Will & Terri Ch. 01

Copyright 2004 by Adam Gunn. All rights reserved.

*

The Carpentaria palms danced in the trade winds as the couple strolled barefoot along the beach. Rivulets of surf danced among their toes, echoing the emotions of love between the man and woman, celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary seven weeks late. The brilliant moon cast shadows around them, illuminated the white rocks and breakers. Gazing high into the southern sky at the bleached planet, the wife asked, "Is it full?"

"I don't think so," Will responded. "Tomorrow, I think. It's beautiful though."

"So big, too," said Terri. "Bigger than back in Pennsylvania, isn't it? I get the feeling something strange is going to happen."

He lovingly touched the bare shoulders of the woman, toyed with her spaghetti straps, felt the heat stored by the tropical sun. "You're feeling okay? Not too sunburned?"

"No, not at all," Terri replied. Only that afternoon, the first day of vacation at the Caribbean resort designed mainly for romantic couples, she'd sunbathed topless for the first time in her life. In an attempt to protect herself from the intense rays, she'd applied copious amounts of sunblock to her breasts and now the nipples, though strangely warm, felt wonderful. She recalled with pleasure how, behind her prescription sunglasses and wide brimmed hat, she'd spied on male tourists, secretly observing the sideways glances with which they'd taken in her bare breasts and the skimpy bikini bottom Will had persuaded her to purchase for the trip. Even though she was years past being a lass, apparently she was still attractive; the knowledge pleasured her. When she'd shared her observations with Will, he asked her which of the men she liked; it was a game they played, it was never serious.

After they'd returned to their room, Terri, still excited from the attention, pondered lovemaking, but by the time she'd showered and prettied herself for him, Will was napping, occasionally snorting in his sleep. She let him rest, reading her New Yorkers and home decorating magazines, then awoke him, suggested he get ready for cocktails, then a late dinner of fresh, native seafood. Afterwards in the dark, they'd taken a walk, exploring the lush tropical setting of the resort, before, she assumed, they'd return to their room for their traditional 11:30 bedtime, and perhaps, if she was lucky, a little passion.

But suddenly, the timbre of steel drums listed over the dunes, floating over the swimming pool, disturbing the tranquility. "How about another drink?" Will suggested.

"Fine," Terri agreed. "Maybe some dancing?"

"If you insist." Will didn't like dance floors much, they were too crowded, he felt self-conscious with his silly contortions. The couple retrieved their shoes from the base of a palm and rambled to the dance floor, partially filled with other couples lost in the tropical romance. The band played one of Terri's favorite Burt Baccarach songs, eliciting memories of teenage years spent with boyfriends. A table was found under an umbrella near the pool, drinks were ordered, a margarita for him, a Blue Jamaican for her. Before the waitress could deliver the beverages, the couple made their way to the floor and began to groove to the mixture of standards and reggae. Terri was happy Will was giving in so easily, and let her body go, as it had in the disco bars of the 1970s. Four or five songs passed, she could feel the welcome perspiration beginning to ooze from her pores.

"Had enough?" Will asked, when the local equivalent of a country and western song was played.

"Sure," Terri reluctantly agreed. The vacationers found their table, greedily quaffed their potions. A few songs later, the band began to play Ring My Bell, one of her favorite disco songs. "You want to go back out?" she suggested.

"In a few minutes," Will delayed, "I think I'd better hit the head first." Will often danced just a little, then called it a night. Terri was disappointed, she'd hoped to dance the night away. She noticed he was a little unsteady as he strode to the bathroom, the afternoon beers and the bottle of wine they'd had with dinner must be catching up to him. No matter, their room was less than a New York City block away. Let him get drunk if he wished. In fact, let him do anything he wished; they were on vacation!

For his part, Will made his way to the toilet, admiring the costumes worn by female tourists. One young lady seemed to have forgotten to don a bra underneath the translucent blouse; her breasts jiggled slightly as she laughed at a joke. He wondered if other men were lusting after his wife as he was admiring theirs. When he returned to the table he found new, but his wife was strangely absent -- perhaps she'd gone to the bathroom as well. He sat, watching the delectable nymphs swirling around him, admiring their wild moves as the band continued to play disco.

Suddenly, the blue and white swirls of his wife's frock caught his eye. She was on the dance floor, her hands grabbing at her hem, lifting it above her knees and showing a hint of thigh. It was an effective move, one that seemed sexier than it truly was. The crowd shifted and he spied her partner, a middle aged man donned in loafers, tailored khakis, a flower patterned shirt of questionable style, thinning hair. The music slowed momentarily, then restarted with another number from the 80's. Terri caught his eye, began to wander back to the table to be with her husband. Will waved his arm at her, an unmistakable gesture that could only mean 'stay out there, have fun.' She accepted the gift, grabbed the hand of her fellow partier and returned to the convolutions. Will realized the other man was a much better dancer than he; other husbands might have been jealous, Will was simply glad his wife had found someone who could compliment her.

When the band stopped to take their break, Terri returned to the table, her new playmate in tow. "Will, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, Will," she introduced. "Jonathan asked me to dance while you were gone. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Of course not," he replied. "Jonathan, why don't you join us?"

"You don't mind?" the man replied. "I wouldn't want to be a third wheel."

"On the contrary, sit down." A drink was ordered for the man, conversation ensued. They found out that Jonathan was down from Chicago for some R&R, and they in turn revealed how they were slaves to a large Victorian home in a Pennsylvania suburb, their lives as a computer technician and high school teacher. Still another round was delivered and the band returned, this time playing more reggae. It was clear that Terri felt the rhythms and wished to return to the dance floor.

"Why don't you take her out again?" Will suggested to Jonathan. "This isn't my kind of music." As he gazed at his completely faithful wife reveling with the other fellow, he was reminded of the fantasies he'd had for years. Perhaps this was the night? Once again she swirled and dipped around her partner, faux symbolisms of sexual attraction, and Will was happy she was enjoying herself. Jonathan moved with her, obviously enchanted with the woman. Three or four numbers passed, lively songs from the seventies, and the images of what might be captivated Will. The band played a slow song and Terri and Jonathan returned to the table.

"My turn," Will demanded. "Don't go away," he said to Jonathan, "we won't be long." When they were among the other dancers, he held his wife close, waited a minute, then began to share his imaginings with his wife.

"You seem to like Jonathan."

"He's a good dancer," Terri admitted.

"Do you think he's cute?"

"Sort of." It was a bit noncommittal, unsure of where the conversation was heading.

"Listen," Will continued, realizing he had only a few moments to communicate with her. "You know how we've talked about you being with another guy? This might be a good time to try it."

She reflected on the hundreds of times he'd fantasized about her making love with another man. Most of the time she'd played along, concocting stories of how she'd meet a man at a bar, have a few drinks, then go to his apartment and let him screw her. To her, it was nothing more than tantalization, a game, but for Will it was a craving, and once, more out of a desire to please him than any real hunger on her part, she'd agreed to go through with it, if and when. Since then, he pestered her from time to time, never insistent, always challenging. Was now 'if and when'? "You want me to go to bed with him?" The question was guarded, strained.

"If you want to," Will retorted. "You like him, it's clear that he likes you. We're away from anyone we know, anyone who will ever know us. It's the perfect set up." He stopped, waited for a response that didn't come, wondered if he'd overstepped a bit. "If you'd rather not, it's okay," he retreated, "but if you're ever going to . . . ."

She realized if she simply said 'no,' he'd bring her rejection up over and over again for years. "Let me think about it," she replied, just as the music sped up. "I'm not promising anything."

"Fine," he agreed. "Remember the time you told me it would take a strange moon for you to consider such a thing?" He waited for her nonverbal agreement, then turned her toward the brilliant yellow orb looking down upon them. "What's stranger than a full Caribbean moon?"

They returned to the table. Jonathan waited for them, and for a few minutes the threesome attempted strained conversation over the loud music. "I'm going to the bathroom," Will stated, and left the twosome to their own devices. He took his time in the toilet, giving them time a chance to get something going. Washing his hands, his attention was riveted on a vending machine. Considering that this might be something she'd need, he purchased a couple of condoms and put them in his pocket. On the return he took a different path on the opposite side of the pool, hoping to secretly spy on the couple. For a moment he couldn't find them, wondered if perhaps she'd decided to go through with it, that even now she was on the way to Jonathan's room. Then he saw them dancing again. Now she was even wilder, dipping further, showing additional cleavage, lifting the skirt higher, almost to her crotch, brushing the putative swain with her posterior. For his part, Jonathan responded, grabbing at the woman, placing a hand on her waist, pulling her to him. Heeding the action from afar, Will was filled with the sense that this time she might actually take a lover. For a few moments he considered just drifting off, letting them be, but then he worried that Terri might be afraid he was sick, would come running back to the hotel room looking for him, abandoning Jonathan. Besides, Will was intensely curious to find out if anything would really transpire, or if she would reject the idea at the last moment; he rambled to his seat.

Terri caught his eye from the floor, winked at him, but made no movement to return to the table. When the band began another slow dance, Will watched with glee as Terri melted into Jonathan's embrace, the plumpness of her breasts pressed into his chest. The pair seemed to lose themselves in their closeness, and Will became excited as Jonathan's hand descended from the small of her back a few inches onto the top of Terri's backside.

While she moved gracefully with the stranger, she pondered Will's proposal. On the one hand she felt queasy about defiling herself after years of faithfulness. On the other, Jonathan was attractive, not David Duchovny or anything, but he definitely had a certain savoir-faire. The fantasy was mainly Will's, but she shared a part of it, remembering with tenderness many of the men she'd been with before she'd met Will, the excitement they'd made her feel. Even the pleasure of the hunt, the flirting, the first kiss. What, she wondered, would it be like to be with a different man again? How would it feel to have his naked body next to hers, to be impaled by a strange penis? And she considered her husband, how excited he became in the bedroom when they talked about her in another bed; in a way, it might be gratifying to both of them to finally accede to his wishes, grant him the boon. Emboldened by the rum and romantic environment, she decided her husband might be right, this might be the time. Of course, she remembered, Jonathan would have something about it to say about it. - perhaps he didn't want a lover. And still she was nervous, concerned that, perhaps, in his heart of hearts, Will wasn't serious, was just playing a lover's game.

The music sped once again. Jonathan whispered, "I need a short break, be right back," in Terri's ear, began walking towards the rest room. Terri sauntered back to Will, sat beside him, put her hand on his arm. "That last dance was as sexy as anything I've seen," Will observed. "You'd like to be with him, wouldn't you? I can tell."

She made direct eye contact with Will, tried to divine his deepest emotions. "Are you absolutely sure you want me to go with him? Do you want me to make love to him?"

"We've talked about this, Terri. I don't know if you'll ever feel this loose, this free. I really think you should do it." A hesitation on her part. "What's wrong?"

Terri glanced down. Her words seemed to rise from the pit of her stomach. "I just need to know there's no danger here, that there won't be a problem later."

Will got the packages he'd purchased. "I bought these for you to use. Take them as a token that everything will be fine, okay?"

She smiled at the tender gift, gave him a quick, wifely kiss, and agreed. "Okay. If he's willing, I'll go ahead." Quickly, so that no one could see the condoms, she put them in her purse. One last time, not knowing whether she was hoping he'd say 'yes' or 'no', she asked, "You're sure?"

"Absolutely. I hope you have a great time." Over Terri's shoulder, Will saw Jonathan walk towards them. In another thirty seconds, he'd be at the table. "Listen, I'm going to get out of here, give you two some space. Good luck. If you're not back in the room in an hour, I'll assume you're going to spend the night there. Have fun. I love you."

"I love you, too," she repeated, meaning it as much as ever. And then Will was gone, and Jonathan was at her side.

"Where's Will going?" he asked.

"He's a little tired, decided to go back to the room. But he said for us to have fun."

Jonathan accepted the explanation. "More dancing?"

The music somehow seemed a little less exciting as the band wrapped up their final set. "No, thanks. I think I'd like a change in scenery," Terri declined. "Would you like to walk?"

"Fine idea," Jonathan agreed. Terri slung her purse over her shoulder and the couple left the music and the few remaining dancers behind them. As they chatted of how they'd found out about the resort, Terri tried to remember how she'd seduced men years before, but the decades had been too many. She wondered how she was going to find out if Jonathan thought her desirable, how she could communicate her desire.

They happened upon a wall tucked into a corner covered by a vines, adorned with the largest saffron blooms Terri had ever seen. She stepped to the hedge, sniffed a flower. A small reptile peeked its head over the top of the wall a few inches from Terri's face, causing a shriek, a jump to her rear. Luckily, Jonathan was standing where he might catch her, hold her from falling.

"It's only a lizard, it won't hurt you," he soothed. She continued to shake in his arms, he led her to a nearby bench. Together they sat on the love seat, and he asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she claimed, "just a little startled. But I like having your arm around me." She calmed, melted into Jonathan's side. He felt the closeness, her warmth, smelled the luscious scent of her hair. It was a surprise to neither of them when their lips came together, tongues intermingling, exploring.

Jonathan, not wishing to impose upon this married woman, broke the embrace, but she pulled him back, whispering, "Don't stop." His lips traveled to her earlobe, softly nibbling, and her hands, now wrapped around his neck, encouraged him. Soon his palms were caressing the exposed shoulders and throat, lightly stroking the soft skin. He sensed she was willing, and a finger brushed the top of her dress, traveled to the cleavage between her bosoms. She shifted slightly, and his palm was filled with her breast. A little shyly, still concerned about the wedding band she wore, he fondled her.

Terri became bold, placed a hand in his lap, surrounded his penis through the fabric of his trousers, recognized his exhilaration. "Let's go to your room."

"What about Will?" Jonathan had never encountered a phenomenon like this before.

"It's okay," she reassured, "he wants me to be with you. Please?"

Almost at a run, the impatient couple approached his room. As they crossed the threshold, Terri looked around the large room. Rich fabrics and opulent artwork decorated the apartment. She put her purse on the coffee table, took one condom out. The king size bed was considered, but she knew that was not where she wanted to be taken; something else, more exciting, should serve as their nest. Without asking for permission, she pulled the drapes back revealing a porch perhaps five feet above the sand, twenty-five yards from the ocean. Large privacy fences hemmed them in on either side, wicker furniture, including a large backless settee with high sides, garnished the patio. This, she suddenly knew, was where her ritual defloweration should occur.

Together they sat on the bench, soft light washing them from the earth's satellite. Again they kissed, passionately but not hurriedly, and Jonathan's hand crept under her skirt. He reached her panties and with her full cooperation, pulled them over her knees. A hand crept over her pubis, and she willingly spread her limbs, granting this stranger access to the portal that had been closed to others for over a quarter of a century.

While Jonathan was fingering her, she refused to be quiescent. His shirt was removed violently, a button flying from the threads that held it in the process. Suddenly she stood, grabbed the top of her dress, pulled it up and off her and allowed it to drop to the floor. Now, she was naked to her paramour. Turning to Jonathan, she straddled the bench, exposing all of herself to him.

Picture of a finger fuck Jonathan faced her on the bench, pushed her until she was resting on the arm, sucked at her outstretched nipples. A finger at first gently stroked her moistness, then plunged into the crevice. Terri gasped at this first intrusion, then rearranged herself to grant maximum access to the insertion, lifting a leg, spreading wider. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, the digit encased within her plunged in and out, explored the area from the urethra to the cervix. She allowed herself to respond to the stimulation, welcomed it, and began joyfully to feel the warmth begin at her vulva and travel throughout her body. When Jonathan massaged her G-spot, she gave it up, gently screeching as the billows of excitation competed with the ocean waves a few dozen feet away. Jonathan stayed with her, continuing to paw her insides until she begged him to stop, explaining that, at least for the moment, she was satisfied.

"Stand up," she insisted. She quickly removed his pants, dragging the underwear along with them, and gently held the erection presented to her, wondering at the juxtaposition of softness and stiffness. Her mouth went first to the sack below the rod, drawing the testicles into her mouth, sucking on them while her palms manipulated the staff, drawing the foreskin back, oiling the head with the natural lubrication oozing from the small hole. Then her tongue was at it, tasting the concoction, wondering at the tart flavor. Soon, to Jonathan's excitement, three inches of the tool was buried within her mouth, and she bobbed up and down, pleasuring her new man. She felt the strength expand within her mouth, and when she was certain he was ready, she released the penis and pulled him down onto the seat, facing her, each of them straddling the bench. A foil package was opened, the condom rolled down the shaft. Then she was on his lap, mounting him. The phallus slid easily into her saturated vagina, and she leaned upon his shoulders, first pushing herself up, then pulling down as completely as possible, plunging his hardness into herself.