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

more. She was piling sand on her leg with her toe. Her wet hair curled around her breasts and taut nipples which made her look like a beached mermaid.

“Ryan, I don’t understand anything, really. I mean, you excite the hell out of me, and it’s not just that you’re you. You know how to push my buttons like no other man I’ve known. Plus, you let me be myself, and that makes me want to please you. I would do anything for you.”

“Have you felt this way since we split up?”

“No. It took awhile for me to realize everything. When this summer came and the thing with Susan and Greg, and me sunbathing naked in your yard... It woke everything up I’d kept buried. I saw you in a new way. I could have you and not have you. Do you know what I mean?”

“So you’re happy with the way things turned out.”

“I’m really scared it won’t last.”

“Don’t be. I have a feeling this isn’t some temporary glitch in the space-time continuum. It’s not a passing fad.”

I realized I wasn’t looking at this “vacation wife” scheme as a temporary arrangement. I wanted Marci and Susan to be a part of my life forever. Whatever else happened, I wanted them to be there. That made me feel safe. Wherever this journey took us, I wasn’t afraid we might destroy what we had already built.

Marci pulled me down for a long embrace. We rolled back and forth on the wet sand, kissing and hugging until a wave splashed over us, filling her nostrils.

“Oh, that sucked!” She sat up and cleared her nose. “Pretty, huh?”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to view you any other way.”

“You really are sweet, but snot kind of turns me off.”

I laughed. I really loved her earthiness. In contrast, Susan was almost delicately prim.

“So, tell me,” I said. “During the massage, did Harold touch you intimately?”

“My puss?”

“I guess that’s what I mean.”

“What do you want me to say?” She gave me a half-lidded smile.

“The truth.”

“Kind of.”

I felt a rush of adrenaline, which then landed in my nether regions. I imagined Harold’s hands caressing her, which was hardly necessary as I’d just seen him do it in person. I’d felt his hand up between her legs.

“But Ryan, it wasn’t really like that. The side of his hand just kind of brushed it. It was like for a split second. It can happen during normal massages too.”

“I know, but tell me, how did it feel when it happened?”

Marci looked at her toes, dug them deeper into the sand, and flicked the sand off.

“It excited me. You were touching me too. The combination kind of clicked. Plus, laying out in public like that, on a beach, with people around me, my tits are out, two men are fondling me, we’re drinking champagne... Tell me when you get the picture, okay?”

“Got it.”

“And I know you liked it, just like you liked watching Susan make love to Greg. You fucked the hell out of me after that. I know. I was there, Ryan. Fuck this vacation wife thing. I feel like I’m your wife too, like, for real. I knew how you would respond if Harold touched me. That’s why I told him to massage my legs. I did it for you.”

I now felt a spooling mass of warmth flood my body, filling my head with unimaginable happiness. I knew it was pointless to pretend what she was telling me couldn’t be true. She meant every word. What she did, she did for me. She loved me unconditionally. I felt the same way.

“That was pretty powerful. If this were a movie, the camera would pull away now as we fell into each other’s arms in a mad embrace, rolling around in the surf.”

“You fuck. That’s what I was going to say.” She kissed me and we fell into a true embrace.

“Tell me something,” I said as I came up for air. I took a beat.

“Am I supposed to say go on? Or are you going to tell me?”

“Would you like to sleep with Harold? Maybe even Greg?”

“No.”

I felt disappointment but would have also felt it if she’d said yes. It landed me in no man’s land. I didn’t want Marci to want anyone else, and I wanted her to feel that way about me. But the idea of watching her with another man filled me with an inexpressible excitement—for her. It was the same with Susan. Maybe this is what Marci meant by “real wife”. She wanted me to feel for her what I felt for Susan, and what I felt for Susan was a love that was stronger than ever. When she made love to Greg, it made it evenstronger.

We were all either losing our minds or onto to something that would eventually save mankind, which was frankly in a rut at that moment. I wouldn’t have shared this view with a professional, but I felt there was something there.

“Okay,” I said, after ruminating for several minutes.

“Ryan, if it would excite you for me to sleep with either of them, I’d do it. You want me to suck Greg’s dick? I’ll do it. Harold’s? Ditto. Do you see what I mean? If it excites you, then it excites me to do it for you. You’re the one that matters to me. Not them.”

Marci’s frankness and the imagery it spun made everything make sense. Though I didn’t fully understand the energies that sparked like wildfires between Susan and myself, hearing Marci say those words sparked the same fires. It was all coming together. There were mysterious energies or forces at play here. That I couldn’t give them a name didn’t negate their existence.

As we were about to embrace again, a pile of wet sand landed on both of our foreheads. We turned to see Susan standing behind us, smiling like a mischievous child.

“What are you two talking about? Sounds serious.”

“Ryan was telling me about his colonoscopy.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” After Marci and I