We've slept for hours now, our minds and bodies adjusting to the sun's new position in time. For me it's two in the afternoon, for you its four in the morning of the next day. On Oahu, its eight at night and we're both famished. We wake up in each other's arms, reluctant to let go, but our stomachs and our bladders drive us from beneath the covers.
We don't rush, but we can't linger. We need to get out into Waikiki before its too late to eat anything but saimin or Korean BBQ from the International Market Place. We shower together – not the long luxurious shower of lovers, but the quick furtive shower of lovers with no time. Playfully grabbing, lovingly soaping, slippery bodies rinsing. Plenty of time for slow, smoldering sex later. I love the sound of your giggles as we finish in the shower and dry off. The playful music of your laughter breaks my heart that this week will end and we'll be apart again. But for now you're mine.
Shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops, we're out the door. We don't even bother with underwear – what's the point? These clothes won't be on us in a couple hours anyway. Waiting for the elevator we look out over Waikiki and see the thousands of tourists down below us ducking into shops and carrying their bags of useless crap that they've purchased for their aunt Marge or cousin Ralph. The elevator doors open and we're dropping the twenty-two floors back to the hotel lobby. I hold you against me as the elevator descends, wanting just 30 more seconds of privacy to make you mine before we are thrust into the general population.
The doors open and people are waiting for the ride back to their floors as we exit the tiny box. We walk through the open air lobby past the waterfall and valets and out onto the street. We make our way to Kalakaua Ave and join the throngs wandering aimlessly along the beach front road. The temperature at night is 27 C as a gentle breeze blows across the island. Clouds drift past a starry sky. The smell of plumeria is ever present – the entire island smells of flowers. We walk past the McDonalds and Hilo Hattie's, past the Hyatt Regency Hotel and turn right on Kanekapolei Street. The King's Village shopping square is standing in front of us complete with its small tourist shops of various flavors, a museum, and restaurants. We walk across the cobblestones and up the stairs to Tanaka of Tokyo, a Japanese teppanyaki restaurant.
We're seated quickly at a large table with a teppan grill for the chef to prepare our meal. Another family of Japanese tourists are seated with us and the language barrier, thankfully, prevents us from having to converse with them at any length. The Daimyo sounds fabulous – deep sea lobster and beef tenderloin. The dinner is wonderful, the sake is warm, the chef is entertaining, and the company is exquisite. We finally have that time together where our lusts have to stay in check and we can talk freely about life. It warms me to see the happiness dance in your eyes as we chat about everything and nothing. Making you laugh is almost as good as making you cum.
