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Andrea and Mitch were enjoying their first real vacation since their honeymoon. It was late afternoon when they began to walk back from the beach, hand in hand. Mitch had a knapsack slung over one bare, sunburnt shoulder. He would blame married life and his desk-job for his complexion and physique before taking personal responsibility. He wasn't terribly out of shape, just a little thicker and a loss of the definition he'd had in college.

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The blonde couple were pressed against the wall at the end of the carriage. He against the window, she against his back, blank rear wall of the carriage against the right shoulder of each. Surrounding them were dusky men. Some in Dhotis, some in shorts, all in sandals. Most of the men faced the girl, some to press against her, some to merely look. She had a pretty, shapely, figure, and her brief floppy shorts and sleeveless T left little of her charms to be imagined. They were on honeymoon. Dave and Nicci Saunders were their names.

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