When you first get to a Mexican resort, you notice the palm trees and the ocean. If you are from someplace cold and cloudy you might notice the sun but otherwise it’s not quite the on the level of the other two: you see the sun often, even in cold, cloudy places. It’s easy to pay attention to other things, but it’s there, and it’s closer than you’re used to. A good way to spot people on their second day is by their red tan lines. They didn’t realize what the sun was doing to them as they lay on the beach. Their normal sunscreen just wasn’t enough.

My wife Rebecca and I have been here plenty of times; we know just how much sunscreen to put on, especially that very first day, and it’s on us now as we lay on a beach bed, taking in the first afternoon of this year’s week at the resort. Rebecca is drinking white wine while I’ve started with beers, lime and salt on the rim.

It’s good to be away from the kids and the jobs, I tell her, raising my glass, my head obscured by a ballcap and Ray-Bans.

And the PTA meetings. And the housecleaning. Then she raises her glass and sips, too. The sun seems to be as high as it’s going to get all day.

It might only be a couple hours away from setting the next time I really take notice, looking up from my book and taking one headphone out to ask Rebecca when she wants to go back to the room. Usually we cool down, nap, fuck, then get dressed for dinner, drinking water all the time, our bodies enjoying the few hours away from alcohol and rare chances at afternoon orgasms.

Maybe soon, she says, her sunglasses big and her ball cap pulled down low. She’s got a two-piece bathing suit on, something I had to campaign hard for and something she thought she needed a lot of workouts to pull off, even though she’s wrong. Less than a year into her thirties, she’s got a very nice body. Everyone can see it but her, though, as she sees bulges and a belly that I can’t see, and doubt anyone else does either. Her black curly hair and light blue eyes make her round face striking in its beauty. Eight years into marriage I couldn’t be happier that I waited before jumping into one. To be in my forties and on my first marriage is a rarity among my friends.

As I look out at the beach, a couple of guys arrange themselves on the bed next to ours, the vacant one nearest Rebecca’s side. At first, I figure they are with each other, but hearing their commentary on the women out in the ocean it’s quickly pretty obvious they aren’t.

Check out that rack. Fuck, look at that one. That is the right ass for that suit.

I look over at Rebecca and grimace, wondering if they realize how loud their talking, but she’s laughing a little as she grins back at me. I roll my eyes behind my shades. One of them glances over and looks at my ballcap.

You from there, he asks, pointing at my forehead.

Grew up there.

That’s where my friend here is from. He’s pointing back at the guy organizing pillows on their bed, a guy about my age, balding, chubby, black eyeglasses. The guy talking to me looks younger and shorter, blonde curly hair and a bunch of tattoos on one arm and about the half covered, too. He points to his chest, mentions his hometown.

Rebecca puts down her book and looks at me knowingly, then looks over at them. That’s where we live now.

Blonde guy smiles. You’re kidding me.

We tell them where we live and they tell us they’re from a suburb far away – south and east of ours maybe thirty, forty miles. I’ve honestly never been there, but it still sits on the weather map every night on the news and green exit signs make its name very familiar on my drive home every night.

They ask me what I do and I tell them, then they don’t say much, which is what generally happens. My job is nondescript and while it pays pretty well, no one ever cares enough to ask follow-up questions. Mostly I just get cool or that’s great and a quick subject change.

One of us asks what do you guys do and they kind of glance at each other and then say they are importers. Neither of us has much to ask about that, either.

We talk about the local sports teams, me mostly talking to the blonde guy. I can hear Rebecca talking about restaurants and shopping areas with the balding guy, who’s laying on their bed while blonde guy is standing next to it, talking to me.

At some point he says I’m George. Rebecca and I laugh and he probably thinks we’re laughing at his name or something until I tell him my name is George, then he understands and they both laugh, too. Rebecca says she’s Rebecca and bald guy says he’s Dave. George shakes hands with Rebecca, then leans over her to shake hands with me.

Rebecca jolts and says ouch. I’m confused and George stands back up, apologizing.

What happened, she asks. Her leg, the top of her right thigh, has a scrape on it and tiny droplets of blood are pooling along the line of the scrape, red quivering circles waiting to be either jostled and run or stay in place and firm up.

George is apologetic, pointing to his index finger. I got you with my fingernail. I’m so sorry. Rebecca doesn’t say anything as she rubs either side of the scrape with her hands, reluctant to touch it.

Probably I should go put a band-aid on this, she says. I start gathering our stuff as they look on, George clearly feeling bad.

We were leaving soon anyway, I say.

George asks if we’re here all week. We are.

I’m sure we’ll all see each other, someone says.

I’ll buy you a drink. That’s George, and we all laugh since it’s an all-inclusive.

Back at the room as I undress, Rebecca runs the cut under the tub faucet.

I hope I don’t get an infection. That guy looked kind of skeevy.

He seemed nice enough, I say from the bedroom, climbing under the covers naked.

She walks in, only her bikini bottoms on. I glance at her breasts, the roundest naturals I remember seeing, holding their shape to this day. Not huge, not small, but like independent planets complete with equally round nipples attached to them.

He was skeevy. They are drug dealers I think.

I laugh. Where do you get drug dealers?

Importers? What do they import.

I don’t know. But I doubt it’s drugs.

She crawls under the covers.

It’s drugs. Her hand goes to my chest. Why would two straight guys be at a couples’ resort in Mexico?

Maybe they aren’t straight.

She rolls her eyes. They’re straight. The little one was checking out my chest.

I lift the covers and survey.

It’s a good chest, I say, then smile at her before leaning down and kissing from her shoulder to her right tit.

Yeah, it makes no sense they’re here. But they’re dealing drugs somehow.

I take my lips off her nipple. Who cares? We don’t do them. Never have.

She looks down. Not never.

I lean up for a second, put my hand on her left breast.

What do you mean? Have you done drugs?

She nods. A little in college. Nothing major. I told you that.

I don’t remember you saying that. Maybe.

You never listen.

You were so straight-laced!

When I dated a football player. A little pot. A little coke.

Wow. My wife the drug queen. She doesn’t smile.

It wasn’t like that. Extremely casual and extremely rare. When we broke up, I never did it again.

I keep rubbing her tit. This new discovery has me pretty hard.

She looks at me. You ever try any?

I really never did. Never had any urge.

So, did you like it?

Rebecca shakes her head. I didn’t like pot much at all. The cocaine wasn’t that bad, though.

I lean down and start kissing her tit again, push my hand down under her bikini bottoms where I feel through her hair and into the warm space between her. I roll myself on top of her after she pushes her bottoms down below her knees and I take my foot to push them down and off of one leg completely. She spreads for me and I aim myself into her with my hand, touching my head to her pussy lips once, twice, then sliding in a bit, waiting for her juices to arrive and smooth the way. My tongue goes into her mouth and I run a hand through her tight black curls, her mouth closing on my tongue and sucking on it for a few seconds, both of us frozen in place until she releases me. I start thrusting at a firm consistent pace, pinching her nipples and licking her neck until her back arches and she comes loudly, her breath hurried and hard. As she waits for me to finish she rubs her hands on my back and down onto my buttocks, where they still are as I spurt my stuff inside of her, eyes closed and face buried in her neck.

After dinner, we sit at a resort bar and drink red wine. Rebecca is in a white peasant’s dress, off the shoulders and I have on a polo and shorts.

I’m so glad to be here, she says, looking around the darkish room. We always need this.

We do, I agree. This kind of peace is impossible to find at home, where the kids and the work and the school all chase us on phones, the same phones that sit locked in the room safe most of the days we’re here.

I feel a hand on my back. Someone says it’s the meeting of the Georges. I turn around to see Dave and George standing in back of us as we sit at the bar.

How are you guys doing, asks George. Having fun yet?

Oh yeah. First night is the best night, I nod.

Food is pretty good here, he says as he looks around the room, but there are not a lot of single women. We didn’t really realize that. Dave is shaking his head as he looks around, a grimace on his face.

George looks at Rebecca.

You look nice tonight, he says, then looks from me to her and back. George doesn’t have our problem at all, and he slaps me on the back as we laugh.

How long you two been married?

Eight years. We both say it and they laugh. George says that’s great, Dave says lucky guy.

Well, we’ll let you guys go have fun, says George, and he reaches out his hand to me. As we shake he pulls me close.

We have some fun stuff if you guys need something, wanna take it to the next level. He smiles, looks over at Rebecca.

Thanks, I say, we’ll be okay.

They take off and we have one more wine before bed.

The next night after dinner we go walking on the beach, lit torches every ten or so feet giving us light to walk at the same time if gives the ocean seemingly electric sparks. We’re holding hands, Rebecca in a red and orange sun dress that she knew I’d like, what with its plunging neckline. As we walk, two voices fly from over by the beach beds, empty in the darkness.

George! George club meeting!

It’s our friends, sitting on the edge of the one of the beds.

Come over, they wave.

We walk over hand in hand.

Hi guys, what’s up?

We’re just enjoying the night, says George.

Yeah, not much to enjoy in the days, says Dave.

You aren’t loving this, asks Rebecca.

Becky, there’s nothing to love. Dave and George both laugh at this and I smile.

Maybe you guys should move over to one of the resorts with more singles.

George looks at me.

We might ... we might. It’s just so much work. Plus, we sleep a lot of the day and they aren’t going to move us this time of day.

Dave leans up. Plus, packing and unpacking is ... an ordeal.

George laughs knowingly and I think Rebecca and I both get it.

George looks down at the bed and some powder in a small plastic baggie.

I’m being rude, he says, looks from Rebecca to me and back. You guys want some. You like this stuff, George?

I don’t do that stuff, I say. It doesn’t bother me when other people do. Just never was for me.

George looks at Rebecca.

What about you, Becky?

She smiles. Back in college, maybe.

Dave laughs, yells out memory lane.

Want some, asks George, reaching down and picking up the bag. Georgie says it doesn’t bother him if others do...

Becky looks at me. I shouldn’t, she whispers.

Aw come on. This is on me, says George. He makes a C with his hand and pours some powder on the curve between his thumb and index finger, holds it up to her.

She looks at it, then back to me, watches me shrug and then shrugs herself. She steps towards him and moves her nose into the curve of his hand, inhales. As her nose touches his hand, her lips cupped by his fingers, he looks at me and stage-whispers.

You ever fuck a girl when she’s on coke, man?

I shake my head in the darkness.

Oh, man, he laughs as she straightens up. Take her back to the room right now.

Rebecca sucks in some air, looks at me. Yeah, take me back to the room. George and Dave whoop and high five as we walk quickly back to the room.

Once the door closes Rebecca is on me, her tongue deep into my mouth as I move my hands trying to find the clasp on the sundress. She steps back and moves each strap off her shoulder, then reaches back and undoes the clasp or button whatever the hell it was. The dress drops to the floor and she’s in her underwear, white lacey bottoms with black curls peeking through, a nude colored bra up top. I advance on her and kiss her on the mouth, on her ear, on her neck as my hands undo the bra, and drop to my knees to glide her panties down her hips and thighs, licking at the humid black hair facing me. I push her down on the bed, falling on top of her but she flips up on top of me, stroking my cock behind her as her pussy lips rub against my waist. I reach up to pull her mouth down to mine as her body rubs forward and back, but she arches up on her knees and moves down onto my cock. I look at her eyes as she slides quickly up and down on me, then look at her chest.

You like my tits?

She knows the answer.

You like playing with them?

I do. My hands reach up to take one in each.

How do they look?

They look amazing baby.

Her head rolls back and she closes her eyes. I use my hands on her tits to help leverage her bouncing up and down on my dick. When she comes she comes very loudly and I wonder if the people in the rooms on either side of us are back for the night yet.

I roll her back under me and thrust quickly, hoping to come before she starts staring at the ceiling. Her mouth is open for me as my lips touch hers again, my tongue sliding up against hers, touching her teeth as I finally burst, the spurts coming for four or five seconds before my body relaxes and melts on top of hers.

The next day at the beach beds, we’re both reading and drinking beers with lime juice when the boys wonder by.

I didn’t know you guys appeared in daylight, as I wave.

Like bats, asks George.

Yeah, we’re bats, says Dave. We’re the bats.

Just kidding, I say.

We’re good, says George.

The bats will be out by the beds again tonight.

Rebecca cocks her head. Will they?

Dave starts walking away, so George starts backing up to trail him.

They will, he smiles.

After dinner, waiting for desert. Rebecca swirls the wine in her glass.

What did you think about last night?

I look at her, raise an eyebrow.

It was hot, Rebecca. Really hot. She’s got another peasant dress on again, this time black, again off the shoulder. Which is also hot.

I thought so, too, she says. She sips the last of her wine.

Want to go find those guys again?

I don’t know. I push my chair back a little from the table, but I’m not sure why.

If you don’t want to, that’s okay, too. Her smile fades a little but she looks conciliatory.

I think about it.

What the hell. We’re on vacation, right? As soon as I say it she brightens up.

We walk into the near-darkness again, looking into the dark beds for signs of life. After we pass four, maybe five we hear a cooing noise, then some laughter.

What sound do bats make? It’s George, Dave again lounging on the bed behind him. Wondered if you guys would be back.

Yeah, we decided why not? I say.

You in this time, Georgie?

No. Still not for me.

He turns to Rebecca.

But Becky is, huh? He smiles widely and she smiles back.

It brought back some good memories, she says. I wonder exactly what that means, but my head is still spinning from the sex so I’m not going to think about it too much right now. Maybe on a cloudy day behind my desk but not now.

George is rummaging through his bag for the right baggie, pulls it out, then looks at both of us.

Now, last night was a gift, he says. Act of friendship for new friends. Moving forward, we are providing a service here.

I look back at Dave and he’s leaned forward, looking at me.

How much are you talking?