Deja Vu All Over Again

The prequels to this story are titled A Island in a Wind Dark Sea

***

The telephone on Maggie's desk in her home office rang. She picked it up. "Hello."

"Is this Sheila?" the voice asked. "It's Charles." A pause. "From the beach in Greece. Nine years ago." Maggie had been called "Sheila" during her on the Greek islands. An island name eliminated inhibitions.

"Charles!" Maggie exclaimed. Her delight turned into puzzlement. "How did you find me after all this time?"

"It wasn't hard after that article in The New York Times about your work in Afghanistan. That brought you to mind for both of us."

"Both of us?"

"You remember, Ian -- who called himself Rory?"

"Yes, of course. He named me Sheila -- which I didn't know at the time meant 'loose woman' in Australian. Well, I was loose all right!" She laughed. How could she forget her torrid 24-hour affair with young Rory on the Greek island of Skiathos? Or for that matter her three day group sex marathon with Charles and others on Skopelos? "Where are you?" she asked.

"We're both in Australia, working at the University in Perth, but we're planning a reunion on Skopelos. Our wives will be with us. Oscar and Alicia will be joining us from Sweden."

Maggie's heart sank. Rory was married! He and Charles were bringing their wives! "Oh," she said, "It sounds fun, but I don't want to be a fifth wheel, and my husband isn't into this sort of thing." That "thing" she thought to herself was a lot of sex with a lot of people.

"Husband? Are you still married to the preacher?"

"No, we divorced six years ago. I have a new husband -- as of four months ago."

"Congratulations!" Charles tried to be enthusiastic, "Well, I understand if you don't feel that you can come." His voice brightened. "You wouldn't be the only single. Fiona, you remember her -- the fat Englishwoman -- is coming. There's no obligation. Just drop in for a drink and a swim." He paused. "If that's all you want."

Maggie was cautious. "Do your wives know about me and you and Rory?" She laughed. "And Oscar and Alicia and Fiona. I can't believe the things we did!"

"Our wives know -- we're swingers among our little group, but only our little group. There's no worry about that."

Maggie thought, "How in the world did I, a preacher's wife from Kansas, get involved in a swingers group on a Greek island? Why am I, recently married to a nice man, even entertaining the idea of a reunion? I'm 46 years old. Charles must be 50. Young Rory would be 34 by now. Who knows what they are like after all these years?"

She reminisced to herself. "It was the best few days of my life: going naked all day, every day, swimming to the caves, fucking Rory, Charles, Oscar, Alicia, and Fiona, drinking beer, and eating octopus. It was the dawn of my sexual liberation! I found freedom!"

To Charles she said, "I'll think about it. I just don't know if I can join you."

"Please do think about it," he answered. "We'd love to see you. We've rented a big house on Skopelos for the first two weeks in August. There's plenty of room. Sand, sea, beach, old friends all waiting for you."

They chatted about their respective lives. Charles was a professor of archaeology, as was Rory. Maggie was a "disaster junkie," traveling world-wide to help the victims of humanitarian disasters caused by war, earthquake, tsunami, or hurricane. She lived in Washington, D.C. with her new husband when she was not traveling from disaster to disaster. Going to Greece wouldn't be a problem. She could arrange to take a few days off and stopover while Rory and Charles and the group were on Skopelos.

When Maggie hung up the telephone, she put her head in her hands and agonized. "Oh, my God! It's so tempting." If it is possible to love someone you only know one day and, moreover, is 12 years younger, it was Rory for her. She had dreamed about him and now he had reappeared in her life just when she resolved to go down the path of being a good companion and wife to her husband. She loved her husband, but not sexually. He was a straight arrow, kind, generous, honest, and loyal. A widower, he had only had sex with two women during his 46 years: his former wife and her. She, by contrast, had bedded 30 men and along her sexual pathway she evolved from being a shy receptacle of male sperm to a confident and assertive lover, but she had had no lovers except her husband since their marriage. He didn't want to know about her previous love life, and she didn't tell him.

"What's the harm of it?" she asked herself. "I'll spend a couple of days on Skopelos and go happily on my way. Or maybe everything will be strange. And sex? Who knows how that might go after all these years?" She opened up her desk drawer and found a small mirror and looked at herself. "I don't look 46," she told herself, but she felt the crow's feet radiating from her eyes and the loose skin on her jaws. She felt a breast. "My dinky little tits don't sag." She patted her rear. "My ass is firm. My legs are still slender. I could go naked without being ashamed." She pulled out a breast and looked at it. "I'm so white! The reflected light from my tits could blind someone!" She chuckled at her witticism.

During the years after she overcame the strictures of her religious upbringing, Maggie had adopted the philosophy of "If it doesn't hurt anybody, it's not wrong." Did that philosophy still apply? An indiscretion in Greece would not likely find its way back to her husband. For a month she wrestled in her mind with the consequences of a vacation with old lovers in Greece. Finally, she made a decision and e-mailed Charles. "Is the invitation to visit you still good? Please tell me if it will be uncomfortable meeting your wives and I won't come. Otherwise, I'll arrive on Skopelos on August 7 and stay two or three days. Love. Sheila" She hearkened back to the past by using her island name.

A few hours later, she received a reply. "I'm delighted to hear from you. All of us, including our wives, look forward to seeing you. We'll have a great time. Love. Charles."

***

Maggie completed an exhausting visit to several African countries by flying all night to Athens and taking a hydrofoil to Skopelos, arriving mid-day. She had dressed for the occasion in shorts, sandals, and a short-sleeved man's shirt knotted below her breasts. She had debated wearing a bra and decided not. It was hot, an island, and a holiday. She liked the cleft between her breasts revealed by the unfastened button on the front of her shirt. She wore her light-brown hair, streaked with gray, in a pony-tail. She was too old to wear a pony-tail, but it was trouble-free and casual. She hoped that she looked like a woman comfortable with herself -- although she was so nervous that her hands shook.

Maggie had also shaven her pubic hair -- just in case she decided to go nude. Or do other things. The others in the group had all been shaven in those long ago days.

She recognized tall, lanky, ugly, smiling Charles waiting on the pier for her to disembark. Beside him was a shorter and still strikingly handsome and bronzed Ian, "Rory" as he was known to her. "Rory has gained a little weight and Charles is all gray and uglier than ever" she said to herself. She had an urge to turn around and flee back to the hydrofoil, but she advanced toward them, pulling her suitcase and with what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face.

Charles greeted her with an exclamation, "Sheila!," and an embrace that nearly knocked the wind out of her. He kissed both her cheeks. She eased herself away from him and turned to Rory and they shook hands awkwardly and then embraced -- and suddenly tears were rolling down her cheeks and she dissolved into sobs.

"I can't believe it," she said, trying to control her voice. "I was going to be so cool and mature and sophisticated on meeting you again -- and here I am a mess!" She was crying uncontrollably.

Rory took a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his shorts and wiped away her tears. "You haven't changed a bit," he said.

"Liar!" she responded, laughing.

Rory locked his arms about her and she rested her chin on his shoulder. "What do we do now?" she asked.

"It's only a short walk to the house to meet the others."

She took a deep breath and calmed herself. "I'm scared to death to meet your wives. Please be honest. Is this okay?" She disentangled herself from Rory.

"No problem" Charles said, kissing her on the cheek. "Enjoy yourself. This is a vacation in paradise."

They walked away from the pier, Charles pulling her suitcase and Rory holding her hand, They trudged up a cobble-stoned street lined by white stone houses with blue shutters jeweled with purple bougainvillea. A walk of a few hundred yards led them out of the village to a large, two-story house overlooking a deep blue bay and a yellow sandy beach.

"We're staying here," said Rory

"How many are we?" asked Maggie.

"Eight. Charles and his wife Nina. My wife Clarise and I. Oscar and Alicia. From Sweden. Remember them? Fiona, the Englishwoman. And now you."

Maggie's accountant brain calculated. "Five women and three men. How's that going to work?"

Rory opened the door for her and they stepped into the house. It was large and grand, two stories, and beyond the large windows facing her was a panorama of the sea. Maggie walked to the windows to see the view. A deck and a few steps down a staircase led to a yellow sand beach. The view was breathtaking.

"You must be Maggie." The woman's voice came from the adjoining room. Maggie turned to look. The woman was in the kitchen, standing over the stove. She was about fifty and wore a flowery bikini, out of which poked large breasts, broad hips, and thick thighs.

Maggie's first thought was unkind "Thank God, I won't be the oldest and dumpiest of the women." Her second thought was that the woman had a lovely smile.

"Hello, I'm Nina," the woman advanced to meet Maggie and shook her hand, then embraced her. "I'm Charles's wife. It's so good to meet you. The boys have told us about you."

By "boys", Maggie assumed she meant Rory and Charles. And maybe Oscar. She had had sex with all of them -- and with Fiona and Alicia. Nina was shorter than Maggie and had dark brown hair tied in a bun. Her nose were freckled as was her chest upon which her bikini top hung loosely, threatening to unleash voluminous breasts.

Another woman walked into the room through a door to the side. She was much younger, early-thirties, Maggie guessed, statuesque and beautiful, and dressed in shorts and a halter top. "Those boobs make me feel inadequate," Maggie thought as they embraced.

"I'm Clarise," the second woman announced, "Rory's wife. Welcome! The others are down on the beach. We're preparing lunch. I'm told you like octopus and beer." She took Maggie by the hand and they walked through the sliding glass doors to the deck outside and from there she saw Oscar, Alicia, and Fiona laying on the beach. A nude Fiona looked up at Maggie. She was no longer the "fat Englishwoman" although her body still resembled a fire hydrant, albeit without an overhanging belly. She was nude and her breasts had shrunk to nubbins.

Alicia and Oscar were also nude. "Alicia is a goddess," Maggie thought. Tall, bronzed, narrow-hipped, with large firm breasts, blond hair, and Scandinavian loveliness, Alicia was now about forty, with lines in her face, but, Maggie noticed, her fabulous breasts had a slight sag. Oscar was also forty, a Scandinavian god, also blond, tall, bronzed, slender, and unchanged from how she remembered him. His penis and pendulous testicles bounced as he rose to his feet and waved a greeting to her.

"Nudity on the beach is still on the agenda," Maggie thought to herself. The beach was small, enclosed and secluded, and only her friends were present.

Oscar, Alicia, and Fiona walked up the stairs to the deck and embraced Maggie and she felt the impress of Oscar's penis. She quivered involuntarily at the touch. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of a naked man against her. "Well," she thought with guilt, "except for my husband."

"We will dress and eat lunch," Alicia said. She spoke perfect, but stilted English, as did Oscar. Fiona had the remnants of a cockney accent. Maggie was aware that her own manner of speaking had the flat, nasal quality of a Kansan.

Maggie was quiet during lunch, eating octopus and peasant salad and drinking beer. When they had finished, the men helped the women clean up the dishes. It was hot in the house; there was no air-conditioning.

"You're sharing a bedroom with me," said Fiona to Maggie, as they put the last clean plates in the drying rack. "I hope you don't mind. I'm going to lie down and read. How about you?"

"Sounds like a good idea. I flew all the way from Kenya last night and I'm tired."

Fiona led Maggie to their bedroom. It was small with two double beds and a large window that looked out over the sparkling sea. Fiona took off her clothes and lay down on the bed. She retrieved a book and a pair of glasses from the bedside table. Maggie followed suit, hanging her clothes over a chair.

"I'm a little nervous," said Maggie carefully, feeling her way along in the conversation.

"About what?" Fiona asked.

"I'm not sure how to behave. Charles and Rory's wives are here and it's been a long time since we last met."

Fiona laid aside her book and looked at Maggie. "You're asking about sex, aren't you?"

"Yes...sort of. I'm not sure what's expected of me -- or what I should do."

"Well, the men want to fuck you. That's certain. And the wives are okay with that. Provided you fuck them too. These Aussies on vacation get kind of wild. Back home, they say they all behave themselves. You know Alicia and Oscar. They're open to anything. As for me, I prefer women. I fuck these guys for nostalgia's sake, but with you here, maybe I won't have to." She laughed.

Fiona turned toward Maggie and her voice lowered with a touch of intimacy. "The wives, Clarise and Nina, are not lesbos like me, but we play around together. I'm in heaven with that." She laughed again. "Don't worry about them. This is just a vacation. What about you?"

Maggie turned on her side toward Fiona to meet her eyes an arm's length away. Fiona, she thought, was far from being a glamour girl -- forty years old, short and snub nosed, irreverent, and cheeky. Maggie liked her. Nine years earlier she had been the first woman Maggie had ever had sex with. Alicia, the Swedish amazon, had been second -- and there had never been a third. Maggie wouldn't feel guilt for cheating on her husband with the women. But the men? She wasn't sure about that. Her quick embrace with Rory had aroused stirrings in her groin.

She responded to Fiona's penetrating gaze. "I don't know. Being here all those years ago was the greatest experience of my life. I was trying to find my way and you and the others showed me what sexual freedom was about. Wow! Have I enjoyed it!" She giggled. "I recently re-married and it's a good marriage with a man I love. However, well, you know...." Her voice trailed off indecisively."

"We're excited to have you here," answered Fiona, reaching for her book and turning over to her back. "The men are panting in passion, even more so after seeing you again. You are still the naive and innocent American and that's incredibly sexy."

"Hardly naive and innocent," Maggie laughed. "Thank you for talking to me. I'm reassured." Maggie turned over on her back.

Fiona said casually. "If you decide you want to fuck, don't forget about me."

Maggie tittered in embarrassment. "I won't. Promise!"

"Now, I need a nap," Fiona said. "So do you. It'll be beach time when it gets cooler."

As Maggie drifted into sleep, her memory turned to Rory and when he had stripped off her clothes and massaged her breasts with olive oil before he had sex with her for the first time. She remembered how apprehensive she had been about the size of Charles's penis. Would that thing fit into her? It did -- several times over three days. It was still the largest penis she had ever seen. Another vision came of the slapping sound as Oscar stroked her from behind while she fastened her tongue and mouth on Fiona's clitoris.

When Maggie woke up, she was alone in the room. She glanced at her watch. Five o'clock. Time to go to the beach. But what should she wear? She couldn't just walk out of the room without a stitch of clothing. She opened her suitcase and found her bikini. She slipped it on, tying the strings around her waist and maneuvering the bra over her breasts. She looked at herself in the mirror on one wall of the room. The brief bottom of the bikini didn't cover the stretch marks on her stomach, or the suggestion of dimples on her buttocks. The bra was held on only loosely by a strap around her back. She raised an arm to test it and a breast popped out. She tucked it back in.

With a deep breath, she stepped out of the room. Nina, Charles's wife, was in the kitchen. She wore only the bottom of a bikini out of which her buttocks protruded and at her waist a small paunch lapped over. Her large and pendulous breasts were bare and bounced as she turned to meet Maggie.

"I'm the kitchen slave," said Nina. "The others are at the beach." She looked Maggie over from head to toe. "You're beautiful, Sheila. I never looked so good, even when I was half your age."

"Thank you, but I'm sure that's untrue," answered Maggie. "Can I help you here?" She hoped the reply would be negative.

"No, of course not. You go to the beach with the others. They're all naked, you know."

"I should take this off then." Maggie walked back to her room, stripped off her bikini, walked again to the kitchen, and greeted Nina again. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Here I go."

"Don't worry," said Nina. "The beach is just us -- and we're all family." She grimaced. "Well, I don't mean like family or relatives or related. If you catch my meaning..."

"I get it," answered Maggie with a knowing smile. She turned and walked out the back door of the house onto the deck. She went down the stairs and paused as she stepped onto the sand.

"Sheila!" Rory raised his arm to greet her. "Join us! Have a beer." Several of the group were sitting on the sand. Others were in the water.

Maggie walked to Rory's side and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll join you, but first I need to get wet." Best to work herself into this scene slowly -- and she might smell of airplanes and hard traveling. She walked to the edge of the sea and felt the gentle waves on her bare feet. She stepped deeper. Clarise, Rory's wife, greeted her with a warm smile. Charles walked over and kissed her -- and she could not help noticing that his penis had not diminished in size. Moreover, it was almost erect. What had he been doing?

The answer came quickly. Charles took Clarise by the hand and they walked together, shoulders rubbing, smiling at each other, into the deeper water. They looked very comfortable and intimate. "Are they going to fuck? Right here, right now?" Maggie asked herself. "It looks like they might."

An thought crept into her mind. "If Charles and Clarise are fucking, Rory may be available for me." Guilt replaced enthusiasm as she thought about her husband. She walked deeper and deeper into the clear, blue water of the sea. "I want Rory," she admitted to herself. "I really want Rory. I'll let it happen -- if it does. It'll just be a friendly fuck. It won't affect my marriage."

Prior to Rory and Charles and the others, her extra marital encounters had been brief and nerve-wracking. Only on a small island, without fear of being unmasked as an adulteress and the scandalous, sinning wife of a fundamentalist preacher from a small gossipy town in Kansas, had she found herself. With Rory she had been able to relax and devote herself to the passion of the moment.