The man's hair was dark, wavy, untrimmed, and down nearly to his shoulders. His bare feet made only slight impressions in the firm damp sand as the slight surf from China Sea broke on the shore. His face was as chiselled as his pecs and abs, and he was tanned all over. Except maybe under the bathing trunks.
"This island earned its name, Sand Island." Jeff's voice was as authoritative as his stride. "Nothing but sand."
A Chinese junk bobbed at anchor in the water three hundred yards out.
His wife, Ronda was naked and tanned all over from weeks in the sun. Her dark brunette hair reached down her back and blew in the gentle breeze. She carried her five foot eight inches well. Her oval face was accented by a straight nose, sensuous lips, high cheek bones, and blue eyes. Dark dense pubic hair accented her firm thighs.
Ronda's gaze moved between her husband, Jeff and the naked woman on her right.
"What a surprise to find you here in the middle of nowhere like this. Jeff, you know I usually hate surprises, but this is one surprise I like. Thank you." Ronda drew Jeff closer to her and kissed him lightly on the lips. "And thank you, my love, for coming." She turned to her right and kissed Angela the same way.
Angela was not so tanned, nor was her hair so dark or long. She was picking up the images Ronda's mind was generating as she spoke but, as was often true, the words didn't have much to do with what the person was thinking. Ronda's mind was a collage of vivid images; their first meeting when Angela talked with her at the coffee shop, the first time they made love, Ronda guiding Jeff's erect penis into Angela's asshole the first time the three of them made love together. The images shifted from a shared past to a possible future as they made love on the Chinese junk anchored just offshore.
Smiling at the pleasant images she read in Ronda's thoughts, Angela strode with the other two along the beach. Holding her body well accentuated her broad muscular rower's shoulders. At five and a half feet, she was the shortest of the three. Her honey blonde hair was not much longer than Jeff's. Her waist narrow, breasts shapely and curvaceous, if you looked at her face closely you might be able to detect a slight signs of few more years of life than Ronda's thirty-five. If you looked at her as closely as Jeff and Ronda had, you could also see the faint remnants of stretch marks from her only child about twenty years before.
"Imagine how hard it is to get to the Parcel Islands, much less any specific island, from Chicago? What a trip! But here I am, and glad I made it. Why'd you pick this island?" Angela looked at Jeff.
Angela wasn't focused on Jeff's mental imagery, but it was powerful enough that she picked up some of it and had to resist shifting her focus from Ronda. She could feel what he remembered feeling as Ronda guided the sensitive head of his large and erect cock in probing the yielding flesh of Angela's anus, felt him moving deeper inside as the smooth pressure from all sides engulfed his cock and drew him deeper into her.
She glanced down to see that Jeff's swim trunks were bulging and over the layers of images and feelings, she heard his voice answering her question.
"Sand Island? It's uninhabited. I knew we could have it to ourselves ... unless someone--Russia, China, Vietnam, Japan or someone else--decides to move in on it and try to claim it for themselves. That happens now and then." Jeff squeezed Ronda's hand.
"And what do you think that is about?" Ronda pointed into the clear blue sky.
The dim thumping of a helicopter's engines was growing louder and louder. The three saw the menacing dragon fly-like body of the fast approaching machine.
"Who knows?" Jeff kicked a shell. "Shall we swim back to the junk or do you want to spend some time here?"
"The crew is always on the boat. They can hear everything we do. And you know how it is when the three of us are together. I'm not even going to try to keep quiet." Ronda's lips pursed into something like a pout.
Angela picked up some vivid imagery.
Though she'd been 'seeing' other peoples' mental images since she could remember, it wasn't until after college that Angela had turned that talent to her advantage by becoming a psychic detective. It took even longer for her to learn that without concrete evidence she could not tell whether the images she received were plans, memories, or fantasies and hire skilled operatives to find out. But now she knew the images were a blend of memories, fantasies and hopes. She'd shared in the parts that were memories.
"We've been sailing on that junk for three months and the crew hasn't interfered with anything we've done before." Jeff's voice was coaxing.
"That was just the two of us." Ronda didn't know how to tell Jeff that his love making, delectable as it had become over the past weeks, just didn't bring forth from her the same response that Angela's did. He was better than he had been--but she didn't feel the passion for him that she did for Angela.
"They couldn't care less. They're all gay Philippinos, the backbone of the international fleet these days." Jeff's eyes were following the helicopter.
"Ah, you know this from your days with Bowman, Lyons, and Heartland. Of course. It makes sense. It's a good thing you decided to disappear for a while. Those guys are all under arrest." Angela was looking at the sky too. "But that chopper looks like it's coming right here. Who knows we're here?"
"Nobody." Jeff was frowning. The bulge in his trunks had subsided.
The three could no longer ignore the sound or pretend the chopper was going to any other destination. The pulse of the engines was deafening and the wind from the rotors was kicking up a sandstorm around the three as the chopper hesitated overhead, and then slowly descended to a graceful landing on the slight dunes just to their right.
A closely cropped short man in a suit and necktie crouched under the whirling blades and sprinted toward them. They could see marines inside the helicopter.
"Jeffrey Moore?"
"Yes." Both men were shouting to be heard above the din of the engines behind them.
"Come with me."
"I don't think so. Who the hell are you, anyway?"
)
