Chapter 2

The sun burned off some of the night's humidity as it rose fat and orange on the second day. It pierced the condo's waterside windows, pushing everyone out of bed.

The showers could only offer cold water, and even that was closer to tepid. The morning was filled with petty annoyances: nicks and cuts from shaving, three different people going through the motions of making coffee before each realized the futility, sighs over chocolate melted into the contents of a too-hastily packed drawer.

Pete was in a particularly foul mood, though perhaps that was only in contrast to the sunny smiles of the three women and the skylarking of Steve, who whistled his way around the kitchen assembling a dry breakfast of bananas and wheat flakes.

The women chose to skip breakfast. Squeezing into barely-there bikinis -- gold for Paula, red for Lucy, leopard print for Sam -- they grabbed cheap romance novels and headed for the beach.

After Randall transformed his bed back into a couch, he borrowed the car keys and headed out "to explore."

But a few minutes later he was back, having turned around when he saw Bobbi Jo coming the other way. She was hailed as a conquering hero when she popped the trunk of her replacement rental to reveal two coolers full of ice, a case of assorted liquor, steaks and other less spectacular comestibles. Despite a buzz of questions she refused to say how she'd produced such precious cargo.

After her arrival the day took on a festive air. Everybody dove into the ocean. The guys got out first, beaching themselves on towels spread far apart. Each one made a show of scanning the horizon, following the path of dive-bombing gulls, staring intently at driftwood formations.

But their eyes always returned to the four women splashing and swimming just off-shore.

Except for the color of their suits -- and the color of Sam's skin -- all four presented identically beautiful backsides. From the front, Sam's features were distinctive, and Bobbi Jo had a few more crow's feet around the eyes, a rounder jaw line than Lucy and Paula. But their curves were equally developed, their legs identically long. The beads of sweat on the faces of all three men did not appear to be due solely to the sun.

When the women marched back up the beach, Randall tended bar. Sam found a stash of volleyball equipment under the stairs. They defied the heat with a spirited game until Randall twisted his ankle and some of their dwindling ice supply went toward keeping down the swelling.

Pete ruled the barbecue, and a few cold martinis restored the good cheer as evening fell. A sliver of moon even made an appearance, offering a few dim shades of gray in the deepening night.

Everyone stayed around the grill long after dinner was over, even though the conversation wandered aimlessly through trivial topics.

"It's so peaceful out here," Steve said as darkness descended. "And look at the stars! I've never seen the sky so full. It's like diamonds on black velvet."

"Speaking of diamonds," Lucy said teasingly, "isn't this your anniversary? What are you two doing out here with all of us?"

Paula lobbed her last sliver of ice at her double. "Us? You're the newlyweds. You're not supposed to be able to keep your hands off each other."

"Newlyweds?" Lucy produced a ladylike snort. "It's almost a year. We're another old married couple."

Randall paused as he was tossing a paper plate into a garbage bag. "I'm not so sure about that," he said. "Maybe the honeymoon's not over yet."

Pete poked Randall in the side. "I think," he said, "that the honeymoon ended the first time your bride heard that buzzsaw snore of yours."

Maybe the poke was harder than the moment called for. Or maybe Randall hadn't been as oblivious as he appeared to the way Pete and Lucy eyed each other. For whatever reason, the older man jerked sharply away at Pete's touch and brought his fists up.

Steve stepped between them, waving them toward neutral corners. "Hey, how about sleeping outside? Anyone up for that? Paula?"

"Outside?" She stretched the word into four syllables. "Where?"

"The beach! We can lay down towels, look up at the stars --"

Paula shook her head. "Get bitten by bugs, crawled over by who knows wha-- yipe!"

Sam had crept up behind Paula and silently brushed her fingers just below the sweep of blonde hair. Paula leaped two feet in the air, but she came down laughing and good spirits gradually resettled on the group.

When they finally went back inside, it was only with evident reluctance, in ones and twos, trudging past the silent hot tub and in the back door.

Steve lingered longest, heading out for a walk along the shoreline, watching phosphorescent waves sparkle toward land. He was as happy and content as he could remember being in a long time. True, he missed the kids. But Paula may have been right about that; they probably needed time away. Judging by last night, the trip to Mestife had already brought some zip back to their marriage.

That thought stirred his loins, and he pointed himself back to the condo, which he could make out as a tall shadowy rectangle against the deep blue night.

Drawing closer, he heard voices, easily identified as Sam's Southern drawl and Bobbi Jo's hyper staccato. He came around the side of the patio's side wall and stopped, leaning back into the shadows.

The hot tub's cover was folded on the patio's deck. Bobbi Jo and Sam were getting into the tub. They had lit a candle, another treasure from Bobbi Jo's mysterious cache. In its flickering he could see they were naked.

Steve hugged the wall, slowing his breath. The candle's glow accented the curves of their breasts, silhouetted their bodies, made shifting, hypnotic patterns on the water. When Sam grasped the sides of the tub and slid under to her neck, she looked like she was slipping into quicksilver. When she bobbed back up, liquid light cascaded off her dark flesh.

The subtle light erased the age difference between the two women; Bobbi Jo's eyes gleamed like a young girl's. They settled at opposite sides of the square tub, but soon they were gliding closer together. Bobbi Jo's hand reached out, pulled Sam to her. Their faces hovered inches apart. Then, as slow as a gay rights bill in a Southern legislature, the distance between them narrowed. Their lips met.

Steve's cock was throbbing in his swim trunks. He was slightly guilty about being a voyeur and slightly afraid of being caught. But when the thought of interrupting the women flitted into his head, he swatted it away like a pesky fly.

Bobbi Jo and Sam had their arms wrapped around each other. Their kisses touched to cheeks, necks, eyelids as they floated into the middle of the tub. In an erotic water ballet, Bobbi Jo arched her back and very slowly tilted until she was floating on her back. As she shifted, Sam's lips landed softly on the older woman's breasts, trailed down her stomach, reached the folds of her cunt.

Steve put his hand into his trunks and stroked his turgid dick. Bobbi Jo's legs were splayed wide, giving him a clear but shadowy view of all the action. Precum leaked out the tip of his cock and he spread it over the knob and down the pole as he watched Sam's tongue lapping away.

Water sloshed over the side of the tub, spattering onto the deck, as Bobbi Jo responded to Sam's ministrations, rocking her ass up and down. The younger woman had to stop several times to gasp for air, but she clung to Bobbi Jo's waist. Suddenly her head disappeared beneath the water. Sam popped back up, shaking off a spray that glittered like fireworks in the candlelight, while Bobbi Jo's moans rolled over her.

Steve's hand was flying over his cock, and his breathing had grown so harsh that he ducked back behind the patio wall and sank to a crouch, worried about being discovered. Only when his heartbeat had slowed and he could breath without rasping did he silently crawl back and peek around the wall again.

Bobbi Jo had Sam pinned against one side of the tub and was smothering her with kisses. They were mostly underwater, but Steve could see Bobbi Jo's shoulder bouncing up and down. From Sam's shrieks it was obvious her lover's fingers were buried deep within her cunt.

Steve's hand returned to his pole. His strokes kept time with Bobbi Jo's as he daydreamed about stripping off his trunks and boldly climbing into the hot tub. The women would welcome him into their embrace. Three pairs of hands would dive into the water and seek out carnal pleasures. When they were all ready, Sam would spread her legs wide. Steve would float into her arms, suckling the breasts that floated enticingly before him. She would grow impatient. "God, I need your cock in me," she'd sob, "I need that big, beautiful monster inside now. Fuck me, Steve, fuck me!" He'd wiggle his dick over her cunt for just a few seconds and then plunge in, spearing her. Bobbi Jo would press her naked body to his back, urging him on. "Shove it into her," she'd say, "fuck her good, Steve!" He'd stroke faster and faster, churning the water as he pistoned in and out. "Oh, yes," Sam would cry, "yes-yes-yes-yessss!" She would come hard, almost knocking him backwards. And when it was over Bobbi Jo would push him aside. "I'm going to eat her," she'd say. "I'm going to slurp all that tasty cum out of her pussy." Sam would climb up and sit on the edge of the tub, opening wide. When Bobbi Jo's head ducked between her lover's legs, Steve would slide in behind. He'd pop into Bobbi Jo's slit, sliding easy in long strokes. But then Sam would smile at him. "Put it in her ass," she'd say. "Go on." He would, though it was a tight squeeze. He'd have to hold his dick with both hands, just the knob protruding, and ease his way into the tiny puckered hole. Bobbi Jo would pick her head up in shock, but Sam would push it back to suck her cunt. Meanwhile the rosebud would open bit by bit until the whole head of his penis popped inside. He'd take it slow then, feeding more and more into her until before he started stroking in and out. Sam would come again, milder. Then he'd feel his own orgasm building. Bobbi Jo would shout as hers hit. And at last he'd... he'd...

"Where are the towels, Sam?"

"I think I tossed them by the wall when we came in."

Steve dove for cover, his heart pounding and beads of sweat filling his eyes. He landed in a heap on the sand, a hand over his mouth to cover his panting. Frantically he pulled his trunks back up as his mind raced through increasingly implausible explanations and decreasingly acceptable apologies. By the time the blood had stopped rushing through his ears, he couldn't hear anything on the other side of the wall anyway.

Even so, he sat still for several minutes before he dared turn his head. It took several seconds for him to realize the significance of the unwavering darkness: The candle was gone.

With his cock painfully stiff, Steve levered himself to his feet and poked his head around the wall. The coast was clear. He let out a long sigh.

Squaring his shoulders, he strode into the condo. Three feet inside, where the moon glow gave out, he got tangled in the volleyball net and almost hit the floor face-first before he regained his balance.

Even when his eyes adjusted to the dark, he found the sliver of moonlight was little help. The shadowy places, like the stairs, were as black as ever. The windows on the main floor let in all the illumination there was, but it was like watching an old black-and-white film noir. On a TV with a fading picture tube. While wearing sunglasses.

Still, he could make his way silently through the living room to his bed.

Luna was only a sharpened scimitar in the night sky, but there was a full moon in the bedroom. Stretched out naked on top of the sheets was a familiar form with its crown of blonde hair. She was face down, legs spread just enough for him to make out the shadowy lines of her cunt.

Steve's cock throbbed. He yanked off his trunks and was on her in seconds.

He was too horny to bother with preliminaries. Covering her body with his own, he fitted his dick to her slit and pounded against her dry hole. His hands went to her sides, grabbed her tits. He rolled them with his palms. The nipples grew taut. She stirred, murmured.

"It's me, Paula," he said, feeling a little foolish. Who else would be fucking her? "Sorry to wake you, but I just gotta have it. I need you so bad!"

She wiggled her ass. He was afraid she would push him away again. But she just got to her knees, offering him an easier target. And she used her fingers to moisten her pussy, getting it ready for him.

Steve entered in one swift thrust with a mighty groan. This was, he told himself, turning into the best weekend of their marriage. She was so willing, so open, so -- shit, she was fucking back at him even doggie style! It was like she was a new woman.