Caribbean Queen Chapter 1

Caribbean Queen Chapter 1

November 2011

This was our first date.

We went to a Flyers game. Claude Giroux top-shelved the game-winner with 0:18 left on the clock and the crowd went wild.

Time to go home.

Post-game traffic was heavy as we drove onto the up-ramp of the Walt Whitman Bridge. I looked straight ahead to monitor the flow of cars all around us as we headed back toward Jersey. That’s when I heard her say:

“So, what do you think?”

I glanced in her direction without turning my head. But out of the corners of my eyes I could see that she was naked. I mean she stripped off every stitch of clothing and was sitting there balls-ass naked, so to speak. Her body was magnificent, so magnificent that the lyrics of Bob Seger’s “Night Moves” started playing in my mind:

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes

And points all her own sitting way up high

Way up firm and high

Truthfully, her points should’ve been sitting way up firm and high. Just two weeks past her twenty-first birthday, she was ten years younger than me.

The age differential was no accident.

I got divorced three years earlier. Not an amicable divorce. Bitter. So bitter it filled my head with negative thoughts about subsequent relationships and marriage. Now I’m the first to admit that I was the cause of the breakup, but as a consequence of my failed marriage I vowed to never get married again.

So I came up with this theory that the best way to ensure it never happening again was to date girls much younger than myself. That way there would be little chance for love and romance. No commitment. No talking about a house in the country with little kids running all around. The only thing we’d have in common was sex.

And that’s what was about to happen right there in the middle of the Walt Whitman Bridge, surrounded by traffic, on the way home from the Flyers game, on our first date — sex, down and dirty sex.

She unzipped my jeans and set me free. Then she straddled me, impaling herself in the process as she wedged herself between me and the steering wheel.

Driving became tricky. I had to look over her shoulder while she was bouncing up and down on my lap. It wasn’t easy to see where I was going. Driving may have been tricky, but it was also exciting. So exciting that I had a hunch this wasn’t going to last long.

She took complete control of the sex.

By the time we reached the other side of the bridge she was screaming like a banshee, and I was matching her stroke for stroke. Somehow I kept the car on a straight course. I don’t know if anyone in any of the other cars saw what we were doing or not, and, quite frankly, I didn’t give a shit. We were in the process of creating a memory that would last a lifetime.

Once again my theory was tested and verified as being true: the common denominator that brought us together was sex.

For the record, her name was Patti and she was a waitress at T.G.I. Friday’s in Mt. Laurel. That particular location was a known haunt for a good number of pro athletes from all the Philly teams – and that fact will come into play in the next chapter.

Also, I misled you somewhat when I said that it was our first date. Officially, it was our first date, but it wasn’t the first time we had sex. That happened the previous weekend when I picked her up in a bar – or did she pick me up?

Doesn’t matter. You decide. Either way, it was just sex that first time and not an official date.

It went like this:

It was a Friday night and I went out for drinks with a few writer buddies of mine. We were all newspaper reporters from the Greater Philadelphia area, and I wrote for the Daily News. This was a weekly occurrence for us. We went out to chase women on Fridays and we played poker on Saturdays.

That night we chose the Coastline in Cherry Hill and we all pretty much arrived around the middle of Happy Hour. The Coastline was crowded wall-to-wall. I ordered a bottle of Bud and surveyed the field while I waited for my beer.

“Nice crop,” one of my buddies said.

“Yeah,” I replied, and he was right. It was a nice crop. Lots of women. Most of them young. Many attractive. Some caught my eye, but none held my attention.

I might as well mention this right here. I have narrow parameters when it comes to women. The truth is I’d rather go home alone than go home with someone who didn’t meet my standards.

By the time we got to the second round of drinks, my buddies were mingling with women here and there, so I drifted off by myself.

I moved to a railing near the far wall. It was crowded there as well, but there was just enough room between people for me to squeeze in and lean against the railing.

From that vantage point I was able to observe what was going on all around me. I wasn’t sure how the night was going to end, but I had a feeling that I was going to wind up going home alone. But that’s when my life made a dramatic turn.

That’s when Patti appeared.

Patti was young and tall and built like your proverbial brick shithouse. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, and just the right amount of makeup. She easily met my standards. She was carrying something in a rocks glass. For some reason she walked over to where I was standing and stopped directly in front of me.

“Can I squeeze in here?” she asked.

“No problem.”

I slid over to create some room for her, pushing against the guy standing next to me. He saw what was happening and offered no resistance.

Patti squeezed in and our hips pressed together.

We stood like that for a good two or three minutes, without moving or talking, frozen together at the hip. I started wondering:

Is she making a move?

Or is my imagination playing tricks on me?

I took a few sips of beer and checked her out with each swallow. Like I said, she had a magnificent body.

She finished her drink and shook her glass in tight little circles until the ice cubes tinkled. I interpreted that as a signal and decided to test the water.

“Would you like another drink?” I asked.

“Any strings attached?” she said with a smile.

“Would you like strings attached?” I said, and matched her smile.

This wasn’t my imagination. She was definitely flirting with me – and I was flirting back.

“You never know,” she said, still smiling as she handed me her glass. “I’ll let you know later.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Black Russian – on the rocks.”

“Save my place,” I said.

I took her glass and walked to the bar. I ordered the black Russian and another bottle of Bud.

The bar was busy. Took three minutes for me to get the drinks and return.

She was standing in the same spot where I left her.

I handed her the drink.


“No strings,” I said.

She smiled.

I didn’t squeeze back in next to her. Instead, I remained facing her about a foot or so away. I wanted to look into her eyes. I believe in the biblical cliché that the eyes are the windows to the soul. I believed that I could look into Patti’s eyes and intuit her thoughts and intentions.

So while we talked, I gazed into her eyes.

“My name’s Patti,” she said, “what’s yours?”


“Duke, huh? Don’t hear that one very often.”

“Long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “Run it past me.”

“Okay. Well, goes like this: My parents named me Duane, but I never liked the name Duane. So one day, when I was ten or eleven, I was watching an old John Wayne movie with my grandfather – The Sands of Iwo Jima.”

She looked at me without replying.

From the look in her eyes, I knew she wasn’t familiar with the movie.

“An old World War II movie,” I explained, “and my grandfather fought in ‘The Big One’ – that’s what he liked to call it – and my grandfather loved that movie.”

She nodded. I could see that she was paying attention, so I continued:

“Anyway, he kept saying, ‘Watch what the Duke does here’ and ‘Watch what the Duke does there.’ So I started thinking that Duke starts with D-U and so does Duane. Started being a John Wayne fan that day. Started calling myself Duke and it caught on. To this day I have a picture of John Wayne, in full cowboy attire, hanging on my bedroom wall. Maybe I’ll show it to you someday.”

“Maybe you will,” she said. “Let you know later.”

She smiled as she sipped her drink. Then she turned her back on me and leaned against the railing. I wondered if I’d lost her because I came on too strong. But no. I hadn’t lost her. Her posture told me she was modeling for me, posing, if you will, and she wanted me to see the whole package.

I obliged.

My eyes raced up and down her body – nice shape, long legs, and a great ass. Which was where my eyes stopped and stared.

Now I already mentioned that I have narrow parameters when it comes to women. What I didn’t mention was that I don’t lack confidence when I find one I like. And I liked this one. So I decided to go for it.

“I have a question,” I said.

“Shoot,” she answered without turning around.

“What’s that feel like?” I asked matter-of-factly.


“If I may be so bold,” I said, “I was just admiring your ass and wondering if it feels as good as it looks.”

She turned her head back toward me and smiled.

“Like it, do you?” she said, and her tone reminded me of the scene at the bandstand in Body Heat when Kathleen Turner comes on to William Hurt. “Why don’t you feel it,” she said, “and let me know what you think.”

She didn’t have to say it twice.

It felt firm.

I would say “firm enough to crack walnuts” but I already used the brick shithouse cliché and one cliché per chapter is enough. Obviously she worked out or did aerobics or something physical.

That’s when the magic started. Touching her sent a flow of electricity coursing through my body, igniting every nerve ending along the way – and I sensed that she was experiencing the same sensations.

While I fondled her, I looked into her eyes and saw all the way into her soul. She knew exactly what I wanted – and she wanted the same thing.

We started making out right then, right there, oblivious to the others around us. Wet lips on wet lips. Tongues darting and probing. Heat building inside both of us.

That’s when we left. No conversation. I just took her hand and led her out the door.

She followed me back to my place in her car and we didn’t leave all weekend. We had sex and took showers together between episodes. We watched movies on cable while we recuperated and ordered deliveries of coffee and bagels, omelets, cheese steaks, and pizza.

During one of the lulls when we weren’t having sex, I asked her if she wanted to go to a Flyers game with me the following Thursday. She said yes and that would become our first official date a few days later – which is where this story started.

That’s where the story started – but it’s far from where it ends.


I’d like to buy it now. Please show me my options.