In high school we were encouraged to join clubs or do volunteer work to show college admissions officers we were "well-rounded." I joined the Chess Club and went to one meeting. I don't know how to play chess and after taking one look at those who do I didn't want to learn. I joined the Camera Club and went to two meetings. I like photography, but the folks in the Camera Club were just interested in geeky aspects of developing film.
Looking further afield, I spoke to our local community theater and discovered they needed folks to run the follow spots. These are the large lights in the back of the theater that put a performer in a bright circle of light -- and follow the performer as they move around the stage. What could be better? I could see each performance from a prime vantage point and have the fun of firing up a large arc lamp and trying to "hit" the performer when I opened the shutter.
I live in Honolulu. Our community theater is very active with its own building (a World War II theater built to only last a few years), some semi-professional actors, and an enthusiastic audience. My fellow follow spot operators were old. Very old. They were happy to have a younger volunteer and I was happy to have them pamper me with homemade cookies.
Off I went to university, apparently having convinced the admissions officer that my "well rounded" credentials were
bona fide
.
When I returned home after my freshman year at college in New York, I went back to my follow spot booth for evening performances. My elderly friends were still there, and I was pleased to find a young lady, Tiare, had joined the crew. Tiare was in her early 20's and what we in Hawaii call "hapa" -- a chop suey of Caucasian, Polynesian, and Oriental ancestry. Lovely caramel color skin, slightly wavy long black hair, athletic body, and gorgeous almond-shaped eyes. It's "hapa" ladies that make male tourists' knees tremble.
Tiare was gorgeous -- yet modest. Her outward beauty was complimented by her cheerful personality and perpetual smile. She was named after the Tiare Tahiti, a gardenia flower that sweetly scents evening trade winds.
Tiare lived in near-by Waikiki -- in a second-floor apartment on Kuhio Avenue with floor-to ceiling glass louver windows. She worked at the front desk of the Surfrider Hotel, within walking distance of her home. Tiare didn't have a car so she took the bus to the community theater.
Ever the gentleman, I explained that I drove by her apartment on the way to the theater and would be glad to pick her up and drop her off whenever we were on the same shift. There were two lights, so always a two-person crew. The elderly follow spot chairman could see the wisdom of scheduling Tiare and I together.
Arrangements made and we became good friends. We watched "Bells are Ringing" together many times, singing quietly along to the songs, and each trying to be more accurate than the other at hitting our performer with their follow spot. We started stopping off for dessert or drinks after each performance.
I learned her apartment had two bedrooms, the second occupied by her high school friend Keoki. He worked as a beach boy at the Surfrider. He was a large Hawaiian guy, broad shoulders, with the deep tan that comes from working shirtless on Waikiki Beach every day. His job was to set up sun lounges for the visiting tourists, bring them fresh towels, and happily fuck lonely ladies who admired his traditional tattoos and bulge in his board shorts.
The beach boy pick-up line -- which I'd successfully used a few times myself -- was to ask the lady if it snowed where she lived. The answer was invariably "yes," and it's always nice to start a conversation where the lady says "yes." You'd then explain how you'd never seen snow and ask that it be described, particularly the feeling of snowflakes falling on your skin and tongue. All that remained was to get the hotel name, room number, and preferred meeting time. It worked on summer co-eds and mature cougars and everything in between.
But back to Tiare. When a new musical opens at the community theater the Board would host a post-performance cocktail party at Michel's. The opening night audience was invited, as were cast and crew. Michel's is an expensive classical French restaurant on Waikiki Beach, but the theater cocktail party occurred when the dinner patrons had gone home.
Tiare and I worked the Friday opening night of "Most Happy Fella," and we went to Michel's for the party. We drank free champagne, ate free canapes, and made observations about other guests at the party. On the way to her apartment Tiare asked me if I wanted to go mud sliding at Jackass Ginger the next day.
"Yes, sure" I replied, and told her I'd pick her up at about 11:00 am.
Mud sliding takes place in the rain forest, on a red dirt slope above a stream. Over time the hundreds of butts going down the slope wear a deep groove in the mud. It's like the luge -- but with your ass in the mud. The slope was surrounded by fragrant wild ginger and yellow bamboo.
There are lots of cut-off bleach bottles near the slide. Folks use them to carry water up from Nu`uanu Stream to the top of the groove to wet the mud and speed the ride.
I met Tiare in front of her apartment. As mud sliding is rough on your clothes, she was wearing cutoff jeans and t-shirt and carrying and old towel. I dressed in a similar fashion.
I drove us up the Old Pali Road, and we hiked the relatively short distance to Jackass Ginger. This is long before social media, and its location was largely secret. We were pleased that it was deserted, although there were signs that many had gone sliding the day before -- the groove was very wet, and the slides were fast.
Up and down we went until we were exhausted -- and thoroughly muddy.
Below Jackass Ginger is a natural pool in the stream. The water is very cold compared to the Pacific Ocean, but we were hot from all the sliding. We jumped in -- fully clothed and encased in sticky mud.
While swimming we did our best to get the mud out of our hair, off our faces, and off our clothes. The routine is to take off your shorts and t-shirt and toss them on a dry rock while you continued to enjoy the pool. I'd done this on many occasions with my friends, but never with a lady. Tiare also knew the drill. She wiggled out of her shorts and t-shirt while still in the water and tossed them up on the sunny rock. I did the same.
We swam a bit, talked some more, and the hot rock worked quickly on our shorts and shirts. They were no longer soaking wet, just damp.
We climbed out of the water and both realized our white underwear was now see-though. With guys we'd simply shed our underwear, make jokes about penises shrunken by the cold, and put on our warm, slightly damp clothes. But Tiare was definitely not a guy.
Tiare and I were, at this stage, good friends. While I certainly was observant of her beauty, I'd never held her hand or kissed her. But I hadn't seen her in a near naked state before, and she was lovely. Her breasts were firm and fulsome, and I could see her perky nipples through her wet bra.
My view of her boobs and her athletic body soon sent my blood heading south and my growing erection was now visible through my see-through Jockeys.
Tiare smiled, shrugged, and took off her bra. She stood there for a moment looking at me as I marveled at her perfect boobs. I smiled back and pulled off my Jockeys. I stood there as she looked at my fully erect cock.
She pulled off her underwear and I admired her nice black bush with its gorgeous sheen. We said nothing. Neither of us were bashful about having a long look at the other.
We then put on our damp clothes and hiked back to the car. We chatted along the hike as though nothing unusual had just happened.
I was staying at my grandparents' house a short drive away while they were on a tour of Eastern Europe. I parked in the garage and we both went down the path to the kitchen door. Tiare said we shouldn't go into the house in damp and slightly muddy clothes and took hers off. I followed her lead.
The two of us walked, naked, down the hallway to the bedrooms. I got fresh towels and showed Tiare into the guest bathroom. It had a sunken Japanese
furo
tub -- with a shower head above. I offered to shower in the master bedroom, but Tiare simply asked "Why?"
She jumped down in the
