Chapter 4
The plane touched down at Port-au-Prince, its wheels zipping on the runway as it rolled quickly along, and Jane was treated to a horizon of green, lush jungle and bright sunshine. It was a beautiful day, and Jane could not wait to get outside.
A spasm of guilt touched her stomach as she thought of Bill, but she quickly brushed it aside.
"Let him take care of himself," she muttered, as she climbed out of the seat and went slowly down the aisle, moving toward the front of the plane. As she neared the door, she could see the stewardesses smiling at the crowd as it filed out. There was a sweet, full wash of air which swept over the runway, coming out of the jungle and over Jane, who stepped lightly off the ramp stairway and onto the hard concrete, her high heels clattering loudly. She looked for Madeleine, putting her hand over her eyes, but could not find her in the crowd which thronged the gate.
Moving forward swiftly, Jane felt her lungs fill with the rich, incredibly sensuous air of Haiti. She walked more briskly still.
If the days were like this, Jane wondered to herself, what in the world would the nights be like?
Glancing over the crowd, Jane spotted a tall, blade skinned man, coining toward her purposefully, an intent expression on his face. As he neared, Jane was somewhat taken aback by his appearance, and by the way he was looking at her. He was very tall -- well over six feet two, Jane guessed, her eyes running over his length from head to foot. He was broad-shouldered, and wore a grey, conservatively cut business suit and black knit tie. The suit was, Jane surmised, the sort that would have been popular in the United States ten years ago.
The tall, black, incredibly handsome man in the grey suit stopped in front of Jane Morrow, and smiled.
"Mrs. Morrow?" he asked softly.
Jane blushed. His voice had a deep, resonant hue to it, and seemed to reverberate out of somewhere deep in his broad chest. It rumbled outward, slow and powerful and full of character. The eyes were deep, rich brown, and seemed to shine in the glare that bounced off the concrete runway.
"Y yes," Jane blurted, her voice a bit unsteady. She was, to her amazement, absolutely overcome by the presence -- no, by the nearness -- of this huge, black male. He was so big. Although every inch a man, he was young. How young? Jane asked herself. Nineteen? Twenty? Twenty-one at the most, she decided.
"I'm Alexander," he rumbled, from somewhere deep in his chest. "Miss Madeleine asked me to see you to the house. Is your luggage off the plane yet?"
Without waiting for a reply, Alexander took Jane gently by the elbow, leading her to the gate of the terminal, and then to the baggage rack.
As she walked beside the huge black man, Jane was almost dizzy with shock. He had assumed command of her, seen to her personal affairs, and was now taking charge of her trip to Madeleine's beach resort. And all of this without a question, a complaint, or a by-your-leave.
While slightly miffed at such behavior, Jane was well aware that she would never, probably, be able to sustain an active dislike for the huge, masterful black man who walked beside her. She turned her head, looking at the man beside her, as he towered over her, his profile like carved ebony against the blue Haitian sky. Jane was not a short girl, and she was willowy, which gave an added impression of height. But this man, like a block of granite beside her here in the sunshine, made her feel tiny indeed -- frail, even. Jane swallowed loudly, her heart thumping in her chest like an angry, fluttering hawk trying to get out.
"Is... it far?" she blurted, her eyes widening as she looked at the profile beside her. The nostrils were large, finely chiseled, the nose broad and strong. The cheekbones were prominent, large and flat, above a wide, expressive mouth. The lips were full, and had the smooth strength of absolute sensuality, above a long, prominent jawline. The jaw was, indeed, like the prow of a ship, jutting upward suddenly and coming to a point. The neck was thick, and strong.
"Not far at all, miss," he rumbled. "Just a fifteen-minute drive is all. We'll be there in no time."
Jane relaxed all at once. She felt, oddly, protected in the presence of this man. It was as though nothing bad, or wicked, or horrible, could happen to her while he was with her. She had not felt that way since she was a little girl.
Hold on, now, Jane thought to herself, a twinge of uneasiness starting in her stomach, let's not go over-board for the...
Jane's mind jogged a bit, coming to a stop suddenly. She had almost said "houseboy" there in her mind, but, as she looked at Alexander, it became evident that this male beside her was no part of a boy. He was a full-grown, independent, fully developed man.
Jane, who had always considered herself fairly liberal in racial matters, was pleased to learn, checking her feelings carefully, that there was no spot of prejudice toward this man beside her. In fact, though she had never thought very much about it, she liked the idea of his complete independence. He seemed to be much more of a man than her Bill -- at least on first meeting. At any rate, matters of race were regarded much differently here in the islands than they were in the United States. Being in the Caribbean certainly had its advantages, Jane reflected, glancing once more at Alexander. To her delight, she noted that her presence beside a black man, here in this terminal, was a matter of no note to passers-by. A confirmation of her earlier judgment about this island, and a pleasing one.
Jane felt a sudden surge of guilty excitement as she considered the possibilities of that last thought. She straightened her posture unconsciously, pressing her lips together tightly. Mustn't think sinful things.
Jane snuck another glance at Alexander, and put her gloved hand to her mouth, coughing to suppress a giggle. Feeling bubbly and slightly hysterical, Jane allowed herself to be led out the back doors of the airport, to a waiting station wagon.
As Alexander opened the door for her, Jane frowned.
"Can't I help you with anything?" Jane asked, and Alexander laughed and shook his bead.
"No ma'am," he said, his eyes lighting up suddenly, with something more than glee.
Jane blushed. Her leg, on the ground, was drawn halfway into the seat, as she sat, half-in and half-out of the car, talking to Alexander. A good length of ankle, calf and knee was showing, all of it shapely and very, very womanly. Jane noticed Alexander's bold stare, but made no effort to cover herself, nor to get into the car completely.
"No ma'am, I'll manage just fine," Alexander continued, talking to Jane but still looking at her legs.
Finally, Alexander tore his gaze from Jane, and turned, walking with long strides into the terminal. Jane got into the car completely, shutting the door after her, and looked at the tall black man's retreating back.
"That must be quite a hunk of man," she whispered to herself idly. Then, Jane caught herself abruptly. She must remember not to think out loud -- it could be very embarrassing. Especially when she was looking at something as scrumptious as that Alexander.
Jane smiled to herself. Here she was, a grown woman, over thirty (way over), lusting after the man who drove the car -- and probably watered the lawn. Not thirty minutes in the country, and already she was chasing the natives.
But Jane caught herself abruptly. No, that was not right. Not right at all. This Alexander was no native with a bone through his nose -- (or was that the cannibals, Jane thought to herself suddenly, suppressing a giggle) -- no, this fellow was no native by any stretch of the imagination. He was, if appearances could tell anything, a mature, intelligent adult. A sophisticated man, quick to pick up the nuances of her offer to help with the luggage, and also quick to appreciate a good pair of legs when they were... displayed.
Jane took a quick breath, putting her hand to her mouth. She had almost thought offered, instead of displayed. Jane felt a sudden expansion, a swelling tightness in her chest and throat. She was becoming quite the temptress, and in one big hell of a hurry. Jane shrugged her shoulders quickly, the movement eloquently expressing her state of mind.
Well, so what if she did find this Alexander attractive? She was, no doubt, not the only woman to find him so. And yet...
A cloying doubt nibbled at Jane's stomach, and her eyes clouded suddenly. And yet, she knew, she had never had that sort of reaction to any man before now -- not even toward her own husband. She thought again of her feelings upon seeing him for the first time. She had never had any feeling to even approach what she had felt when she first set eyes on Alexander. It was as though she were seeing someone she'd known all her life, but had never been introduced to. There was a familiarity there, and ease at being in each other's company-a rapport. That was the word for it. She felt, oddly and completely, a strong rapport with the huge black man, who was so stately looking, and yet so human.
Watch it, sister, said a part of Jane's mind -- perhaps the largest part. Warning bells were going off inside her head, as loud as a set of burglar alarms, as she watched Alexander appear at the door, a bag in each hand.
"I'd better watch myself," Jane muttered, smiling at Alexander as he walked toward the car. It was a natural exchange, completely spontaneous and completely friendly. Jane realized with some shock that she had not smiled like that in years. It had, literally, been years.
As Alexander loaded the back seat with her luggage, Jane noted the ease with which his powerful body took the grips and placed them just so, not leaving so much as a single mark on the shiny leather surfaces.
At last, Alexander slid into the driver's seat, his hands huge and competent on the steering wheel. He whistled a little tune as he wheeled the station wagon out of the terminal, going onto the main highway quickly, expertly.
Among his other talents, Jane noted, Alexander was also a good driver. Jane bit her lip as she thought of what the other talents he possessed might include. These island girls didn't know what they had, Jane reflected, thinking wistfully of her Bill, with his paunch which hung over his belt, every night, as he sat watching the Late Show. Or maybe they did, she suddenly thought maybe the girls here did know what they had, and were glad they had it. Jane cast a sidelong glance at Alexander, noting his movements behind the wheel of the car. There could be no possible doubt about his virility -- it was in his every movement, in the way he spoke, in the way he had handled that luggage so masterfully. It was, even, a tangible presence on him, playing off his huge frame like a living force. This was a man.
To her discomfort and excitement :Jane felt herself moisten at the thought of Alexander here beside her.
"Are you comfortable, miss?" Alexander "said suddenly, his deep voice abrupt in the stillness of the car.
Jane suppressed an hysterical impulse to laugh.
Was she comfortable?
Yes, she felt like saying, I am comfortable. I am more than comfortable. I am out-of-my-mind aroused by your presence next to me. Won't you please, god-damit, stop this car and strip me down and take me buck naked in the back seat? If you're as much man between the legs as you are everywhere else, you'll leave me fucked, yes, and damn well fucked. I don't want you to inquire about my health -- I want you to fuck me to death, the way you obviously can!
"Yes, Alexander, I'm fine," Jane replied.
Alexander smiled, his eyes on the road, cuffing to the side every few moments to look at Jane.
"You're a very attractive woman, miss," he said, quickly adding: "If you don't mind my saying so, that is."
Jane almost screamed out loud.
"Why, thank you, Alexander," he managed to breathe, expelling a loud breath of air, her face hot, her heart going like a trip-hammer in her chest.
"Can you stay with us long, miss?" Alexander said, his eyes covering the road ahead.
"My name is Jane," came the reply from across the sun-drenched seat.
"Yes mi -- yes, Jane," Alexander said. "Are you staying long in Haiti?"
Jane shook her head.
"No, darnit -- only two weeks."
Alexander nodded his head. "I hope you enjoy your vacation... Jane," he said.
Jane glanced at him sharply, her pulse rate rising all at once.
Was it her imagination, or did she detect an unusual warmth in Alexander's use of her name? Could that be? Or perhaps he meant only to be friendly.
"I'm sure I will, Alexander," Jane replied, and meant it. How could she help but enjoy a place like this?
Even as the thought ran through her mind, Jane's gaze was drawn to the long line of beach, with the ocean beyond, sparkling and blue, incredibly inviting. Sunshine played over sea and beachline, illuminating the shore and turning it to warm surfaces of sand and water. The green, green jungle, which began on the other side of the narrow highway, was no less inviting, although different. As Jane gazed at the deep green, dense foliage, she felt a sudden impulse to put her foot across the floor and step on the brakes, leaving her and Alexander alone on this windy road. She would take him by the hand, and, stripping herself naked, would lead him, also naked, into the jungle. Once there, they would never come out. She would be his woman... his jungle woman...
Sitting in the front seat of the station wagon, the warm breeze on her face and sunlight warming her whole body, Jane felt bathed in a luxuriant wash of pleasure.
Better watch it, old girl, she thought to herself. You are going to find yourself in deep trouble, if you keep on thinking this way...
Abruptly, Jane turned that part of her mind off, and kept it off. Why the hell shouldn't she enjoy herself in these few weeks here? And that did not necessarily include sleeping with Alexander -- though God knows she was tempted. She could, after all, still have her little daydreams, if she kept them to herself. No one need know. She would certainly never tell anyone about them!
"Too much air on you... er, Jane?" came the deep, melodious voice.
Jane stirred herself, and brushed back her long, blond hair with a careless gesture of her right hand. "No... I'm fine."
Relaxing slowly, Jane felt the warm, soft breeze on her legs and inner thighs, and sighed loudly, stretching her long, sinewy legs slowly, yawning luxuriously.
"Did you have a nice trip from the United States?" Alexander inquired politely.
"Yes, Alexander, very nice -- not too bumpy. By the way, did Madeleine tell you that I'd never met her husband Frederick?"
Alexander smiled politely, a wry twinkle in his eye.
"Why yes, I believe she did mention it," he replied.
"I'm awfully anxious to meet him. He's British, Madeleine told me."
Alexander nodded his head slowly. "Yes ma'am -- I mean, yes Jane -- he's an Englishman."
"Is he very handsomer Jane asked blithely, looking for a reaction.
She got the reaction she was expecting. Alexander's eyebrows shot up, and he hesitated.
"Well?" Jane asked, enjoying the man's discomfort. There was something about him which brought out the wildness -- the bitchiness, even -- in Jane's makeup. This black man was having and odd effect on her indeed.
Alexander wetted his lips with his tongue, and did not reply for a moment.
"Well, I don't know, miss... I... "
There was a slight pause.
"Yes," said Alexander, "I suppose you could say that."
"As handsome as you, Alexander?" Jane asked softly.
Alexander's eyes widened abruptly, and he let out a little laugh of surprise. He said nothing.
Let him know it, Jane thought to herself mildly. Let him know I think he's attractive. God knows he is.
Jane said nothing further, and an embarrassed silence fell over the car as it sped along the sunny highway.
The embarrassment was all Alexander's.
Shortly thereafter, the long station wagon pulled into the driveway of a run-down-looking beach house which skirted the ocean. It was a one-story structure, and covered the top of a slight rise, in front of which a long, green, smooth lawn extended. The house had vines running from it, and had a ramshackle appearance -- at least from the outside.
Jane indicated the lawn.
"Your work, Alexander?" Jane asked.
Alexander grinned, pulling the car up to the garage at the side of the sloping, sprawling house.
"Yes, Jane, it is," he said, his eyebrow lifting slightly. "It's as smooth as any golf course on the island. Smoother than most."
Jane looked at Alexander for a moment.
"You speak excellent English, Alexander," she said softly.
"Thank you," he replied, his eyes moving over Jane's lush, mature form hungrily. "I might add that you manage to make yourself understood pretty well, too," he said, his eyes drifting to Jane's smooth thighs, traveling down her legs to her knees, then to her shapely ankles.
Blushing furiously, Jane scrambled out of the car, and walked to the side doors.
"I'll manage the luggage, Jane,' Alexander "said, nodding toward the house as he spoke. "I imagine Miss Madeleine and her husband will be expecting you inside."
Jane turned on her heel, and walked toward the house, her hands clenched into fists. She had never been so angry at anyone in her life. Immediately, Jane decided to freeze Alexander out, from this moment forward. She wouldn't so much as acknowledge that he existed, save for routine courtesy!
Breathing hard, Jane reached the front door, and put her hand on the knob. She paused, senseless with fury.
Make herself understood indeed! As though she had made the man an offer... or a proposition, like one of these cheap island tramps of his!
Taking her hand from the door hastily, Jane knocked three times on the thick paneling. There was a pause, and then the door swung open, revealing Madeleine in shorts and halter.
"Come in this house!" Madeleine shouted, calling over her shoulder:
"FREDERICK?... FREDERICK!... COME OUT HERE, ON THE DOUBLE...!"
Turning back to Jane, Madeleine opened the door completely, and let the taller woman come through.
"Well," she said, "did you have a nice flight? Let me take your bag! Have you met Alexander -- of course you have, how silly of me! He came out to get you at the airport, didn't he?"
A torrent of words flooded from Madeleine's lips as she led Jane into the interior of the house. Jane was surprised at the difference between interior and exterior, and told Madeleine so.
"Well," Madeleine said, "we have a very well-to-do clientele. They like the trimmings on the outside, the native stuff, but they like their comfort, too."
Jane smiled.
"Do 'rimmings' include Alexander?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. To her surprise, Madeleine shook her head.
"Definitely not. Alexander is an expert boatman, as well as skindiver. He also doubles as fishing guide and handyman. He's indispensable around here."
Jane was suddenly curious about what the term "indispensable" might include. She decided to risk it, and ask -- not expecting any kind of definite answer out of Madeleine.
"Is he `indispensable' in other ways, too?" Jane murmured.
Madeleine's face was blank. And then, "suddenly, her eyes lit up, like two candles in a cathedral.
"Yes, some of our female guests find they can't do without him, on those moonlight swims."
Jane's heart skipped a beat. So that was it. She might have guessed that so incredible a specimen of male strength would not be around simply for decoration. It had been naive of her to think otherwise. And suddenly, Jane found that she was not angry at Alexander any longer, either. He probably got so many offers from women, of all ages and sizes, that he had come to regard it as routine. He had automatically assumed, from past experience, that Jane was propositioning him, there in the car. Jane's mind stopped.
Well, wasn't that exactly what she'd been doing? Propositioning him?
Jane shook off the thought, and proceeded with Madeleine across the sumptuous living room. The room was, as Madeleine had indicated, elegant indeed. A thick blue carpet spread, like a soft, deep sea, beneath Jane's feet. In the corner was a long bar of polished mahogany. Beside the bar was a huge picture window, which opened onto a magnificent view of beach and sea. There was a long divan on the other side of the living room, which fronted the window, and beyond that, a spacious kitchen. On the right-hand side of the door was a wide hallway which included, Jane imagined, the guest rooms.
A man walked through that hallway now, and into the spacious living room.
"Hel-lo? Who's this?"
Jane looked at a man of medium height, with slightly greying hair and sandy complexion, blue eyes which were the color of the sea, deep and dark and rather cold. He was dressed in a tan lounging jacket, blue slacks and slippers, and had a scotch and soda in is right hand. He held the drink lightly, expertly, as though from long practice.
"This," Madeleine said smoothly, "is Jane Morrow, of San Francisco," (this last said in a regal way, as though being from San Francisco were a title of some sort). "And this," Madeleine continued, indicating the man who stood before her, "is my husband Frederick. Or what's left of him, at any rate."
Frederick cut his eyes at Madeleine, looking her up and down.
"Let's ease up on the bitchery, shall we, old girl?" he said evenly. "Let's remember that we have guests." Madeleine smiled sweetly.
"Frederick drinks," she explained to the startled, benumbed Jane, "and we usually fight in the evenings, when he drinks the most. That way I can have a drink with him."
Madeleine eyed Frederick for a moment, then added: "Frederick hates to drink alone."
Her face numb with shock, Jane put out her hand, and shook Frederick's. It was a soft hand, and showed no evidence of work. Jane decided that she would stay as much away from the subject of Frederick's duties as much as she possibly could. Evidently, Madeleine ran the establishment practically singlehanded -- with the help of Alexander, of course.
Idly, Jane wondered if Alexander helped Madeleine with matters of any other sort.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Ashley," Jane said.
"Call me Frederick," the sandy-haired, loosely built man before her replied. He had, Jane noted, a rather interesting face. The nose was flattened down, like a prizefighter's, and the cheeks were high and solid looking. The ears were flattened against the head, and slightly bulbous.
"Frederick used to be a boxer," Madeleine said, noticing Jane's covert examination of her husband. "He was also in the War -- but that was a long time ago. Now he just drinks."
"Madeleine... please! We have guests!"
There was, Jane noted to her sorrow, a tone of bra ken pleading in his voice. All at once, Jane did not like Madeleine very much. Those letters, telling of Frederick's business prowess, had evidently been lies.
Jane caught herself abruptly. She must get out of this habit of judging people too quickly -- and too harshly. Perhaps there was good reason for Madeleine to lie in her letters. This, evidently, was a very unpleasant situation indeed. Still, Madeleine might have prepared her a little bit, Jane reflected.
"I've heard that the hunting and fishing around here are excellent," Jane said brightly, turning to Frederick all at once. Frederick smiled.
"Yes, they're quite good, actually. Though we'll have to wait a bit on the fishing part. There's been word of a storm coming our way. Heard it only an hour ago, on the radio."
Madeleine snorted loudly.
"There's been a storm brewing around here for a long, long time," she said darkly.
"Madeleine, would you fix the young lady a drink?" Frederick said quickly, tinkling the ice in his glass. "And freshen mine while you're at it." Madeleine turned abruptly, and beaded for the bar.
"Will you be staying with us long?" Frederick asked, his eyebrows raising slightly as he looked at the tall, willowy woman before him.
"No, not really," Jane said quickly, "only for a few weeks, actually."
"Well, you can have a damned good time for yourself, let me tell you."
Jane nodded her head.
"Yes, I imagine so," she said quietly.
"More than 'imagine,' my dear. Fortunately for you, this is our slack season -- not many people come this way this time of year. You'll have the place more or less to yourself."
"That will be nice," Jane said, feeling a bit awkward before this slightly drunk man, who was looking at her legs so boldly, with undisguised admiration.
Madeleine returned with the drinks.
"You didn't tell me you had such an attractive friend, Madeleine," Frederick said, accepting the drink which his wife handed him. He stayed, Jane noted, in the same pose as before, drink in hand.
"You didn't ask," Madeleine replied.
Frederick laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "I suppose not," he said. "I suppose I didn't."
"Well," Madeleine said, "if you've finished feasting your eyes on my guest, I'll show her to her room."
Slightly bewildered by the ferocity of the exchange between the "happily married couple" before her, Jane allowed herself to be led to the guest room, which had been prepared for her arrival.
As she walked into the guest bedroom, Jane was a bit surprised to find her luggage already resting by the bed. She went to the soft, blue-dyed bedspread, and sat down.
"I'm sure you must be tired after your long trip," Madeleine said. "Why don't you take your things off and relax? There's a shower adjoining this room, and I've laid out towels."
Jane, who was feeling the beginnings of a very painful headache, smiled gratefully.
"Thank you, Madeleine," she said, "I am awfully tired."
Madeleine smiled, and nodded her head.
"If there's anything you need, just holler," she said, turning and starting to go out the door.
"Madeleine?"
Madeleine turned, and looked at Jane, who was rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers. "Some aspirin?" Jane said, smiling weakly.
"Coming right up," Madeleine said, going out of the room briskly.
Later, showered and in a new terry cloth bathrobe, lying atop the soft, comfortable bed, Jane took two aspirin tablets and drank a glass of water.
As she felt the tablets take effect, Jane closed her eyes, and thought of the day which had just passed. There had been precious little time for thinking, that was certain. She had met two new people -- one of whom she liked (yes, Jane thought to herself, she really did like Alexander, in spite of herself) and one of whom she pitied. And there was always Madeleine to be considered. That side -- the vicious one, which Madeleine had concealed so cleverly in their girlhood together -- was fully in evidence now, and fully developed. There was, indeed, something odd about Madeleine -- something evil, which she had missed completely before.
And Alexander. Like a homing pigeon back to roost, Jane's mind always came back to him. He was so strong -- it was visible, a scalding presence on his young, black skin.
Bright and early the next morning, Jane was out of bed and dressed, eager to try the beach, which had looked so inviting the day before.
At six A.M., she was in her bathing suit, wrapped in a robe, cap in her lap, sitting at the large kitchen table, thinking of the incredibly sensuous odor of the coffee which Madeleine was brewing. Looking over her shoulder briefly, she eyed Madeleine, who was in a houserobe, bent over the sizzling skillet.
"Well!" Jane said, smiling brightly. "How's the water? Have you been outside?"
Madeleine shook her head, and returned to the eggs she was frying. "Nope," she said, "haven't been out. The water's usually warm this time of day, though. Six is all right. Seven is perfect though, let me tell you the water's clear as glass, and you can see every fish in the ocean."
"It sounds marvelous," Jane exulted.
Madeleine turned to Jane for a moment. "You know how to use an aqualung?"
Jane shook her head.
"Well, it's just as well, this first time in. There are flippers and face mask in the beach house -- it's a little hut by the shoreline. You can't miss it."
Abruptly, Madeleine turned and dished four eggs onto a plate, turning and carrying the plate to the table.
"Hope your appetite's up," Madeleine said briskly, as she shoveled an egg onto Jane's plate. "The toast'll be ready in exactly two minutes."
Jane looked up quickly.
"Isn't Frederick eating with us?" she asked, her eyes wide, as she cut the egg with her fork.
"No -- he drank his breakfast this morning. He's sleeping it off. Probably won't be up till noon."
"Oh," Jane said in a small voice, going back to her egg.
By the time the toast arrived, Jane had started on her second egg. She would, she decided, have no trouble making up the difference of Frederick's not being there. She was wolfishly hungry.
Alexander, on this particular morning, had gotten up even earlier than Jane.
Coming awake in the small house he occupied, which adjoined the main building, he was slow in getting out of bed.
"Damned tourtist," he muttered, thinking of Jane Morrow, and of the bold way she'd offered herself to him. The white women who came to this beach house -- this resort that Madeleine and Frederick Ashley ran for a mixture of idle fun and still-more-idle profit were more abandoned, and more lacking in the simple proprieties, than his native girl, Odetta.
Alexander thought of Odetta for a moment. She, with her "primitive" ways and "simple" life style, was much more a lady than this Jane Morrow -- or any of her white sisterhood who used this resort as a rutting-spot, with Alexander as stud bull and Master of Midnight Boating Excursions. Odetta.
Alexander felt the old, familiar, powerful stirring of his loins, at the thought of her. He thought also of how long it had been since he'd seen her. Two weeks, and not a word from her. Abruptly, he decided to pay her a visit this fine morning.
Alexander smiled. Since Odetta never got up before ten o'clock in the morning, it might do her good to get a visit from someone at this hour. It would certainly be a new experience in her young life.
Putting on a pair of swim trunks hurriedly, Alexander went out the door, his footprints marking the smooth sand by the tiny hut which he reluctantly called home.
Odetta, contrary to Alexander's uncharitable estimate, was really only half asleep.
Her hair in her face, she lolled to and fro lazily, in the tiny hut which she occupied at the edge of the sea. She was, in an odd way, a sort of celebrity among the guests who frequented the Ashley's beach resort: Odetta's mother, Mama Lu, was the chief voodoo priestess of the island. This title, hereditary and highly significant to the native population of the island, was a phantom distinction in the world of broad daylight and everyday business. But when night fell, Odetta was no longer a poor, rather idle native girl. She was the daughter of the famous (and infamous) Mama Lu, the heir-apparent to all the secrets which that elderly, and very distinguished, woman had accumulated. And, despite this, Odetta was frustrated by the whole whorl of events which every day brought to her ken. By day, she could hope for nothing more than an odd-job existence, doing minor service for the Ashley's guests. It was only at night, during the festivals that the people of the island gave, that Odetta could hope to shine. And Haiti was changing: every day saw new industries, new businesses, and new people pouring into the island. The steady, persistent encroachment of civilization, with all its attendant benefits and ills, were anathema to the native culture which supported the idea of Mama Lu, and of Odetta herself. With every passing day, the old people were dying off, and fewer, and fewer people remained who had any faith in the old ways, the old magic. And so Odetta found herself on a steadily shrinking island of faith, in a world that she, truly and completely, had never made.
Sleeping half the day away, Odetta found, was an excellent way to avoid the world.
Half turning on the straw mat, inside the tiny hut, Odetta smiled sleepily, feeling the heat from the sun as it came through the open doorway. She stretched herself slowly, unwilling to open her eyes, for fear of waking up.
As the long, hot day started, Odetta knew that she would get some relief from swimming. And, perhaps, there would be a shower later in the day -- one of those short, benevolent washes of freshness that came and went so quickly here.
Odetta felt her body, tawny and feline, dark and smooth, stretched upon the mat. Her hands traced, with vague, satisfied little gestures, the curve of her hip, and the smooth fullness of her breasts. Naked except for filmy, brief pants and halter -- and that a concession to only the barest of proprieties -- Odetta let the idea of her body seep through her sleep-benumbed consciousness. It was a savage, beautiful, forbidding body that she had, a body all the more beautiful for its blackness. Odetta knew the effect that her black, heavy hair and black eyes and skin had on the males who frequented the Ashleys' club -- she could see it in the jealous, outraged expressions on their wives' faces. Odetta was a past master at the art of making white men's wives jealous. And yet, oddly, she had never allowed a white man to touch her. Something in her nature, and in the way she had been looked upon by whites all of her life, forbade it. And that, she knew, was why she was drawn to Alexander. He, also, had that haughty, proud air about him -- that pride in his blackness which decades of bad, haughty treatment by whites had produced. Alexander knew the position his skin color put him in, and regarded the white world with contempt because of its blindness to his qualities. His hatred for whites was based, she knew, upon their inability to see beneath his skin. They could not -- or would not recognize his strength of character. And so, at every opportunity, he threw it in their faces.
Odetta almost groaned, as she thought of Alexander, and what he had meant to her here, in these years, when her own world was steadily dwindling around her.
She turned restlessly, her lips swollen, slightly parted, as she stretched herself luxuriously.
And, all at once, she felt a shadow, cool and absolute, which blocked the doorway of the hut, shutting out the early-morning sunlight. She turned, frowning, her eyes red-rimmed and sleepy, and looked toward the door.
"W-who... who's there?" she muttered, shaping a tall figure through the blurred lens of her watering eyes.
The figure came forward, and bent over suddenly, its bulk very, very near.
Odetta tensed her tawny, savage body, her hips and thighs tightening, smooth black flanks turning slowly. Her breathing was rapid, her breasts heaving under the filmy halter she wore.
A hand fastened on her hip, and another on her breast.
She paused, there in the hut, her breathing shallow, her mind dulled.
"Alexander?" she breathed. The figure did not reply.
And, all at once, by the feel of the broad, powerful hands, she knew that it was he.
"It's been a long time," came the deep, rumbling voice, and Odetta's eyes cleared. She looked up at Alexander, her face twisting into an angry frown.
"You might have told me you were coming," she breathed.
Still, the hands were on her warm, bare skin, and had not moved.
"How could I surprise you, then? Like this?"
He gave a little squeeze, with both hands, and Odetta giggled shrilly. Alexander smiled, the corners of his mouth turning up, his eyes twinkling.
Odetta stretched out, spreading her arms and legs wide, closing her eyes.
She gasped sharply, then sighed as she felt the hands begin their caressing journey over her full, dark, and tremblingly expectant form.
"I I-love it... when you do that," Odetta gasped, shuddering under the powerful, stroking hands.
Silently, Alexander moved over the supple, trembling form, feeling the small, female shudders as his hands moved down thighs, over breasts, and along smooth black belly and legs. Odetta was no longer silent -- her breath coming in short, quick gasps, her eyes fluttering, she felt herself slipping from that shore of ordinary sensation, and ordinary feeling, toward that other world, the magic world of passion, in which only sensation mattered. Buoyed up by the force of her body's yearning, by its trembling need, Odetta felt the force of the ages, that mighty force which nothing could quell, once it was aroused. She wanted Alexander, and she wanted hard, savage violation. Odetta gritted her teeth, and shut her eyes tightly.
"Oh, please... please... " she groaned, writhing on the mat beneath the huge, broad-backed figure which towered over her, half-kneeling, like a doctor ministering to a patient.
"Oh... Goddamit... OH -- I" Odetta's voice rose to a tremulous shout as, slowly, the hands found the filmy halter, and flimsy pants, removing them with great delicacy, as a doctor removes a bandage.
Odetta writhed on the mat, her hands fluttering like delicate blackbirds against the tan fibres of the bed, which, for her, had suddenly become a magic carpet.
She heard the sharp zipping sound of the side of Alexander's bathing trunks, as they were opened, revealing a tensed brown flank.
Kneeling beside the supine girl, Alexander pulled the trunks downward, past his inner thighs and knees, kicking the trunks off as he rolled to the side, resting on his muscular hips. In a twinkling he was back, kneeling beside Odetta, his huge log exposed, bare and savage, as he opened his powerful, muscular inner thighs to the girl before him.
Odetta gasped, her eyes widening at the sight of him. Even now, after all this time together, she could never adjust herself to the unexpected sight of Alexander naked. So massive were his proportions, and so magnificent the equipment between his massive legs, that she was stunned, beyond speech, at the "sight of him. His prick was massive, and seemed to extend halfway to his knees, his testes as large as Odetta's closed fists.
She regarded him in "silence, watching the slow, inexorable rise of his cock, his life itself. She reached out, touching the hard meat with the tips of her fingers, and let out a tiny gasp.
With a loud groan, Alexander moved, and moved again.
Odetta watched him with half-closed eyes, her breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. She felt the slow, smooth parting of her thighs, and stirred, her ripe buttocks patting the mat softly as she enfolded Alexander's waist with her full, black legs. She felt his urgency, and reached down, manipulating the fore-skin with both her hands, in a soft, rubbing, up-and-down motion. She rocked to and fro, manipulating the huge erection, which was, moment by moment, turning to stone under her hands.
She felt her center part, and moisten, as Alexander's long, muscular body moved over hers, the length of him stroking her inner thighs, probing and urgent.
Odetta took him in both her hands, guiding him to her quick, to her very being.
With one thrust of his thickly muscled hips, Alexander moved into Odetta completely, and she cried out loud, her lips parting and forming an O, her eyes shut tightly.
It was as before: she could never get used to the immensity of him, to the sheer bulk of him there, rifling her between the legs, so powerfully and pain-fully.
Odetta winced, her features contracting toward the center of her face as she felt his full, potent entry. There was no man on the island like Alexander -- that she knew. She had been with other men, many of them large and strong men, but with this one, this Alexander, she always felt as though she was being split apart. She could well understand why the Ashleys' guests were constantly in pursuit of him -- the female guests, at least.
"OH... OHHHH!... OHHHH YES!" Odetta whispered, thrusting herself upward, toward the cruel, descending immensity of Alexander. Delirious, she began to sob softly, tightening the grip of her legs around him, her hips working frantically against his powerful, driving movements. The sobbing grew louder, as the huge hands found her inner thighs, opening her outward, so that she was raw and exposed to the cruel, insistent rhythm of his body. Through half-open eyes, Odetta could see the broad, muscular shoulders and firm chest, the incredibly developed biceps and forearms. She felt as though she were in the grip of an octopus, so possessive were the hands, the enfolding arms, the powerfully gripping thighs. And all of it was directed to that central act, the long, urgent, plunging rhythm of his lovemaking.
Odetta moved her hips frantically, in an effort to accommodate the surging, ballooning bulb, which possessed her very core so powerfully and completely.
"OOO!... AAAAAH... AAAAAH -- OHI OH... ! UNNNGH...!"
Odetta felt as though she were being reamed by a tree stump, so violent and massive was the attack.
With long, slow movements, Alexander rocked forward and backward, sending long shivers of delight through Odetta. Her hair flying as she turned her bead to and fro, Odetta moaned out loud, her face tear stained.
"OHHHHH DO IT... ! JUST DO IT... OH-HHHH YES... !THAT'S IT... THAT'S... THAT'S... "
And then she was silent under the insistent rhythm of Alexander's lovemaking.
The soft, slapping sounds of love filled the hut, mixing with the warm, smooth odors of coupling. The rich, man-woman aroma, so exciting to both, filled their nostrils.
With new urgency, Alexander moved over the poised, splayed beauty of Odetta's dark, kinky womanhood, his breathing coming in loud, rasping gasps as he felt himself begin.
Her body shining like an ebony statue, Odetta sensed the approach of her own climax, and bit the thick pad of muscle which ran from Alexander's shoulder to his neck.
Their sweat mingling, their bodies hot and sticky with passion, both met in the final frenzy of love -- that slippery, hot, urgent explosion which marks the pinnacle of life.
With a loud scream, clamping her hips around the driving, surging immensity of Alexander, Odetta felt herself swept to the sky, burning and incandescent, as the slap-slap sound of their clasping-unclasping bodies rose to its final pitch.
In one surging, incredible moment, Alexander exploded into Odetta, and she, in her turn, discharged around him, so that a new, full wetness marked the union of their loins.
Odetta relaxed, as she felt the warm, surging ocean of sperm rise within her, seeping to her inmost depths. Alexander was frantic under the burden of his passion, and was discharging like a stallion. With a final, upward surge of their loins, man and woman drained into each other, and were joined in a final, clasping union of mutual passion.
Sleepily, warmly, Odetta relaxed in Alexander's arms, her mouth curving into a satisfied smile. She was full of him now, awash with him, and she could feel his thick, hot butter as it coated the walls of her vagina.
She stirred, softly stroking the small of Alexander's back with the tips of her fingers, as he moved over her powerfully. She sighed loudly, her hips moving upward to receive the massive black column, which slid into her raw wound smoothly, like a precision instrument.
At last, Alexander slowed his rhythm, stopping finally and covering Odetta with his body. They clung together, gasping, their bodies moving in a fluid rhythm, seeking the essence of union.
Odetta sighed loudly, closing her eyes, groaning softly as she felt his potent entry once more. Alexander was suspended over her, fixing her to the mat with the root of his being, his arms strong, commanding.
"Have you missed me?" he said, his arms encircling her tightly, crushing her against him, so that she groaned loudly.
"Y-yes," she whispered, her eyes shut tightly.
"How much have you missed me?" he asked.
Odetta sighed loudly. It was the games that Alexander played with his women that made him so attractive. He would put them in the most compromising situations, and then ask them if they loved him. He was in many ways, Odetta thought to herself, still a little boy.
"I have missed you very much," she whispered.
As her reward, Alexander drove inward, hard, to the base of himself.
Odetta let out a little cry at the violence of the sudden entry, her whole body stiffening suddenly.
"Do you love me?" he whispered.
"Yes."
"How much do you love me?"
"V-very much," Odetta gasped, feeling him withdraw and then re-enter her, savagely and suddenly.
"OH . OH YES!" Odetta moaned out loud, clutching Alexander around the waist. "Yea... now," she hissed, her eyes shut tightly, her full, eager thighs and arms gripping the man above her, clinging to him blindly.
Alexander chuckled, and began slowly, caressingly, that powerful, almost awesome, act of complete possession.
Odetta moaned again, as a thin film of moisture appeared like a new skin over her chocolate body. Her labia began to flutter, and the lips of her vagina were beginning a motion that resembled a mouth chewing a piece of steak. But the morsel that hungry "mouth" wanted wasn't a piece of steak. Alexander once again placed the knob of his shaft against the grinding pussy.
Odetta boosted herself slightly, and Alexander felt the snapping cunt lap, capture and swallow the head of his huge erection. The slick heat engulfed him, and the womanly flesh gobbled at his prong, the hot, strong muscles gnawing hungrily at his offering. He jammed his hard rod as far as he could and Odetta whimpered happily, flexing her thighs to take in more of him. With still another lunge he rammed all the way home, and the girl was numb with exquisite sensations as he furiously ground and rotated his pubic bush into her smooth, slick love mound, and he felt the hot sweaty flesh of her buttocks caressing his buffeting balls. The domes of Odetta's nipples pointed up into Alexander's heavy-breathing chest like projectiles. They were like bits of chocolate candy, puffing as if they were being cooked hot over a stove.
The dark girl's muscled cunny rippled again, and Alexander grunted, pulling his slick cock time and again from the tight vise which grabbed it, then ramming it home into her very depths, moist, velvety, sweet.
"Ayeee!" Odetta screamed, wrapping her legs tighter around him and constricting her entire body. Each of his huge hands gripped a dark breast and shook it hard as he plunged and lifted, building the intense heat, while the vaginal muscles threatened to pull the big bat from his body and swallow it forever.
"Take it, you lovely little bitch!" he swore. "Hmmm, open that hot volcano and take all of me!" He was showing more control now, pulling his penis out slowly, then jabbing it home in inch-gaining thrusts, sometimes retreating so that the head could caress parts of the velvety sex canal he hadn't attended to.
Odetta's eyes rolled and her bony ass churned furiously "Oh... ohhh... no one ever like you!" she screeched. Alexander shot her up with a new tremendous burst of energy and raw muscle power.
He smiled grimly as Odetta fell back in a spread-eagle position, her eyes closed, and she was sweating, moaning and loose. He raised himself up and looked down at the slack vagina, its darkish-pink lips puffed and drooling around his thick shaft, still hungry for his ever hard penis.
He chuckled, pushing in and out with ease, wriggling his cock sideways, sensing the give of her warm inner flesh against his meaty erection. He eased his frame against the marvelous cushions of her black breasts and turned his head to suck, to chew on a taut and hardened nipple. Odetta sobbed and tried to turn herself inside out around his still screwing shaft. The restrengthened cunny crawled along the length of him like a man-eating clam, sucking and squeezing for a greater purchase. The long glove of wet flesh mauled and wrung his aching prong, a wild pubis madly sucking at him.
And then they were both lost in the uncontrollable, shuddering, throes of terrific climax, with Odetta raising her head, clamping her cannibal mouth to one of his flat masculine nipples, sucking and biting at it, as her nails scraped at his muscle-taut back.