Chapter 5
By the time Callie O'Hara reached the ferry building in Bedford where she was scheduled to catch a ferry to the small resort town of Edgarstown, Martha's Vineyard, she was suffering from a rather severe headache.
"I'd like to buy a ticket," she said over the counter, which was conveniently situated just across the street from the Greyhound bus depot. "I-I'm supposed to catch the one arriving at Edgarstown at seven tonight."
"My dear," the platinum blonde clerk exclaimed. "You look so awful. Are you sick or something?"
"Well, a little tired maybe. I've come from
Charlotte, North Carolina on the bus, and I have a headache."
"Well, here, dear, have some Anacin."
Callie gratefully gulped down the preferred pills and the glass of bottled water. She smiled timidly at the bleached blonde, who seemed warm-hearted despite her ominously pointed red-lacquered nails and brightly painted lips.
"I'm looking so forward to my visit," she stammered. "I mean, I'm going to be staying there with my sister-in-law to be and her boyfriend."
"Oh, so that's who you are!" the pretty, overly made up woman chirped. Her blue shadowed eyes glinted with excitement, and Callie noted that her smile grew more friendly than ever. "Gee, you lucky gal! You're talking about Nick Craven and his French girlfriend, aren't you? Wow, he's one hell of a man, I can tell you thatl"
"Really?" Callie didn't quite know how to reply to the woman's exuberant statement, and her head hurt a bit too much to care. Despite her headache, however, she was still curious and excited about meeting Jacques's sister. "You-you know Bridget's boyfriend?" she asked curiously.
"Do I know Nick? Sure I do," the blonde enthused. "Hell, when he comes over from the island, we go and have a friendly little visit in the office," her head motioned toward a door behind the counter, "and gee, he is some lover!"
Callie was spared further explanation-her head ached so badly that it was something of a torture even to think-by the appearance of a handsome, youthful-looking man in a captain's uniform.
"All aboard," the young man cried. And then, turning to the saucily smiling blonde clerk, he remarked, "And how's it going, Jeri baby? Heard you've been doin' lots of business."
The bleached blonde behind the counter giggled wickedly, thrust out her huge tits, and replied in a husky voice, "Here's your passenger, Petie honey!"
Peter, as the muscular young officer was called, turned his attention from the overly painted blonde behind the counter to the timid-looking passenger, whose hands clutched her pitiful, worn out suitcase as though she were hanging on to a lifeline which would save her from drowning.
"Hey, sweetheart," he exclaimed. "Ready for a little trip in Pete's ferry?"
Callie glanced out the ferry building's window. A heavy driving rain was falling, although the day had been fair up until a few hours ago, and she felt fear clutch at her throat at the thought of boarding a small ferry boat in a storm like this and hoped she wouldn't get seasick.
"Is-is the sea s-safe?" she quavered, staring out in wide-eyed hesitation at the Vineyard sound. She'd only been in a boat once before in her life-when she and Jacques had crossed from Athens to the isle of Kos-but the Aegean Sea had been calm and beautiful.
"Course it is, lady!" Pete declared. "You just follow me; I'll let you sit right up front with me."
Callie nodded dumbly, not wanting to say anything that might be construed as a slur against the man's professional qualifications. She shivered violently as Pete led her out on the ramp, then felt terribly embarrassed as he gave her skimpily clad body a penetrating stare.
"You sure got a fantastic bod, sweetheart," he remarked as he led her up the ramp and onto the boat and showed her to a low wooden bench behind the wheel and instrument panel. "There you go. And take my jacket, you're going to catch your death if you don't wrap up!"
"Thanks," Callie choked out, feeling so sick from her headache and her fear of the crossing in the bad weather that she might as well have been dead already.
Although the captain was doubtless a very nice man, Callie felt relieved when another passenger boarded the ferry and Pete moved from the bench beside her to his place behind the wheel. She was, after all, another man's woman, and the way his arm had lingered on her shoulders as he wrapped the jacket around her had made her nervous. There'd been a lewd glint in his eyes which reminded her of that horrible Barth Owens ... and she had seen the same look in the eyes of young Tommy Eamon. Men! They were all animals, thinking of nothing except sex! Only Jacques had been different-always gentle and considerate, treating her with love rather than lust-and she certainly hoped that his sister and her boyfriend would turn out to have been cut from the same pattern.
Callie could hardly wait to reach the sanctuary of Jacques's sister's home where she would be protected from menacing, pussy-hungering men, but there were still some hours to get through before she reached that happy condition. At the moment, a youngish man in denim jacket and jeans was entering the door. Gosh, I hope he doesn't sit next to me, she prayed. He'd probably stare at my titties and want to fuck my pussy.
To her discomfort, however, the youth placed his rucksack on the-far corner of the wooden bench, planted his tall, muscular frame down close beside Callie O'Hara, and gave her huge tits that were popping out from Pete's jacket a long, lustful stare.
"Hi, Byron," Pete greeted him. "Had any good pieces lately?"
He turned around in his swivel seat to wink meaningfully at the newcomer. "Betcha when you saw this foxy young one you got a hard-on that wouldn't quit, you horny son of a bitch."
Callie was annoyed to feel her cheeks growing pink with embarrassment, but how could she help blushing at such rude talk and bad language? She lowered her flaming face to avoid looking at either of the two young men, hoping that if she just ignored them they would forget about her, a strategy which had been successful with some bothersome males before.
The dark-haired man called Byron laughed heartily. "No, Pete, but that'd have been as good a reason as any. Fact is, though, I got work to do on the island."
"Work!" Pete kidded as he adjusted various knobs and buttons on the instrument panel in preparation for leaving. "You call it work, messing 'round with chicks, writing songs? Ya oughta try some real work, like drivin' one of these tubs in a goddamn storm."
Callie gazed out of the corner of her eye at the strange man seated beside her. A musician. How interesting!
"Byron here's one of those intellectual guys," Pete said to the voluptuous blonde. "Goes to one of them universities downstate, and he's always messin' around with his guitar and writing damn fool songs to get his millions."
"I'm not a bad musician, actually." The dark-haired young man turned and spoke directly to Callie, forcing her to look up out of politeness.
He's sort of nice, Callie decided. And awfully good-looking, too. The sort of guy I like ... if I weren't in love with Jacques.
"And what about yourself?" the young man inquired, his gaze softening as he leaned uncomfortably close to the young blonde. "What brings you to Martha's Vineyard?"
"I'm going to visit my fianc‚'s sister." She had to speak loudly to be heard above the sudden roar of the engine's starting up.
There. Now he'll realize I'm already taken, thought the young blonde. Now he'll move away and stop looking at my titties in that dirty way.
But Byron Kealing didn't take the hint. "A little girl like you thinking of getting married?" he shouted, using the sound of the engines as an excuse to press closer than ever against her. "What a waste." Someone else had said the same thing recently-who was it? Oh, God, yes, that dreadful Barth Owens. Shuddering, Callie edged away from the handsome musician.
Just at that moment the ferry-without any warning at all-lurched from a wave that hit it broadside. Caught unawares, the startled young blonde crashed against the hard-muscled chest of the young man beside her.
"Oh, ex-excuse me," she gasped as the boat steadied itself. Quickly she slid over to the far end of the wooden bench, trying to deny to herself that the unwanted contact with a well-built male had sent shivers of excitement coursing through her cunt.
"Nothing to excuse," laughed Byron. "I never had any complaints about a pretty chick falling into my arms, that's for sure."
Once again, Callie blushed and stared at the floor. Due to her aunt's strict limitation of her teenage social activities, she'd never learned how to flirt in a light-hearted manner with men who paid her compliments. Not knowing what to say, she remained silent.
"Visiting your relatives, huh?" the man continued, unperturbed by the huge titted blonde's reticence. "And where's your fianc‚?"
Callie's cheeks burned redder than ever, and despite herself, her pussy started burning. She excitedly ground her cunt down on the hard wooden bench trying to massage her tingling clit. She certainly didn't want to blurt out her sad story to this total stranger, but on the other hand, she certainly didn't want it to appear as though she were separated from her fianc‚ by choice.
"In Greece," she replied at last. "He-uhhe couldn't get away just now." That, at any rate, was not a lie.
"Ahah!" exclaimed the handsome man. The ferry swerved slightly, and he was jolted toward the timid girl, remaining pressed against her curvaceous young body far longer than she thought strictly necessary. "So while your fianc‚'s living it up in Greece, you're coming to Martha's Vineyard to have a good time with us American guys, huh?"
"Certainly not!" the blushing girl said stiffly.
Byron gazed at his fellow passenger curiously. She was a lovely little thing, no doubt about that, with a perfect figure that could not be entirely hidden by Pete's bulky leather jacket. Just the sort of chick he fancied, in fact. Yet she seemed so shy, almost unfriendly, that he felt rather annoyed. Normally, the handsome musician met with quite another reaction from chicks, and up until now the twenty-five-year-old had never failed to attract the girl of his choice.
Maybe she's got some kind of sex hang-up, he told himself, unwilling to admit that she perhaps just did not like him. I'll use the slow, platonic friend approach ...
For the rest of the rather bumpy and terribly noisy journey, Callie was much relieved that Byron Kealing avoided overly personal conversation and kept to his own side of the bench. Instead, he talked about his music and songs and by the time the ferry was preparing to dock in the small terminal at Edgarstown, she felt as though she had made a new friend.
"We're almost there," the young man exclaimed a bit distractedly. It was rather difficult to concentrate on a serious conversation when his semi-erect cock was pulsing against the denim fabric of his jeans. Christ, this chick was a sexy little cunt-too bad she had to be so aloof and reserved, but surely his attentive charm would wear her down in time. It never failed.
Then, as the ferry boat docked and the engines came to a wheezing standstill, Callie forgot about the handsome young man seated beside her. Her big green eyes shone with anticipation as she peered out into the darkness trying to spot Jacques's sister and her excitement mounted by the second. Now, at last, she was going to be with real friends!
Bridget Lamothe wrapped her long velvet cape closer around her voluptuous body and flashed a charming, provocative smile at the grizzled old clerk, the only other occupant of the small ferry terminal. Not that she was trying to flirt with the lecherous old gentleman with his ample belly, but the cock-hungry French girl automatically adopted a seductive attitude when in the vicinity of any and all males.
"Pretty soon now, Al?" she queried, glancing at the clock on the wall. The radio, playing a popular tune, was making louder crackling sounds than before, and hope surged through her at the thought that the thirty minute late ferry might be arriving at last.
The older man took a deep swallow of his beer before answering the elegant lady whose presence was making him decidedly uncomfortable. Not only was her perfume stinking up the place, but her whole demeanor, carefully coiffured curls, and trendy long red cape with high leather boots, made him feel ill at ease. In the old days, dames hadn't gone in for all these frills. Women had been in their proper place at home, not running around the world and displaying their bodies like city whores.
"Maybe twenty minutes," he muttered at last, opening another beer as he spoke. "Bad sea-rain and all."
Bridget sighed audibly and lit another Galois. The small pile of cigarette butts surrounding her brown leather boots showed that she'd been smoking too much, but what else was there to do in this dreary place? Why, for God's sake, had Nick gotten himself tied up in a business dinner and left her to meet her brother's girlfriend all alone? What in the hell was she supposed to do with herself in this drab, gray walled ferry terminal? Besides, her cunt was all hot.
Al's prediction had been, as usual, pessimistic. Before Bridget had finished her strong French cigarette, she spied the lights of the ferry flickering off and on as it made its way toward the dock. Running to the window, she felt suddenly light-hearted and rewarded for her forty-five minutes of utter boredom. There was Callie, whom she recognized at once from the sketch Jacques had sent them, and beside her strode a tall, well-built, extremely handsome young man.
"Callie, cherie!" she cried effusively, throwing her arms around the younger girl as soon as she walked into the terminal. "I'm so glad to see you. Mon dieu, but you must be dead on your feet!"
The young blonde, who had never been embraced by a woman before, felt somewhat uncomfortable but was very grateful for the brunette's warm welcome.
"I-I'm awfully glad to be here," she replied. "Wow, what a trip."
"Oh, you poor enfant" sympathized Bridget.
Then turning her amber eyes toward the handsome young man who stood smiling beside Callie, she unconsciously adjusted her pretty face into the provocative expression she reserved for attractive males.
"How sweet of you to carry Callie's bag, Mr. er--?" she cooed kittenishly.
"Kealing" the husky young man grinned. "Byron Kealing. And it was my pleasure to help Callie."
Callie blushed, thinking she ought to have had the savoir faire to make introductions, but the other two never noticed her distress, for they were giving each other one of those significant stares which say more than a thousand words.
Unsophisticated young Callie wasn't quite aware of what was going on between her sister-in-law to be and her friendly traveling companion, but she felt a prickling sense of discomfort nevertheless. She stood to one side, feeling rather like an awkward child, as Bridget offered to drive Byron to a hotel, then invited him to spend the weekend at their home.
Why, she wondered wistfully, can't I be easygoing and amusing like she is? No wonder Jacques said nice things about her--she's much more beautiful and stylish than me, and she knows how to talk to people, too. Gee, I wish I could be more like that ...
Byron accepted the weekend invitation, and the trio piled into the front seat of Bridget's silver Porsche, oblivious to the disapproving scowl of Al, the clerk, and the jealous glances of Pete, the captain. Byron shoved the luggage and his guitar case into the back seat and crawled in beside Callie, who tried not to feel uncomfortable sandwiched in between Jacques's sexy sister's firmly fleshed thighs and Byron Kealing's muscular hips. Although she didn't want to be a prude, her upbringing had made her wary of physical contact with strange men-even though she had been fucked in the mouth by Barth Owens's cock and had practically begged for young Tommy Eamon to fuck her pussy. Callie had decided it was all the alcohol she had consumed and not her normal personality. She was grateful when the handsome young man got off in front of a small, cozy-looking hotel where he had said he was to meet a friend, and she could scoot over to the far side of the car.
Bridget drove fast, but skillfully, along the narrow, deeply rutted roads, and within minutes they were a little way out of the small town and speeding through total blackness punctuated only by the occasional light of an isolated dwelling. Soon Callie decided that she quite liked the intimidatingly elegant French girl who kept up a constant flow of cheerful conversation, telling amusing anecdotes about the residents of each of the houses they passed. By the time they pulled up in front of the house, she felt quite relaxed with the attractive brunette.
"Voila!" smiled Bridget as she tugged the girl's shabby suitcase from the backseat. There had been a time, before she'd met some wealthy men, when she, too, had been compelled to carry shoddy suitcases and wear cheap, discount house pullovers. No longer, thank God, but she felt a pang of pity for her brother's voluptuous blonde lover as she remembered the old days.
"Callie, I hope you'll be happy here-feel right at home and all," she added as she guided the blonde girl up the flagstone walk and in through the heavy oaken front door. "You're part of the family, not just a guest, cherie?"
Callie smiled shyly. Although Jacques's sexy sister was being terribly kind, she felt a bit awed by the French girl's charm and self-confidence.
The boeuf bourgignon, French bread, cheese, and ruby colored red wine which Bridget placed before her were delicious, but Callie was really too tired to eat or make conversation. When her considerate hostess finally showed her to her bedroom, she fell into bed, her pussy longing to be fucked by Jacques's throbbing cock. Oh, God, but she missed him!