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

the bright sun, it enjoyed the attention. We were far enough away from other beachgoers so as not to be much of a spectacle, and could have possibly even made love if we were strategic about it. I sensed Marci was having a similar thought, but prudence won the day.

“We need to make love on the beach sometime,” she said. “Maybe tonight.”

“That would be nice.”

“We could probably do it now if we wanted to. Do you think the dykes would mind?”

“I’m not so sure of that. Anyway, I don’t think ‘dykes’ is politically correct. You don’t mind them, do you?”

“Not at all. I can see it.”

“You mean, being with a woman?”

“Can you see being with a man?”

“Never,” I said, without missing a beat.

“I could be with a woman.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I see one. I’ll let you know.”

“Dick.”

“I love you too.” This pronouncement gave her pause. I delivered this in a neutral manner, neither jokey nor serious. She pushed me over and laid on top of me. A small wave lapped at my ears. Any bigger and I would have been submerged and gasping for air.

She gave me a movie-grade lingering kiss. It was deep and roaming, her tongue hungry for a mingle. I rolled her to her side and she lifted a leg over my skyward thigh. My hand slipped into her suit bottoms and explored. She responded immodestly, and for a moment I reconsidered going all the way. It was like I was becoming as orgasmic as she was, which I would have viewed as a real plus. Who wouldn’t enjoy orgasm after orgasm?

After what could have been a mini orgasm—she seemed to have one appropriate to suit any occasion—she rolled herself flat onto the beach and sat up. She looked around to confirm no one was watching, then slipped off her bottoms and ran into the ocean. I followed suit after removing my trunks.

We frolicked like a young couple in love. The warm water streaming around our now naked private areas felt like intimate caresses which, along with our earnest embraces and general fondling of each other, almost delivered a sensory overload.

I wasn’t sure I could cope with any more happiness.

Once sufficiently waterlogged, we recovered our suits and, before returning to our room, made a stop at the Mojito Bar. Chloe, who must have had a roaming position at the hotel, was tending bar.

She gave Marci a buttery greeting while all I received was a nod of acknowledgment.

“Did you enjoy the beach?” asked Chloe, speaking to Marci. “You look so beautiful in your suit. It’s so elegant.”

Chloe expressed no opinion on my trunks. Marci ordered two bottles of water and two mojitos. Once Chloe was out of earshot, I openly speculated about her favorable disposition towards Marci.

“I think she wants to take you to bed.”

Marci didn’t seem startled by my comment.

“Would you like that? I can see if she’s free tonight.”

“Not necessarily, but I’ll keep an open mind.”

“If I were going that way, I’m not sure she would be my type, though she is kind of exotic looking. I bet she waxes her bush.”

Chloe delivered our drinks and apparently felt no reason to leave us alone. “Are you staying long?” she asked. She was speaking to Marci again, making me feel like I wasn’t there.

“Just for the week,” I said before Marci could reply. “My wife and I are having a short holiday.”

“You’re married? You don’t seem like a married couple.”

“That’s because we’re so in love,” said Marci. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

I signaled an affirmation.

“I like happy couples too,” said Chloe, proving she was not the type to be easily put off. I wasn’t sure what the “too” was meant to imply. In a pinch, she would sleep with the husband if necessary to get the wife in bed? I gave her a more careful review. She was indeed attractive despite her cool demeanor towards me. Regardless, she wasn’t Marci’s type, not that Marci had one as far as women were concerned, or at least not yet.

“Did you catch that?” asked Marci, after Chloe left to serve other customers.

“I think I did. She’s saying she’s flexible.”

Marci laughed. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

If our current situation was an example of flexible arrangements, I couldn’t disagree, though I was sure it didn’t include inviting Chloe to our bed.

“So, what sort of woman is your type?” I asked. “I’m thinking butch.”

“Yeah, a biker chick!” She gave me a wink. I frankly didn’t know if she was kidding.

“Preferably with lots of tattoos,” I said. “Also, a Marine haircut, and she’d have a wallet rather than a purse, and it would be chained to her jeans.”

“Oh, baby…”

“And fat as hell.”

“You’re getting me so hot, Ryan…” She laughed. “No, really. Gross! I don’t think ‘butch’ is my cup of tea. Someone more like Susan would be better.”

While this comment was out of the blue and possibly a jest, the idea was intriguing, to say the least. I reflected on Susan’s licking salsa off Marci’s breast the day of their nude sunbathing experiment. I had frankly re-imagined that moment several times since when making love to Susan. Her tongue had lingered rather than opted for efficiency. From landing on Marci’s breast to scoring the small dollop of salsa, several inches of distance were involved, meaning much more than required to get the job done.

Chloe returned hoping we would order another round. We declined, assuring her we’d be back later, to which she replied she was on duty until midnight. As we left the bar, I noticed several women staring at Marci, and in such a way to suggest they all hoped she would be back soon.

“When are we expected tonight?” asked Marci, now peeling off her suit even before the door to our room was closed. “Hey, give me your suit. I’ll hang it outside.”

I removed my suit and handed it to her. Unabashedly, she walked out onto the balcony naked and hung our suits over a chair.

“Around eight,” I