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

rinsed our heads, Susan sat on the sand in front of us with her back to the surf. A small wave crested her shoulders. “Hey, back up, you two.”

We relocated a few feet further from the shore.

“Listen,” Susan said. “We’re all going back to our place for a barbeque. Does that sound okay?”

“Sure,” I said, noting the possessive pronoun, so I offered one of my own. “Can we bring anything?”

“Actually, we’re just getting a bunch of take-out. There’s not a word for that, so I said ‘barbeque’.”

“You could have said what you just said,” I noted.

“Oh, you’re right. Anyway, that’s the plan.” Susan was now playing footsie with both of us.

“What’s going on with Meg?” asked Marci.

“How do you mean?”

“You two seem kind of chummy,” I said. “That’s what Marci is referring to.”

“Gee, thanks, Ryan. You saved me from having to say all those words myself.”

Susan laughed. “I think she likes me. When she was giving me a massage, it got kind of personal.”

Marci’s face exhibited excitement at this prospect.

“Explain. We’ve got a minute.”

“She slipped her hand into my suit over my rump and massaged my bottom, then she went down all the way and gave me a little massage there.”

“You mean your pussy?” asked Marci. “She just did it out of the blue?”

“That was the general area, yeah.”

“Fuck. What did you do?”

“Well, before that, when she was massaging my ass, I may have moaned a bit, like I was really enjoying it. I was, actually, but that move did surprise me.”

“Did she finger you?”

Susan looked at me before replying. “Yeah.”

“And you liked it?” Marci now sounded incredulous.

“Kind of. I mean, it was all right.”

Marci looked for my reaction. I doubted “dumbfounded” provided a useful telltale facial expression.

“Gee, I’m jealous,” said Marci. “I always wanted to be the first woman to finger you.”

“Who said Meg was the first?” said Susan, with a coy smile.

“What?” said Marci. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not actually, but it hardly counts.”

“Now you have to tell us,” I said. I turned to Marci. “This is news to me.”

“Ryan, it was just playing around. It barely even counts. Otherwise, I would have told you.”

“Who was playing around?”

“Me and a girlfriend. I’d known her since grade school. This was before we’d had sex with boys. We touched each other, that’s all.”

“And that was it?” asked Marci, sounding disappointed.

“It was enough. After that, I figured out masturbation.”

“It’s got to start somewhere.” Marci looked at me. “Did you ever touch a boy’s dick?”

“Never.”

“I think girls have more fun. I let a girl finger me in college.”

“You’ve been holding back,” said Susan. “You never told me about that.”

“So, now we’re even.”

“Did it work?”

“Did I come? Kind of. You know me. I have all sorts of orgasms.”

“I could listen to you two talk all day,” I said. “But now I’m thirsty.”

I stood, expecting to set a trend, but the women stayed put. I left them to discuss their early, experimental sexual experiences with playmates and returned to the cabana. Greg was nowhere in sight.

“How’s that champagne doing?” I asked, letting Meg or Harold decide between them who would respond.

“I’m afraid Meg drank it,” said Harold, suppressing a burp.

“Right,” said Meg, still delightfully topless. “You know me, Ryan. I’m a lush.”

“Where’s Greg?”

“He just went to the restroom,” said Harold. “He drank a bit too. Nice guy. He gave me some investment tips.”

I guessed Greg wasn’t familiar with the liquid properties of the ocean which were much handier than the restrooms. I got Chloe’s eye. She too remained topless as were most of the women remaining on the beach. The crowd had thinned since our arrival.

Chloe arrived before I was ready to order. Perhaps she had shifted me to her preferred client list.

“Give me a minute, Chloe.”

“Hi, Chloe,” said Meg, with extreme friendliness. Chloe gave her what looked to me like a secret-sisterhood nod reserved for lesbians.

“I know we all like bourbon, right?”

“It’s not very summery,” said Meg. “I want something tropical. I could go back to daiquiris.”

“Bourbon sounds good,” said Harold. “Let’s get a bottle.”

“Okay. Say, Chloe, what’s your best bourbon?” She consulted her tablet.

“Woodford Reserve.”

“How much is it?”

“$499 a bottle.”

“Harold, any word from the office on that litigation?”

“Not a peep.”

“Good meeting… Okay, Chloe, one bottle of Woodford Reserve, a few liters of water and lots of ice, plus a pitcher of daiquiris, and maybe some extra glasses.”

As she left, I scooped ice water from a champagne bucket and rubbed it over my face. The afternoon had become oppressively muggy and I was feeling it.

“Oh, that looks refreshing,” said Meg. “Hand me some ice.”

“There’s hardly any left. Let me bring you the bucket.” I pitched the empty champagne bottle and handed it to her. She dipped her hands in and rubbed cool water over her face and, after another dip, over her breasts and tummy.

“That’s better.”

Meg looked at Susan and Marci, still chatting by the seashore.

“We like Marci. She’s sort of like Susan’s alter ego.” I knew she meant it in a kind way.

“Yes, that’s about right,” I said.

“I think Harold’s jealous.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m kidding, really. It’s just that Marci has been Susan’s friend forever, plus, she lives in town.”

“That’s all true,” I said.

“Harold and I agreed we wouldn’t get involved with anyone where we lived.”

“I see your point now,” said Harold. “She’s right. We felt it would be best to keep it separate from our—well, from our normal lives.”

“I know what you mean.” I wondered if their open marriage had ever led to trouble, and this was the reason Meg brought it up. Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t the sort of thing I’d pursue in conversation, but these weren’t normal circumstances.

“I don’t mean to sound indelicate, but have you and Harold ever had a bad experience with someone outside your marriage?”

“No,” said Harold. “The situation with Gail and Emily was purely accidental, and it’s been perfect all around. Meg and I weren’t looking for it. It just happened. But it hasn’t gone beyond there.”

“You can tell him the truth,