by Jewel Daniel
When she emerged from the bathroom, Kwabena was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing only boxer shorts. The sight of his chiseled upper body sent ripples of arousal through Tamara's core. On the nightstand was a tray of bacon, eggs, toast and coffee and a few peeled tangerines.
"I made you breakfast in bed," he said in his deep, melodic voice.
"Mmmmm... smells delicious."
He drew her toward him so she stood between his outstretched legs. "You look delicious," he said, untying her robe.
The sight of her naked body beneath the robe made him rock hard.
"I'm hungry," she whispered.
"Me too," he replied, disrobing her. He observed her full breasts standing pert in the air, their little pink buds erect. He looked at her wide waist with its little love handles and her belly, which was surprisingly flat for a woman of her weight. He looked at her plump legs and her massive round backside. He looked at her triangle of fine black hair covering the part of her that brought him such unspeakable pleasure. He grabbed her backside, sensually caressing it while drawing her to him. "I'm hungry for you."
Breakfast forgotten, he buried his face in her chest, letting his tongue play. Tamara held his head encouragingly, leaned her head back and moaned in pleasure. His fingers found the pleasure spot between her legs, slowly strumming it. Tamara closed her eyes, moving her hips to his rhythm, submitting to the wonderful feeling enveloping her. His fingers entered her, causing her to squeal with desire. She felt herself climbing higher, her body thrashing about with a mind all its own, her breathing deep and labored.
He sat her on him and entered her, hard and throbbing. Panting and moaning, she rode him like a horse at a rodeo. Together they moved in wild abandon submitting to the desires of the flesh until they fulfilled each other, climaxing together. Then they reached for each other again. They made love all morning. They could not get enough of each other.
It was midday when they finally ate breakfast. It was cold, but still delicious.
"Move in with me," she invited while munching on cold bacon. "I'm officially terminating your lease as tenant."
He smiled. "You know what that means? I no longer have to pay you rent."
She returned his smile, holding his gaze, staring into his deep brown eyes. "Yup. But as my husband, you have to pay half the mortgage and bills. That is more than rent."
"If it means waking up next to you every morning, feeling your body next to me at night, and making love to you, I can live with that."
She reached over and kissed him. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Kwabena navigated the labyrinth of corridors and labs. It had been a long time since he'd been here.
"Hey, Muti," Mike greeted, laughing and pumping his hand. "Been a while. Haven't seen you around since our days of zip-disk data sharing. What brings you here?"
"Just picking up Tamara. My ride broke down so she loaned me hers."
"She's in the lab. I gave her her own project, you know. Bioinformatics. After she got the network up and running in the first few weeks, I couldn't justify keeping her. She made the system so self-sufficient, there was little she needed to do to maintain it."
"Good. How's she handling it?"
"Great. She is quick. As for statistics, she is better than my last statistician, and he had a PhD. Why didn't she finish college?"
"She followed the money. She took a networking course and ended up in Silicon Valley making more than we made for quite a few years. The tech bubble just burst on her."
They stood around talking about work, discussing data and ideas while he waited for Tamara to finish up.
"You still have that time share in St. Lucia?" Kwabena asked.
GLYuP."
"Planning on using it over the holidays?"
"Nope. Saving up to take the wife and kids back to Cameroon. Haven't seen my parents for a while. Y?"
"Thought I'd do a little traveling over the Christmas break."
Mike smiled. "With whom?"
"Tamara."
Mike raised one eyebrow. "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?"
"She's my wife."
"That was not a part of your business deal."
"I know. Things changed."
"That's quite a departure. She's not like your usual."
"Man, I thought you were deeper than that."
Mike looked at Kwabena hard. "I'm not talking about the physical. I'm talking about personality. She doesn't seem like the kind who can sleep with you tonight and be casual friends tomorrow, while feigning innocence. She's one of the most open people I've dealt with in a long time."
Kwabena smiled leaning his butt against Mike's desk and looking far off. "I know. Refreshing isn't it?"
"Indeed. So what happens when you get the permanent green card?"
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."
"She looks happy. I hope you don't hurt her."
"I have no intention to. Sometimes you spend your life looking for something and never quite finding it. Then suddenly when you least expect it, you find it right in front ofyou. It had been there right in the open, but you just didn't realize it was it because it was pack aged differently than you expected. That's what it's like with Tammy."
"Sounds like someone finally got the Muti man's heart," Mike teased.
Kwabena looked off dreamily, a slow smile on his face. "I'm in love with her, man. Never thought the day would come, but it did."
Welcome to St. Lucia! Tamara was in awe as they traversed the tropical paradise. They stayed in a cozy cottage on the north side of the island. As an added bonus, it was walking distance from the beach and not very far from Pigeon Island.
They had arrived the day before Christmas Eve and rented a car. The first thing they did after a brief rest was sample the crystal clear waters of this tropical paradise. Tamara looked at the tiny fish swimming around in the clear blue Caribbean Sea and thought it was the most wonderful thing she had seen.
They awoke on Christmas Eve before dawn to view the sunrise from the beach. They walked along the water's edge listening to the tiny waves lap the shore. They let the warm water lick at their feet while they enjoyed the cool sea breeze, the salty air filling their nostrils.
Slowly the sun made its ascent over the horizon. It painted the sky and sea with brushstrokes of gray and orange before emerging as a big fireball in the sky, flooding the world with morning light. Tamara looked at Kwabena and smiled. He was the most romantic person she'd ever met. She was glad fate had joined them together.
When they left the beach, they drove into Castries to do a little shopping at the market. The place was a bustle of activity. Vendors in colorful skirts and blouses sat on the roadside with trays and carts of colorful flavorful fruit and vegetables. The aroma of tropical fruit filled the air. The people spoke loudly, carrying on conversations in a mixture of St. Lucian Creole or patois and broken English.
A partially enclosed market was filled with vendors peddling local crafts, colorful clothing and souvenirs. Everywhere they went the people were pleasant. It was an exciting, almost thrilling atmosphere.
Kwabena picked out a green fruit with interlocking pegs. "Try this," he said, opening it to reveal white insides.
Tamara tasted it. It was sweet with a creamy texture and little black seeds. She loved it and ate two more.
"This is sugar apple," he explained. "This place reminds me so much of my childhood. The whole market atmosphere, the loud talking, the haggling over stuffI love it."
Kwabena seemed familiar with the culture, the foods, the roads-he drove without consulting a map or asking directions. "You been here before?" Tamara asked.
YuP.
Tamara wanted to know who he'd been with, but she didn't ask. She was certain it must have been one of his lovers. She felt a twinge of jealousy and quickly put the thought from her mind. That was in his past. He was with her now, he loved her, and that was all that mattered. She didn't want to ruin the inti
macy of this vacation by dwelling on his past affairs.
They wandered over to a strand and had a breakfast of stewed codfish, boiled eggs, and cocoa tea and passion fruit juice. It was as local as one could get.
When they returned to the cottage, they were laden with bags of fruits and vegetables, locally baked bread, and homemade treats. The afternoon was spent lounging on the beach soaking up the sun and enjoying the warm waters of the Caribbean Sea. It was a day of beauty, rest, and wonderful lovemaking that left both Tamara and Kwabena yearning for more.
Later that night they went to Gros Islet, the Friday night party center of the island. Here fishermen grilled, fried or sauteed their catch while revelers jammed in the streets to frenzied soca rhythms or dancehall reggae belted out by loud stereos. It was a giant party that extended several blocks around the seaside village. Tamara and Kwabena dined on grilled conchs smothered in a cucumber-garlic sauce, and deep fried pot fish, a name used to describe any type of small fish caught in a fish pot. They then joined the street revelers and danced the night away. It was almost dawn when they returned to the cottage.
"Welcome, welcome. It's so good to see you," Christina St. Jean said as Tamara and Kwabena entered her living room.
Kwabena introduced Tamara as his wife to Marcel and Christina St. Jean. Christina was a fellow Ghanaian, married to a St. Lucian. Both of them had been living on the island for the past five years.
"You never told me you were married," Christina said, hugging Tamara. "You have a beautiful wife."
They were having Christmas dinner at the couple's home, which was on a hill overlooking the capital city of Castries. Christmas day was nothing like Tamara had ever before experienced. There was no early rising, no running downstairs to open presents. No all-day cooking and preparing Christmas dinner. Instead they slept in, awakening only at noon when the midday sun made the room unbearably hot. They shared a light brunch on the veranda, enjoying the cool ocean breezes, then spent the afternoon quietly at the beach. Their only commitment that day was dinner with the local couple and their family.
Dinner was beautifully prepared with all things Caribbean. From the sorrel, a red drink made from the petals of the sorrel flower, and gingerbeer, to the stewed pork over rice and pigeon peas with the fig pie and fried plantains. There was also a large ham marinated in pineapple juice and baked with pineapple slices, and a whole turkey marinated in local spices. Dessert was bread pudding with rum sauce and black cake, a treat made with wine-soaked dried fruits, darkened with caramelized sugar and doused in rum and port wine. This was eaten with homemade soursop ice cream.
It was a small gathering: just Christina, Marcel and his parents, the couple's two preteen children and Marcel's teenage son from a previous relationship, Kwabena and Tamara. As they ate, Tamara asked Marcel and Christina, "Ghana is a long way from St. Lucia. How did you guys meet?"
Christina smiled as if remembering happy times and replied, "We met in college. Marcel was Kwabena's roommate, and Kwabena and I go back a long way. We were neighbors back in Ghana, so I visited often. Then Marcel and I began to talk, and well, here we are twelve years and two kids later."
Marcel smiled. He was light skinned and about five feet nine inches tall and appeared to Tamara to be outgoing and flirtatious. Christina was quite the opposite. She was dark, slim, about an inch shorter than her husband and more reserved. "And it's been a good twelve years," Marcel remarked.
Christina did not respond.
After dinner, Marcel, Tamara and the kids sat around drinking sorrel and playing dominoes. Kwabena retired to the veranda to enjoy the cool December breeze. He sat on the concrete balustrade railing, his feet dangling over a ten-foot drop. He slowly sipped on plantain wine made by Marcel's mother while enjoying the aroma of fresh flowers from the garden below. From his perch he could see Castries laid out like a blanket. He loved that place. Maybe someday I'll buy something here and visit often.
Christina joined him on the veranda. "Mind if I smoke?" she asked, lighting up before Kwabena could respond.
"Thought you kicked the habit," he said in Twi.
"Thought so too. It just keeps resurfacing when things get stressful," she replied in the same language.
"Can't imagine what kind of stress you have in this little piece of paradise. Nice house on the hill, handsome husband, two beautiful children, sunshine all year round and the beach a stone's throw away."
"How about an illegitimate son six years younger than my youngest kid and another woman pregnant with my husband's child?"
"That is stressful," Kwabena agreed. "I thoughtMarcel had settled down."
"He did until we moved to St. Lucia. That's when all the old girlfriends and unresolved relationships started resurfacing. It makes no difference that he's married. It seems to attract them even more."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
She was quiet for a while, looking off toward the sea, blowing a plume of smoke skyward. "I like your wife. She seems very nice. Quite opposite to what you're accustomed. How did you guys hookup?"
Kwabena smiled. "It's a long story. Suffice it to say, I met her on our wedding day, immigration was involved, but she is the person I am definitely spending the rest of my life with. She is the best thing that ever happened to me."
"What about Adeola?"
"Over. Done with. Out of the picture."
"So you finally kicked the habit?"
"Is that what you call it?"
"Oh, yeah. She is like a drug. The two of you are together, she cheats on you, you dump her; next thing I know you're back sleeping with her. She finds you with her friend, she dumps you, and then I hear you two are engaged. She runs off with some high-ranking somebody, you swear it's over this time, yet you jump back into her bed. Yes, in that respect, she is like a cocaine habit, and personally I never thought she was worth it.,,
"Well, I made it quite clear this time that it's over."
"Maybe in your mind, but what about in hers? The past always catches up with us. I hope you are honest and open with Tamara. Like Marcel, I can see your past relationships coming back to haunt your present oneespecially Adeola." She stubbed out the butt of the cig arette. "By next year, I'm going to pack up me and my kids and return to Ghana. I've had enough of that cheating bastard!"
She walked toward the door, then turned around. "You have a nice wife. Don't blow it for her or for yourself." Then she stepped inside.
The rest of the vacation was spent with lots of sightseeing and water activities in the day and quiet, romantic evenings. Theyvisited the drive-in volcano at Soufriere and toured the rainforest. They snorkeled around shallow reefs and rode Jet Skis in the Caribbean Sea. They enjoyed fun-filled catamaran cruises from Rodney and Marigot Bay to Gros Islet. But they lived for the nights. Nights were filled with romantic dinners, long walks on the moonlit beach and beautiful, emotional lovemaking. Tamara finally knew what it was like to be loved by a man. It exceeded all her imaginations.
New Year's Eve night they attended a party at a waterfront hotel. Tamara wore a white off-the-shoulders cotton eyelet blouse and a multicolored wrap-around skirt. The party was crowded with people jamming shoulder to shoulder. They danced all night to calypso and frenzied soca music, soul-searching reggae and R&B.
Sometime before eleven, Kwabena and Tamara left the crowded dance hall and sat at an outdoor bar overlooking a nearby marina, drinking a virgin pina colada and a rum punch. It was their last night on the island, and they were enjoying every minute of it. They watched the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the water in the marina and listened to the muted sounds of the party music.
Tamara excused herself and went to the bathroom. When she returned, a slim, shapely local was sitting on her abandoned stool, openly flirting with Kwabena. Tamara observed them for a while, uncertain of how to react. Hesitantly she approached them, her face slightly red.
Kwabena looked up as she approached, placed his hand around her waist and drew her to his side. "This is the o
wner of that seat," he said to the girl.
The girl looked Tamara over, "Is this your friend or relative?"
"She's my wife."
The girl looked at Kwabena and Tamara and smiled cynically. She said something in Creole as she turned away.
Kwabena looked at her with steely eyes and responded to her harshly in the same language. She looked back, a horrified expression on her face.
He turned to Tamara. "Let's go."
As they headed out toward the deserted moonlit beach, Tamara asked, "Where did you learn to speak St. Lucian Creole?"
"In St. Lucia. My family lived here during my early teens and I picked up a little of the language."
Tamara smiled, relieved. At least he hadn't been here with some lover, as she'd originally assumed.
She placed her hands in his. She knew he was multilingual. She'd heard him speak in at least four languages so far. But hearing him speak Creole made her curious. "So how many languages do you speak?"
"A few," he answered vaguely as they walked hand in hand on the warm sand.
"Give me a number."
"It's not that simple. Some of the languages are considered dialects rather than official languages, depending on the perspective of the listener."
"Give it your best shot."
"My first languages are Twi, Akan and English. I speak Fante and Dagomba and a few dialects of these languages. I also speak Swahili, and I can understand a bit of Igbo, though I cannot speak it fluently. Of the European languages I speak French, Spanish, and Italian. I also speak a limited amount of St. Lucian Creole, which is considered a language by some and a dialect of French by others."
Tamara was silent as they walked along the moonwashed beach, the music of the hotel party faint in the background.