Date: Tue, 4 Oct 2005 13:36:41 -0700 (PDT)
From: Rob Hoek <storyguy22@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Island (2)

   The jetliner executed a gentle landing, and rollout, then, taxied to the
jetway that extended out from the terminal building. Like the sheep that
all airline passengers seem willing to be, we lined the isle, and filed out
of fuselage into the cavernous terminal. I soon spotted an older man
holding an elevated sign with my name on it, and walked over to him. I
produced the required identification, and we walked together to the baggage
claim, where I lifted my single bag off the turnstile. I had packed lightly
for the trip, having been assured that minimal clothing of any type would
be required on the Island. We departed the baggage area, and entered a
small gondola type rail car that transported us across the airport to the
General Aviation terminal. Disembarking the gondola, I followed the man
through the smaller terminal, and outside to the tarmac. He led us to a
waiting helicopter, a very new looking Belljet model, where we were greeted
by the waiting flight crew. My airport greeter departed then, and I climbed
aboard the chopper, once again buckling myself in, as the pilot added
power, and we lifted off.

   The chopper sliced smoothly through the clear air, and I settled back in
the plush leather seat, some soothing music filling my head from the
headset I wore. About and hour later, the chopper slowed, and slewed to the
right. I looked out the window, and saw an oval shaped split of land,
surrounded by stunning blue water, and lined with sugar white sandy
beaches. The brochure photograph I had seen back home did the place
justice, and what I now gazed at was that photo brought to life. My heart
raced in my chest, as I realized that we were here, I was about to land on
the Island of my dreams. The information packet I had been studying during
the flight informed me that the Island was in International waters, outside
the territorial limit of any neighboring nation, and was therefore immune
to any government, or national law. Further, it was privately owned, and
secured, totally under the direction of the resident manager, who was
solely responsible for assuring that the residents, and guests, complied
with the corporate rules of conduct that governed the small Island.

   The copter jigged and jagged a bit, then flared, and executed a soft
landing, dead center of the asphalt heliport, and the whine of the engines
slowed, as the pilot killed the power. The crew man waited until the rotar
stopped, then opened the door, and stood beside it, giving me a smile, as
he said, "Welcome to B-Island, sir, please enjoy your visit." I stood, and
exited the aircraft, descending the short stairway that had been pushed up
to the door.

   The first thing that hit me was the aroma of the place, as the air
seemed to be filled with the scent of Plumeria, a fragrant flower that I
knew propagated densely in warm, tropical environments. My second
realization was that warm, and tropical, were both exactly what the Island
was, and more humid than I was accustomed to.  As I reached the bottom of
the short stairway, I was immediately approached by a decidedly handsome
lad of perhaps twenty, wearing a brightly colored sarong wrapped about his
slender waist. He was bare chested, save for a flower lei, another of which
he held in his outstretched hands. He smiled brightly, and looped the lei
around my neck, and said, "Welcome to B-Island, Sir, my name is Brandon,
and I will see you to your bungalow now." I returned his dazzling smile,
and let my eyes drift over his lean, toned body, taking note of his total
lack of body hair, and his golden tan, and also noting the interesting
bulge that pushed out at the snug fitting sarong. He was perhaps a bit
older than the focus of my quest, but he was stunning none the less.

   Brandon hefted my meager luggage into the rear of a nearby golf cart,
and indicated I should board the passenger seat, which I did. He climbed
under the wheel, causing the sarong to part completely, revealing a nicely
packed, very small, white satin g-string pouch that struggled to contain
his treasures. I stared, feeling my mouth water, and nodded, telling the
smiling Brandon, "Nice, very nice, indeed." He grinned, and stepped on the
gas, lurching the golf cart into motion. We soon rolled to a stop in front
of a small, but very high-end bungalow type building, replete with red tile
roof, snow white stucco walls, and surrounded on three sides with a covered
veranda that appeared to be constructed of bamboo. The front of the place
faced the ocean, and no more than fifty or sixty feet of white sugar sand
separated the porch from the waters edge. The beach was lined with kyacks,
and padded lounges, with several umbrella tables scattered about, and there
seemed no end to the dozens of tiki torches that were poked into the sand
everywhere. Maybe two hundred feet, or so, further down the beach, I
spotted a beach volleyball game in progress, and felt a sudden jolt in my
balls, when I realized that all of the dozen or so young boys engaged in
the game were completely naked. Brandon followed my stare, and chuckled,
saying, "As I said, Sir, welcome to B-Island." I shook my head, and
followed Brandon's firm little butt inside the bungalow.

   Brandon placed my bag in the bedroom, and gave me a brief tour of the
amenities, stepped to the door, and gave me a slight bow from the waist,
saying, "If there is nothing else I can do for you at the moment, Sir, I
will leave you to settle in." I smiled at the cutie, and answered,
"Brandon, I am sure that there is a very long list of things that I could
ask you to do for me, but right now, I really need a long shower." He
grinned sweetly, and replied, "Of course Sir, another time, perhaps, then."
I produced my roll of cash, intending to offer a gratuity, but he held up a
hand, and said softly, "No need, Sir, your package is our all inclusive,
total choice." I chuckled, shaking my head in disbelief, as I watched him
swish back to the golf cart, and sit, once again flashing the nicely packed
pouch, before driving away. I turned away from the door, heading toward the
shower, thinking to myself that this, was definitely going to be the week
of a lifetime, no question about it.

(To Be Continued)
Storyguy22@yahoo.com