The Summer of Last Resort

by J. A. Browning

  “Is that his?”

  “Oh, no, that’s one of his visitors. Some Arab, I think, come for the enlightenment. Surprising, really, considering their religion. Oh well, He works in mysterious ways.”

  They wandered along winding pathways and Sandy noticed that there was an unusually large amount of exercise and sports facilities, from tennis courts to running tracks to small gymnasiums sprinkled here and there throughout the complex. They stopped for a moment while a group of men passed by carrying video and recording equipment, and she could see that there was a small shot set-up down on the beach. Sandy wondered if they were making a promotional video.

  Soon they entered a complex of small apartment-sized rooms, each comfortably furnished with pillows and soft, wicker furniture. The woman guided Sandy into a room where there was a plate of pupusas waiting. She sat down next to Sandy and waited silently while she ate ravenously. A million questions swirled through her head but she couldn’t think straight. The food was however wonderful, it was just what she needed. But then, she felt herself getting sleepier and sleepier and the next thing she knew, the woman was helping her to bed.

  When Sandy awoke it was dark. For a while she was confused about where she was, and then she suddenly realized and bolted upright. Her naked body was clammy with sweat. As her eyes adjusted she became aware of a dark form in the shadows. She reached for covers, but they weren’t there, so she covered herself with a pillow. “You,” she whispered, realizing it was the big man, the one who had violated her, who had saved her, and held her. And now, he was here. Watching her sleep naked in the dark. “What happened to my covers?” she whispered.

  “I had to take them away.”

  “Really?”

  “Not really. But it was the best thing to do.” He smiled and tossed a tie-dyed robe to her. “You come with me now.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To see the preacher.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? How should I know. I just work here,” the big man replied. “But you should bathe first. You stink.”

  “Do you have to watch?”

  “Just your head. If I can keep track of that, then your body will be OK.”

  It turned out that if the preacher built the resort-like villa, he didn’t live there. No, he held court at a big tent in a clearing out in the jungle, on the other side of a ridge. The clearing overlooked the ocean also. It was a stunningly beautiful spot, even in the tropical moonlight. A cooling breeze blew up from the ocean and kept the bugs away, and the scent of gardenias and salt-spray perfumed the air.

  When she entered the tent, Sandy wasn’t quite sure what was going on. A group of young women in robes were sitting around with some young men, talking and giggling. A fire burned softly in a brazier and there were cushions cast about. Off to one side, a middle-aged man in a keffiyeh reclined on some pillows, while some boys sat near him and chatted with the girls. The strange sounds of the jungle at night melded with the rustle of the palms in the wind and the swish of the tent flaps. In another corner a group of older women were sitting about cushions while young men sat close and attended to them.

  A beautiful young woman came up and offered her a cool drink of something fruity and alcoholic. A handsome young man moved aside and offered Sandy a pillow by the fire, so she could rest against the low circular table which surrounded it, and upon which were placed a few fruits and beverages. She drank the drink and gazed at their handsome young features, at the young men’s eyes sparking in the firelight. The scents and sounds were intoxicating and she felt herself getting a little tipsy. Man, either there were more drugs in the drinks, or she was having some sort of reaction. Probably shouldn’t have drank that, she thought, and then realized how common those must be as last words.

  Sandy then noticed the young man next to her was being kissed and fondled by the girl next to him. They were unashamed of their passion, and it was a little embarrassing to Sandy, but no one else seemed to notice. Then she saw the girl open her eyes and she was watching Sandy as her young man kissed her neck. Sandy watched her eyes as she slid her hand down his robe and fondled him. Someone then passed a plate of fruit to Sandy and that distracted

  the young lovers, who then knelt by the fire and shared the fruit with each other. The young man turned to Sandy and gestured with the fruit, “Good, yeah?” Sandy nodded bashfully. His lover, who sat next to Sandy, gestured at her man using her eyes, and then she secretly lifted his robe, revealing to Sandy his smooth olive-toned complexion and his fully erect phallus. He was as big as Keith, but darker and smoothly shaven. She girl then motioned her man to lie back and put his feet under the table, and she then coyly lifted her own robe and straddled him, secretly, and then smiled at Sandy. She continued chatting with her friends who either didn’t care or were oblivious of the situation. Sandy glanced back at her young man who was starting to drift off into rapture beneath his lady lover.

  More friends arrived, and Sandy’s neighbor greeted them in a mixture of Spanish and English that Sandy had a hard time following. More drinks were passed, and Sandy’s friend chatted amiably as she was being made love to under the table. Suddenly Sandy felt the girl grasping her hand under the table and Sandy at first pulled away, but then put her own hand back in her neighbor’s. A little bead of sweat formed under the girl’s upper lip and her eyes dilated, and Sandy could see her moving rhythmically, seemingly like someone who likes to rock themselves, but actually is being fucked from below.

  Sandy could tell that the girl’s orgasm was near; her man was doing a masterful job on her. So impressive that these boys could bring their women such quick climax! Sandy wondered how such a small girl could take someone so big. It didn’t seem right; Sandy was much more experienced, bigger, stronger in every way, yet she’d been barely able to accommodate Keith. Maybe that was part of the reason the acolytes came here. It seemed unfair and Sandy checked her thoughts; jealousy was stupid under these circumstances. The girl suddenly stopped talking with her friends and then selected an orange-colored fruit and, turning, gave one to Sandy and then held one to her own mouth.

  “These persimmons are incredible. I want you to put this in your mouth, and try to hold it there, without biting it.”

  Sandy did so, and so did the girl. She was having a hard time concentrating, and reached out to Sandy to steady herself, the two of them facing each other. Sandy looked in her eyes and understood her friend’s plan.

  “When I count to three, I want you to bite it and let the juices run down your throat, and then swallow.” Sandy looked back and saw that the young man was clearly climaxing inside his lover, and Sandy turned away, embarrassed.

  “One…” the girl said, shaking.

  “Two...” she said, her head tilting back.

  “Three!” she said and her eyes rolled back and she let out a moan and clenched down on the persimmon, which burst in her mouth and the juices ran down her face and throat as she reached her own peak of pleasure on top of her man, her fingers digging into Sandy’s arm. She groaned with pleasure, “God, that’s good fruit. God, thank you for this gift of your seed.” Sandy tasted the sweet juice and felt it spurt out of her mouth, and then she ate the sweet, ripe fruit and tossed away the top. She looked back again at her friend’s young man, who was now spent beneath her, and he smiled back at her.

  Just then one man, older and more elaborately robed than the others, strode towards her and greeted her.

  “You must be Sandy,” he said. She stood and wiped the juice of the persimmon off on her robe.

  “Is this Sandy?” he said to the big man, who nodded.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked her.

  “I think you don’t know why I’m here,” Sandy answered.

  “Don’t get smart with me,” he answered angrily, and then composed himself. “You were chosen.”

  “Chosen? For what?” Sandy noticed that the talking in the tent had stopped and that all eyes were on her.

  �
�Perhaps to give… and receive pleasure.”

  “You must be joking. What kind of preacher are you anyway?”

  Just then a small, balding man whom Sandy hadn’t noticed rose up. He was clad in a simple white robe, like a little white Gandhi. “I’m the one they call the preacher, Sandy.”

  “What did he mean?”

  “God brought you here, Sandy. He makes the decisions. Come on, let’s take a walk.”

  And the man they called the preacher picked up his staff and gestured for her to follow. The man with the keffiyeh rose for a moment but the preacher muttered something to him that Sandy didn’t hear and the man sat back down, apparently appeased by his words.

  The wind had started to pick up and the old man moved more quickly through the darkness than Sandy had anticipated. She was aware also of two men in dark fatigues following them. The clouds rushed by overhead, alternately blocking and revealing the brilliant moon from view. The path moved on and upwards, through dense stands of bamboos and fan palms, past the rough leaves of saw palmetto, and through thick stands of rushes, until they came to a rocky outcrop which looked back into the valley standing away from the shore. Sandy had to strain her eyes in the darkness, but she could see that there were vast cultivated fields behind them.

  The man they called the preacher finally sat on a small rock ledge, and motioned for her to do likewise. He tapped the ground gently with his walking stick, and waited while the two guards caught up.

  “So, Sandy… how was it again that you came here?”

  “I’m a police detective,” she answered. “I was investigating a murder when I was kidnapped and brought down here.”

  The preacher rubbed his chin. “You say you’re a detective?

  From where?”

  “Santa Fe.”

  “Santa Fe, eh? And where did you say you were kidnapped

  from?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  “Wasn’t Santa Fe, was it.”

  “No.”

  “No, it was somewhere outside of Las Vegas, I believe. Yes, that’s right. Pretty far out of your jurisdiction, I’d say.”

  Sandy said nothing.

  “Then you say you were kidnapped.”

  “Right.”

  “And you got here how?”

  “I was traded for prisoners.” Sandy went on to recount the details of the flight, omitting the part about barfing.

  “Doesn’t that sound a little far-fetched?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Listen to yourself, Sandy. Don’t you think that sounds, well, a little crazy?”

  There was silence for a while, and then before Sandy could speak, the preacher spoke instead.

  “You’re right. I was just jerking your chain.”

  “You’re WHAT?”

  “I did kidnap you, Sandy. But it was so cool to think I could make up this elaborate story that you were actually someone else. Gee, that’s such a good idea, I think I’ll use it next time. Thanks.”

  “Why? I don’t understand.”

  “Look out there, Sandy,” said the preacher, pointing his staff out over the darkened fields. “Do you see all that? Those are coca plants. You understand? Vast fields under intensive cultivation.” Sandy looked out and thought about how many kilos of coke that would make each year, maybe thousands; a fortune if managed properly.

  Then he gestured to the far ridge. “Do you know what’s over there?”

  She shook her head.

  “That’s the Jordana brother’s territory. Over there, that’s the Mandocino’s, and far beyond, that’s another cartel.” He turned and smiled at her, “It’s just like the gangs of old Chicago, only in the jungle.”

  “So why are you the preacher? And what does this have to do with me? And how the hell did I get here?”

  “Sandy, Sandy, so many questions. Last one first. Maybe you know this, and maybe you don’t, but back home, our government doesn’t always keep its prisoners in its prisons.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The feds, and I don’t mean the FBI or any crummy two bit Washington operation, I mean the Other government, the spooks, you know – they need places to put people. They need some shithole they can send someone and put a lid on him and keep him nice and bottled up until they can either use him, trade him, or kill him.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Sandy retorted.

  “Suit yourself. But that’s where that suit you wore came from. Don’t you understand, Sandy, they need guys like me. I’m the guy with the shithole. So while the DEA guys are down here poking around, my guys, meaning the spooks, are poking them, setting them off course, protecting me.”

  “So what does that have to do with me? This doesn’t sound like that line of work.”

  “Well, they don’t always know who’s on their airplanes. It’s part of the deal. Everyone only knows a little. I don’t know who’s on the plane, I only know who I get, and who I want, and who I’m sending back.”

  “Why would they let you do that? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  The preacher chuckled and winked at her. “I cheat.”

  “I don’t understand; why are you the preacher? What is all

  this?”

  “You don't think I have a message from God? That I don't have holy wisdom and righteousness in my right hand? O, shallow woman! How little you know, how little faith you have! God has given me, his minion, a skill and a means to bring an ease, a pleasure, to the world, if you will. Look out there,” the preacher said, pointing back at the resort and the ship lying at anchor, “don't you see those people yearning with desire? I bring them fulfillment, men, and especially the women. Oh, yes, my gifted young men do their work well. So well, in fact, that, to keep up God's work, we can easily afford to service, I mean, serve, those who in turn have the most resources.”

  “And the drugs fit into it, how?” Sandy asked.

  “Sandy, Sandy. So many worthy questions. I ask myself many of the same ones. But I think there’s one that I can answer, and that is about what you can do for us here, and why you’re not bleeding out on some shitty dirt road in Vegas. I plucked you out of that world of yours because I learned - I hoped - that you have a special talent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you notice the young people here when you came in? You

  must have.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you notice?”

  “Well, they’re all very good looking.”

  “They minister to my - acolytes. What did you notice about that young man sitting next to you?”

  “I… I don’t know what you mean?”

  “Come on, Sandy. He has the gift… he’s well endowed, as they say.”

  Sandy blushed for a moment.

  “So is Keith. All the young men here are. There is one in a thousand like them in the population. But being gifted is useless, unless the body is trained to use its gift, as is the mind. And the spirit. That’s why I’m called the preacher. And that’s what we do here. Of course, we also have to survive, so people come to us to experience the gift, and we also share it with the world.”

  “Share it? I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Of course not, but most men have seen our…product. Our entertainment for the baser, animal parts of the soul. We provide the talent, the natural, raw material, if you will, for that industry.”

  “And – how do I fit in to this scheme?”

  “Fit in… that’s apt. You’ll fit in, if you can fit it in,” and the preacher raised his head and laughed. Or you can try to take your chances in the jungle. But I’ll warn you, that my men are trained to shoot to kill first, and then ask questions later. Hey, that’s another joke – I’m so funny, I’m surprised I don’t shit my own pants. Now we’ll see how well you do.”

  With that, he arose and the two guards who had been behind

  Sandy grabbed her and shoved her down onto her knees. She felt her robe being

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sp; pulled off, and she felt her hair being grabbed from behind and then the preacher rose, stood in front of her, and dropped his robe down to his ankles. Sandy tried to turn her head away, but the guards held her head, and then she felt the cool tip of a gun barrel on her skull. “Stroke it, you bitch!” he growled, but Sandy shook her head. So one of the guards took her hand and put it on the preacher’s flaccid shaft. He began stroking himself angrily. “Open your mouth!” he grunted, but Sandy wouldn’t, so the guards turned her head to him and, using a stick against her chin, forced her jaw open, and made her wait until the preacher spurted himself into her mouth. She wrenched her head away and spit him out on the ground, but he laughed and then lowered his robe. “Now get the fuck out of here, you cunt!” he muttered, and the guards shoved her roughly down into the dirt.

  “You fucker!” Sandy shouted at him, but he grabbed a pistol from one of his guards and pointed it at her head. “I saved you, you ungrateful cunt, and now you’re mine. The sooner you understand that, the longer you’ll live.” And then he shot the ground at her feet, causing Sandy to leap up and run down the path, naked. She stumbled many times in the darkness and cut her feet on the sharp rocks, but fortunately there was only one way to go, and she could still see the faint firelight of the preacher’s tent below. Her instincts told her to stay near other people, but as she approached the tent she was too ashamed to do so.

  Soon she was hopelessly lost amongst the many paths, and she was tired and ashamed. What was she going to do now? Maybe she should just go back and try her luck through the jungle. Was this even real or was it just some sort of hallucination. She was cold, too, and curled up on a log, and the tears started flowing.

  She awoke to a gentle tap on her shoulder. An eerie green light shone faintly around her in the jungle. Was she now hallucinating badly? She turned and saw it was a boy in swim trunks, carrying a glow stick. He was poking her with a branch, and when she turned he gasped and dropped the glow stick, but then he quickly reached down and picked it back up. Sandy turned to him, trying to cover nakedness, and his eyes grew large. “Are… are you crying?” the boy asked.