True to his word the Sergeant returned in an hour in civilian clothes and led them to his little car, a strange brand neither Sam nor Pam had ever seen before, or in all likelyhood ever will again. It was "Oltcit", the name itself an illustrative portmanteau : joining together the river Olt, a sad, muddy affair lost somewhere on the hopeless plain of a vain but inept people, and part of Citroen, famed the world over for making the worst cars anyone ever made. French technology, like British cuisine only decidedly worse. More muddy river than bad car, the Oltcit sports a directly aspirated three stroke engine, multilaterally developed drive train, interiors made of plastic so cheap it puts 1970s Pittsburg bachelor pads to shame and airbags. Ah, no, not really -- just kidding about that last item.
Notwithstanding its generally potato-like appearance (nor the fact that the back wheels were attached to the outside of the body rather than any kind of axle, as per the latest fashions and discoveries of French technology at the time), the Oltcit fancied itself a sports car and so only had two doors (and a periscope hatch -- periscope sold separately). While Sam sat in front, Pam had to squeeze herself into the backseat through a narrow gash about three inches wide between the badly cut body and the uncomfortable front chair. It was well worth it, though, because this way the automaker got to save on hinges. As you might expect the process made her skirt bunch up and exposed her all.
She pulled it down eventually, but the Sergeant certainly got an eyeful, which, in fairness, was also well worth it. Sam spent the rest of the trip glaring at her now and again through one of the two available mirrors, alternatively. It was twilight and some of the roads were not exactly well lit, but Sergeant Rodriguez obviously knew his way around. He drove the little repurposed can at frightening speeds down the narrow hallways, in places even exceeding 50. Sam was very much relieved once they finally arrived, an hour or so later. Pam evidently couldn't have cared less. The destination was a modest little house, made out of something that masqueraded being wood. Not pine though, something else. As the car parked on the street, its upholstery and the "walls" waved at each other discreetly. Brothers are always glad to meet, and the substance composing both was flexible enough to allow waving.
The amiable Sergeant led the gringo couple inside, served them some sort of undrinkable local swill which Sam belaboured with for the whole cooking interval, without managing to reach halfway through the approximately clean glass. Pam gulped it down in a few sips early on. Another man also joined them for dinner. He was brawnier than the Sergeant, but the family resemblance was rather obvious. Rodriguez explained that he lived with his brother, who scratched out a living chartering out his boat to tourists, and his cousins. Their number or respective occupations were not discussed. Whether said cousins rented boats or lived with Rodriguez was similarily not examined in much detail.
Dinner was certainly spicy and not much else, but the beer seemed to wash it down alright, and improvingly so as the night wore on. The local beer is, through some unfortunate circumstance, actually called Crap. It comes in two liter plastic bottles, like Pepsi, to save on packaging and hinges, or alternatively in larger, thicker white plastic containers. Aluminum is not particularily expensive, but evidently man can come up with drinks so cheap they're actually not worth the can, or the keg. Rodriguez had one of those large plastic containers, and he kept refilling Pam's glass and on occasion Sam's as well. He really didn't go through the stuff quite as fast as her.
Pam complimented Rodriguez on his cooking ; Rodriguez complimented Sam on her looks. This went back and forth for a while. Sam wanted to say something but didn't know what, or how. The brother, whose name was never spoken, complimented Sam on his girlfriend. Sam explained they're married, but this made no difference whatsoever in the proceedings -- whenever he'd try to point it out subsequently they'd joyfully confirm, "Yes, girlfriend!" and carry on. Sam wanted to ask the man's name, but didn't know how to achieve such result. Eventually he tried, but the man laughed, pointed at his broad chest, and intoned "Me boyfriend!". Everyone laughed, including Pam, which left Sam teethering on the edge of tears. What the fuck did it all mean ? He had no idea, nor any clue as to how to proceed. How'd he find out what it all means so he can adequately respond ? You can't respond until you understand what's going on, isn't that right ? Otherwise, why! You might make a fool of yourself! Or worse!
After dinner, the Sargeant announced his brother agreed to take them over to St. Thomas in his boat the next morning. Sam was very relieved, and assured both men that he will be able to pay just as soon as he got back to the cruise ship and had his traveller's checks replaced. They laughed both and nodded "no". "Do not worry, payment in advance, is ok." they reassured him. Sam went into a complete tailspin, trying to explain to the two inebriated locals that's not how money works. They didn't seem to care, or pay much heed to him, for that matter.
The conversation, approximate as it was, moved away from the topic. Sam kept trying to bring it back to money and payments and such, mirroring his earlier mirror activities. Pam seemed altogether unconcerned. She was visibly buzzed, maybe even drunk. She was also evidently enjoying the men's compliments. It went deeper than that, actually. She visibly enjoyed their attention, it clearly and deeply flattered her, what with all the smiling shyly and darting her eyes to the sides. All the while the redness that had started in her cheeks slowly spread to her cleavage and beyond. She was plainly seeking it, which is why when they proposed she dance on the table and she refused it was obvious to all those involved (with the exception of Sam) that she's definitely going to do it, if they insist.
And insist they did, and dance she did. She took off her shoes, they cleared off the table, then she stepped up on a chair and presently was twisting and twirling and moving her feat to some reggae beat. The twisting and stepping weren't even that big of a deal, but the twirling plainly exposed her buttocks and hairless mound to the seated men. Sam was stunned, or pretended to be, or was unaware that he's pretending to be stunned, or whatever proper name you prefer for the situation when a submissive man sees plainly his wife is about to be fucked by strangers and the perspective fills him with the excited, unbridled joy of a child about to get chocolate cake. Not that he would ever admit it, of course. That wouldn't be proper, you can't say such things and that's all there is to it. What you say is very important, that's what our democracy, and plainly speaking civilisation altogether is all about. Isn't it ?
The men stood up, first Rodriguez and then his brother (standing up is here contemplated in the sense of rising to their feet -- in the other sense the brother was first and Rodriguez second). Rodriguez grabbed hold of Pam's waist, as if to steady her. His brother simply grabbed her ass, through the skirt. This evidently didn't satisfy him, because as Pam closed her eyes and reached her arms around each man's neck in a very loving gesture, he reached under her skirt and, lifting it up he proceeded to fondle her behind like nobody's business. He was just about done stuffing the rim of her skirt into her waistband, bunched up and almost entirely exposing her when whatever bubbles percolated through Sam's head enough to have him jump to his feet.
"Now just a minute!" Sam shouted, "My wife is not for sale!"
Rodriguez stopped unbuttoning Pam's third button, her ample breasts already clearly visible through the makeshift decolletage in all their rosy glee. She didn't open her eyes, her head leaned back a little.
"Wait minute ? Wait minute ?" the brother proceeded rapidly. "No wait minute. Not minute. You ride. We ride. Everyone happy. Good way. Morning, ride boat. Now..." and with that he plunged his head into Pam's chest, making her shudder with something that might've perhaps been excitement.