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

A CHANGE OF PACE… Bermuda (Part 164l)

Our next stop was a short trip heading North to another wharf where we all left the boat and took a short walk to a small restaurant with outside tables. Not unexpectedly, Elle headed for the rest rooms. Box lunches were distributed and all I’ll say about it was that it provided a little sustenance… and the emphasis in on the word ‘little’. I’d not had much in the way of conversation with Elle after we visited the bridge. When she took her lunch she ignored the group (and me) and stood by one of the tables out in the back making no effort to take a seat. That was a sign, for sure, that she had a ‘problem’. I’d taken a seat and when I saw her standing  back there I got up and joined her. All I heard was “Don’t ask!”  At that time the guide was telling about the now long gone fishing fleet so I just stood and listened, dying to find out how much ‘damage’ there was to her slacks.

Backing this up to the morning when we were dressing for the day, Elle had picked out a pair of white slacks and when I questioned her choice she defended it saying that we’d be on the water which meant there was a chance of it being somewhat cool. I acknowledged that but, trying to be realistic, I reminded her that we had no idea of what we’d have for restrooms and when they’d be available. I suggested a skirt “just to be safe”. All that got me was a wrinkled up look on her face. However, I persisted and told her that if she was going to wear slacks she’d better wear a “package” like she did at night (2 pair of Carters ribbed cotton panties, three sanitary napkins and a pair of plastic panties). With that suggestion all I got was repeated negative shakes of her head. Giving it one last try I offered that she could possibly wear a partial “package” which consisted of two pair of panties along with two sanitary pads and a pair of sanitary panties with a plastic crotch over them. After I suggested it the realization came to me that, in packing, I’d not put any of those type panties in with her ’supplies’. However, she didn’t reject that idea which put me on the ‘spot’. Even though I knew there were no sanitary panties in her things I made like I was searching for them. When I didn’t come up with anything after a minute or two she piped up that she always kept a pair in her pocketbook. The reality of it was that if she had a ‘flood’ she would still be embarrassed. If she ‘dribbled’ or leaked just a bit she’d be protected. In any case something was better than nothing.

After finishing our lunch the guide told us we were free to wander though the village. There wasn’t much to it with but one small market with fresh vegetables displayed out on the street. The few stores that were there were filled with trinkets and souvenirs. While perusing some I had the opportunity to visually inspect Elle’s backside. What I saw I’ve described in other posts as “smiles”. That’s where the leg elastics of the sanitary panties get wet and dampen the slacks where they’re in contact with the pants making sort of a smile. The plastic crotch protects the main body of the pants. It told me that she’d had a fairly substantial leak but not a flood. I was convinced that no one would notice unless they, like me, were looking so chose to keep quiet about it. We’d all been told to report back to the wharf at 1:30pm. On the short boat trip from the bridge I’d seen a long stretch of white beach with any number of Sunfish sailboats and a few catamarans scattered about in front of what looked like cabanas. I asked the guide and he said it was fairly new cottage colony called Lantana. I asked was it possible to walk there and he pointed to a pathway. Once on our way and now free of the other boat trip passengers I was able to find out what had happened to Elle.

Even after being with her for so many years Elle still had trouble freely discussing her ‘accidents’ with me. She said she’d been OK, even when the woman asked about rest rooms on the boat, until she went to get off the boat. She’d opted not to get out and see the bridge when the boat stopped there fearful that she’d have trouble. It was when she had to take the big step from the boat to the dock in Somerset that it happened. She did say she was able to stop after the first “gush” so she felt she still had a chance to make it to the toilets at the restaurant. I remember her turning her head towards me saying the “damage” came after she was in the stall and was trying to get her pants down. I’m smiling as I recount this part because she was actually proud of herself for making it that far. She went on that she had to discard the sanitary pads and hoped she’d make it back to the hotel with no more “incidents”. She did… with ‘damage’ being that the ‘smiles’ widened once she sat back down in the boat. We were last off and I pretty much protected her on the way to the mopeds. It wasn’t even 3pm when we got back to the hotel and we had three hours to kill before dinner hour. I knew what I wanted to do but the question was what did Elle want to do.

Getting changed was the first order of business. I helped Elle get her slacks off and my goal was to keep her from seeing the ’smiles’. Down to her now damp panties I put my hand in her crotch but she batted it away, still upset with her ‘accident’. She went in to the bathroom, washed up and rinsed out the panties. She (we) had been doing it on a daily basis but to get them dry without the housekeepers seeing them I’d hide them in the closet until we’d come back after lunch. Then I’d hang them over the backs and arms of the chairs on our balcony. The nylon panties would usually be dry by the time we were getting ready for bed but the heavy cotton panties she wore at night were very slow to dry. Since this was the first time we’d been in the room since before 8am no panties were outside drying and there were a bunch of them that needed to get dry. So, while she washed up I ‘hung the laundry out to dry’. If someone had walked in on us they would’ve been shocked as I think there were 8 in all. In any case I suggested going to the pool. We’d only been in it once since we arrived and it was still warm out. We got our suits on and headed downstairs. There was a bulletin board that faced the bank of elevators as you exited and was used to announce last minute changes to scheduled events of the day. As soon as I stepped out the door there it was… “POOL CLOSED”. Curious as to why we followed the path to the pool. Once there it seemed like it had gotten much darker than when we left our room. Turning around and looking up to the Northwest I saw this gigantic black cloud. Turning back towards the pool I could see the attendants scurrying about putting down the umbrellas and stacking all the chaises. It was obvious that this was more than a typical Bermuda shower.

We’d not fully explored the whole first floor so, before returning to our room we made the rounds. We found a small library which reminded me of the den at my father’s best friend’s house… dark wood, high ceiling, hanging lamps and built in bookcases. Next to it was what was labeled “Card Room”. Walking in there we found two tables and one was obviously for checkers (or chess). What intrigued me was that all the squares were inlaid into the table surface. There were some large leather chairs over by the window and one was occupied. In looking at the person I had the feeling I’d seen him before. I let it pass and challenged Elle to a game of checkers. The pieces were in a drawer built into the table and they were all carved wood. We had no intention of staying so we played while standing up. Always competitive, I was engrossed in the game and was startled when the person in the chair called out to me using a nickname that had only been used while I was at boarding school.

To be continued…