carve through the dense jungle
that surrounds the airstrip, which I don’t suppose he could do if
he were blind.
“I’m definitely ready to work,” I answer, a
little breathlessly. Right now, in fact. If he lifted me onto his
lap and plunged his cock into me this very moment, think I’d come
in two seconds flat.
Sadly, he doesn’t do that. Instead, he points
out the window at the passing landscape. “What do you think of my
island?”
There isn’t much to think, since I haven’t
seen much of it yet, but as a Southern California girl, there is
one thing I can say. “It’s really green.”
To my surprise, this pathetic observation
brings a smile to his face. “In more ways than one.”
“I don’t understand.”
He looks almost boyish, suddenly, like a kid
who knows he brought the best present to the birthday party.
“Everything about what we’ve done on this island is green. Pretty
much everything we’ve built here is powered by a combination of
solar and wind generation. We have a few backup generators that run
on liquefied natural gas if we get into a pinch, but that’s only
happened twice since we started. And do you notice how quiet the
car is?”
Well, no, I haven’t noticed. I guess I just
assumed a high-end Mercedes like this would be really quiet.
But now that he mentions it…
I nod.
“It’s electric. No gas engine at all. Of
course, on an island this small, it’s not like you’d ever need a 40
miles range anyway, right?”
That’s true enough, and I wonder what it
would be like to live permanently on an island so small, you could
walk from one side to the other in less than an hour. Having grown
up in LA, where there are streets like Sepulveda and Sunset that
are easily as long as this island, it’s hard to imagine being
confined to such a small space. Almost claustrophobic.
I’m glad I’m only staying for two weeks. But
Gavin doesn’t know that, and I can’t let him know that. Not
yet.
“That’s really impressive,” I say, trying to
focus on the conversation. It’s obvious he’s proud of what he’s
accomplished here, and honestly, it’s worth being proud of. Most
businessmen would think about the bottom line first and do whatever
was cheapest. That he’s developed this island in an environmentally
sensitive way says a lot about him, and I’m feeling better again
about my decision to turn myself over to him. “Did you do most of
the industrial design?” I ask.
Industrial design is how Gavin Huntley got
rich enough to afford to buy his own private island off the coast
of Puerto Rico before his thirty-fifth birthday. He’s nothing short
of a genius when it comes to designing robotic and electronic
devices and interfaces. Or so Wikipedia told me. The entry on him
listed several dozen devices he’s designed that revolutionized
industries, but none of them meant anything to me because I don’t
know anything about manufacturing.
“Yep,” he confirms, “this island is pure
Huntley, from top to bottom. Well, except for the parts Mother
Nature created.” He points out the car window, and I gasp.
We’ve exited the jungle and turned onto a
road that hugs the coast. As a California girl, I’m not usually all
that impressed by ocean views; I see them every day when I look out
my window, after all. But this coast—it’s like nothing I’ve ever
seen before, except maybe in pictures or on TV, and even then, I’m
not sure any of those places could outshine this.
The road runs along a curved bluff that
overlooks a vast ocean that’s so sharp a blue, it almost stings my
eyes. In some places, waves crash against a rocky shore, while in
others, they wash lovingly over narrow stretches of sandy beach. At
the far end of the small bay created by the bluff, opposite the
direction we’ve turned, there’s a small harbor where a half a dozen
or so pleasure craft are anchored. A few more ply the waters, their
sails puffed out by the wind like marshmallows. On one of the
that surrounds the airstrip, which I don’t suppose he could do if
he were blind.
“I’m definitely ready to work,” I answer, a
little breathlessly. Right now, in fact. If he lifted me onto his
lap and plunged his cock into me this very moment, think I’d come
in two seconds flat.
Sadly, he doesn’t do that. Instead, he points
out the window at the passing landscape. “What do you think of my
island?”
There isn’t much to think, since I haven’t
seen much of it yet, but as a Southern California girl, there is
one thing I can say. “It’s really green.”
To my surprise, this pathetic observation
brings a smile to his face. “In more ways than one.”
“I don’t understand.”
He looks almost boyish, suddenly, like a kid
who knows he brought the best present to the birthday party.
“Everything about what we’ve done on this island is green. Pretty
much everything we’ve built here is powered by a combination of
solar and wind generation. We have a few backup generators that run
on liquefied natural gas if we get into a pinch, but that’s only
happened twice since we started. And do you notice how quiet the
car is?”
Well, no, I haven’t noticed. I guess I just
assumed a high-end Mercedes like this would be really quiet.
But now that he mentions it…
I nod.
“It’s electric. No gas engine at all. Of
course, on an island this small, it’s not like you’d ever need a 40
miles range anyway, right?”
That’s true enough, and I wonder what it
would be like to live permanently on an island so small, you could
walk from one side to the other in less than an hour. Having grown
up in LA, where there are streets like Sepulveda and Sunset that
are easily as long as this island, it’s hard to imagine being
confined to such a small space. Almost claustrophobic.
I’m glad I’m only staying for two weeks. But
Gavin doesn’t know that, and I can’t let him know that. Not
yet.
“That’s really impressive,” I say, trying to
focus on the conversation. It’s obvious he’s proud of what he’s
accomplished here, and honestly, it’s worth being proud of. Most
businessmen would think about the bottom line first and do whatever
was cheapest. That he’s developed this island in an environmentally
sensitive way says a lot about him, and I’m feeling better again
about my decision to turn myself over to him. “Did you do most of
the industrial design?” I ask.
Industrial design is how Gavin Huntley got
rich enough to afford to buy his own private island off the coast
of Puerto Rico before his thirty-fifth birthday. He’s nothing short
of a genius when it comes to designing robotic and electronic
devices and interfaces. Or so Wikipedia told me. The entry on him
listed several dozen devices he’s designed that revolutionized
industries, but none of them meant anything to me because I don’t
know anything about manufacturing.
“Yep,” he confirms, “this island is pure
Huntley, from top to bottom. Well, except for the parts Mother
Nature created.” He points out the car window, and I gasp.
We’ve exited the jungle and turned onto a
road that hugs the coast. As a California girl, I’m not usually all
that impressed by ocean views; I see them every day when I look out
my window, after all. But this coast—it’s like nothing I’ve ever
seen before, except maybe in pictures or on TV, and even then, I’m
not sure any of those places could outshine this.
The road runs along a curved bluff that
overlooks a vast ocean that’s so sharp a blue, it almost stings my
eyes. In some places, waves crash against a rocky shore, while in
others, they wash lovingly over narrow stretches of sandy beach. At
the far end of the small bay created by the bluff, opposite the
direction we’ve turned, there’s a small harbor where a half a dozen
or so pleasure craft are anchored. A few more ply the waters, their
sails puffed out by the wind like marshmallows. On one of the
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