The ravings of a lunatic. Copyright May 2006 by The H20wader. Edited by Techsan, a great editor.
Again size. What does it matter? Who does it matter to? And what happens if you are the wrong size? Hell, is there a wrong size? Or is size like beauty, only in the eyes of the beholder? Or the stretched vagina of the holder?
*****
On his fortieth birthday, his buddies gave him a week in all-inclusive club for the over thirty and single. A small island, five hundred small huts with all the amenities. He did not want to go but they pushed, yelled, and begged. To maintain peace in the group he flew out on a Friday night. The plane landed, he spent the night in a huge air craft hanger-dormitory where men and women found beds wherever they could. There were huge restrooms and showers without male/female designations. He had showered with women before but not 50. Breakfast was served from four military style mess hall like operations. (Grab a tray and silverware. Go down the line and take what you want.) The people were loaded on a ship and in two hours they were docked and unloaded. The drinking started on the boat.
The divorce had been hard on him. His wife had several lovers but finally made a mistake and Gil (short for Gilruth) found out. There was a brief investigation and a fast divorce. The only reason given by his wife for the betrayal was penis size. The no fault law in his state did work. The assets were divided equally and since there were no children, Gil was able to walk away. It had been ten years and he still had an non-trusting view of women. He dated when a woman said yes to a date. He fucked when a woman said yes to a fuck. He left them as soon as they showed a marriage interest in him.
The sun was beautiful, the island was tropical and the hut was one large bedroom, large bath, and a sitting area with a huge window overlooking the ocean. There was also a large bowl of condoms on the nightstand by the bed and a very large tube of KY jelly next to it. He hated it. There were multitudes of planned events. The first was a get-to-know-your-neighbors swim. There were open bars everywhere. Everyone got three drinks, large ones, while the rules were explained. Every one had the three drinks tucked away before the rules were simplified for understanding.
1. Everyone into the sea. Waist deep or more.
2. Everyone don the blindfold.
3. Find a person of the opposite sex. (By feel, silly.)
4. Remove their swimsuit and put it on yourself. Take your time.
5. Wade ashore (where the water is shallower. There would be a rope
barrier to prevent excursions into the deeper water.)
6. When the horn sounds, remove the blindfold and see what you have caught.
Gil was not happy. This was stupid and silly. However, there was no way to avoid it in front of 499 other guests. He waded in, donned the fucking blindfold. He was grabbed by a female with a big pair of tits. He pushed her away and moved away. Some one grabbed him and held him tight. She striped the trunks from him, giving his cock some long feels. She then stood still while he removed her bikini. He determined that she had firm breasts and no hair on her vagina. She found that he would never fit into her bikini, so she put the bottoms on his head and the top around his neck. They walked to dry sand and waited. It seemed natural to talk.
"I am Beverly, 31, divorced."
"Gil, 40, divorced."
"I am from Ann Arbor, Michigan. Teacher in elementary school."
"I am in sales with a large corporation, headquartered in Livonia, Michigan."
"I like sex. As much and as often as I can get it."
"That sounds interesting. Why are you divorced?"
"I like sex, as much and as often as I can get it."
"Want to walk back in and try again?"
The horn sounded.
"Damn, Well, there will other opportunities."
The next two days followed the same routine. People became paired or trio-ed. There was even a couple of groups of four (with one group of one woman and three men), who really seemed to be having a lot of fun. There were dances every night. Gil danced and chatted to many women. None of the women did a thing for him. He slept alone for three nights. He was tired of the games, tired of being away from the office and just plain tired.
Tuesday morning broke with the sun,climbing out of the ocean, the puffy clouds, and the gentle waves rolling in on the beach. Gil headed over to the big dining hall for breakfast. He got his usual cereal, milk and coffee, found a table for two so he would not be bothered. He ate and planned his getaway. There were supply boats every afternoon tied up at a dock near the dining room and storage areas. After lunch, he would wander that way and bribe his way on to a boat.
The day was filled with silly people doing silly things. Lunch was fruit, a salad and cold cuts. He was ready. He left the bag and clothes he had brought, took his wallet, passport, a hat and sunglasses. There were seven nice -sized motor transports at the dock. There were many men unloading fresh supplies and loading the refuse. The club golf carts he had seen during the three days were busy, each with a trailer, hauling supplies one-way and refuse the other. He wandered and looked for a leader, a boss, an officer. The one he found did not speak English. Hell, no one spoke English. Discouraged, he sat on the end of the dock. He really wanted to start swimming.
"I say there, are you looking to leave this delightful isle?"
Gil was so startled he almost fell off the damn dock. "Hell, yes."
"I need a crew member. What do you know about boats?"
"They are supposed to float."
"Can you cook and clean?"
"Not very well. I will pay you to transport me to any airport."
"How much? By the way, you wouldn't be gay, would you?"
"No."
"Damn, I am only the captain. You can speak to the person who owns the ship. If you are granted permission to board, there is no problem."
"Where is this owner?"
"At the office for the club here. Why don't you come to the ship for dinner tonight? We are on the other side of the island in the cove there. There is a rather large trail; there will be a full moon so the trail will be visible. Pick up the trail or steal a golf cart in the storage area. Say eight o'clock?"
"I will be there. What will be the dress code? I am rather limited."
"Well, pants, shirt and loafers, I would say. Underwear is optional."
With a wave, the tall, 50ish man dressed in khaki pants and a t-shirt with an imprint of a map of a bunch of islands headed back down the dock and entered the trees.
Steve felt better. He had a chance to get off the island, but he would try the office first. There would be no large boats until Saturday morning but maybe there was a means of transportation.
He entered the office. Everyone was very busy with the supplies coming in but he kept asking to see the resort manager or director until a woman told him to look in room 100. This took another 15 minutes to find. He knocked.
The door opened. A short well-dressed woman of maybe 50 opened the door, "It is very busy today but how may I help you?"
"I want to go home."
"Why?"
"This is the silliest place I have ever seen. People are fucking all over the place and I just want no part of it. I want to go home."
"Find someone and join the crowd."
"This place sucks. I want to go home."
"There is a boat leaving here early Saturday that will take you to the island with the airport. It is the same way you got here."
"I want to go home now!"
"Unless there is a medical emergency, there is no way it can be done. It was in the contract you signed to get here. There are 295 woman out there, find one and fuck." She closed the door.