Well, he did like being surrounded by beautiful women…
Benson picked the most secluded lounge chair he could find. The cabanas were currently closed, but a framed poster announced how to book one for a small fee over the next forty-eight hours. Yes, even at night, if that tickled somebody’s tummy.
Maybe I should get a soda or something…
He glanced over at the drink hut. A Butterfly sat at the far end, laughing at something the blond and engaging bartender said as she took inventory and cleaned up her space for the upcoming shift.
Yes, the bartender was beautiful. But the Butterfly? The gorgeous lady laughing with her whole chest and absentmindedly playing with her chestnut brown locks?
She was… ethereal.
Benson hadn’t been gobsmacked by a woman’s mere presence since the day he met his ex-wife in undergrad.I thought that was because of being so young and inexperienced.Yet here was another young woman who punched him in the chest with one furtive glance.Like Sydney…
Except this Butterfly looked nothing like Benson’s ex-wife. Sydney had been pale, lean, and blond – a true testament to her Dutch heritage. This beguiling Butterfly, however, was a curvy brunette who glowed with laughter. She wore a striking whiteand gold bikini, and the way she sat on that stool, with her legs off to the side and her torso leaning toward the bartop?
Benson didn’t often immediately lust after a woman, but when he did…
“Ah, come on.” He had brought a towel from his room and needed it now as he sat down and covered his lap. “Really? Do we think we’re twenty?”
He stole another look at the Butterfly currently laughing so hard that she began coughing. The bartender pushed a drink closer to her, and the striking lady sucked up brown liquid fast enough to make her cheeks puff and contract at a hilarious rate.
Why was that so… cute? Why was it so attractive? Had Benson found her? A woman who finely straddled the line between cute and sexy?
You could have her, you know.Those intrusive thoughts were back, but this time, they were about living in the moment – not stewing in the past.You could invite her back to your cabin right now. She just gives you the passcode for consent, and you’re both in business.
Well, he could do that. Benson could go get himself that soda and invite this lovely young Butterfly back to his cabin for a round or two in bed, but something held him back.
Was it the fact that he hadjustgotten there? That he was determined to relax first? To pace himself, if he slept with anyone at all?
No. It was the fact that she sat there laughing with the bartender, both of them trading jokes and stories like they had known each other for years, when it was just as possible that they hadjustmet.
She’s having fun. Why interrupt that?Butterflies worked hard at these things. Maybe too hard, based on some of the stories Benson had heard in places like The Dark Hour back home. The weekend was just starting. There was time to come across morebeautiful women willing to jump his bones if he simply said the word. That was part of the fantasy of this place. He could have her now… or he could savor the desire, admiring her from a distance, and choosing the perfect moment to pounce.Later.
For now, he enjoyed watching her carry on and be relaxed, like the way he wished he could be. Maybe he’d take a page out of her book and sit here in the lounge chair, eyes to the sky as he worked up the will to hop in the pool for a few laps. He always did enjoy swimming beneath the path that bridged the poolside to the bar. It felt like a secret world. Like he was a kid again.
I haven’t been a kid in thirty years.Dysfunctional family. College. Marriage. Fatherhood and business. Divorce. Heartbreak. From more than one person.
They all weighed on him. Both in that moment, and across the years that continued to hang over him like a gray cloud.
Another guy approached the bar. At first, Benson was brought back to reality because he thought this stranger might hit onhisButterfly. If it came to that?I’ll get involved.But, as it was best for everyone’s sake, the guy got a drink and returned to his chair with a book propped up on his chest. The tension eased, but it told Benson everything he needed to know.
That Butterfly was his. And, with all the power in his being, he would be her first that weekend.
Just not right now. Rightnowwas for relaxing and attempting to forget the past.
The evening came quickly. While the twilight hung on for a blessedly long enough time for Benson to enjoy some hot tea on his balcony, freshly showered and dressed for the evening, he was eager to get to the next phase of the day.
After all, the Low Light party was about to begin, and something about that afternoon had energized him enough to leap into hedonism. At least for tonight.
Besides, no pressure.Part of the fun was knowing hecoulddo something even if he chose not to. Sex with strangers he could barely see in a closed club while music blasted and everyone reeked of sweat and perfume? Sure. Why not? Nobody said he had to touch anyone.
He didn’t have to RSVP. It was included in his admission to the island. All he had to do was show up, check in, and be granted his wristbands for the night.It’s the same party every time.The only other big party that always made a comeback every season was the Sunday night orgy. And while the Low Light party often turned into an orgy in certain corners, it was more about covert affairs. Or, as the welcome packet put it,“A chance to jump in without worrying about anything.”
The walk to the hotel, where the underground nightclub awaited, was quiet. Hot pink crested the horizon over the ocean to his right. He passed the other cottages, where through one of the living room windows he saw another lucky fellow “entertaining” a Butterfly he had probably ordered over his landline.How lovely for him.Benson averted his eyes as he kept walking. He had confirmed it wasn’t the woman from the pool, and that was all he cared about.
“Welcome, sir,” greeted a masked hostess in a tiny black dress as he walked through the darkened corridor leading to the nondescript club entrance. “Please, your guest card.”
He had it attached to the pocket of his linen pants. The hostess patiently waited while Benson retrieved it, the man’s eyes incapable of averting from the generous cleavage on display before him. But women dressed in black were not available for anything but fulfillingotherdesires. If he needed fresh towels, dinner in his room, or directions, then a woman in black was theone to ask. The Butterflies only wore white.In case some idiot can’t tell the difference.
