What Happens in Jamaica

"Did he bother you?" I asked. I wanted to know every detail. I wanted to know what had been going on in her head. How it had felt.

She shook her head, her golden hair tossing. "Not really. Just kind of flirting with me."

"Flirting with you?!" My excitement made me blurt it louder than I'd meant to. I sounded almost annoyed but, in reality, anger was way down the list of emotions I was feeling.

Kim's eyes flew open. "I didn't flirt back, or anything!" she said, sounding horrified. Her eyes were wide but, as I stared at her, her cheeks colored a little. She was feeling guilty, rightly or wrongly. I hadn't even considered that part of it. I'd been so fixated on the guy coming on to my wife, I hadn't really considered whether she'd done anything in response. It hadn't looked like she had, but...women can be a lot subtler than men. I remembered her tossing her hair back when she laughed. Had she been flirting with him, just a little?

The idea turned me on. And that, in turn, disturbed me.

I shook my head to reassure her. "I know." I paused, trying to work out what to say next. I didn't want to scare her. I sure as hell couldn't tell her about how I felt. But I was desperate to know more.

"He was just looking at me," she said. "You know, trying to get a look down my top." Perhaps subconsciously, she adjusted the vest top, tweaking the neck so that it was a little more modest. I watched, transfixed, as her breasts bounced slightly with the movement. "Typical guy."

I nodded. "Asshole."

Then I turned back to face front and started to think about ways I could make it happen again.

Chapter 3

Landing in Montego Bay was like falling headfirst into a picture postcard. The sea was a dark, tranquil blue, lightening to a glorious pale azure as it lapped up against the white beaches. Further back rose the Blue Mountains, cool and thickly forested, the perfect counterpart to the blazing sun. As the plane taxied, I grabbed Kim's hand and squeezed hard. "I think we're going to like it here," I told her.

As soon as we'd grabbed our bags, we raced out of the terminal building. The warm air of Jamaica hit us as we finally got out of the sterile air conditioning and into the sunshine. Hotter than it had been in LA...but fresher and cleaner, too, thanks to the cool edge of the sea. I wanted to heave down huge lungfuls of it. What had happened on the plane was forgotten. Seeing the place made me remember the reason we'd come on vacation in the first place: to get closer, and fix whatever was going wrong between us.

I was so eager to get going, I practically threw our bags into the back of the cab. The cab driver, an aging black man with silver hair, threw back his head and laughed—a rich, infectious sound. "You in Jamaica, now, mon," he told me. "You got to slow down a li'l bit."

I nodded and smiled to be polite, but I didn't pay much attention. I slipped an arm around Kim's waist and pulled her tight into me, just savoring the feeling of her against me for a moment before we climbed into the cab. This was going to be the best vacation ever.

***

Montego Bay was a riot of color and life. Even the shops themselves were painted in bright reds, yellows and greens. At first, we rushed about like all the other tourists, darting from one shop to another.

And then, slowly, the cabbie's words started to make sense. As we took a break at a roadside cafe for our first taste of Blue Mountain coffee, rich and dark and amazing, I realized something.

Everything was slower.

People didn't walk. They ambled.

I started to feel the tension drain out of me. That sense of urgency in LA that makes you dive out of bed in a panic when you realize it's past seven...that didn't exist here. We had a week to do exactly as we pleased.

I slumped back in my seat and stopped thinking about rushing to the next tourist spot. For the first time, I just...watched. And that's when I noticed how much attention Kim was getting.

There were plenty of other tourists around, of course. But we were in a huge minority. The street we were in was a little off the main streets and most people there were locals. And in Jamaica, almost everyone is black—the rich, deep mahogany of West Africa, or one of the many other subtle shades. Kim, with her softly golden skin and lustrous blonde hair, stood out. I saw heads turning, dreadlocks bouncing as men nodded their approval. Sometimes I could see their eyes and spot that gleam of lust. Some of them were wearing sunglasses and I just saw the reflection of the two of us in the lenses. But nearly all of them looked.

Kim had ditched the cardigan, now we were out of the air conditioning, and was in just her heels, blue denim skirt and gray vest top. As she leaned forward to sip her coffee, her top pulled tight over her breasts, the firm curves bulging out of the scoop neck.

Instantly, I was hard again. Not just from looking at her; from knowing others were. It was as if I was seeing my wife through new eyes: other men's eyes. All the feelings I'd had on the plane rushed back—and now, I was relaxed enough to let them spin and percolate in my mind.

I'd wanted Kim to take more risks with her clothes, to show a little more skin. I'd thought that it was because things were getting stale and predictable; I'd thought it was all about making her look different. But what if, underneath, it had been this all along? What if what I really wanted was for other men to look at her?

I gazed at her as she sat across the table, completely unaware. Should I tell her? What if she thought I was crazy, or weird? Weren't men always meant to be fiercely protective of their women, hurling guys across the bar if they so much as glanced at their girl?

What if I just did it subtly? What if I just got her to dress a little more sexily? The guy on the plane had shown that guys were already looking at her, just waiting for their chance to approach. It wouldn't take much to encourage them.

"Come on," I said, finishing off my coffee. "Let's go shopping."

***

"You have got to be kidding," said Kim, looking at the shirt I'd just handed her.

"Everyone's wearing them," I said. "You don't want to stand out, do you?"

We were standing in a small boutique in one of the backstreets. Ancient gold birdcages dangled from the ceiling and the air was heavy with some rich, exotic perfume. The top I'd handed Kim was a purple shirt designed to be tied under the boobs and, indeed, plenty of women in the streets were wearing something similar.

"It's too..." Kim searched for the right words. "It doesn't cover me enough."

"It's long-sleeved," I said, playing dumb. "It'll stop your arms from burning. You know how easily you burn."

Kim gave me a look. "You know what I mean. It's..." She sighed, but went to try it on.

When she emerged from the fitting room, my jaw dropped. The shirt lifted and pushed her breasts together, exposing not only the tops but the mouth-watering softness where the firm globes met, that soft valley where men dream of pushing their tongue...or their cock. If you looked down on her, you could see right down between her breasts, almost to the bottom of each one. Her bra and the fabric of the shirt kept her decent, but what was on display was heavenly. And below the knotted shirt, her midriff was left bare. She'd always kept in good shape and, never having borne a child, her stomach was trim and flat. The golden skin there was smooth and touchably soft, her navel a perfect little cave in the center.

"No," she said, looking in the mirror.

"Yes," I said firmly.

She looked round at me, surprised. "You really like it?"

"It's super-sexy."

"I don't know if I want to be super-sexy. I mean, maybe I could wear it for you in the bedroom..."

I shook my head. "We're on vacation," I reminded her. "Live a little."

***

Next was swim wear. I tried to find something along the lines of the tiny bikini I'd seen on the model in the Jamaica commercial. But, in a cool, dark swimwear store with its own mini-waterfall cascading down one wall, I found something even better.

It was a one-piece swimsuit, but it was cut daringly high on the hips and really low at the front, exposing a generous vee of her perfect breasts. The best thing, though, was the fabric. It was a dark crimson and had a high-tech, almost metallic sheen. It glistened like latex, reflecting the light and accentuating the swell of her chest, the curves of her ass. At the back, thin straps criss-crossed her back, making it look almost like a corset. It wasn't as obviously outrageous as the knotted shirt, but the thin, rubbery material clung to her like a second skin. She was covered yet, in a way, she was nude. I knew that every man on the beach would be staring at her.

And then it got even better. It was pleasantly cool in the store and, as Kim examined her back and ass in the mirror, I saw her nipples harden and begin to show through the thin fabric.

"It's kind of expensive," Kim said uncertainly, unaware of what was happening in front. "Are you sure we can—"

I slapped my credit card down on the counter in answer.

Chapter 4

That evening, as the sun was setting, we wandered through the streets of Montego Bay. I hadn't been able to persuade my wife into the knotted shirt, yet, but she'd slipped on a gauzy green summer dress that had a tendency to blow up around her thighs in the breeze. Combined with a pair of heels, her long legs were hard to miss.

After several drinks, we wound up in a blue-painted reggae bar right near the beach, where the party had spilled out onto the deck and from there right onto the sand. Upstairs, the balcony was filled with couples necking and men leaning over the edge, checking out the women below.

We chilled out at a small table outside for a while, and then I told Kim I had to use the restroom. It was only when I turned from her to go that I realized what I was doing: I was leaving her alone, amongst all those men. Without me there, would they just gawp at her...or would one of them approach her?

I felt my cock harden in my pants. The thought of another guy lusting after her, maybe sitting down at the table with her...

I needed to get somewhere I could see. I could barely scramble up the stairs fast enough. It didn't help that I was sliding rapidly past tipsy and into drunk, as the wickedly potent Jamaican cocktails hit my system.

Upstairs, I made my way to the front of the balcony. There, I could look down at the tables on the deck...and at one of them was my wife, her long legs stretched lazily out in front of her. The green dress contrasted perfectly with her blonde hair and the smooth, delicate tan of her skin.

As I glanced at the rest of the deck, I caught my breath. We weren't the only white people in the bar but, from up on the balcony, it was suddenly very clear that we were in a small minority. In the fading light, my wife's skin looked very pale, adrift amidst a sea that was almost entirely black. I hadn't really considered that aspect of it before, but for some reason the sight of it sent a throb through me.

I could see the men looking at her, from tables of their own or from their little groups, glancing over their shoulders at the blonde woman sitting all alone. Some of them were on the balcony with me, looking over the edge, enjoying the view of both her legs and her cleavage.

To my disappointment, no one approached her. Probably, they'd all seen me at the table and knew I'd be back in a few minutes. I couldn't stay away long, or Kim would wonder what was wrong.

I'd just made up my mind to go down there and rejoin her when I saw him. He wasn't walking over to her—he wasn't even all that close to her. He was just leaning against a wall, a bottle of beer in his hand, taking in the scene. And yet he grabbed my attention.

The guy was big—definitely taller than me by a few inches, which would make him a full head taller than Kim. He was well built, too. A black vest showed off arms with thick swells of muscle stretching his deep brown skin. I'm not in bad shape myself, but this guy made me look small, his shoulders hulking and wide. I thought I could see tattoos on his arms, but it was difficult to see in the dim light. He wore his black hair in dreads, like many of the men, and they hung in a thick mane down over his shoulders.

It was his expression that made me stare. I could tell he was good looking—a tough face, but with a sort of feline grace that made it handsome, not brutish. He was gazing right at my wife, who seemed completely unaware of him. He didn't seem like the other men, who were practically licking their lips as they looked at her. They were like starving men eying their next meal. He was more like a connoisseur, holding a fine wine up to the light before taking the first sip. And that filled me with dread. So far, I'd felt as if I was in the position of power—the one holding the deer's rope, ready to jerk her out of harm's way. This man didn't feel like one of the lions. He felt like he was ready to snatch the rope right out of my hands and...

...and take her for himself.

Energy seemed to crackle through my body, leaving me breathless and almost panting. It was crazy, of course. No one was going to run off with Kim. I was just having fun, showing off my wife and watching other men's reactions.

Something dark and hot seemed to twist and squirm inside me. Was that all I wanted? Just to see their reactions? Tease them and then pull her away? Or did I want to see it go further than that? Did I want to see their hands on her body?

That last thought made me grip the balcony's handrail, my knuckles white, in mixed lust and fear. I looked down at the dreadlocked man beneath, lounging so confidently against the wall. I stared at his huge hand, wrapped around the beer bottle, and I imagined it closing around Kim's soft shoulder, pushing her back in her seat as he pressed up against her and—

I swallowed. Suddenly, I was imagining his lips on hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. His hands mauling her breasts, lifting her summer dress up around her hips. Shoving her up against a wall, his fingers grabbing her panties—

I broke and ran through the crowd. For the first time since all this had started on the plane, I was scared. Something about that man was different. Something about him made me deeply uneasy...and yet, at the same time, the thought of him with my wife, even near my wife, had my cock harder than it had ever been.

As I pounded down the stairs, there was one image I couldn't get out of my head. His black, naked body entwined with hers. Spreading her. Pushing his way into her.

I burst out of the bar and stumbled through the crowd, expecting to see the guy leaning over our table, talking to her, or with his hands already on her. But Kim sat alone.

My head snapped round to look at the wall where he'd been standing. But he was gone. I looked around, but I couldn't see him in the crowd anywhere, either.

"Honey?" Kim was frowning at me. "You okay?"

I swallowed. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what was going on in my own head. I'd been terrified...and yet incredibly turned on.

"No restroom," I managed at last. "There's no restroom here. Let's head to a different bar."

As we left, I couldn't help turning back to scan the crowd for the guy, but he was still nowhere to be found. That should have been a relief...so why did I feel almost disappointed?

***

On the walk back to the hotel, I calmed down. I told myself there'd been plenty of other guys who'd been looking at Kim, some of them much more obviously than he had. That was what I'd wanted, right? Men to lust after her. What was different about that one guy, that he caused real fear as well as even greater excitement?

Halfway back, I figured it out. It was his potential. The other guys would look, maybe flirt, maybe a little more. But there was something serious about that one guy, as if he played for keeps. Or as if, with him, it wouldn't be a game at all.

I resolved that, if I ever saw him again, I'd keep Kim well away from him. And yet, at the same time, I couldn't get him out of my head.

Back in our hotel room, I wandered over to the window for a moment and stood there, trying to get a handle on things. I was horny. I was scared—as much by what was going on in my own head as by what had actually happened. Had I always felt like this? Had I always enjoyed the idea of men looking at my wife, and just never known it...or never admitted it?

I heard Kim move in behind me. A second later, I felt the press of her breasts against my back.

That was new. We'd barely had sex in weeks, and even then it hadn't been her that had initiated things. It was time to get back to us, and forget about selfish fantasies.

I turned around and looked down at her. She'd slipped off her heels, so she had to tilt her chin up to look at me. If I was him, I thought, that dreadlocked guy, she'd have to look up even in heels.

I blinked. Where had that come from? I shook my head to clear it and put my hands on her waist. Then I leaned down and kissed her.

One of the things I love most about my wife is the feel of her lips. Silky and soft and, when she's turned on, her mouth has this way of just slowly flowering open under your mouth, and she gives this soft little moan. She did it for me right then, her eyes fluttering closed, and I slid my tongue into her mouth, feeling its softness. We started to kiss, at first slowly and then open-mouthed and hungry, our heads beginning to move as our mouths explored each other. My hands slid up over her back, then down to the ripe curves of her ass. She slipped her arms around me, her fingers tracing my shoulders, my back, then over my chest, her palms warm through my shirt.

We finally broke for air. Kim's eyes were sparkling. "Wow!" she said. "We haven't kissed like that in—"

"Weeks," I said.

"Forever," she told me, and grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in again. This time, my hands roved over her sides, then slid up over her trim stomach to cup her breasts, gently squeezing them. I felt her start to move under my hands, a slow, sinuous flexing as she started to grind against my touch. When we broke apart, she was panting. "We have to come on vacation more often!" she said, grinning.

I blinked at that. I'd been just as horny back home...hadn't I? I'd thought it was her that hadn't been interested. Had it been both of us, and I just hadn't been aware of it?

Well, no matter. I was sure as hell horny now. I pushed her back towards the bed.

"It must be the sun," she said, as she let herself fall back onto the bed. The summer dress flapped up around her thighs and she made no attempt to tug it down again. "Or the heat. Or just being away."

I was smiling, too. She was right—I hadn't felt this good in months...maybe years. We really had needed a vacation. "Yeah," I told her. "It's the weather and the open air and seeing—"

I bit back my words. I'd almost said, and seeing men looking at you.

"Seeing what?" asked Kim, still grinning.

I couldn't tell her—of course not. That was weird, right, wanting to see other guys lusting after your wife? "Seeing you...dressed so sexy," I said. And leaned down and kissed her neck.

She squirmed under me in delight and then looked down at the sundress. "Really? This old thing?" Then her eyes narrowed, but in a teasing way. "Or did you mean that purple shirt you bought me?"

I looked down at her beautiful breasts, remembering how they'd looked in the shirt. "God, yes," I said breathlessly. I fell on her, my lips tracing a path down her collarbone and then down to the upper slopes of her breasts. She moaned long and low in her throat, then again as I cupped her breasts. Her body was just perfect—exactly the right combination of soft and firm, her breasts squashing under my kisses but rolling up to meet my lips, full and weighty in my hands.