The vacation wife, p.20
The Vacation Wife, page 20
“I’m glad. That was out of this world.”
“I know. Isn’t this all so great?”
“You mean… Well, I’m not sure what you mean exactly.”
“Ryan, this whole ‘vacation wife’ thing is what I mean. Don’t you agree? Aren’t you enjoying Marci?”
“Yes, I am. There’s no question there. How are you and Greg getting along?” When she pounced on me, my first thought was to wonder if she and Greg weren’t working out as well as she had hoped.
“We’re great! But when he makes love to me, I’m always thinking of you! I mean, I imagine you watching us. It makes me feel like such a bad girl!”
“And that works for you.”
She thought for a moment. “Do you think of me when you make love to Marci?”
I had to think about this. Did I? I supposed I did think of Susan when I was with Marci, but in a general way. The fact that I was married to someone else played into it.
“I don’t so much think of you watching us, but I am aware of everything else. I mean, you know, I’m sleeping with her, and you’re my wife, and that factors into it. I’ll have to give it more thought before I can really explain it.”
“That’s okay. I think I know what you mean.”
“So, we’re good? You’re having a good time? Susan, if ever you’re not, or you want to change your mind, that’s fine with me.”
“God no. I’m great as long as you’re great too!”
“So all is good,” I said. I felt relieved.
She finished dressing and looked wonderful. It was hot as blazes in that room, and I needed to pee. Susan directed me to their bath where I saw her lingerie hanging over the shower rod. I felt a little sting seeing it, and reflected over the “we” and “us” and “our” statements both Greg and Susan had used earlier. I decided it was a good “sting”, a bald recognition that my wife was now involved with another man. It coexisted with our marriage, as did my new situation with Marci, and best of all, it strengthened our marriage.
Marci had said she and I would be fine as long as I had Susan—who seemed to love me more than ever—and we’d just made love. Later, I may be making love to Marci too, possibly on the beach.
Indeed, everything was fine.
∞∞∞
“What are you having?” asked Marci, once our food arrived. “It looks like fried alien.”
“Fried octopus, actually.”
“Gross.” The waiter delivered her shrimp and chorizo kebabs without fanfare, and Marci dug into them like a ravenous lioness.
Greg, who had earlier demonstrated his fluency with Spanish, engaged the waiter in a broad discussion over his pozole. Susan beamed at him, marveling over his multilingual talents.
“I studied it for three years in high school,” said Marci, noting Greg’s conversation with the waiter. “I can’t say squat.”
“That would be agacharse, Marci,” said Greg, whose hearing proved to be excellent. “But that’s referring to actual squatting rather than a null property.”
“Huh?” replied Marci. The waiter seemed similarly confused, and Greg, while pointing at Marci, explained he was giving her a vocabulary lesson. The waiter nodded and left.
“So, Greg,” said Marci. “How much did that condo set you back?”
“Marci!” exclaimed Susan protectively.
“She’s thinking of buying a place here too,” I said.
“Half a million U.S.,” said Greg. “It’s an investment. I’ll use it during low-season, which is now, and rent it out the rest of the year. It’s basically a wash financially, plus it’s free lodging when I’m here.”
“You’re pretty smart with that stuff,” said Marci. “I need to manage my money better.”
“What do you do? It’s funny I don’t know that yet.”
“I own a string of meth labs.”
“A cash business, then. I’m sure it’s booming.”
“She’s an orthodontist, Greg,” said Susan. “She makes tons.”
“Ryan likes me to wear my lab coat when we ball, don’t you honey?” Marci gave me a naughty grin. I actually thought it was a good idea.
“That’s nice,” said Susan.
After a further discussion of real estate, with a brief detour into role-playing during sex, and Marci’s account of having put her hair into pigtails during our drive from Cancun, and her reason for doing so, our dinner was complete. This was quite a new world we were living in. There was no need for innuendo.
Susan suggested a short walk to a beach-side bar to top things off. It was a lively place. I felt there were more Americans than was really necessary, and the atmosphere was rowdy. It was nearing eleven, which is often a dangerous hour to engage a watering hole, especially when full of vacationers brimming with alcohol-induced free will. We scored a table near the stand-up bar and ordered a round of drinks.
“To vacations!” toasted Susan. We all drank. Both Susan and Marci represented the high-end of the women present, most of whom looked like they’d fallen through a wormhole connected to the Jersey Shore. One guy, who later proved to be a bloke because he was from Britain, proved to be obnoxious. Greg caught on to this too.
After a few more rounds I went to the restroom which involved a trek through black-leopard territory behind the bar, and when I returned, I couldn’t help but notice Greg kneeling over the obnoxious bloke, now on the floor. Greg’s knee was situated on his neck, suggesting I’d missed a brawl.
“Fuck, Ryan,” said Marci. “You missed it.”
“What?” It was clear enough I’d missed something.
“This guy came over and grabbed my tits. Greg nailed him. It was amazing!”
Several other bar patrons stepped in to assist Greg, who was now standing. The bloke, also now erect, was escorted forcefully out of the bar.
“Are you okay?” asked Greg, once he’d come over.
“Fuck yeah,” said Marci. “Jesus, you had that guy on the ground in no time. You’re my hero.”
“You wouldn’t have believed it, Ryan,” said Susan, now alongside. “Greg was like Superman. That guy was big.”
“It’s nothing,” said Greg, blushing boyishly. “He was too drunk to do anything.”
“What was that move, anyway?” asked Marci. “You, like, flipped him through mid-air.”
“Modified jiu-jitsu, I guess,” said Greg. “I was improvising.”
We regained our table and the waiter, full of apologies, cleaned up the mess caused by the scuffle and replenished our drinks “on the house”.
“You know jiu-jitsu?” I asked. “That takes a lot of training.”
“I’ve had my black belt for about five years now. I never thought I’d have to use it.”
“Jesus,” said Susan fawningly. “I’ve never seen anything like it outside of a movie.”
“I know,” said Marci. “I’m fucking impressed!”
I was sorry to have missed it. The multilingual, quite well off and handsome Greg, who possessed a large penis, was also a jiu-jitsu black belt and superhero. I felt diminished by these facts but elected not to get moody as well.
“I’m beat,” said Marci, after we finished our complimentary beverages. “It’s so tiring being the heroine in a bawdy bar brawl.”
We escape without further molestation to anyone in our party. After dropping Susan and Greg off at his fancy-pants, Vista Marítima condominium, we drove back to the hotel.
As was customary for any vacationing couple, one more top-off before bed sounded like a good idea, so we headed to the Mojito Bar for a nightcap. Chloe was seated on the customer side of the bar. In front of her was a frosty cocktail which hinted at being strongly flavored with rum. I thought it might be fun to tempt her with a fresh dose of Marci, so I steered us to the two empty stools beside her.
At first, Chloe didn’t recognize her good fortune, which suggested she was drunk. I’d never before encountered a drunk lesbian and thought it could be interesting. After some further non-recognition, I extended a greeting.
“Oh, there you are,” said Chloe. Her English was now heavily accented.
“Hi,” said Marci, thus compounding my greeting.
“You came back,” said Chloe, stating the obvious. “Oh, I mean—you looked so good in that suit! And here you are!”
“Thanks!” said Marci. She gave me a glance, assuring me she was up to speed on Chloe’s condition. “My husband loves it too. He said it makes him crazy.” This was true.
Chloe attempted to sort through whatever image my presence presented to her. “Oh, him.” She pointed with her index finger. “He looks okay.”
“Thank you so much for saying so!” said Marci, using a mock Southern Belle accent.
“He’s okay, I guess,” affirmed Chloe. She emptied her glass and twirled a finger in the air to suggest a refill was in order. The bartender, a young blonde woman, nodded. After some quick mixing and shaking, a fresh drink appeared. The bartender took our orders and was back in no time as we’d order mojitos.
“So,” asked Chloe. “Vacation, huh? I like...” She drifted before completing her sentence.
“Yes,” I said. “And you? You work here?”
“Me?” she asked, as if someone else had joined our conversation. “No. I’m off now. See? I’m sitting here now.”
“I see.”
“She’s so pretty,” said Chloe, who then looked at me. “Is she your wife? That’s okay.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Do you like girls?” She was now speaking to Marci. “I look at you and I’m thinking, oh yeah… You know?”
“Love ‘em,” said Marci. She turned to offer me a private wide-eyed look. I interpreted it as a “Can you believe this?” gesture.
“Me too,” said Chloe. “But he’s okay. I like men sometimes.”
After a few more volleys of increasingly severe miscomprehension, Marci and I stood to leave. Chloe, feeling she was now part of our party, also stood.
“Just give me a sec, okay?” She downed the rest of her drink. “Okay.”
“We’re just going to bed now,” I said.
“Okay.”
“I mean, we’re going alone.”
“Alone?”
“I mean, just the two of us.”
“Am I coming too?”
“No. But thanks anyway.”
“I don’t mind. You can fuck me too.”
“No, really. It’s not necessary.”
“Maybe later?” She regained her stool and waved for the bartender. “I’ll be here.”
∞∞∞
“That was crazy,” said Marci, once out of the bar area. “What a loon.”
“I know. I feel bad now. I shouldn’t have teased her.”
“I wondered what you were aiming for there.”
“Nothing, really. I just thought it would be fun. I’m sorry. It was a bit low-life of me.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining.”
“It was an interesting evening. First, you’re mauled in a bar, and then hit on by a lesbian. What’s it like being so popular?”
“You get used to it.”
Once in the room, Marci began tidying up. Neither of us had unpacked. Without asking, she aimed for my suitcase, emptied its contents into drawers and onto hangers, then took care of her own bag. It wasn’t her job to take care of my stuff, but I loved that she did. She truly was like a vacation wife. Susan would have done this too. She had probably unpacked for Greg.
Once satisfied with her tidy-up, Marci removed her dress and bra. She briefly massaged her breasts to welcome them to their new freedom and then looked indecisive.
“What?” I asked. “You seem suspended in thought.”
“I’m not sure which side of the bed you’ll want here.”
“I usually sleep on the right.”
“Yeah, that’s the door side.”
“You can have it.”
“That’s not it. You see, the balcony is on the other side.”
“So?” I wasn’t tuning into her dilemma. “What of it?”
“If someone breaks in, are they more likely to come through the door or the balcony?”
“I give up.”
“Seriously, Ryan! If I’m in a hotel, I can’t sleep on the intruder-side of the bed.”
“I’d say it’s a toss-up. If I were breaking in to rape someone, I’d probably come through the window, or in this case, the balcony.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“If you want, I’m sure I can get Chloe up here. Then you can have the middle. While the intruder is raping her, or me for that matter, you can escape.”
“You’re so funny, you know it? You should see what I put in my diary about you.”
“Take the balcony side. We’re two floors up.”
Marci pulled down the top sheet and paused. “I’m sexed out. Is that okay? Anyway, I know you banged your other wife tonight.”
I wondered if she would have assumed as much though we were only separated for fifteen minutes at best. For many married couples, five minutes would often suffice.
“You don’t mind, do you?” I asked. “It was unexpected.”
“God no. She’s your wife... Hey, do you care if I sleep in my panties? I wasn’t kidding when I said mom told us to always be wearing our panties. She didn’t let us sleep nude. She said only ‘racy’ girls slept that way.”
“I don’t mind at all.” I truly didn’t. I loved women in their panties, and perhaps even more than I loved them naked. It was definitely a thing for me.
She climbed into bed, laid flat on her back, and pulled the top-sheet to her waist. With a few final adjustments, she was set for the night, and padded the bed next to her, indicating I should join her.
“My mother told me to always brush my teeth before bed,” I said this in a holier-than-thou tone.
“Fuck, Ryan. Really? I just got settled.”
I went into the bathroom and she padded in behind me with her toiletry kit. “I’m not flossing.” She challenged me for sink space, even though there were two of them, and commenced brushing her teeth. She was rather robust in her movements, which set her breasts to swinging back and forth. Noticing my stare, she crossed an arm over herself feigning modesty, spit, and returned to the bed. I tidied up the sink and joined her in bed, leaving my briefs on.
As I settled in she leaned over me and exhaled a large volume of peppermint flavored vapors.
“See,” she said. “I’ve been a good girl, Daddy.”
“Oh, please. Don’t go there... I already feel a bit slummy after that scene with Chloe.”
She returned her head to her pillow. “God, I know. I feel sorry for her.”
“Why?”
“Living that kind of life, scoring lonely women she’ll never see again. It gives me the creeps. Plus, her mouth is probably a nursery for trichomonas, that and a dozen other STDs.”
“Yikes.”
“I know.”
“Again, I’m sorry I engaged her. It was my fault.”
“She started it.” I knew Marci was referring to our first stop at the bar that afternoon.
“I guess so.”
“To be honest, I was afraid you wanted me to hook up with her.”
“No, that wasn’t where I was aiming at all.” It really wasn’t, though the idea of her with another woman was not void of interest, and by “another woman”, I knew I meant Susan. My mind retreated to the tongue/salsa incident for a quick refresher. Yes, there was something about her being with Susan that excited me.
“I’m not saying I wouldn’t do it, I mean, for you, if you really wanted me to. But please, not some barfly.”
“I would never propose such a thing.”
“Do you mean a barfly or another woman?”
“Neither, not that I mind the idea of you being with another woman. I wouldn’t feel threatened. But certainly not a pickup in a bar.”
“What about Susan?”
That caught me off guard even though it had just been on my mind. I wasn’t sure how to respond so I let it hang in the air.
“I mean, I could see it with Susan,” continued Marci. “I think there’s something there.”
“How do you mean?”
