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

return from Mexico, which had concluded the peculiar arrangement between our two households.

“You’ve really got your hands full,” he said, smiling. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the armful of leaves I was holding or life in general. Either way, it worked.

“How’s Angie doing?” I asked.

“Perfect in every way.”

“You’re right about that.” She was, and we were happy Greg had finally found true love. Because she was quite attractive and had taken to Susan’s and Marci’s nude sunbathing, I was especially happy.

“Can I borrow your edger?” asked Gregg.

“Sure. You know where it is.” This reminded me of Susan’s “underwear incident”, an occurrence that had transformed into what we all now referred to as our “Summer of Love”.

I finished with the leaves and returned indoors. As I was waiting for a message from Harold concerning work, I checked my phone to see Susan had removed it from the charger to plug in her own. Now my phone was down to 2% and refused to operate.

Susan was lying on the sofa with a book.

“Hey there,” she said. “Kiss me, husband.” They’d both taken to calling me “husband” when it came to kissing or any other amorous activity, or when they had chores for me in mind. I leaned over and kissed her, then sat in my favorite leather chair facing her.

“We should build a fire,” she said, once I’d settled in.

“You mean, I should build a fire. You could have mentioned it before I sat down.”

“You poor thing.”

I went to the wood stacked beside the deck and, once my arms were full, Marci appeared, having completed her visit with Angie.

“Let me help you,” she said, grabbing a single log from my arms. We went in through the kitchen. Once there, she returned the log to the stack in my arms, meaning she’d had full possession of it for only one minute. She gave me a look.

“I am so sick of peeing,” she said, heading for the downstairs guest bath. “You’re going to owe me big time.”

I made a nice fire and returned to the leather chair.

“Thanks, honey,”said Susan. “I love when the wood crackles like that. It feels so homey.”

Marci, having gone upstairs after her pee, returned wearing a robe and surveyed the living room. “If these walls could talk…” she said, laughing.

“Lay with me, Marci.” Susan tossed the back cushions over the sofa and made room. “I need some belly time.”

“We’re not going to fit,” said Marci. She opened her robe to reveal she was down to her underwear. Susan pulled up her sweater and they cuddled together, their bellies touching, their eyes glistening as they rubbed each other’s tummies.

“Fuck. We’re so big!” said Marci. She looked at me. “Good job, big boy. We’re both blimps.”

“Don’t say that!” said Susan. “We’re beautiful this way! Isn’t that true, Ryan?”

“Don’t ask him. He’s just happy for our tits. Fuck! Look at these things” She held up her breast. Susan lowered her bra to kiss Marci’s nipple.

“Can you imagine breastfeeding? It’s going to be a free-for-all.”

“Ryan,” said Susan. “Aren’t you going to tell us we’re beautiful this way?” They both looked at me.

I couldn’t deny it. Even eight months pregnant they were beautiful, in fact more beautiful than they had ever been.

∞∞∞

Following the night when Susan and Marci consummated their relationship in Mexico, Marci was no longer my “Vacation Wife”. She was my “other” wife. It was a point upon which she was quite firm and was not susceptible to contrary external opinions. From there on and when just the two of us, we introduced ourselves as husband and wife.

Neither of us minded Susan’s decision to return to Greg for the final day of our Mexican sejour. It made sense that she should finish what was begun and bring it to an amicable conclusion. Frankly, without Greg in the picture, we wouldn’t be where we had arrived, which was a very happy place. Plus, the idea of Susan enjoying herself with him still produced the same magic. We all knew the “affair” would soon end, but never the magic it had produced.

Marci and I treated the rest of our vacation as our honeymoon.

Within a week of returning home, Marci’s condo was up for sale, a giant California King bed had replaced the marital one, and Marci’s stuff, which was surprisingly little, was quickly integrated with mine and Susan’s.

The two women set about consolidating our lives with energy and enthusiasm which exhausted me. Before I could get used to one arrangement of the furnishings, it would be switched around, and then once more before they achieved the desirable perfection. At every step, it was I who did the heavy lifting. On the plus side, by the end of our first month together, I was in the best shape of my life.

There were other ways in which keeping up with two women was hard work. Whereas I assumed the novelty of our situation would soon become familiar and less frenetic, including our lovemaking, Susan and Marci were using a different script with each other. They became endlessly creative in bed and increasingly spontaneous everywhere else.

They treated our living room as their erotic playground. They often couldn’t get through a movie without pawing each other, removing each other’s clothes, engaging in oral sex and, when fully primed, one or the other or both of them calling for me to join them. Of course, by this point, I would be fully primed myself.

It turned out that Susan, now equipped with a buffer and therefore less burdened with guilt, admitted she enjoyed “swallowing” less than Marci, who didn’t seem to mind at all. Susan would be pleasuring me in bed with Marci on her other side, and when Susan knew I was reaching my moment of release, she would tag out, calling in Marci to deliver the coup de grâce.

“Jesus! Again?” Marci would say, before coming around to take me into her mouth. This switch always took me right to and over the edge. As this