Free Matecumbe by James A. Michener Page A

with me,” Melissa whispered, confidently, clutching Joe’s shoulder just a little tighter as she spoke.
    When they were alone at the pier’s edge, Melissa and Joe ignored the slapping sounds of the sea. Looking instead into each other’s eyes, they knew, right away, what their plans would encompass for the remainder of the day.
    The walking tour of Key West, and other forms of outdoor activity, would be put on hold until tomorrow.

    It was late afternoon when they pulled up in front of the Cayo Hueso Motel. Not wanting to wait for a room service order, Joe and Melissa had already stopped at a local wine and spirits shop to purchase two large bottles of chilled champagne—as well as a few snacks.
    After checking in as Mr. and Mrs. Jones, they toted their own bags to the room—then wasted no time in breaking out the stash of champagne. While they sipped, they also munched on wheat crackers, brie, and fresh strawberries.
    For the next twenty minutes, Melissa and Joe sat on the floor of their room, cushioned by a deep pile carpet. After consuming a suitable amount of food, chased by bubbly, both of them seemed extremely loose and comfortable with each other.
    They were smiling and joking now, like the winners of a championship game who were lingering in the locker room long after their victory became official.
    The champagne had the effect of producing a lilting, laughing tone in both their voices.
    Soon they were looking eye-to-eye and holding onto each other’s hands. Alternately, Melissa would pull Joe toward her, and then he would reciprocate, with a brief kiss punctuating every movement. They also took turns pretending that their bodies were limp. Still sitting, they would close their eyes, pivot on the floor, and then trust each other to provide a soft catch of the partner’s head and torso.
    Engaging in such joyous frolic reminded Melissa of her grade school playmate, Clarissa. She and Clarissa were drawn together as friends, most likely, because others in their class would always poke fun at how their names were perfect rhymes. She could still see and hear the bratty little boys in third grade as they distorted their faces grotesquely and shouted, “Melissa-Clarissa, Melissa-Clarissa.”
    Melissa and her friend would often dance together, assume the roles of homemaking mothers, play patty cake, or just hold each other by the hands and sway, as Joe and she were doing right now.
    Suddenly, in the midst of one of her giggles, Melissa sensed Joe’s curlyhaired head resting on her chest. He started nibbling on the large red stripe of her blouse. And, within seconds, Melissa could feel a pleasurable hardening beneath that blouse.
    She placed her head against a pillow and grasped her arms around Joe’s massive back. Then she began to experience a powerful warmth and comfort as his hand slowly started to caress the front of her body, in an exhilarating, circular motion.
    The deep hum of pleasure that Melissa exhaled was a natural response. It was also, however, a signal to Joe that he needn’t stop.
    “Ooh, that’s good,” Melissa mumbled, quietly, close to Joe’s ear.
    Then, deftly, he slid his left hand under her blouse, massaging her bare, taut tummy before edging his fingers slightly higher, to an area where, on most days, Melissa would have been wearing a bra.
    Swiftly, his lips moved to hers, commencing a tender kiss. Their tongues met, darting about inside their coupled mouths, seemingly in rhythm now with Joe’s hands, which were passionately squeezing the soft erogenous zone of Melissa’s bust line.
    They were strong hands, hardened, she surmised, through the endless gripping of gun barrels, nightsticks, and squad car steering wheels. The very thought of this somehow made Melissa even more excited.
    By now, Melissa’s mind had begun to wander somewhere among her long forgotten teenage fantasies. Her womanly desires for Joe were transcending all vestiges of pure thought and proper instinct. At moments