The Ultimate Aphrodisiac

by Robert G. Barrett

  The North Park Diner was all tiny lights and hungry cats out the front. There was a dining room with a counter on the left as you walked in, four wooden tables and another counter on the right selling souvenirs and Konipeau pepper. At the rear, a glass door led to a larger dining area that angled round, overlooking the harbour. The front area was non-smoking, air-conditioned and almost empty, except for three young girls in black floral dresses waiting for customers. Brian sat down and looked at the menu. He went for a sashimi entree and a Konipeau pepper steak, plus a can of Kirren. It came in a tall, frosted glass and tasted beautiful. Normally Brian took his time over a beer. But in the heat he couldn’t help himself. He finished it in several swallows and and ordered another one. He finished that and ordered another. After three good swallows of his third Kirren, Brian found the beer had gone straight to his head and he began feeling a little loose. The waitress brought out his sashimi and it was delicious. Big slabs of pink tuna with jasmine rice, wasabe and plenty of pickled ginger. It was a meal in itself. The pepper steak arrived on a sizzle plate with fries and vegetables and was also delicious. Unfortunately Brian couldn’t finish it. He finished his third beer, though, and more than satisfied, charged the meal to his room, gave the waitress a couple of dollars and left.

  Outside it seemed hotter than ever and banks of black clouds had covered the moon. Brian thought he might take a stroll round the block and walk the meal off. He was still light-headed and had a don’t-give-a-stuff-much-about-anything attitude as he walked out the gate on the right and had a look around. Further up there was another hotel on the opposite side of the road, with shanties and old houses on either side set back amongst the trees, and if the North Park Hotel had cats, the houses had dogs. There were dozens of them, and they all seemed to be barking at the cats. Next thing it started raining again and Brian discovered what was next door to his hotel: a bar. Long and low with bench seats and wooden tables, a thatched roof and a view over Kahiap harbour. Up a couple of steps at the far end was a pool table, and at this end was a bar with a red neon sign on the wall behind it saying BUDWEISER. Apart from one young bloke in a yellow Hawaiian shirt standing behind the bar listening to reggae music on a ghetto blaster, the place was empty. It was hot, it was raining and Brian was thirsty from the pepper steak. This would do splendidly. Brian walked straight up to the bar and ordered a cold bottle of Millers Genuine Draught. He took it up to the pool table area, sat down, and watched the rain falling over the harbour. Well, he thought, taking a mouthful of beer. Apart from a hair-raising flight in and strange people following me, things aren’t all that bad. And who knows what tomorrow may bring?

  Brian was feeling good and enjoying his beer when he noticed someone enter the bar and walk up to the counter. It was a woman. She was wearing a loose red cotton dress and leather sandals and had long dark hair dragged into a tight ponytail. Tossed over one shoulder was a battered denim bag. From where Brian was sitting she looked like an English tourist. She bought a bottle of Millers, took a look around and started walking towards the pool table area. As the woman got closer Brian checked her out.

  She had prominent cheekbones, a firm mouth and dark brown eyes, slightly baggy and lined. She looked to be a little older than Brian and fairly attractive, but with an edge to her. She took a look around the pool table area then casually turned to Brian.

  ‘All right if I join you?’ she asked, with a west-coast American accent.

  Brian took a look around the pool table area too, then peered out over the rest of the empty bar. ‘All right,’ he said laconically. ‘If you can find room.’

  The woman looked at Brian for a moment as if she was trying to work out where he was coming from or if he was just plain stupid. Brian let her check him out while something told him this was just a little too good to be true. She sat down on the bench seat at an angle to Brian’s left and raised her beer.

  ‘I’m Gemma,’ she said.

  Brian raised his beer and arched an eyebrow. ‘Bradshaw. Brian Bradshaw. Australian secret service.’

  Gemma spluttered slightly on her beer and gave Brian a double blink. ‘You’re who … what?’

  ‘I just told you, Beryl,’ replied Brian curtly. ‘I ain’t telling you again.’ He had a quick glance round the bar and took a mouthful of beer. ‘So what brings you to Rick’s bar shhweetheart? Are you with the Russians, or the Cubans? And keep your voice down.’

  ‘I’m with …’ Gemma stopped. ‘I’m a backpacker. I’ve been travelling around the islands. I’m an American. From Los Angeles, California.’

  ‘Well of course, Gemma.’ Brian gave her a tired smile. ‘Aren’t all Americans from Los Angeles, California. Though I believe I met one once, said he was from Texas. Is that in America?’

  Gemma looked at Brian in disbelief. ‘Well of course Texas is in America.’

  ‘It is?’ replied Brian. ‘Prove it to me.’

  ‘Prove it to you?’ Gemma’s voice rose slightly. ‘What do you mean? Prove it to you.’

  ‘Prove it to me. I’m from Australia. I wouldn’t know shit. Prove to me Texas is in America.’

  Gemma stared at Brian. ‘This is ridiculous. Have you got a map?’

  Brian shook his head. ‘No. Why would I be walking around with a map of America on me?’

  ‘So … so you’d know Texas is in America. For Christ’s sake! Everybody knows Texas is in America.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Gemma’s face started to colour. ‘Well fuck you then! If you wouldn’t know that. Then you wouldn’t fuckin know shit!’

  ‘That’s what I just told you. You fuckin goose,’ replied Brian. ‘Haven’t you been listening?’

  Gemma’s face coloured some more and for a moment it looked like she was going to throw her drink over Brian. Then she settled down. Brian nonchalantly sipped his beer, but he still had a feeling Gemma wasn’t fair dinkum. Her attitude didn’t turn him on much either. Whatever Gemma’s story, if she was going to hang around, why not keep having her on? Americans were always good for that.

  Gemma looked at Brian. ‘Are you really with the Australian secret service?’ she asked.

  ‘My oath I am,’ replied Brian. ‘Why? What did you think I was?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Gemma. ‘You look like you could be a journalist or something.’

  ‘Yeah? Whatever gave you that idea?’ he asked evenly.

  ‘Oh. Just a guess,’ said Gemma, taking a sip of beer. ‘So, what are you doing in Konipeau?’

  Brian looked at Gemma for a moment. ‘If I tell you, will you promise to keep it to yourself?’

  ‘Of course,’ answered Gemma, edging a little closer.

  ‘You ever heard of a place called Lan Laroi?’

  ‘Yes. I have.’

  ‘Well, I’m going there to assassinate the President.’

  ‘Assassinate …’ Gemma stared at Brian. ‘What for?’

  Brian edged a little closer to Gemma. ‘Because Lan Laroi’s got the bomb.’

  ‘The bomb. You don’t mean the atomic bomb?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ nodded Brian. ‘And they intend to use it against NATO. So I’m going in there to take out the President. And blow up their two reactors.’

  Gemma looked stunned. ‘Can you prove this?’ she asked quietly.

  Brian drank some beer then nodded slowly. ‘I got the proof back in my room. Would you like to have a look? It’s only next door at the North Park.’

  ‘Yes I would. Very much,’ said Gemma.

  ‘All right. Well why don’t we finish these beers and make a move. I got something to drink, too, if you like.’

  Gemma’s eyes lit up. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Excellent,’ smiled Brian.

  They drank the rest of their beer in relative silence. Gemma was surreptitiously checking out Brian. Brian was doing the same with Gemma. The only sound was the music drifting across from the barman’s ghetto blaster and the soothing patter of rain hitting the thatched roof and the trees outside. Brian c
ommented on the rain and asked Gemma where she was staying. She said the Kapwoi Hotel. Brian nodded, none the wiser. He turned away for a moment to watch a couple of red lights blinking on a buoy in the harbour. When he turned back, Gemma was undoing the rubber band holding her pony tail. She gave her head a toss and her dark hair swirled around her shoulders. Brian tried not to take any notice, but if he wasn’t mistaken, Gemma was the woman in the grey car earlier. He finished his beer as Gemma finished hers and they both got to their feet. Brian took the empty bottles and placed them on the bar as they were leaving.

  Outside the cats were all huddled around the office and now the lawn was covered in small cane toads hopping around in the rain. With Gemma behind him, Brian hurried down the stairs to his room and opened the door. He turned on the light and nodded to the table by the back door.

  ‘Grab a seat,’ he said. ‘I got to go see if my tyre’s been chalked.’

  ‘You have to what?’

  Brian smiled and went to the bathroom. When he returned, Gemma had the back door open and was seated looking out over the harbour.

  ‘You have a nice view from here,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah. You should see it when the sun’s going down,’ replied Brian. ‘It’s unreal.’

  He took the bottle of Jack Daniels from his suitcase, opened it and placed it on the table with a bottle of mineral water from the fridge. He poured a healthy nip into two glasses, topped them up with cold mineral water and handed one to Gemma.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t got any ice or a twist of lemon,’ he smiled, taking a seat.

  ‘That’s all right,’ replied Gemma. ‘Cheers.’ She tilted her head and half her drink slid down in one go. ‘Mmhh. Very nice.’

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

  Gemma looked at her glass for a moment, licked her lips and drank the rest. Brian nudged the bottle across the table.

  ‘Help yourself,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Gemma poured herself another drink, finished it just as quickly and poured herself a third. Brian sipped his and watched her in amazement.

  Gemma’s cheekbones started glowing from the Jack Daniels. ‘Okay, Brian,’ she said, hoofing into some more bourbon, ‘where’s this proof that says you’re with the Australian secret service?’

  ‘I’ve locked my gun and badge in the hotel safe,’ said Brian. ‘But if I show you something, you have to keep it to yourself.’

  Gemma gestured with her glass. ‘Of course.’

  Gemma finished bourbon number three and poured number four. Brian took his camera out of his bag, removed the cover and placed the camera carefully on the table. Just as carefully, he got several rolls of film and placed them next to it. Then he gently moved the camera around so the lens was facing out the door.

  ‘What’s that look like to you?’ he asked Gemma.

  ‘A camera,’ she replied.

  ‘It’s a gun.’ Brian removed the lens cap. ‘Behind here. Is a built-in nine-millimetre automatic. Teflon tipped. Twenty rounds.’

  Gemma peered into the lens. ‘You’d never pick it,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ said Brian. He gently picked up a film container. ‘You see these? Looks like film, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Gemma, swallowing some more bourbon.

  ‘It’s plastic explosive,’ said Brian. ‘There’s enough here to level half of Kahiap.’

  ‘Is that right. What is it? Semtex?’

  Brian shook his head. ‘That went out with straw hats. This is Holden FJ 55.’

  Gemma shook her head. ‘Never heard of it,’ she said.

  ‘It’s only just been developed by our scientists in Canberra,’ said Brian. ‘With the help of two Russian defectors, whom I turned personally.’

  Gemma nodded slowly. ‘And how are you getting to Lan Laroi?’

  ‘A seaplane’s picking me up at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.’ Brian eased back and had a sip of bourbon. ‘You know, it’s funny you thinking I was a journalist. That’s my cover.’

  ‘Really? What a coincidence.’ Gemma looked at Brian for a moment. ‘So after you take the President out, and blow up the nuclear reactors, how are you getting back to Konipeau, 007?’

  Brian shook his head. ‘I’m not. The Royal Navy’s picking me up in a submarine and taking me straight back to Australia.’

  Gemma looked at Brian curiously. ‘So why are you telling me all this?’ she asked.

  ‘Why?’ Brian had to think for a moment. ‘Probably because I’m drunk,’ he replied. ‘And if I thought you were going to tell anybody, I’d have to assassinate you.’

  Gemma stared at Brian then started to laugh out loud. ‘You’d have to assassinate me?’ She put her drink down, reached across the table and put her arms around Brian’s neck. ‘Secret agent Bradshaw,’ she said. ‘I think I like you.’

  Gemma pushed her mouth against Brian’s and started kissing him. Brian began kissing her back. The smell of bourbon was almost overpowering, but her lips felt soft and inviting. Next thing Gemma slipped her tongue in and the kissing across the table got very intense. Brian hadn’t been with a girl for a while, but it was like riding a bike and Gemma was willing. He put his hands on her shoulders, massaged them and drew her to him. Gemma gave a little moan and started trying to swallow Brian alive. Brian went along with her while the rain pattered down outside the door. After a minute or so he came up for air.

  ‘Would you like me to show you how we initiate female agents into the Australian secret service?’ he asked her.

  ‘Mmmhh,’ replied Gemma. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Righty-oh,’ said Brian. He stood up and took Gemma’s hand. ‘Just sit on the bed facing me.’

  Gemma sat down on the first bed and looked up at Brian. Brian gently pushed her down on her back then lifted up her dress. For a backpacker, Gemma was wearing a very lacey pair of lemon coloured knickers. Brian slipped them down over her sandals, leaving Gemma on the bed with a neatly trimmed brunette puss looking up at him. He reached to the end of the bed, got the damp towel he’d used in the shower and gave Gemma’s puss a nice gentle wipe. Gemma closed her eyes and started to purr. Brian wiped it all spick-and-span, tossed the towel to the end of the bed, then got down on his knees and buried his face in Gemma’s business.

  Gemma gave an audible gasp then cried and squealed and went into seventh heaven as Brian gave her cunnilingus a la carte for the next quarter of an hour. When things got a bit mushy, Brian would stop, give her business a wipe and start up again. He lost count of how many times Gemma emptied out in his face. Brian wasn’t sure what got into him either — the island air, the pepper steak or just the fun of having Gemma on. Whatever the reason, Brian got stuck into Gemma’s puss like it was the last plate of apple pie and ice cream left on earth.

  Eventually Brian felt Gemma’s carpet had been steam cleaned enough, so he stood up and checked her out. She was lying on her back with her legs open and her eyes closed; a look on her face somewhere between winning Lotto and being ravished by Vikings. Brian got out of his clothes and knelt on the bed with a rock hard boner. He rolled Gemma over on her stomach, put a pillow under her face and her hands by the side of her head then pushed her backside up in the air. He then moved up behind Gemma, gripped the cheeks of her backside and slid his boner in dog fashion. Gemma grunted into the pillow and wiggled her backside for more. Brian started stroking away, getting in as far as he could, enjoying himself immensely. Gemma had her head to the left with a big smile on her face, her eyelids flickering as she grunted and groaned with pleasure. Brian kept working away. Gemma’s denim bag was at the side of the bed. Without losing so much as a stroke, Brian pulled it towards him and had a quick rifle through. There were the usual odds and ends, along with a thick wallet, plus a small black canister of chemical mace and a pair of handcuffs. Brian removed the handcuffs. Gemma didn’t notice anything. Brian’s sister had a policewoman friend who’d showed them how they worked. Brian kept pumping away then he took Gemma’s hands and
put her wrists together in the small of her back. He pushed the ratchet part against her wrists, the steel arm swivelled round and they snapped into place with an audible click. Gemma was effectively cuffed.

  ‘Hey what …?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Gemma,’ said Brian. ‘It’s all part of the initiation process.’

  Brian squeezed the cheeks of her backside then gave a couple of extra good shoves that made Gemma snort into the pillow and he started going for it. He wasn’t sure, but Gemma seemed to get a kick out of being handcuffed on a bed and started howling into the pillow. Brian banged away a while longer then gave Gemma’s backside one extra hard squeeze, and with his heart pounding and sweat streaming down his face and chest, jammed his eyes shut and emptied out.

  After a few moments, Brian climbed off, leaving Gemma lying face down on the bed with her hands still cuffed in the middle of her back. He wiped the sweat off his chest and face and put his clothes on, then rolled Gemma over on her back, put her knickers back on and pulled her dress down. There was an uneasy silence as Gemma looked up at Brian, her hair a sweaty brown tangle over her crushed and sweat-stained clothes. Brian sat on the edge of the bed and looked back at her. He got the bottle of mineral water off the table, drank some then held the bottle to Gemma’s lips. When she finished he put the bottle back on the table.

  ‘Well. Are you going to take these handcuffs off?’ asked Gemma.

  ‘Actually,’ replied Brian. ‘I was going to ask what they were doing in your bag.’