A Woman With a Past

[Lady_Kit]

A little mystery adds spice to a woman, or so my Grandma used to say; in other words don’t let 16 year-old Bobby Joe Tucker take liberties after Sunday services. I’ll always be grateful that Grandma went to be with her maker without knowing that by the time Bobby Joe was old enough to cause her worry, he was far beneath my notice. I’d always gone for someone older; the members of the most prestigious fraternity at CCU, the little college in my hometown were more to my taste. I did keep my sense of mystery, by the time I was 18 everyone agreed that there was no telling what I’d do next.

By big city standards those frat boys might not have been much, but a man who shaved, had a car, and would someday work in a nice clean office instead of a smelly factory was at the top of the eligible bachelor list for most girls like me. The trouble was I couldn’t be content to be Mrs. CEO of the paper mill, or the wife of a “prominent member of our society” as all the local dignitaries were introduced. I wanted to be the CEO, and the college boys I dated were just so many research animals. Oh, they were a lot of fun, some more so than others, but what I wanted most was the education they were getting, not the few inches of manhood that they proudly waved about. As if I’d be grateful to be poked by their white collar dicks!

I never got the degree, but I worked nights and weekends to build a business that now, after years of nonstop attention, is worth more than I could ever spend. I was never good at relationships, the ending of my marriage was proof of that. Eric was handsome, intelligent, sensitive, but he had one flaw, he wanted a wife; unfortunately he thought I could be her. I wanted a live in escort, an accessory like jewelry, and occasionally someone to share my bed. My trophy husband left me while I was in Hong Kong. Ran off with a kindergarten teacher, last time I heard they were making babies in Seattle. I didn’t notice he was gone for more than a week. Unfortunately, everyone else did, the scandal was impressive enough to penetrate the hard shell around my heart. Things got ugly while I dealt with the knowledge that I had no life. Finally, I realized that I could. My options were open; I could do as I pleased. Even buy anonymity. But doing what?

I bought an island, well a piece of one actually, nothing big; just a nice little piece of land in the French West Indies. A house perched on a hillside that overlooked the varied blue waters of the Caribbean. I read, listened to music, even tried my hand at painting. I was bored out of my mind within the first month of retirement. Something had to change. I decided that company might help, but not someone who might overstay their welcome. So, I bought a smaller house, a little lower on the hillside. The two properties connected through a lush garden by a path that twisted and turned along pools for soaking or swimming.

I called the smaller place “The Retreat” and rented it out by the season. I played the island hostess arranging for dinners and diving, boat trips to other nearby islands. It was all very quiet and intimate. Discreet, one couple called it with a wink. No one knew my past, and I didn’t care about theirs. They saw only a woman with deeply tanned skin, long sun-bleached hair and eyes that matched the surrounding waters.

People here know me as Jane Sinclair. To the rest of the world I was SJ Sinclair, the woman named by the Wall Street Journal as the next Donald Trump. I saw the comment months after it appeared in the paper; we don’t get daily delivery of this far south. It made the first page of the business section, under the heading “Tycoon Missing, Presumed Dead.”

Thats the secret in my past; people think I’m dead.


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A closed thread to share with Subo97

 

[Subo97]

You don't know Jack

The seaplane circled the island before it started to descend to the sea, changing it's approach back to the east. For a moment, I saw the Retreat and it's mother house exactly as the picture my travel agent had shown me. They lay nestled in the greenery of the island hill, just above the small private beach. No road was visible. If there was one, it probably ran up the back side of the hill to the mother house.

The seclusion was perfect, exactly what I needed. No friends, no relatives and no accountants, just warm ocean breezes and hot sands. I'd had my fill of night life for a while. It got old fast. Amazingly, so did the availability of young women. I was becoming suspicious and cynical, something I swore would never happen when I won the money.

It had been fun and flattering at first. There were months of playtime once the immediate shock had worn off. (It was a bigger shock to my ex, I believe. But it was she who insisted on the divorce and if it came a few short weeks before I won the Lottery, well, that was just cosmic justice.)At any rate, there was no dearth of company as I set out to enjoy my newfound riches

There was Ellen, who accompanied me on a 7 day cruise. She was most delightful, both day and night, especially on the private balcony of our stateroom, her alabaster skin glowing in the moonlightpushing back at me, her hands gripping the railing as I took her from behind. But she had been too sure of herself and presumed too much. Too willing to mix business with pleasure, she lost both.

And sweet Casey. Far too young to be serious, we fulfilled a need in each other. She satisfied her curiosity towards an older man, she took care of my ego. She took care of a lot of things, including my initiation into the mile high club on a previous flight.

There were others, widows, divorcees or just the ambitious. I was beginning to feel jaded. How could anybody want me, with all the money in the way. Not that they weren't all enjoyable, it was certainly better than an unloving marriage. Still, it was time to take a deep breath and reassess.

After a smooth landing, the sea plane tazied up to a small dock at one side of the beach. Two figures awaited us on the dock, both casually dressed. One was obviously an islander, there, I presumed to carry my luggage. The other was a woman who got more impressive the closer I got. The sea air blew against her, pressing the thin cotton of her blouse against her braless breasts. Long tan legs extended from a pair of white shorts. She held one hand on her sun hat to keep it from blowing off her head while long strands of yellow hair blew behind her.

After I exited the plane, she walked up to me as the pilot handed my bags to her man. "Mr. Dupree," she said, extending her hand, "Welcome to the Retreat."

"Hi," I started, then stopped, my hand absurdly stretched out. This can't be her, she's dead.

Her hand clasped mine. "Mr. Dupree?"

"Sorry," I recovered, " Long flight, call me Jack."

"Jane Sinclair, Jack," she answered. "Pierre will take care of your bags. If you'd like, I'll show you to your rooms."

 

[Lady_Kit]

The day dawned clear and beautiful; sun sparkled off the aqua depths of the Atlantic and brought the vivid blooms of the garden flowers to life. I enjoyed both as I had my last sunrise swim au natural, greeting this day as I did so many with countless laps in the upper garden pool. The exercise was enough to keep my 40-year-old body toned and limber. The sunrise was for my soul. Giving up these mornings swimming nude in the pool was the only real sacrifice required when the Retreat was occupied. I wouldn’t give up the swimming, just the nudity, but it was the one thing I truly missed.

Standing on the dock later in the day I reviewed the arrangements for the new arrival, Jack Dupree. I’d done the final check on the guesthouse personally and found everything in order. Not that I expected anything else, Pierre, my “estate manager” was a perfectionist, and nearly a saint my eyes. He ran my life and property with equal devotion; under his care both were models of efficiency. And, he kept my secrets. Per his instructions, the small kitchen in the guesthouse was stocked with food and the bar held enough liquor and wine to host a great party. Every possible need had been addressed. I was sure Mr. Dupree would enjoy his stay, and if he didn’t it wouldn’t be due to the accommodations.

This seasons’ boarder, Jack Dupree, arrived on schedule on the afternoon flight. I was pleased that he’d come in during good weather; it was good for business when Mother Nature presented new arrivals with post card perfect conditions. I tried to do the same and smiled warmly at the man exiting the small seaplane.

"Welcome to the Retreat."

"Hi."

His reply was tepid at best, not much of a talker. Sometimes I had those, but it usually took a day or two to stop talking about the trip. God, I hope he isn’t sick! I’d had those too. It was never pretty.

"Mr. Dupree?"

"Sorry. Long flight, call me Jack."

His response was less than enthusiastic, but at least he wasn’t sick. Rest would cure what ailed him at the moment. I hoped.

"Jane Sinclair, Jack. Pierre will take care of your bags. If you'd like, I'll show you to your rooms."

“Fine, that’d be fine.”

“This way then.”

While we climbed the path from the dock I did my best to put Jack at ease, telling him about the house, property and island. He’d have use of a car while he was here, I reminded him as we walked.

The Retreat was a typical island house, wide veranda all the way around to shade the many windows and block the rain; single story with a great room that combined living and dining rooms, small kitchen, one bedroom and bath. Sun and wind had tried to dim the turquoise and yellow paint that graced the walls and trim, but the shade of several king palms protected the bright colors. The house would be considered garish in the states; here it fit perfectly among the hibiscus and bougainvillea.

Perrier followed us into the house and deposited Jacks luggage in the bedroom. He soon returned and held out a set of keys to Jack.

“Your luggage is in your room, Mr. Dupree. These keys are to the house and car that you’ll find in the garage around back. If you need anything at all, just press zero on your phone, one of the staff is on duty 24 hours.

Afternoon, sir. Ms. Sinclair.”

Pierre nodded and headed off to his other duties.

“I’m afraid I must go as well, Jack, but I make it a habit to have my guests to dinner on their fist evening. Will you join me later, in the main house? Dinner isn’t served until seven so that gives you a few hours to settle in and rest a bit. Just come up the path, past the pools. You can’t miss the place.”

I almost didn’t ask him to dinner. Something about his silence made me uncomfortable, but it was probably just the effects of near constant isolation. I’d feel better after he’d been here for a few days. After an uncomfortable minute I repeated my question.

“Dinner? Will you come?”

 

[Subo97]

an invitation

"Dinner? Will you come?"

"Certainly," I replied, "certainly. I'd be delighted to come." and I was. My rest and recuperation had just turned into an adventure. How and why was SJ Sinclair here? "I hope casual dress is all right. I'm not travelling very formal."

"Casual is fine," she said, "I'll see you at seven." She extended her hand I took it in my own to shake it. Though well tanned, it was soft and smooth. My own hands still held the fading remnants of callouses. Callouses I had earned doing her dirty work. Did she know who I was? Did she recognize me? Apparently not; in our previous manifestations, I was probably beneath her notice. Unless, I thought, she's playing some kind of game. She was always very good at that

I watched her walk away, through the open door onto the veranda and disappear around the corner. It was not the first time I had watched SJ Sinclair's ass, but it did look much better in shorts than behind the skirt of a business woman's suit, not to mention the tanned legs that stretched to her sandaled feet.

What is she up to? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps like me, she just had enough. Maybe like me, she was here to take care of her soul. Still, it was hard to think of SJ Sinclair with a soul. She had never displayed one before.

Still, I was having dinner with SJ Sinclair. No, Jane Sinclair. I had better watch that. A slip of the tongue and I might lose the advantage I had. Not that I had any idea what I might do with that advantage but there was no sense in throwing it away. At least I could be sure she wasn't after my money.

I unpacked and familiarized myself with my surroundings, poured myself a drink from the well stocked liquor cabinet and stripped down for a shower. I opened the shutters in the bathroom and let the sea breeze flow through as I showered.
Getting in the Island mood, I sang the Barefoot Man's, "Money, Money, Money" to myself then, thinking of Jane and her golden legs, I hummed a few naughtier ditties.

As the seventh hour approached, I found myself nursing a drink and leaning on the veranda railing. A wiser man might have avoided drink and kept his wits about im, but ai was always luckier than wiser. I swallowed the last of the rum in one gulp and placed the glass on the post newel. Let the games begin i thought, and headed up the path to the main house.

 

[Lady_Kit]

“The place was little more than a pocket house when I first saw it.” I looked around at the comfortable lounge, enjoying the vivid colors and textures of the furniture and fabrics that I’d chosen myself. I felt a warm sense of accomplishment in my home, and glad that all the renovations were long since over. If I never had to lift a hammer or paintbrush again it would be too soon. Not all those times were bad though, fixing this house was more satisfying than anything I’d done in years; maybe in forever.

“Pocket house?”

Jacks question interrupted my musings and I turned my attention back to him with a smile. Remembering when I’d asked Pierre the same question all those years ago.

“Dem places not big enough to fill a pocket,” he told me with a grin. Built by pale skinned vacationers who buy land and start a vacation home only to realize, usually after the first hurricane, that paradise isn’t always. Even now, the memory of that first look at the property made me shudder. Jack sipped his cocktail and accepted the explanation with a solemn “ahh.”

“The place was a wreck, it’d been abandoned after one of the big blows. Pierre knew the owners and they agreed to sell it to me for…well it was a steal, really.”

More like charity, my accountant said, unfortunately not close enough to be tax deductible. Forget the fact that the owners were in their 70’s and that this was to have been their retirement home. They’d put everything into it and there was no insurance. The old man drove a hard bargain, but he was fair. I figured we both came out winners.

Familiar shadows were growing on the walls; it was time for the property to earn its keep. Time for my favorite part of the day. And a welcome distraction from the terms of my property purchase.

“Come with me Jack, and I’ll show you why I bought the place.”

I lead the way from the open-air lounge to the terrace that seemed to fly out from the green hillside. Beyond a waist high stone wall lay the beautiful Caribbean Sea; Mother Ocean wearing an evening gown of rich blue-purple satin, dotted with golden flecks that sparkled across the surface. The sun was setting and the sky was using up the last of its daytime colors in a chaotic swirl of rose, orange yellow, purple, blue and all shades between.

The stone wall was warm beneath my hands. When I leaned against it I could feel the heat and familiar hardness of the rock through the pale sleeveless dress I’d worn to dinner. Standing there with the rough surface touching me from waist to toes, I felt anchored; safe. A gentle breeze caressed me, tugging tendrils of hair from the neat twist that had been so much difficult to achieve. But, none of that mattered now, I was lost in the miracle of the sunset and my voice echoed the reverence for the moment that I felt.

“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”

 

[Subo97]

loaded questions

"Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?"

I knew she was talking about the sunset, and it was there at the top of my vision. The sun sank slowly into the sea and when it's last sliver fell beneath the horizon, a small brilliant dot reappeared and then vanished with a silent pop. It was always inspiring. Yet my eyes were focused on something just as inspiring: the deliciously round curves of SJ Sinclair's bottom. She leaned forward against the stone wall of the terrace, her back arched slightly as she held herself up with her hands. I could imagine her breasts thrusting forward under the thin fabric of her dress as it drew tight against her. Her shoulders swayed a bit, rocking her hips slightly.

"The kind of tableau that inspires poets," I answered, eyes wandering down her legs and back up to the curves of her delicious derrierre. Still keeping one hand on the terrace wall, she twisted slightly to look back at me. The dress rose higher against the back of her thighs, and, yes, the curve of her breast moved into view. She must have caught me looking at her ass, I didn't raise my eyes until she spoke.

"A poem?" she asked, "Why not a painting?"

"It's not as heartbreaking when you sell it to make a living. A poet never has to see it carried out the door--not that I have the talent for either." I chuckled softly and she only raised an eyebrow before turning around to watch the last rays of the setting sun ebb away. She took a deep breath and I walked up beside her, setting my drink on the stone wall and leaning forward as she had.

Why was she here? Was she hiding? Another thought entered my mind, less than noble, What would she do to keep her secret.

Standing there together, our hips brushed slightly. First contact. I was never a grabber, though the fantasy of sliding my hand down the curve of her back to cup those round cheeks did rush through my mind. I wondered what she was like in bed. As bossy as in business? She was used to getting her own way. I wondered what way that was when the lights went out? Did she even know there are people, places and times when she wasnot in charge? It might be ineteresting to find out.

I stretched out my arm and pointed at the horizon, my bicep brushing against the side of her breast as I did so. Second contact. "Is that a ship there, to the North," I asked, "going south?"

 

[Lady_Kit]

He was looking at my Ass! And he was bold about it, not stopping even when he must have known he’d been caught. My lips curled into a smile of pure feminine pleasure. It was nice to be appreciated. Made all those laps in the pool worth the work.

"Is that a ship there, to the North, going south?"

The brush of Jacks arm was an unexpected pleasure; the kind of stolen moment that brings its own thrill. Would Jack be a thrill in bed? Or would he be interested in only his own pleasure. Somehow, he didn’t seem the selfish type, domineering no doubt, the kind of man to take charge in bed, but it was a good bet that women left his bed satisfied. Did he like his women submissive, or lusty? Did he like them as bold as he was? "Did he like his women lusty?" What on Earth was she thinking?! This was pretty far gone beyond the confines of innkeeper and guest. He was attractive; damned attractive, but attractive men had been here before. Had it been that long ago? Jeezus...Keep your head woman! Long habit brought from the boardroom kept a normal tone in the answer to his question.

“Yes, probably a cruise ship. We get more and more of them these days. Soon, we’ll have lost our exclusivity and I’ll have to find myself another Retreat.”

A discreet cough announced that Pierre had arrived to announce that dinner was ready. Just to show that I didn’t find his touch unpleasant I slid one hand around Jacks arm and drew him along the patio to the table set for two.

“Come along, Jack. I have a wonderful chef, and while we have dinner I’ll entertain you with stories of the island. Ask me anything at all about life here. I’ll do my best to make your stay a pleasure, anything you want, is yours.”

Jack held a chair at one end of the table, allowing me to take my seat before moving to the other end. Shielded candles lit the area around the table with a soft glow. Above them the sky was darkening to midnight blue and the lights of a million stars began to dot the velvet space. So far, Jack was getting the best that the Caribbean had to offer. It really was too bad that he was traveling alone.

 

[Subo97]

beneath the velvet sky

"..... anything you want is yours." Taking me by the arm, Jane led me to the candlelit table, maintaining the pressure of her breast on my arm. She had not shied away from the slight brush, answering me calmly about the ship on the horizon. A good sign, I thought, a very good sign.

I held her chair for her and eased it forward as she sat, allowing me a glimpse over her shoulder down across her chest. Just a hint of cleavage, really, but the slight upper curve of her breast suggested that what was not revealed would be well worth exploring. The outline of her nipples was more visible than before. Whether that was the result of the touch of my arm or the ocean breeze blowing up the hillside remained to be seen.

When I sat down, I made a point of looking in her eyes. The quickest way of offending a woman, I had long ago found out, was to spend too much time with my eyes below her chin.

Cruise ships or not," I said, "It would be hard to find a more perfect retreat than this. You should call it Xanadu; it surely is a majestic pleasure dome."

"I value my privacy," she answered curtly. She glanced up as Pierre poured the wine, allowing me to lower my eyes below her face and drink in the curves of her breasts as they pressed against the thin material of her dress. Her nipples had not lost their prominance. Would she enjoy the attention I'd love to give them? Would she hold my head in her hands, throw her own head back and thrust them into my mouth? Or would she roll her eyes and wait for me to move on? She certainly was more desireable her on the island than she did the last time I had seen her.

"I can understand that," I said, moving my eyes back up to her face. Those blue eyes looked warmer now, too. "I gained some noteriety lately. Fortunately for me, it's fleeting. It won't be long before I'm forgotten. It's not like I'm some famous politician or tycoon" Her eyebrow raised slightly at that. "At any rate, I appreciate your dedication to privacy." Pierre slid our dinner plates on to the table. "I also appreciate your cook's dedication to cooking." I laughed.

She told me about the island as we talked, what sights there were to see, local spots safe enough for an American and I did my best to keep my eyes above her chin.

 

[Lady_Kit]

Jack was good company. Charming, attentive, and gentleman enough to keep his eyes on my face when I spoke. Most of the time. He was really cute about it and some devil made me lean forward now and again. So sue me, but I like the feel of a mans’ eyes on me.

“Have I completely bored you? Most people can only take an hour or so of island stories.”

I smiled at him, a bit embarrassed at running on so.

“Not at all. Its been interesting, but I do have one question.”

Jacks handsome face was open, giving me no warning that he’d be asking about anything other than island life.

“Fire away then,” I said, figuring he was going to ask about the nude beach on the opposite side of the island. I hoped he wasn’t going to ask about hiring a companion for his stay. Prostitutes were not allowed on the property, if Jack had a problem with that, he’d be welcome to leave.

“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

He didn’t mean, “why are you running a B&B” Jack meant something else entirely. The earlier comment he made about missing tycoons came back to me.

“I ran away from home and never went back. Next question.”

My answer was curt. The tone said not to ask that kind of question again. He didn’t, and he left soon after. I hadn’t meant to be rude, but I didn’t like discussing my past. There was too much unpleasantness there.

The truth was, I was in hiding. No one could believe I’d voluntarily left the company. There was a takeover, an event that looked far more amicable than it was. I could have held them off if I’d wanted to, but I’d just realized that I was working for nothing. Had no purpose or direction, and that fact was far more embarrassing to me than any thing else. I couldn’t face the media, or the friends who feigned sympathy about my divorce and the loss of the company. I knew that all they wanted was to hear the story of how “the Great SJ Sinclair” had lost it all.

I watched Jack disappear into the garden on his way back to the bungalow. I was sorry that the evening had ended on a sour note. Maybe I could make it up to him with a drive around the island tomorrow. It would be bad for business to have a guest unhappy, but there was another reason that I wanted to play tour guide. There was a something familiar about Jack Dupree, something that I wanted to explore further.

The night sounds of the island settled around me, offering the peace that I treasured. Tonight, I couldn’t accept it; the dinner conversation was still running around in my head. Something about the company nagged at me. Some hidden like a thread that I could see through ice but couldn’t grasp. But the ice would melt away, it always did.