Tuesday, 30 October 2012
Monique took my hand and led me upstairs. The balcony bedroom overlooked the sitting area and the high gable wall above the patio doors held a large picture window offering a view out towards the Pacific Ocean in the distance, but not that one we could see at night. She sat me on the bed and stood back as if gauging what action to take next before undoing the button and zip at the side of her dress, letting it fall to the ground and standing in front of me, naked save for a minute G-string, her full breasts defied gravity in such a way as one may have suspected that a thin wire fixed to the ceiling was attached to the nipples, holding them up. Monique stepped toward me and pushed me onto my back straddling me as she leant down and kissed me. My hands touched the skin on her back softly stroking and moving from where her ribs began then drifting around her sides and under her breasts. The skin reacting to my touch tensing and relaxing in turn as my fingertips passed across it, goose pimples rising and the soft downy hair popping to attention. She moaned as I did this and squirmed, forcing herself down against my waist eliciting further moans from her and inspiring a large erection on my part. She began to undo the buttons of my shirt, her hands pushed their way inside and she squeezed my nipples erect as her fingers ran through the hair on my chest and down toward my waist, where she found my belt buckle and after some seconds worth of struggle, gave up trying to undo it and pausing, sat up, smiled at me said, “undo it”. I immediately complied.
The buttons on my 501’s popped through their holes in rapid succession, as having undone the top button she pulled the two sides apart much like ripping apart a present, eager to see and get her hands on the prize inside. Jumping back off the bed she grasped at the heels of my boots and ripped them off casting them aside behind her and doing the same with my socks, before taking hold of my jeans by the ends of the leg and ripping them off, tossing them after the boots. Monique stood before me letting her hair free from the confines of the band holding it in place. I sat up and reaching out pulled her towards me and down onto the bed flipping her over onto her back and took in her beauty once more. I sat astride her this time, leaning down kissing her softly on the lips, then her cheek and by her ears before sliding my tongue down her neck, pausing at the point her collar bones met to form a small indent below her throat, kissing and nuzzling her there. My hands manoeuvred under the small of her back as I continued my journey south. Pausing again at her breasts I kissed around her nipples and noticed the skin tighten and small bumps and depressions on her dark nipples appear, either in anticipation of my contact or immediately afterward. Soft moans and sighs of pleasure came from her as I continued kissing my way around her body, holding her in place with my hands at her waist, the thumbs stroking the sides of her stomach, my fingers gently stretching the skin across the small of her back and sliding under the elastic of her G-string.
Arriving at the top of her G-string I ran my tongue along its width, hip-to-hip, occasionally under the elastic and material; a move that forced out a louder moan and a thrust of the hips from Monique. By now my feet were on the floor and in one fluid motion, I picked her up and moved her further onto the bed before settling back down and resuming my kisses and strokes. Her legs were slowly opening as I kissed around her waist and despite the urge to simply rip down her underwear and dive right in, I stalled; knowing that to move to fast would not deliver what we both wanted and moreover, after all the espionage so far, the move would not do justice to what had gone before. Using my tongue like a finger I forced down the front of her G-string and felt the well-trimmed soft hairs parting at its touch. I eased my thumbs under the elastic at her hips and pulled downwards. The front of the G-string eased lower and her legs opened further to assist me, and I paused watching as the material slowly rolled down until it reached her folds of skin between her legs where it held stubbornly in place, her wetness sticking the cloth to her skin. A subtle smell, the musky sweetness of sex and seduction arose from her as I drew the elastic and material down; the sweet smelling wetness finally releasing the damp silky cloth which sprang back in place to keep up with the rest of her G-string, as it was eased down her thighs over her knees and finally off her legs. Monique opened her legs wide, signalling her request for further attention and I moved to her thighs kissing and caressing as I journeyed back the other way. I had slipped off my boxer shorts as I had taken her underwear off, the odd tug and twist moving them downwards as I went about my work. The urge started again. The urge to simply slide inside her, pushing all the way in until out hips met. I cancelled the thought but my uncircumcised erection throbbed and waved about as I moved and each time it caught the skin on her legs I tensed, as a spasm of pleasure shot through my groin and up my body. My tongue slid along the inside of her left thigh and then upward, flicking across her wet labia and then her clitoris, across the short hair above and down the other side in a heart shape. I continued this pattern for a time, each pass across her clitoris forcing a deep pant from her chest and a smile inside me, as I was where I wanted to be since the moment Monique had made her presence known in the Jazz bar. The extent of the heart shape began to close in after a time, as I focused more closely around her inner thighs and clitoris, eventually changing the pattern altogether into a straight line from her clitoris down to the base of her pussy; with my nose, lips, tongue and chin all coming to bear as they touched her pleasure points.
Monique was getting wetter and wetter and her panting becoming evermore urgent as with each sweep up and down I increased the speed, settling eventually into a steady continuous rhythm. Her breaths started to come in small gulps as her body tensed and relaxed with one of my hands stroking her stomach and the other holding open her legs , keeping her in place. Monique’s body tensed and relaxed in waves; her voice urging me to “keep, doing, th..that”, each word panted out a breath at a time. Her lips had opened now, given the continuous pushing, licking and the incessant up and down strokes. I lapped at her, tasting and smelling her as she got wetter and hotter, the rhythm, the pressure, the speed, repeating; the urging, exploring, brushing, licking and tasting continuing. I reached for and found her hands and taking her by her wrists pushed her arms down by her sides holding her there, her body pined to the bed. This drew even louder panting for air as she bucked and forced her groin down and against my face, grinding herself against my nose, tongue and chin in turn as my head moved up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and…………. then she came; shouting at me to “keep, going, keep, doing, that…that…that…oh…oh…yes…that…yes…yes!” her body arcing off the bed, the noises were animal and throaty as the orgasm ripped through her. I released one arm and she grabbed at the back of my head pushing my face into her as I continued the rhythm and she shuddered again and again. I got even more turned on by the very act of her orgasm as she continued to moan and buck herself against my face.
As the force of her orgasm subsided I kissed my way back up her body. She reached up and pulled my head down towards hers and we kissed hard once again, all lips, tongues and teeth, before she eased back and licked the taste of herself from my face, small darting flicks of her tongue tracing around my lips, chin and nose. We kissed again and she reached down and took my hard cock in her hand, it’s pulsating throb evident as she squeezed it tightly and moved her hand up and down it’s length. I pulled myself up onto my knees and she followed to a sitting position her hands now working my cock and balls as she smiled up at me and I could have died in those eyes.
Taking me in her mouth Monique applied herself with gusto as I lay back and let her work on me this time. This was enormously pleasurable, her tongue flicking around as her head moved up and down, a hand joining in; to squeeze and touch. It started to get away from me and she knew this. I wanted it stopped after realising that I was about to come, but she would not stop. Her head plunging up and down and up and down until………..I could no longer hold on and she stayed there, swallowing and sucking until I moved her head away, she masturbated me way past the point of orgasm, which made me laugh and shout as spasms of pleasure shot through my stomach. Monique lay beside me and we kissed and stroked one another with our need to fuck growing ever more urgent until she asked, “screw me now”. I picked her up turned her over and she rose onto her knees and manoeuvred her body back towards me. I shuffled forward and placed the head of my penis against her lips and with no more than an almost imperceptible push she parted and I slid all the way inside her, the heat coming from her sending me into raptures. With long slow strokes I proceed to fuck her, sliding almost all of the way out, pausing, before plunging back in again and we carried on like this for quite a while, her hand between her legs heightening her sensations and occasionally cupping my balls in a friendly squeeze. We moved into a variety of positions eventually settling into the tried and tested cowgirl and she moved into another gear. I was quite happy to come whenever she wanted me to and as she climaxed again I joined in, physically lifting her body up and down as we climaxed together.
We fell apart breathing heavily and lay still for a while taking in air and what had happened. Monique went to the bathroom downstairs and returned with a tray holding re-filled wine glasses, the cigarettes and an ashtray. I took a long glug of wine rinsing it around my teeth and swallowing it down. It was icy cold and the tang pulled my head back into focus from the relaxed state I was now in. I took a cigarette and lit it. Monique sat on her knees with her legs curled underneath her; her hair was a tangled mess and her make up no longer perfect, but she looked stunning. A soft glow radiating from her, the dewy like perspiration shimmering on her shoulders, throat and between her breasts. I drew on the cigarette and passed it to Monique who took a deep pull and handed it back to me. Neither of us spoke for a while happy to sit, smoke and drink. I went to the bathroom and cleaned up, washing my face and hands and looked at myself in the mirror. I smiled broadly at my reflection, proud of my performance and I gave myself a wink, still as cock sure as ever!
Back in the bedroom, Monique had slid under the sheets and lay there; robbed in white cotton, her bare arms by her side pulling the sheet taught across her body, the light accentuating her curves as she patted the bed next to herself. “You ok?” she asked. “Great yeah, thanks” I said, as I lay beside her on top of the bed and lit another cigarette. “I want you to meet some of my friends in the morning, I told them all about you” she said. “Ok, but I do need to get back to Mum fairly early, as I do not want her being alone for too long”. Christ! I must have sounded like a little kid on his first night out alone! But I guessed that as she was aware of the situation with Mum, she was quite prepared to drop me back at the motel and understood my pre-occupation. “Cool” she replied and with that took a drink from her glass and placed it on the floor by the bed. “Now fuck me again”. I did as ordered and we varied our efforts to make sure we took advantage of all we had to offer each other. I would have quite happily spent the whole night with my face between her legs, such was the effect I was having; that coupled with the enjoyment it gave me, would have kept me so turned on, there would have been no need to do anything else, but Monique was obliging by return and so the evening drifted into early morning, and we didn’t noticed the sun coming up.
Friday, 12 October 2012
We took a taxi to the Restaurant and walked in just after 7pm to find Monique sat in the bar, sipping wine and looking like, well, she looked stunning! Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a pony tail, her skin glowed and she wore a deep red silk dress off the shoulders that hugged her figure and emphasised the body beneath and all of its curves, wow! I looked non too shabby if I do say so myself dressed as I was in a classic pair of Levi 501’s replete with tears and worn patches. A white Tuxedo shirt that had tight sharp pleats down the front which I’d bought from International Male on Melrose Ave, LA, when I met Brooke Victoria for a weekend of sex and shopping and nothing more. A black belt with the word Triumph in chrome forming the buckle and my black Crocodile Skin cowboy boots polished to a brilliant shine with silver toecaps. All in all I was George Michael circa the release of his Faith album. Mum dressed elegantly in a neat skirt and blouse, with her Turquoise jewellery and her hair curled and set in place with mousse and fixing spray. She discovered mousse when I started using it to fix my hair back, which I succeeded in doing by laying on my back on the bed, head over the edge so my hair fell away with gravity, the hairdryer going full blast as I pulled my fingers through the hair starting at the front and working back. I’d then sit up in front of the mirror and with a ball of mousse work through again, teasing each strand into place. What a tart!
Monique literally jumped off of her bar stool and walked toward us stopping Mum in her tracks, as she grasped her hands and kissed her cheek. Mum responded in kind and Monique giggled as Mum said “What a wonderful greeting Monique”. I stood beside Mum marvelling at this beautiful woman as she released mum and turned towards me. She held out her hand which I took in mine and she lent forward to kiss me full on the mouth, again I responded in kind as a sting of arousal chased down my stomach into my groin and set off fluttering butterflies in my midriff. I slowly pulled away from her lips, so slowly that a small section of our bottom lips stayed together until the movement apart finally released us from one another with a soft “puck” sound. I noticed I had stopped breathing and sucked in air realising that Monique was doing the same as we locked eyes and smiled together. The cat had got the cream but the question was, just who was the cat and who was the cream? I half expected Mum to interrupt this with a discreet “Ahem!” but Mum was much too ladylike and waited whilst we both recovered from a kiss that probably appeared to anyone watching as a greeting between long lost lovers. The night had barely begun and already my thoughts were charging ahead setting off various synapses, which in turn fired nerve endings, inspiring hormones to flood through my body, which resulted in heightened blood flow to bodily parts eager to grow and fill any space available.
We took seats at the bar and I ordered drinks; Mum wanted only Slimline tonic water a sure sign that she was once again watching her weight, and a refill of wine for Monique, and I had a ‘Dos Equis’ Mexican dark beer. Monique held my hand in hers as Mum told her of our exciting day at the beach with Monique nodding approvingly upon hearing that I had gone for a long jog on the beach and then playfully scowling and furrowing her brow as Mum told of her worry, as she sat alone and surrounded by the mob. A waiter arrived at my side saying our table on the patio was available whenever we wanted and after some more chatter about our adventure, we walked through to the garden and I held out her chairs as Mum, then Monique took their seats. That I should hold their chairs as they sat down may appear as my being ‘Mr Smooth’ but in fact, I was brought up by my parents to do such things as; hold a chair whilst a woman took her seat, offer my seat up on a bus to others less able to stand, hold open doors for others, answer the telephone politely, sit up at the table, mind my P’s and Q’s and generally behave well in company. It has done me no harm and I instil these behaviours in my children and expect nothing less of them.
The menu was not overloaded with options and I would bet that Mum ordered Fish, (her usual favourite of Breaded Scampi, very likely not on the menu!). Over dinner with Monique and Mum on either side of me, we laughed and joked about various topics. Surprisingly, Monique was not too interested in my (George’s) current musical activities beyond that already known and we talked of family, travel all the usual banter at table. As the night drew on my marvellous mother made motions towards tiredness and we asked if we could take coffee in the bar, along with brandy for Monique and whisky for myself. Mum paid the bill despite protestations from Monique and I wasn’t arguing as the CO-OP Insurance was picking up the tab anyway! The evening drew on and Monique asked whether we’d like to move on to the Jazz Bar where we’d first met the night before? Mum looked at me and said with a mischievous glint in her eye that “Thank you, but I am tired and need a good nights sleep after all the sun and excitement I had today”, (Monique of course unaware of Mum’s recent heart attack and need for rest), but happy to hear that I was all for a further extension to the evening.
It was at that point that I realised that to pursue with the ‘George” scenario playing out since we met, either Mum would have to check in to the Biltmore Hotel (not going to happen) or I’d have to think on my feet for a plan by which I could safely deliver mum to the Motel and continue onward with Monique. All without Monique discovering the deception. Bugger! With all thoughts now focused on devising a plan I excused myself and went to the restroom to think. Try as I might, every idea ended with either discovery or was such an entangled web that failure would be the only outcome. With Monique driving, why would she not drop Mum at the Biltmore or why would Mum and I get a cab, then another for me to get to the Jazz Bar? “Bollocks to this” I thought, the game is up! I washed my hands, checked my appearance in the mirror and walked back to where they were sat in the bar. Mum was smiling at me and Monique was staring at me, a playful look said something was up. I sat down and Mum said, “Monique knows you are not George Michael, Jonathan”. I looked across at Monique who was laughing now and so was Mum.
I did not know where to look other than dumbfounded. Monique stopped laughing took my hand and said that she half expected that I was not George and had been happy to play out the ruse until it became incompatible to carry on. That point had now been reached as mum had realised the difficulty in continuing and had asked whether she could be honest with Monique in my absence? Monique had said of course so Mum has said, “He’s not really George Michael you know?” to which Monique had replied, “Yes, I know.” They had then discussed how Monique had rumbled us and MTV had been my undoing, or rather MTV News to be precise. It had run a segment on George’s current tour of the East Coast and had told how he was currently in Miami where he was playing dates before moving on, or some such thing. I looked at Monique who smiled as if to say “its ok” and I smiled back. I suggested we move on then and asked if Monique would mind dropping mum back at the Motel Bilt-more or less? She laughed and said “of course” so we stood and walked out Monique taking my hand as we walked a few paces behind Mum. I softly squeezed her hand and we arrived at her car, Mum taking the front seat next to Monique and I got in the back.
At the Motel, Monique waited in the car whilst I let Mum in the room, made her a cup of Tea, put her glass of water by the bed and asked whether there was anything else she wanted? “No Jonathan, you go now and have a nice time” she said. I walked to the door and looked back to see her sitting on her bed, taking her tablets. A pang of guilt shot through me as she looked up and smiled. I was leaving her alone for the first time since her release from hospital, was it wrong, should I be doing that? “Go on then” she said, with some emphasis to her voice and I turned and closed the door, locking it behind me. I sat in Monique’s car and said “Lets go then” false bravado apparent in my voice, as I was worried for Mum and not for what lay ahead for me that night; that I could deal with. I looked at Monique and she lent into me and kissed me passionately. We settled into a long searching kiss, exploring with tongues and clashing teeth as our heads turned to get closer to each other. Neither of us wanted to stop the kiss but breathing became difficult and we parted, took a breath and dived back in. My worries for Mum started to dissipate as we kissed and I opened my eyes as we were still locked together and looked at her. I looked at her eyes; closed and relaxed, little nerves twitching on her eyelids. I closed my eyes again, only to open them seconds later to find her looking at me, we broke apart laughing and said, “wow” simultaneously.
“To the jazz bar then” I said. “OK”, she replied laughing again and drove out of the car park and down State Street toward the beachside road, turning left and heading out towards Summerland. Arriving at the bar she parked and we entered to a heady mix of music, smoke, loud voices searching to be heard and the smell of beer. We looked at each other and turned as one and walked out of the bar, “my place?” she asked. “Yea, why not” I said, “lead the way”. Back in her car we kissed again and turning inland drove up hill past groups of townhouses and low level apartment blocks until about half way up, where she turned into a parking space in front of a group of two storey townhouses running parallel to the coast. She parked and we walked towards the door of one of the apartments my hand in hers until we reached the door. She let us in, closing and locking the door behind as I stepped into the house and along a corridor past a doorway to a bathroom and into a large open plan room with large patio doors leading to a wooden deck.
The living room was sparsely furnished; a couch, some art on the walls, a TV in the corner. It was open plan as the breakfast bar gave way to the kitchen area and against the wall were stairs fixed with a balustrade leading to a large balcony overlooking the living room. Monique flicked a light switch and walked past me to the kitchen where she pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, collected two glasses from a cupboard and came back into the living area and gestured to the couch. I sat down, propping my back in the corner against large soft cushions and took a glass of wine.
She told me about how she’d been sure I was George Michael the first night we’d met but that she could work out who the older lady was. So when she came across to where we sat and the lady (mum) had confirmed that I was George, she had believed her, why would a little old lady lie? Finding out that I was not who I purported to be, (I corrected that and said in fact Mum had said who I was not me), it was then a game to see when and if the ruse would break down.
“Were you angry” I asked, “yea a little at first, but then I liked your mum, if that’s who she was and thought what would be wrong in meeting up again, but I like you and want to fuck you. Who cares whether you’re George or not” she replied and my heart started kicking the shit out of my chest wall.
Thursday, 11 October 2012
Mum loved espionage as was fast becoming apparent! As we drove back to our Motel I asked why she felt it necessary to confirm to Monique that I was George Michael. “Well, you look like him and you can sing” was her reply. “She is very attractive Jonathan, you could do well there”. Now answer me this, what on earth was a sixty year old woman doing using the phrase, “you could do well there?” I asked her the same thing. “Well, she is very beautiful, obviously well educated, has her own place and this is a lovely place to live”. So she marrying me off to a woman we had met only three hours previously and basing her choice on none other than the little known facts to hand. No, she wasn’t a Jewish Mamma but the inference could be drawn.
For my part, one who was ‘heavily’ Sex driven and relationship ‘lite’, my immediate intention, far different from my mothers of course, was to get inside Monique’s knickers as quickly as possible. Given that she believed (did she really?) I was George; I expected that to happen with the minimum of fuss and nonsense. Far from possible marriage, children, settling down in Southern California (I could almost hear Mum’s mind building a tic list of objectives that would result in her having a Granny Annex at her son and daughter-in-laws beachfront home in the sun) and a life envied by many, I was deciding how early the following evening I could drop Mum back at the Motel after dinner. Would there be a need for coffee post meal? Would Mum suggest a nightcap at another bar? Was Mum likely to create a blocker on my amorous pursuit’s saying her health demanded that I bid Monique good evening and take her back to the Motel, tucking her in and lying there dreaming of what if scenarios? Far too much thinking going on for our own good with both our heads filled with plans. One with plans for the rest of their lifetime, the other, with plans limited to the next night. With Mum tucked up in bed in one of her Hospital gowns now her ‘go to’ nightwear, I took a chair outside our Motel room and sat on the walkway, glass of Jack Daniels to hand and wondered about the day and night to come. Eventually I retired as well, far later than normal, with pleasant images flooding my head as I mentally removed Monique’s dress she’d been wearing early that evening.
I awoke the following morning a happy man, our plan for the day ahead was to travel out to Goleta Beach State Park beyond the airport; by the University of California at Santa Barbara (UCSB) campus. The beach forms a spit of sand between the mouth of a river running behind it and to the south and the Pacific Ocean on the other side. There is space for parking, a café and bar where students would pull up in cars with loud music coming from ghetto blasters and pile onto the beach, playing volley ball or generally fooling around. Across the estuary the beach resumed but was now backed by cliffs that led towards Santa Barbara. Most days we’d breakfast on the road, with Mum taking coffee in bed, which I’d make before she rose and showered. Finding Goleta by accident, we had planned to return and so by eleven am we were parking up and walking towards the sand. A group of youths, both boys and girls, had parked up by our car and were sat on their car hoods and were fooling around, smoking and shouting, music blaring out. Mum and I decided we’d wander away down the beach a little and settled on a plot of sand that was interspersed with knots of grass. Towels positioned, we lay back, Walkman on in my case, Marlboro on the go, National Enquirer and a paper cup of coffee in Mum’s hands.
Whilst always conscious of my weight, in fact I did very little to manage it and surprisingly maintained a neat and trim thirty inch waist. Wearing Black Speedo swimming trunks and the Marlboro cigarette stubbed out in an empty cup, I told Mum I was going for a jog and set off towards the end of the spit. The beach was not busy at all so I was not out to pose for once, and tracked along the waters edge until I reached the mouth of the river. It was shallow the middle reaching no deeper than my waist, so I waded in crossing swiftly and carried on jogging past the cliffs.
As I ran I could feel the burn of the sun on the top of my shoulders and enjoyed its warmth. I have always been more of a summer than winter man and the climate of California was all right by me. I had developed anyway, through fair means (sunlight) and foul (sunbed) a deep tan by that point and it felt good to be jogging over the sand, the odd piece of wood, some seaweed and a few plastic bottles the only hazards I needed to dodge as I ran along the seas edge. After a while I stopped and looked back to see that I had travelled further than I'd intended, in fact I had turned along the coast and around the headland losing sight of Goleta Beach altogether. I tracked back around the headland and back past the cliffs straining my eyes to try and identify Mum against the sand, but failed to pick her out. She had moved, probably to get some shade. As I crossed the river and rose up the sand bank I again looked ahead and noted that whilst she was still sat where I had left her, she was sat amongst a large group of people.
I picked up speed and eventually flopped down on my towel quite exhausted to find her looking slightly alarmed. “Where did this lot come from then” I said, gesturing towards the large group of people now easily identified as the group we’d seen at the car park, plus assorted others. “They came over soon after you’d jogged away, I’ve been quite worried Jonathan” she said. Looking at the group more closely it was primarily made up of Hispanic people, who were talking animatedly, smoking dope and drinking beer. There were maybe a handful of white American’s amongst them but as a group, their ages ranged from late teens into their thirties so I guessed that they were not necessarily from the University. Occasionally, one of them would get up and walk back to the cars and return with more beer and I guessed that the afternoon was only going to get louder and more raucous as it progressed, so I said that we’d better pack up, either moving further down the beach towards the university or leaving altogether.
As we packed up, a few shouts came our way along the lines of “Hey, why are you leaving patron” or “Go get me a beer el jefe” the accents and insults were much like the characters in Carlito’s Way, starring Al Pacino! Ignoring their requests we packed up and wandered, as nonchalantly as possible away from them and up the beach towards the café and the car park. As we neared the café where we had decided to sit and have a cold drink, a number of other cars swung into the car park, music blaring, beer swilling youths and adults clambering out as soon as they parked up. I decided that we should hang around for a while to see what would happen and told mum, whereas she was of another mind and would be happy to leave. It made no difference anyway as no sooner had we swapped ideas, than two Police Cars drove into the car park and four Policemen emerged from them. Mum wanted to stay now.
The Police Officers wandered around the cars parked near ours looking in the windows and looking across at the group of people they belonged to. A number of the group, mostly men but one or two women as well, came from the beach waving their arms, around shouting at the Officers, asking what they wanted, what they were doing, they'd "done nothing!"
The Officers remained calm and spoke quietly out of ear shot, but whatever they were saying seemed to have the desired affect as the shouting subsided and the women stopped dancing frantically around the men which had been happening during the commotion. The Officers looked in our direction mainly because the man who appeared to be the main speaker for the group had been pointing at the Café, gesticulating with his arms, which in turn had prompted the others to jump around in what appeared to be a war dance. Once again the Officers spoke and the crowd stopped dancing. Mum was really interested and kept wondering out loud as to what the problem might be? One of the Police officers walked across to the Café, said “Good afternoon” to those gathered around and asked for the owner. A woman stepped forward and walked back towards the group someway, before stopping about thirty metres from them.
They spoke to one another, and then walked across to the main party and wild gesticulations began again, with whoops and screech’s coming from the women. One of the Officers who had obviously had enough of that, grabbed two women, each by an arm and frogmarched them to the beach, the women appearing as rags dolls being dragged across the car park and sand, where he placed them down on the ground, said something and walked back. Not one of the men appeared fazed by this and did nothing to stop the Officer or to protest.
Still more conversation and then the leader said something to one of the other men, who wandered down to the beach, picked up a bag and walked back again. He opened the bag; a Police Officer looked into it and took out bottles of beer and potato chips, showed them to the lady from the Café, who nodded her head. The items were placed back into the bag and the bag passed to the lady. She turned and walked back to the Café muttering to herself as she passed by what was now a substantial crowd gathered under the awning. The guy who produced the bag turned around and was handcuffed by one of the Police Officers, whilst the others wandered back to the beach except the leader who stood watching his compadre getting arrested. The Police Officers placed him in the back of a car got in as well and drove around the car park and out onto the road leading to the Airport.
The crowd at the Café dispersed leaving Mum and I along with a few others still sat at the tables. The owner came out and was asked by someone she obviously knew what had gone on. It transpired that this group had consistently raided her fridges for beer every time they came down to the beach and she had finally had enough. The Police had threatened to search everyone on the beach for drugs, which had set off the shouting and protestations of innocence. The lead Police Officer had said that if they produced the items and the thief owned up and came with them, nothing further would happen, which is what took place. The owner said that the crowd were not necessarily a bad bunch, just that she was sick and tired of losing money on them and that she felt it time to call a halt to their stealing from her.
Mum spoke up then saying it was disgusting behaviour and that they should be ashamed of themselves. Where were their parents she wanted to know? Mum calmed down with more coffee; milky coffee or Café Latte as we came to know it ten years later. Mum said she had been surrounded by them at one point and was preparing to give them a piece of her mind when I came back and extricated her from her predicament. Lucky for them I thought! After such an eventful day we packed up, heading back to the Motel and a rest.
I needed to trim my stubble anyway, as I did not want to scratch Monique’s inner thighs and Mum needed to sleep before dinner.