Longboat Key, A Weekend Sail


I turned into the driveway. The grass was showing brown spots in 
spite of my best efforts.  Linda’s flowers, always under attack 
by her enemy -- the snails—seemed to be holding their own. I had 
pleasant thought of a grand bottle of Pinot Noir saved for just 
such a Friday night. There was a strange car parked behind my 
wife’s Mercedes.

Walking into the house, I spotted a large note was taped to the 
banister, positioned so I would not have the excuse—I didn’t see 
it.  All husbands know that stairway and hall notes are  more 
serious than refrigerator notes.  Refrigerator notes mean weekend 
jobs; stairway notes indicate a meaningful discussion in the 
offing.  Faint voices filtered down from our upstairs bedroom.  I 
had forgotten –the car in the driveway.  Linda's voice lifted in 
laughter.

On the first step sat an ice bucket. Next to it a tumbler with an 
already mixed martini, a shaker and stemmed glass containing a 
single olive composed a small cluster. A few steps up lay a man’s 
shirt, then a pair of pants. Higher still, men’s underwear draped 
the top tread. The note with a large arrow pointing upstairs 
read-- "I've been planning this for some time.  I love you."  
Linda's laugh rang louder than before--she was obviously enjoying 
something—someone?

I'd been a faithful husband, and I always assumed the same of 
her. Our sex life had been outstanding in the early years, but 
predictably we'd settled into a comfortable routine. About a year 
ago, we purchased some fun sex-advice books and tried games and 
role-playing.  She'd been the hooker in the hotel. I starred as 
the pool cleaner boy, and we had had sex on the beach in 
Clearwater. All was pretty tame stuff for 20 years.  But this? 
Linda knew I would be home at this hour. We'd discussed swinging 
or involving a third person, always philosophically or jokingly.   
At least, I thought we were joking.


Upstairs, beyond the jockey shorts, the laughter stopped and a 
nice pair of female legs, wearing heals, appeared on the landing—
they weren’t my wife’s.  A female?  There’s three of them?  I 
froze, but deep in my Dockers, ole Bearegard awoke and began to 
raise his head.  The legs descended the stairs.

“Hello idiot.”  It was my sister-in-law Alice.  Beau relaxed.

“Your car?”

“Yes Steve, I just bought it on the way back from work and 
brought it by to show Linda.  We were upstairs looking at your 
new bedspread and curtains.”  She looked at the note, the martini 
glass and the spread of clothes and smiled, “Guess it's time for 
me to leave, Studly.”  We pecked cheeks as she departed.

 Halfway up the stairs was another note.  "Hope you like the 
clothes. Enjoy your martini. Use the guest bathroom. I'm under 
construction, beginning transformation to the goddess of love. 
Cocktails at 7:30 by the pool. P.S. If you can manage, the steak 
you marinated is in the refrigerator, and if your delicate male 
hands can cope, the lettuce for the salad needs shredding.”

I picked up the clothes.  Yes, sale tags attached in case I 
didn’t like them—I always did.  Twenty years of marriage had 
taught me to wear whatever was on the bed (or stairway) to avoid 
the subtle hints that always lead to the inevitable wardrobe 
change.

Later, showered and dressed, I went to the kitchen.  We both like 
to cook, so that morning I marinated a steak with my favorite 
combination of two parts whiskey, one part soy sauce and a 
portion of Dijon mustard.   (Once a week we deviate from the damn 
diet and have real food)  I shredded the lettuce and took the 
steaks to the grill. Sitting by the pool, I read the newspapers 
and sipped another martini. My computer-like mind booted, and I 
reviewed the day.  The office information system was driving us 
all crazy.  Routers wouldn’t route, bridges wouldn’t bridge and 
the back up server was acting strangely. I pushed the thoughts 
from my mind and concentrated on the martini.

Linda entered the pool area at 7:30.  I powered down computer-
mind  and was reminded how pretty she is.  At 41, she is still 
gorgeous with short red hair, blue eyes and a smile that could 
dazzle any man into submission.   Unlike most redheads, she has 
no freckles, and her skin is as smooth as the day I met her. 
She'd recently gone on a six-month diet (read, we went on a diet) 
and she looked stunning.  

“Ready useless man?”

“Of course my love.”

We had cocktails and talked of anything except work.  I peeked 
down her top.  Linda is a classy woman who never dresses in 
anything trashy, although I like trashy.  But tonight, she had on 
a long green skirt with a slightly lower décolletage than usual.  
It’s the type of dress she usually only wears at home for me, 
although it’s perfectly suitable anywhere in Tampa. She caught me 
looking and did her fake, “watch it buddy routine.”  But, I 
always figure if women dress like that; you're supposed to look.  
It's all the more fun when they show up  “on display” and get 
huffy when you glance into the valley.  Anyway, I enjoyed peeking 
and she enjoyed showing.  In my pants, Beauregard shifted.

Linda produced the California Pinot Noir. I stepped to the grill, 
threw the steaks and listened to the satisfying sizzle. After 
dinner, I was completely at ease. Thoughts of the office banned 
from memory, the wine danced on my tongue, the meal had been 
delicious, my wife captivating, the world perfect-------

“Honey can we talk?”

Oh hell, meaningful discussion. I turned on computer-mind and 
stumbled through a number of intricate scenarios—it wasn’t her 
birthday, not mothers day, I had said nothing bad about her 
mother…

Seeing my face she laughed, “Don’t worry it isn’t one of those 
talks.”

I relaxed and let computer-mind wander to the pool pump, that had 
been acting strangely lately.  Maybe if I changed the seal…

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes honey.”

“What was I saying?”

‘Uh.”

Rolling her eyes she continued,  “I was saying, do you remember 
Maggie Schmetterling?”

Computer-mind searched my data banks.  Maggie Schmetterling was a 
cool, efficient, but good looking woman that my wife used to work 
with. We had been very good friends for years with her and her 
husband Roger.  Maggie always seemed secure in her role as high-
powered executive, complete with protective shell.  Efficient, 
direct, in charge, she had all the assets that marked her as an 
up-and-coming person. (Speaking of assets, computer mind dug into 
the archives and remembered she also had a great ass, but that 
was a hidden file and not to be displayed at this delicate 
moment.)  Roger and I partnered many times at charity golf events 
and had been quite good friends. 

“Yes, but it's been some time since we saw them.” 

“Well as you remember, she and Roger moved to the Fort Lauderdale 
office last year.”

My mind returned to the pump seal.  Just to be cautious, I 
directed a subsystem routine to monitor Linda’s comments.

“She and I ran into each other at the convention last week in 
Miami and spent some time together.  We had lots to talk about.”

Computer-mind centered on the pump’s main seal.

“Do you really love me?”

Alarm bells, code red--I'm fully alert now, “Honey, you know I 
do.” 

“I want you to promise to still love me, after I make the next 
statement.”

This, of course, is one of those no-win situations husbands 
dread.  “I will, I will.”

“I never thought I would be saying this, but Maggie and I had too 
much wine one night, and we sort of discussed our sex lives, and 
well, we both thought it would be sort of fun if the two couples 
sort of took a uh ‘adult’ weekend sail.”  She picked up some 
dishes and quickly went to the kitchen.

Adult weekend sail?  What the hell does that mean?  Adult weekend 
sail? .  I switched on computer-mind and thought of Maggie.  
Tall, dark hair, she had blue eyes that looked right through you.   
But then there was that good body, long legs all assets.  On the 
other hand, hair perfectly coifed, tailor made business suits, 
executive bearing, large strong husband, there were plenty of 
deficits to ponder.  Then computer-mind came up with the answer; 
there is more than one meaning to adult.

Linda returned with coffee, and sat quietly.  Switching off 
computer-mind, I ventured “By sort of adult, you mean no kids.”

“No, I mean sex with them.”

I missed the table with my glass, spilled a ruby dollop of Pinot 
Noir on my pants and spent a minute with a napkin moping my lap. 

“You two did drink a lot of wine.”

“Sure, but you do like the idea, don’t you?”  As usual, my 
computer security system failed and she could read my mind.  
“We’ve talked about it before, and so did Maggie and Roger.  We 
compared notes, and it seems safer to find a couple that doesn't 
live in the same town.  It’s not like meeting strangers, since 
we’ve known them so long.   I checked with her, and we both have 
an open weekend in May.”

There is one thing for sure about my wife.  She’s often slow to 
take to new things, but when she does embrace a new idea, sport 
or activity she goes all the way.  She hated snow skiing.  But, 
setting her mind to it, she practiced and became better than I. 
The same holds true for sailing, our latest passion.  When I 
purchased my first boat, a Catalina 22, she was terrified when 
the boat first heeled.   But soon, she got completely into the 
sport, and I couldn’t keep her out of the boat.  Now, we own a 
40-foot Beneteau named "Hammerhead," or at least the bank owns 
it. 

She's also an inveterate planner.  Checklists, how to books, 
videos, discussions with her sisters are all standard practice 
for any of her endeavors.  I love sailing for the challenge, the 
navigation problems, the wind, the sea and the topless women.  
Linda is the brains who makes sure we have exquisitely planned 
meals, an itinerary within reason and all the proper guide books, 
towels, sheets, etc. on board. 

In other words, she had the weekend planned.  I thought about 
Maggie’s nice rear end, but caution prevailed. 

“Well, I guess.” 

Computer-mind turned to Roger--damn he’s big. One day, while he 
was putting, I'd noticed how large his hands were. We played well 
together and with his massive hands and big wrists he appeared to 
lazily stroke the ball off the tee for routine drives well over 
220 yards.  But he couldn’t putt, and I can.   His hands just 
never seemed to cooperate as his putting stroke consisted of 
stabbing vainly at the ball.  I remembered the old locker room 
bromide--big hands or feet mean a big cock. Of course there isn’t 
any truth to those old sayings—I think. 

 Linda broke the silence, “I’m really not sure about all this, I 
just brought it up to talk, you're not upset are you? After all 
you started this." 

"Me?  I was just sitting here enjoying my wine."

"Yes but, you were the first to bring up the subject about a year 
ago." True to form, just when I thought I knew where we were 
heading, she did a 180-degree turn and left me hanging.

“Well, it's an interesting thought—let’s think it over and come 
to a rational decision.”  Which is always a good way to stall.

So, we spent a week rationalizing, meaning the first three days, 
we acted like the question hadn’t come up.  Then we talked around 
it—careful never to close on the actual issue. We had discussed 
sex with others, mostly as a joke. We both agreed, just for 
discussion purposes, of course, that cheating was bad because it 
way lying.  Swinging was in a different category, since all 
involved know what's going on. After all, the whole point is a 
little sexual experimentation for fun, which has nothing to do 
with love. Linda had never exactly never actually agreed to the 
last two last statements.  But, she hadn't disagreed either.

The next Friday, as we left for work, she said, “I told Maggie we 
would call her tonight, so I guess we better make a decision.”  
Oh crap, I thought, a real test of “husbandmanship.”  I spent the 
day acting like I was listening to the young computer whizzes 
explain our latest configuration problem.

By cocktails that evening, I had my plan.  We were enjoying an 
excellent Mosel  from my favorite wine stube on the  Saar -- 
“Honey it’s decision time.”

“Yes,” she looked worried. “you first”

I’ve been down the “you first” trap before, no dice this time.  I 
handed her a piece of paper. “You write down what you want to do, 
and I’ll do the same.  Then we'll hand the notes to each other 
and read them aloud.”  She frowned, but took her slip and the pen 
I offered.  Aware of her trickery, I added, “No ambivalent 
statements.  You either write—I want to sleep with Roger, or I do 
not want to sleep with Roger.  On second thought, I always hated 
that word sleep.  It’s either I want to have sex with Roger, or I 
do not want to have sex with Roger.  I’ll do the same.  Agreed.”

“Check”

With a studious, look she wrote on the paper, folded it in half 
and handed it to me.  I did the same.

“Ok ,”she said, “ for once, me first.”  She opened my slip and 
read, “I want to have sex with Maggie.”   She looked up, and to 
avoid her gaze, I looked down to read her answer, “Can we make 
this decision later?”

“Damn, you did it to me again.”

She grabbed her slip back, wrote more and handed it to me.  “So 
sorry, I want very much to do it with Roger.”

“Do it?”

“What happened to the rule.”

“I followed it.”

“Is do it, sex?”

“Yea”

“You’re sure this is all ok?”

“It’s fine.”

“So, you like Roger?”

“He's so cute, I always want to pat his head, except I can’t 
reach it.”

“Roger turns you on?”

“Well, just a little?”

“What’s just a little?”

“Well, we sort of danced at one of the office parties once.  And 
I was, sort of, thinking, what I would do if he, sort of, tried 
to kiss me.  But he’s so nice he would never try that.”

“And you, sort of, hoped he would?”

“Sort of.”

“And what would you have done if he had, sort of, tried to kiss 
you?”

“I would've let him.  Nobody, except you, has tried to kiss me 
for a long time.  Does this upset you?”

“No, not talking about it.”

“If I had let him kiss me, and later told you and even said I 
encouraged and kissed him back, what  would you say?”  

“I’m not sure.  Did he kiss you?”

“We went around a corner and were out of sight.  I enjoyed it, so 
I kissed him back. It was fun.”

She watched me, “ So, it does turn you on, I can see it.”

“Well, uhhh not really.  Did you make this up?”

“No----------------------Yes, you’re so easy.” 

My head spinning, I thought of Roger kissing her, but then he 
really hadn’t--- then I thought of Maggie. I felt a rustling in 
my pants, ole Beau put in a vote. 

The two weeks before the sail were nerve testers.  I had some 
second thoughts, but the visions of what must be under Maggie’s 
tailored suits pushed them away.  At least I think there’s a real 
woman under those clothes. 

Again, I thought of the stupid old golf joke. I wondered exactly 
how big is Roger's "putter?" But then, I'm not sure how long my 
putter is either.  In a ridiculous moment one evening, I decided 
to measure ole Beau.  Now, getting hard was easy as a teen.  Just 
saying the word “girl” out loud did the trick.  But at 42, it 
required some stimulation.  I dragged out our only porn movie. (A 
real camp piece called Flesh Gordon.) So all six feet, two 
hundred pounds of me stood in front of the TV, putter at hand.  
Sometime after a flock of "Penisaurus's", controlled by the evil 
Emperor Wang, attacks Flesh and Dale, Beau got the idea and rose 
majestically.  Unable to find a ruler, I took up my trusty, 
yellow, retractable-tape measure.  Where the hell does one 
measure, I thought, on the top or the bottom?  I laid the cool 
metal atop Beau and eased the metal head into my stomach to 
obtain the maximum possible results.  Unfortunately, I also 
accidentally pressed the retract button. The metal clip on the 
tape caught Beau’s head and the pain caused him to drop 
immediately for cover.  Somehow, I lost interest at this point.

The day before the sail, Linda was going crazy over the details 
of boat supplies, food, and water. I inventoried the rum and beer 
supplies and packed my bag.  Minutes later, she unpacked my bag 
and threw all my underwear in the drawer. Back in went recently 
purchased, brand-new underwear.  They were washed, of course, as 
there is some rule, known only to females, that one can't wear 
things straight out of the plastic wrap. She gave the 
explanation, “Well, you never know. I want you to look good.”

On the day of the sail, we went to the boat early and later 
watched Roger and Maggie walk down the dock.  Maggie was 
perfectly dressed as always--every hair in place, color 
coordinated outfit, matching bag, expensive shoes, her manner 
regal. In spite of her dark hair and tanned skin, she looks like 
an “Ice Queen” I thought.   I, on the other hand, felt a bit 
shabby in my worn boat shoes and khaki shorts, but I was sporting 
a set of my spanking new underwear. 

Ice Queen’s stride was purposeful, direct and strong.  She 
carried her own bag.  Ambling next to her was all six feet three 
of Roger; his graying brown hair blowing in the wind. He was 
obviously in a mood for a sail, as I saw him check the direction 
of the flags on the marina building, glance at the wind arrow 
atop our mast then slowly lower his gaze to Linda.  His handsome 
face broke into a smile, and beside me, I could almost feel her 
melt. Ice Queen exhibited a dazzling smile and her blue eyes 
sparkled.  She extended a hand with manicured nails. “So good to 
see you again.”  It was high tide, so I pulled her up to the 
deck.  Next Roger reached up, damn what massive paws that bastard 
has. But what the hell, he can’t putt.

On Tampa Bay,  “Hammerhead,” handled superbly.  Both Roger and 
Maggie are good sailors, so the four of us made a smooth series 
of tacks to the Skyway Bridge.  The heading changed into the 
wind, and we turned on the “iron genny” (motor) and made the Gulf 
at the head of Tampa Bay.  Turning south, we settled in for a 
long beam reach towards Longboat Key.  Sailing conditions were 
perfect, and we managed to engage in a number of matches with 
other boats.  “Ice Queen” was coolly efficient and paid strict 
attention to sail trim.  After two hours in the wind, her hair 
was fashionably mussed, but still stylish.  She changed into a 
conservative one-piece suit, and her lithe body showed the hours 
she spent in the gym.  Beau did note the outline of  nipples 
protruding from her small breasts.

On the other hand, Linda with hair flying wore my favorite 
bikini.  When she turned the winch, the muscles in her back 
flexed, her breasts spilled over the top and an occasional half a 
nipple showed.  Soon, sweat built up from exertion molding her 
suit to her pretty cheeks. Ole Beau constantly checked both women 
and was "a little stiff" all day.  The four of us worked the boat 
extremely well, and the joy of a good wind made the day 
memorable.   Roger was as good-natured as ever and kept the beer 
coming.  Ice Queen worked hard during sail changes and perfectly 
popped the spinnaker during a crucial turn in a match with the 
crew of a Hunter.  I almost hated to see the day end, as the beer 
was cold, the women beautiful the wind a steady 15 knots.  What 
else could a man ask for.

We made Longboat key and navigated the difficult channel under 
the draw bridge.  A few miles down the intercoastal waterway we 
arrived at the Pirate's Inn, a waterside motel- nightclub, 
restaurant complex.  Normally, we would have anchored and slept 
on the boat, but this was not a "normal" trip.  The Pirate's Inn 
is a favorite of the locals and boaters, as it has deep-water 
slips, good food and entertainment.  We pulled into our slot, 
secured the boat and went to the front desk. Both Roger and I 
pulled out our credit cards and filled out the registration 
forms.  Then  grabbing two of the luggage carts with wheels that 
never work (how could we have this much for an overnight trip?)  
we all went to our rooms.  I struggled with the damn credit card 
key and finally got the door open.  Once inside, I turned and 
looked at the Ice Queen.  

“Well, let’s unpack, change and go for drinks.”  The efficient 
businesswoman began to organize the room.  With my wife this 
process was all second nature, but with Ice Queen, several 
important decisions had to be made--one drawer for her, one for 
me and one for dirty clothes.  Lastly, a delicate discussion 
ensued as to the all important-- which side of the bed do you 
prefer, so as to know where to put little stuff like car keys, 
wallet and purse.  We solved these vexing situations, all the 
while chattering like this was a normal motel check-in.

I stood for a moment. I was in a hotel with another woman, and my 
wife was next door with her husband.  I saw Maggie bend over to 
put clothes in the lower drawer, Beau moved—I moved quickly.

I showered and changed, while she busied herself in the living 
room and wandered on the balcony.  Then she changed, and on 
schedule we walked down the hall to the bar. We'd accomplished 
everything in a nonchalant manner without actually  “seeing 
anything.”  As I followed Ice Queen down the stairs, I noted that 
she looked damn good in a long, black dress belted at the waist. 
Of course, it was buttoned to her neck. In spite of the modest 
outfit, Beau stiffened. Christ I thought, just like high school.  
The lump in my pants must have been visible even to NASA through 
satellite imagery.  I imagined a “woddie alert” deep in Cheyenne 
Mountain as military brass contemplated the potential threat. 

When Linda entered the room, I saw she was wearing the same green 
dress that was usually  worn only at home for me.  She looked 
wonderful. Roger guided her to the table, and we all stopped.  
None of us were sure of protocol between two couples that later 
planned to jump in the sack with the opposite spouse. I kissed 
Linda’s cheek and Roger Ice Queen’s, just like we were not 
married to the opposite person, or married to…  whatever.  Ice 
Queen slipped in the booth, and I sat next to her.

Dinner was my favorite a lightly breaded Florida grouper.  
Unfortunately, Maggie chose the wine. Linda and I looked at each 
other for an instant as she ordered a California Gewvrtramier, 
far too sweet for our taste. I asked for french-fries with my 
fish, and Linda, for once, seemed too engrossed with table 
conversation to mention the fat content. The four of us talked 
about sailing.  I sampled the wine and found it softly sweet, 
with silky pear and spice flavors.   However, it was difficult to 
concentrate as I looked across at my wife sitting next to Roger.  
I marveled at the erotic situation.  Later, we lingered over 
after- dinner drinks.  Jealous, I watched Linda and Roger turn to 
each other, share jokes and touch.  At one point, I was sure he 
was fee;omg her leg under the table.  I could tell she enjoyed 
it. 

Ice Queen and I talked politics.  I always loved her quick 
intelligence.  Unfortunately, we agreed on most positions and the 
conversation was uninspired. I was beginning to feel a bit 
insecure over my seduction techniques, especially after an errant 
french-fry managed to leap off my fork and stain my shorts. 
(Hopefully not leaking through and ruining my second pair of new 
jockey shorts.)  She and I managed to sit through dinner, crammed 
into a small booth and never actually come in contact, not even 
our elbows.    I felt as inept as when I used to ogle my English 
teacher in eighth grade.
 
After dinner, we went into the bar.  The DJ was quite good the 
dance floor crowded. Roger and Linda were soon dancing. I racked 
my brain for a cool comment.  I wondered if I should just be bold 
and put my arm around her.  I did neither. After all, I reasoned, 
I'm just a little out of practice. A couple of times I saw 
Roger’s hand on Linda's rear. Once during a slow dance, I caught 
her surreptitiously exploring his zipper.  

What the hell, I asked Ice Queen to dance and she accepted.  We 
danced , but didn't actually touch.  We mostly stuck to the fast 
ones. Our only slow dance was a difficult affair as she 
demonstrated excellent dancing skills, and I concentrated on 
keeping my big feet off her sandals. We continued our political 
chatter. We rehashed Watergate, Irangate and Whitewater gate.  
Then, I cleverly steered the conversation to Monicagate, thinking 
a discussion of whether oral sex is really sex would lead 
to...something.  It didn’t.  We both agreed that oral sex was sex 
and that “is” means “is.” She began a discussion of eroding 
federalism, a subject I normally love, but not tonight.

Linda got us all together, and the four of us walked out to look 
at the boats.
 
“So, is Maggie your real name or a nickname?” Another really 
clever conversation starter, I reasoned.

She didn’t answer, but Roger turned and said, “It’s short for 
Magnolia.” 

Daggers jumped from her eyes. She stuttered, “I’m from Georgia 
and my mother liked the trees, and well, I hate it, please don’t 
tell anyone.”   She looked at me imploringly. At last, a chink in 
Ice Queen’s armor.  I took her hand.  "Don’t worry, I have a 
really bad memory."  She smiled, and I felt a little thaw as we 
walked in the moonlight. Our shoulders actually touched for the 
first time that evening. Linda and Roger took a different path 
and went towards the opposite end of the wharf, ostensibly to 
inspect a large ketch.

It was late, when we returned to the room.   The light was on 
under the door to Roger and Linda’s room, so I knew they had beat 
us back.

In the suite, I uncorked a bottle of champagne.  Maggie stood and 
watched, then held out her glass and took a large sip. For once, 
she looked a little lost.   The Ice Queen had disappeared, and I 
had to admit I missed her.  Intelligent, strong women turn me on.  
That’s why I married Linda.   Besides I really didn’t want to 
hurt Maggie. 

 “Nervous?”

“Yes, very much. I‘ve always known exactly what to do since I was 
a little girl, but now…”

“I’ll tell you a secret, I’m so on edge that I think my legs are 
going to collapse.”

“Thanks for admitting that.  Most men would have played the macho 
role.  I was afraid you were going to grab me.  Then I would have 
done something stupid like knee you in the balls.  That would've 
ruined everything.”

“Definitely.” I conceded the point.  

“I decided to this first, because you're cute and uh well uh, a 
nice person. (Whew, good to hear that part.)  But I'm making such 
as mess of it all.  I just can’t handle sex stuff.  I feel so 
sorry for Roger sometimes. It’s just that I'm not good in bed.  
Never could relax.  I don’t even have an excuse, like I was 
molested or beaten as a child.  I had wonderful parents.  Since I 
was little, I wanted to be perfect; people’s opinions mattered so 
much.  Sex interfered with my idea of perfection.  I think it’s 
because I have to rely on someone else. I guess it is something 
in the female physic or maybe it's just me.   Now my butt is 
getting too big...poor Roger I never really let myself go.  He 
never has too much fun with sex, with me, I think.  As for oral 
sex, I just don't know what to do to make it right."

Always looked simple to me, I couldn’t see how she could do that 
wrong.  But then, I've never been in that--position.

“Let’s face it” she continued, “I'm what you guys call a lousy 
lay.   I hope he has a good time tonight, Linda is so much fun 
that….   Uh, I guess you didn’t exactly want to hear that,” she 
looked crestfallen and averted my gaze.

I thought, well if I know Miss Efficiency, she will have Roger’s 
pants down around his knees by now.  “Not really, I hope both of 
them have a good time.  We've been married a long time.  Roger is 
a nice guy, and she's a fun loving person.  This is all to have a 
little recreational sex fun.  I hope they do.” I guessed that 
sounded good to her.  I was a little unsure myself.

“You're so mature and fun about these things, I wish I was,” she 
said quietly. Anyway, most of this started when I was about 10.  
Somehow, I got the idea in my head that I had to do everything 
right.  Now, everyone’s definition of what is right is different. 
So, I had some long talks with my friend Sue and she said…

Damn, all this talk—not even a  banister note to start it off.  
Computer-mind switched to the problem of the pool pump seal maybe 
if I just lubricated it, the seal would …

She looked up.  “I’m sorry, I’m going on. What do we do now?”

I thought of the comfortable bed or the couch.  Maybe I should 
give up now and get a good nights sleep.  Instead, I turned on 
the radio to a soft rock station.  I thought of how much fun 
Linda and Roger were probably having, perhaps just behind my head 
through the wall separating our rooms. Then, the sex book Linda 
and I had used came to computer-mind. Beau urged me on.  “Do you 
have any fantasies or dreams?  They don’t have to be sexual ones, 
just something to talk about."

“Well, I always wanted to be a professional dancer.” I saw her 
hips swing a little to the music.   "I took ballet for years and 
some interpretive dancing techniques classes as an undergraduate.  
Everyone said I was good and should go pro. Even my mother said 
to me one time…

“Then dance,” I interrupted, turning up the sound.  She was quite 
good, as I had learned on the dance floor. She smiled and seemed 
to relax.  Thankful that I was no longer her dance partner, 
stumbling around the room, I watched as she went from tune to 
tune, non-stop

I could see she was lost in thought and smiling to herself.  What 
the hell? Go for broke, “You‘re a good dancer, ever have a 
fantasy about being a stripper?”  I saw her eyes widen.

“And I thought you were a nice man.”

Strike now man-- my computer-mind booted and kicked me. I turned 
on the radio to a hard rock, oldies station and upped the volume.   
In an exaggerated Southern accent (which isn’t altogether fake),  
“Honey, I just blew into town, got a pocket full of money, let 
the show begin.”  A staged, sexy smile broke on her face; she 
began to really get into it.  I sat, glad to relieve my knees and 
to shift Beau now paying strict attention. The new station played 
all music with no commercials.  After the second dance, Maggie 
was still dressed.

“Take it off Baby.”   

“I can’t.”

“Hey $10 if you will at least unbutton a few on the top.”

“I guess it’s ah-- a little severe, I can do that.”  The damn 
dress was still buttoned to her neck.  She unfastened the top 
three buttons, exposing at least three inches of skin.  I've seen 
more at a funeral.  I put ten bucks on the coffee table.

She danced away, smiling and happy.  “This is so fun, I love to 
dance.”  I loved watching.  She was having trouble with the tight 
bottom of the dress and paused.  “Don’t get too excited, but I 
have to do some modifications.”  Bending over she pulled up the 
dress , then ripped the seam.  When she dropped the hem, I could 
see that the slit now went most of the way up her hip.  “Oops, 
looks like I overdid that.”

Free of the skirt’s confinement, she continued.

“Babydoll, how about  $10 for a lap dance?” It couldn’t hurt to 
ask.

“Technically speaking, exactly how does that work?  I’ve imagined 
all sorts of things.”

“Dance real close to the customer.  Put your ass over his lap, or 
shake your tits in his face. You just can’t touch the customer or 
you’ll get arrested.” 

“I wonder if Roger knows about these things?” 

“I wouldn’t think so,” remembering the ‘Tits are Us” club, or 
whatever the name of the place was he and I patronized a couple 
of times after golf.

 She moved closer, positioned her ass just above my lap and 
gyrated.  It was all I could do not to grab. “Ok buddy stand by 
for the boob thing,” she turned, placed her hands on the arms of 
the chair and shook her breasts in my face.  "I guess I wouldn’t 
be such a bad stripper.”

“Except you’ve got all your damn clothes on.  Another $10 for 
more buttons.”

She undid the next four or five, and her dress was open to the 
belt.  As she swung around the room to the music, I strained to 
look inside, but the stupid flaps remained mostly closed.

“Come here Babe.”  She danced forward, and I stuffed $20 in her 
belt.  “For the belt, gorgeous.”  She pulled it off and threw it 
at me.

Now the dress was open, and I could see her black bra.  I 
exaggerated my efforts to look between the flaps. I could see her 
watching my eyes.

“Got another $20 big boy?”  Luckily, I carry a lot of cash when 
sailing.  I stuffed it in the top of her bra.  Beau was going 
mad.
 
She flashed a wonderful imitation of a professional stripper’s 
garish smile and unbuttoned the dress all the way to the bottom. 
As she turned to the music, the dress opened. She was wearing a 
black bra, and the amazing kind of stockings that somehow hold 
themselves up at mid thigh. And, I’ll be damned, no panties. At 
dinner she had sat, watching her husband play with my wife legs, 
while waiting for me “Joe Cool” to make a move--Idiot. 

The next song must have been a favorite, as she really got into 
it.  The dress was not covering anything, and as it swung; it 
knocked things off tables. She dropped it.  Unattainable just 
minutes ago, she now danced almost naked. I poured another glass 
of Champagne, toasted myself and took out another bill.

When she came closer, I slipped a $20 into her left stocking. She 
pulled off the bra and danced on.  Three songs later, she seemed 
in a trance, as if I wasn't in the room.  Her long legs and 
little boobs bouncing around were driving me crazy.  I conferred 
with Beau, and we both began to plan a next move.

For once I thought faster than Beau,“Yo babe, when do you go off 
shift?’  That sounded like a pretty good line, I thought.

“Hold your horses stud, us working ladies have to finish our 
shift.”

She moved to the back of the couch and began to grind her hips 
against the backrest.  I noticed—Holy shit, her hair is messed 
up.  I threw out more bills.

Beau was thinking  unspeakable thoughts, as Maggie leaned further 
over the couch.   Her face all smiles, she wiggled her butt, to 
tease the two of us gaping from the chair.  Then sticking out her 
tongue,  “Hey studmuffin I'm off shift.  Now that I’ve thoroughly 
embarrassed myself, how about coming over here before I rape this 
couch.”

I sprang up, ripped off my shirt and pulled down my pants.  Beau, 
not quite so nimble, had  wormed , no pythoned his way through 
the funny little hole (that nobody uses) in my new, sparking-
white underwear (that nobody's noticed.) He (I) yelped as I 
pulled him free.  Stupidly, not having taken off my shoes first, 
my pants caught on my boat shoes. I had to pull them up and start 
again.  Maggie didn't miss a beat as she continued to assault the 
couch, while waiting for her Casanova.  Luckily, she had not 
given up in disgust and gone to bed, but collapsed on the 
backrest laughing. I followed Beau to the couch and prepared to 
kiss her neck, and whisper something cool in her ear. 

She put her finger to her lip.  “No, stupid lines.  You’ve got to 
work on your pick up routines anyway. Remember I agreed to this; 
we’re here for the sex part.  Umph, what’s that?” 

It was Beau of course. He had slipped up against her cheeks, 
hoping no one would notice.  She did.  Her hand moved behind me, 
grabbed Beau and slowly eased him forward.  He glided into the 
smooth valley…

"Ow, no wrong place.  A little lower…yes, there." Beau slipped in 
helped by her warm hand. Damn it felt good.

 “Womph,” I heard her moan through clenched teeth, “That was the 
best thing I've done all day, outside the perfect spinnaker set, 
of course.”  Loud panting followed and every muscle in her body 
tensed, then relaxed.

Studmuffin is right, I congratulated myself.  In for less than 30 
seconds, and she's already had an orgasm.  Then I noticed that, 
while I was my usual cool, calm and collected self, the always-
excitable Beau was having too good a time.  He was in danger of 
ruining the evening--shall we say prematurely.  I booted 
computer-mind and ran over some of the finer points of sailboat 
racing rules. Beau managed to regain his composure.


“This couch is killing me, get up”

She moved through the doors to the balcony; then bent over the 
railing with breasts exposed to the world (and maybe that 
satellite).  “How about here, I always wanted to be brave enough 
to do this.”

I moved behind her and enjoyed the perfect view of Maggie’s 
pretty ass, back and head with the sailboat basin beyond.  I 
reached forward and cupped her breasts and felt her relax against 
me.  Slowly I began to reenter her each inch, feeling….

"Oh god, there's two people looking at us," I heard her panicky 
voice as below, a young couple rounded a corner and smiled at the 
two of us entangled on the balcony.

"Let em watch, I love…

"But they can see me naked and what you are doing, and oh, this 
is exciting isn't it?"

I rolled her nipples between my fingers. The couple stopped and 
he put his arms around her as they smiled up at us.

"I can't believe I'm doing this and I like it," I heard Maggie 
say almost to herself.  I began to rock in and out of her. She 
responded by rotating her hips.  I cupped her breasts, and I 
heard her moan as the man blew a kiss.

"I'm sorry  I love it, but this is all I can take." Maggie  
wiggled off Beau and turned to the room, "More champagne."   


Inside, she moved to the wet bar, “Maybe up here?”  She sat on 
the counter and held out her glass.  “Don’t stop, sorry I am such 
a chicken, but this is turning out to be more fun than I 
imagined.”

The bar was too high and Beau  too low. I grabbed a stack of 
books off the coffee table and stacked them on the floor.  
Standing on copies of “Attractions at Longboat Key” and “Your 
Guide to Fine Dining on the Florida West Coast” the angle changed 
and Beau gained the correct position for reentry. “Very 
innovative, if there is a horny boy, there is a way,” she 
laughed.

 As I went back into her, she made a series of loud noises and 
hard breathing and had a second loud orgasm.  Her hand shook and 
spilled champagne. "Oh, look at that, I spilled  all over my 
boobs.  Don't suppose you would help me out Steve." A true 
southern gentleman, I gallantly lapped the liquid off her 
nipples. Amazingly, I found that champagne improves when licked 
off pretty breasts.  I filed this factoid in computer-mind for 
later analysis and sucked Maggie’s entire breast in my mouth. I 
had brief thought of the bottle of aged, Port stashed at home, 
and how delicious it would be licked off my wife's nipples.

The bottle of bubbly finished, we moved into the bedroom. In a 
scene reminiscent of a Hollywood B movie, she stripped everything 
off the dresser and lay on her back, "Let's try it up here."  
While she contemplated herself in the mirror, apparently doing 
some sort of breast examination by pushing her breasts up from 
the side, then holding them up by the nipples, I assessed the 
potential damage to my knees.  Stripping the bed, I jammed two 
pillows on either side of her and climbed aboard.  

"Oh god, I think I love this.  Tell me, am I good?" 

"Oh yes Maggie, much  better than I…uh…"

"Expected?  So you thought I wouldn't be much fun?"

"Uh"

"Yes, push harder, Oh…I'll bet you hate it when women trap 
you…oh…oh… with questions…harder…like that don't you?"
 
There was no need for an answer, as she began a series of yelps 
and thrashing movements that were killing my knees in spite of 
the pillows. Truly, I hadn't expected her to have this much fun.  
And where were these orgasms coming from? I couldn't remember 
being this good. She must've have been saving them. I hoped those 
NASA boys were getting this all on satellite tape, so I could 
study them later.


But then, I had a problem.

I was exhausted. Where was that cool, in-control executive when I 
needed her, so we could discuss the situation and plan an end 
game. All her hours spent in exercise classes seemed to be paying 
off.  I vowed to do the same at a later date. I hung on as she 
began to squeal, and we bounced on the wood surface. 

"Steve."

"Yes."

"My back hurts. Why did you get me up here on this hard chest?"

Deciding it was time to take action, I pulled her back to the 
bed.   She showed signs of weakening.  Her hair was not only 
mussed, but getting to look downright sticky and embarrassingly—
declass.   Suddenly, she exhaled deeply her muscles relaxed. Beau 
sensed that the end was near, and I had a thoroughly satisfying 
orgasm—apparently alone.  She was snoring.




Linda’s Day

I was shaking as Roger and I walked to the room at the waterside 
hotel. How did I get into this? I knew I had sort of pushed the 
whole affair (is affair the right word), but Steve would have 
said something if he truly objected.  He hadn’t, and I knew the 
whole idea, sort of, turned him on. Why do I keep using “sort 
of?”  Either it does or it doesn’t, and the same goes for me.  Am 
I going through with this?

Steve had been teasing me for years about other couples, never 
seriously, I think. Then too, he is a very good-looking man. I 
knew some of my so-called “friends,” especially some at work who 
would happily jump on him at a moment's notice. After drinking 
all that wine with Maggie in the Miami hotel room, I was 
surprised to find that she and Roger had similar talks.  I'd 
thought it all over and come to a new conclusion.  What the heck, 
Roger is a good-looking guy. I fantasized over him and me naked, 
in a snowbound cabin, under warm covers, a cracking fire (well, 
not in Florida, more likely freezing from an air conditioner duct 
inconveniently blowing up the wrong place.)  Maybe I’ll just 
surprise the hell out of Steve and suggest we…what to call 
it…hate the term swing… don't like the sound of wife 
swapping…husband trading?...recreational sex… Yes, I would 
suggest a little recreational sex.  Steve used that term.  
Knowing male egos, he would probably turn out to be all talk and 
balk at the thought of Roger and me.  He didn’t.

After entering the room, Roger pulled back the patio’s sliding 
doors,  ”Whoa what a view.”

“Why don’t you grab a beer and sit down, I’ll take care of the 
stuff.”

“Damn, knew there was something I always liked about you.”

“That’s it, I put away the things and suggest you drink a beer. 
That’s what you like?  No comments about my great bod or 
something like that?”

“Hang on. I’ll think of something real cool to say to get me out 
of this mess.  It’s coming to me now…”

“Time’s up. Get your beer, I’m not opening it for you.”

I unpacked both bags. All he had was a change of clothes and a 
shaving kit.  A quick shower for me, and I was out to the living 
room.

He too changed quickly, and we soon sat enjoying the air 
conditioner.

“You cool with all this?”  he ventured.

“Yes, we've halfheartedly joked about it for years.   Our 
marriage is stable.  Anyway, we came to the conclusion that we 
two couples have sailed together, golfed, partied, danced and now 
uh well it’s, sort of, (that word again) just getting together 
for some…recreational sex stuff as Steve puts it.   Can’t talk 
about it too much, or I’ll chicken out.”

“Ok, my mouth is sealed.  I’ve been really looking forward to 
seeing you.”

“Thanks, I needed that. A few compliments thrown in every once in 
a while help.   To change the subject a little, I’m a little 
worried that Steve and Maggie will have a harder time, if that’s 
the right term.  We were always such good friends, but she 
changed.”

I know he said “ Too many promotions, too much tension, too much 
feminist literature, Maggie just can’t relax.  I was hoping she 
could loosen up on this trip and have some fun.  Our other 
vacations did nothing for her.  Cell phones ruin everything.  Our 
sex life is zilch.  Maybe I'm being stupid by agreeing to be 
here?”

“I don’t think so.  She told me in Miami, she really wanted to 
come.  Steve’s a nice guy and…on  the other hand…  Oh hell, I’m 
no psychiatric expert. Let’s see what happens.  This is supposed 
to be fun.”

At dinner I watched Steve and Maggie exhibit impeccable manners, 
and we four had a great time discussing the day's sail.  Then 
Maggie and Steve seemed to run out of things to say. Roger was 
still talking, and I had plenty to say as usual.  The two of them 
just sat there at least a foot apart.  What a mess this is 
turning into.  I wished I was home. At least Roger was funny.  He 
had a seemly inexhaustible supply of jokes, good and bad.   At 
times my ribs hurt from laughing.

The after-dinner coffee was delicious. (After the horrible wine) 
I decided I was not going through with any of this, unless Steve 
and Maggie loosened up.  But then I thought, why not one last 
try, before I jumped up and called the evening over.  Reaching 
under the table, I grabbed Roger’s hand and put it on my knee. 
His eyes widened. It was hard not to laugh at his startled 
expression.  “Didn’t think you would mind,” I whispered, “Maybe 
they will get the idea.”

The hand moved up my leg. Ohh, I  loved it.  His hands were 
large, so warm. As it approached my mid thigh, my breathing 
become ragged.  I glanced across the table.  Apparently the two 
dummies hadn’t noticed, so I panicked. “Ok everyone, it’s time to 
go dance.”  The hand stopped moving up my leg and removed itself.  
I felt disappointed.

On the dance floor, Roger proved to be light on his feet for such 
a large man.  The DJ had a great collection, and I enjoyed 
everything except the sight of Steve and Maggie.  They were still 
locked in conversation…going nowhere.  I’ve gone this far so…”Put 
your hand on my butt.”

“What?”

“Come on, you already did it once when we were walking out of the 
restaurant.  Did you think maybe I didn’t notice?  Slide your 
hand over my butt when we are close to the two lovebirds.  

Roger’s big grin looked down, “I finally got the cool comment I 
was looking for, ‘this’ is what I like about you.”

“Don’t push it.”

We danced towards Steve and Maggie.  Roger turned my back to 
them, and I felt his hand exploring the curves of my cheeks.  It 
was a delicious feeling.  Please don't stop, I thought.  “Did 
they see you?”

“I don’t think so.  We may have to do it a few more times.”

“I notice your hand is still there.”

“Ah, so it is. Do you want me to move it?”

“ Everybody is looking at us.  It’s embarrassing----but no.”

“Dance over to them again,” I said. “I’m going to put my hand on 
your zipper. Don’t jump.”

“I’ll probably fall over.”

A turn across the room and I held my breath as I eased my hand to 
his belt then lower. Hmh, how big is that thing.  I ran the tips 
of my fingers over the length of the hard lump.  "My Roger, it 
seems to be excited already."

"No kidding.  I've almost split my pants since you put my hand on 
your leg after dinner." 

I loved the feeling of power, knowing that I was exciting him.   
Then my bravery deserted me.  I knew Steve had seen me, and 
perhaps Maggie also. “Let’s get out of here.” Knees shaking I 
pulled Roger to the door.  Steve and Maggie followed.

Outside, I thought, I give up.  They’ll have to fend for 
themselves. As we walked along the docks, Roger made a stupid 
remark about Maggie's name being Magnolia, I felt sorry for her. 
Maybe if I separate everyone?  Taking Roger’s hand I steered 
towards a large ketch.

“I’m tired of working on those two," I said.

Roger looked me in the eyes, "So what do you think?"

"Well, I think we should go to the room and uhhh…"

"Do it?" he ended my sentence.

"Yes, I feel so…tawdry…saying this, but I' m really excited about 
it…wonder why 'it' is all I can say."

"Enough talking Linda, let's go.  I'm dying to get you naked.

“Well, here we are,” I said brightly, closing the door.

“Yup, want some champagne?”

“Sure, but let’s not fool around too much.  Hate to admit it, but 
your hand under the table and touching me on the dance floor--
that's about all the foreplay I can stand.   Actually, that isn’t 
true.  We could have gone on all night.  Flirting is the best 
part. You could romance me a little, but then, we’re not here for 
romance.  I’m going to the bedroom.  Give me about 15 minutes and 
bring the Champagne.”

Avoiding the mirror, I stripped, brushed hair and teeth and put 
on a short, red silk nightgown that Steve says makes me look 
sexy.  It barely covers my butt.  Out of habit, I took up 
matching red silk panties and started to put them on—then trying 
out my wickedest smile in the mirror, put them back in my bag. 
Returning to the bedroom, I pulled the covers and slipped between 
the cool sheets.  “I’m ready big boy.”

“Coming o temptress,” Roger entered with two glasses and the 
champagne.  “Do I need to be suave about this?”

My bravery returned, “Strip.”

“Right here?”

His shirt, pants and boxer shorts hit the floor.  He struck a 
body builder's pose. “Impressed?”  I spotted a delicious looking 
object hanging-- only half hard.  

“Oh yes, you did that like a pro.”

He climbed into the bed and poured two glasses.  I leaned back 
and sipped the champagne while keeping the sheet above my 
breasts.  Between the moonlight and the living room there was a 
soft glow to the room.

Roger half rolled towards me, “Mind if I see your tits? No use 
being shy here. We’re both naked, in bed, drinking champagne.”

“I’m not naked.  If you want, you can pull the sheets down and 
take a look at the boobs all Hollywood’s been clamoring for.”

“Ok, the boob is going to look at the boobs.” he said. His hand 
moved to the sheet and pulled it down.  Then he pulled the strap 
over my shoulder and my left breast popped free.  “Nice, nice, 
nice.”  He stuck a pinky in his champagne and touched my nipple.”  
I almost went through the wall.

“Want to lick it?”

“Sure, thanks for the invite.”

His tongue moved, caressing my nipple. Ohhhh Roger, that’s nice. 
“Now the other one.  Oh, even better.” I enjoyed the minutes as 
he switched back and forth, thinking this isn’t bad…good looking 
guy licking my breasts…cold champagne…  I put the glass down 
thinking, I might as well go for it all.  “Hold still, I want to 
see what was under that zipper, when you were busy embarrassing 
me on the dance floor.  Don't suppose you would mind if I played 
with your 'thing'?"

“I was embarrassing you?”

I put my hand between his legs and under his balls.  “ Do you 
Like this?”

“Oh yes and my 'thing' likes it also.”

“And this”
 
“ooo”

“This?----this?----this?----this?  I circled his thing, ok dick, 
with my fingers.  It was nice and thick,  though not so long as 
Steve's.  Every woman should have a collection of these to play 
with, I thought.  It swelled in my hand. Wonder if he has a name 
for it like Steve's Beauregard. I gave him a few strokes.  He 
rocked back. "Apparently you like anything?” I asked.

“Bad reputation, I’m easy.  I’m going to lick your toes.”  
Roger’s head disappeared and I felt him at my feet.

“That tickles.”

“Ok, I’ll lick higher, maybe that'll be better.”  His hot breath 
and warm tongue moved up my calves, then knees.  Involuntarily, I 
felt my legs spread.  Soon he was at my thighs. I shivered  in 
anticipation of the pleasure I knew was coming.  Roger's tongue 
parted my lips.  I felt him inside.  The shock of a strange mouth 
was exquisite. I pushed forward.  Deeper he went, licking me.  
The tingling started.  Soon I arched my back and delicious shocks 
jolted me.

When I could breath, “Thank you, that was so nice.

“Always glad to help a lady in distress.”

“ Now you?”

“Don’t have to ask twice.”  He moved up and licked my nipples 
still hanging out of the super-sexy nightgown.  I reached down 
and put my hand on him and began to rub his cock against my 
thighs and lips.  Oowee, it was getting even bigger.  I knew I 
wasn't supposed to be doing this, but it was so much fun.  I 
rubbed him just inside my clitoris…oh no, he's almost in...I 
shouldn't…I should stop…oh my god…don't stop…yes…more… oh.  
Roger'd made the decision for me as he pushed gently forward. 
Yes, definitely the right decision.  The first time is always the 
best.  Of course, I've not had a lot of first times. But then, 
who knows? “Yes, Yes,Yes, that’s nice.  Do more. Mmmm where did 
you learn that?”

“This?”

“That?”

“And this?”

“ohhhh.”

“And this?’  How about this?”

"This was such a good idea. Lick my nipples again."  He did and 
the rough feel of his tongue sent little waves through my body to 
my toes.

We moved easily. I thrilled to the feeling as Roger slipped 
slowly in and out me.  Several times we switched positions.  Me 
on top, him on top, my legs around his back…I lost track.   Not 
sure if I would ever do this again, I decided to make the most of 
it.  But then…  “Roger did you bring your appointment book with 
you? There's a regatta scheduled for….eeeeh, like that…..for…oh 
wow….for  July out of Boca.  The four of us could get 
together….oh oh oh, yes, yes like that… a little harder…where was 
I … do some races oooooh.”

 And who knows, I thought, if Maggie can’t make it, we could 
invite  just Roger.  The three of us could handle it--the boat 
that is. Wonder what I would do?

“I don’t have the….ohhh damn… book with me.  It's in the car, or 
I’ll call Steve  uh Monday and we’ll …is that good….  get 
together again,” he said from somewhere between my breasts.


“Hang on it's happening again.  Wow Roger…nice…push...harder… 
more…yes…YES… Hoooooooeeeeee,-------------- why have I waited so 
long to do this.  I love sailing, but this is my new sport.  God, 
I’m bad.”

“No Linda, you’re good.   I' m still up, want more.”

“So I noticed, absolutely.  Roll over and I’ll do my prostitute 
routine.”

He sat, propped against the backboard. I climbed on top, sucked 
in my breath savoring the delicious feeling as his hard cock slid 
in easily into me.  ”Ready?”

“Be gentile,” He mimicked a whine.

“Hang on and prepare to get the fucking of your life—uh I said 
it.”

“Fuck?”

“I don’t use that word.”

“But that’s what we're doing?”

“No we’re not I made a mistake. It’s recreational sex, and I'm 
getting royally screwed by a good looking man.  Take that back, 
I’m screwing him.”

“Ok, now I understand.”

I gripped the headboard and rode him.  "How's this big boy?"

"Love it when you talk dirty--what was that word you used, 
recreation?  Recreate me baby. Recreate harder."

Soon I felt him jerk and, to my surprise, another wave of 
pleasure broke over me as I felt him finish in a long series of 
jerks.

We relaxed side by side. “ Roger, you forgot to kiss my nipples 
when I went.  As a matter of fact, I still have my sexy outfit 
on. You never even got it off.”

“Sorry, it’s hard to keep track of everything when dealing with 
such an expert.”  

I rolled off and stretched.  “I guess the right thing to say is--
thanks.  That was fun.”

“And thank you too Madam, for an exquisite evening.

_________

The next thing I knew it was morning.  I washed, fixed my hair 
and returned to bed and watched him sleep.  Soon he got up, and I 
heard the shower.  He slipped into bed and lay with eyes half 
closed.

“Roger, did you let someone in here.  I don’t think we’re alone. 
”

“Do what?"

"I don't do threeways Roger."

"Where, what…"

“ Look, right in front of you, see that lump under the sheet, 
who's that?”

“Damn, you’re right, I didn't notice”

I peeked under the covers, and in the murky light saw him 
sticking straight up.

“Now I recognize him--he's growing--- looks like he might be in 
pain.”

“I think he is,” he said in his best mysterious voice.  “Can you 
do anything to help??”

“Well, I am a nurse, maybe some TLC?”

“Not sure, but it’s worth a try, may take some effort.”

I moved over and took him in my hand.  “It’s so hard and I can 
feel all kinds of little veins.  Oops look at that, it’s growing 
again.”

“You’re right, do something quick.”

“Roger, suppose a little kiss would make him feel better?”

“No way of knowing, until we give it a try.”

I scrunched down under the sheet and  kissed the  pink head.  
“How’s that?”

“Better, but not much.”

"Maybe if I licked him?"

 "Yes, that would definitely help."

I started at his balls and slowly ran my tongue all the way up 
the hard shaft. "My, my Roger, It's delicious." 

"Thanks Linda, that was great, but there's still something 
missing." 

“A massage maybe.”  I slipped my lips over the head of his dick 
and swirled my tongue.  “Surely this helps?”

“Much better, but it'll take more to really calm him down. ”

I slipped his penis all the way into my mouth, played with his 
balls and thoroughly enjoyed the new taste and feel.  This was 
the only dick I had ever sucked besides Steve.

“Oh Jeez, it’s been a while…”

“Doesn’t Maggie do this?”

“When we were first married, but, I don’t know, she seems to hate 
it now. Don’t stop.” 

“I won’t. You’ll probably notice I like it.” I put him back in my 
mouth, then took him out, just to drive him crazy. " I guess I am 
supposed to say something sexy like…Oh Roger, it's so big, I can 
hardly get it all in…or Ooh I love it."

"Those both sound pretty good. You can say more if you like. Or, 
you could stop talking so much and…"

I sucked the unfamiliar penis back into my mouth.  I had to admit 
I liked sucking, so I spent sometime moving my lips up and down 
his cock and running my tongue over all the sensitive spots. 

"Roger?"

"Umph"

"I think your getting too…ah…excited. You may be enjoying this 
too much...if you understand what I mean."

“Then, why don't you come up her and visit, my little Chickadee.”

"Well ok."  I slowly moved my body up his while just brushing him 
with my nipples. "But sir, just what are your intentions? What’s 
that?  Roger, are you trying to put that big old thing in me 
again.  Ooph, I think you just did.  Christ, here ,oooh, unh, 
comes another one.  Yes, Yes, ooooooh." We both began a series of 
thrashing movements and almost fell off the bed. I decided to let 
go and gave a good healthy scream, as a column of pleasurable 
fire seemed to move up my spine.

Minutes later, I looked up, “Roger, no sleeping, you’re still on 
top of me.”

“I’m awake, but exhausted.  Can I say it.  Ya, I’m going to.  
Linda, you are a hell of a fine fuck.”

“Gosh, what can a lady say?  Good thing my manners ain't so good. 
I’d have to write a thank-you note.  I’m hungry.  Think I’ll call 
the other room and see if Maggie and Steve survived the night.”
 


Breakfast

Early morning light filtered in the room. I got up first.  In the 
bathroom, I brushed my teeth then inspected Beau for damage.   
Finding him fit for duty, I cleaned him up and reentered the 
bedroom.  Hearing me, Maggie got up and left to do her duties.  I 
heard the shower, the hair dryer—then an hour later again woke to 
see her open the bathroom door.  She returned with hair perfect, 
lipstick, ultra red over full lips her breasts naked and her 
nipples hard.  I was impressed. Beau was impressed.

I lay on my side and looked at her.  She lay on the other side of 
the bed and looked at me.  The light came through the blinds and 
formed long shadows on  our bodies.

“Guess I kind of make a fool of myself last night? Can’t believe 
I did that silly stripper stuff.  Do you and Linda talk?”

“Well yes, but we were never in a situation like this before.  
But, I had a wonderful time. Guess we were both a little unsure 
and nervous at first.  The strip game was fun.  Sure beat just 
jumping in the sack.  You may have a new career in the 
entertainment business.  I won't say anything if you don't want 
me to." 

“Thanks.  I just hope you won’t be laughing at me later. The 
whole evening sounds like one of those improbable stories in the 
men’s magazines Roger hides in the garage.”

“You read them?”

“Well…”

“Like 'em?” 

The phone rang.  Stupidly, I answered.  It was my wife.  “Yes 
Linda.”

“Good morning—hungry?”

“Yes.” I saw Maggie’s tongue lick swollen lips.   She began to 
slide across the bed, her red lips heading straight for Beau. 
Beau pirouetted and strained to meet her warm mouth

“Well, Roger and I were thinking that meeting in about an hour 
would be nice."

Maggie's mouth closed over Beau..

“I could eat a dozen pancakes", she continued.

Ah the warmth. Complete satisfaction--toes curling.

“But, of course, to stick to the diet, corn flakes might be best. 
You’re not very communicative. Can I speak to Maggie?”

She heard me gasp as Maggie’s tongue went around Beau’s head.  “I 
guess Maggie can't come to the phone.  She's got such good 
manners, never talks with her mouth full. Well, tell her I can 
wait, I already snacked, and not too ruin her appetite.” A laugh.  
“Bye, honey.”  Click.

I was too far gone to realize, worry, enjoy, fantasize or 
whatever, about Linda mentioning that she had blown another man, 
possibly minutes before calling me to discuss breakfast. What did 
she mean by snack?

Closer to home, Maggie was showing extraordinary skills not 
taught in her MBA program.  She sucked in so much of Beau that 
her nose was in my pubic hair.  Beau twitched, she rotated her 
tongue, then placed him between her beautiful breasts and 
continued the massage. To prolong the moment, computer- mind 
wandered back to the pool pump, but Beau jumped the gun. I felt 
her soft hand  caress my balls as  Beau pulsed in spasms of 
pleasure between her breasts. As Beau softened continued her 
light touching. Minutes later she smiled, gave Beau a kiss, then 
entered the bathroom.

After dressing, we went into the living room.  Tens, twenties, 
and even a hundred-dollar bill lay all over the room.  Maggie 
picked up a $10.  “I'm keeping this.  I was good wasn’t I? I 
earned it?”

“Yes, magnificent, the best, cutting edge, top drawer.”  She 
swung her hips and did an old fashioned shimmy. “Thanks, I never 
let my self go like that, ever, in any situation, even with my 
husband.  You were so much help” (I wasn’t sure exactly what I 
had done other than turn on the radio, but had sense enough to 
keep my mouth shut.)  “I thought a weekend like this might help 
me loosen up a bit. That’s why I agreed to it in the first 
place.”

Agreed to it I thought? “So when you and Linda were at that 
convention in Miami, whose idea was this weekend?”

“Linda said she had read about other couples doing something like 
this, and that it seemed like a fun idea if….” She looked at me, 
shrugged then kissed my lips.  “Thank you both so much. She's a 
doll.” 

Breakfast was an interesting affair.  Both couples arrived at the 
same time.  Everyone was trying to look nonchalant.  There was 
some general bumping and confusion as we gathered at a table. 
Then seemly by consensus we settled next to our wives, the 
original one that is.  We all busied ourselves making detailed, 
in-depth studies of the one-page menu.  The waitress left with 
our orders-- the silence was heavy. Finally, Roger grabbed his 
official Florida orange juice glass,  “Everybody who looks like 
hell, with bags under their eyes, but had a good time, raise 
their glass.”  We reached for our glasses, and Roger continued, 
“To good sailing, good friends, and some damn fine…

“Rogeeeerr,” Maggie dragged out the name, “That’s enough honey.” 
“We all had a wonderful time.  To doing it again” We smacked 
glasses hard enough that orange juice splattered everywhere.  The 
ice broken, Linda and Maggie discussed the gift shop.  Roger 
grabbed a local newspaper and cursed the lack of sports news.  I 
worried about important things like bacon, hoping Linda’s talking 
with Maggie would cause her to forget to remind me of the fat 
content.

Maggie and Roger set out for the rest rooms.  I elbowed Linda, 
“Have a good time?”

“Oh yes.  I'm glad you had this idea, and I let you talk me into 
it. ” She turned to me, "But I was a little worried about you and 
her.  After the dinner conversation, I thought you two would end 
up discussing world affairs for the rest of the night.”

“Yea, It started that way, but, well, you'd never believe it, I 
could write one of those online stories about last night.  It was 
a hell of a lot of fun.”

“So, I don’t have to feel guilty?  Actually I don’t anyway, but 
you just made it better. I can’t wait to get home and compare 
notes.  When we get in bed, I'll show you what that dirty ole man 
Roger made me do."

"Poor Linda.  Maybe we should go down to the boat now and climb 
in the bunk, if you can't wait to get it off your uh chest--
assuming that's where Roger was last night."

"No way, I want you to get all bothered having to think about it 
till we get home---wondering just what we were doing."

"Didn't know you were into torture.  Just so you too can get 
yourself all worked up, Maggie turned out to be a lot nicer than 
I remembered.  Great brain. I'll tell you later what we talked 
about." 

“Ya sure, liar.  I know what she was doing to you this morning.”

The sail home was uneventful.  We made a lazy beam reach to the 
head of Tampa Bay, then ran downwind to the bridge.    Roger and 
I spent the day tuning the boat, fiddling with the jib blocks, 
and tightening the stays.  Then the subject turned to golf, and 
he spent at least five minutes explaining how he had improved his 
putting.

 “It’s all in how you hold your putter,” he stood and 
demonstrated.  “I’ve been working on smoothing my stroke just 
recently. Practice makes perfect. You just have to keep stroking 
until you get it right.”  I burst into laughter.  He looked a 
little peeved, but good naturally shook it off.

The ladies spent the day on the bow. Topless in the sun, they 
alternatively sleept or talked.   Once we passed within 30 yards 
of a fishing boat, and both women stood and waved. Linda’s red 
hair shone in the sun and Maggie’s black locks swirled about her 
head as they posed for the grateful fishermen. Linda called out, 
“You boys getting any?” The two ladies then collapsed on the deck 
in peals of laughter.

Turning north, we found the wind off the port bow and had an 
exhilarating run up the bay. Nearing St. Petersburg, both Linda 
and Maggie disappeared for an hour.  Linda emerged full of life 
and fun, smiling and laughing. A happy wife, all was right with 
the world.  We sat together and kissed. 

Maggie had gone down the ladder, and I was disappointed to see 
the Ice Queen emerge.  Every hair was in place, diamond earrings, 
makeup perfect, her outfit coordinated. 

Dockside we cleaned up "Hammerhead" and took our belongings to 
the cars. I was on the bow when Ice Queen climbed forward to join 
me.  No, it was Maggie, not Ice Queen.  "Thanks again, I learned 
a lot about myself.” 

She saw me looking confused, “I know. I know. I'm doing my 
neurotic woman routine, and you don't want to talk about it."

“Well, no or uh yes.  We had a good time sailing.  You and I uh 
slept together and had a great time. Now were home."
 
She smiled, “I know a trip like this is a risky.  I thought if I 
did something wild, I could break out of my 'perfect box.'  I was 
getting a little desperate in that hotel room til you came up 
with that stupid stripper idea.  I thought, oh hell one last 
chance, so I did it.  Have to admit I it was great fun. I was so 
embarrassed when I started, but it broke the ice.  Roger will 
probably thank you for this.  I'm going to dance for him.  By-
the-way, I told Linda all about it.”

 It was a tender moment, as she leaned forward and gave me a 
light kiss…Well hell, I thought, a new career.  No more 
computers--sex therapist--my new calling. If I could just get 
those tapes from NASA to study, who knows? She broke the kiss, 
and in my shiny new underwear Beau began to struggle.  He was 
always an uncouth bastard, who understands nothing of emotions or 
relationships. 

I noticed a cheap piece of plastic jewelry with Longboat Key 
stamped on it pinned to her expensive, sailing shirt.  “I bought 
it with the $10 I earned.  We'll may not see each other again, 
but if we do, I’ll wear it."

I looked towards the stern where Roger and Linda were sitting 
looking at two books, pens poised.  "What are those two doing?"

Maggie turned and followed my gaze. "I'm not sure, but I can 
guess.  As soon as we docked, they both hurried to the parking 
lot and came back with their appointment books. 
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