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

ocean of otherworldly hues foaming and tossing just a short hike away. After asking Marci if she needed help to unpack, who declined, she left us in peace, after giving Marci a flirty smile highlighted by excellent dental work.

“I think she digs women,” said Marci, after the door closed. “Plus, I think she was high. She’s kind of pretty though.”

A beautiful ocean, drugged lesbians, a full week of Marci ahead of me—it felt like I had landed in paradise.

But had we? That last bit of conversation with Marci in the car had challenged my equanimity even though I knew it was a trifle. It was normal for Marci to wonder about things, about us. I wondered too.

“Let’s have a swim!” she said, excitedly. Before I could concur she was naked and rummaging through her bag for her suit. Of course, she looked wonderful naked, and the sight of her this way fully restored my peace of mind.

For the next week, she would be my loving wife, and we were on vacation.

Chapter 22: An Ocean Frolic

RYAN AND MARCI GET WET

Marci found her suit and instructed me to look away while she put it on. As she was naked when she said this, it sounded like an odd request. A few seconds later she gave me the all clear. I turned and was utterly blown away. The suit was not what I had expected—something tiny and possibly age-inappropriate. That wouldn’t have bothered me because of the tiny bit. But, instead, she had chosen what a movie starlet of the ‘50s might have selected, a full brief but with high-cut legs, and a balconette bikini top showing a lot of boob. Miter striping elegantly highlighted her curves, and the whole effect was stunning.

“Wow,” I said, momentarily at a loss for further words.

“I know, huh?”

“I mean, can you wear it all the time? Can you fly home in it? It’s sexy as hell.”

“It’s all yours, babe. Did you bring a suit? You should be going through the motions of, you know, putting it on and stuff.”

I found my suit though it was difficult to do as I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. As I was thus occupied, she strolled onto the balcony to scope out the grounds.

“Jesus, there’s a shower out here. Do you think people use it as their shower shower?”

I joined her to investigate. The curvature of the hotel meant all the guests could see into each other’s balconies. A couple at the far end of the hotel seemed to be enjoying au-natural sunbathing.

“Well, we could. There’s a sort of privacy wall around it.”

“It only goes up to my waist, Ryan. That’s only, like, half private, plus, it’s open on one side.”

“I’m sure there’s a shower inside too.”

“Oh, I don’t really mind. How do we get there?” She was now staring at the ocean.

“The beach? I guess we go through the lobby.” She returned to her bag and extracted a sheer cover-up. When she put it on, she looked even sexier. I pulled on a T-shirt and we left the room.

Once through the lobby, we passed a pool surrounded by luxurious chaise loungers with a tiki style bar at one end. Neither the pool nor bar was crowded. Most of the guests were women, or at least women were disproportionately represented, and many seemed to be paired off.

Further on, we came to the hotel’s Mojito Bar, named after a drink I generally viewed as Cuban. It was more crowded and again, there were far more women than men. Though open-aired, it had an enclosed feeling. When you looked up and saw the sky you were surprised by it.

The path to the beach was short and once there, we couldn’t believe the softness of the white sands nor the bejeweled ocean waters lapping at the shore. It was dazzlingly bright and almost surreal. To our left were open cabanas and what looked like another tiki bar and to our right mostly empty beach.

We headed straight to the water, passing two attractive women sunbathing topless. Once out of their earshot, Marci offered her first impressions.

“I think we’re staying at a dyke hotel.” She removed her cover-up and tossed it on the sand. Neither of us had thought to bring towels. “God, let’s get in that fucking ocean already!” She skipped into the water like an excited child, high-stepping the waves and shrieking with delight. It was a graceful performance. I followed at a more leisurely pace.

After flopping around like two drunk dolphins, we came together for a movie-style embrace, standing waist-deep in the warm Caribbean. I tasted her salty lips as we kissed and pressed into each other.

We were both brilliantly happy.

After more swimming and diving we settled at the shoreline to catch our breath. Marci looked dazzling in her suit which, now wet, clung to her more intimately. Her nipples were alert and cast shadows and, along with everything else about Marci, I felt proud as hell to be her vacation husband.

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

“It’s gorgeous. I think you’re right. We should move here.”

“No, I mean about the dykes.”

“Oh. Yeah, maybe there are a few. Why? Do you feel the need to clutch your pearls? Read the Bible?”

“You’re hilarious, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you see those topless women?”

“I noticed, yeah.”

“Is that legal here?”

“Probably not generally, no. Why? Do you feel the need to remove your top?”

“I don’t have good walking-around tits. They’re too big. Those women were small.” She reached around and unhooked her top, pulled it off, and then jiggled her boobs. “See?”

“They’re lovely. They’re not too big. How does it feel to give them fresh air on a public beach?”

“Kind of nice.” She looked both ways over her shoulders. “Touch me, husband.”

I felt her breasts. She seemed to like this and pulled me along as she laid on the beach. As we kissed she fondled me indecently, which I truly enjoyed. Frustrated by my suit, she pushed it down to liberate my cock. Though shocked by