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

second story room with anticipation beating in my heart but for what I didn’t know. An evening of transgressive sexual encounters? Even the lobby had brimmed with sexual overtones. Our fellow hotel guests all looked tanned and healthy and enviably fit. The women, overly equipped with natural allurements, looked “naked dressed”, their clothing suggesting an extreme lack of modesty. A dense fog of pheromones hung above them all. Most of the couples, many both female, overtly displayed their affections, and this registered as especially erotic. It was an atmosphere of anything goes.

No judgments.

Marci, among the best looking of the women, was leading us to our room. Her now darkened skin contrasted beautifully with her white suit, and to such a degree I felt nearly breathless.

Had she suggested we stay in I would have said fine, but I knew we were both curious about the evening ahead. Neither of us knew where it would end.

Chapter 30: The More You Know

BETTER LIVING THROUGH HONESTY

Once in our room, I ordered a fresh pot of coffee, was advised it would take ten minutes and stepped into the shower with Marci. I thought we would be satisfied with a rinse, but she said she had “lady stuff” to do so I left her to it. I put on a hospitality robe and laid on the bed to wait for room service. It was ten minutes to the second when I heard a knock.

After room service left, I poured a cup of coffee for Marci and took it into the bathroom. She had one foot on the rim of the tub with a razor in her hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” She put her foot down.

“Well, it looked like you were doing something. Here.” I handed her the coffee. She took a sip, then a big gulp, draining the cup.

“As I said, I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Okay.” I turned to leave.

“Well, if you have to know, I’m shaving my toe.”

I looked at her toes, plural, not knowing which one she had singled out for a quick shave. “Why? They look fine.”

“That’s because I just shaved it, ninny. It’s just the big toe. When we were sitting in the sun, I noticed a gnarly hair growing out of it.”

“Jesus, the stuff you women worry about…”

“Hey! We don’t just pop out of a box looking beautiful, you know. It takes work.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t knock first.”

“It’s okay. Maybe later I’ll let you watch while I wax my lip.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Hey! I do have a surprise for you. Do you want to see it?”

“I’m afraid to say yes.” She gave me a face, then turned and bent over while spreading her buttocks.

“Jesus, Marci!”

“No, look!”

“I looked. Thanks.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“I had my butt waxed and bleached.”

“What are you talking about? When?” She turned around to face me.

“Remember? I went to the salon this morning. They had a special. I thought, well, I’ve got a minute. I guess it’s a lesbo thing.”

“That must have hurt like hell.”

“It did sting a little. I don’t think I’ll make it a habit.” She’d left her pubic hair intact for which I was grateful.

She rinsed her foot and followed me out to the balcony. I brought the coffee tray along and refilled our cups.

“I bet Meg will like it,” she said, which sounded vague.

“Like what?”

“I’m kidding, Ryan. You know, my butthole?”

“I don’t even like that word.”

“I’m not married to it.”

“Good.”

“So, do you think Meg will make a play for Susan tonight?”

It had crossed my mind, and it didn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility. Three months earlier this question would have never crossed my mind. Now, I was sitting with Marci, who had remained naked, on a balcony in Mexico discussing whether Susan was on the cusp of her first bisexual encounter, a discussion which followed the debut of Marci’s now bleached and hairless rectum. Life was full of unexpected turns.

Before I could respond, Marci stepped inside and returned with two airline bottles of Tanqueray and two glasses.

“I stole these from the plane when I went to the restroom.” She poured two drinks and handed me one. “I don’t want to lose the beach buzz.”

I drank it in one swallow. It burned without the tonic to smooth things out.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said, referring to Meg and Susan.

“You kind of want it to happen, don’t you? I do.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure how it could unless they disappeared somewhere.”

“I hope not. I hope they go for it right in front of us.”

Why?”

“I think it would be hot.”

“And would you want to join them if they did?”

“If you wanted me to.”

“And if Harold or Greg joined in too?

She gave it some thought. “Again, if you wanted me to. I told you that on the beach. Do I want you to want me to? Ryan, I really don’t know. It’s like one of those Möbius strips. What I want is what you want. It’s circular. But I know it couldn’t happen anywhere else, or with anyone else, and it could only happen with you there.”

My penis caught up with images forming in my mind even before I knew how I really felt about them and the other possibilities they represented. I re-imagined Susan’s acrobatic sixty-nining with Greg, then put Meg in the picture. The idea of my wife’s face buried in Meg made my cock ache. I no longer wondered about the “why?”. Its answer laid buried in an indecipherable labyrinth, sealed in a vault without combination or key.

“I don’t mind if you fuck Meg,” said Marci in an offhand manner.

“Thanks so much for making that clear.”

“I’m not kidding. I know it would make you happy, and probably Susan too.”

Until this point, Meg had seemed peripheral, like a character with a minor part in a major play, the seductress whose duty was to obliged my wife’s bi-curiosity, perhaps Marci’s as well, and then move off. But this scenario lacked symmetry. I was thinking of earlier that summer. When Susan slept with Greg, I