The Vacation Wife by David Stone (best selling autobiographies TXT) 📕

They were wearing what they’d worn in the kitchen. Twenty minutes in, there was no further sign of Greg, and the women stayed as they were—fully clothed. This phase of the stakeout was unexciting and caused my mind to wander.

I noticed my rising anticipation over the prospect of seeing Marci nude again. It had been, what? Almost seven years? I remembered her body vividly. Most men probably did the same with any woman they’d made love to. It’s the sort of image men put in their memory banks for good, and they would reflect on these mental images into their old age. My father had more or less confirmed this during my hospital visit.

Marci had been aggressive in bed. Afterward, it always felt like I’d been pleasantly mauled. She was extremely casual with her nudity too. She’d sit naked and spread eagled on the bed, immodestly address an intimate itch, inspect a curious pimple, whatever, without an ounce of shame or embarrassment. It was true that I knew every inch of her naked body. It was impossible not to have been well acquainted.

The first time we had oral sex was the first time we had sex. That wasn’t how it usually went for me. The few other women I’d been with saved it for our three-month anniversary or New Years, occasions usually celebrated with alcohol. When Marci went down on me the first time, she said, “Don’t come in my mouth. I want to fuck you too.” I reviewed her instruction as meaning don’t come in her mouth this time, implying that on other occasions it would be fine.

I had no problem with her proposal, but she was so good at fellatio I found it difficult to comply.

Marci had also been casual about her sex drive. Once, standing in her kitchen, she was overcome with arousal and said, “Hey, could you finger me? I’ll come right away.” I did, and she did, and nearly at once. She was trigger happy that way. She once came half a dozen times during a particularly long session.

Susan was less orgasmic but her orgasms felt stronger. She didn’t perform oral sex until we were engaged and I was glad we’d saved it up. When I went down on her for the first time she was very shy. The lights had to be off (in contrast, Marci always insisted the lights be on). When my tongue landed for the first time, and ever so delicately, she jumped like a spooked horse. I licked earnestly, and it produced the same result. I asked if she was okay and she said something like, “Oh, God yes! You’re the first man to do this to me! I have to get used to it... Am I okay? I mean…” I insisted she was wonderful in every way and continued. Her musk was intoxicating. She adapted quickly enough. As with Marci, cunnilingus was one of the surefire ways to bring her happiness.

But had I really been the first man to please Susan that way?

And as with Marci, there was a cliff. In the beginning, Marci and I sometimes made love or gratified each other in other ways two or three times a day. After a while it became once a day, then every other day. By the time I was introduced to Susan, Marci and I were nearly on a once-a-week schedule. I didn’t leave Marci for Susan. We were already parting in a number of ways, none of them involving trauma or drama. Perhaps we had used each other up. I never really knew the exact reasons for parting and it hadn’t been my idea. We had coexisted in our own world, so I’d never seen much of Susan until Marci and I neared our amicable split.

The last time Marci and I made love was well before Susan and I crossed that threshold. Marci couldn’t have been happier for Susan or me when we declared ourselves a couple. If was almost as if Marci had engineered it.

Action on the deck stirred me from my reverie. Marci was now standing and pulling off her top. That done, she unhooked and removed her bra, gave her breasts a tiny massage, then laid back down. Susan remained as she was.

I looked at Marci’s breasts with the same admiration that would surely be coming from Greg, should he make another appearance. I was, in fact, eager for this to happen. The women were laughing now. Marci leaned forward and adjusted her cushion, then leaned back and lifted her bottom to remove her shorts. I felt like a kid peeping through a keyhole. I’d seen Marci naked a thousand times. That history didn’t matter. I was about to see her naked again and it felt like for the first time.

But she kept her panties on. They were simple, low-cut, white cotton briefs. Marci looked at the sun, said something to Susan, and they both stood to adjust the lounger. There was some discussion and laughter, and what looked like hesitation on Susan’s part, then she found her courage and took off her blouse and shorts. She didn’t take off her underwear before returning to the lounger.

The early afternoon was unraveling like a six-course meal but in the form of a languorous game of strip poker. I was glad for it. I liked the anticipation as each course was served or layer unraveled. There was more discussion between them, then Susan got up, grabbed the now empty pitcher of margaritas and headed for the kitchen.

I went downstairs to join her. She smiled and did a little dance to emphasize she was standing there in her underwear. Her bra and panty were lacy and very sexy, and it momentarily grieved me to think of sharing this view of Susan with Greg. Of course, he’d already seen her this way. I gave her a kiss and helped make another pitcher of drinks.

“Have you been watching? Or did you fall asleep? I’m sure we’re not