCH does not usually waste money sending its junk mail via registered letter, so I take a closer look.

"Dear Mr. Richards,

PCH is pleased to inform you that you have been awarded an 'Unclaimed Awards Prize' for an All Expenses Paid, Nine-Day Vacation for two to the tropical paradise of Tahiti, including Moorea, Bora Bora, and Tikehau based on your prize number submission to us in Drawing number 2012-033.

Please review and sign the accompanying documents and return to us in the next ten days. Upon receipt, PCH will provide you with your certificate of award, tickets, and instructions. This award is non-transferable and cannot be traded or sold for its cash value. Travel must be completed within no more than six months of the date of this letter.

This award includes Round Trip Business Class airfare from the closest International Airport, all transportation, transfers, baggage fees, lodging, meals, and incidental expenses as well as a prepaid expense account while at your vacation destination. Awardee is fully responsible for the payment of all taxes."

I exclaim rather loudly "Holy Shit!" to which mom yells "Are you alright?" Of course, you can't hear me from your bathroom cave. I walk purposefully into your room and declare, "You won't believe this!" to which you say "Mom, I've got to go. I'll call you back" as you hang up the phone and say to me "What did you say?"

I try to hand you the letter but you think its a bill and don't want it. So I say "Will you please just look at this?" You take it from my hand and start to look it over when suddenly you realize what it is and scream "Oh My God! We're going to Tahiti."

After pouring over the entire letter and all of the brochures, pictures, and descriptions you say "What about Mom?" Smiling, I answer you, "I guess Mom is vacationing at her sister's!"

The flight is long and boring. A person can only read and play games for so long. Our iPhones ran out of juice hours ago. I look at you sitting there with a blanket over your lap and legs and tell you "I really love you, you know," as I slide my hand under the blanket and into your lap. Just about everyone around us is asleep or reading and the flight attendants are playing cards in the galley. I let my cold fingers roam over your thigh, teasing you and you push my hand away telling me "Your fingers are cold." I lean over and kiss your ear and whisper "Let me warm them up," as I allow my fingers and hand to roam about your lap, stroking your body lightly through your shorts.

You make an unserious effort to push my hand away. I know you are battling within yourself between your desire to let go and your need to live up to being a "Good Girl"; but I can be rather persistent because I see the slight evidence of a smile pass across your face. I refuse to stop, pushing you to enjoy those things you could not or would not seek out on your own.

Just the thought of giving you pleasure stirs my blood and excites me so I allow my fingers to rub more insistently between your legs, pressing into your pussy through the shorts. I can see you are enjoying this as your breathing increases its tempo and becomes shallower than usual. Your head leans back into the seat cushion and you start to suck you lower lip into your mouth. 40 years together is a long time and I can read your body's signals. I know you can no longer, in the heat of your excitement, stop me from forcing you to cum. I increase my pace and pressure, doing my best to reach and stimulate your clit through the pants.

You are alternately squeezing together and separating apart your thighs - first to stop me and then to encourage me not to stop. I stop for a moment and you glance at me as though to say "Don't just leave me like this."

In answer, I slide my hand inside your shorts and you spread your legs to give me better access. There is little question now about what your body wants, even if your mind is hesitant.

Your pussy is hot and sopping wet. I dip my fingers inside you, and then use the moisture to lubricate my fingers against your erect clit. I begin to rhythmically and aggressively rub against the side of you clit, now and then running my finger directly across the tip of your clit where you are most sensitive.

I look at you and your breath is coming rapidly, your face is flushed red, and you now are biting you lower lip, not just sucking on it. I watch you closely as I bring you right to the edge of orgasm before pausing and backing you off the precipice. Your own hand is trying to find my cock, but I stop you by rapidly and strongly rubbing your clit. I can see its time to stop this pleasant torture so I continue my stroking until your body literally raises itself from the seat and your muscles tense as a strong orgasm washes over you.

------

Even flying Business Class, the flight has been a very long one. The sun is low on the Eastern horizon as we get our first glimpse of the Tahitian Islands - Black volcanic pinnacles rising steeply from bright teal waters surrounded by the dark blue of deep ocean. The sea is calm; the water pristine and crystal clear.

The captain announces that we are about to arrive at the Pappete International Airport, the temperature is 83 degrees, and winds are from the West at 5 knots - a beautiful day in a tropical paradise.

As we exit the terminal, a very large Polynesian man holding a sign with our name meets us. He helps us get our luggage to the limo, an open-air Jeep-like vehicle with a fringed canvas cover, what some call a Jeepny. The drive is short and the scenery spectacular as we ride to our first stay, The Moorea Hilton.

We check into the hotel and our bags are taken for us to the "Bungalow." It's a brief walk from the office. The beach and bright teal water are a spectacular sight. Just off the beach are dozens of thatch-roofed bungalows built upon "stilts" rising from the shallow reef below. In the distance, only a few miles away, stand the rocky volcanic crags that rise up from the island like sentinels, standing watch like Polynesian Gods on the peace of this place.

In my mind, I remember scenes from the movie South Pacific that almost haunted my desire to explore Asia and the Pacific. I suspect we both separately imagine the haunting music of the song Bali Ha'i:

Most people live on a lonely island,

Lost in the middle of a foggy sea.

Most people long for another island,

One where they know they will like to be.

Bali Ha'i may call you,

Any night, any day,

In your heart, you'll hear it call you:

"Come away...Come away."

Bali Ha'i will whisper

In the wind of the sea:

"Here am I, your special island!

Come to me, come to me!"

Your own special hopes,

Your own special dreams,

Bloom on the hillside

And shine in the streams.

If you try, you'll find me

Where the sky meets the sea.

"Here am I your special island

Come to me, Come to me."

Bali Ha'i,

Bali Ha'i,

Bali Ha'i!

Someday you'll see me floatin' in the sunshine,

My head stickin' out from a low fluin' cloud,

You'll hear me call you,

Singin' through the sunshine,

Sweet and clear as can be:

"Come to me, here am I, come to me."

If you try, you'll find me

Where the sky meets the sea.

"Here am I your special island

Come to me, Come to me."

Bali Ha'i,

Bali Ha'i,

Bali Ha'i!

The windows and doors of the bungalow are thrown open and a mild ocean breeze carries with it the scent of salt and tropical flowers. A soft rhythmic susurrus fills the background as the sea slowly rises and falls feet beneath the teakwood floor on which we stand. The distant calls of exotic birds welcome us to this place. We are overwhelmed and clasp one another in the shared joy and beauty of this place.

My lips seek yours, your tongue explores my mouth, our hands pull at one another's clothing. Soon our bodies are entwined, pressing against one another with purposeful energy. In a haze of passion, I realize we have traveled for nearly an entire day without a shower; but the solution jumps into my head. I grab your hand and pull you through the bungalow looking for what I know is there - a warm deep pool of clean saltwater, drawn from the ocean beneath our feet. I enter the pool and pull you behind me down the steps into water up to our chests.

We waste no time with preliminaries. You grab my cock as I penetrate your pussy with my thumb. I begin to frantically thrust my thumb into you like a hard cock as you jack my cock with your hand. We go at one another with raw passion, chasing that pleasurable release with abandon. We waste no time and soon we both spasm in raw intense orgasm. In our exhaustion we can barely dry ourselves. Soon we are both sound asleep, our dreams filled with the tropical paradise we have found ourselves within.

------

As always, I have your coffee ready before you awaken. We are committed to enjoying our brief visit to the incredible place, so we start out relatively early, first with a great breakfast buffet in the hotel dining room. As we eat and wake ourselves, you ask me what are we going to do today. I have done my research and I already know exactly what I plan; but I refuse to say, telling you its a surprise. I tell you to dress in your bathing suit and shorts or a cover-up and I insist you wear good walking tennis shoes. I grab some towels and we head out.

I have arranged for a rental car and a GPS. Having dressed and enjoyed a hearty brunch to restore our energy, we set off for Faarumai, Hitiaa District, Tahiti Island. The single lane road is well maintained without too much traffic. The morning temperature, in the high 70s is comfortable and we drive with all of the windows open.

The tropical rain forest surrounds us with exotic sights, sounds, and smells. Occasionally, we get a peak of the bright teal and dark blue waters of the Pacific ocean, off through the trees.

We stop often to look and take pictures of dramatic volcanic peaks, beautiful birds, and wild orchids.

The ground is covered in tropical plants with lots of Tarot, Alocasias, Heliconias, flowering vines, and other plants. It seems to be a more exotic and wild version of our back yard - the real deal.

The air is redolent with the smells that are unique to the tropical islands, with hints of flowers, ginger, and rich earth mixed into the salt air. You ask me again where I am taking you and I tell you "To Mosul's Tomb, of course."

After almost half an hour driving, a long drive considering the smallness of the island, we arrive at our GPS destination and find a small parking area. I pull into the deserted lot and tell you to come on as I grab the towels. I grab your hand and head down a well-cleared but narrow dirt path that heads off to the right into the tropical jungle.

The path has been smoothened by many feet. There is a deep unrecognizable sound surrounding us that is slowly building in volume as we walk. The ground rises gently. After a short walk, the jungle opens before us, exposing a spectacular vista - the Vaimahutu Falls.

Surrounded by hanging vines, clinging plants, twisted trees, and black volcanic rock, the water cascades from 100's of feet above across a face 100 or more feet across. To either side of the main falls, waters drip and run in rivulets and smaller falls while droplets drip from the tips of leaves, and a light fog fills the air. In the middle, a single chute of water falls from the cataract at the top, unhindered to the clear pool below.

The distance to the falls is now mere yards. The sound we have heard for the last five minutes is clearly the crash of water into the pool at the base of the falls.

Surrounding the pool, a high wall of rocks covered in moss and ferns isolates the pool from the surrounding world, except for a small flat beach covered in smooth, rounded stones and black volcanic sand. I strip my shirt off leaving only my swimming trunks. I say to you "What are you waiting for, strip." Leaving our outer clothing folded and piled on a dry rock, I grab your hand and pull you into the water.

The water is cool and crisp, the pool is crystal clear. Quickly the sloping beach leads us into water deep enough to swim. You complain it is too cold, but I insist you follow me as I swim toward the main falls.

As we approach, it becomes apparent that the falling water has carved a cave behind the falling water and the pool itself extends into this cave. We swim through the cascading water and fog into our private bath. The walls surrounding us on three sides are covered in plants, moss, and ferns. The falls provide a translucent and shimmering curtain that hides us from the world. The bottom has risen to allow us to stand.

I wrap my arms around you and gently kiss your lips.

I tenderly stroke you neck and cheeks with my hand and tell you that I love you more than anything in this world. We stand in this world that belongs only to us at this moment, hold one another, stroking one another, and nuzzling necks and ears.

I remove the straps of your swimsuit from your shoulders and peel your suit off like the peel of a banana. You in turn remove my trunks. I tell you that I want you badly and gently stroke your breasts, teasing the undersides and brushing your nipples.

My hands explore your body. Your body is well known to me and mine to you. However, in this place, I feel as though I am discovering you for the first time. My fingers examine every inch of you, exploring, discovering your secrets. I kiss your breasts and suck each nipple, rolling it in my mouth with my tongue, sometimes gently biting. I am lost in your beauty and the sensual feel of your curves. I want to make love to you, not just sexually, but in every way possible. If our minds and thought could join as one, I would do so now. I want so badly for you to know what you mean to me.

You are my wife, my love, and my lover. No other woman ever could compare. I dream only of you, wanting you, needing you, making love to you. You are my life.

As though in a dream, we wrap our arms, legs, and our very bodies around one another in slow and gentle passion, and we love one another to completion.

------

Having redressed in our swimsuits, we walk from the pool at the base of Vaimahutu Falls hand in hand, as in love as the day we married so many years ago. We rub most of the water from our skin and jump into the car. It feels almost as though time stood still in the cave at the falls, but we realize its not yet noon. You ask me what I have planned next. I had already programmed the GPS and punch in the destination for the Maraa Grotto.

We know we have arrived as this time there is a sign with an arrow pointing down a trail. The sign says Maraa Grotto. Rising above us are the black volcanic walls of the mountain. The paved path leads slightly downward, further into the nearly impenetrable tropical jungle. We walk holding hands except when I stop to take a photograph.

This island seems almost magical in its beauty and abundance of life. We feel renewed in body and spirit by this place and the intensity of our feelings for one another.

The grotto is a large cavern in the side of the mountain and filled with fresh clean water. There are concrete steps down to a low wall and below that a small area like a beach with only shallow water. We read the sign that explains that the artist Paul Gaugin swam here and that it is a favorite summer swimming hole for the island children. The air coming from the cave flows in a cool breeze, almost like an air conditioner vent blowing into the warmer air of the surrounding jungle. The walls are covered in exotic plants and ferns that hang everywhere and steadily drip water into the pool below.

We both realize our hunger at the same moment without speaking. We turn back up the trail to our car. As we follow the GPS directions back to the hotel, we see a small traditional Tahitian village and decide to turn in to check it out.

The buildings all are built from local wood, volcanic stone, rounded stones of dead white coral, and the ubiquitous thatched roofs. At the center of town we can see the traditional steeple of a small, whitewashed French Roman Catholic church. From inside, we can hear the voices of children singing in rehearsal for next Sunday's services.

Again, I know we both feel Deja vu, wondering how we could have possibly seen this place before, then together recall similar scenes in so many of the movies we watched as children about the war in the Pacific during WW-II that led us both to so romanticize this place.

As we look around, a delectable aroma of food wafts in our direction from a large open-air building not far away. The food is a melding of French and Polynesian cuisine, heavy on freshly caught seafood and locally grown chicken, a bird that is ubiquitous on the island. As always, we order far more than we possibly can eat, just to try new things. Some of the dishes incorporate local fruits or coconut, leaving those dishes sweet and not to your liking. But much of the food is infused with wines and served with delectable French sauces.

Completely sated by our meal, we head off back to our bungalow. We arrive in mid-afternoon and decide on a brief nap. We sleep naked on top of the bed, with a slight cooling breeze blowing through the bungalow. When we awake, the sun is low on the horizon. A cloud hangs over the mountain and rain forest across the lagoon. The sun is turning the edges of the cloud red and orange.

A halo lights the fringes of the cloud. As we sit in the living room I notice a "Window" beneath the coffee table that looks down into the clear water below. Tropical fish move in a lazy dance, occasionally darting to grab a piece of food. The white sandy bottom glows slightly with the residual light of the setting sun - the water invites us.

I grab your hand and pull you with me. There is a staircase leading down to a platform just above the water's surface. Although surrounded by other bungalows, each with its own guests, our nakedness feels natural in this place and at this time. I let go your hand and slip off the platform into the water. Here in the shadows, the water has retained the heat of the day's sun, leaving the water almost as warm as a bath.