had parked and was opening the limousine’s rear door for them.
There was a momentary delay as clothes were quickly rearranged and then the three climbed out and made their way to the gangway leading to Lattua’s yacht.
Thanks to the bounty of the World Bank which had contributed a sizable sum of money to Namola for the purpose of assisting that poor country in developing home-grown industries, Lattua had been able to purchase a magnificent craft. Over one hundred and fifty feet long and with it’s own helicopter landing pad, his yacht was the pride of the Namolan navy.
Rightly upset that their money had been misappropriated, the burghers of the World Bank had demanded Lattua explain why the yacht had been purchased, to which Lattua had humbly replied that his navy had been in desperate need of a hospital ship. He added with pride that the yacht had five luxurious staterooms, a large kitchen, and a well-stocked wine cellar and that the staterooms could easily be turned into hospital wards, the kitchen to a surgical suite and the wine cellar would be required to store the much needed blood supplies and other medical necessities.
When the World Bank questioned him as to who was about to declare war on his country, Lattua had shrugged. Without a care in the world he had then climbed aboard his new acquisition, and set sail for the casinos of Europe. There he intended to spend his country’s latest instalment of oil revenues supplied by the American companies who were sucking the valuable liquid from beneath the seabed off Namola’s coast.
Of course there had never been a war and therefore no need to turn the vessel into a hospital ship so Lattua continued to live in luxury as he made his numerous trips to the happening places around Europe. All at the expense of the Namolan taxpayers and the World Bank.
***
As he climbed the gangway, he concentrated on the women in front of him, with their short skirts and high heels accentuating the length of their legs and making their rears gyrate in a most delectable fashion.
At the top of the gangway he ignored the Namolan seaman who saluted the arrival of his country’s President, and lead the women aft. They passed through a door and the women found themselves in a wood panelled hallway that led to the President’s private suite.
As they neared the doorway, it was opened by a steward who was also in Namolan Navy uniform. ‘The champagne is on ice, Mr President,’ he said cheerfully.
‘See that we are not disturbed,’ Lattua demanded.
‘Yes Mr President,’ replied the steward with a short bow, as he made his way past the two women and disappeared up the corridor.
Lattua held the door open for the two women to enter. ‘Open the champagne while I get out of my clothes,’ he ordered, as he made his way across the suite’s loungeroom and into his bedroom.
The two women studied the room’s lavish furnishings and nodded to one another. ‘Who’s going first?’ asked the redhead.
‘I’ll toss you for that honour,’ replied her friend.
‘Ok. I’ll open the champagne.’
***
Minutes later Lattua emerged from his bedroom wearing nothing but a towel tied around his waist, which did nothing but emphasise his large paunch. If his member had been aroused it was impossible to tell with his belly protruding so far.
His smile became even wider as the red-head handed him a glass of chilly champagne.
Besides her own seductive smile, she wore nothing but a g-string and her stiletto healed shoes.
The toss had been heads and she had lost.
***
Joseph Lattua awoke to the sun streaming through his cabin window. He stretched out on the crumpled sheets but his groping hands encountered nothing. The women from the previous evening had left in the early daylight hours, claiming that he had not paid them enough for them to remain any longer.
The absence of the women didn’t worry him overmuch. Their professional duties had been completed and he had no further use for them until it was time to venture out into the night once more. They were pretty decorations for him to show off and use, but nothing more.
The idea of bonding with the women, in fact any woman, on some personal level was not something that ever occurred to Lattua. In fact, the only person he even remotely interacted with on such a level was his younger brother, General George Lattua, the head of the united forces of Namola.
Joseph Lattua scratched at his groin, before sighing deeply and dragging his bulky form into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He considered pulling on his dressing gown, but just as quickly rejected the plan as he stood up and padded toward his ensuite.
Leaving the door open, he lifted up the toilet lid and spread his legs, relieving himself and splashing noisily.
Shaking himself enthusiastically, he flushed and saundered slowly back into his bedroom where he retrieved his dressing gown and slipped into it. As he tied the sash around his rotund stomach he placed his feet into a pair of soft leather slippers and wandered up the corridor. On the aft deck he found a table had been set for his breakfast.
His steward had been waiting for the President’s appearance and appeared silently at his side with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. Lattua accepted the mug which had the insignia of the President of the United States upon it. This was Lattua’s favourite and had come from Camp David when Lattua, as well as numerous other African leaders had been invited to visit the US President for the purpose of discussing ways to combat the spread of AIDS on the African continent.
Lattua had paid little heed to the talks and the ideas that had been exchanged. For him the trip had been a wonderful opportunity to have his photo taken with the most powerful man in the world, and on his return he had made sure the photos were displayed on the front page of every paper in Namola.
***
As he sipped his coffee, Lattua studied the other vessels tied up at the marina.
All were toys of the very rich. Their size and the fittings they displayed attested to the fact that money had been no barrier to the creation of these floating palaces. He noted glumly that there were now many that surpassed his own in their opulence.
In fact, the talk around the town was that yachts were now becoming passé. Why spend all your time travelling to your destination by sea when you could climb aboard a jet and be there in a matter of hours. Especially when you owned your very own jet and its crew were at your beck and call, twenty-four hours a day. Some of the very wealthiest were even flying the planes themselves, or pretending to do so.
Lattua closed his eyes and imagined himself at the controls of his own plane as it winged its way across the Atlantic to land at such places as Rio, or, better yet, Las Vegas.
He looked around at the yacht. From a distance it stood out as an object of wealth and indulgence, but sitting here on it’s deck Lattua could see that time and the lack of a maintenance schedule had taken its toll on his pride and joy. After years of service small patches of rust and dirt could be detected in the tiny, hard-to-get-at corners of the deck and he had seen that the motors now blew a great deal of smoke and made a great deal more noise than they had a couple of trips before. He knew that the ship’s engineer and his crew were below right now making some much-needed repairs.
It
