Lawrence - You Act Like a Fool

It was another two weeks before Jack was up to covering for me; even then he was apt to drift off to 'Never-land,' a blissfully idiotic smile on his face.

I left Jill to look after Jack and had Michelle show me around. If I'd left Michelle with Jack nothing would get done. Michelle had matured immensely in the last two weeks, although the first things she did once we were out in the corridor heading down to Transport, was to grab both my ears. I couldn't escape, she kissed me soundly. If Michelle even put a quarter of that effort into kissing Jack I could see why he was acting like he was. As for me, if she hadn't had her arms around me, I would have collapsed.

"Thanks," Michelle whispered into my ear. "Thanks for pushing Jack. I was never more furious at anyone that morning until I realized what you had done. How did you know? Jack says, he hadn't said a word about me?"

"Oh . . . I have this little friend called Imp who goes everywhere with me. He's very observant, and he whispers things to me," I joked.

"I don't know who you are," Michelle whispered, "you act like a fool sometimes and at others the wisest man alive, but thank you," she let me go.

"I'm glad that you're happy. Well," I said, embarrassed by Michelle's raw emotion, "you're my guide for the day. Where do you suggest that we start?"

"Hmmm? Well, most of us frequent the Crystal Cove Resort. They have the nicest beaches around—beautiful coral reefs if you like to dive. They are not a tourist trap, they give us a fifty-percent discount on their services and let us use the beaches free," Michelle finished breathlessly.

"Sounds like a good reason. Let's go check it out." I then allowed her to escort me to the one place, on this planet, that I most wished to visit.

Michelle took me to an unused Port and said "The Crystal Cove, Main Lobby," as we walked into the booth. The Port let us out into a Polynesian paradise. "Let's get you checked in so that security won't bother us on the beaches," she said, as she led me to the front desk.

"Michelle . . . " The clerk on duty greeted her, as we walked up to the counter. " It looks as if you have someone new for us."

"Yes, this is our new Senior Secretary, Lawrence Young."

"Oh! May I see your ID card for a moment? Sir?" He asked respectfully. He slipped the card into the slot for a moment and handed it back saying, "You're registered now, Sir. Any time you would like to use our facilities, please do so. Anything that you want to be billed to your account will be half off, automatically."

"Thank you, that's most generous."

"It's the least we can do for someone who does such important work for our Emperor and gets paid so little," he said, with a suggestive look.

[Looks like we have struck pay dirt already,] Imp said.

"So true," I replied, answering both of them.

Michelle was tugging on my hand, "Come on, I want to hit the beach." She smiled, "And on company time too!"

Decorated in early Hawaiian, the lobby sported bamboo, dried grass, palm leaves, and a rock floor. Beautiful orchids and all kinds of beautiful flowers, most of which I had never seen before, lined the walls. Hosts and hostesses wearing supposedly authentic native costumes of dried grass skirts were on hand to see to every whim of the paying guests.

While I will admit that most people, electing to wear no or minimal clothes, are well built, I had forgotten the 'vacation.' The contrast between the firm golden hewed skins of the hosts and hostesses and the flabby dead white or, in some cases', the lobster-red skin of the tourists was stunning. I suspect that at the lobster point, most of them wished that they had built in tans like so many other tourists, who ranged in tone from a deep black to just a light permanent tan. One hostess, Reena, according to her name tag (although how she could have a name tag perched there other than pure magic was beyond me), was particularly striking. She was beautifully formed and had chosen white Orchids for her leis, and the contrast between them and her chocolate skin was just breath-taking. Just because you get your antiobesity shots doesn't mean that you don't have to exercise and Reena was a perfect example of what a little exercise could do. I believe that none of the tourists had done any activity more strenuous than pushing a button on the keyboard, for the last year. The contrast was evident.

Most of the tourists were totally "Natural"—they would have looked much better, with some clothing on. The hostesses, on the other hand, were almost works of art—golden thighs artfully thrust through the grass skirts, and firm full breasts playing peek-a-boo through beautiful flower leis. The hosts were just as impressive with acres of muscles flowing and rippling across their backs and chests. I noticed a group of women tourists, just checking in. They all had their hands jammed into their mouths as though to keep from squealing, and they were staring fixedly at a host who was gathering up their luggage. The host's grass skirt had fallen forward, his firm buns were showing through the grass skirt.

We walked outside into the full sun, the rock floor gradually disappearing with white sand taking its place. The resort provided changing rooms and lockers close to the beach. Many individuals just stripped on the beach or came ready to swim. I put my swimsuit on when I dressed this morning expecting this. I folded my shirt, like a pillow, and put it under a fold of the beach towel emblazoned with "Caribbia Crystal Cove Resort".

Michelle was still a sun-worshiper at heart. I sensed a slight pause, possibly to think about her new status as a married lady. However, the lure of the sun proved to be too strong. With a deft movement, her Halter-top went one way and her wrap-around skirt another. She stretched in the sun, a natural animal in her natural habitat. From my position on the towel I enjoyed her freedom, admiring the interplay of muscles as they rippled across her torso—this was her element freely chosen. It caused me no embarrassment to watch her after such prolonged contact with the standard state of undress among the members of the embassy and the long-term residents of this world.

Michelle looked at me and grinned. "Overdressed, aren't you," she teased. "I'm up, let me get the sunscreen." She ran off, like a startled deer from my home mountains. Michelle was well conditioned and flowed rather than bounced as she ran. At the edge of the beach was a sunscreen dispenser provided free by the resort. Snatching a bottle, Michelle ran all the way back.

Kneeling, Michelle grinned at me, whereupon I realized that I had been staring. My lips parted to apologize when she spoke, "My treat, you're first. Rollover," Michelle said imperially! She kneaded the lotion in, starting at my feet and working up. It was a barbaric delight. I forgot myself for a time as I simply enjoyed the sensations she created by rubbing the lotion on. Then I remembered the question I had for her as Michelle massaged the muscles between my shoulder blades. "Where do you work-out?" I asked, "You weren't even winded from your sprint."

Looking pleased and surprised that I had noticed, Michelle said, "Why right here, just after work. They have a marvelous training program 'Judo' and everything."

I made a mental note to come with her—this seemed like a possible ploy to recruit embassy members, "I see, I—" just then she went under my arms, and I curled up with the tickle reflex. After Michelle finished laughing with me, she said, "Turn over and let me at your front."

While I had to admit that the overall scenery was much better this way, the close-up scenery scared me. Her self-acceptance did not overcome, totally, my upbringing. Michelle solved the problem for me in her typical, straightforward, manner. She was working on my chest at the time. Michelle sat back on her heels, looked me straight in the eyes, and said "You're not in such bad shape yourself. I've never felt such firm muscles as yours. Why do you hide so much of it?" Michelle queried, as she looked at my swimsuit.

I had to do some rapid soul searching plus a little information retrieval from Imp. How do you explain this to someone like Michelle? Sitting on her heels with not a stitch of clothing, her legs spread slightly to give her balance, ramrod straight, her firm young breasts proclaiming her sex, like beacons, to anyone who cared to look? Caribbia was entirely different from anywhere that I'd been to so far. There are a few planets that because of temperature or some obscure ancient custom regularly go naked—but on the whole, clothes are worn—if for no other reason than protection from the elements and a place to hang pockets. I had also noticed that most of the men preferred to wear some clothing, although in many cases it didn't hide much. I looked around the beach hoping to find some examples. I noticed a group preparing to go diving. "Look over there," I pointed, "—see the tall, statuesque red-head, about two-hundred, possibly two-hundred and fifty-years-old, surrounded by all the kids?"

A herd of children, most likely her grandchildren, surrounded the woman I had pointed to…. She and her brood were all naked. She was struggling to help fit gills to some younger ones, the youngest around six years old. Some of the Tweens were helping, the oldest almost thirty. All were pictures of health and beauty. One young lady could only be described as voluptuous, and several young men were Adonis's. Several teenagers were blossoming into adulthood, but all were unconcerned about their lack of clothing.

Right next to them another, smaller, family, just parents, and children, were dressed in swimsuits, the mother and her oldest girl in a one-piece swimsuit, done in dark colors with geometric designs. Neither group seemed at all put out by the other.

As we were talking, a six-year-old boy ran across our field of vision, closely pursued by her mother, both in a swimsuit—the mother, gravid with child, in a Microbikini. The father, who was bringing up the rear, was somewhat distracted by the lack of swimsuits, especially when the voluptuous tween bounced by, chasing after a teen, that had been teasing her.

"Our society is based on personal freedom," I said, philosophically. "That means that each society can do as it feels is proper. Without hindrance from the Empire, whose job is fundamentally described by, 'thou shalt not.' It's only when you blend individuals from different societies, that you get such a mix as this," as I waved my arm, in an inclusive gesture, across the beachfront. "That young man—" and I pointed to the man helping to chase the six-year-old, "is going to be having heart failure for the next several days. Until he becomes acclimated to conditions that are not the norm for him, or his society—eventually he will adjust. Just as that family," I pointed to the family, wearing the swimsuits with the geometrical designs, that were now helping the statuesque matriarch—and had joined groups to go diving together—"Has adapted. Each group has agreed—among themselves—that it is what is inside them that is important. Not what is outside. Does it bother you that Ambassador D'NaTing is not only fat but has a dark midnight black skin tone?"

"No, should it?"

"It shouldn't, that is the point. That special something, let's call it an 'intelligence' for lack of a better symbol, is what is important. I feel that wherever we were before we were born to this life, we all had a common origin as intelligence's, in some other form. So now that we are here, in this life, it should make no difference what a person is; male or female, clothed or unclothed, light or dark, E.T. or Terran. Where do you come from?"

"I was born on Serengeti, but my parents were both E.T.s' from Norse. I think that I know what you mean, a little anyway. Norse is quite cold, and my parents grew up always wearing clothing except while taking steam baths and the like. Serengeti was hot. My parents were always trying to get me to wear something unless I was swimming or doing something similar. But on Serengeti, no one wore any more than they had to, excepting decoration or for practicality."

"See that is what I'm talking about. How about Jack? Where does he come from?"

"Why I don't know."

"Does it make any difference to you?"

"No. Not a bit," and Michelle flushed slightly, turning her breasts a heavenly hue, thinking of her new husband.

"See, it doesn't matter at all. It just so happens that where I grew up, on Terra, we all wore clothing, all the time, even swimming. We were taught that our bodies were something special. Because we could, god-like, reproduce a small replica of ourselves, to clothe that intelligence, that soul or spirit, if you prefer that symbol, in a body. Because of that capability, I was taught that the ability and those parts of my body, used in reproduction, are special. They applied the symbol 'sacred' to it. Even now I feel that way. I've learned the ways of the empire, and I respect your decision to be and do things the way you want. In return, I expect you to respect my choices.

"Now that's a long answer, to a short question!" Michelle looked down her torso past her jutting breasts to her loins, and said, "That is a sobering thought, 'Joining to cloth intelligence in a body.' I like it. I hadn't even planned on getting married for at least another ten or twenty years," she blushed, "but I'm glad I did. I think we will still keep to the overall plan, and not have kids till we are about sixty, like my parents." Her mood suddenly swinging from the introspective to her normal exuberant self, Michelle suddenly erupted, "OK, you're done. My turn!" Michelle said as she flopped down on her back.

Taking her foot in my hand, I began my part of "the rites of the beach." I had finished her front; I had to admit to myself that Michelle felt "good"—with firm, well-toned muscles—quite different from most of the girls I knew. She was almost purring with satisfaction as I was finishing her back. I started to look around me, not that I had lost concentration, although her front did have more "obstacles" to work around and over—but that I felt something had happened that I should be aware of, while I had been rubbing her down with sunscreen.

Just as I finished, my hands still on her neck, I think she was almost asleep; 'She' flowed slowly out of the waves, just as 'She' had so many years ago on Terra. It was . . . it had to be. She was wearing, if not the same, a similar white Bikini, as she had then. That may have been what attracted me to her in the first place. She was clothed, which lent an air of mystery that otherwise would not be present. She was fuller of limb now than as a teen, slightly taller and more mature. I had given up any pretense at politeness, and was frankly staring—trying to memorize every curve; her hair still had that subtle red tint. Her face, her eyes . . . my heart fell. She was Serina T'gerr, 'The Enemy.'

How could someone look so good on the outside, and be such slime on the inside? Serina must have noticed my staring—for she walked over and stood square in front of me—arching an eyebrow in question.

"Pardon me," I said, tearing my eyes from hers, "I had thought you were someone that I once knew."

"Serina," The young man with her said, "let me introduce you to Lawrence Young, the embassy's new Senior Secretary," startled I looked at him, it was Terrance, head of security at the embassy, "Mr. Young, this is lieutenant T'gerr of the Imperial Marines ."

I was struggling inside myself; I suppose it was that she looked so good outside. However, I knew what she had become inside. I had to force myself not to show what I felt, and smiled at her, "My friends call me Larry."

She smiled back, "Mine call me Serina. I've the strangest feeling that I've met you before. You said that you thought you knew me?"

Suddenly I recalled my memory of the White Bikini, "Well sort of, several years ago I was on the beach in the southern section of Las Vegas, on Terra, and I saw a young lady who could have been your twin, including your white bikini."

She paused for an instant, an intent look in her eyes, "Yes! I do remember you. I remember because I saw you snorkeling the time you lost your snorkel—and surfaced, blowing, like a whale breaching! . . . Oh! By the way, this is the same swimsuit!" She laughed with delight.

It hurt that someone so vivacious and beautiful, could be so ugly on the inside and I tried to hate her. Blushing, I said, "That was me, all right."

Serina dropped to the sand, "Looks like we must have been neighbors," turning to look at Terrance, she said, "Terry, I'll see you tonight at class, won't I?"

"Just as always—I need to go back home for a bit, so I'll be leaving now if that's OK with you?"

"No problem," she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

Michelle, who had been reclining on her arms, her legs twisted into the lotus position, had been watching our faces closely, flushed suddenly. "I'll join you," she said, "I've been away from Jack too long already. We'll both be at class tonight, also, Serina."

"Good, I'll see you all there. Would you like to come, Larry? We have beginner's classes if you prefer?"

"What kind of classes are they?"

"Exercise classes, but we teach an ancient form of self-defense called 'Judo,' as a way to avoid the boredom of most other exercise forms. It's not hard. Won't you come? I'd very much like to see you again."

"Who could resist such a beautiful woman?" I said, smiling. "I'll be there, in fact, I have the whole day off, and it appears that I've lost my guide, she got sick."

Serina arched her eyebrow in her distinctive question asking expression.

" . . . Lovesick," I clarified.

"Oh!—how about a swim?" Serina asked, "I know this grotto that is fantastic."

"Sure," I assented.

"Stay here; I'll go get us a couple of gill packs, and tell the boss where I am."