ANNIVERSARY DINNER 8PM, screams the yellow post-it on top of my lunchbox.
Now some men might consider this nagging, but not me. I'm glad that after 14 years of marriage, my wife still makes time to pack me lunch. And I also appreciate that she considers this a milestone worth celebrating. We made plans for dinner and dancing tonight, although I have two left feet and not keen on dancing. But that's another story for another day.
Marie is now a wonderful mother of two, an achievement she proudly wears on her forearm tattoo. But 14 years ago, we had a very special honeymoon to remember. Some of the details may be obscured by the haze of time, but the more exciting parts are etched into my memory forever.
I.
This story began when my dad's cousin, who lived overseas in a tropical country, offered us a holiday as a wedding present. Turned out that he's a big shot in a boutique airline. They have a new island resort that we should visit, he says. Well, who could say no to that?
And just like that, the following week, we were on a little ATR turboprop plane, descending over the South China Sea.
"There it is," exclaims Marie excitedly. Me and half of the 60-passenger plane instantly looked out the starboard windows. I can make out the island, a few kilometers away. My inner city slicker was grateful that it's not your typical cliche remote island paradise. In fact, I could see little towns and coastal roads. It has civilization!
Full of vacation adrenalin, Marie bounds down the stairs to the tarmac. Having handled our large backpack, I follow her a few passengers behind. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she taps the nearest fellow passenger, asking her to take a picture of us.
"Come here babe, right next to the plane," Marie calls to me. As she trots to her self-designated photo spot, I could see the outline of her nipples bouncing in her light blue tank top, her small tits unrestricted by any bra. I feel the stiffness in my neck going away, as I posed on her right hand side.
Draping my left arm around her back and waist, I'm reminded that what Marie lacks in the headlights department, she makes up in the trunk. Her slim waist further accentuates her hips, exaggerating the peachy shape of her bum. I never considered myself an ass man before we met, but the view of Marie's backside as you hump her doggy style would convert anyone.
"Smile!" says the camera woman, derailing my train of dirty thoughts. She returned Marie's Sony digital camera with two fresh pictures of us, the airplane, the lush tropical greenscape, and a blue cloudless sky. A perfect picture of a perfect vacation.
II
After a short bus ride, we arrived at the resort. The reception area is an open pavilion detached from the main hotel tower, with white painted stucco walls that gives an air of mediterranean vibe to the architecture. The welcome drink was a welcome respite after several hours in a slow airplane, but it was already 2pm and we needed some food ASAP. I asked the bellboy to bring our luggage up, and he loaded our measly two backpacks onto a gold-plated trolley. It looked incongruous next to other guests' designer suitcases, but hey, I thought the whole point of a tropical vacation is to wear as little as you can get away with.
We decided to explore the surrounding area on foot, but there is not much to explore beyond cobblestones of the resort driveway. Thankfully, there is a bodega right across the road from the resort. To our surprise, the proprietors were a retired english couple. While we wait for our food, Marie hit it off with them immediately, trading stories from her uni days in London. After a light but delicious lunch, we took a group picture that still hangs in our living room today.
Marie and I walked hand in hand under the spotless blue sky, discussing our plans for later in the day.
"Let's check out the pool," she said, as we made our way past reception and towards the elevator.
"Any plan that gets you half-naked is fine by me," I said. She playfully slapped my butt in reply. An empty elevator was already waiting for us, doors open.
"Lady first," I waved, walking behind her. We both got in, and were greeted with mirrored walls on all three sides. I placed my hands around her waist, embracing her from behind.
"Been waiting to do this all day," I said. Marie leaned back into me, as we both stared into the mirror ahead of us. I held her tighter above the waist with my left arm, while my right hand starts to snake its way into her waistband, meeting no resistance.
"Mmm hmm?" She said, still staring into the mirror, enjoying how her body feels and looks with my hands rubbing her belly.
"Is that all?" She asked teasingly, daring me to go further. She took my left hand in hers, and placed it on her left tit.
"Caught you looking at the airport," she said.
"Eh? That obvious?" I joked, squeezing. "I loved the way they move. You rarely go without a bra."
"They hardly bounce," she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't understand why you're so fixated on my chest," emphasizing the word chest. She says that word whenever she feels self-aware of her size. Chest, flat. As opposed to boobs, bouncing.
"Hey, don't make fun of my wife's tits now," I playfully pinch on her nipple, while my right hand finds her clit. I trace small circles around her clit, watching her reaction in the mirror.
"Your tits are perfect," I whispered in her right ear, rolling the r. Marie's lips begin to part, the tip of her tongue emerging to wet her upper lip. Her eyes are still fixed to the scene in the mirror, of a beautiful young woman being molested in the elevator. Her legs begin to spread, her feet slightly beyond shoulder width. Seeing, and feeling, the invading hand in her shorts makes her crotch buzz and tingle with anticipation.
Still holding the camera in her right hand, she turned it on and snapped a picture. Beep-beep, goes the camera, confirming the focus.
Marie begins to exhale. A long silent breath escaping her lips, ending in a moan. Her hips begin to gyrate in rhythm with the finger on her clit, daring it to enter her warm folds.
Ding dong! The soft chime of the elevator snaps us back to reality. The elevator doors open, and in came a man and his two kids. In our hurry to make out, we forgot to choose our floor number. Oops. Trying my best to look proper, I kept my hands embracing my wife.
"Ahem. Four, please." Marie speaks, her heavy voice carrying a hint of the moan from earlier.
We step out on the fourth floor, and start laughing like horny teenagers, as the elevator door closes behind us.
III
Opening the door to our suite, we're greeted with a small foyer. The bellboy dropped our bags to our left, just next to the door. The bedroom is to the left, separated from the foyer by a curtain of seashells strung together. To the right is the bathroom door, an opaque glass panel. Directly in front and across the main door, is a full height window with a sliding door, allowing access to the balcony. Unlocking the sliding door, I went out to check the view, while Marie made her way into the bathroom. I heard her running the bath, filling the tub.
Our suite faces northeast, overlooking the golden sands of the South China Sea 300 meters away. Halfway to the shore is the main swimming pool, bracketed by the restaurant to the left and a nightclub to the right. Surrounding this pool and restaurant building, I counted 20 detached bungalows belonging to the same resort complex. All the buildings are covered with the same white stucco walls, and the palm tree-lined walkway from the main building to the pool features white balustrade. I was still drinking in the view, and the smell of the ocean, when I suddenly heard Marie calling my name.
"You gotta see this," her face appeared behind the glass, camera in her right hand.
