My bride Heather and I were staying at an ocean-front resort on the island of St John's, relaxing on an idyllic, crescent-shaped beach during the first day of our honeymoon. The sand was a fine white powder, palm trees bowed toward the horizon and the sun sparkled like diamonds on the light-blue waters. Adding to the scenery were many scantily clad bodies laying on towels or walking the beach. Going topless was optional, and although several of the female tourists partook in the local custom, my new wife wouldn't go topless no matter how much I pleaded. She was however, open to the idea of wearing the skimpy, pale blue, string bikini I'd surprised her with earlier that morning, and that was a compromise I could live with.
The suit wasn't one she'd typically wear. It was so tiny the whole thing would have fit comfortably in the hip pocket of her jeans. Two patches of material too small to hold her perfectly-shaped 34B breasts attached to spaghetti strings and tied behind her neck and back, and a third tiny triangle pressed tightly against her pussy and tied high on her hips. When she modeled it in the room I saw that the bikini complimented her dark hair and sparkling azure eyes perfectly. It was plain to see that my new bride would be the prize of the beach. After many compliments and much coaxing she decided to wear it. She would also wear it on four of the six subsequent days of our honeymoon.
We were laying on lounge chairs engrossed in novels when out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman several yards ahead of us removing her bathing suit top, exposing a pair of breasts far bigger than Heather's. The woman reached down to her towel, retrieved a bottle of suntan lotion and squirted an ample amount of white liquid onto her chest, then rubbed the lotion into her breasts. I was taken aback, but not to the point where I didn't put my thumb in my book and watch awhile.
After a few moments my wife saw what I was doing, kicked my leg with a sandy, red-toenailed foot and said, "All right, Mr. Deer-In-Headlights, back to your book!"
"What am I supposed to do?" I remember asking. "She's right in our faces!"
"You don't have to be so fascinated, is all," came the short reply.
"What really fascinates me," I said, turning on my side away from the woman, "is that your eyes are the same color as the water, and even more sparkly."
Considering it wasn't a pair of eyes that had held my attention for so long, Heather wasn't convinced.
Trying to sound more sincere, I said, "Let's go get something to drink, baby...cause I only want to be with you."
I had been faithful to Heather during our two year courtship through college and she had no reason to doubt me; but she did get jealous from time to time, probably because I'd been much more experienced than she when we met. Walking over to the little lunch hut at the top of the beach I told her that I preferred her pert-and-perkies over the other woman's large-for-large-sake boobs any day of the week, and there wasn't anything for her to be jealous of.
In a kidding way she said, "Save it for the judge."
We were sitting at a white plastic table in the little hut drinking fruit smoothies when who came strolling over but the big-boobed lotion woman. With her bikini top back in place, she stopped at our table and started talking to us as if we were old friends. When I returned her small talk, Heather's beautiful blue eyes started rolling like the waves.
The woman said she'd noticed I'd been looking at her on the beach.
