Longboat Key

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 Gewürztraminer, 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 feeling 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?