A resort manager found, twenty beautiful dolls at his
mercy, or was it the other way around? Anyway, he decided paradise can
"The Lonely Women of Lesbos Island"
by Ted Poole
I SAW the ad in the Sunday
WANTED: RESORT MANAGER. Vigorous young man with sound resort
back ground to take complete charge of isolated Caribbean spot. Salary
open. Write fully, including resume, references and photo. Box 47D.
I got the job. It was handled through a 42nd Street
employment agency, and I never saw the people who were hiring me. All I
knew was that I would get six hundred a month, plus room and board, and
that I started immediately.
"You'll report to an L. Harding at the Carlton House
in Nassau," I was told. "Go down to the Atlas Travel Agency in room 305
and pick up your plane tickets. And this should cover your expenses."
"This" turned out to be an envelope containing five
20-dollar bills. I took it and rode the elevator downstairs, picked up
my ticket, and went home to pack.
The Carlton House is about a twenty minute taxi
haul from the airfield, through narrow, hilly streets. The hotel itself
turned out to be quiet, and half a block off the main drag. I put my suitcase
down and went up to the desk.
"Mr. Harding," I said.
"I have an appointment." The clerk checked her card
file. "We have a Miss Lucie Harding," she said finally. "Shall I call her?"
A miss, I thought, shaking my head. Boss ladies were funny. I don't like
working for them too much.
Lucie Harding turned out to be a cute blonde of
about 25, with long, unbound hair that tumbled down over her shapely shoulders.
She looked more like a high class model than a hotel owner.
"You're Ted Poole," she said, offering me a drink.
"We'll be seeing a lot of each other."
Half an hour later, we were in a beat-up old power boat named the Mary
K., heading out past the breakwater and turning south between New Providence
and Andros Island.
"What kind of operation is this?" I asked. "How
big, I mean."
"You'll see," she told me. And that was all I could
get out of her.
The island was about six hours out of Nassau. It
wasn't very big--only about two miles in length, and couldn't have been
more than half that across. It was covered liberally enough with trees,
and, as we putted into the lagoon, I saw several tiny islands not much
bigger than football fields scattered inside the reef.
"This is it," said the girl.
The boat slid gently up against a rickety, home-made
pier. It was nothing but a catwalk on wooden stakes that had been driven
down into the sand.
I heard a voice in the pilot house of the boat yell,
"Dammit it all to hell!" and it startled me, because it was a woman's voice.
I hadn't looked much at the slim skipper, and only when I heard the voice
did I realize it wasn't a man who had piloted the boat.
But I wasn't paying much attention to this. Because
what I saw on the pier held my attention. There were about five of them--young
women, and all moderately pretty. But that wasn't what startled me the
most. Two of them--a cute little red-head and one striking brunette--were
completely naked. And not for the first time, either. For they were tanned
a rich-copper hue--all over. The others wore shorts and halters.
"Get those naked broads out of here!" yelled the
voice from the pilot house. "We got a man on board!".
The naked ones squealed in horror and ran for cover.
One slipped and landed knee deep in the water. I tried not to look too
hard at her cute, bouncing behind as she high-stepped it out onto the beach.
The "skipper" came back on deck and stuck out her
"I'm Mickey," she said, almost breaking my fingers
in her strong grip. "Glad to have you aboard."
We went up to the "hotel," which lay in a clump
of trees a couple of hundred yards back from the beach. It was more like
a sprawling one-story mansion. Lucie noticed my surprise at its size.
"This island used to be headquarters for a group
of importers," she she said, smiling. "During prohibition they imported
Scotch for the burning throats of Miami. These days, we have to import
it back here from Nassau."
The main room could have passed for at least half
of Grand Central Station. The walls were lined with soft, comfortable-looking
sofas and chairs, and they in turn were lined with even softer, more comfortable-looking
blondes and brunettes, red-heads and in-betweens. I counted 18 women--and
not a single man.
Lucie introduced me to the ladies as "the new manager,"
and drew a series of ill-concealed titters that baffled me. We went into
the office that was to be my business head quarters, and she spent the
next hour outlining my duties.
It seemed that I was on Lesbos Island, a British
possession, held on a long-term lease by Island Resorts, Ltd. The clientele
was exclusively female and until my arrival, the girl had been running
the island by themselves. A quick inspection convinced me that they hadn't
been doing a very good job of it, either. The hired help consisted of a
cook, two general workers, and the manager. All except, me were women.
The resort could handle up to 35 guests, although
the average was under 30. And the minimum stay was three weeks, for which
the basic fee was $435, plus taxes. Operating nine months out of the year,
I could see where the joint was coining money.
"Our last manager left four months ago,". Lucie
told me. "We tried it a while by ourselves, but it didn't work out."
Personally, I couldn't imagine why all these healthy,
good-looking girls wanted to go off somewhere by themselves. Granted, the
bar was well stocked, and there were 16 millimeter movies every night.
But there are certain things movies, and liquor just can't replace.
I got settled, in my room, and had a nightcap. I
was sitting on the bed, planning a rough work schedule, when I heard a
tap at the door. When I opened it, I saw the little redhead who had shown
me all she had down on the pier. She had an electric fan in her hand.
"Thought you might want this," she said, smiling.
I did, and she came in to help me hook it up, and we had a drink and the
next thing I knew it was morning, and the new manager was in bed with a
guest. One very tired manager at that.
I spent the day getting the kitchen organized, and
preparing lists of supplies that would have to be ordered. For dinner,
I changed into a white jacket and black tie, and went down, to the dining
room to make sure everything went all right.
Lucie Harding caught my eye. I went over and sat
"How's it going?" she asked.
"Okay. We need some butane for the stove. And I
think we ought to get some spare parts for the generator. You don't want
to lose your juice in the middle of the night."
"Order whatever you need. Oh, and here's a schedule
I'd like you to look at."
I glanced at the paper. It listed, various functions
of the resort, including sporting events, movies and games. Down at the
end, marked "around sundown" was listed the one word, "canoe."
"What's this?" I asked.
She explained that the small island in the lagoon
had particularly fine views of the sunset. As manager, it would be my job
to take some of the girls out every evening in the canoe. It seemed like
a good idea. I posted the notice on the bulletin board. The next afternoon,
just be fore sundown, I went down, to the beach. Waiting for me by the
canoe was Lucie.
"Looks like nobody else is coming," 'she said.
It was beautiful there, with the water deep green,
and the sun, low in the sky, bouncing yellow off it. We pulled up on the
sloping beach of one small island and sat on the blanket I'd brought, watching
the sun sink beneath the horizon. Suddenly, Lucie was in my arms, and the
sunset was forgotten. Hours later, we beached the canoe silently, and crept
up to the big house making as little noise as possible.
The next afternoon after a quiet day, I found myself
alone in the canoe again with a woman. Only this time it was Mickey, ravishing
in a red blouse and tight shorts that barely contained her curves.
We tried a different island, and the same damned
thing happened, and once again, late in the evening, two people beached
a canoe and sneaked up to the big house in the grove of trees.
Well, I did a good job of running the place. Things
went smoothly; meals were well prepared, and on tine. There was enough
hot water. Things like that. But my recreation program didn't seem to capture
the interest of more than one guest at a time. And, more than half of the
time, I wound up all covered with sand and sneaking in late.
One day, a couple of weeks after I'd arrived, the
girl waiting at the beach was Lucie again. And I suddenly saw what was
"What a fool I am!" I yelled, laughing. It was all
so simple. Lucie threw herself in my arms and laughed with me.
Manager, my eye! Sure, I knew my business, and things
were going smoother now. But that wasn't the real reason I was down here.
The whole situation was now suddenly transparent. One fairly good-looking
man in the middle of a batch of sex-starved women. You know why girls take
ocean cruises, And that was the very reason most of them came down to this
island. Of course, It didn't work too well without a manager.
"You don't want a manager," I told Lucie triumphantly.
"You want a king. Somebody to exercise his feudal rights and carry you
off in his arms."
No wonder the ad had said, "Vigorous young man!"
But why only one man? I wondered. It would be much
simpler with three or four.
"No Ted," Lucie told me. These girls are respectable
working types. Sure, they're out for a fling. But the fewer people who
know it, the better."
THIS was a deal that guys dream of. Over 20 beautiful
women--and I could take my pick! King of an island, that was me--and my
subjects were willing slaves. During the day, in my office, I worked for
them. And at night--on one of the little islands, or out in the canoe--or
perhaps in the large bed room I had prepared especially for guests--I received
my kingly rewards.
The days went by swiftly. Once, with a shy little
thing from Arkansas named Virginia Daly, I went out to the smallest of
the islands, and we watched the sunset. But when I made my usual pass,
instead of responding, she drew back. When I insisted, as I imagined she
wanted me to do, she hauled off and gave me a backhand slap that almost
broke my nose.
"I don't want to," she sobbed. And then she began
It seemed that there was a "canoe" roster. No wonder
only one girl at a time had shown up. To night was Virginia's time, and
out she had come, but at the last moment, her devotion to her fiancé
back in Little Rock won out.
"Whenever you come out here with one of the girls,"
she wept, "We all know what's going to happen. Some--some of them even
make bets on how long you'll he out here. And--and one of them even has
Before I said anything else, she began to plead
for me to take her back. I did, and next morning, be fore I'd gotten up,
Mickey and the boat had left for Nassau. Aboard it was the quiet girl from
I said nothing about the incident. But my male ego
was starting to wilt a little. Apparently not one of these females gave
a damn for me personally. I was part of the service, like the cook and
the electricity generator. And why not? I asked myself. Wasn't that what
I'd been hired for?
It still grated on me, though. A couple of times
I took the girls out to the island and just sat there, talking about the
sunset. Boy, did that burn them! After the second time, Lucie came around
to see me.
Some of the girls have complained," she said.
"So what?" I exploded. "What do you think I am?
A stud bull? Sometimes I don't feel like it."
"But you're being paid to feel like it."
That was what I'd been expecting. Until someone
said it, I could kid myself that I was just making out like Bugs Bunny
because of my good looks and virility. But once Lucie brought the money
into it, I had to face up to the facts.
Whether I liked it or not, I was nothing more than
a male prostitute. Part of the service, like I said.
"How much extra do you put on the tab for me?" I
asked. "And is it a one-time rate, or do you charge every time I go out
with one of your customers?"
"That's my concern," she said coldly. You're being
paid to do your job. So do it."
I couldn't see any point in arguing. I went to my
room and started packing.
Sure, I liked being the king of Lesbos Island. A
different gal every night...good food, good liquor. I told myself a dozen
times that I was a sap to give that all up. But I went right on packing.
It all boiled down to self respect. Knowing that
the girls expected my lovemaking because it was something they'd paid for
changed it into a perversion that I couldn't continue. My morals don't
stand in the way of good fun, in or out of the hay, but this was too much.
Besides, I had to admit sheepishly, I was a very
wan and tired little king. If you don't think so, try it yourself. You
may have a chance to, you know.
It won't do you any good to look for Lesbos Island
on a map. The real name is much duller. But, as I learned later. the three
advertising women who were behind this strange resort, had chosen the Lesbos
name as a joke.
I'm running a quiet little family hotel in upstate
New York now. The customers all call me "Mr. Poole," and I hold the doors
open for the ladies. My playing is strictly for play these days.
Just watch your newspaper, buddy. They seem to hit
different cities each time. But I never heard of anyone who managed to
last more than a couple of months. Believe me, from one who knows, it's
no picnic, being king to all those lonely women on Lesbos Island.