During the last oil boom, I did a lot of freelance geology work for a local company that was very active at the time. Ray, an oil man I met had his own company that was closely associated with the one for which I was doing work. My wife Anne and I became good friends with his wife Kathy and him.
Ray’s associate Larry also owned an infamous local night spot called Michael’s Plum that was the “in” place to frequent for many years. Michael’s was sponsoring a trip to the Bahamas where Larry owned two yachts. The trip included rooms at the Paradise Island Hotel along with round trip airfare. Several spots came open at the last minute and the four of us headed toward the Caribbean.
We did lots of gambling, drinking, eating and sitting in the sun. One day, the girls were exhausted so Ray and I decided to hit the beach by ourselves. We had barely spread our towels in the sand when two good-looking women dressed in tiny bikinis joined us. They both had very proper English accents – at least they sounded proper to two Okie oilies.
The two young women were very friendly – overly friendly, it seemed to both of us. They were soon practically sitting in our laps before Ray and I realized they were “working girls.” As it turned out, we didn’t have a chance to get into trouble.
Our rooms were on the third floor of the resort with balconies that overlooked the sea. Anne and Kathy, it seemed, trusted neither of us very much and were keeping an eye out to see where we were. Espying the two scantily-clad British women sitting with us, they quickly sprinted across the hundred yards of sand, joining us and making it quite clear that Ray and I didn’t need extra company.
Dinner was a bit strained that night, even though Ray and I never did anything.
“Because we didn’t give you a chance,” Anne said, above our protests.
Kathy’s next comment caused us all to laugh and succeeded in breaking the tension – restoring the trip to near normalcy. Well, almost!
“Never trust a horny man on hot sand,” she said.
Gondwana Press
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