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

“Meg had an affair with an old college sweetheart. This was after we’d met Emily and Gail.”

“It was before we really talked it over, Ryan,” said Meg. “I’m talking about Emily and Gail. Neither one of us really understood what that was all about, so my affair forced our hand. I guess I was thinking, well, anything goes now. I didn’t really enjoy it.”

“I didn’t mind the affair,” said Harold. “In fact, it got me kind of hot, if you know what I mean. But she had done it in secret, and I didn’t know the guy, so it wasn’t at all the same as what happened with those two women.”

“And so you set up some parameters,” I said. What they were telling me made sense. I felt Susan, Marci, Greg, and I had covered that ground.

“I’m glad you know our secret, Ryan,” said Meg. “There’s no one else back home who would understand. We didn’t think you and Susan would until we saw you last night with Marci.”

I chuckled. “That was a tight spot, wasn’t it? Talk about having one’s hand forced.”

“Marci was cute. Susan will be right down. I felt sorry for her later when I thought about what must have been going through her mind.”

“And here you sit today topless with Ryan present,” said Harold. “We wouldn’t have thought that possible two days ago.”

“You don’t mind, do you, Ryan?” asked Meg.

“Not at all. You’re lovely.” What else could I have said?

“I kind of like it. I feel freer this way.” Meg smiled at Harold. “It’s kind of bonding too, now that you’ve seen me like this. Not that many men have that I’ve known personally.”

Chloe and her fellow attendants arrived with our drinks order. Harold mixed us both hefty bourbons and waters and, as we were about to toast, Greg returned. Harold mixed him a drink and we all toasted.

“I understand we’re gathering at your place tonight,” I said.

“That’ll be fun,” said Meg. “I can’t wait to see it!”

“If everyone is up for it, Susan and I would be glad to have you all over.” This produced a minor sting.

“Sounds great,” said Harold. “I wouldn’t mind having a place down here too, though I do like this hotel.”

“It’s funky,” said Meg. “I like it too.”

“What’s funky?” asked Marci, who had silently joined us. I turned to see her and Susan looking like two Sirens hell-bent on mischief. Once again, I was momentarily shocked by their toplessness. It was funny how that worked. Each fresh sighting was as refreshing as the first.

“The hotel,” replied Meg.

“You mean the Lesbo Inn,” said Marci. “They should have a sign over the entrance saying ‘All You Can Eat’.”

I really wished she hadn’t said that but everyone laughed, and Meg most of all, while she and Susan exchanged glances.

Meg moved toward Harold so Susan and Greg could sit together. Marci gave me a comical smooch and sat on my lap before I’d had time to make arrangements. Fortunately, she wiggled her bottom, and that helped. She then gave me a long, proper kiss, and that seemed to set the mood for everyone. Susan and Greg shared an intimate moment while Harold and Meg cuddled, which included an appreciative fondling of her breasts. Seeing Meg’s boobs in Harold’s hands didn’t seem inappropriate, so I let my hand cup Marci’s breast as well. As it was in the vicinity anyway, it made sense. She responded with another kiss.

With territorial matters settled, we slipped into genial conversation, laughed a lot, and managed to empty the bourbon in a tie-finish with the last drop of daiquiri. We also managed to consume two large platters of plump shrimp and lobster rolls. Surprisingly, not a drop of cocktail sauce landed on either of Marci’s boobs, possibly much to the chagrin of Susan.

Susan got up on her knees and patted her stomach. “I’m stuffed, but we should probably get food for tonight, honey.” She put an arm around Greg, who put an arm around her waist and kissed the side of her breast. It was right there so that made sense as well.

The sun had begun its descent into overnight oblivion, the breeze had died completely, and the tropical night was nearly upon us. We all bore the bodily sheen common to inhabitants of this latitude during the torrid summer months. Along with the perspiration, I wondered if human pheromones were more active in this type of atmosphere. The air felt sexually charged as if with sufficient heavy breathing one might suffer an orgasm.

Or perhaps it was the alcohol. Either way, sitting all afternoon in proximity to three lovely topless women made me feel heroically hormonal, and I sensed I wasn’t alone. The entire afternoon had felt like foreplay, the first course in a mystery menu of titillating prospects.

Prurient tensions between Meg and Susan had reached a near fever pitch. This was evident from their increased though outwardly innocent physical gestures—a stroking of a thigh here, a pat of a knee that lingered there, a shared whisper. It was trivial stuff, remarkable only in that never before had they enjoyed a touchy-feely relationship. Marci had noticed too, according to her stealthy whispers.

We stood and stretched. The women restored their tops and cover-ups, the men put on their T-shirts, and we headed for the hotel after leaving the cabana which now looked like the scene of a sordid bacchanal.

On the path to the hotel, one of the hotel’s decorative peacocks was holding its ground. It made an aggressive gesture towards Susan, who shrieked and jumped backed.

“Maybe it’s mating season,” said Greg. The bird was putting on a bright display, one could even say “cocky”.

“He wants to see your tits, Susan,” said Marci. “He likes you.”

We managed to get around the peacock without injury and reached the hotel’s lobby. Greg and Susan took off after we agreed to meet in one hour, which would give us time to freshen up.

I climbed the stairs to our