by Anthology
It would have been nice to wake in his arms, but he made it clear his work schedule didn’t permit it. For all I know, he’s downstairs at this moment, helping to serve breakfast at the poolside bar.
Plucking my silk nightdress from where it’s lying on the bedside chair, I put it on and walk out onto the balcony. Today, the sea and sky are of such similar shades of blue it’s almost impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. I don’t think I could ever tire of looking at this view.
A knock at the door distracts me, and I wonder whether Scott has managed to bunk off his duties and returned to me. Instead, I hear a man’s voice I don’t recognise.
‘Room service.’
I don’t remember ordering anything last night, so I open the door a little way and peer out cautiously. A waiter is in the corridor, one hand on the handle of his food cart.
‘Are you sure you have the right room?’ I ask.
‘It’s Christmas morning,’ he reminds me. ‘All our guests are being served breakfast in their room today.’
I stand to one side and allow him to enter. He sets a tray down on the table, containing croissants, butter, jam, a glass of orange juice, and a pot of coffee. I thank him, but before I can settle down to enjoy my breakfast, I send quick texts to my mom and Jill, wishing them both a happy day. I don’t mention anything about having met a cute guy; after all, what Scott and I are having is a fling. Nothing anyone else needs to know about. It’s just a holiday romance designed to help me get over Richard – and in that respect, it’s working beautifully.
Lingering over a second cup of coffee, I debate how I’m going to pass the rest of the day. Once I’ve showered and put on my bikini, with a T-shirt and jeans over it, I go down to the lobby. A tacked-up notice informs me that for the more adventurous among the guests, a hike has been organised up to the Lulumahu Falls, leaving in around 15 minutes. When else will I ever have the chance to explore a waterfall on Christmas Day?
I don’t have any suitable boots, but they keep a few spare pairs behind the front desk, and luckily, the clerk manages to find one in my size. By the time I reach the meet-up point in the car park, there are four other people already waiting: a couple in their early twenties, and two middle-aged men who I suspect have left their wives enjoying a morning in the resort spa.
Our guide arrives; he’s a short, stocky native of the island who introduces himself as Kekoa. In return, we tell him our names. The young couple are Pete and Shauna, from Dayton, Ohio, while the two older men, Ray and David, are Australians.
‘OK, this is going to be a nice, easy hike, so it doesn’t matter if you don’t have too much in the way of experience,’ he tells us, as we climb into his battered ex-Army issue Jeep. ‘It’s around a two and a half mile round trip, and I need to warn you that the trail gets pretty muddy in places. But I’m glad to see you all have sensible footwear on.’
As he drives out of the Honolulu city limits and up into the mountains, sticking well within the speed limit even though there’s barely any other traffic around, Kekoa fills us in on the history and geography of Oahu Island. It was created by volcanic activity, and even today, the seabed beneath the island remains unstable, he tells us, with a strong risk of earthquakes.
He pulls the Jeep to a halt in a small, designated parking place by the side of the highway, and we follow him through a gate that’s built into the chain link fence to where the trail starts.
The trees form a dense canopy over our heads, and the air is thick with clouds of annoying little insects. Shauna pulls a bottle of bug repellent out of her bag – she’s obviously come better prepared than the rest of us – and we all spray it onto our exposed arms and legs.
Kekoa leads us through a stretch of bamboo forest, which is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. We have to keep ducking our heads to avoid low-hanging branches, and the ground is slippery beneath our feet. If this is his idea of an easy hike, I’d hate to see a difficult one, but I grab a fallen piece of bamboo and use it as a walking stick. It helps me avoid landing flat on my backside a couple of times.
The trail winds steadily upwards; the sound of running water indicates that we’ve almost reached our destination. We push through the foliage, and find ourselves staring at the falls. For a moment, everyone stares in awestruck silence, even Kekoa, who must have visited this place many times before. Water tumbles down over mossy rocks into a crystal clear pool, and somewhere high above our heads we hear a bird calling.
‘Wow, this is amazing!’ Shauna exclaims. ‘Kekoa, are we OK to take a dip in the pool?’
‘It’s not really deep enough for that,’ he replies, ‘but if you want to stand under the waterfall, you’ll be fine doing that.’
‘Try and stop me.’ Almost before he’s finished speaking, she’s stripped off her tank top and shorts to reveal a bright scarlet bikini, and is splashing into the pool. Paul takes a few photos of her under the falls, then joins her without even bothering to undress. Ray, David, and Kekoa take the opportunity to light up cigarettes, and stand chatting on the big boulders that line the water.
I’m not quite as bold as Shauna. I take off my jeans, because there’s nothing worse than having to wear wet denim, then I take careful steps into the water, which comes up to my waist. The first shock of the cold almost causes my breath to stop, but once I’m used to it, it’s almost pleasant.
If only Scott were here to share this moment with me. I picture us standing beneath the rushing water, lost in a long, sweet kiss. I’ve never made love in the open air, but out here with no one around to disturb us, we’d be able let our deepest passions run free.
After ten minutes or so, Kekoa decides it’s time we begin our ascent. He’s careful to make sure the men take their discarded cigarette butts away with them, not wanting to spoil the natural beauty of this place with litter.
The journey back to the Jeep seems quicker: partly because we know the way now, and partly because a lot of it is downhill.
Back at Cowrey Bay, I spend an hour or so dozing on my bed, worn out by the exertions of the hike but feeling smugly virtuous about all the exercise I’ve taken. The luau begins at five thirty, and as I slip into my sundress and fasten my hair in a ponytail, leaving a few curls to frame my face, I’m already looking forward to seeing Scott and telling him about my adventure.
When I arrive at the beachfront setting where the luau is to be held, the festivities are just getting under way. All the guests are welcomed by having a lei placed around their necks – garlands of flowers for the women and girls, and shells for the men and boys. At one table, an artist is painting tribal-style tattoos onto the arms and chests of willing volunteers, while elsewhere people are attempting to win prizes by seeing how far they can throw a pineapple. A smiling girl wearing a grass skirt presses a cocktail into my hand, and when I sip it, I taste a pleasing combination of pineapple, coconut, and more than a hint of dark rum.
Eventually, we’re all encouraged to sit at one of the large wooden trestle tables, which have been arranged in two semi-circular rows, designed to let us mingle and chat with people we don’t already know. I grab a spare seat on the end of a table, and find myself sitting with a group of seniors who are on vacation from upstate New York. They’re more than happy to include me in their conversation, and it’s almost like spending Christmas Day with relatives I never knew I had.
We’re given a short, introductory chat about the food we’ll be eating tonight. Some of this I already know from what Scott told me; and the smell of hot, succulent meat rising from the fire pit has my mouth watering. Each table takes its turn at the buffet. When we return to our places, our plates are piled high with roast pork, fish, salad, and savoury fried rice. As we eat, we’re accompanied by a selection of Christmas carols and local island songs, played by a four-piece band.
Then it’s on to the evening’s main entertainment: a spectacular show that involves half-naked dancers whirling lighted staffs and balls in the air, the trail of fire from each
one streaking out into the dark night. Their timing is impeccable – one false move and someone could get badly burned – and the audience is stunned into silence by their artistry.
Taking the edge off my enjoyment of the performance is the fact there’s no sign of Scott. When he told me he’d be working at the luau, I expected him to be part of the wait staff, or maybe one of the supervisors of the pineapple-tossing contest, but I can’t see him anywhere. Perhaps he’s had to fill in for someone in the kitchen, or on the front desk – from what he told me, he’s pretty much a Jack-of-all-trades around here.
After last night, I’d been hoping to snatch some time alone with him, but maybe that’s not going to be possible. Though in all honesty, I can’t complain. One fantastic night of romance and passion with a gorgeous younger man is far more than I could ever have dreamed of when I made my escape from the wedding.
The fire dancers are taking their final bows, to wild applause. Surely nothing could top that for excitement, and I’m wondering if that’s the end of tonight’s entertainment when our MC for the evening says, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we have a very special guest. I do believe that Santa Claus himself has arrived.’
A figure wanders into the centre of the arena, dressed in a red robe trimmed with white fur. The outfit appears a little baggy on him, and his long white beard is clearly not real, but that doesn’t make any difference to the children in the audience, who are already jumping up and down and yelling Santa’s name.
He takes the mic from the MC and greets us all with a jolly, ‘Ho ho ho! Happy holidays, everyone!’
The voice is gruff, but somehow has an edge of familiarity. I don’t dwell on the thought, as he continues to address us.
‘Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but I’ve had a very busy night delivering presents to all the other boys and girls around the world – and their mommies and daddies too, of course. But don’t worry, I didn’t forget about any of you.’
While the band play a lilting instrumental version of ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ and the hula dancers sway to the beat, Santa goes between the tables, handing out little gifts to everyone. My new senior friends seem very impressed by the whole set-up.
‘We spent Christmas in the Caribbean last year,’ Frank, my immediate neighbour, who’s a retired schoolteacher, tells me. ‘Stayed in one of the nicest resorts on Saint Lucia, but they never thought to lay on anything like this. Arranging a visit from the main man, and all.’
‘Why, Frank, honey –’ his wife, Myrtle, reaches across and pats his arm in an affectionate gesture ‘– you do know Santa Claus isn’t real, don’t you?’
He pulls a mock-offended face. ‘How dare you say that in front of this young lady? Pretend you didn’t hear her, Dionne. Of course he’s real, and so is the Easter Bunny and wives who are properly respectful of their husbands …’
We’re all still laughing when Santa arrives to our table. He starts at the other end, and even though we’re the last people he’s reached, he has a present for all of us. When he gives me a small box wrapped in silver paper with a metallic finish, he holds onto my hand for a moment longer than is strictly appropriate. I’m wondering whether I should say something when I look up and realise I’m staring into a pair of bluer than blue eyes I can’t help but recognise.
Now I know why Scott’s been conspicuous by his absence all evening. I’m about to blurt out his name, but he shakes his head, not wanting the fantasy to be ruined. He mouths, ‘I’ll see you later,’ then, with a few final waves at the audience and some jovial laughter, he disappears into the shadows he came from.
Around me, everyone is unwrapping the goodies they’ve been given. They’re just little token presents – for the men, mugs or key rings with the slogan “I LOVE HAWAII” on them, and for the women, pretty shell bangles and necklaces – but people seem genuinely touched by the effort the organisers of the luau have gone to.
‘And what about you, young lady?’ Frank asks me. ‘What did Santa bring you?’
I tear the paper off the box and peer inside. To my astonishment, it contains a pair of what I recognise to be wrist cuffs, made of supple black leather and lined with red faux fur. At first, I think this is all a silly prank, or a mistake of some kind. These bondage accessories couldn’t have been meant for me. But although I didn’t pay too much attention when Scott was handing out the gifts, looking round at the discarded wrapping paper, I now realise the boxes were colour-coded. Pink for female guests, blue for male. That means the silver paper was designed to mark one gift out from all the rest. This was deliberate.
Scott’s words from last night float into my mind. ‘Maybe you should try something you never have before. Just lie back and hand the responsibility for your pleasure over to someone else …’ With these cuffs, I’d have no choice in the matter. I’d be restrained and helpless to prevent my lover from doing whatever he wants. Or rather, and I can try to deny this all I like, what I want. Because Scott was right. I spent way too long putting Richard’s needs before mine, and now it’s time to start thinking about myself for a change.
There’s no way on earth I can show what I’ve been given to Frank, or explain to him why a guy I only just met is giving me kinky sex toys, but as I’m wondering how best to bluff my way out of this predicament, my fingers close around something else in the box. I pull out a pair of pretty earrings in the shape of pink and white plumeria flowers.
‘I got these,’ I tell Frank, holding the earrings up so he can see them. ‘Aren’t they cute?’
‘Very nice,’ he says, and returns to forking up the last few mouthfuls of the coconut and chocolate pie that’s one of the several desserts on offer.
The party breaks up around nine o’clock, when the guests who have small children start deciding it’s high time they were put to bed. I say my goodnights to Frank, Myrtle, and the rest of their gang and head back to the main resort building, remembering to take my present with me.
As I pass the poolside bar, wondering whether I should order a nightcap and wait here to see if Scott shows up, I’m grabbed from behind and whirled round to find myself looking into his smiling blue eyes. He’s still wearing Santa’s robe, but he’s flung the hood back and ditched the beard. The effect is strangely sexy.
We kiss, reacquainting ourselves with the feel of each other’s mouth. He has the merest hint of stubble on his cheek, and it prickles against my skin.
‘I see you got your present,’ he says, nodding at the box I’m holding. ‘I hope you like it. I wanted to get you something that was naughty and nice.’
‘You certainly did that. I thought I was going to die when the other people on my table asked what Santa had given me.’
He grins. ‘So how have you been keeping yourself entertained today?’
‘I had an amazing time. I went up to see the Lulumahu Falls.’
‘Yeah, I hear they’re something special. I must try to get out there on one of Kekoa’s trips before I go back to college.’ Scott looks over to the bar, where the bartender is straining drink from a cocktail shaker into Martini glasses that have been frosted with either sugar or salt. He lowers his voice till it’s a seductive purr in my ear. ‘So, would you like a drink, or do you wanna go play with your present?’
I don’t need to consider the options. My reply is instant. ‘Take me upstairs, Scott.’
Chapter Six
Our passage from pool to bedroom is a blur. I have memories of stolen kisses in the elevator, of Scott’s cock resting snugly against my belly as the folds of his red robe swirled around us both, but all I can think of is the moment when we’ll open that box once more and take out the cuffs.
Have I really agreed to take this step into the unknown? There’s still time to back out, even as I attempt to swipe the key to my room in its slot, desire making me clumsy. But I know I won’t be doing that. This is my time, my adventure, and I intend to enjoy it to the full.
We stagger through the door, and I push Scott again
st the wall, tugging the fur-trimmed robe off his shoulders. Beneath it, he wears a tight white T-shirt and shorts; not exactly traditional attire for Santa Claus, but then again, this isn’t the North Pole.
We pause between kisses to undress each other, leaving a trail of clothing all the way to the bed. Scott sits on the edge of the mattress, and takes the box containing my presents from me.
‘Are you ready for this, Dionne?’ he asks, removing the cuffs and beginning to undo the thick leather straps.
I nod, my gaze fixed on the shiny buckles. I’m expecting him to secure my wrists to the bedframe, but instead he orders me to stand with my back to him and put my hands behind me. The fur lining is soft against my skin as he fastens them in place. Once he’s done, he spins me round again and guides me down to my knees.
With his thighs spread wide, I have the most delicious view of his hard cock, rearing up from the sandy curls at his crotch. I’ve never been in such a submissive position before, but it doesn’t feel wrong to be there.
‘May I?’ I nod towards his erection, pre-empting the moment when he asks me to suck him.
A grin spreads across his face, and I settle in between his legs. I close my lips around his fat, plum-coloured head, and a little hiss of pleasure escapes from between his teeth. I don’t look up in response; just concentrate on taking him deeper into my mouth.
‘Mmm, that’s good,’ Scott murmurs, and I wonder whether he’s been fantasising about this moment since he picked out the wrist cuffs for me.
Swirling the point of my tongue over his tip seems to provoke the strongest reaction from him and I focus my attention there, licking and lapping until he starts to jerk his hips, trying to push more of his cock into my throat. With my hands restrained, I can’t do anything to control the pace of his thrusts, and Scott seems to realise he’s getting a tad too excited, because with a real effort, he pulls his cock free of my mouth.