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

company, but you knew she needed her alone time too.

“Who was that?” asked Chloe, delivering my drink. She was sober, which was like seeing her with a new look.

“My wife.” I knew she knew who Marci was.

“She’s pretty. How many women do you have?”

I laughed but didn’t reply.

Chloe left and, having nothing better to do, I studied her. She was tall and small busted, slim but not gaunt. Her hair was jet black and layered with crisp bangs, and she wore light makeup, perhaps a little too dark around the eyes. She was in that zone where you didn’t know if she was twenty or thirty though certainly not younger and possibly older. I guessed she was exercising her carefree years, working in posh hotels around the world, drinking and drugging perhaps too much. At some later point she’d settle down, though I wondered if this included sexually. For now, she was ambidextrous as far as that went, willing to go in any direction.

I knew I was solid as to preferences. I had no interest in men.

I was all in with women, so having two wives was a real boon. When I said “I do” with Susan, I was all on board with her being the last woman I would ever make love to. I truly believed it. And now I was sleeping with two women and loving them both. I knew I should be thinking the love was different for each of them, unique in its own way, but that wasn’t how it felt, at least not at that moment. But I did love them for different reasons. That was the difference, and I felt comfortable with that analysis.

Could there ever be a third “wife”?

I had no yearnings for three, but a couple of months earlier I was quite happy having just the one.

Chapter 27: On The Beach

GOING TOPLESS,, SUN, ALCOHOL

“She’s such a kid at heart,” said Susan. “I just adore her.” We were watching Marci, who had galloped off to jump into the ocean. Part of the galloping was due to the temperature of the sand, which rivaled the surface of the sun.

“Marci is wholly without inhibition,” I said.

“You never pronounce that correctly. It’s ‘hoh-lee’.”

“Aren’t you the good wife.”

“I try. Don’t get me started on ‘plethora’.”

Our canopy bed provided an excellent platform to enjoy the beach. After stealing pillows from the other cabanas, Susan arranged herself Cleopatra style raised on one elbow, and delivered a steady stream of grapes and pineapples chunks to her smacking lips from an elaborate fruit tray. The breeze kept us cool, and all was delightful.

Our fellow hotel guests were not the boisterous types. There was also no DJ spinning Euro electro synth pop or drunks trolling bimbos, or man-boys with monstrous tattoos such as you would find now on Ibiza. All the canopies were occupied, and all we heard were the soft murmurs of small talk and occasional laughter. At last count, I’d spotted five topless women. I suspected they were European.

Marci scampered up from the shore and, because why not?, she squeezed the water from her hair using my back as a target. I stifled a shriek as Susan laughed.

“That didn’t last long,” said Susan.

“What didn’t last long?” asked Marci.

“The blow-dry.”

“Oh, right.” Marci frowned, then brightened. “But this is so great, isn’t it?” She reached for a coconut which contained her rum concoction and took a long draw on its straw. She scrunched her nose. “I don’t think I’ll get another one of these. It tastes kind of armpity.”

“Lovely,” said Susan, who had ordered us a pitcher of daiquiris, having found her first daiquiri in the lobby irresistible. She handed Marci her drink. “Try this. It’ll refresh your mouth.”

Marci took a drink. “Yummy.” She arranged herself so she was half lying on me. Her wet, cool suit provided a stark contrast to her warm skin. Her angle made her boobs spill over their containment.

“There’s another one,” said Marci, looking several canopies over.

I looked. A new woman, a fresh arrival, had removed her top.

Marci sat up and removed her own. She gave her breasts a handshake before settling back over me.

“Those women are small breasted,” said Susan.

“That woman over there isn’t,” I said, pointing. Susan gave me a look. I had just demonstrated I was ogling other women.

“Go ahead, Susan,” said Marci. “Show us your tits!”

“I’m wearing a one-piece.”

“You can pull it down… Hey! Pretend one of your neighbors is watching. That’ll put you in the mood!”

Susan feigned a hilarious laugh, then sat up and pulled her suit off her shoulders and down to her waist.

“There ya go. I’m sure Ryan is happy, aren’t you honey?”

Indeed I was. I’d never been in public with either of them topless. It produced the normal effects on my anatomy.

“Oh, by the way, Harold and Meg might join us,” said Marci.

Susan looked alarmed and scoured the beach with her eyes. Instinctively, she had covered her boobs with her hands.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“When you guys left to have your talk, I kind of invited them. I was already planning this.”

“That’s fine. We’re good friends, after all. That hasn’t changed.”

“But shouldn’t I cover up?” asked Susan. “I mean, don’t you care if Harold sees my boobs?”

I thought about it. I didn’t care.

“No, of course not. We’re on a beach. Other women are topless. It’s permitted, obviously.”

“Chill, Susan,” said Marci. “They’re just tits.”

“Okay.” Susan didn’t really seem troubled by the prospect of Harold seeing her naked boobs. Quite to the contrary, probably.

Though I wasn’t troubled, I did wonder if Harold seeing Susan’s naked breasts would somehow change the dynamics between us. At the charity auction, when Meg said we should all have a sauna, I had wondered about them. Would they take communal nudity as a sign we might be up for other things as well? With this new knowledge of Gail and Emily I felt this could in fact be the case.

“Harold’s pretty handsome,” said Marci, out of the blue.

“He is,” said Susan. “He’s already