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

handle. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to broaden this palette, let alone the will. Regardless, no one would look at our arrangement and call it normal unless compared to Gail and Emily’s situation.

With our sex lives sorted, we drifted into a general and lively conversation until Marci shared news of her increasing hunger. After agreeing we might catch up later, she and I left to gamble on a restaurant in town. Its cuisine was billed as “micro-fusion”, and as neither of us knew what that meant, we were eager to try it.

Chapter 25: This Was Unexpected

WHAT A SMALL WORLD

The micro-fusion restaurant proved popular, but as a party of two we had no trouble scoring a table. The crowd was lively, on the young side and, if I was not mistaken, largely European. Perhaps they were part of a crowd that roamed the earth seeking new adventures and experimental living arrangements. Today, Tulum, tomorrow Mykonos, or some unpronounceable beach in Thailand.

Unlike the Mojito Bar, it was brightly lit, and I could more clearly examine Marci’s chosen outfit for the night. It was an all-white, bohemian style dress of embroidered mesh lace. It barely concealed her fine lingerie, which I could plainly see through the open weave. If I was reading the crowd correctly it approved. Her skin had darkened from the Mexican sun, even through the recent overcast, and she looked lovely.

After giving our order we were immediately served, and without request, a quail-egg sized dollop of sorbet as a palette cleanser. The waitress said it was oxygen infused, which to me only suggested there was air in it. It in fact tasted like lime flavored vapor and was delicious. One didn’t need to swallow as it evaporated on your tongue.

“That was weird,” said Marci, her tongue searching her mouth for the evaporated sorbet. “Hey! My mouth does taste fresh. I won’t need to brush tonight.”

My Zen Roll followed, providing a second clue about micro-fusion. The “micro” meant tiny portions. On an unnecessarily large, rectangular plate I’d received two small portions of spicy tuna mixed with lobster, cucumber and cilantro. Marci, deciding I could get by with just one, sampled the other one.

Immediately, her fist pounded the table as her eyes watered. It looked like they were trying to escape their sockets. She put her index finger under her nose to suppress I don’t know what, then emptied her water glass.

“Fuck, that was hot,” she said. “I think I came a little.”

“You might want to have that checked.”

Without receiving a proper invitation, I dug into her balsamic beef filet, which must have come from a very small cow. This too was delicious.

“This is fun,” said Marci, her temple glistening, as was her nicely revealed cleavage. I judged the exquisite line formed by the central collision of her breasts to be two inches. “So, what did you think?”

“It’s very good, but the portions are kind of small.”

“Not that! I’m talking about Gail and Emily.”

Marci had a habit of thinking you knew what was going on in her shifting mind at all times.

“Oh. They seemed nice.”

“I think Gail is the butch one. Emily kind of deferred to her. Did you notice?”

I thought about it and concurred. “I think you’re right there. Plus, Gail’s haircut was on the boyish side, and she looked like she lifted weights.”

“It’s a pixie cut.”

“What? Oh, you mean her hair. It looked good on her.”

“Should I try it?”

“I like your hair the way it is.”

More food arrived and Marci, as before, sampled mine before digging into hers.

“I liked Emily. I could see it.”

“See what?” I wasn’t playing dumb. I really didn’t know what she meant.

“Doing her, or her doing me. I thought about it when we were sitting with them. I think I got another vibe from her too.”

I hadn’t received a vibe of any kind though I didn’t mind. My thoughts hadn’t gone there when we were sitting with them. But now that I did think of the possibility of Emily and Marci having a go, I could see why Emily might appeal to her.

“That’s interesting,” I said. My hope was Marci would fill in the blanks I hadn’t thought of yet.

“I’m not saying anything, really. But it’s strange, isn’t it? I’m totally into men.”

“Good to know.”

“I mean you, of course.”

“I was just kidding.”

“But if I was going to sleep with a woman, she’d have to be like Susan or Emily.”

“You barely know Emily.”

“Have you ever slept with a woman you barely knew?”

“We already know each other’s histories. We’ve both had one-night stands. Everyone has.”

As far as I knew, both Susan and I, and Marci too, really, hadn’t slept around that much. But as Harold had indicated, men and women counted their conquests differently. For a man, they all counted. For a woman, a one-night stand may or may not enter the permanent record, as they tended to dismiss the ones that weren’t remarkable.

“I wonder who they’re hooking up with,” said Marci. “They said they were meeting up with a couple later, a man and a woman. I feel like spying.”

“We’ll probably see who it is around the hotel if they’re all staying there. You won’t have to spy.”

In the broader picture, I wondered what was opening up for us. The fact that we were discussing these things meant we hadn’t totally dismissed them. I would swear on my grave I had no interest in “swinging” with other couples, and certainly not as a lifestyle. But what if Susan and I met a nice couple down the road? Would our experiences with Greg and Marci bleed into other possibilities? I couldn’t imagine it, but this accidental meeting with Gail and Emily, both seemingly open to foursomes, was jiggling the knobs in my brain that kept those doors closed.

After sampling another dozen small servings of micro-fusion cuisine, we concluded our meal and stepped out to find a food cart. We were still hungry. Within fifty paces we were greeted by a cheerful, elderly Mexican who