MY BIG MISTAKE
By Dawn Ramble
For those who love Saint Martin a memory of what might or might not have happened there years ago. All characters are over eighteen.
Part 1
A Short History
Where should I begin? I guess it was when George said we should go to Saint Martin again.
No actually I should start ten or so years earlier when we went on a Caribbean cruise with our good friends Doug and Joan Rivers. No, not the Joan Rivers, the comedian; she was not on our radar except when folks our parents' or more likely grandparents' age, chuckled at Joan's name. Actually, Joan's name when I first knew her was Joan Bailey. She just happened to meet and marry a guy named Doug Rivers. But I'm rambling.
The point was Joan and I had been best friends at an all-girls university in New York City. We both came from very conservative families although hers were Republican and mine were staunchly Democrat. That I suppose is why we found ourselves in such a place. No complaints about the education we received but I thought we had both missed out on a different education we might have been having at that age.
At least until our final year when we went on a ski trip in Vermont. There we met a couple of sexy ski instructors, who caught us up on some of what we had missed. I had lost my virginity in a rather messy encounter with a boy I barely knew after a dance the previous year, but it had all been drunken fumbling and over quickly. Joan on the other hand had been taking advantage of vacations since her sophomore year to gain some experience of her own. She'd told me briefly about these, but I had only half believed her.
These ski instructors, one was Austrian, and the other was Australian, spent their year moving between the ski slopes of Australia in our summer and Europe or the States in the winter. I didn't even know Australians skied. Anyway, two days into the trip we all ended up in bed together, and I had Joan to thank for that. I was willing enough but would never have had the nerve on my own. After that rather sad first attempt I admit I was more than ready to try sex again. I felt I was missing out on something.
I was! Joan and I were sharing a room, so there was not much of an option for privacy. I say we all ended up in bed together. There was one large double and one single bed. At first, we were paired up and trying to do our own thing. At least I was. Joan had other ideas, as did the boys. I say boys but the Aussie was late twenties and I'm think the Austrian was mid-thirties at least. It's hard to be discreet in the same bed and by the end of the trip there had been a lot of random coupling and my education had grown by leaps and bounds.
First, I found out that I really like sex, sometimes rough and rapid, sometimes sweet and slow. Then, I had my first orgasm and many more to follow. I found I had multiple erogenous zones on my body not just in my pussy and tits, although there were plenty there. I also found out that when I am extremely aroused, I am less fussy about whose cock in in me. At first, I felt ashamed by this discovery, but then it is what it is. I resolved not to get myself into those situations in future.
Fucking the students may be against the rules but I gathered it was a regular perk of the ski instructor business. My niece, who is in her early twenties as I was then, tells me it still is. They just have to be super-careful in this day and age that it is clearly consensual, or it is not just their jobs that are in jeopardy. My niece is my confidante about a lot of things, including some, but not all, of the things I'm about to share.
Joan and I are about the same height and there the similarity ends. I'm a brunette with perky breasts that fit nicely in some A, but more often B, cups. Joan is a blonde who amply fills her C cups. I have small areola and prominent nipples. Joan has large areola that cover the top of her expansive breasts, but her nipples lie almost flat. She insists they are still extremely sensitive. I know mine are. I'm generally somewhat shy, especially with people I don't know. Joan is loud and assertive and likes to be the center of attention.
My name is Holly by the way. After school we went our own ways. I took a government job in Albany and Joan wound up in Idaho. I met and married a man called George Bush. Yes, really, and so became Holly Bush. Speaking of which, she and I wrote Christmas cards to stay in touch and that's how we discovered a few years later that, both now married, we and our respective husbands had all found jobs in Washington, DC. We got together about once a month and that's when we decided to go on a Caribbean cruise out of Fort Lauderdale together.
I won't bore you with the details, but the point is one stop was in Saint Martin. We thought the island kind of cool because it is half Dutch and half French. We woke up to find everyone getting on lighters that ferried us to Philipsburg on the Dutch side. However, we had been told the best beaches were on the French side and there were lots of minibuses and taxis ready to give us a tour of the island or transfer us to Orient Beach. We opted for the beach and by nine thirty we were getting out of the bus in the car park next to a bar/cafe called Pedro's. It seemed more of a rudimentary wooden shack largely open to the elements which at the time were warm sunshine and a gentle breeze.
On the way over the driver had told us the beach on the right was clothing optional and the beach to the left required suits. Freshly armed with either beers or rum punches the group from our bus decided to brave the spectacle of seeing naked people. Together with the occupants of another minibus we set off like a patrol from the foreign legion over the sand and some in the group were visibly disappointed when we came to a sign clearly stating photography was not permitted.
Frankly, I felt like a bit of a shabby peeper as it was. It was clear that only the early birds had arrived as there were large areas of loungers that were empty and many of the nudists were strolling up and down the beach. I noticed that in our group most couples were hanging on to their partners as though they might be spirited away.
We turned round just before the end of the beach close to a restaurant named Papagayo. On the way back George suggested we refresh our drinks at the Perch Bar. I was still sipping my punch, but George and Doug were ready for another Heineken. We sat down and talked with an interesting lady bartender. I think she was called Willi. The rest of our group had kept going and were headed for the other part of the beach.
As we moved back on to the beach I wasn't entirely surprised when George suggested we stop here.
Joan said, "What take our clothes off?" and George just nodded.
"I suppose I'm OK with it if you guys are," Joan said, and in the same breath she pulled her top off, let it fall to the ground and shimmied out of her shorts and stood there in the slinkiest bikini I had ever seen. The bikini came off so fast I wasn't even sure I'd seen her undoing it. A nude couple nearby smiled and gave silent handclaps as she stood there a pastiche of tan and pale whitish-pink skin. The rest of us followed her lead rather less hastily while giggling nervously. We were all clearly newbies from the amount of untanned flesh we exposed, but we earned more silent applause from our nude neighbors.
