I drank the coffee. It warmed me up. I have no idea where my boogie board went, probably on its way to Christmas Island. Who worries about these things in this disposable age? Love it cheap and punters dumped when their cash runs out. But an East Javanese coffee only costs ten cents my currency, so bargains were still to be found.

‘You are too cheap to go to Starbucks, admit it.’ Bernhard had arrived, carrying two boogie boards under each arm. ‘Talking about disposable age, order me a coffee cunt while I’ll get our clothes and electronics from the car.’

He was back before you could say nasi goreng, with a fag in his hand.

The lovely lady, in her 30s, a classic Ibu, or aunty, served him a coffee.

‘Do you like it here?’ she asked. Her English was good and I really couldn’t answer, I just wasn’t sure where I was.

I took a closer look at the lady who ran the warung. A divorcee, three kids, and very well preserved.

‘It’s all the fresh fish and coconuts,’ she said. Was she reading my mind? ‘And you are right, I do have three kids, and the way things are going between you and me, it could be four soon.’

‘According to google maps,’ said Bernie, ‘ we are at a beach.’

But what beach, fucktard?

‘I’m getting to that bitch, now pay attention to those boobs in front of you while I get our coordinates.’

The owner of the warung smiled.

‘You don’t have my story, but if you did, you’d probably be paying me a bit more respect.’

I could see under her T-Shit that said, ‘We love Bunyawangi,’ that she was tit heavy and she looked very tight in her jeans. She was deliberately covering up her good looks. Her jet black shiny hair was up in a bun.

‘Don’t give up your day job,’ said Bernhard, ‘but I got to agree with you, she isn’t any mutton dressed up as lamb. She’s lamb with mint sauce alllllllll the wayyyyy.’

We were making ground here, and the lady spoke again.

‘I’m Javin, from East Java, and I’m the mother of Adul and Fitri.’

Well fuck a duck, isn’t it a small world?

‘And I’ve been doing a bit of observing myself,’ said Javin, ‘and it doesn’t take much to figure you two out.  Two old farts on the wrong side of 50 who have pervert written all over you.’

She had us to rights, no doubt about it.

‘And looking at you both in just a pair of broad shorts,’ continued Javin, who had made us another round of coffee, ‘ is enough to make sore eyes even sorer.’

Sore eyes even sorer. That sting still didn’t make her tits under her shirt that were moving on their own volition, every time she moved.

She pulled her shirt off, and was wearing a blue bikini. She was reading my drooling lips.  And then pulled off her dreams. I mean jeans.

‘Gotta take dip boys,’ she said.

She was doing a Bo Derek moment running up and down the beach after taking quick dip in the ocean which was now dead calm. She commanded even the seas.  Then she came running back to the warung.

Of course this transpired in slow motion. It’s as if my eyes had zoom on them and I watched her boobs rise and fall with each stride. I could see her cute belly button. Her bikinis became almost translucent and her brown nipples, long I noticed, were trying to pop out for fresh air. I could see her love mound too, all puffed up from the rush of blood.

Then something wet hit me over the face. It was Bernhard, weighing up the day’s catch and lunch and slapping some sense into me.

What seemed like five glorious minutes, a life time of wank bank material, was in fact less than two minutes. It happened all so too quickly.  In that short time, I had managed to make her a coffee – I played that one very fast in my mind, so I could get back to the slow motion good stuff – I know she’d appreciate it.

I also ran up to her with a towel like a good lap dog that I am so she could wipe herself down. Things were moving along nicely. She held the perfect pose. Looks like we got a little bikini  model on our hands. I could hear Bernhard mumbling and saying, great fucking shot. Now don’t blow your load yet, sunny.

Only in East Java, hay?

‘And here’s a coffee, and it’s on me.’ I said that. I was in ingratiate mode.

I was mesmerised with Javin’s beauty and was only trying to reciprocate her kindness of earlier. Bernhard was looking like a stuff mallet, holding the fish with it’s now dishevelled set of scales.

‘I’ll cook that up for lunch served with rice,’ she said, unfazed by the look of the slapped fish and my scaly face.

She took the coffee off me and said she’d get into something more casual then cook us up lunch. But you look fine just the way you are. Neither me nor Bernhard could articulate our thoughts.

‘And I’ve got it all on camera, both video and pictures,’ said Bernhard, eventually. I’m really glad he did.

‘I thought you would,’ she Javin, who put on a sarong with pink orchard pattern. She was kind and merciful and would allow us to have another eye full of her top ballast.

‘I’m not a ship,’ she said, as she went out the back and prepared lunch.

Our day had just become bountiful, in an East Java way.




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