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

Then it struck me. Was it possible Susan and Marci had engineered the whole summer from day one, from Susan’s “underwear incident” onward?

This last thought really put my mind in a stew.

“Listen,” I said. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

“Do you want us to come?” asked Susan.

“Not necessary, thanks. You two can carry on with the house remodeling, maybe figure out how to get three sinks in the master bath.” I smiled to indicate my mood was fine. Sometimes, one just needs to get some air.

I descended to the lobby and across the long breezeway that passed the pool and the Mojito Bar and onto the sandy path to the beach. The beach tiki bar was closed, and there were only a few couples laying in the beach canopies. A single twosome exhibited signs of amorous behavior. I walked to the shore and turned north.

A seaward breeze kept the air warm, and the moon produced a beam of reflected light on the ocean out to the horizon. It was quite beautiful and I almost wished I wasn’t alone, then realized being alone might soon become a difficult arrangement.

Might Marci and I have made it as a couple? Could it have worked had she not been hereditarily disadvantaged by a predisposition to manic depression? It was a curse handed from father to daughter, an unwilled inheritance with potentially grim consequences, but it wasn’t her fault. Had she dealt with it openly when we were a couple, we indeed could have made it.

But she wasn’t ready to deal with it.

Where did this put Susan? I loved her to death. There was no question about this. But could the three of us really survive as a threesome?

That would be up to us. Though there were no manuals to offer guidance, we were smart people, successful in our fields, articulate and thoughtful in speech and of clear mind. We would be able to communicate effortlessly. As long as Marci kept on her meds and accepted all the other proper treatments, whatever they were, we were not broken people looking to others for salvation or purpose. We could each quite properly function alone. Being together was an option, an option we were selecting from an infinite range of possibilities. I knew ‘infinite’ was a stretch, but it did highlight the fact that we all had other options. There was no gun pointing at our heads. We were free to choose, and we were choosing to live our lives together.

I wondered about sleeping arrangements. I normally took the right side of the bed. Would I be moved to the middle? Whom would I cuddle with as I fell asleep? If Marci and Susan wanted to have sex, would I naturally be included? Would we ever have sex one-on-one? I felt giddy imagining the possibilities but also greedy. This wasn’t about sex. Sex was a feature of marriage—it wasn’t the marriage. How would it go on lazy Sunday afternoons? In winter, would the three of us lounge on the sofa and watch a movie together? If I was feeling amorous, who would I choose to be amorous with? Would Marci be offended if I chose Susan? Would I feel left out if they asked to be alone together?

There was a lot to think about.

Chapter 38: Two Wives

WE’RE IN THIS TOGETHER

“You’re back!” said Susan as I stepped into our room. She and Marci were lying on the bed in their underwear. Had they been naked, I would have worried I was interfering in a post-coital moment.

“Hi,” I said. I recaptured my champagne flute with the intention of having a refill.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” said Marci. She rose from the bed and put her arms around me. A big squeeze followed. “I’ll have some too.” She located her glass and held it up for a refill.

“Cheers,” I said. I topped off our glasses and sat on the occasional chair feeling overdressed. “What have you been waiting for me for?”

Marci smiled. “I’ve never made love to a woman before. I thought you might like to watch.”

“Are you sure?” asked Susan. “There’s no need to rush.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been dreaming about this. Just ask Ryan.”

I nodded. Marci was behaving like a child waiting to open a gift. I had no clue what she meant by “making love to a woman” but was confident I would know soon.

“Honey,” said Susan. “Get out of your clothes! I want you beside me for this!”

For what? Perhaps I was being dense. What was the ultimate act two women could perform in bed? It was obvious though I had to admit I wasn’t well-schooled in all the other activities two women might enjoy behind closed doors. I dismissed everything I’d seen by way of pornography, which isn’t to say I was a fan of the genre. I knew, or suspected, that two women making love didn’t behave like it was portrayed in those three-minute film clips.

Marci sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here, Ryan.”

I stood in front of her.

“Remember this?” She unbuttoned my shorts and pulled down my zipper, just as Meg had done the night before but with more speed. She pushed my shorts and underwear down and took my cock into her mouth. Her fingers tickled my balls, but she was the one who giggled. Releasing my cock, she turned to Susan.

“This is what Meg did last night.”

“My God! She did?” said Susan. “I’d forgot about Meg. Was Harold in the room?”

Marci nodded. She held my cock up with her palm and licked my balls, now dangling in space, with a tenderness and warmth that mimicked Meg’s. I was pleased Marci chose to employ Meg’s methods and hoped they would remain in her toolbox.

Susan crawled over on her knees to join in the fun. She smiled at Marci before taking the tip of my cock into her mouth. They both performed their magic, though I knew they were