Such A Gentleman

This is a story that takes place after "Chad's Met His Match," though you can easily enjoy this whether you've read that one or not. It also links together Chad, Ashley, and "Crazy" Gina. I've posted it here as an entry in Lit's Summer Lovin' contest, so please check out all the other entries and vote on your favorites.

* * *

Chad had been very nice about Lindsay's wedding. I thought about what he'd said as I sat on the plane, pressed as far toward the window as I could possibly get; the fatass in the middle seat, a sulky and overly perfumed old lady with a fanny pack and an air of permanent disapproval, kept hogging the armrest.

He and I had been having webcam sex a couple nights before I'd left, the two of us flushed and breathing hard in the middle of the night. I was staring hungrily at my laptop where Chad, all the way out in California, sat propped against his headboard, his legs splayed out and his chest and belly covered with fresh sperm, his face completely captivated as my camera caught the closing stages of my own orgasm, three fingers jabbing into my pussy as I bit down on my other hand to stifle the squeals.

"Sorry, babe," he'd huffed, his curvy dick softening slowly in those hands that always did such crazy things to my body. "I couldn't wait."

"I don't blame you." I cum easily, but Chad usually beats me. He's got a very strong libido. I sat slouched low, feeling my juices pool into a nasty broth beneath my asscrack, my whole body red and tingly. The windows were wide open and the ceiling fan going strong in the summer stillness, and I shone with sweat. "I can tell you like what you see," I giggled.

He grinned, that cocksure smirk that had dropped thongs all over Monroe College. Until he'd met me. I was sure he'd been faithful to me; I'd taught him that lesson when we'd met. He looked at me now from 2500 miles away and blushed as his grin grew warmer. "Did I tell you I think I'm falling in love with you?"

That was the way the conversation had gone, right up until it was time to say goodbye. "You're going to have a great time," he'd insisted. I'd rolled my eyes.

"Hanging out on a beach waiting for someone else's wedding, horny? Yeah. Sounds like a real trip."

He'd chuckled, his eyes on my twat. "You've got permission to bring yourself off as often as you want."

"Shit." I'd returned the grin. "If I'm lucky, I might just find some lovely Caribbean bellhop to do it for me." We both laughed, comfortably, the laugh of a happy couple sure of each other's feelings.

He'd cocked his head and shrugged. "Just make sure he gloves up," he'd said lightly. "Baby, I know you won't cheat on me. I just want you to relax and have fun."

"Stop it," I'd sighed, wagging my finger. "I'll be fine."

"No, but listen," he'd said, leaning forward, his cock finally drooping out of his hand. He'd tipped his screen until I was looking right into his face. "I want you to have fun. And I trust you. Promise me you won't be a buzzkill."

I'd squinted at him. This was unexpected. "Are you telling me you want me to go fuck a waiter? For real?"

"Jesus!" He'd looked hurt. "No, I don't want you fucking a waiter. But I also don't want you to be all stressed and uptight. So, you know, if you want to, I don't know,

dance

with a waiter?" He'd shrugged, always with that saucy confidence of his. "I know how you feel about me. I know how weddings get, too; all of you at a bar, everybody else hooking up, and you in the corner looking bitter and checking your email? Come on!" He'd winked at me. "Live a little. Go with the flow. You're supposed to enjoy island resorts."

"Shit." I let my head flop back against my bedroom wall. "I'm not sure I like what you're saying, babe. You already know what I'd do to you if you, say,

danced with a waitress

." He well knew I wasn't into cheating. At all. "Even at a wedding."

He'd spread his hands helplessly. "What can I say?" He'd looked all serious then, staring hard. "I love you, and I trust you, and I want you to let go and have a blast." He'd held my gaze a few seconds, then sat back with his usual nonchalance. "Only if you feel like it. And don't be coming back with any Caribbean bastards, either."

I'd scoffed. "I'm on the pill, dickhead." I'd sighed, missing him, my labia reddening again despite myself. God, but he looked hot, sitting there cum-splattered. "I've got to go. I miss you, honey."

He'd blown me a kiss. "Miss you too." Then he'd reached down to wag his dick at me. "And so does he. Enjoy your vacay, Ash!" And there I'd sat once the webcam went dark, pondering, loving him more than a little bit.

I knew his last girlfriend Julia, knew they hadn't exactly had an open relationship, but that they'd regularly fucked around on each other during the summers. But then, he hadn't been in love with her. He no longer wanted that kind of relationship, and neither did I.

I sighed and wondered how long the plane would take to land.

* * *

I was bored.

Around me were the glorious, bleached white-talcum sands of Dickson's Cay, smothered with cruise-ship refugees and other assorted tourists.

God, I hate the summer.

In fairness, it's not really summer I hate: it's more just being hot. But it's worst in the summer, when there's no school to fill your time, no schedule to keep, no homework... nothing to do but sit around and be bored. And hot. And sweaty.

Yeah, I'll never understand why folks save up to go enjoy beaches. They're crowded, disorienting wastelands with too much dazzling light, too much humid air, and too much noise. They're refuges for the type of men who just like to sit there and stare at girls like me, wondering what our vaginas look like. They're sandy and expensive, though in fairness Dickson's Cay was all-inclusive.

And don't get me started on the sharks.

My idea of a decent vacation destination? Grey, lots of drizzle, and a cathedral to look at. Cheap hotels with good A/C. Preferably, with Chad. And lots of sex.

Because that was the other problem: I was horny. Between Chad going home for the summer and the various mostly-naked male bodies everywhere I looked on that damn beach, I was having serious trouble focusing.

Then, too, there was Aaron. Or rather there

would be

Aaron. When his plane came in after lunch.

Aaron was, as far as I remembered, amazing. He was sweet, kind, funny, and considerate. He was a real gentleman. He was gorgeous, with a body toned by years of swimming and water polo: he had that blonde, blue-eyed dreaminess that drew attention from men and women alike, like a Hemsworth. He was the guy I'd given my virginity to after an Arctic Monkeys concert, when he came back from college to surprise me for my eighteenth birthday. He was a guy I'd known since I was in first grade and he was in second, a guy who'd never done anything but make me laugh, right up until the day he'd broken up with me. On good terms, though; he'd gone to college out of state, and after awhile the long-distance thing hadn't worked out. Especially with me set to go to school out on the coast.

Of course, he'd boned me comprehensively right after he'd told me it was time for us to be done. Sort of as a thank you for being such a good girlfriend. See? Good terms. Such a gentleman.

Destination weddings tend to be small affairs, given the travel and expense, but even with just six people in the wedding party it had always been a guarantee that Aaron and I would be two of them. And that neither of us would be bringing dates, even though he'd been dating a lovely lady called Makayla for years now and I was starting to be very much in love with Chad.

It would be good to see Aaron; if I was forced to be a plus-one for someone other than Chad, Aaron Lewis was a great choice.

On the next chair over sat a woman named Tanya, one of the other bridesmaids. We'd met precisely half an hour ago, on the taxi ride from the airport; we'd been on the same plane, but I didn't know her. Still, with the rest of the wedding party yet to arrive, I'd unwillingly taken her suggestion of a trip to the sand. "I'm dying to get some rays!" she gushed, and I hoped I looked sincere as I agreed.

Tanya was very pretty, in that souped-up way a lot of women have when they work in the hair-and-nails business. Maybe a bit short, but that wasn't her fault. Her tits and ass were bigger than mine, but mine were firmer. Her hair was a luxuriant wavy mass, and instinctively I glanced down at her feet; I was distracted by her name. The only other Tanya I'd ever heard of was the one in that song, the one by The Nails, from the 80s? "88 Lines About 44 Women?" The Tanya in that song was Turkish, and I found myself looking for evidence of an Istanbul background despite myself.

We hugged, then scouted the condo long enough to find a pair of rooms that we summarily claimed; I was the first to find the single room, so I grabbed it triumphantly. Then we slid into swimsuits, mine a simple striped two-piece and hers a much more revealing string. "Girl, you are fine!" she gushed, again. I got the impression she always talked that way.

"Thanks, hon," and then we each drained a glass of the island's tepid, slightly bubbly water before leaving a note for the others and heading out to find a couple of sling chairs.

That had been hours ago, and Tanya showed distressingly few signs of wanting to leave. I'd brought three books for the weekend, and with a sinking feeling I was already starting to realize that wouldn't be enough. From time to time people drifted by, other members of Lindsay's wedding party: her mom and dad, both looking as uncomfortable as I felt in the heat; then some groomsman I didn't know, an Indian guy, then Peter the groom. Tanya and I did the obligatory hug-and-air-kiss thing with each of them, but none of us really knew each other well, and there was a sort of built-in awkwardness: it's never fair to meet others while wearing bathing suits.

God, I hated beaches in the summer.

Waiters appeared periodically, each a smiling young Caribbean man, each bearing snacks or drinks or towels, each very eager to please, and with a hollow feeling of depression I started to realize that... well, that this was it. This was my weekend. This, plus a few meals, a rehearsal, and some dancing, was what I was supposed to do all weekend.

Fuck me.

The sun was well past noon when Aaron got there. I was dozing when he came down the beach, idly watching a couple of little local boys playing cricket? Quoits? Rounders? Whatever; Dickson's Cay is a British island, so it was probably cricket. The bat was almost as big as they were. I heard voices, some more thrilled than others, the Indian guy polite, Tanya plainly interested, Peter thanking everybody profusely for coming, and I didn't even look up until his shadow fell across me.

He looked... well, basically the same. Tapering athlete's legs, hairier than they'd once been, then a well-fitting pair of green board shorts, and lastly a Cuban shirt. I squinted; it seemed like a Tommy Bahama. Christ, he'd traveled in a silk shirt? Had his mom taught him nothing? He stood looking coolly down at me as I lay there in my swimsuit, unconsciously sucking in my belly. Even though I didn't really need to. "Ashley Gallo herself," he nodded, his teeth flashing.

I regarded him over my sunglasses. "Hello, Aaron," I greeted him. I looked him up and down. "Had any thumbs in your asshole lately?"

He rolled his eyes. "Why yes, Ashley, I

am

still playing. Intramurals, though." This was an old, old joke of ours; he'd always been a pretty fierce water polo player. I let my glasses fall down my nose, arching my eyebrows.

"Intramural water polo?" I blinked. "I mean, I know it's a private college, but still..."

He smiled pleasantly. "Don't tease. They're a bunch of badasses." He looked side to side, mock-conspiratorial. "My balls are still attached, too."

I sighed, playing up my relief. "That was my very next question." I felt my lips curving into a smile; shit, he was fun! "I was always concerned about that." The submarine environment during water polo games is not peaceful, and as his girlfriend I'd always worried about his junk back then.

"Get up here and give me a hug," he commanded, his grin wide and genuine, and I surprised myself with how fast I sprang out of the sling chair. His arms, as they always had, felt smooth and strong around me; he smelled the same, of warm skin and wet hair and spicy deodorant. His hands gripped me hard, one at the shoulderblades and the other much, much lower, where my spine became my ass. "It's great to see you, Ash."

"Great to be seen," I laughed, feeling the tickle as his scruff scraped my face; quite unrequested, he'd leaned down to leave a soft, lingering kiss on my cheek. "None of that, dude," I chided, leaning back in his arms. "I'm a taken woman now, and not by you." He chuckled easily, but loosened his arms. Impetuously, I ran my fingers along his jaw. "What the fuck is this?" I demanded, feeling the rough hair there. "You were always Mr Clean." More than that, especially during swim season; he'd been Mr Hairless. Everywhere.

He shrugged. "My girlfriend likes it," he said easily, still with both hands on my hips. He eyed me. "You look incredible, Ash."

"Right back at you." I poked at his belly, protruding just the slightest amount, a four-pack where there had once been six. "You're all fat now."

He laughed hard at that. "Bullshit. I'm just not swimming as much anymore." He patted my sides, light clapping sounds on my bare skin. "I'm glad I'm here," he announced, and I saw his eyes moving behind his dark sunglasses. I paused to let him savor the view; a girl likes to be admired, but not too much. Not by him.

"My eyes are up here, sweetie." I didn't blame him a bit; I had a great set of tits, and I knew it, and he'd always been into them. Besides, I was in a bikini and he was a 21-year-old man; it would have required a superhuman effort for him not to look. "It's going to be a long weekend," I went on, more gently.

"A good one, though." He kept his eyes, impudently, right where they were a moment more, and then he turned away. "Where's the condo? The taxi guy said he'd take my bags there."

"Follow me." I felt eyes on my ass as I turned, and not just his, but I was used to it; my Auntie Gina tells me I should kneel ten times daily and pray to God, thanking him for my genes. I fit in just fine among plenty of eye-candy on this beach today, as I well knew. Hell, I'd been doing plenty of meat-gazing myself, too. Fair is fair. But the sleaze factor was already starting to bother me.

God, I hate beaches. God, I hate summer.

* * *

Dinner was fine, two reserved tables at a nice fish place down the road from the resort. It was very expensive, but Lindsay's dad was paying. I had a nice poke bowl, the ahi excellent but meager and the sauce only so-so. I filled up on the rice as I surveyed my companions on this matrimonial adventure.

Lindsay Cooper, the bride, a fiercely skinny nail technician I'd known since preschool, seemed to be consuming nothing but rum drinks. She and I had grown apart since I left for college; I realized with a slight pang that this would probably be our last big adventure together. Her new friends were Tanya, now in the kind of outfit you'd expect to see on the back of a Harley at Sturgis, and Karen, a practical older woman who seemed to be Lindsay's manager.

We were all ranged on one side of the big table, with the boys across from us. Peter, the groom, whom I'd always liked, had gone into IT. We'd been friendly in high school, largely because he'd been Aaron's best friend; they'd had another buddy named Peter, so they'd called one Blonde Peter and the other Korean Peter. The groom was Korean Peter. Once, when Aaron had caught a bad case of food poisoning, Peter had stepped in as my date to the Junior Formal. He'd been an absolute gentleman, and hadn't even expected to feel me up afterward.

His other groomsmen were Blonde Peter and the Indian guy, Vik. Both seemed fine, if forgettable, the four guys all identically dressed in cargo shorts, flip-flops, and flowered shirts. Lindsay and Peter's families were at the other table, a much quieter and less alcoholic one.

I was wedged in between Karen and Lindsay, and Aaron was a couple seats down and across. He wasn't staring at me, per se, but I could feel his attention. I'd been careful to select something restrained for these family functions, a long dress with my hair caught back in a silver clip robust enough to cope with my wild Italian mane. There were days, and plenty of them, when I felt like whacking all of it off. I was glad I'd chosen a thin dress, but I could already feel sweat sticky beneath my bra strap.

Fucking summer.

Vik seemed quite taken with me, I could tell, and as the evening wore on he drank more beer and took more liberties with his eyes. I didn't mind much; he seemed like a nice dude, and of course he was in no danger of seducing me, so I arched my back and gave him an occasional show as the meal wore on.

The alcohol flowed and the family left, kids first. Karen bowed out next, headed for the beach to walk back to the condo. Tanya and Lindsay were up for a party, and one of the waiters told them he'd call them a cab to a club; Lindsay's hand fluttered around, counting. "Who's coming?" she demanded.

"I'm in!" Kenny, Lindsay's brother at the other table; of course. He was eighteen, and the excitement of drinking here would be of prime importance to him.

"Same!" Vik looked over at me, but I didn't bother making eye contact. I had no interest in partying at a crowded club during the height of the summer tourist season on an internationally-known party island. Fuck that. I was tired from my flight, anyway.

"I'm just going to head back. Anyone?" Not Tanya, clearly, who was already drunk and looking to get drunker. Blonde Peter was looking over at her with hooded eyes, also looking for her to get drunker. I wondered whether I'd hear scandalous noises from Tanya's room tonight. With no other option, but with a small and secret thrill, I ended up with my eyes on Aaron. "How about it?" I asked him. "Interested in walking me home?"

He smiled his Ken-doll smile and pushed back his chair. "I'm game if you are," he agreed affably. He nodded to the other table. "Thank your dad for dinner, Kenny." Such a nice guy! The elders had long since departed, and Aaron raised his eyebrows at me. "Shall we?"

"Aww, how sweet!" Lindsay crooned. "It's like old times. You two go and catch up. We'll see you in the morning."

"Rehearsal at ten-thirty!" Peter shook Aaron's hand. "Lightweight."

"You stay out of trouble, buddy," and then it was time. Aaron actually pulled my chair out, like Cary Grant in some old movie, and I felt myself blush automatically. "M'lady?"

"Why thank you, sir." I hugged the girls, then the guys, rolling my eyes at Aaron as Vik flagrantly groped my ass. Predictable. IT guys always came on far too strong. We left the restaurant with waves and smiles, crossing the little golf-cart road along the beach and kicking our sandals wordlessly off as soon as we hit the smooth, shadowed sand.

We walked in comfortable silence out of the range of the restaurant's tiki torches, then turned slowly down the beach toward where the line of condos waited like expensive dollhouses.

The muttering little surf smacked the shore down where the moonlight glittered on the water; overhead were more stars than I'd ever seen. I sighed. "I guess maybe I could get to like this."

I sensed Aaron look over at me. "To like what?"

"This." I gestured around. "Beach. Stars. Palm trees. Even balmy breezes." Well, maybe not too balmy; the humidity here had turned my armpits into swamps from day one. "In the evening, I mean. It's almost like it's not a fucking summertime wasteland."