"When we first started dating, I never imagined we'd be spending Christmas in the Virgin Islands," Melanie said. She was standing on our hotel balcony in her pajamas watching the sun rise over the Caribbean Sea.
"No? Were you thinking cold porridge in a one room loft over someone's garage?" I chided. I climbed out of bed and wrapped my arms around her from behind, sliding my hands under her camisole and cupping her breasts.
"Not quite that bad," she replied, leaning back into me, her head on my shoulder. Her hair smelled a mixture of the beach and the fruity shampoo she favored; a smell I always found comforting. "You have to admit, you convey more 'starving student' than 'island hopper'."
"It's my aunt who has the money," I reminded her. "She's the one paying for this room, and the one with the house on the beach."
"How did she get her money again?"
"Earned it the hard way - she married it," I said. "My mother often told me marrying money is the hardest way to earn it. You never quite feel like it is yours, and, as was the case with my aunt, her husband never really let her feel like she was worth it. But she was young, beautiful and intent on seeing the world and living well. So when a man twice her age needed a trophy wife, she accepted."
The sun completed its ascent over the horizon and was now too bright to look at. I glanced to the beach and watched the hotel employees preparing sun chairs, uncovering and untying the jet skis, and setting out towels for use by the hotel patrons.
"My aunt once told me," I continued, "'if you want something in life, find out what it costs, and pay it'. She probably just thought being treated as nothing more than an object was her price for what she wanted."
"I don't think I could stay in a marriage like that," she replied, turning to face me. "I guess that's why I'm with a starving student."
"I think we all make sacrifices in life to get what we want," I said, nuzzling her neck. "I'm sacrificing my sleep to be with you watching the sunrise, for example."
I ran my hands down her back, under the boy shorts she always wore to bed, and squeezed her ass, just below the cheeks. She responded by tilting her head back. Emboldened, my nuzzling became nibbling, and I worked my way up her neck to her ear. I felt a hand run through the hair on the back of my head as she submitted to my advances.
"You don't like the sunrise?" she asked.
"It was almost as beautiful as you," I whispered before gently probing her ear with my tongue. Her hand left my head and found its way into my boxers.
"Is that from me or is it your morning wood?" she teased, gently stroking.
"It's for you, either way," I said, sliding the shorts off her backside.
"Not out here, it isn't," she scolded, pulling her shorts back up. "Besides, I'm hungry. Let's go for a run and then join your parents for breakfast. They are always up early."
She slipped out of my arms, back into the room and was headed to the bathroom with a change of clothes before I knew what to say.
I couldn't say I was surprised, though. We'd been dating for nearly four months, ever since the dorm mixer two weeks after classes began, and we still hadn't consummated our relationship. It's not like she was a virgin, nor was I, and she was game for pretty much everything else, just not 'the deed'.
Ultimately, it didn't bother me that much. We were both freshman, just finishing the first term of our college programs, and sex could imply commitment; something neither of us wanted. She spent all of high school dating the same guy. It didn't end well when they went to different universities, and she wasn't interested in starting something serious right away. I was just happy to be with someone so spectacularly gorgeous. Having her on my arm made me feel like a tycoon; which wasn't bad for a 'starving student'. If that meant settling for heavy petting and the occasional hand job, I would continue to rub one out as I needed until she was ready. But I was going to keep trying.
"You should get dressed," she said, emerging from the bathroom in yoga pants and a sports bra. "I want to get two miles in before breakfast. We start practicing for the spring soccer league the first week of the new term, and I want to be ready for it."
"I can't go anywhere with this," I said, pointing to my still-at-attention member. "Some assistance?"
"Fine," she sighed. "Remember that time we went to the Greek Life event, during rush week, and I drank all that spiked punch?"
"Yeah," I replied, not sure where she was going with this but hoping it ended with a group of sorority girls in various states of undress I hadn't heard about. Because that night sucked. She got sick and passed out in the yard. I had to carry her back to her dorm and leave her roommate to take care of her.
"I made the mistake of eating jalapeno poppers right before that. Remember how sick I was? Those poppers burned my nostrils as vomit spilled out of me. My nose was sore for a week," she said.
"I didn't know that. That sounds awful! What's that got to do with helping my situation?" I asked.
"It's gone, isn't it?" She smiled and pointed at the lack of a tent in my boxers. "Now get dressed."
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"We didn't expect to see you here so early," mom said, hugging each of us.
"Mel likes to run in the morning," I explained. "I like to keep her company."
"I would too," dad said in a voice only I could hear, elbowing me in the ribs.
"What was that?" mom asked him.
"I said it's good for him, too," dad replied. "Let's go grab a seat where we can see the ocean."
The hotel restaurant was mostly empty at that hour and it didn't take long for a server to approach and take our orders. Dad asked for his usual oatmeal with brown sugar. Mom wanted a fruit plate and an English muffin. Mel requested an egg white omelet with spinach and a side of fresh fruit. I broke the bank and went with a seafood omelet with cheese and bacon.
"You'll need to run in the afternoon, too, if you keep eating like that," mom said.
"He's still young. His body can absorb that without a problem," dad defended me.
"What are your plans for the day?" mom asked. "Your father and I are planning to do some sight-seeing before meeting everyone at Aunt Kim's for dinner. Did you want to join us?"
"We hadn't really discussed it," I said. Planning was not my strength. "What do you think, Mel?"
"Should we just go hang out at the beach?" Mel suggested.
"Well, if the beach is what you want, I highly suggest you just go straight to your aunt's. Her house is on the most beautiful secluded cove on the island," mom said. "One thing about Kim, she always knew how to find the most extraordinary places in the world. When your Uncle James passed away from cancer two years ago, she sold everything they owned, which was a lot and invested it in her place here. When we were kids, suffering through a New York winter, she told me she was going to live in the Caribbean, and she's finally living her dream."
"Do you think she'd mind?" I asked, "us dropping in so early?"
"Not at all," mom replied. "We never confirmed a time we'd arrive. She said come over whenever. She'll be there."
"That sounds perfect," Mel said, excited at the prospect of a private beach. I loved seeing her so happy.
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After breakfast, we gathered the clothes, suntan lotion and beach supplies we would need for the day, located the address for my aunt's house, and hailed a cab. A twenty minute drive through rolling hills and tropical scrub brought us to a private drive secured by a large, wrought-iron gate. We unloaded our bags from the car, paid the cab, and rang the intercom. No answer came, so we rang it again with the same result.
"Well, now what?" Mel asked. It was at least a two mile walk back to the nearest retail shop, and neither of us had purchased an international plan for our phones, so we had no service.
"Do you hear that?" I asked, straining to hear over the rustling of leaves blowing in the morning trade winds. "Listen. I think I hear music."
"Sounds like...Garth Brooks!" Mel said. "I got friends in low places." She sang along, bending her knees to a crouch when she said 'low places'.
"Aunt Kim must be home but can't hear the intercom over the music," I said. "Let's try the gate."
It opened and we walked through and down the winding brick driveway to the house.
"My god, it's amazing!" Mel said, admiring the stone façade. "It looks like a castle. Look! It even has turrets on top of the tower!"
I had to agree with her assessment. The house was amazing; like Aunt Kim had shipped a European castle, brick by brick, across the Atlantic and reconstructed it here in St. Croix. It had windows with rounded tops, two giant towers, complete with turrets at the top, and a front door large enough to drive a Hummer through. Just as impressive as the house was the landscaping. Perfectly trimmed bushes accented by just the right amount of flowers. Everything with cultivated to exacting standards by someone with an eye for design.
"Let's find the music," I said, grabbing her hand. "I'm sure that's where we'll find Aunt Kim, and she can give us a complete tour."
We followed a stone path around the turreted tower and walked several meters along a stone wall that was too tall for me to see over, even if I jumped, until we finally reached a wooden door under an archway. Garth had moved on to 'Thunder Rolls', and the music was much louder here. We had to shout to hear each other speaking.
"I hope this is the right address," I said, trying the door. It opened, and we stepped through into a garden paradise.
