A CHANGE OF PACE... Bermuda (Part 164h)

A CHANGE OF PACE… Bermuda (Part 164h)

Our time in Bermuda was flying by and there were a lot of things we still wanted to do. We now had to fit in the boat trip we’d won but high on my priority list was the picnic (of sorts) at the hidden beach that I’d discovered. A visit to St. Georges had been another place to see but we were running out of time. Our flight home was at around 5pm on Sunday but we had to be out of the room before noon. Lying in bed that night I came up with the idea of seeing St. Georges on Sunday before we left using the time between the two. Since the airport wasn’t far from there I thought we’d take a taxi to the airport, check our bags and then go on to see the sights in the village. We also wanted to try tennis once more and in anticipation of it, laid out our tennis clothes before going to bed. Figuring on an hour for tennis and an hour for breakfast I thought we could be on our way to the hidden beach by 10am at the latest.

Waking up to cloudy skies was a disappointment. Naturally, we wanted it to be a sunny day for the picnic but there was little we could do about the weather. Arriving at the courts even earlier than the previous day it was a surprise to see most of them occupied. I remember thinking that theses people might’ve camped out there overnight just to be sure they got to play. The court with the backboard was the only one available so we headed for it. Most of the players we saw were men but on the one next to where we’d be playing were two women. One caught my attention right away as she was bending over at the waist and picking up balls at there net. Frilly, lacy, tennis panties were in vogue at the time but she wasn’t wearing a pair of them. To my somewhat trained eye she had on just a regular pair of white panties. I knew right away that I’d be keeping my eyes peeled for more peeks like that as Elle and I attempted to play.

The courts were classified as being ‘clay’ although they weren’t. The surface was called Har-Tru, a clay like base with small granules on the surface. The idea was to make it easier on the players knees and legs. Having only played on hard surfaced courts it had taken me a while the morning before to get used to the slipperiness when you, while running, tried to stop. I’d almost fallen during the short time we’d been at it when I heard a muffled cry from the adjacent court. Looking over I could see one of the women on the ground with one leg under the net. She was on her side with the other leg and her body scrunched up and pressed into the net. As I ran up to help I couldn’t see much of her panties from the way she was lying. I asked if she was in pain and she said it wasn’t bad but she was going to need help to get extracted from the net. She was in no position to help herself and to me, the first thing was to get her body off the net so she could straighten out the one leg. It was almost like deja-vu from the previous morning when I put my hands under her armpits to drag her back and up to a sitting position. The problem then was the other leg which was still wedged under the net. She was trying to pull that leg out from under it but her foot, now pointing straight up, was preventing her from being successful. The only way it was going to work was for her to lay back over on her side so the length of her foot was parallel to the ground. When instructing her to do so I was squatting by her right side. When she turned to do it I was no more that two feet from her backside. The ‘view’ was fantastic… and lasted for what seemed like a long time but was probably no more than 15 seconds. Once her foot was extracted she sat up and proceeded to thank me profusely. Modesty at that time for her was probably the least of her concerns. I was standing sort of over her by then and as she thrust her hand up reaching for mine to pull her up I got a full on view of her crotch. She then explained that she had run forward towards the net to get to the ball that the other woman had hit just over the net and when she attempted to stop her feet went out from under her. I don’t remember much else of what she said as people from the court on the other side had come over to see what was happening. When Elle and I returned to our court Elle let me know she’d witnessed my “ogling” (her word) the “private area” of the woman and sort of scolded me for it. I didn’t care. It was now firmly ensconced in my memory bank. Elle and I ‘played’ (a generous description) for about 45 minutes. In leaving the area we found the photographer headed in our direction. He offered to take a picture of us and… he did.
 

At least I tried...
We’d found out the day before that tennis attire was perfectly OK for the dining area at breakfast and lunch. The ‘formal’ attire was only required at dinner so we went right from the courts to the dining area. Andres delivered sweet breakfast rolls to the table within minutes of our arrival. I spoke to him about box lunches and, again, within minutes they were delivered. By the time we headed for our room the sun had appeared and I started to get excited. We had pretty much pre=planned our needs and had a couple of towels to lie on for the beach and, if we swam, to use to dry off already stuffed into the carry bag. It was the same bag I’d used to bring our tennis sneakers and Polaroid camera from home. When changing and getting dressed to leave Elle noticed I’d put out the bathing suit that didn’t have panties attached. It was the one she’d wear when we were on one of our sailing excursions without the kids and my favorite. She wasn’t too pleased when she saw it but I reminded her that we’d be all alone on a ‘private’ beach. She backed down but said she’d have to be convinced about the privacy after we arrived. She’d not worn the new panties we purchased on the day of our arrival and I thought it would be a good time to ‘christen’ them. I laid them both out but she only put on one. Not wanting to make a ‘thing’ about it after having gotten her to wear the bathing suit, I kept my mouth closed. Just before leaving the room I suggested that we wear every day clothes to our destination so that if we chose to leave the beach early we could still do some exploring to the Southerly part of the island. In the back of my mind I really wanted to see the hotel I’d originally picked out but had been told by Gertrude (our travel agent) “it wasn’t for us”. It was about mid morning when we departed.

Arriving at the place, I wanted to make sure the mopeds were somewhat hidden so as not to draw any attention to the fact that someone might be there. By the time we made our way to the beach and got settled it was approaching mid-day and the sun was right overhead. We slipped off the shorts we’d worn over our bathing suits and lay the towels out on the beach. Elle was still concerned about just how much privacy we had. I’d taken the Polaroid camera out of the bag and as soon as she saw it I was hit with the admonition… “Don’t ask!”. To allay her fears about privacy I offered to go back up to the top and shoot a picture so she could asses the situation herself. She agreed and I headed back up to the field above us. The view was fantastic and I snapped the picture only to discover it was the last of the Polaroid film.

To be continued…