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

and smiled, but didn’t respond. She rose from the bed letting her towel drop, so I wrapped it around my waist. “What are we doing today?” she asked. “Should I get dressed or put on my bathing suit?”

“I could use a swim,” I said. She went onto the balcony to get her suit, which had been drying over a chair.

“I think she’s all better now, Ryan,” said Meg.

I was about to say “good”, but thought it would have sounded self-serving. Saying “good for her” wouldn’t have sounded any better. Marci returned, vigorously shaking out her suit.

“It’s got sand in it,” she said.

“So you stepped inside to shake it out.” I said, observantly.

“Oh, right.” She stepped into her bottoms and then organized the top to put it on. Once done, she fiddled with her boobs to make them fit properly.

I poured a second cup of coffee and sat on the edge of the bed. So far, the day lacked momentum. I knew a swim with Marci would liven things up, but as for the rest of the day I was drawing a blank. For the first time that week I felt erotically depleted. It was like losing my compass, but I knew recharging wouldn’t be an issue. The mere sight of Marci in her suit was already inspiring me. The depletion wasn’t physical, but emotional. I needed to take stock of the week’s events, and particularly those of the day and night before.

Meg and Harold were seated in the two occasional chairs and looked like a lovely couple having a morning chat over coffee. Marci had begun tidying the room. She picked up the clothes I’d shed the night before and folded them, putting my underwear in our communal laundry bag. In her suit, she was every man’s dream come true. Beyond her looks, her facile manner, her humor and witty asides, her broad intelligence which she kept hidden, would turn that dream of the perfect woman into an impossible obsession for any man.

And here she was, happy with me, harboring strident wishes that our current arrangement, this marital hybrid, this dyadic aberration of being a “Vacation Wife”, be turned into something else, something permanent.

And Susan, by all accounts, was on board with this possibility.

But what about all the rest? The extramarital couplings? Susan’s deft display of physical affections for Harold, Meg, and Susan, as well as Greg? Why had we switched things up like that? Why had I just spent the night with Meg? Why had she spent the night with me? Why did Marci fuck Greg, then Harold?

I already knew the answers. Marci and Susan knew their sexual gymnastics with other men and women drove me even closer to them. They weren’t setting a new course. They were demonstrating their power, their infinite ability to drive me deliriously mad with erotic fervor—for them.

What then about Meg? Did sleeping with her produce a similar effect in Susan and Marci? Or was Meg a gift? Was she to balance the ledger? I wasn’t sure, which made my coupling with Meg feel more transgressive. But was it? For a brief few days, the six of us had stepped into an otherworldly realm where our honest desires were given freedom to roam. I’d always found Meg attractive, an attraction I’d kept buried, as had she apparently, and now we had let it out. The result was a warm and loving experience. It wasn’t sordid. Not in the least. It wouldn’t lead anywhere else. I knew that to be true. But we would always have this shared experience, and it would make us closer whether it was ever repeated or not.

And there Meg sat with her loving husband, and they were perhaps now even more in love. They’d gifted each other the freedom of expression. They were both permitted to have feelings, even sexual feelings, for someone else. It didn’t open a floodgate. Neither of them were out rampaging for anonymous sexual encounters. None of us were. Freedom was the ultimate gift. It was the freedom to be yourself.

“Ah-oh,” said Marci. “I think we’ve lost Ryan.”

“He’s a thinker,” said Harold. “He’s always drifting into the nuances and finer details of things. It’s what makes him a good lawyer.”

“Are you okay, Ryan?” asked Meg.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking over the last couple days.”

“It’s pretty much all on the surface, Ryan,” said Harold. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Why did we do it?” I asked, which surprised me.

“You have to be more specific,” said Harold.

“Why did Meg and I make love last night?”

“Because we wanted to,” said Meg. “And now we have. It was lovely. I’ll never forget it.”

“And that’s okay?”

“Between all of us?” asked Harold. “Of course it is. Otherwise, it would never have happened. Will it go in our Christmas letter? No.”

Marci sat and put her arm around me.

“It was lovely, Meg,” I said. “I’ll never forget it either.”

“And Harold will never forget Susan or Marci,” she said.

“See,” said Marci, rubbing my back. “It’s all good. The next time you see Meg you’ll be able to think of having your dick inside her.”

Meg laughed. “That’s right. Me too.”

I knew I could count on Marci to lightened the mood. She was right. Above all, what we would return home with were our new memories. They would be good memories, and they would fuel us for a lifetime.

Chapter 36: And Here We Are

A SWIM, WALK, THEN A SURPRISE

Exhibiting Olympian form, I raced Marci southward along the shore for a good quarter mile. Being competitive, she remained side-by-side the entire way. She was an athletic woman which was a natural trait. She didn’t work out aside from enjoying a daily run that covered three miles—no more, no less.

As I ran out of steam she swam ahead for fifty meters, realized she was alone, and circled back with boundless energy. I wished we hadn’t eaten lunch before exerting ourselves.

“Pussy,” she said, once we intersected. For good measure, she dunked me, adding emphasis to my depleted state.