Date: Thu, 7 Apr 2016 09:07:23 +0100 From: DavidandLaurie Subject: ISLAND IN THE SUN Hi everyone: I wanted to get away from the military for a while so I have tried my hand at writing about something I had wet dreams of ever since I met a wonderful West Indian guy just before my seventeenth birthday. Sadly, life intervened and said, "No! No! No!" and I never had the opportunity to make it to a Caribbean paradise. There were compensations, of course, not least the fact that some 30-odd years ago I met my partner David. ISLAND IN THE SUN is the kind of tale that almost writes itself. I hope you all enjoy it. There will be a shorter tale in about 2-3 weeks but there may be a long gap after that as we have many commitments during the period middle May to end September. There may be a chance of something in July or August but at present I cannot promise anything. Now, you naughty boys, have you been keeping up your donations to Nifty? If not, why not? Want me to suddenly appear and give you a taste of military discipline? There we are, I can't keep away from it, can I! Enjoy. THE BATTERED MERCEDES glided around the hillside as I caught the first glimpse of the Caribbean dawn breaking along the far horizon. I watched as the light floated across the cool sapphire blue sea towards the island. I was almost back home. The flight from Miami into Nassau had been boring and delayed as usual; the transfer across the islands during the night was as chaotic as always. The slowly expanding warmth in my belly, the indefinable scent of the islands and the exotic avian squawks, shrieks and songs, so different from the dawn chorus in England, kept telling me I was almost there, almost home. More than that, Ah was a-comin' home to ma lover boy. Climbing the steep hillside, the elderly car swung through the electronically controlled wrought iron gates and hissed over the gravel driveway leading up to the spacious villa. I could tell Johnty had been busy as the freshly whitewashed walls caught the early morning sunlight. Everything appeared to be festively dressed in flamboyant bougainvillea, brightly coloured hibiscus and the more delicate flowers of an enormous swathe of honeysuckle. Despite her age, the Grand Ol' Lady came to a smooth halt in front of the main entrance and Tom the driver helped me to unload my baggage and carry it up the flight of shallow stone flags to the front door. His supple black body flexed as he toted the bags with that seemingly effortless grace all Caribbean islanders possess. His tight buttocks stretched the thin cotton fabric of his shorts. I could tell he was not wearing anything beneath them. I smiled discreetly to myself, thinking he had probably done it on purpose, just for me. The message was clear, "Look, boss, ah'm a-hangin' loose today jes' for yo'". He brought me here every year when I returned and took me away again when summer was over. His smile was like every smile on the islands, relaxed and happy to see one of their own returning from wandering the world in search of fame and fortune. As I slowly mounted the steps, my eyes and ears trying to absorb everything at once, Tom's eyes sought out one thing: the dark fabric of the figure hugging trousers of my lightweight travelling suit, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of my substantial packet. He wasn't disappointed. I'd done that on purpose, too. Neither of us ever forgot that I had fucked him once, years ago, when we were both teenagers. We always recalled the incident from time to time with pleasure and then he'd tell me about his `little adventures' since my last visit. He'd talk about our dalliance sometimes, but not today though. He sensed I was too weary, too hot and tired after the journey to indulge in erotic reminiscences. They could wait for a more propitious moment. There was plenty of time – I would not be leaving for several sweet months. I overpaid him, as usual, gave him a quick kiss on his silky cheek and watched as he quietly drove away. The heavy heady perfume of the honeysuckle filled my nostrils, whispering "Welcome home, Lance." Johnty would still be asleep. The dawn light told me I didn't need to look at my watch to know it was still early. I quickly calculated that the delays and chaos of inter-island air travel had cost me fifteen hours of lying beside my lover. Johnty would have hauled himself off to bed late last night having given up on me, guessing I was still in transit, either stranded on some isolated half-forgotten island or else droning somewhere over the heaving breast of the darkly swelling ocean. Johnty lived here at the villa all the year round, but I could only get here for a few sublime months each year. My father had owned this place from its beginnings and I was fifteen when I first came out from the boarding school in England. Johnty was four years younger than I was, the sexy eleven-year-old son of Bess, the Creole woman who kept the villa clean and tidy as well as `taking care' of my Dad. Johnty and I became friends straight away and I had the hots for him within the first five minutes of shaking hands. After all, boarding schools in my time made every effort to teach the pupils everything they needed to know and what to expect when they ventured into the big, wide world! I waited until his fifteenth birthday before I persuaded him it was time we had our first fuck; we had both seen the signs and had been indulging in mutual hand and blow jobs as soon as he could shoot a load. I had been looking forward eagerly to taking Johnty's cherry and being the lucky one to give him his very first fuck. Neither of us had been disappointed, although he was a little hasty and clumsy the first time he gave me one. He soon mastered the technique, however, and our feelings for each other ripened and deepened with each passing birthday. Mum had left Dad to set up home in the US with a female friend of hers, soon after I had started school in England. She was following in her brother's footsteps so it seemed as if I was destined to follow in a family tradition in starting a same-sex relationship. Then, two years later, disaster struck at our little piece of Caribbean paradise. Dad had gone over to Nassau to see some American real estate people who had made an offer for some of the poorest land we owned. They had plans to build a small but very expensive, very exclusive resort on it. Like all Americans, they were in a desperate hurry to close the deal. Dad had hired a launch to take them out for some game fishing to pass the time before the solicitors had finished whatever they had to do to get the papers ready for signing and they could return to Miami. Something went dreadfully wrong with the boat's engines and Dad was killed when the launch exploded out at sea. By some miracle, the Americans were thrown into the sea and their expensive suits were ripped to shreds but they were not physically injured, apart from a few minor abrasions and scratches. It meant of course the end of what had been scheduled to be a lucrative deal. As I had no siblings, I inherited the villa, the land that went with it, including the long stretch of pure white coral beach that the villa overlooked, as well as Dad's considerable financial and commercial assets. I had known that as soon as the legal formalities in Nassau and London had been completed and exchanged I would have to return to the UK to finish my education and get my degree. I arranged with our solicitors in Nassau for Johnty to stay on full time at the villa and do the job his mother had done for my father, with the addition of looking after the grounds and attending to any work needed at the villa. These arrangements met with Bess's full approval as they would allow her to retire with a generous allowance and return to her small village in the north of our little island. Johnty hesitated at first, doubting his abilities, until I managed to `persuade' him of certain `advantages'. He would have a decent home and a secure, well paid job. We would also get to make passionate love whenever we could. I had left my bags piled up in the hallway; Johnty and I could take them to our room later. After stripping away every stitch of clothing I had travelled in, I pulled on a threadbare cotton T-shirt, a pair of grimy, soot smeared trackie bottoms I usually wore when cruising the harbour area late at night and slipped my feet into a pair of ancient, oil stained rope sandals. Whenever I was seen down by the small harbour late at night by any of the locals, the whispers started and "Lance the Hunter is out again tonight. Keep yer boys locked up, Missus." I just laughed and enjoyed the notoriety. My sudden wealth and status protected me and Johnty from any anti-gay nonsense – the villagers all knew about us, anyway. I got up and moved out on to the veranda at the back of the villa, contemplating the strengthening daylight. I grabbed a lounger and lay back, watching small Caribbean wavelets wash on to the dazzlingly white beach, the early light tinting the foamy edges pale gold as they swirled up on to the sand. Seabirds wheeled and dived noisily around me, looking for their fishy breakfasts. Blossum, Bess's over-fed black cat, padded softly by on the lawn, her jaws holding a small bird. Blossum had stayed firmly where she was after her mistress had left, looking at everyone with a kinda haughty expression, as if to say, "Here ah was bo'n, an' here ah'm gonna stay." She strolled past me, telling me with a swish of her tail that she intended to enjoy her breakfast down to the last bone and feather. She knew she was safe and secure. Johnty would never allow anything or anyone to harm her. Next to me, she was probably the most precious thing in his life. Neither Johnty nor I had ever understood why I hadn't packed up and decamped to come and live here permanently, after Dad's death. I had pointed out to Johnty during one of our many discussions on the subject that I would have to find a job and these were virtually non-existent here. He, of course, had his answer ready to that one. "Don' be fuckin' stoopid, Lance. Yo'll never need to fin' another job as long as yo'r livin', not with what yo' Pa left yo'. Beside, if yo' thought about it, yo' could prob'ly provide much needed work roun' here yo'self. Yo' could do sump'n good fer dis place with all that land and money." The temptation to stay was becoming greater with the passage of time. London was beginning to pall. It was invariably cold and damp; life there was nothing more than an expensive, tedious rat race. I read somewhere that a crazy couple had forked out over a million quid for what had literally been a broom cupboard, just so they could boast to friends and relations about "our exclusive Mayfair address." Most of my erstwhile friends and colleagues had been decamping to Australia, Canada and New Zealand for a few years now, to find better lives for themselves and their families. Most of them had been enviously successful, although a few had had to return with their tails between their legs. At the age of thirty something I was realising I had little or nothing in common with the bright young things of today's City, with their obsessions with designer labels, celebrity life styles, and a social life that merely reflected the shallowness of their whole existence. I was coming round to thinking that maybe Johnty had a point. I sat for a few moments longer, watching the stately inevitability of the sun rising in its full, blazing glory, then took the few stone steps up to the rear entrance to the villa. The full length French windows of the master bedroom were open and the thin slats of the Venetian blinds were half closed. I discarded my sandals and left them outside on the veranda, padding in my bare feet into the darkened room. The marble floor felt cool beneath my feet. There was always an aura of something special about being here on the first morning of my return. The warm morning light filtered through the blinds, creating a sequence of alternating dark and light shadowy bands across the ceiling, which continued in an unbroken succession down the lime-washed rough stone walls. On the ceiling above the window, the bands were compressed, broadening out as they touched the farthest corners of the room, where the bed stood. The rigid symmetry of the lines remained intact until they caressed the sinuous curves of Johnty's body, giving the dusky ebony skin of his back, shoulders and arms the sensuous appearance of a sleeping tiger. I stood silently watching him. I was half-afraid he was about to transmute into some strange untamed half-beast, half-human form. His head was turned away from me and rested on his heavy forearms. Light reflected back from the excessively heavy gold chain round his muscular neck, which had been my gift to him on the first anniversary of us becoming fully-fledged lovers and his eighteenth birthday. The silence of the room was heightened by an almost inaudible low swishing sound as the blades of an overhead fan suspended from the ceiling above the French windows slowly revolved. I sat on a wicker chair near the door, contemplating the contrast of the shadows cast by the light from the windows with the natural lines of his body. Veins snaked and twisted their way up his arms and wrapped themselves around his flexed biceps; peaks and valleys formed by intersecting muscles in his neck, shoulders and back, seemingly massive and never-ending at the top, narrowed as they reached the top of his buttocks. I felt a frisson of lustful pleasure seeing his arse covered by the stretched fabric of the golden silky polyester shorts I had given him glowing against the skin of his muscled thigh. Those shorts had been dragged up a little into the fissure between his buttocks and were faintly dampened by a thin film of sweat. Subconsciously he must have been aware of my eyes lovingly and longingly relishing every millimetre of his body as he slept. He slowly turned on to his side, away from me, raising his upper leg. He looked magnificent in his near nudity. We were so unlike physically. His head and body had been shaved clean and were as smooth as silk; my body was as pale as cream, covered with small tight whorls of wiry black hair. Far from being shaven, my head was adorned with a fashionable cut and long sideburns. I had once sported a trimmed goatee but when I noticed a few grey hairs in it one morning, I had removed the beard with a few strokes of my razor. My body hair had often made me wonder if Bess was my true mother and that I had inherited some Caribbean genes from her. This would account for the appearance of my body hair and the strange brownish hue my cock took on when it was fully aroused. I had been well aware that Dad and Bess had been much more than just a master and a housekeeper. After I had reached an age when I became aware of such things, I sometimes wondered if I was half-brother to my beautiful Johnty. I always pushed such thoughts from my mind. It was sufficient that we were lovers. It was part of my homecoming ritual that within a day or two I would allow him to shave my body, including my genitals and between my buttocks, so that I could be as smooth as him. I also made no secret of my enjoyment of the sensual feel of the blade completely stripping me, which gave him some trouble when it came to shaving away the wiry hair around the base of my rampant cock. Johnty was the possessor of a natural athlete's body, whereas I had to work hard at mine, swimming three days a week with gym work alternating with fiercely competitive games of squash and tennis (indoor as well as outdoor) for the remaining three. On the seventh day I followed precedent and rested. Johnty stood five-eleven when completely naked, three inches taller than I did. However, all things are made equal in bed – all things. The gentle subdued warmth and the murmur of the slowly rotating fan blades combined to lull me into a kind of half-sleep. My mind filled with vivid images of the things Johnty and I had done together. My hands, lips and tongue probing every millimetre of him from his shaven head to his sturdy neck, running down his rippling back to his strong firm thighs and onward to his corded calves and the very tips of his toes. He took particular pleasure in what I did to those toes, usually beginning with a delicate foot massage followed by a ticklish fluttering of my tongue from his heel across his instep. Next came a sensuous, slow sucking from his big toe to his littlest toe and all the spaces in between. That alone was all it normally took to get this boy over on to his back, twisting and squirming, slightly breathless, an almost painful expression on his face and beads of perspiration standing out across his forehead. He kept his eyes tightly closed, biting on his lower lip, thighs spread invitingly, hands twisting and tugging at various parts of his body, his deep low voice begging me to stop. I ignored these pleas as the visible signs of arousal in his underwear always betrayed his true feelings. Those sensuous golden underpants he was wearing now were wonderful to behold, to touch, to lick and suck, to make love to, whether he was inside or outside them. He was eighteen and I was a randy impatient twenty-two year old when I first persuaded him to experience the pleasures of underwear seduction. He later admitted that he had wondered if I was going a bit kinky. Every time I make a return to the island he finds new items of clothing to wear to seduce me with. They are always brightly coloured, skimpy, thin and sensual, clinging to his body, tight across his arse, bulging fruitfully where his big balls nestled, stretched by his magnificent male piece. They are as much a part of his life as I am. I untied my trackie bottoms, slid them down over my legs and tugged them over my bare feet, leaving them discarded and crumpled on the floor. I struggled to unglue the sticky sweat soaked T-shirt clinging to my back and chest. I sat for a moment or two naked, endeavouring to brush the sweat away from the hair on my chest. As I did so, I could not refrain from tweaking both nipples into life. The sharp prickling sensation sped with the speed of light down to my balls, waking them and my flaccid dick into the beginnings of life. I was no longer content simply to watch Johnty sleeping. I was becoming tired with gazing at the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply. I got up and moved over to the bed, being careful to make no sound. I reached out with my fingertips and, barely touching his skin, I traced a path from his armpit down over his rib cage to the band of his shorts and back again, causing his breathing to deepen. With my fingers splayed, I crossed over his back and gently caressed the base of his neck, then travelled slowly and delicately down his spine, down the crevice in his tight golden shorts and cautiously caressed his balls, just visible under the sweaty pouch of those silky shorts. His balls were warm and moist as they lay against his smooth thigh. They rolled loosely against each other in the palm of my hand. I held them there, lightly squeezing and pulling in the way I knew he liked. This caused a slight break in the rhythm of his breathing, but this steadied as he raised his upper leg higher towards his chest, exposing more of himself to me. I moved in closer, slowly pressing my sweaty chest into his back, snaking my left hand underneath his body, allowing my hand to fondle his chest. I removed my other hand from his scrotum, reached around and stroked his belly, throwing my right thigh over his. Listening again to his breathing, still deep and slow, I stroked and caressed his warm dark skin. My left hand found his nipple and I rolled and pressed it between my fingers. My right hand traced the ripples in his belly, which flexed and relaxed at my touch. My tongue traced the faint dark shadow where his hairline should have been on the back of his neck along to his earlobe. I quickly sucked it between my lips and nibbled. At last, his body began to respond to my ministrations and he pressed his back against me, an almost inaudible moan leaving his half-open lips. His cock, which had been flaccid while I had been watching him, was now thick, rigidly hard, stretching and pulsating against the golden fabric of his shorts. I knew then that what I had been attempting to do was beginning to work. With my lust building rapidly, I continued to play on his ear with my tongue. I increased my handiwork on his nipples, working alternately between both. I watched spellbound as wetness appeared against the front of his shorts, his foreskin leaking a thick clear fluid oozing out of his magnificent weapon. I spread my palm and pressed it into the slightly damp fabric where it stretched over the base of his cock. This always had the effect of making him press his arse closer against me. Now it was my turn as my body began to respond to his. I felt my nipples harden against his back; my cock grew thick and turgid, the thickness of it rubbing against his arse crack. My effulgent cockhead started to fizz with excitement as it, in its turn, began leaking pre-cum. I realised my man was no longer sleeping when he reached back, grabbed my thigh and brought it higher on to his, spreading my anus and squeezing my cock and balls. He probed, squeezed and stroked all three with his long thick fingers. His entire body suddenly became alive and he began to move against me, pressing and grinding whenever my sweaty body encountered his sweaty shorts. Slipping and sliding, the movement became more intense. His left hand reached for my right hand and guided it on to his cock, which was at its maximum rigidity and length, a good eight and a half inches from root to cock slit. I was longer by about half an inch but he more than made up for that in girth. I had to struggle to close my hand around his shaft at its thickest part. That is what I was trying to do as I firmly wrapped my fingers around the crown of his polyester shrouded cock, my thumb swirling the clear fluid around his fat, black head. We were working in unison now, working to see which of us could give most pleasure to the other. Neither of us dared to speak for fear of breaking the spell of rising sexual tension between us. His moans and my groans were steadier, our breathing shallower, faster. Our hands were stroking faster and longer, squeezing more tightly. I knew by the way his scrotum had tightened and his cock was leaking into my hand this beautiful ebony boy was about to blow. I would not be far behind. He seemed to read my mind and quickly pulled away from me, leaving me writhing on the tangled sheet beneath us. My frustration did not last long. He leant over his side of the bed and reached for the large bottle of virgin olive oil we kept there for occasions such as this. Once more, I saw his perfect arse flex in those tight golden shorts. I leant over and gave his left buttock a quick bite, making him jerk. "Hey, yo' bastard! Jes' like yo' to bite ma ass when ah'm not lookin'!" He flashed a half-smile at me. "OK, c'mon an' do the biz, white bo'", he said as he slapped the bottle of oil into my hand. He rose on to his knees, spread his thighs to stretch the silky shorts, bent his waist and rested his head on his muscled forearms. His upturned, ebony black arse strained inside the gold fabric, shamelessly displaying the darker line of sweaty dampness running the length of his arse crack. It was truly memorable, a beautiful sight to behold. I was quickly on to my knees also. I pressed my nose into that moist area, taking in the aroma I had been denied for the last six or seven months. I gripped his thighs and sucked on his shorts, licking, biting, tasting his sweet `n' sour taste on my tongue, smelling, feeling the body heat from this beautiful man burning its way into my consciousness. I was reacquainting myself with all his horny tastes and smells. The fabric was hot and smooth on my face, entwining itself sensuously into my thoughts and fantasies. Everything was reminding me of what I missed most about this villa by the sea, what I missed most when apart from my lover. I could have made love that way for hours, but I had been away from him for too long. I needed to fuck his arse now. Crude, yes, but I had to quench the inferno raging in my balls and cock somehow. I placed one hand on his back and with the other yanked his shorts down in one rough movement, dragging them to his knees to expose the firm roundness of his buttocks. My tongue probed once more, flicking around his sweaty arsehole, bringing forth a brutish growl deep in his throat. The whole scene was progressing just as I had imagined back in my London apartment as I wanked myself silly yet again during the long cold, wet nights of autumn and winter. I pressed deeper into him to satisfy my longing a little more and then pulled back. I opened the bottle of olive oil (pure Italian virgin, costing almost a year's salary to import.) I tilted it and watched the oleaginous liquid stream down his buttock cleavage, over his coal-black bud, and onward to coat his bollocks and give them the appearance and colour of polished ebony. I cupped my hands beneath them, to catch the excess, which I spread liberally over his arse, rubbed into his scrotum and stroked on to his cock. I trickled more oil on to his back and watched as it slowly made its way along his spine to the base of his neck and gathered as it came up against the solid gold chain. Finally, I poured the remainder over my chest and allowed it to run down the front of my body, into my pubic hair and over my throbbing cock and tightly gathered hairy balls. Cupping my hands once more, I collected the run-off beneath my sac. I leant over and placed the bottle back on the floor, then rubbed the oil into my chest and nipples, my belly and then my cock by twisting, stroking and pulling. I placed one hand on Johnty's left buttock and used my right to slide my greasy cock head slowly up and down his arse crack. I watched as the swollen tip of my cock slithered across his arsehole, causing it to tighten and then relax, ready and waiting. With my hand, I guided and pressed the crown of my cock against his rectal opening, applying a slight pressure. The constriction of his opening clenched hard as my cock slowly entered him. I saw the muscles in his neck, back, arse and thighs contract and a grimace cross his face. I did not know, of course, how many cocks had been up there since I last fucked him. It could have been a score, or none at all. Either way, it would not alter the fact that I was about to fuck my lover. The bond we had went beyond the sex we enjoyed. The pressure of his tight ring of anal muscle against the fleshy head of my cock made it pulse and I began to lose patience with our leisurely approach. I had wanted it slow and sensuous but my desperate lust for him was taking over. I raised one leg, grabbed him either side of his waist and with one quick push of my pelvis drove my fuck pole through. Johnty grunted into the pillow beneath him and his hand flew up and pressed hard against my hip in an effort to halt any further progress. "Hey, slow down, whitey!" His voice was muffled by the pillow. "What? Yo' say sump'n, black bo'?" I responded, with a chuckle. I leant over, kissed his glossy neck and kneaded his sweat glazed back. The aroma of the olive oil filled my nostrils. After what seemed an eternity but was no more than two minutes, he slowly relaxed the hand pressing against my hip and went in search of his fat cock once more. This was my cue to continue with my evil intent. I slowly allowed the weight of my body to impel my cock into him. I felt every inch of him slowly open out to give me passage and then envelop itself around me. At some stage, my cock must have brushed against his prostate and his body quivered in response. I withdrew an inch or so and hit the spot again, with the same reaction. I did it a third time, and his arse began to thrust and grind against me. He reached back with both hands, grabbed my hips and ground himself on to me, completely taking me into himself until his satiny arse cheeks rubbed against the sweaty dampness of my pubes, his resplendent manhood burnishing itself against the cotton sheet beneath us, every movement accompanied by a low moaning sound. I grabbed his waist again and picked up his rhythm, grinding myself as hard into him as he was grinding against me, each time hitting his spot. Our movements rapidly became less sporadic, more rhythmic and frenzied, more strenuous. My balls had by now fully tightened and tensed in my scrotum, rasping and grating against the fabric of his golden shorts. We had both broken into a heavy sweat and mine was dripping off my chin on to his buttocks. Johnty's perspiration was beading and rolling down his back and sides. The heat and moisture from our bodies warmed the olive oil and its heady scent, combined with the natural odour of our bodies, began to fill the room. Johnty rose, pressed his hands against the wall for better leverage and slammed his arse on to me faster and faster until the bed began to move away from the wall. I reached out for his shoulders, grasped them and pounded into him with all the vigour I could muster. His hands left the wall and clutched at his gigantic cock, pumping it in time with my strokes. Feeling that old familiar sensation welling up at the base of my balls I tried to slow down, but it was to no avail. My balls, shaft and pelvis had a united single intent now and nothing I could do at this point would prevent them from satisfying my pent up lust. Johnty's rocking back and forth on his knees, slamming his arse against me, did not help matters either. We were fucking in earnest now and our grunts, growls and moans were becoming louder and louder, more savage and primeval. We tried different rhythms: two short stabs followed by one long grind; or my cock plunging in to the hilt and staying there while he squeezed and relaxed his rectal muscles. He took me to the point where he almost released me then slammed back on to me. Every once in a while, he would pause to feel my burning cock deep inside his arse. I had fucked plenty of arseholes, but this boy had the very best and had the exceptional ability to use the cock penetrating him to satisfy his own pleasure, whilst pleasuring the invading cock to the utmost. Sadly, this could not last forever. "Awww, shit!" was all I heard and his arsehole clamping tight around the base of my cock was all I felt as his body shook uncontrollably. His arms gave way and he collapsed on to the sheet, continuing to convulse as he lay in a pool of thick cum he had just ejaculated. Pressed against him and feeling the clenching of his rectum around my cock, I lost all control and shot jet after jet of cum into his arse. We remained that way, me lying across his back with my still rigid cock firmly embedded, and his body splayed across the bed, until our hearts stopped pounding and our breathing returned to normal. As I felt my cock at last begin to deflate, I slowly released myself and rolled over on to my back, gazing up at the lazily revolving fan hissing above us. The sun was higher now and the stripes were gone, my savage tiger at peace. I felt two lips kiss my cock head and as I closed my eyes, I felt my cock slowly stiffening again in anticipation... This time, my return to England was not the melancholy occasion it had always been in the past. Johnty had persuaded me, after nights of hot, steamy passion and long heated arguments, to return to London one last time, dispose of all my holdings and commercial interests over there and return permanently to the villa – and to him. It did not take as long to conclude my business as I had feared it might and I was soon bound for Miami, Nassau and the villa before Johnty was ready for me. The most surprised person at my unscheduled return, however, was Tom: he was even more amazed when I offered him the chance to be my personal driver. He and Johnty knew about each other and I had a suspicion they had been keeping each other happy during my enforced long absences. It was not long before the three of us had settled down into a kind of happy ménage a trois. After much haggling and cajoling with some of the greedier, less philanthropic island bigwigs, I formed a company to develop the estate in such a way as to provide two things. My first prerequisite was to provide much needed employment for local people. Initially, this took the form of a helluva lot of hard labour and intensive work to clear a large area of the land in preparation for the second phase. Using Dad's discarded plans as a basic framework, I planned to build a luxurious Caribbean resort for world-weary American, Australian and European magnates and their families. This I was in a position to do without selling my soul to the Americans. Johnty and I remained firmly in control of both our relationship and the rapidly evolving resort business. Tom, however, did not stay with us for long. With a loan from me and help from Johnty, he formed his own fleet of luxury hire cars and is now in the running for election as an island councillor! This is indeed my island in the sun and is likely to remain so for the remainder of my life and Johnty's. Laurie Page.