Dream Vacation Pt 04

==== DAY FOUR ====

That night, as I lay sleeping with Trina and Natalya on either side, I had a dream.

I was standing in a church, behind the altar, watching my wife Michelle walk toward me in her wedding gown and holding a bouquet. She smiled at me, and as she walked down the aisle I noticed with some interest that her dress was becoming shorter and shorter, exposing her legs inch by inch as she approached. Now, my wife has decent legs in reality, but in my dream they were model-perfect.

I looked to either side and saw a row of bridesmaids to my right and, to my left, yet another row of bridesmaids. They had the faces and figures of the women I'd encountered at the resort. Standing in front of me, waiting for my wife, was Trina, and she wore nothing but a top hat and tie. Her breasts, large enough in real life, were absolutely huge in my dream; the size of Delilah's from the club, only completely natural.

Glancing back at my wife, I discovered that her wedding dress had grown so small that it had begun to split at the seams, especially up on top where her own breasts were expanding like balloons. By the time she reached the altar, only her veil, bouquet, and shoes remained on her. Trina and Michelle turned to face each other and put their hands on each others' massive tits, so large now that it would be quite a challenge for Trina to "kiss the bride", as it were.

Everyone looked at me. I realized I was the officiator, and cleared my throat. "Er... dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this woman with this woman - who is already married to me, but we'll overlook that - in the bonds of holy matrimony."

"It doesn't matter if I'm already married," Michelle said. "I want more than you give me."

I recognized that second phrase; I had used it myself once, when Michelle had inquired about my porn-surfing habits. I began to understand that I was dreaming. I tend to have lucid dreams, and in fact I had been working on methods of controlling them consciously, but something told me that I wouldn't be able to take charge of this one. I would simply have to let it play itself out. I started to wonder what this dream meant. Surely, I was past simply being sex-starved; I had lost track of how many times I'd come in the past few days.

"See, she does want it," Trina whispered. "She just doesn't want you. She wants me."

"That's not true," I argued. "My wife isn't a lesbian."

"Oh, but she is," Trina whispered, pointing to where Michelle knelt at her feet, kissing and licking between her legs. "

Every

woman is a lesbian."

"Every woman is a lesbian..." chanted the bridesmaids, turning toward each other and kissing deeply, their dresses gone from their bodies.

"

Every woman is a lesbian...

" said the girls in the audience as they turned to kiss and touch each other.

I walked through the church, stunned at the sight of all these women involved with each other. I felt intensely turned on, but when I tried to reach out and touch any of them I couldn't reach them; it was as if they faded away from me. I reached the back of the church and turned around, and saw that my wife and Trina had changed positions. Michelle now lay back across the altar, her legs spread, as Trina licked her pussy and two of the bridesmaids tongued her enormous breasts, two more rubbed her feet and sucked her toes, two more sucked on the fingers of each hand, and finally there were girls who kissed and licked at her lips. Other women approached her to massage her legs or run their fingers through her hair, and tongues licked her everywhere, and her glistening wet body floated off the floor as she was pleasured in every way by these beautiful women...

The women became men.

"Fuck me..." my wife groaned, and from every direction the hard and hairy cocks of her lovers thrust in to penetrate her from every side…

* * * * *

I awoke suddenly, in a rush. I didn't bolt upright in bed gasping or anything like that, but I twitched enough to disturb one of the sleeping bodies next to me.

"Ooh..." Trina sighed. "Are you all right, lover?"

The dream faded quickly from reality, remained in memory. "I'm... I'm fine," I whispered.

"You're all sweaty," Trina said, a note of concern in her voice. "Bad dreams?"

I shrugged, and tried to sound nonchalant. "It happens," I said. "Nothing to worry about."

She kissed me, and I kissed back though my heart wasn't in it. I didn't need to be Sigmund Fucking Freud to figure out that my dream was all about guilt, and I was honest enough with myself to know that I deserved to feel guilty. I got up from the bed carefully to avoid disturbing the women, and went into the bathroom to wipe myself down with a cool cloth. That helped with the sweat, but it also woke me up to the point that I knew there would be no getting back to sleep.

I glanced back toward the bed, and saw Trina and Natalya sleeping peacefully. It was barely seven AM, and I didn't think they'd be awake for a while. In any event, their companionship wasn't what I needed at the moment. I dressed quietly in my swimsuit and a loose-fitting shirt, and left a note to the effect that I had gone for a brief walk on the beach and would be back later. I also thanked Natalya for a wonderful evening, as I certainly had enjoyed it before my damn conscience caught up with me.

I left the women sleeping together and closed the door softly behind me.

The small stretch of beach behind the resort was empty, and I sat down to watch the waves and let my head clear. I thought about my wife, completely clueless as to what her husband was up to, and how betrayed and hurt I would feel if our positions were reversed. I wondered about whether this week of indulgence was worth the price I would pay in emotional fallout. I considered how even knowing all this, I was going to go back there and find Trina again, and choose another woman for another night of lusty fantasy. Sure, I was honest enough to feel guilty, but not enough to stop. I was weak, and I hated myself for it; I craved and needed the sex so badly, and I would risk even the love of my wife to get it.

Why, oh why couldn't the woman I loved be more eager and alive in bed? Why couldn't I be the sort of man who would be satisfied with less? Why was I such a slave to my passions that I would be driven to this?

"Oh... hello."

I turned and looked at the voice that came from behind me. It was Jean, the guest who was married. I wondered for a moment whether she had designs on me, but she wasn't giving off those kinds of vibes. She seemed honestly surprised to see anyone there on the beach at such an hour, and a little uncertain.

"Good morning," I replied. "I couldn't sleep. Decided to enjoy the local scenery."

She shrugged. "Oh. I'm just an early riser. In this place, that means I'm generally alone for two hours every day."

I made to get up. "If you'd rather be, I could -"

"No, no, don't worry about it," Jean insisted. She sat down about six feet away, leaning on her knees. She looked at me inquisitively for a moment, and seemed to nod with understanding. "Guilt, right?" she said.

"It shows that much?" I sighed.

"To someone who's seen it before. Ted and I come here often. We meet all kinds, including the married guys who love their wives but don't get enough sexual fulfillment from them and so have to find it elsewhere. Usually it takes about three or four days for the rush to wear off, and that's when the remorse sets in. Thinking of going back home early?"

I sighed. "I hadn't decided. I mean, I paid a lot for this and I'll never get to do it again, but what's the point if I'm not enjoying it anymore?" I sat back. "You know, as long as we're delving into my psyche, mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Can't guarantee an answer."

"Fair enough. I just wonder, out of you and Ted, whose idea was it to start doing this?"

Jean smiled. "You're wondering whether my husband talked me into this, and thereby how you might talk your wife into trying new and different things?"

"I usually pride myself on being a little harder to read than this," I said. "First Trina, now you. Are there little balloons over my head with my thoughts all spelled out?"

"It's the guilt. Guilt makes everything show up. That's why lie detectors work. And besides," Jean went on, "it's a question that someone asks me every time I come here. People usually find the answer disappointing, just so you know."

"I'm listening."

"Ted and I have a marriage of convenience," Jean said. "We like each other, we're good friends, but we're not in love and never have been. I'm a lesbian. Insofar as love and sex goes, my marriage to Ted is a total sham."

"Interesting."

"I live in a conservative town and I'm a grade school teacher. It would be scandalous if my orientation got out. Ted helps me maintain the facade."

"What does he get out of it?" I wondered.

"He gets some of the same benefits anyone does from being married – friendly companionship, income tax savings, someone to help with the laundry, that sort of thing. But he also has freedom, in that he can enjoy himself on business trips and such without worrying about what his wife would think. Then there's the occasional threesome. Ted and I are close enough that I don't mind having him in bed with me and another woman. He gets off on watching, too. It works for us."

I couldn't help but be intrigued. "It sounds great on the surface, but what about, you know, being in love?"

"Love doesn't seem to have made you happy," Jean countered.

"Usually it does. Just not when it comes to sex."

Jean looked at the waves. "We've talked about it," she said. "In the long run, I might be happier if I found a special woman, but think of what I'd have to give up. My family would disown me, I'd lose my job, I couldn't live anywhere except San Francisco and be considered normal. Ted, on the other hand, just doesn't want the ball and chain. Neither of us wants children, so that's not an issue. Believe it or not, we are actually happy together. Happier than you are, I'd imagine."

"I guess I deserved that," I said. "Sorry to get so personal."

"Forget about it. So, what are you going to do about your complex?"

I shrugged. "Don't know."

We sat in silence for a while, watching the waves. I noticed, as I usually did in such situations, that I felt none of the same fascination with Jean as a lesbian that I did when considering, for instance, Trina making out with another woman. I had wondered about this sort of thing before and determined that it all had to do with my main sexual hang-up, which was that I generally felt no desire for someone who felt none for me (and frankly, I think that's a fairly healthy hang-up to have!). I also thought about what her life must be like, married to a man she would never feel true love for, but with the freedom to explore her sexuality as she wished. I pitied and envied her at the same time.

"I don't know why I'm about to say this," Jean said suddenly. "Maybe I just feel like finally saying something that I've been dying to say to dozens of other men in your situation. Do you want a nickel's worth of free advice?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

"I don't think you're going to like it much."

"Now you really have my attention."

"Okay," Jean said. "I think that your essential problem is that you

like

feeling guilty."

"Come again?" I asked.

"Not just you, but all the married guys who come here for a few kicks and then wallow in self-recrimination. You're in good company, don't worry. You need your guilt. As long as you feel guilty, it's like it's all right that you're cheating on your wife. After all, if you could do this without a pang of conscience, then you'd be an incredible jerk. But no, you feel guilty about it, so you're still a decent person who's just making a mistake."

"You're right," I frowned. "I don't like it."

"Don't shoot the messenger. But here's the advice part, and take it for what it's worth. If you're going to punish yourself for the rest of the trip, then don't bother hanging around; hell, you can even still get part of your money back at this point and buy your wife a nice set of earrings or something to soothe your conscience. If you're going to stay, though, do yourself a favor and live it up without shame. Make excuses to yourself, make up lies about how marriage vows don't count in the Caribbean, or pretend that your wife would actually prefer you got your rocks off here instead of bothering her about it. Or, simply redefine in your head what you owe each other as a married couple. Just don't set up camp in Guilty Gulch and assume that makes it all right, because all that does is bring the rest of us down."

I sat in silent thought.

Jean sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get all Doctor Phil on you. I guess I had that particular pet peeve building up for a while. You didn't deserve that from a near stranger. What the hell do I know, I'm lucky enough to be in an open relationship where I don't have to feel guilty."

"Well, it's not like you said anything that isn't true," I acknowledged. "Thanks, Jean. I'll say that again later and mean it, I promise."

Jean stood up. "Really, I'm sorry if I spoiled your vacation. That was rude of me."

"No, I'm the one spoiling it. I think your perspective helps. I'll see you around the resort, okay?"

"Sure," Jean said with a half-smile, and wandered off down the beach.

* * * * *

I thought for a while about what Jean said, and the truth of it was fairly obvious. The question to ask myself at this point was whether I wanted to continue. I didn't think I could just absolve myself of guilt, and I'd already rationalized it to death, but I had to do something.

I could always come clean to her about it

, I thought. Then I decided that was a really bad idea.

It's like masturbation,

I thought.

It just happens to involve real women

. But that was rationalizing again.

Then a new thought struck me. It was still rationalizing, but this one made a certain amount of sense.

The fact of the matter was that I had never had sex with anyone besides my wife before being married. I had never lived the bachelor life, never sown my wild oats. Perhaps I was doing that now. It was no excuse that would stand up in court or in a confrontation with my wife, but in my own mind it worked. For the remaining few days, I decided, I would experience life as if I wasn't married

yet

.

It was a lie, but it seemed to lift most of the guilt anyway. By the time I got up to walk back to the resort, I was actually feeling pretty good. This would be beneficial for my marriage, in a lot of ways, as long as Michelle never found out. I knew this trip was giving me memories to fuel my fantasies for years to come, fantasies I need to get myself off in the absence of my wife's attentions. In all seriousness, I need to have an orgasm on an almost daily basis just to keep my mind clear. Michelle was (and is) unable or unwilling to take care of more than a twentieth of that need; therefore, it only makes sense to find satisfaction elsewhere, and self-stimulation will only satisfy for so long. Since I had started going to strip clubs and hiring escorts, my home life has become far more relaxed and stable, and Michelle and I are both happy.

It was the same argument I'd had with myself a dozen times, but it seemed clearer now than ever before.

I returned to the poolside and found that some of my fellow guests were up and about, as well as the staff. I happened to catch a glimpse of Trina in the window, walking through the lobby, and was about to go in after her before I realized that it was just before her scheduled break. She saw me, however, and came outside.

"Hey sweetie!" she said. "You couldn't get back to sleep?"

"Nah, I needed to do some thinking," I said.

Her face became concerned. "Is everything all right?"

"I think it is now," I replied. "Let me check."

I leaned in and kissed her, and she returned it enthusiastically.

"Yup, everything's fine," I said when I came up for air.

"That's good," Trina replied. "Listen, I'm about to go on break, but I left something up in the room for you. You should go see it."

"Okay," I said with a smile. "I'll see you at lunchtime, all right? Let's do something really fun today."

"Like what?"

"How about we pay a visit to the casino? We can try our luck and maybe take in a show, if you like."

"Ooh, that sounds great!" she enthused. "I can't wait!"

I got another kiss, and she skittered off.

* * * * *

I rode up the elevator yawning and stretching, looking forward to a shower and maybe some room service. When I got there, the shower was already running, and steam issued from the bathroom. I began to get a suspicion of what Trina might have left behind.

The suspicion was confirmed when I stepped into the bathroom and saw Natalya washing her long black hair in my shower. She didn't seem to hear me at first with the water cascading over her head, rinsing the suds from her hair and down her back. I took a moment to slip out of my shorts and shirt, and entered the shower with her.

"Ooh!" she exclaimed as I brushed against her body. "Ah, my naughty boy, I was hoping you would come and join me. You should not have left me and Trina alone that way! We missed your touch upon awakening... it is a good thing we had each other, but I still want to make you come one more time."

We kissed deeply under the hot shower, her body slippery against mine, her wonderful large breasts an exciting pressure against me. Instead of pulling away from the kiss, she slid her lips to one side and actually licked my face up to my earlobe, lingering there to whisper, "Please, do sexy things to me and make my pussy wet."

I let my hands slide over her body, gliding through the warm spray and slipping over her soft and smooth skin. In return, she took a sudsy sponge and began to vigorously scrub my back, rubbing deep and hard. I let her wash me all over from head to toe, covering me completely in a white layer of suds except for my hard member, and as she knelt to sponge my calves her lips touched the swollen head of my cock.

The sponge splashed on the floor as she slid her mouth down over me.

Her arms curled around my thighs and held me immobile as she bobbed her head slowly up and down, drawing me in and out of her with slow, sucking strokes. Meanwhile, her fingertips found sensitive places far back between my legs to stroke and touch, places I didn't usually feel comfortable with, but since I knew I was clean I didn't mind. More than that, I found it sent intense shivers through me, and my knees almost buckled when her tongue slipped back behind my sack for a moment and delicately licked where I had never felt such a thing before.

Then her hands replaced her mouth, and the sponge completed its work on me. Natalya stood and took the shower nozzle from the wall, spraying me down with its pulsing mist until the suds were gone.

"Will you fuck me with your tongue?" she whispered. "I would like that so much, lover..."

"Yes," I replied, my head reeling with lust.

Natalya turned and pulled down a large lever attached to the wall, and a section at the side of the tub raised up and locked into place. I realized that it was a chair, and that it had been specifically designed to allow its occupant to sit with legs spread and receive the spray from an aimed nozzle set in the ceiling. With the help of a strategically-placed handgrip, Natalya was up in the seat with her pussy exposed just at the optimum level for me to enter her.

I remembered her request, though, and saw that her action of raising the seat had also dropped a cushioned shelf for my knees (or hers, had our positions been reversed). After taking a moment to taste her lips again, I licked my way down between her massive tits to her pussy. I didn't bother to tease her; I just pulled her labia gently apart and began to lick her sensitive sex, tickling her budding clit and, as she had asked of me, slipping my tongue inside her.