Karl had a date, but something happened between them, and she didn't come on the trip. An argument. They had broken up. Now Karl was single.

So it was her and the twins.

Jamaica. Kingston. Waking up at sunrise and jogging at Emancipation Park. Then off to breakfast. Akee and saltfish. Lobster omelets. Bammie. Mackerel run down. Steamed fish. Plantains. Boiled dumplings. Callaloo. Pastries. Fruit. Going around the city, exploring her roots. Bob Marley Museum. Devon House. University of West Indies. Eating dinner forty-five minutes outside of Kingston at Strawberry Hill. Partying at The Quad. Catching a taxi to Port Royal, the wickedest place in the world, then catching a boat and riding out fifteen minutes to Lime Cay, a slender stretch of land no more than three hundred yards long, playing in the clear blue waters and tanning until way past dusk.

Lots of touching, water games, eating fish, rice, and peas.

Lots of drinking. Too much drinking.

Red Stripe. She had her first Red Stripe on Lime Cay, standing underneath the thatched hut where everyone congregated to buy fish and chicken. Yachts from Miami and Cuba. Everyone half naked. Music filling the air. The twins in swim trunks, no shirts. Her in a two-piece. A thong. Something she never would have worn around anyone she knew. A life in paradise.

Dripping wet, Mark moved across sand, went to the thatched hut, his turn to buy the drinks.

And Karl went to her. Played with her in the water, lifted her up and she put her legs around his thighs. She felt his erection. She looked in his eyes and felt his arousal rubbing against her.

First his hands held her backside. He held her without shame. Aggressive, yet not.

He said, "You have a nice batty."

His arousal was like wood against her. She wanted to move away from him.

She didn't. Couldn't. She smiled.

She was caught up with the aesthetics of the twins. Every woman wanted a good-looking man because every woman wanted good-looking children. The dreams of handsome boys and beautiful girls lived in us all. She relished her feelings. Was openly searching for true love. Thinking that sex came with emotions and those emotions were the road to love.

She knew this was wrong. She was with Mark. Now she was lusting to feel his brother.

Lusting to feel the man she had wanted from the beginning.

She was curious. And curiosity was a powerful aphrodisiac. She was touching Karl, smelling Karl, looking in the eyes of a man who looked exactly like her lover, but wasn't her lover. She wanted to know how much they were alike, if they were the same in all ways, if she would be able to taste, if she would be able to feel a difference. Karl squeezed her backside, then one hand came up, touched her face, his mouth leaned to hers. She couldn't resist. She wanted to taste him.

In the warmth of the island waters, surrounded by music and people, tongues danced.

One kiss sent her moral compass spinning.

The touching of the tongues had stirred that part of the female soul that perpetuated lust, desire, the need to procreate with a strong warrior, the alpha male who took what he wanted and protected all he had. One kiss anchored her to the shores of joy and misery, one powerful kiss had started it all.

Her body wasn't that of a virgin, but her mind didn't have experience.

One kiss left her confused. One kissed left her terrified.

Yet she didn't run away.

She wanted to explore her options. Expand her horizons.

She kissed him again. This kiss longer, deeper, soul-stealing. She felt Karl. His hand had gone in the water, first his fingers rubbing across her sex, then she felt his erection, he had taken his desire and pressed it against her opening, pushing hard, the only thing keeping him out was her bikini.

In public. In the warm waters in her homeland. Never in her life, never in her life.

Dizzy, she looked toward the shores, saw Mark standing there, three Red Stripes in hand.

She separated herself from Karl, hurried toward Mark, head down, ashamed, felt shaky, as if she was sleepwalking in paradise. She was nervous and excited. She had coveted her boyfriend's brother. As she left the waters, as she adjusted her swimming suit, as she wiped water from her face and took to the sand, she was afraid to look Mark in his eyes. Afraid to go to him, but afraid not to as well.

She had been enchanted by two men.

Karl stayed in the water, his arousal too obvious to return to shore undetected.

Mark stared at Karl. And Karl returned the stare.

Karl broke his stare first, swam out into the clear waters, headed toward the yachts, toward people being buck wild, enjoying life to the fullest, toward the other half-naked women who were partying.

Mark didn't say anything. Sat on a towel next to her, drank his Red Stripe, handed her one, sat the other next to him, said nothing about her kissing his brother, said nothing about his brother kissing her. She was ready to blame it on the beer, on Karl, on anything that would make it better.

It felt as if hell was about to break loose.

She held Mark's hand, felt his jealousy, afraid he wouldn't like her anymore.

But her eyes were on Karl.

His kiss, his touch, that had stirred her.

Karl looked like Mark, but he was nothing like Mark, not to her sense of touch and taste.

She said, "Mark, your brother is hitting on me."

He nodded. "I know."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"You kissed him."

"He kissed me."

"If you say."

"The devil made me do it."

"Well, the devil sure has your nipples hard."

She looked down at her top, no breasts to speak of, but her nipples stood tall.

She asked, "What would you like me to do about it?"

Mark sipped his Red Stripe, shrugged. "I could ask you the same."

"What are you saying?"

"Maybe you should ask the devil."

"Are you going to say something to him?"

He shook his head, his voice now sarcastic. "Maybe you should sleep with him."

"I don't want to sleep with your brother."

"I think you want to sleep with him."

"Is that what you would like?"

His voice turned bitter and cold. "Maybe that's what you would like."

Mark stood, finished one beer, started another, headed down the beach, left her in the sand.

Pissed off, she went back to the waters, swam to Karl.

And she kissed him again.

When she looked to shore, Mark was sipping his Red Stripe, his face saying he was unaffected, his body language contradicting the nonchalance of his facial cast.

She didn't understand.

She was traditional. Had been taught that sex was sacred. Sex was to happen between two people. She embraced that school of thinking. Sex was created for marriage, created to help forge a long-lasting commitment between a couple. Outside of marriage, sex was taboo, had harsh consequences. Pregnancy, diseases, guilt, insecurity, and shame. A relationship based on lust could only last as long as the two were physically close and found each other sexually attractive.

That night when they were back at the Hilton, Mark told her he was going to the bar. Said he would be gone for a couple of hours. Was going to sit out in the warmth of the night and listen to the band.

She told him she would be down after she had dressed.

Mark left.

Soon there as a tap on the door.

Karl.

She let him in. She let lust into the room.

She didn't resist. Didn't try to resist. She wanted him too bad.

It was wrong, yet she wanted him.

But that was shallow.

Following lust was shallow.

Still.

She followed her lust.

She confused orgasm with love. Over and over.

She went to Karl's room. Stayed there that night.

Three times that night he took her slow, three times that night he went deep. Kept going slow and deep. Kept taking her from behind, bending her over, and she was feeling all of him, every thrust.

She went back to Mark the next morning.

Found him sitting on the patio, naked as the day he was born, staring out at the sunrise.

He turned and looked at her as soon as she entered the room.

He had been waiting.

He went to her. Touched her face, her hair.

He whispered, "You know I love you, right?"

She nodded.

He smiled a hurt smile. "You can't say it back, can you?"

She smiled, but didn't answer.

He didn't question where she was, just took her, showered her, and gave her orgasm.

Took his orgasm as the bathroom steamed, as moans echoed for the island to hear.

The next morning they were all at breakfast, talking, eating akee and saltfish, bammie, drinking coffee and pineapple juice, the brothers talking as if nothing was different, as if nothing had changed.

As if nothing was abnormal.

Jewell Stewark told me that they moved their holiday to another part of her homeland.

Traveled from Kingston to the western tip of Jamaica, to Negril, again swimming and snorkeling in the coral reef, walking white sand beaches, taking in the grotto-lined cliffs that stretched to the old Negril Light house. Watching the locals dive off thirty-foot cliffs at Rick's Cafe. Barbeques and dancing, a nonstop party. The touching. By then the kissing was open. Done in front of the brothers.

They had a presidential suite. Two bedrooms. Full kitchen. Wet bar. Overlooking the sea.

Mark took her to bed. Undressed her. Undressed himself. Was making love to her with his tongue, and fingers. And Karl came into their bedroom. The door wasn't locked. Mark had left the door unlocked. And the door hadn't been closed, not all the way. Karl looked at her.

As Mark made love to her with mouth, tongue, and fingers, she looked at Karl.

Karl undressed.

She remembered feeling uncomfortable. Scared. Maybe cheap. Being taken advantage of.

Yet she was excited.

Excited to break away from all conventions and play the part of the seductress.

Excited to be the irresistible whore.