301 Days
I am terrified of going back to normal.
On the 1st of December, my husband will arrive on the Indian Ocean archipelago I have called home for the last ten months. I have stayed on only one small part of one small island with the same group of 20 ex-pats for the entire time.
At first, we all went a little crazy and had sex with each other every night and then we calmed down, or at least I did. I only have had sex with one man for the last eight months and I will not think of thing of him when I say goodbye.
I came here with a lover at the very beginning of February. He left. I stayed, and then I had no choice because the flights back to the UK were suspended. I had plans for this year, but I’ve mostly forgotten them.
I took my current lover from his wife because I needed someone to share my bed. He was the youngest and best-looking man in the group.
I wake up in the morning and slip on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and run out to the beach, undress and swim in the calm waters and then I come back and shower and go to the dining hall and have coffee and a croissant. I have done that every morning for 300 days.
The coffee is instant, and the creamer is powdered, and the sugar comes in cubes. We are limited to one croissant in the morning because a boat has to be sent to collect them from a bakery on a neighboring island.
There’s a radio in the dining hall that broadcasts the only station it can receive. It’s in French, which I can understand, and the news is mainly local. There’s a weak wireless connection I’ll use later in the day to check my emails and read the news so I can find out what is happening in the rest of the world.
I get a cup of coffee for my lover and take it back to my villa and wake him. We fuck in the morning and in the afternoon and the evening. I have fucked him over a thousand times in the last ten months and I know his body intimately and what turns him on as he knows mine.
The sex is always good but that’s just what it is, sex without emotion. He doesn’t feel that way and I am flattered by his affection. He is as young as my husband but lacks so many things I ultimately need in a man.
When I leave the bed his cum leaks down my thigh. I go to the living room and read. My husband sends a package every week with books and things I need.
There’s always a special present inside. It may be a new top or a skirt or sandals. I am the only one in the little resort who receives weekly deliveries, and it makes me feel special. It also makes the other women jealous. I like that.
The fruit grows wild here so I can pick small bananas and big mangos and huge avocadoes. There is always a bowl of fruit on our table. There is no TV in the villa or internet connection. I stay inside most of the day because the sun is so intense. I’m tanner than I’ve ever been in my life. I can’t wait to be pale again.
Lunch is the same every day. A smallish whole fish on a bed of rice with finely sliced pumpkin. Pumpkin is the only vegetable available on this island, so it is prepared in a myriad of ways. I’ve learned how to skillfully eat a whole fish so when I am finished there are only bones and a bit of the head left.
My lover and I go back to the villa after lunch and fuck at least once, but usually twice. I’ve never had a man want me as much as he does, and he can bring me to multiple orgasms with his tongue before he fucks me.
I’ve lost track of what day of the week it is. It doesn’t really matter. The concept of a weekend being different than a weekday seems absurd now. I’ve never really had a job anyway. I am happy to live the life I do, spoiled by my husband and free to do what I wish with whom I wish. I don’t want that to ever end.
I think of my lover as a boy, but he is the same age as my husband. He’s from a rich family in Denmark and they are keeping him here like my husband is keeping me, so he is safe. He has little depth and curiosity. My husband can handle things and make things work. He has extended my visa twice, so I am here legally, and he did that from 3,000 kilometers away. I’ve never really thought about the ten year age difference between myself and my husband.
I carry my computer to the dining hall afterward. My lover’s spunk, once again, is leaking from my pussy. I usually wear a skirt to hide it. I write and send messages for a few hours and, when the sun begins to descend to the horizon, I carry the laptop back. My lover and I may sit on the porch and look at the sea until dinner.
Once again, it is a whole tropical fish on rice with roasted pumpkin. We share a bottle of wine. It’s always KWV sauvignon blanc from South Africa. It’s the only wine that’s imported to the island. It’s not bad. I will have shared 300 bottles with my lover by the time my husband arrives.
We have electricity in our villas again after months without. We had to use hurricane lamps for light. I actually miss that. It cast a far more romantic light than an electric bulb. But I like that I can read again now in the evening. I’ve finished over a hundred books that sit on piles on the floor.
When we’re tired, we head off to bed and have sex again. He always makes me cum first before plunging his cock inside me. We may fuck twice before we sleep. Before I close my eyes, I think of what I am going back to. All the things I took for granted and now have almost forgotten.
I am so used to the little life I lead, going back to the real world scares me. I haven’t seen or touched my husband in ten months and that seems foreign to me as well. We talk every day, but our connection has grown more distant. I don’t know what it will be like to see him again.
I feel like a prisoner who has been in jail so long he is scared of being released. Terrified of the world out there. During this time everyone else in the world went about their business while I was holed up in a bit of paradise living a fantasy life. Going back to London and then Oxford seems impossible.
Leaving the cocoon, I’ve lived for ten months, talking to someone intelligent again, being with someone I love, and leaving this place finally seems fanciful. Nothing changes in my day-to-day life. I’ve missed things and people, but they’ve been out of my life so long, I’ve forgotten them.
As the arrival of my husband becomes more imminent, I wake paralyzed with fear. I can’t think of packing my things. I somehow got lulled into thinking this was my life for forever more. I thought originally it was just going to be for a couple of months and then I began to think the pandemic would never end. I never thought they would find a vaccine.
I have had crazy thoughts. I think about asking my husband if I can stay here for a few more years. He has spent a fortune to keep me safe. I should feel grateful for that and lucky that he is coming to rescue me after all this time.
But what I feel isn’t joyful anticipation. My biggest overriding emotion is dread. I am paralyzed by it. No amount of reassurance my husband will give me will help me overcome it.
