I watched as the sun went down, dipping below the horizon in a sudden rush, as it always does in the Tropics. Behind me, in the distance, I could tell that the rum was already flowing at the bar as sundowners and cocktails were dispensed and supped. The sounds of the drunks and tourists - most of them, anyway - were already becoming louder, the voices carrying over the soft lapping of the water against the dock and the murmur of the heavy-leaved foliage moved by the soft sea breeze.
I had a different form of entertainment in mind. Earlier, I had met a woman - little more than a girl, really - a lady I had chanced upon at the poolside. She had seemed uninterested in the posing hunks and suntanned beach-boys who inevitably congregate at these places. Idly, I had struck up a conversation of a kind, a desultory exchange of polite remarks, not really expecting anything other than the most casual of acquaintances.
To my surprise, I found we had more in common than background and skin colour would have led me to believe. Our talk soon moved from idle chatter to earnest conversation, an emotional sharing of our deeper thoughts and interests and desires, a laying bare of some fraction of our souls. It seemed that the attraction was mutual, from the very start, and it was her, not I, who had suggested we meet after nightfall. By the time we parted, with a promise to meet again, I felt as if I had known her for a lifetime.
She, too, was a tourist. At least, I assumed so; she was not one of the waiting staff or part of the management, as far as I could see, and she did not have the attitude of those more professional ladies whose provocative approaches were never, for some reason, turned on me. She was a delight, to talk to, and to look at. I had hopes that I would discover more of her delights this very evening.
I turned away from the veranda where I had been watching the sunset and checked my wristwatch nervously. It was now quite dark, just the artistically-shaded electric lighting - flickering minutely as the generators responded to the varying demands of the air-conditioning units - showing the way. I walked the quieter of the paths from my lodging to the secluded spot where I could see, to my entire delight, she was already waiting for me. She turned, her smile widening and her large dark eyes lighting up so attractively.
She wore a loose summer dress of patterned cotton, her legs and arms bare, the movement of the material over her thighs and back showed that she had foregone any suggestion of underwear. Her garb contrasted jarringly with the long-sleeved white shirt and cotton trousers that I habitually wore in these climes to guard against the risk of sunburn on my pale skin, and the attentions of those biting insects that stirred themselves as the sun went down.
She said nothing as I approached, although her lips parted so invitingly. Taking a chance I would not have passed up for the world, I bent and kissed her, my tongue exploring her mouth. She responded in the same way, forcing herself again me so that I could feel her breasts pressing against me, her nipples taut even through two layers of cotton.
I could not but help my hand sliding down her back and grasping one firm buttock in my hand. Her body stiffened and she let out a gasp which I could feel intensely even though it was muffled by my lips on hers. She in turn ran her hand through my hair - short-clipped and spiky, as I always keep it - but finding enough purchase to tug my head back so she could kiss my neck.
After the longest time, we pulled back, our reactions to each other somehow already linked as one.
"I've been wanting you to do that all afternoon," she breathed, a tiny catch in her voice.
"So have I," I admitted, "But I thought people would talk if I did."
She giggled, suddenly demure.
"Oh, they would have done," she agreed, "But I wouldn't have cared."