Andrew Elsmore sat in the rear seat his father's green Dodge minivan looking out of the tinted side window. On the seat to his right was a small, glossy brochure. He picked up the brochure and looked at it. Andrew was just months shy of his nineteenth birthday, and already regretting having agreed to his parents' request to join them and his sister in this vacation.
Bethel Island: The Adventure of a Lifetime!
the brochure promised in bright yellow letters. Andrew rolled his blue eyes skeptically. Adventure, my ass, he thought to himself. The Donner Party probably thought they were on an adventure too. The brochure featured small glossy photos of right whales breaking from the Atlantic Ocean as seagulls flew overhead. There were two other photos, both of fat seals lying on mossy rocks.
Andrew flipped the brochure open and looked at the photos of the picturesque, yet somewhat barren, island. He turned his head back to the right and looked out at the roiling water. They were on a small ferry off the coast of Massachusetts which was bringing them and six other vehicles to Bethel Island. It was a five mile long windswept island in St. George's Bay that was home to a few dozen families who eked out an existence either fishing or catering to tourists in the summer and early fall.
Sitting beside him was his older sister, Wendy. She was twenty-two, nearly four years older than Andrew. Andrew observed his sister for a moment. She was resting her head beside the window, eyes closed as she dozed. He envied her. On the seat between them was another brochure for the so-called adventure they were on -- at least that's how their father had described it. It was July seventh, the last day of their vacation. Tomorrow they would be starting their drive back home to Beechview. Andrew could not be happier that their vacation was almost over.
"We're almost there," Raymond Elsmore said excitedly, looking back at his son and daughter.
Andrew gave his father a half-hearted smile. The ferry rolled and dipped with the movement of the turbulent water. He felt his stomach lurch and feared he might vomit.
"How much further do we have to go, Dad?" Wendy asked, stretching her back. "I think I'm going to puke." Her face wore a contorted look of discomfort.
"Not much more," her father promised.
Andrew and his sister heard the sound of the ferry being thrust into reverse. It shimmied and slowed with a groan. They felt a sense of relief and their stomachs settled as the ferry began slowly coasting towards the landing dock, a short cement incline which vehicles used to drive on or off of the ferry. A loud whine was heard as the vehicle ramp began to lower as the ferry berthed.
The siblings smiled once their father's minivan finally drove off of the ferry and onto the only road on Bethel Island. Ray Elsmore began navigating the narrow paved trail around the perimeter of the island. For the next two hours he consulted his brochure with it's minuscule map, pointing out to his family where harp seals and right whales basked and bred. He stopped several times to take pictures and watch seals with his binoculars. He was obviously much more excited than his children or his wife, Claudia. They paid little or no attention to his animated ramblings, all of which were gleaned from what he had read in the brochures that he had picked up at the tourist centre before they boarded the ferry.
By the time Raymond had circumnavigated Bethel Island and arrived back at the ferry landing the sun was low in the west. The sky and ocean had taken on a golden hue that everyone found very pretty, yet somehow disconcerting. Claudia Elsmore consulted her watch and read the sign at the wharf displaying the ferry schedule. She sighed.
"The last ferry to the mainland left over fifteen minutes ago," she said, sounding worried. She turned to her husband, waiting for him to say something, hopefully comforting.
"Way to go, Dad," Wendy spat out. "Now you've gotten us stuck here on Gilligan's Island." She folded her arms and slumped down in the seat with a petulant sigh. "I can't believe we drove all the way from Illinois for this."
Her father reached in the glove compartment and began quickly shuffling through the stack of brochures he had picked up on the mainland. "There's an inn on the island," he said. "I saw an ad for it back in Dartmouth." After a little while his eyes widened and he smiled. "Yes, here it is," he said, sounding relieved. "Bayview Bed and Breakfast."
Andrew and his sister exchanged dubious glances as their father put the minivan into gear and drove on. About a mile from the ferry landing they arrived at The Bayview Bed and Breakfast. The inn was actually a large three story pale yellow house that had been converted into a place for hapless tourists who found themselves stranded on Bethel Island for the night. Andrew and Wendy followed their parents inside, carrying their suitcases. The downstairs was surprisingly neat and cozy. It had a hardwood floor, jade green wallpaper and a pressed tin ceiling. There was a large antique sofa covered with gold velor and a table with dried flowers displaying tourist brochures to the left. It boded well for the rest of the building, they thought.
"Hi, we'd like three rooms for the night," Mr. Elsmore said as they approached the woman behind the check-in counter.
The clerk at the desk was a matronly lady with thick red hair who introduced herself as Mrs. Goodwin. She explained that this was their busy season and all they had available were two bedrooms, both with single beds. Down the hall from these was a bathroom with a shower, Mrs. Goodwin told them.
Andrew frowned as he handed his credit card to the woman behind the counter. "We'll take them," he said.
Andrew and Wendy trudged behind their parents, up the narrow stairs covered with brown carpet to the second story of the old house. The upstairs hallway was narrow and the plaster walls were painted a bright white. It looked rustic, but at least it was clean, Wendy thought to herself. Andrew gripped the green plastic key fob in his hand, looking at the numbers on the doors. When he found the door with a number eight fashioned out of wrought iron he stopped and pushed the key in the lock. The door opened with a click and a slight creak.
"Okay, we'll be across the hall if you need anything," Raymond said, unlocking the door to his and Claudia's room.
"We'll be fine," his son assured him. "Thanks, Dad." He gave him a forced smile.
Andrew walked in to the small bedroom, followed by his sister. It too was clean and tidy, like the rest of the inn, and had beige carpet. To his left Andrew saw two small beds covered with blue bedspreads. Between them was a pine night stand that was stained a dark oak colour. The night stand had a clock radio and a small lamp on it and a single drawer. To his right was a bureau with four drawers that looked like it was purchased at the same store as the night stand. It had a large mirror affixed to the back. On top of it were neatly folded white terrycloth towels and face cloths. Facing him was a window with white lace curtains that looked out on the bay. The golden rays of the setting sun beamed through the window. Andrew sighed and tossed his suitcase on the bed closest to the window.
"Well, this sucks royally," Wendy hissed. She laid her suitcase on the bed and sat down at the foot, looking glum.
"At least it's only for one night," her brother said, trying to sound optimistic.
"Yeah. I suppose it could be a lot worse," she conceded as she pulled a corner of her mouth up in a distorted smile.
Andrew surveyed the bedroom. It had no telephone and no television. Not even a small one with rabbit ears. He looked out of the window, frowning, watching waves roll in and break on the rocks at the water's edge.
"So I guess this is what Mennonites do for fun," Wendy remarked with a thin smile.
Andrew turned around to his sister and laughed. She was lying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with her hands folded over her flat stomach, feet dangling towards the floor. Her sandy blond hair was spread out beneath her on the blue bedspread. The hem of her light pink mini skirt lay against her tanned upper thighs, sagging slightly between them so Andrew could see their shape and size.
Between his sister's slightly parted thighs Andrew could see the vague shape of her mound, covered by the thin cotton of her skirt. Further up, he noticed how her firm breasts rose upward and pushed out at her navy blue tank top. His sister's breasts weren't especially large, but definitely more than decent handfuls. This Andrew had concluded long ago, having scanned his sister's bust the many times he had stolen glances at it, or caught sight of her cleavage as she bent over. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing.
Andrew felt his cock harden as he looked at her, fighting off mental images of kneeling between her legs and running his hands up her soft thighs as his mouth inched closer to her delicate petals.
"What time is it?" she asked.
Andrew checked his watch. "Almost eight," he told her.
Wendy raised up on her elbows and shifted her hazel eyes over her brother. She smiled, sensing his nervousness. It sent a rush of excitement through her. Spending the night here might be fun after all, she thought to herself as her clit jumped.
"Want to go out for a walk and look around?" she suggested. She sat up and pushed her thick hair back over her shoulders, but neglected to tug the hem of her skirt down.
"Like there's anything to see," he scoffed. "Just rocks and seagulls."
"It beats staying in here and staring at the walls," his sister said.
Andrew nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're right."
Wendy got up from the bed and her brother followed her. He locked the door and they went down to the lobby. After being informed by Mrs. Goodwin that the front door would be unlocked until eleven, and after that they could use the doorbell to be let in, the siblings followed the cement walkway down to the road. A strong breeze was coming in from St. George's Bay. They could smell the salty air as it blew their hair about.
