"Ha! Oh my God!" Joan smiled, finally relaxing a little, but still feeling confoundedly frisky. "Okay, here goes."
She pushed down the wispy wide-legged belly-dancer style pants that the salesgirl had talked her into buying at the mall back home, and she took off the matching, much-too-see-through cover-up style top.
"Holy wow!" Greg said, eying the first-time-worn bikini. "The traffic has officially stopped."
"Get out! I feel...naked."
"I love it, hun. Seriously. You look really good."
"I don't, but thank you. Why did I have to get this pudgy gene from my mother."
"Hey, your mother's cute, and so are you." Greg eyed her a little more thoroughly. "Do I get to call those 'tits' now? I don't think bikinis go on breasts, they go on tits."
"You don't!" she said. "Unless...I guess...if you want to. But
just
when we're
alone!
"
"Hey, check it out, the Tiki Bar is opening," Greg said. "Looks like our friend Clinton works the day shift, too."
Joan craned her neck to look behind her, where Greg was looking. It was Clinton all right, getting himself set up for the day's business. The top half of him — all Joan could see — was dressed in a much more casual manner, a vaguely Hawaiian style short sleeved shirt that was colorfully green and yellow. It was a slightly panicky moment for Joan — someone she knew, quite possibly seeing her in a bikini, something she wasn't even close to used to wearing.
But then the quiet magic of a Bahamian beach started to relax her. Quickly lost in her steamy, romantic little book, with the warmth of the sun tanning her, she didn't think of Clinton again until she and Greg walked back to their towels after a nice swim in the warm ocean. Clinton was there, centered in her view, alone behind the Tiki bar. Her hand was up, waving at him, even though she didn't will it to be there, and her slightly pudgy forty-five year old body was electrified, tingling, nearly naked. That's how she felt at that moment — nearly naked, waving at a stunning hunk of a man, one who smiled at her as brightly and beautifully as the sun.
After Joan toweled her hair to the damp stage and put her sun hat back on, Greg suggested drinks at the tiki bar. Joan wanted to — it was the perfect thing to do on a Bahamian beach — so she put aside her fears as best she could, putting on the wispy, see-through top half of her bikini cover-up. If she'd taken a moment to ask Greg how she looked in it, he would have said "even sexier," but she didn't ask. Thinking she looked 'covered up', she followed him to a stool at the small outdoor bar. Clinton greeted them warmly.
"Greg and Joanie! My favorite married friends!" he said. "How do you like our perfect weather? Joanie, you're not getting sunburned, are you?"
"No, I don't think so," she said, glancing down at herself, a bit embarrassed by the silly modesty of her cover-up.
"That's good, because I wanted to tell you about another beach you must try. It is my favorite, an easy walk from here."
He went on to tell of a pathway that started almost directly across the road from the resort. An easy walk, he said, but "bring plenty of water." "It's not like here," he said. "It's free and wild. I always imagine it's the way the island used to be. I love it and go there often. I'll be there tomorrow! It's my day off! Come and see me!"
Joan shrugged and looked at Greg. "Yeah, I guess we could," she said, unable to resist smiling at Clinton's enthusiasm. "It'd be fun to see a beach that's unspoiled. Not that this is spoiled. This is so beautiful." She looked out at the turquoise water and the people splashing in it. Eyeing the spectacular woman Greg had seen in the lobby the other day, she asked Clinton, "Do you ever get tired of looking at women like her?"
"Not tired, no, but, like your Greg here, I prefer a woman with more meat on her bones."
A full body tingle hit Joan, unexpectedly, when Clinton's eyes gave her sparsely-dressed breasts a quick glance.
"So that other beach that you like, do others go there?" Greg asked. "Is it widely known?"
"It's known to we island folk, and you'll see a few tourists who make the walk. The sailing cruiser folk anchor there if the winds are favorable. They tell me it's been written about in their guidebooks. It wouldn't be an anchorage for stormy weather, though."
"Sounds perfect," Greg said. "That'll be a fun adventure for tomorrow afternoon. We were going to do some shopping in the morning."
"Yes, spend lots of money," Clinton said, smiling. "My friends can use the business! And then my beach will be waiting for you!"
—
A taxi ride took Greg and Joan to a casual 'island food' restaurant, where they had a dinner of conch chowder, baked grouper, and beer. Attractive well-dressed people seemed to be everywhere, out for some local flavor at the old-fashioned restaurant. "Why do you lie to me and tell me I'm sexy," Joan said, after two bottles of beer. "
Those
women are sexy."
Greg took a look at them — not his first look — and said, "And so are you. There's all kinds of sexy, you know."
The topic of 'Clinton's beach' came up during dessert. Joan said, "I don't think we should go. We've got a perfectly good beach right outside our room. Why bother with a long hike just to sit on another one?"
"Maybe he's working tonight. Let's go get a cognac and ask him," Greg said, as he paid the waiter for dinner. "I'm guessing he'll make it sound really nice again, like he did earlier. It sure sounded like it'd be worth the walk."
"Oh, we don't need more to drink, do we? Do you think he's working tonight?"
The flash of curiosity in Joan's eyes made Greg smile. He asked the waiter to call them a cab, and soon he and Joan were delivered to the resort's front entry. The bar wasn't far away, at the front of the restaurant off the lobby. Clinton, nearly alone at the bar, smiled brightly when he saw Greg and Joan enter.
"Greg! Joanie! Your usual cognac tonight?"
"Pour us two stiff ones, Clinton," Greg said, smiling.
When Clinton brought them he lingered, asking about their dinner, how they liked the chowder, and how the evening was shaping up, temperature wise. "You are here at the perfect time of the year," he said. "Tomorrow will be a fine day at the beach."
Greg asked some more about it, and Clinton said that he would in fact be there. He said, "It's not really a secret. It's more like a way of life. But I shouldn't be telling you all this. I suppose it is something of a secret. My friends will be angry with me."
Joan found it all a bit mysterious, but intriguing. 'Unspoiled' was how she pictured it, maybe even with lizards walking around, like a prehistoric place, a window into Abaco Island before all the tourists arrived.
The warm cognac mixed with the beer and the spicy conch chowder in Joan's stomach, and before she knew it she was upstairs, fully undressed, kissing her naked husband. He pulled her down, they tumbled onto the big bed's smooth bedspread, and Greg's hard cock entered her, fast enough to make her head spin. It was quick sex, with some energy behind it.
When it ended, Joan, breathless, said, "Wow! We need to hang around beautiful women more often!"
"Is that what you think?" Greg said, breathing hard. "I wish you'd have more self confidence, hun."
"
I
did that to you?"
"Who else?" Greg said. "You're...a little bit different this trip. I like it."
Joan assumed it was the bikini, a bit more of her skin on the beach than Greg was used to seeing. "Okay," she said, still catching her breath. "Well, if you like it I sure as heck do. That was a wow."
"But you...didn't cum, did you?"
Joan propped herself up on her elbows to get a good look at husband. "First we talk about porn, and now you're talking dirty in bed?"
Greg shrugged. "We can, right? I mean, just because we never have..."
"No, it's...I mean, it surprised me, but...yeah, it's okay. And no, I didn't...cum."
"See that? Now we can discuss things and...be more caring."
"Ha!" Joan said, smiling. "What's that supposed to mean? I suppose now you're going to ask me to do stuff...to you."
"Nope. Not at the moment, anyway." Greg spread Joan's legs and his mouth was on her pussy before she could say anything more. Not that she would have protested, she loved receiving oral sex, even though she would never admit it out loud. Giving blowjobs to Greg always made her feel good, too, although, like a good old-fashioned wife, she didn't dole them out willy-nilly. They were special occasion treats, saved for Greg's birthday, their wedding anniversary, maybe New Year's Eve. Because she enjoyed it, she sometimes wondered if she should just cut loose and do it for him more often, but it didn't seem like something a conservatively brought-up school teacher should be doing. And of course there was the scary possibility of him becoming over-exuberant and ejaculating in her mouth, something she felt she could control better if the whole endeavor only happened a few times a year.
