Here's a quick one-off, a slight departure from some of the stuff I've been doing lately. This is probably a little more like the stories I did a couple years back, and it was a lot of fun to write.
I'm entering this in the Lit Summer Loving contest. Please make sure you vote on your favorites!
* * *
I didn't really think I'd want to fuck Rachel until we all got on the boat.
I'd been on the boat before, obviously: I'd been coming up to the Berrys' place on the Cove every summer for years. My wife Shari had known Cindy Berry in college, and as soon as her folks had retired out here to the Cove they'd started inviting us to spend the occasional summer weekend here. "We love having all of you!" Mrs Berry would gush with her grandmotherly warmth when we left, and all my wife's friends would gather round and share a teary hug and I'd stand off to the side with the other husbands, holding our bags of leftovers and waiting around to be told it was time to go to the car.
This year, though, Cindy'd sent out an email a few days before the party, telling all of us she and her husband had invited a friend of theirs. Someone, apparently, who taught at her school with her. Someone who sang with her in the church choir.
Someone new.
I'd greeted the news hectically, with my usual lack of any kind of care; I looked forward the Cove Weekend every summer, but it wasn't something I could allow to preoccupy me. Most of my wife's friends are teachers or moms, accustomed to having summers off, but I'm an insurance lawyer. That means I make an awful lot of money for doing... well, not quite
a lot of work
. But
enough
work, of a tedious and precise nature, to leave me strung the fuck out by the time I got out to the Cove every summer, after a week of working even harder so that I could take the Friday off.
We'd come in, set our bags down, traded smiles; we lived closest to the Cove, so my wife and I were usually the first ones there. I didn't get to see her wife's friends often, but I'd known them longer than we'd been married and I'd gotten to know them very well over those fifteen years or so.
Cindy, busying herself around her mom's house, had always given me the vague sense that she disapproved of me. But that was fine; I disapproved of her too, and neither of us let it get in the way of us being friendly. Her husband Lars was in real estate, and seemed to be doing quite well despite having such a silly name. I never remembered his last name, but it couldn't be all that great either; Cindy had kept hers.
Allison, newly divorced that year from the guy who'd gotten her pregnant, though he'd politely waited until she'd gotten her degree before he'd done it. He was a weasel and a drunk and she was already looking happier and better able to deal with life.
Jess, towing Keith, the bland nonentity she'd married. They had a kid, a cute little thing about age four? Seven? Hell, I'm no judge. Jess had been the first of my wife's friends I'd met, so consequently she'd factored into more of my masturbation fantasies than the others had. Not because she was all that much hotter than them, but just because she had seniority.
And Kenny, the sole male in their group, invited because he'd found a wife just like them and they liked having her around. They usually arrived last, mostly because they had three fucking kids and that meant they arrived everywhere late. His wife Bonnie was witty and earthy and quick, and also quite unattractive; I'd always been vaguely impressed she'd gotten Kenny to fuck her enough times to spawn three kids. But I liked her. She was fun. She was good at sexual puns, and so was I, and since we were both "outsiders" from the group we'd always gotten along well.
This year I'd given out the usual hugs, enjoying as I always did the vaguely sick thrill of feeling my wife's friends' tits squishing against my t-shirt. But the entire time I'd been greeting my friends, my eyes had been sliding sideways at the church-singing schoolteacher Cindy had dragged to her folks' house.
"Rachel," she'd introduced herself, her hand jutting out for a shake. She'd been pretty shy, but then I'd expected that; Cindy had invited her into a group of people who'd been meeting up for almost two decades, so of course she wasn't all that comfortable right away. I'd sized her up quickly, having expected someone middle-aged and comfortable like the rest of us, but she seemed younger. Late twenties? She had an unfortunate face, the weak-chinned kind you'd see in an eighteenth century British portrait, and what looked like an unremarkable pair of boobs under a flour-smeared shirt. Her glasses were smudged. She'd been making the quiche for the next morning.
"Hi! I'm Eric Walsh." She had pale, watery grey eyes and a tendency to use them to stare. I matched her. "Welcome to the Cove," I smiled, even though it wasn't my house, nor my Cove, nor my job to welcome anybody anywhere. But hell, she was new. I like meeting new people. "We're harmless."
"Mm, that's what Cindy told me." She had a pleasant voice, a little deeper and quieter than I'd expect from a teacher. "I'm happy to be here."
"The Cove is a very relaxing place," I went on, wondering vaguely if I was babbling; I could see the interrupted quiche on the granite counter behind her.
"I know. Cindy had my husband and I over last year." I felt my eyebrows rise, then decided there was probably no good answer to a peremptory
where's your husband?
coming from a total stranger. Instead, I just smiled.
"Awesome," I said vaguely, but that was when I heard Keith's voice at the door. The party was starting, and Rachel went back out of my mind. There was, after all, a hug to receive, complete with Jess' tits to be squished so pleasantly.
The weather was fine this year. I was looking forward to water-skiing off the back of the Berrys' speedboat later.
* * *
I could tell when Lars stopped paying attention to our conversation about the Orioles; his eyes, never usually all that focused, suddenly fixed on something over my shoulder. I assumed it was probably my wife, approaching the boat. Many times over the years I'd caught sight of him staring at her, and no wonder. Her tits were a lot more impressive than Cindy's, and we were all in bathing suits by now.
I half-turned, expecting to greet Shari with a kiss; I liked doing that in front of Lars. And
that's
when I began to think I might just want to fuck Rachel. Or, at least, that's what the sudden twinge in my dick told me.
Rachel moved with a certain assertiveness in spite of her unremarkable face and her short acquaintance with the rest of us, and right away I knew why. When a woman is in a group of other women, I'd noticed over the years, she knows right away when she's at the top of the sexual pecking order, and Rachel certainly was now.
I'd been right about her tits, I could see at once: they filled out the top of her short tankini, but not to any great extent. What her shapelessly floured shirt hadn't let me see was the rest of her, the smooth hips flaring above smooth-skinned thighs, the soft pinch of her waist, the hint of a ribcage I hadn't seen on my wife in a few years now. Before I could stop myself I knew I was searching her dark blue suit bottom, seeking cameltoe, then remembering I wasn't wearing sunglasses. I jerked my guilty eyes upward, and when I saw her face I wanted her.
Because she was smirking.
It wasn't just her body my lurching dick was reacting to. It was her manner, the slight confident strut of a woman in a swimsuit among other women ten or twelve years older. And, I knew without a doubt, that strut was meant for the benefit of those older womens' husbands.
I know, because she was staring at me through a pair of sunglasses barely tinted at all.
I blinked, then knew I'd need to sit down soon. Rachel was no model, but she was no slouch either. She walked past me without a word, her pale eyes slithering at mine behind her shades, and I saw Lars' eyes fall to her passing butt at the same moment mine did. The modest bottoms she wore didn't hide the sweetly-rounded swell of her ass, the swimsuit giving out just high enough to make out the crease at the back of her leg where thigh turned into cheek. Three mosquito bites puckered her flesh in a line, and she smiled at Lars. "Can I steal your bug juice?"
"Huh?" Lars looked down at the Cutter spray in his hand. "Oh. Sure." He made a big point of not watching while she bent gracefully and gave her bare legs a hissing treatment. I debated about whether I should make the obvious comment.
"Looks like you're too late."
"What?" She smiled up at me.
"The vampires have already been at your leg." I hoped my grin was more wholesome than lecherous; she certainly didn't seem to take offense, anyway. Besides, she had to know we'd look at her legs.
"Well. Better late than never," she shrugged, bending back over. I had an overpowering urge to reach straight down into her swimsuit bottoms and grab a fleshy handful.
Lars and I looked guiltily at each other in the same moment, then we both gave that shameful smile married men give each other at times like that. I nodded at him amid the bustle of people loading themselves onto the Berrys' speedboat, then started back across the sandy grass to head quickly back into the house.
I'd need my sunglasses.
* * *
The sun glittered off the surface out on the Cove. On such a fine summer day the open sea out past the breakwater was packed with weekend sailors, but Cindy piloted her parents' boat deftly to the stretch of flatter water where the tubers and skiers played.
Lulled by the sun and by my early wakeup that morning, I was dozing up in the front of the boat when Cindy idled the engine and called loudly for skiers. "Who's going first?"
The kids all wanted to go, but only Allison's daughter was old enough. She scrambled back toward the stern to grab a life jacket, and as she made her way along the narrow deck between everyone's legs there was a general reshuffling to make room: Lars was moving off to handle the towrope, and that left a seat next to me. I was astonished, my eyes snapping open behind my shades, when Rachel very straightforwardly slid into his place.
"Last time I came to visit," she began conversationally, "he was back at the rope for the whole trip. And I like sitting up in the bow."
"Yeah?" I straightened and made a token attempt to shift sideways to give her more space, but the angle of the seats kept me from moving more than a couple inches. "Sorry," I muttered as her bare knee brushed along mine. "I like it up here, too."
