As Dore began untying the many clever knots she made her husband navigate through in the private hours, Pam reached up to set free the pony tail she usually tied her hair in to keep it mostly out of her way. She shook her head to loosen up the dishwater blonde flyaway locks,
“You are such a lovely girl, Pam, and still so young. If I were your age and still single I might let the men know it, in a properly modest way of course. You are a candle that hides its light.”
Pam was forty-five years old and didn’t consider herself either
“Maybe I do still got something, huh? Let’s hope it’s something an Arab pirate type might appreciate.” She took a careful step toward Dore. “Now it’s your turn, darlin’.” Dore made no move and simply nodded to Pam with a
“Talk about holding your light under a bushel! Good golly what I would give to have hair like yours! You keep it tucked up so tight, I had no idea!” Pam reached out and felt a lock, it was thick and smooth, nothing like the thin, dry feel of her own hopeless hair. Dore blushed a little and quietly admitted that Gerbald was quite fond of it and that’s why she kept it long for him, despite the nuisance of its required care.
Pam nodded approvingly. “I’ll bet he likes it. It’s gorgeous, Dore.” Pam shunted aside the bit of jealousy that crept around her mind and said in what she hoped was a firm yet comforting tone, “Okay, next we got to free up your bosom. Take off the smock.” Dore complied and the drab gray piece of utilitarian clothing came off.
Like many downtime worker women Pam had seen, Dore kept her bosom tightly confined. Accomplishing this was what appeared to be some kind of wrap made of sturdy canvas. At Pam’s silent nod Dore loosened the straps on the dour down-time version of a modesty-defending brassiere. Pam’s eyes widened. She knew Dore had plenty in the chest department, but the reality was, well, larger than expected. Jean Harlow
Pam let out a long, almost catcall of a whistle. “I’m going to call you ‘Wonder Woman’ from now on. You are a hottie!”
Dore blushed even harder. “Gerbald, he tells me I am beautiful, but you know him. His sweet talking is shameless. When I was a young girl in my teens I remember the village boys thought well of me and I often felt their lustful looks, but that was so long ago.”
“Girl, I’m here to tell you, you still got it and then some! Gawd, Dore, you’re
Dore’s face burned the scarlet of a summer sunset. At last she smiled widely in an open way that Pam had never seen before. A day for firsts indeed. A bright bit of Psychology 101 popped into Pam’s head and she put it to
“Look, Dore, just pretend you are a silly seventeen year old again and these pirate types are the village boys! It’s perfectly all right to be a bit naughty in a situation like that. We are just pretending, to save our skins. So just let go and be a little more flirtatious than you would have allowed yourself back then. Well, a lot more flirtatious. We need these clowns to want our bodies badly!”
It was Dore’s turn to laugh now, in a shy but pleased way. “The village boys! Yes, I was a flirt sometimes, oh the shame. Very well. I can do that, Pam. We will make this work.”
“Right. Now, off comes the bottom parts.” Dore’s face changed rapidly from glowing sunset to kitchen flour again. Pam thought she heard her mumbling a prayer for forgiveness under her breath as she began to unclasp the ties of her exceedingly modest dresses.
A short time later the women emerged bare-chested, wearing simple grass skirts over their under-garments in materials hurriedly reassigned from the hut’s walls, making sure to show quite a bit of leg. Dore’s legs were those of an athlete, well-muscled from years on the road and standing at work for long hours, but still shapely. The strings of clam shells they had made to decorate the place while fighting the sheer boredom of their existence were now draped around their necks and bunches of hapless orchids growing nearby had been firmly woven into their free-flowing hair. Each carried a large basket full of that evening’s dinner fruit and Pam had used some of the berry juice to brighten up their lips.
“We are some glorious and sex-starved hula harlots in need of some male attention and we always get our way!” Pam announced bravely, and they both nearly lost control to a fit of nervous giggles.
“Now, Dore,” Pam said breathing a bit hard to retain composure, “remember these guys are dangerous. We don’t want them to get too close. Let’s try to lead them back up the trail where our guys can get the jump on them and the fight can’t be seen from the ship. When the killing starts, we run like hell, okay?”
“Got it.” Dore resembled some kind of wild and dangerous heathen chieftainess, a tigress of lust. If Pam had a mirror she would have been both shocked and proud of her own wanton and wild appearance. She figured she at least somewhat resembled a Caucasian Hollywood extra made into a faux-Polynesian girl, last seen throwing flower petals in the path of
As they sashayed down the path to the beach as seductively as they could muster, Pam began to feel eyes on her. She tried not to look right or left in order to avoid giving away her men’s positions but out of the corner of her sharp and well trained birder’s eyes she could make out some of the sailors hidden in the bushes, their mouths open in pure astonishment tinged with a bit of dawning appreciation.
Dore called out sweetly in German, “Come, oh wretched and lustful goats from yon ship. Come and feel my ample breasts in your greasy, godless hands!” Pam almost lost it again but realized they would be better off not revealing their identity as Europeans beyond the paleness of their skin, which she hoped would pass for pleasingly exotic in these latitudes. She stage whispered to Dore, “Don’t speak German or English to them. We want them to think we are savages.”
Dore’s brow knitted below her wreath of exotic blossoms. “What should I say, then?”
“Just use nonsense talk, like to a baby. Boo-loo ooh-loo gaga waga! But make it sound sexy!”
“Boo-loo ooh-loo! Rhumba rhumba!” she crowed back with unfettered heathen delight. “A
“That’s perfect, Dore. More like that!” Pam whispered back. “Calypso bistro, bongo wongo marimba hoochi-koochi!” Pam shouted at the top of her lungs while performing her best imitation of a parade float beauty queen’s welcoming wave. In the distance she could see the junk’s crew beginning to rouse to their racket.
About halfway down to the water’s edge they set their baskets down on the sand. Pam squinted to see if they had the pirate’s attention and found that they did. The sheet-wrapped goons were beginning to chatter and point at them. Pam motioned to Dore to follow her lead and set the baskets down, slowly to make sure there was a nice long view of that which was unfettered and freed to gravity’s whims, then began motioning to their abundant offerings with alluring gestures of invitation that would put any game-show co-hostess to shame.
“You start!” Dore hissed at her.
“Ka-looka looka kooka looka!” Pam sang at the top of her lungs as she began to shake her belly and her breasts as hard as she could in a move she had seen on a Don Ho TV special when she was a kid. She continued to vibrate as she slowly turned around to give them a three-hundred and sixty degree view of all the available goods. Dore followed her lead, turning in the opposite direction, her shaking was a speed or two slower but she added a warbling bird-like cry in her powerful church choir alto.
To both Pam’s relief and growing trepidation at what would come next, she saw their ploy was working. Several of the odd-looking ship’s invader crew were slapping each other on the backs in what was surely an exchange of lascivious dares. Several more worked to untie a small craft lashed to the deck, a longboat that they proceeded to lower into the water.
Suddenly an older captain-type fellow emerged from the upper decks and began shouting at the crew. He had enormous white handle-bar mustachios and wore a ridiculous oversized turban right out of a storybook. The men just pointed at the beach and looked back at him with shamed but imploring grins. The captain-type narrowed his eyes to stare across the water at the distraction, so Pam and Dore both waved coyly and blew kisses to him. With a dismissive snort and wave of the hand, he marched back into his cabin. Whatever happened next would be no responsibility of his.
The majority of the men immediately began crowding into the boat, stepping on and over each other as they vied for a spot. Still, a few others remained on the deck, either unimpressed by the beachside burlesque show or under strict orders to remain on watch, their faces scowling fiercely. They would have to deal with that bunch of fun fellows later. At least they had most of the moths coming to the flame.
“Oh shit, here they come!” Pam hissed out of the side of her mouth to Dore, who had really gotten into the spirit of the thing and was busy pushing her prodigious breasts up with both hands, in offering to the oncoming boatload of hormones. Pam’s eyes widened at this impressive display of wantonness and, not to be outdone, began a snaky, pelvis-thrusting, dance that included some low front bends complete with jiggling. She couldn’t be completely sure but she thought the pirate types were now rowing faster.
When the boat hit the shallows and the pirates were just starting to clamber out into the gentle surf, Pam and Dore began their backward retreat to the trail. They left the fruit baskets where they were, hoping to slow them down a bit more. Walking backwards as rapidly as they dared while still beckoning and cooing coquettishly, they reached the line of palms just as their admirers reached the baskets. Pam and Dore both began pantomiming eating the fruits and a fair number of the men paused to fill their hands with the offering, biting into the luscious fruit with sly smiles that anticipated more delights to come, their eyes never leaving the women for very long.
Pam winked at Dore, mission almost accomplished and began to edge back into the trees, still cooing and beckoning their prey on.
There was some discussion amongst the pirates, undoubtedly as to whether to proceed into the trees or not. This didn’t last long as the pirates seemed to feel they were in no danger and if any unfriendly “natives” appeared they would be able to make short work of them. Overconfidence and lust proved to be just the right combination. The pirates assumed they were being led to where the real party would start and gamely followed along.
Pam and Dore had not quite reached the spot where the ambush awaited. Unfortunately, some of the pirates had grown impatient and were catching up to them more quickly than expected, their hands eager to get a hold of offerings intrinsically more alluring than fruit. Pam gave Dore a small push, a signal to move faster. A pirate caught up to Pam just then and grabbed her wrist, hard. Pam felt a note of panic ring through her but kept smiling. Dore paused and was looking back, allowing a look of worry to cross her face. Pam gestured with her chin for Dore to move on but she knew her friend wouldn’t leave her. A second pirate was closing fast. The plan was in danger of falling apart and Pam’s heart began to race. The one who held her who now used his free hand to grab one of Pam’s breasts, causing her to yelp.
That was all the signal Gerbald and the Swedes needed. Pam watched in amazement as a large sage green and mustard-colored blur came rocketing out of the brush. Suddenly the man pawing Pam was sporting a bright red gash where his throat had been, the work of Gerbald’s deadly
Pam and Dore began running, Pam pushing Dore ahead of her as much as Dore was pulling Pam into the tall grass away from the action. From a relatively safe distance, she saw Gerbald down a third pirate with his
Pers, for his keen eyes and Rask and Torgir, both experienced marines, remained on watch at the ambush site while the rest of them went back to the camp to regroup. The bosun, in his early fifties although aged prematurely by years of sea winds and the relentless sun, was doing his level best not to look at Pam, and losing that battle. This was possibly the most bare female flesh he had ever seen outside of a dimly lit dockside whorehouse and the poor fellow was obviously shaken. Pam smiled at him patiently and quickly got back to business as he did his best to focus on a nearby palm tree yet still appear to be listening to her.
“Good job, everyone. That worked really well. I have an idea for part two, so tell me what you think.” All the men listened intently to Pam’s next plan, mostly managing not to stare at the ladies’ exposed expanses. Dore stood unashamed beside her, a lioness gazing proudly at her brave and clever young companion, head and other assets held high. Gerbald grinned like a fox in a henhouse, obviously pleased to see his Christian wife of so many years standing before him in unfettered heathen glory. Dore saw his look and rather than become annoyed as she once would have, gave her husband a serene smile. Pam saw this exchange out of the corner of her eye.