My wife and I were celebrating our 10th anniversary in Santorini. It was September; the crowds were gone but it was still hot. Tiring of sitting around the pool of our breathtaking but boring hotel, we rented a car and took a drive around the island, coming upon a turnoff onto a road heading down to the water. A sign for Eros beach directed us to the right. Who could resist? We pulled into a near vacant parking lot and walked onto the white gravel beach. The sea was greenish blue and calm; the sky cloudless. We walked to the other side of some large boulders and set up our towels under a cliff. I turned on my Kindle while Erika took off her clothes and took in the sun.
Erika and I met my senior year a Columbia. She was a freshman, having started after quitting the School of American Ballet, realizing she wouldn't be the prima ballerina she once dreamed of becoming. We dated off and on for several years, falling more in love each time and finally marrying. Although we had our share of ups and downs, our marriage has been happy. Erika's body belies her 39 years. My hunger for her is no different from when we first met. I had drifted off to sleep thinking about those early days of our relationship, marveling at my good fortune of finding such a beautiful, loving wife.
I woke to the sound of voices, disoriented for a moment and forgetting where I was. Erika was lying beside me, talking to a man and woman. Seeing me wake, she introduced me to Pascal and Sophie, a French couple who like us were taking advantage of the solitude of the beach. Like Erika, they too were naked and unabashed. It was easy to see why. Sophie looked to be in her early 30s. Where Erika was tall, lithe, and fair, she was shorter and more shapely, but no less sexy. Pascal looked like he was in his early 50s, tall, fit, with dark hair going gray at the temples. They were a nice couple, easy to talk to. We drank the delicious local white wine we had chilled in our picnic basket and smoked the weed they had brought. It was paradise. Pascal was chatting with Erika about ballet and Sophie asked me to join her for a swim. I reluctantly agreed, getting up, feeling buzzed, and about to head to the water.
"Non, non, Tom, you must take off your shorts," Sophie said. "It's only fair, oui?" "Oui" said Erika, smiling at my discomfort, knowing I had a hang up about public nudity going back to my childhood. But the shame of keeping my shorts on was greater, so off they came. Sophie unabashedly gave me the once over, taking in my toned arms and chest, strong runner's legs, and small penis. She whispered something to Pascal, took my hand, and off we went.
Rather than go in the water immediately, Sophie walked me along the length of the beachfront where we saw several other couples, also naked, one kissing heavily and petting. Sophie sighed at the sight, remarking how erotic she found it watching others make love. She told me how she and Pascal met, and how despite the age difference, he was the most skilled and passionate lover she ever had. "I am sorry for the women who will never know what being with him is like," she told me. Then she asked whether I had ever fantasizes about Erika with another man. I felt the blood rush to my face and was speechless. She had hit on my secret fantasy, one I had never even shared with Erika, let alone a virtual stranger. But my face wasn't the only place the blood rushed. Sophie noticed immediately.
