Allouette

Sixteen

ONE

The black three cylinder turbo Mini Cooper, with a pink wind surf board mounted on the roof, made its way up and down the Piha Road like a mouse following a trail back to its nest.

Inside, the Lioness was listening to I am a Warrior. Her voice was stronger than the track. Karoke’ had been good to her over the years. So had its patrons. There are only so many pina coladas a woman can pay for.

The Mini came to a place where the driver swerved right choosing the jeep trail to the beach head below. The road was used so little, a patch of wild grass had grown down the middle covering what nature had endowed it with. The Cooper had a low clearance and the car became a large cordless razor shaving the bush as it went.

After picking along the path, through what appeared to feel like an old cart trail, the speaker system started pounding out Barracuda.

Auckland was 40 km ago, but it didn’t matter. The driver was on a mission. No one wears a watch in New Zealand and today she was on Maori time. She had gotten a new assignment to drive the Waitakere Ranges’ bush tracks.

When the Mini popped out of the sub-tropical forest, it was forced to brake to avoid a thousand foot drop. The rugged cliffs were not for the faint hearted.

The Lioness got out of the Mini and walked toward the lip of the dirt trail where it turned and snaked back to the east. This jeep trail was going to be just as it was described in the tour map, challenging. She got back in the Mini, released the emergency brake, which resembled an aircraft throttle lever pilots push forward for takeoff, and turned the front wheels in the dark, loose soil for the slow descent down to the beach floor. This called for the Lioness to hold on tightly to the large knob so she could shift up or down at a moment’s notice. She didn’t mind.

The trail was narrow and there was only an occasional place where another vehicle could pull off to the side to let a car coming from the other direction pass. While watching the beach down below and the path in front of her, she came upon a little meadow with red flowers surrounding a crystal clear pond. She pulled over and backed the Mini out of sight behind a hedge.

She had never been here before but the source of her travel directions was reliable. She couldn’t help but stop and explore her inner sensuous yearnings. She hit the ignition button ending the Mini-concert, climbed out and stretched.

The Lioness was six feet, depending on who was asking and all legs. She had coarse blond hair resembling the tail of a horse of the same color. Her big, dark brown eyes appeared black after midnight with eyebrows bold enough to support all of her hair. She was a blessed woman with flawless skin along with a one inch cross tattooed on her right index finger.

She was born with remarkably beautiful teeth. The whites surrounding her eyes fought for dominance with her big wide smile. Most women have one good attribute. Beautiful women may have more. But the Lioness had a rare trait only one man can describe to another. She had this mouth. And it was surrounded by lips. Lips begging to be kissed.

Pulling her yoga bag out of the back seat, she walked a short distance to the head of the trail where she could see the Tasman surf break on the black iron sand down below. As she unrolled her grass woven mat, the distant sound of AK, AK, AK, AK cracked the air. She immediately did a controlled dive on the mat and ended up landing with her hands holding her head down as tightly as possible.

Several tense minutes of tranquility followed. The Lioness arched her neck before rolling over on her back. Whatever was being shot at, was no longer moving. The dive was instinctive after years of training. This was quite a feat for a woman with breasts who screamed for their own zip codes. She had always done well in school but also had a history of being marked down on push-ups because her women’s coach complained she never got her back high enough to fully clear the mat.

She reached over and pulled out a pair of rose-colored field Nikons. Her glasses found a shack near the high tide mark. The structure was square. There was no porch or driveway. No neighbors to hear screams or gunshots for miles, and the only way in or out was the single-lane jeep trail which zigzagged with switchbacks on the face of the mountain all the way down.

Several Maori men were standing between the water’s edge and the shack. They were arguing. The men seemed to be looking out to sea. Some of them were waving their arms. Others did not appear to care.

The shack squatted in the middle of a small horseshoe cul-de-sac of black sand. Several men were sitting in the shade of a lone Kauri tree, 50 meters high, watching a giant Bullmastiff roll around on dried palms in the sand.

From the air, you could not see this base camp unless you were in a helicopter. The mountain walls ran nearly right up to the front door of the shack. This was a place where men did what men did when they were growing illegal cash crops for survival.

Periodically, a boat would make a supply visit in exchange for bags of stems and leaves. No veggies here. Just fruits and wild pig. And, naturally, whatever washed up on the beach. There was no car or truck in sight, just a medium sized boat with an outboard motor run aground at high tide. Electricity was provided by a small generator stashed beneath the shack next to several AK-47’s.

A black haired Amazon looking woman appeared for a moment outside to hang some faded towels on a short clothesline, then went back inside.

While the Lioness was waiting for the boat to show, which could be her diversion, she decided to go through a kata. Even if a boat or motorized raft pulled up, she would see it with or without her field glasses.

She dropped her cargo shorts, jungle shirt and bikini top and sat down in a cross-legged squat. She started with her toes, then twisting and squeezing her feet so they would become limber and relaxed. She went on to her ankles by rotating her feet in both directions to get the tendons stretched out. After about ten minutes, she started her rendition of yoga and Tae-kwon-do. This was followed with a handstand on her forearms and a slow raising and lowering of her legs, first from the knees up and then from the hips, slowly raising her legs all the way up then curling forward. She spread her legs apart first from the knees, then from her hips before bringing them slowly back down.

Her finale? An eight minute plank. Holding herself up straight and stiff with no one to prod her on, required a lot of self-control. This time her breasts left no impressions in the soil. She called it quits and dropped face down, resting her sculptured cheek bones carefully on top of the mat.

A buzzing sound from her thong energized the jungle air. She slowly raised her glutes. Every nerve ending was pulsing. Her reflections were intensely vivid.

Slowly at first and increasing to 100% redline, as if she were pumping her mat, she put both of her hands between her thighs and applied the catalytic amount of pressure at just the right intervals to get her the O she desired.

Getting off in the NZ wilderness was crazy. How would she know if the next one wasn’t better than the last? She had been disappointed many times in life by nameless lovers, but she was never one of them. After eight times at bat, she laid there while she leisurely recovered her breathing and pulse. She reached down, pulled her cell phone out of her red thong and tilted it out of the sun to see who the last caller was.

The screen was a close-up of a dark haired man in a black cassock and white collar. A schoolgirl smile engulfed her face. Closing her eyes for a moment, her lips pressed against the phone, she imagined a passionate kiss.

Her Swiss Army watch indicated it was time to get her mission in play. She looked one last time at the beach shack below. No boat or raft. No visitors. The crew seemed to be sleeping in the shade of a palm in the late afternoon sun. She slipped her cargo shorts on, put on her khaki shirt but left the tails out. She rolled up the mat and tossed it in the back seat. The Mini started right up and she blazed back onto the jeep trail.

The road was rolling like the wake of a waterskiing boat. There were lots of deep spots. She was relieved when the Mini did a face plant, hitting the front bumper, which meant she had finished the steep mountain trail.

The Mini took the first turn and headed north along the paved road leading to Kohunui Bay.

She drove up to a guard hut covered by tall plants. The black Speedo wearing guard came out to tell her the road ahead was a dead end and she needed to turn around. She explained her car was overheating and needed to pull off somewhere. He waved her on towards the shack. When she got there, the men already had been radioed in advance and were gathering to meet her.

The leader and dirtiest of the men, Limhi, came out of the shack to investigate this intruder and see what she was doing so far out in the forest.

Limhi was as broad as he was tall, hair graying and a head so big it sat on his shoulders like a pumpkin. His heavy brow told of a man who not only had seen a lot but also knew exactly what he had seen. His forehead looked like a relief map that detailed the strife he had been through with several heavy handed Polynesian women who had his children and still had their hands in his pockets. The Hei-Matau, a fish hook bone necklace he was wearing, was a symbol of authority and clearly indicated he was the crew’s leader.

Kia Ora, Sister, what are you doing way out here? Limhi asked.

I am scouting for movie locations, she said, holding her hand up over her forehead to block the sun’s afternoon rays while climbing out of the Mini.

There aren’t any movies being made out here, Limhi announced.

Well, there never will be unless someone scouts for one, she said cheerily. Lucky for me, I found you because my car keeps overheating.

Yes, you are lucky. Very lucky, Limhi said. What’s your name?

Nicci Bleu.

Well, Nicci, it will be getting dark soon and being out here in total darkness is something else, sister, Limhi emphasized.

Do you have family on the North Island?

Nicci shook her head. Nope, I’m here on a Visa. No family. I used to, but I don’t know where they are anymore.

Maybe you should go looking for them, Limhi said, almost sounding like he was giving an order.

I do, when I get the chance, she replied, looking down and dragging her toe across the sand.

Do you come from a big family?

I grew up in an orphanage after my mother died. I never met my father.

Well, we are all brothers here, Limhi gestured with his hands at the other men. Why don’t you relax and stay while we look at your car. Dinner will be in a couple of hours.

Thank you, Nicci said while pushing her long blond hair out of her face, smiling at the men.

The group walked up closer and offered to look at her Mini. One Adonis looking man, Ben, stated he would be the one fixing her car. When he got in her car to start it, he noticed Nicci did not have any camera equipment. After taking a brief look at the dashboard readouts, Ben got out and whispered to Limhi.

Hey Sister. What kind of camera do you have? Limhi asked, while holding his enormous head up at chin level.

Well, she paused, I did have a Sony a55.

What do you mean had? Limhi said suspiciously.

This morning I stopped for some meatie pies at a roadside. While I was using the ‘WC’, someone lifted the camera out of my car. As you know, when you go for a drive around the island you either go one way or the other. I was too far along to go back to Auckland to get another camera. So I just kept going to finish my scouting trip as best I could, she said. Make sense?

So long as you don’t find anything to take a picture of here, Limhi warned.

I’d like to beat that guy for putting you out, he added.

Me too.

Limhi shook his pumpkin head, then trudged off in the deep sand toward the beach house.

A taller and thinner Maori approached, stuck his face in hers and introduced himself.

Hi, I’m Tom, he said with a big islander grin. Do you want to watch us play volleyball?

How about I play, and we can have a great volleyball game? Nicci offered.

You’ve played before? Tom asked.

A little, she said with a grin.

The Lioness with the large mane of wild blond hair dropped right in the sand on her butt, crossed her legs and started bouncing her knees. The Maoris stopped and stared. Some stood up and walked around her for a better view of the visitor’s routine.

What are you doing? Al, the shortest man with deep brown eyes asked.

Warming up, she chirped. How about you?

I’m … I’m already warmed up, he said with toothy grin. All of the men laughed.

Great, she said.

When was the last time you actually played? Tom said as he was sizing her up more seriously now.

Six months ago, she declared.

Where?

Huntington Beach, she shot back.

That must be on the south island because I’ve never heard of it, Tom said.

And what school is that?

It’s not a school and it’s back in the States.

Ready? she said enthusiastically.

Are you going to play volleyball in that? Tom asked, pointing down at her cargo shorts and khaki safari shirt.

Why not?

Because it’s not exactly what one would play volleyball in, that’s why, Tom affirmed.

What do you think I should wear?

I think you would not want to wear those big cargo shorts out here in the sand, Tom said instructively.

So what should I do? she asked almost playfully.

We think you should take them off, for safety, you know, Tom said.

Oh. But that would leave me with. …

It’s okay, we have women play volleyball with us all of the time with their shorts off, Tom said.

Yeah sure … Nicci said as she rolled her eyes.

And what do you all take off? Nicci asked tilting her head.

Um … nothing, Ben replied somewhat boyishly.

Doesn’t sound fair, but okay, Nicci said reaching down and pulling her cargo shorts off, then tossing them away from the volleyball court. She instinctively reached down touching her toes to complete her pre-game stretch revealing a bright, cherry red thong you could see from Sydney.

Okay, now? she said holding her hands out.

But, are you really going to play in that shirt? Tom asked.

Wait. Do you think I am going to just take the shirt off too? Nicci said pretending to be almost speechless.

Miss, we are down here below the equator. The sun’s rays get intense this time of day. We would hate for you to get sunstroke or something, Ben confided with genuine concern.

But you haven’t taken off anything, Nicci protested with a laugh.

How about if all of you take off your shorts, then I will take off my shirt?

The men looked at each other almost challengingly, then slowly took off their islander swim trunks. Nicci simultaneously unbuttoned her khaki shirt. The men watched each button pop free as she worked down the center of her garment. Just at the point when most of the men had their trunks pulled down with one or two legs out while crouching over, did she pull off her shirt and whip it twice over her head before tossing it off to the side of the sand court.

The men stood in frozen amazement before regaining their wits wondering what could happen next. The Lioness stood there half naked in only a red thong.

We weren’t expecting that, Tom exclaimed.

Yeah, I forgot. I worked out this morning and left my top in the car, she admitted shaking her head.

What’s going on here? Limhi barked marching out of the beach house with his giant fists resting on either side of his hips.

Everyone stood in place looking at Limhi awaiting his command.

I thought you were going to play, he said. I want to see some volleyball.

Yeah, yeah, said a couple of the men.

Who’s on whose team? Ben inquired.

Let Nicci pick! someone shouted. We have six and Nicci. How are we going to do that?

We’ll put five on one side and I will pick one, Nicci announced. She snaked around the abs and buttocks of the men brushing them with her butt or large breasts while scouting them up and down.

The men held still but their eyes were rolling in their heads