“Yes,” Donna said, “and up by the rope if possible.”
“My pleasure. May I please have your room number?”
I noticed Donna touching his hand, and he promptly showed us to the loungers, covered them, and gave us each three beach towels. He then rolled a fourth to make each of us a pillow.
“I’ll send over the waitress for your drink order. And, if you need anything else, anything, my name is Keoki.”
When he left, I asked Donna what she’d given him.
“Two 20’s,” she replied.
Waikiki was gorgeous. We had a beautiful view of Diamond Head, the surfers, and the parade of bodies walking the beach.
We ordered vodka gimlets — made with fresh lime juice, not the horrible Rose’s stuff — over crushed ice. We went swimming in the shallow, sandy waters and flirted with four servicemen with their tell-tale short haircuts and buff bodies. I seriously thought about taking a couple of them back to the house.
Keoki came over and asked us, “Does it snow where you live?”
Donna, from Chicago and going to Oberlin, replied that it did. I replied that it generally did not.
Keoki looked at Donna — more at her boobs than her eyes. “I’ve never seen snow,” he said. “Howzit feel when it falls on you? Your skin? Your tongue?”
Ah, ha. An obvious pick-up line. We both smiled.
Donna said, “Snow feels good. How do you feel when you fall on me?”
Keoki smiled. “Feels good. I’ll show you. Show you both.”
He told us he was pau hana (finished with work) at 5:00, and that he had an apartment about a block away, on Kuhio. He gave us directions, and I said, “Hope you can handle us both, Keoki.”
He could.
He was a very experienced lover who knew his way around our bodies. His own body was gorgeous, with some traditional Hawaiian tattoos. With his strength he had no problem lifting and moving us into the best positions. His aloha spirt made us both feel included, part of a collaborative enterprise. He’d jump from mouth to mouth, boob to boob, pussy to pussy. And it helped that I was delighted to bury my face once more in Donna’s golden pussy.
When Donna and I got home, vaginas sore, we fetched our pigskin journals and compared notes on Keoki. We agreed he was B sized, and a very skilled 5* lover.
I asked Donna, “Have you ever been fucked by an A?”
“Nope, never even seen one except in porn, thank God”
“What?”
“They say ‘size doesn’t matter’ but I find a cock like Rex’s — a B+ — fills me completely and makes me groan. If a guy is really hung, where will do put that thing?”
I thought she had a great point, but I established a new Life Goal. I wanted to find an A — or even an A+ — and find out for myself.
-oo-o0-00-0o-oo-
I learned Rex was a junior at the University of Hawaii and home quite a bit during the day. An unwritten pattern developed: Rex would fuck me during the day, if I was at home. Jeff would be at work in his law office. Donna confessed to me that she preferred Rex’s vigor and enthusiasm to Jeff’s experience, so she would spend the night with Rex. I became Jeff’s partner each night in the master bedroom.
Jeff was keen for me to benefit from his years of experience. I learned about safe words, I was tied to the bed with silk neckties (“We rarely wear ties to the office,” he explained), we did a “round the world” (start in cowgirl, rotate to reverse cowgirl, gently roll to backwards spoon, move up to doggie — and the hard one is to missionary for the finish — all without uncoupling), and I improved my proficiency with BJ’s. We swam in the moonlight and fucked on the diving board. We fucked on the kitchen counter (with girlfriend standing near us, making a sandwich), and I fucked him while he sat on a dining room chair. At dusk one day — what photographers call the “golden hour” — I asked Rex to bring his camera outside and showed him where to set it up. Coconut trees rarely grow straight up: they usually slant to one side. I reclined on one such tree, raised my leg nearest the camera, and had Jeff fuck me. Rex snapped a whole roll of 120 using natural light.
We watched porn VHS tapes (not really my thing — but Jeff happily jerked himself off). We looked at positions in my new Joy of Sex and paper clipped the pages of the positions we wanted to try. In one session Jeff accidently squirted his semen across the open pages.
Jeff offered to show me his skills in ass fucking, but I said I’d pass.
And, on my last night, we had a foursome on Jeff’s king bed with Rex and Donna. We were all quite drunk and I don’t remember who put what where, or when. What I do remember was the scent of sweat mixed with perfume, plumeria, night jasmine, and sex, and the fact that cum seemed to be everywhere. We all hugged in a big pile when pau (fished) fell asleep entwined.
There was no time — even for a quickie — in the morning. We all had to shower, and the ladies had to do hair and make-up.
The four of us went to the airport, Jeff driving. Jeff made a surprise stop as we neared the terminal, and Rex jumped out of the car. He returned with three lovely flower leis — plumeria, vanda orchid, and a thick red carnation. They each put a lei around my neck at the check-in counter and gave me a deep kiss. Jeff gave me the double red carnation, and whispered, “Please, Jenny, come back soon. I’ll happily send you a ticket. Just telex me. I’ve loved being with you and hope you can breathe some life into Ian.”
And then he stood back, looked at me, and kissed me again. “On second thought,” he said, “don’t show Ian. You’ll come back sooner if he continues his wham-bam-thank-you-m’am.”
Tears swelled in all our eyes. I waved as I walked through the door to international departures.
I wrote periodically to the three of them. I never sent Jeff the telex. The only one who replied regularly to my letters was Donna. I plan to meet up with her one day in Ohio once I find out where it is.
I started my journal the day I received it. My flower leis were gathered up in flight by the stewardess: New Zealand, she explained, doesn’t want bugs from Hawaii.
-oo-o0-00-0o-oo-
Ian met me at Auckland Airport and gave me a nice long kiss. He told me how happy he was to see me and wanted to hear all about my trip during the six-hour drive back to the Company city.
As we passed one of the airport hotels I asked Ian, “please swing in here.”
He did so, then asked, “Do you need to go to the loo?”
“No, Ian,” I said, I just can’t wait six hours to fuck you. We either fuck in the car, or we get a room and get busy.”
Ian probably thought about protesting what he would have considered a frivolous expense, but his cock sent a telex to his brain, “GET ROOM NOW AND FUCK JENNY.”
Once we were in our small room we didn’t stop to kiss. We were too busy shedding clothes. He won the race and jumped on the bed. His dick was already hard.
I finished taking off my clothes, but then turned my back to Ian and did some slow moves and jazz hands. I am not a great dancer — but Ian’s wasn’t thinking about a critique of my choreography.
I slowly turned around, covering my boobs with an arm and my pussy with a hand.
“Do you want this, Ian?” I asked, as I removed my arm and jiggled my boobs.
“Oh yes, Jenny.” He was now slowly stroking his cock.
I started to massage my clit. “How about this, big guy?”
“Yes!”
I got on the bed on all fours, but instead of heading for his face I headed for his cock. I kept thinking of the color purple. I slurped up the head of his penis and rubbed my tongue on his corona while gently stroking his shaft with my hand.
I could hear him moaning, and then he tried to push my head down so more of his cock would be in my mouth. I stopped what I was doing for a moment and gently said, “No, Ian, not that. I’ll just choke and ruin the moment.”
I went back to what I was doing.
As I heard the tell-tale change in his breathing and felt the pulsing in his cock, I knew he was about to cum. He pulsed a few times and filled my mouth.
I moved a little so Ian could see my face, and opened my mouth partially so he could see all his cum. I let a little slide out of the side of my mouth onto his chest. Then, in a big gulp, I swallowed the rest.
“WOW!” he said.
I was tired so we fell asleep. In the morning I let Ian fuck me “his way,” and he was happy as a clam. As Ian was pumping away, I was thinking of Rex, Jeff, Keoki, and even Donna. And, for some reason, I thought, “I never got the name of Jeff’s girlfriend.”
-oo-o0-00-0o-oo-
Life returned to normal in the Company city. Folks asked about my trip, and I told them about the sightseeing and shopping — and even about the movie and popcorn — but left out the X-rated details. I told Beth how much I enjoyed meting Jeff and Rex, and how welcome they made me feel. I thanked her for setting up my trip.
I gave Scott a more uncensored version of the trip when we were alone in the office, and he smiled. I offered to show him some of the things I’d learned the next time Beth away for the week-end, and he said, “No, no, Jenny. Don’t even go there. We got away with it once, and I don’t want to press our luck.”
When I unpacked I found a sealed brown envelope in my suitcase — with ‘Photographs — Do Not Bend” printed on the outside, along with my name and the word “personal” written with a marker pen. Someone had slipped this in my suitcase when I wasn’t looking. Inside were 8″ x 8″ black and white prints of the two Eiffel Tower tableaux. Girlfriend did a great job — she captured, frozen in air and time, a long ribbon of Rex’s cum as it arched over my back. I put considerable thought into a hiding place for this envelope — somewhere Ian wouldn’t find it.
After a few weeks I bravely showed Ian the Joy of Sex, with certain pages still paperclipped. He was initially keen to try some of the less challenging positions but seemed to be uncomfortable with not only the different mechanics but the different sensations. After five or six experiments, each less enthusiastic than the previous one, we reverted to the tried and true — and boring — formula.
And a final postscript. Years later I received another envelope from Rex. He knew my address because I sent an annual Christmas card to him at Jeff’s address.
When I opened the envelope a copy of Playboy fell out and a Post-it note on the cover directed me to page 46.
I found the page, and there, in glorious golden colors, was Rex’s photograph of my being fucked while leaning on the coconut tree. Jeff and my faces were not visible, mine obscured by my hair and Jeff’s by my arm. Little else was left to the imagination.
The article was entitled, “Sex in Paradise,” and Rex’s name was printed, in a small type, below the image.
A note card, engraved with a palm tree — fell out. It read “E Komo Mai. Nou ka Hale. – Aloha, Jeff & Rex.”
“Come in, the house is yours.”
(Author’s Note: Jenny’s story continues in “My Life And Loves — Ch 2 — 1970” page 2, and “My Life And Loves — Ch 3 — 1980”)