Florida is all right in the spring and fall, but nobody goes there in the winter--it's too crowded! (Apologies to Yogi Berra.) Nevertheless, when Bob said we could get a free four-day trip to Sarasota to attend some medieval history conference I wasn't entirely against it. I can always get a few days off from work, and the weather in Boston was dreary, as usual, even though there wasn't any snow left on the ground. Then the Weather Channel showed a picture of Florida that looked like a volcano erupting--big orange blobs all over the state--and I got less enthusiastic. Florida in the rain is the pits. If you can't get to the beach, or at least a swimming pool, what's Florida? Strip development. Yuck! Still, when his mom, who lives in Belmont, said she'd be delighted to house sit and take care of the kids, I gave in. Bob seemed to want to go, so what the hell.

Naturally I told Beth we were going, and then things got complicated. Beth said she and Steve ought to go with us--they could be with me while Bob was at the conference, and we could explore the area. She said there are some great birding places just outside Sarasota, and it would probably be warm enough to picnic at least part of the time. I don't know if you heard, but our January was pretty weird. Beth is my best friend, but we got rather more intimate last month than I'd ever dreamed we would. I mean we were spending time with each other's husbands in different hotels. (See "Janey's January.") I don't know how much more intimate you can get than that. Well, I didn't then.

Beth is kind of a take-over type, and I tend to go with the flow, so of course she immediately decided that we could all stay at the Holiday Inn on Longboat Key--Steve had a bunch of air miles or whatever you call them that would pay for all of us. It's only half an hour from there to the college where Bob's conference was going to be, so it would work out fine. Steve travels all the time--he's in the oil bidness--so he gets all this free stuff. Bob thought it would be a great idea. He said he likes the beach, but I don't remember his being so hot for it anytime before. I had this sneaking feeling that maybe he hadn't quite finished with Beth after all. All this efficient arranging in such a short time kind of bemused me, but, after all, I was only along for the ride. Even if it rained part of the time, it would probably be a lot better than slouching around Boston all wrapped up against the cold.

Anyhow, we finally flew to Tampa, rented a car and drove down to Longboat. Beth and Steve had already been there for a day and had gone to the Pelican Man's place, where you can see all kinds of hurt birds and animals recuperating, and the Mote Marine aquarium. We got in about 10 o'clock, had a drink with them, called Mama, and then toddled off to bed so Bob could get to his conference by nine the next morning.

Well, he did, and I spent all day lying around by the pool, swimming and reading the first of my mystery hoard. I took along all six of Mollie Hardwicke's Doran Fairweather mysteries--got them at Spenser's Mystery Book Shop and saved them for a trip like this. Doran's kind of weird and unstable, but I never mind spending time in England as long as I didn't have to live there. Bob got back around two and joined us. He almost relaxed. Bob is a workaholic, and I'm used to it, but it's nice when for some reason he cuts loose. Naturally that meant he slept most of the afternoon, but what the hell, he needed it.

Beth showed off her new bathing suit, or, maybe, Beth's new bathing suit showed off Beth. She even got wet, probably to give everybody a better view of her nipples. A lot of the pool loungers enjoyed the show. Fortunately, I've long since gotten over competing for attention with the cuties. I figure my body, which is 5" 10" tall, well muscled and nicely rounded, is meant to work for me, not to advertise bathing suits. My hair is sort of dark blond, and curly so it looks like a mess all the time. My face won't launch any ships, but some people like it. Let's not talk too much about boobs. And I can outswim any of the cuties any day, if necessary. I did notice a few of the guys gazing at me when they could take their eyes off Beth, and of course I didn't mind that at all. They weren't much to look at themselves, as far as I was concerned. Several sleazies and numerous wrinklies.

We got enough dressed to go to the Gulf Drive Cafe, where you can eat on an open porch right by the beach, then came back to the hotel to watch the sunset. When I've spent December and January and half of February in Boston and I find myself someplace warm, I don't mess around--I soak up every bit of sun available. I could feel the vitamin D. We talked about our jobs and made jokes about Monica Lewinsky and had a couple of drinks and it was bedtime. Bob was tired, too, even though he'd slept half the afternoon, and he had to give a paper the next morning.

The weather forecast was iffy. There was this zillion-gallon pile of crud off the coast; if it came in, we'd get wet; if not, it would only be gray. So Beth and I decided that if it wasn't raining when we got up, we'd go to St. Armand's Circle, where all the fancy stores are, and shop. Steve was going to plug in his laptop and sell oil to some Arabs or something. Bob, who was leaving early to make his conference, would pick Steve up and they would meet us around one.

No rain in the morning, so off we went. Beth being crazy, she's great to shop with. At her office she wears her accountant suit--the whole dress-for-success thing--and sensible heels and hair tastefully arranged and a little red scarf at her neck to indicate she's still aware she's a woman. Not that anybody else would miss it for a minute. But once she's out of there she might look like anything, as long as it's wild. Hippy clothes, sweatshirts and baggy shorts, saris, you name it. No matter what she wears, she's five-foot-two of sex bomb. Long black hair, a figure I'd kill for, red, red lips, that little hook in her nose, her olive skin--she gets stared at all the time. She loves it. When we're together, I'm so tall compared to her that I look like maybe the porter she brings along to carry her bags. Except we laugh all the time and either make the clerks nervous or make them think we're long lost friends of theirs.

Beth and I were delighted with our loot--I'd even bought a new bathing suit, which led to major convulsions on both our parts and weird looks from the other customers when I tried it on and put on my discus thrower act. Beth has a strange effect on me; most of the time I'm a prim, if large, suburban matron, but with Beth I get almost as nutty as she is.

So we fell into chairs at the Hungry Fox at one o'clock, lumbered with bags full of perfume and T-shirts and knickknacks. It was getting darker all the time. Steve and Bob showed up five minutes later. Bob was high because they liked his paper, and Steve was happy because he'd figured out a new way to bilk some third-world government.

Just as we started to eat our hamburgers, the rain came. There we were, on the open balcony on the second story, looking out at the bougainvillea getting its petals knocked off, palm branches floating around the circle, and shoppers running for cover. Fortunately, we weren't on the rail, so we could enjoy it without getting wet. It did, however, make the afternoon of beach bumming we'd hoped for look unappetizing. So as we ate we started talking about what we were going to do. Bob kind of wanted to hit the bookstores on Main Street in Sarasota. Steve wouldn't have minded getting back to his computer, and, of course, I had Mollie Hardwicke to entertain me. Still, Florida in the rain is basically the pits.

Finally, Beth wiped her mouth daintily with her napkin and said, "Or--we could go back to the hotel and fuck each other a lot."

I cringed and glanced at the nearby diners. Nobody looked shocked. Bob put his sandwich down and stared at her. Steve just ate.

"Well?" she said.

Nobody said anything for a minute. Sorting out my thoughts, I finally discovered that I was a little curious about what she meant.

"I don't do women," I said.

Steve stopped chewing, looked at me thoughtfully, and said, "I do."

"Me, too," Bob piped up.

Beth actually giggled and said to me, "You're not my type, honey, but we have these two guys here and I think we could probably manage to enjoy ourselves some way, don't you?"

The rest of us all masticated thoughtfully.

"You've already got some books, Bob," I said finally. I could see how the wind was blowing. and Mollie would wait.

"Let's do it," said Steve, "but first why don't we just have a nice cup of coffee and consider the possibilities?"

I was way ahead of him. By the time the coffee came (tea for me), I was thinking about a threesome I'd found positively weird, but quite satisfactory, when I went to Europe right after I graduated from college. I must tell you about that some time. Then I realized that I had already sampled the two perfectly adequate penises (dicks? dorks? cocks? no matter) that were going to be on display and found them eminently satisfactory. Also, I never had watched a really accomplished woman in action, and that might be interesting. I found that my face was getting warm and my vagina was beginning to get a funny empty feeling. This has been known to occur at other times when I was just beginning to realize that pretty soon it would be filled.

"You know," said Bob, looking at me, "I have occasionally thought about such a thing before." I was amazed. Either we had failed to communicate fully for the past ten years, or Bob's little fling with Beth last month had opened new horizons for him.

"I didn't think it was likely, or even desirable, really," he continued. "Can't you see me putting an ad in the Tab or somewhere, saying, 'Very tall couple interested in swinging?'"

"You mean," I said, "that since you don't have to spend money on an ad it will be o.k.?"

"No, I don't," he said, giving me a dirty look. "I mean, you remember when Steve said whenever he thought about the girls in Indonesia his equipment shrank up or something? Well, the same thing happens to me when I think about the wives in Needham. Horrors. We'd both catch something awful and at best my dick would turn black and drop off. But this is different. Very."

Suddenly we all talked at once and it was clear that everybody agreed with him. Secretly we were all petrified of AIDS or herpes or something.

"Actually," I said, "I really didn't think about doing this before. I am a nice girl. But I am a nice girl who is about to do something she never thought of before."

"Let's get out of here," said Beth. "Steve and I will expect you guys in our room in about an hour. We have some deli stuff we got at Whitney Beach for if anybody gets hungry. And beer and wine." So Bob put some money on the table and we headed off for our cars, hurrying through the downpour.

We got wet. I was cold, of course, so as soon as we got in the car I took a T-shirt out of one of the shopping bags and dried my face, hair and arms as best I could. Bob glanced over at me while we were squishing down Gulf Drive.

"You win my wet T-shirt contest anytime," he said. I blushed. I really did, even after that lunch conversation. Then we pulled up in the parking lot, and got wet again going to our room.

"What does one wear to a small, informal orgy?" I asked, toweling my hair once again.

"Clothes," he answered. "We should have gotten a suite." He was taking stuff out of his briefcase and shifting it to a suitcase. I think he was in denial, as all the smartasses say these days. I rummaged in my suitcase and got out my nice almost-new Victoria's Secret undies, went in the bathroom, took a shower, and put them on. Then I put on the only dress I had with me, a kind of nice cotton sun dress with a V-neck and a very full skirt that I'd brought just in case we wanted to go some place fancy to eat. I had no idea what was about to happen, but I figured I'd better start out looking my best.

When I came back into the room Bob looked at me and said, "You're lovely! If we don't get over there fast I'll ravish you right here." Sometimes he says really nice things. Not often enough, but sometimes. He stripped and went in to shower. I avoided looking at him and got out my gold hoop earrings and a shell necklace. Like me, Bob is tall for his age, about six-three, and looks like Gregory Peck in that movie with the little girl. He's 35, he just got tenure at one of our better local universities, and he works all the time. I just work part-time as a vocational counselor, but our two kids and running the house keep me from missing him too much most of the time. I wondered whether I ought to go jump in the shower and fuck him to death right here and the hell with Beth and Steve. But I'd agreed, so forget it. Thinking of Steve, I wondered what I'd do if I had him and Bob all to myself. I decided I must be getting as nutty as Beth. By the time Bob came out dressed in khakis and a clean T-shirt I was ready go, wearing my flat white slippers and my pretty dress and shaking like a leaf. Bob came over and put his arms around me.

"Sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"I think so," I said. "If you do?"

"We said we would," he said. "Oh, hell, let's be honest. Yeah, I want to." He gave me a nice, long kiss.

"I'm ready," I said. "Let's go beard the tigers."

It took only a minute to reach their door. Bob knocked. Beth answered. She was wearing toreador pants, of all things, with a ruffled gold, long-sleeved blouse, white stockings and pointy-toed little shoes. All that black hair, still half wet, was piled on top of her head. I was glad I'd put on my dress. Not that I was competing, I just looked like I'd tried.

"Ah!" she said, smiling brightly. "Come into my parlor."

Their room was just like ours--two double beds, a dresser, two comfortable chairs and quite a bit of open space. Steve, dressed just like Bob, was sitting on one of the beds. He jumped up and ran a hand through his short blond hair and he smiled, too.

"How about a drink?" he said. "It's nice of you to come visit us little people." He's not much bigger than Beth, maybe five six or seven, built like a 150-pound wrestler. I think his size makes him compete so hard in business. I'd already told him he was plenty big enough, in every way.

Beth was back in the bathroom. I sat down in one of the chairs. Bob sat on a bed and Steve brought him a Perrier and me a glass of red wine. He knows what we drink; we'd been sailing together and played monopoly and generally hung around with him and Beth for more than a year.

Then Beth came sailing in. "Enough with the booze," she said. "It's time to get naked!"

I grinned weakly. Steve and Bob looked at each other, and Steve turned a hand to show that he couldn't control her, either.

"Somebody has to take charge here," she said, "and since I'm the only executive on the premises that'll be me. So--Guys first!" She plumped into the other chair and looked at me. "If we go first, they'll probably forget to take off their shoes or something."

Steve looked at Bob, who was slack-jawed by this time, and made a face. Then he stood and slowly began pulling his T-shirt over his head. Bob stood and followed suit. Both of them self-consciously slipped off their flip-flops and tossed them into a corner.

"You ladies sure you can control yourselves?" Steve said as he undid his belt.

I was beginning to think I was going to enjoy this. "I think we'll manage, Steve," I said. "Please continue." Here Beth and I were, sitting calmly looking at two nice male chests, Steve's criss-crossed by big muscles with yuppie names like laps and traps or something, Bob's sleek and smooth. Beth laughed.

Of course Steve wore jockey shorts and my husband boxers. They got out of them without looking any sillier than usual. Eh, voila! The Full Monty!

"Nice," said Beth, "don't you think?"

"Y-e-s-sss," I said, "but they both look like the main brace needs splicing."

They did. Beth jumped up, went over to Steve, knelt down and grabbed his slightly droopy weapon. She stuck the end of it into her mouth and I could see her tongue moving for about 30 seconds. Steve reached for her head and she slapped his hand away. Then she backed off, turned to Bob, and did the same thing.

She looked up, shifting her eyes from one to the other. "What's it take to turn you guys on, anyhow?" she said. Bob reached for her and she scuttled back to her chair. "Now, now, there's plenty of time and lots more to come. So you just take it easy. It's our turn now." The appurtenances in question seemed to be growing. Having never seen anything remotely like this, I was fascinated, stuck to the chair. But getting warm, all the same.

"Now, I'll go first, since Janey seems to be mesmerized by the scenery," Beth said, standing up. She looked down and starting working on the top button of her frilly blouse. The boys watched, closely. So did I. She worked her way down slowly, a button at a time, looking up to smile as each button let go and more Beth peeped out. I could see a bright red brassiere with black lace around the top edges and cleavage that looked like a crevasse in the Alps. I glanced at the men and by now they were both standing at the ready, gawking at Beth's chest.

With a whoosh she pulled her shirttails out and shook her shoulders, letting the blouse drift to the floor. The lace extended around the bottom edges of her bra, and the cargo looked heavy. Beth then snapped her tiny belt buckle and starting loosening those ridiculous pants. More red nylon appeared. Steve and Bob were not drooling yet--I checked.

Then she kicked her little shoes off. She zipped and worked on the pants, pulling them inside out to get them down. Red garters appeared. I could not believe this. In seconds she was standing there looking like the Mona Lisa in bra, panties and long white stockings. She sat down and stuck her legs up in the air.

"Anybody want to help me lose the stockings?" she said.

The herd stampeded. My husband was at her left, fumbling with the hook and eye on the garter. At her right, Steve was looking down at her soulfully and gently stroking the inside of her thigh above the stockings.

"Hey, Steve," she said, "that's nice, but it won't get the stocking off."

This show was something to see, but it was making me nervous. Tough act to follow. But Beth is a caring woman--it turned out I didn't have to worry.

Scolded, Steve stopped fooling around, undid the garter, and rolled the stocking off. Bob finished a second or two later. They backed off and ogled the strands of black hair visible down by the mound in Beth's bikini pants. By now there were two big flagpoles flopping around. I was afraid they'd poke somebody's eye out.

Beth sat up straight and said, "OK, Janey, get up and let's see what's to see."

I pushed myself up out of the chair. Showtime. Oh, well, I didn't think the audience would actually boo.

I took off my big earrings and unhooked the necklace, then laid them on a night table. Then I shamelessly stole Beth's button act and gradually opened up the top part of the dress, smiling at the ravening monsters, whose eyes were now on--ta-da--ME. My belt was a gold rope hooked in the front. Unhooked, it dangled by my sides. Just as I was about to reach down for my skirt, Beth spoke.