Beside the Lagoon

THIS STORY is set mainly in New Zealand.

CHAPTER 1

Roaming photographer Douglas Rogan, from a small coastal settlement in Massachusetts, had been trolling New Zealand for five months taking shots of unusual scenes or notable characters with the idea of producing his 7th pictorial book he aimed to call 'Kiwiland Under Camera'.

The tall, lean blond with inquiring blue eyes had been enchanted with the country and its people and wherever he went had been made to feel quite at home. He'd sent sample photos back to his publisher who remained unmoved, no doubt being miffed that Douglas had turned down her suggestion that he journey into northern China. When last stopping over in London Douglas has fallen in with a carefree band of Kiwis on what they called their OE (overseas experience) and became impressed by the diversity, openness and strong character of each of the Kiwis including the three females. He'd decided one day he'd take a look at their country, and here he was.

Most Kiwis he met in New Zealand soon shortened his name to Doug. He didn't mind but knew it would upset his parents, but they didn't need to know. He now called himself Doug.

He drove slowly into the small coastal settlement on the huge Kaipara Harbor, west of Auckland, in his cheap Japanese car that had served him faithfully, he being the fifth owner over fifteen years. The Kiwi vernacular for it was 'as cheap as shit' and it 'hadn't done the dirty on him' by breaking down. Two women he'd befriended had refused to ride in 'that rust bucket' but eventually he'd find a female who was more interested in the driver than the car.

Doug stopped at the general store that also served as local base for New Zealand Post. He'd learned the people operating those stores tended to be busy, informative and garrulous and if caught at the right time could be a mine of information.

"Good morning. I wonder if you could tell me where I can find Kitty Ryan?"

"Oh, American are we?"

By now Doug was used to this and knew the use of 'we' meant he didn't have to look around for another person supposedly in on the conversation.

"Yeah, out of Boston."

He didn't have to explain where Boston was. He'd yet to meet a Kiwi who didn't know the location of Boston.

"Nice place."

He doubted she'd been there, or ever to America, but had to play the game.

"Glad you liked it."

She sniffed. "What's the attraction with Kitty?"

The game continued. If he wanted information he'd have to exchange private information that would become gossip.

"I want to commission her to write text for a photographic book for me. I'm heard she's good."

:"Is that good at writing or good in the sense of morality?"

"Um, my interest in her is her writing. I'm told she is a poet and a painter and writes self-illustrated articles for magazines."

The woman pulled a hair from her nose and looked at Doug closely. "She's not married you know or living with a bloke at the moment."

"Look, that is no concern of mine. It's her artistic talent that interests me."

"Oooh, artistic talent. That sounds rather highfalutin for these parts. Four miles straight along from here, turn left on to Lagoon Road and she'd be in the yellow house right on the water. Off you go, I have people waiting."

Well thought Doug driving off. That had taken some effort but was infinitely better than talking to eight other people, possibly none being able to assist him.

No one appeared home at the yellow house although the front door was wide open. Doug walked around the oblong dwelling with its groups of windows in twos apart from what was called the sunroom and that had a wall of glass.

He stepped on to the large wooden deck that extended out on piles a little way out over the saltwater lagoon. In the distance he could see the waves of high tide running over the sand bar and slop carrying sand into the lagoon.

A woman with long hair a few yards out was lolling in the water.

She called out 'Hi' and waved, appearing unfazed as being disturbed.

She swam to the steps and it was obvious she wasn't wearing a swimsuit. She'd have a gown at the bottom of the steps, wouldn't she? But no, the woman walked up wiping water from her hair with both hands and that action triggered interesting breast wobbles. She was blonde and had a sparse blonde patch below as well.

Doug struggled to appear unembarrassed. The woman put out a hand to be shaken and said, "Hi, I'm Kitty."

"Greetings, I'm Doug Rogan."

He waited for the inevitable, "Oh you're American?" but it didn't come. Instead she held out the towel she'd taken off the table without saying anything and she turned to have her back toweled.

"What brings you here?"

"Your beauty and wanton behavior of swimming nude that conjures up erotic thoughts of every red-blooded male and gay female."

She giggled. Yes giggled although she was into her forties.

"Now tell the truth naughty boy."

Doug was thirty-two and only his mom still referred to him as a naughty boy. He was taken by Kitty's relaxed manner, nudity and obvious skill in handling him. He had the outrageous thought about how much of him would she handle. God, he'd only just met the woman.

"Ruth Johns of Ragland told me about you."

"Oh, dear Ruth. We were at art school together. I bet you didn't catch her home alone?"

"No, her mother lives with her and was feeding the baby. The oldest daughter Kitty, an adult was on the lawn with the other kids. I had earlier taken photographs Kitty surfing without her top on."

"You filthy man," Kitty said smiling. "So my namesake invited you home to meet her mom and her American grandma?"

"Exactly. I had a delightful late afternoon and when husband Steve arrived in his huge truck and trailer after delivering cattle he brought out the beer, I was invited to stay for dinner and then told I must stay with them for a few days."

"So at that point Ruth waved goodbye and told you to call on me, that you might get lucky?"

"God no...she wouldn't talk about you like that would she?"

"Yes, but perhaps she told you something else. Look, do I have to get dressed or are you okay with me wrapped in this towel?"

"The towel will cover rather too much of you but go ahead."

Kitty grinned and raised an eyebrow so Doug answered the earlier question. "Ruth said you write and paint. I'm an itinerant photographer and publish the occasional book..."

"The Byways of Ireland?"

"Why yes. That's one of them."

"It's on my bookshelves. You're good."

Staggered that away in this remote place this babe who was so open and so trusting should have one of his books, Doug managed, "Thank you. I want the text for my new book in the Kiwi vernacular. Um light with a poetic touch and rich in New Zealand idiom. Are you interested in negotiating?"

"Perhaps. Need to see the pix first. Stay here a few days and we'll sort it, one way or the other."

"Thank you. Um, will there be someone else staying here?"

"Why?"

Doug had hoped she'd thrown him a line and so he flushed. She handled it beautifully.

"I'm forty-three years old Douglas er Doug. I'm not bothered about my moral reputation and I certainly don't require a chaperone. You don't need one do you?"

"I...um...was thinking about you."

"Oh, how charming. Thank you Doug, and I really mean that. I can't wait to get your hands all over me."

Doug looked for a quick exit other than the lagoon.

"Relax Doug, you're staying. Let's have a drink."

Kitty handed Doug a beer and disappeared, returning after awhile hair dried and combed, make-up on and wearing a dress, stockings and scuffs.

"We'll eat out as I haven't fished today and there is no meat in the freezer. I rarely eat meat these days, only to provide a relief from my fish and chicken diet. We have several good restaurants because many Aucklanders have weekend homes in this district."

"Y-you're beautiful."

"Oh knock it off Doug. You'll have me raising my skirt if you continue being sexy like that."

Doug managed to grin, now a little more relaxed with this straight-talking woman.

"I took the liberty of looking through this folder of some of your draft poetry while you were getting dressed."

"Good boy and your impression?"

"Professional competent...you project a feeling of spirit."

"Spirit?"

"Your words and images frequently capture the essence of lively life. You use words in an ethereal sense and also that's portrayed in some of your images. It's what I see, think and feel when I see larger birds in the distance flying and certainly when I stand on a storm-ravage cliff top even if at that time the sea is calm and the sky it blue. I sense the curtain only needs to lift and I'll see the big storm lashing the coastline. I was told you were a poet so will be more able than me to see other dimensions."

"Well described Doug. It pleases me you understand. Of course being a photographer you have learned to interpret beyond the casual glance through the camera viewfinder. I feel things in a spiritual sense so it interest me what you have just said. I do try to capture such thoughts and it's relatively easy to do that via poetry. But with my words and painted images I have often wondered if others see some of the emphasis I have attempted to portray. It appears you can do that, to some extent, and it matters not to me to what extent."

Kitty told Doug to grab his bags. "You'll be sharing my bed if that's your wish and use anything in the bathroom. You still will be welcomed as a guest if you prefer that other bedroom."

"Do you always treat you guests in this manner?"

"You are an exception Doug. No one has ever walked into my life like this before, just when I want wanting this to happen but expected that to remain a dream. Oh God, listen to me waxing on. We'll walk to tonight's restaurant. Just jeans and a polo shirt will be fine."

Doug walked to the Japanese rust bucket thinking about the choice of bedrooms. Well, it was time to meet destiny, he grinned. He'd choose her bed and allow her to fuck him. He grabbed his bags and everything else of value, as the vehicle would be left parked on the unfenced front lawn. It took him two trips because the there were five boxes of his final section of 408 photographs to be considered for his 120-plus photographs he'd submit to the publisher. He'd stopped on the way in Auckland to have the transparencies (he preferred film over digital for book publishing as did the publisher) printed in 8 by 10 format to give the text-writer an image large enough to look at and, well, capture the essence.

On the first tip in from the car he said, "Here's something to glance at to give you the picture."

Kitty smiled a thank you and she opened the first box of 24 prints.

Hauling in the second load, Doug put down his bags and was about to walk over to Kitty in the fading light when he saw her head under the down light not moving. It was as if she where frozen in time. He could see the examined prints on the other side of her, only four. She was in professional mode, in deep examination, and the feeling he had toward her increased twenty-fold.

Arriving back from the bedroom, Doug grabbed another beer from the fridge and sat outside, enjoying the day slipping into dusk and watching the huge array of bird life. Some were patrolling lazily over the lagoon and some diving to try to nail a fish, the majority though wading the shallows or swimming and waiting for opportunity, any opportunity.

He looked out to the sandbank, the tide no longer sweeping over it and he thought about that scene at dawn. More birds would be fishing then. He was in a photographer's paradise if he set up and waited for the right day when conditions, most of all the level of light, would be at their best for his purposes.

It was almost dark and he was in dreamtime, far from being asleep, when soft lips brushed his cheek. "I'm sorry, I became totally focused. You are such a beautiful and creative photographer."

"Said the beautiful poet and painter with a mind that might have no boundaries."

She giggled and kissed him properly, he kissing back and squeezing her with her hands to signal he was interested, definitely interested.

"Come on, time to go. I'm so happy you've chosen my bed."

It was a Monday so many tables in the restaurant were unoccupied. The bar-restaurant boosted a residential musician, a guy with a beard reaching mid-chest and black haunting eyes, who played mainly keyboard but there was an electric guitar and a drum kit in the setup.

The music was moody, exactly right. People said hi to Kitty and fixed enquiring eyes on Doug. He smiled and invariably a smile appeared below the enquiring eyes in acceptance of the stranger.

As the bartender poured a gin and tonic and a whisky sour he grunted, "Do you play?"

Doug said, "Guitar I guess."

"Jake, the stranger plays guitar."

"Send him over with a beer."

Doug excused himself, but was unable to leave before Kitty kissed him, she whispering she wanted to establish the relationship because women would be fretting what was going on.

"You have a lovely mind," he said, tapping her forehead gently.

When the item concluded Doug handed Jake his beer and was asked did he play well and Doug said, "Well enough."

"Okay, I'll play until you're warmed up and then I'll switch to the drums. You call the tunes."

Doug played well enough to make it unnecessary for anyone to yell, 'Get him out of here'. A waitress arrived to take his order and when he saw Kitty being led to a table Doug called, "Let's finish with 'Wooden Heart'." It was well received and he was clapped to his table after shaking hands with Jake.

"That was lovely," Kitty said as he bent to kiss her and after that was accomplished he replied, "And so was that."

* * *

Doug had his hands all over Kitty on the walk home and her hands also went roaming. They entered the bedroom and turning she asked, eyes huge, "What now?"

"I want to undress you."

"I'd like that."

Doug took it slowly, knowing that had all night ahead of them. He pulled her into him and crawled his hands over her breasts, asking, "What's this?" when hitting a nipple, causing Kitty to suck in breath. When the other hand hit the other nipple and he asked with mystery oozing from his voice, "And what's this, are there two of them?" She cried huskily, "Can we get on with it!"

Kitty helped him with the bra and as he pushed the panties over her hips and she bent to remove them he bit the inside rear of her thigh and she shrieked, and that was the end of the slow seduction. She almost strangled him yanking off his polo. She screamed in frustration when she couldn't unbuckle him quickly because her hands were shaking so much. Doug helped out.

She seized his erection and licked it sloppily and then dropped face down over the bed and yelled, "Fuck me and fuck me good and I want it now!"

So that's what she got, a full and heavy pounding that shook the bed and had her moaning and groaning until she gushed.

After Kitty's panting died Doug licked and licked her thighs, moving from start to finish and then missed out her pussy and ran a ribbon of kisses up to her tits and then turned to get a leg over to enter her and he smiled at her heavy sigh.

They were good at it, very good, and the twin explosions came less that five seconds apart.

They then fell asleep, not bothering to clean up.

From then on they fucked twice a day, sometimes more and one of the best on the menu was coming up from their nude swim about midday and going at it like dogs on heat on the exercise mat on the deck.

They also worked.

Five weeks after Doug's arrival it was all done, 119 pages of creative text to accompany his photographs.

He awoke on the morning of his departure to find Kitty was not beside him. He went looking and found only a note.

'My dearest one. I can't bear to watch you leave. You are in my heart. I have your address in Boston. Kitty.'

Douglas stood on the deck and wailed his grief to the skies and nearby birds took flight.

The book was published, receiving great reviews, and sold so quickly than a reprint was ordered and a second followed. It became Douglas's best-selling book.

He sent ten copies to Kitty and received a lovely perfumed letter back but they never corresponded again.

Douglas went to China after squeezing a big advance from his publisher and eighteen months later that book was published and he cried that was enough because it had been such a lonely life and produced only superficial relationships. He fancied a relationship that linked souls but doubted he'd ever be lucky enough to find that.

Almost six months after he'd switched to become a portrait photographer a letter from New Zealand arrived, from a law firm. With deep curiosity Douglas opened it and he began reading and soon his hands were shaking.

'Dear Mr Rogan

It is with deep regret we inform you your friend Miss Kitty Ryan has died of cervical cancer. In her final days she was taken from hospital to lay in a bed on the deck of her rundown home beside the lagoon. We were advised by a nurse she'd died relatively peacefully just after dawn when the gulls were at their noisiest.

Under the provisions of the will Miss Ryan has left you all of her unpublished poems, some 400 of them, and the originals of more than 300 published poems plus 121 paintings, mostly unframed. Kitty was my client and we worked together well and I have poems and two of her paintings and treasure them greatly. You have been generously endowed. Please contact me to advise how you wish to have your poems and paintings sent to you or otherwise dispersed.

Claire Cook.'

Groaning as in deep pain Douglas went to his bedroom and unpinned Kitty's letter from the wall and went outside on to the deck of his apartment and looking at the mass of apartments in view he wept reading her final words to him.

* * *

Three weeks later Douglas turned his rented car into Lagoon Road and drove up to Kitty's house, or at least Kitty's former home. A Japanese rust bucket was parked on the lawn and the front door was wide open.

He knocked by these was no answer. He walked around the side of the house and on to the deck and knocked. No answer. He went to the edge of the deck and looked out and he received such a shock that he almost stopped breathing.

Floating on her back in the lagoon, Kitty waved to him.

CHAPTER 2

It wasn't Kitty and when the swimmer called hi and came up the steps, wearing a multi-colored bikini, she smiled and said, "Hello Doug."

Doug said in awe, "You know me?"

"Mom left me this place and the three painting insides. The biggest painting is of you."

"Of me... your mother... may I sit down?"

"Yes of course. Ohmigod you had quite a shock didn't you? You thought that was mum swimming out there?"

"I'm confused... yes, I really did think it was Kitty until you swam in closer."

"Same color hair, similar smile, bigger boobs, eight inches taller and twenty-two years younger... but similar enough in an emotional moment to cause confusion. God I'm sorry. May I kiss you?"

"Yes of course."

The lip kiss was brief and very pleasant.

"You'll stay with me tonight?"

"Um..."

"You don't have to sleep with me but I'd like to. Mum did that. She left me her diary. She described you as the nicest man she ever met and that of course included my father."

"I'm sure..."

"Don't bother Doug. My father was a drunkard and wife-beater, a prized prick. He lives in Australia somewhere and that's too fucking close for my liking."

"Well I would appreciate your hospitality."

"That's more like it. I'll grab a couple of beers."

"Take me to the painting."

"Oh yes, come through," she said, holding out her hand. "By the way I'm Pania and I'm now aware mum hadn't told you she had a child. I was at university when you visited. Pania is a Maori name although I'm not Maori. It's the name of a mythological sea-maiden. As you know mum so much loved the ocean and this lagoon."