Spice Island

"Cheers."

"I'll drink to that."

Carol and I were enjoying the afterglow of a fabulous meal in our favourite restaurant, Scalini. A favourite restaurant that we hadn't found the time to visit for two years, before tonight.

We were fixing up our marriage, and tonight was just another step along the road where we were burying our axes and getting to know each other again.

What had happened to us?

We met at University, one of the best in England, and immediately we were an item. We were almost too alike; both from relatively humble backgrounds and trying very, very hard to make the most of ourselves. We were out of our league, frankly, but both successfully punching way above our weight.

After graduation we both found good jobs and soon we were married. The next 15 years were a blur. It's true what they say: life is what happens to you while you're making plans.

And we were always making plans: promotions, new jobs, bigger houses, flashier cars. Somewhere in there we also managed to have two kids.

Outwardly, we were everyone's definition of success. We had it all: the architect designed house in the best neighbourhood in town; high profile careers; beautiful kids in an excellent private school. In our own small way, we were Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez, people thought of us as a unit, our own small town 'Bennifer' if you like.

Outwardly, we were the golden couple of our circle, but, inside the bubble, all was not well. Maybe it was our backgrounds, but it was beginning to seem like we just tried too damn hard at everything; I was getting tired.

The last few years had been particularly harsh. Carol had went into real estate after University. Eventually she realised there was serious money to be made and she started up her own firm with three like-minded colleagues. I had made partner at my law firm and was aggressively trying to make the board.

At first everything was fine, Carol and her partners were all great sales people and really hard working: they got the deals and closed the sales. It was at the back end where it all fell down. They were all sales people, none of them was interested in the administration, finance or legal stuff. Soon the business was in a hell of a mess.

For a while there the bank had our house as a guarantee on the company overdraft, and things got very tense at home. We started to fight.

Eventually one of the big national companies bought them over. They could see that under the mess the business was actually sound. Their offer was enough to pay off the debt, release the security on the house and pay for a good holiday. Carol also got some equity in the firm and was kept on as manager on a pretty decent salary.

Deep breaths all round.

It had been a salutary lesson, but thankfully not a fatal one. The ideal time to take stock.

So here we were at Scalini, toasting our new, less stressful future. We had sworn to take it down just a notch on the career front, make more time for ourselves and the kids; have fun, basically.

But Carol was on a mission. She really wanted a completely fresh start and insisted that we tell each other the truth about the last few years. I knew exactly what she meant: it was confession time.

And I was first up, apparently.

This is not something you should try at home. Normally I think you should let sleeping dogs lie, keep your mouth shut and your guilt to yourself. But there was something in the air, or in the cognac, and I found myself telling all.

Yes, there had been that girl at the convention a few years back. Actually there had been a few. I sat back and let it all out. To be honest, it didn't seem that much when you actually listed them. A few indiscretions, far away and unimportant.

Then Carol dropped her bombshell: "What about Annie, James?"

Annie was a fellow partner at work: early 30's slim, elegant and blonde.

And single.

Exactly the sort of woman most wives would hate their husband to spend too much time around. I had spent about 12 hours a day for the last five years around Annie.

I could have bluffed it, but this would be the only chance I would ever have and, as I said, there was definitely something in that cognac.

"It was nothing..."

Carol arched an exquisitely shaped eyebrow: "That means there was something."

I sighed: "Yes, there was something."

So I poured it all out. Carol and I spent a lot of time together, that much Carol knew. There had also been a mutual attraction that was hard to miss at company functions and so on. But, two years ago, things developed further.

Carol and I were in separate worlds, if not quite separate beds yet. Annie was single and beginning to feel her biological clock ticking. Then we were up in London, working together on a case. We had to stay overnight. It was such a cliché it made me blush in the retelling: unhappily married man in his mid life; beautiful younger single colleague; a hotel.

I think we both knew all of that day. There had been a chemistry between us, a spark; embarrassed glances that hadn't been there before.

We ate in the hotel restaurant, and after a few drinks in the bar we simply went up to her room. I don't think Annie even asked me in. It just happened.

We were all over each other as soon as the door closed, and then we were on the bed, clothes being parted, unzipped or simply thrown to the floor. What I remember most of all was the absence of awkwardness, or guilt. What we were doing was good, joyful even.

Then I was inside her, our bodies slicked together with our sweat, lubricating our movements, my thrusts. She was a beautiful lover and we fit together like two pieces of the same jigsaw. This was different from any past indiscretions, something more. Some thing like, love?

We sensed each other's timing instinctively, and our bodies synchronised, calibrated and we rose from our passion to come together.

Afterward, the heat in the room made us languid, like sunbathers on a tropical island. I realised also there was something in the room with us: opportunity. Our lives had reached a crossroads and we could both look down the different roads. One way had us together, my divorce, our marriage, a different life. Another road had us return to our old lives, her single, looking for the right guy; me back at home, with Carol.

I could tell she sensed the moment too, just as I could feel her, like me, turn away from our path together.

We weren't embarrassed strangers, suddenly coping with the aftermath of our intimacy, we were friends. Good friends, with, I think, something like genuine love between us. But it wasn't enough. I think I loved Annie, but I wasn't 'in love' with her. She wasn't in love with me. I was in love with Carol.

Then, just as imperceptibly as it opened up, that other path, our path together, blinked out of existence. We never saw each other like that again. But we remained friends, pulled closer by something shared, and worked together again often.

I told all this to Carol, sat there in the restaurant. If that sounds cavalier, I can only say it felt like an 'all or nothing' situation. We had been living a lie. If we were to achieve the life together we both wanted there could be no deceit beneath the foundations.

I was finished. For a long time we just sat there in silence.

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"No-one else, James? no more secrets?"

"No." I didn't have to think too hard.

More silence.

"I'm glad you told me that."

"Why?"

"Because I knew." Eh?

"Eh? How? What.....?"

How the hell did she know?

"She told me once, Annie, not exactly, but enough."

"How the hell did she do that?"

"Remember the party at Adam's last year?"

I remembered it well. It was about six months after Annie and I had been together in London. The first time she and Carol had been in the same room since. I was tense, Annie was nervous and drank too much: not like her at all. In the cab home I thought it had been a close thing. I had been wrong.

"You two were like cats on a hot tin roof, jumping around the room and avoiding each other. When Annie went to the ladies I followed her. You were at the bar with Adam."

She was right, I hadn't noticed them.

"In the loo we were putting on some lippy when I caught her eye in the mirror. She was like a rabbit caught in the headlights. I said: 'Did you enjoy London then?' She looked horrified, then in a small voice she said: 'I'm sorry.' turned, and walked out."

"I had no idea, I'm sorry."

"Everyone's sorry."

"So....."

"Was there ever another time? Seriously James"

I was glad I had been honest.

"No. Never."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Not 'okay,' but, you know, let's go on.

I was very eager indeed to 'go on'.

"I'm all done. It's your turn."

To be honest, I wasn't expecting anything. Carol is an intense woman, always busy at work and with a no nonsense attitude. She is certainly pretty, about 5'6", slim but a bit top heavy, brunette hair she keeps tied back; but no glamour puss.

So when she said: "There was Bill." I nearly dropped my brandy goblet.

"Bill? Bill from work? Christ, you never even liked Bill!"

As soon as I said it, I felt like a Grade 'A' fool. What kind of deception was this?

But Carol kept her poise and held my eye: "This is my turn. Do you want me to continue or not?"

I was stunned. I felt stupid, betrayed and angry. I also felt relieved, that this somehow balanced things up, and even a little intrigued: Bill? Carol? was she making this up to get back at me?

"Sorry. Go on."

And she did. She took a deep breath and told me everything.

It was back when everything was really bad with her company, ironically more or less when I was in London with Annie.

Carol and her partners had a really tough meeting with the bank. They were close to pulling the plug when one of her other partners, Steve, rushed in to the room clutching three cheques he'd 'found' under a heap of papers on Bill's desk. The cheques were enough to cover the company's immediate liabilities and the bank officers left; the dogs called off, for now. It made Carol feel stupid, her company having so little financial control, and they all had a blazing row. It was the beginning of the end for them.

Afterwards the four partners, Carol, Steve, Bill and Adrian, went to a bar to let off some steam and, hopefully, forgive and forget. Needless to say though, as the alcohol took hold they ended up fighting again, Carol and Bill at each other's throat. The barman told them to take it outside and cool off, and they did.

Outside they continued to bicker in the alleyway. And then, suddenly, Bill kissed her. Carol was angry, confused and suddenly aroused. It had been quite some time since we had 'done it'.

She responded.

"What happened then?" My voice was hoarse.

"He was kissing me and I kissed him back. Then his hands were on my ass, on my boobs. I didn't know what was happening. He was whispering about how hard my nipples were, that I really wanted this. I realised he was right: I was poking through my tight white work shirt and he kept pulling on them. He had loosened a couple of buttons on my shirt and he was trying to get my tits out. Then his hand was rubbing my mound through my skirt and he took my hand and placed it on his crotch."

She paused. I was horrified, jealous and, I realised, aroused all at once. My mind scrambled: she was kidding; getting me back; it wasn't true.

"What then?" I struggled to keep the quiver from my voice. She hesitated, then went on:

"I felt him. He was hard. It was just about poking through his zipper. His hands were all over me. I felt cold air on my nipples and realised my tits were out. It was all like a dream. I pulled on his zipper a little and he just sprang out. I put my hand around him and started to masturbate him. Then I felt his hands on my shoulders, pushing me down. Then....."

"Go on."

"I got down on my knees in that alleyway. I could feel the grit snag my pantyhose. Bill was leering down at me, calling me names, begging me to do it, saying I wanted it."

"Did you?"

"...Yes. It was wild, I was wild. His cock was right level with my mouth, he was jabbing it forward. I grabbed it, to stop it poking my face. Then I held it, stroked it and looked up him. He was grabbing my hair, pulling me forward. I kissed his knob head, saw my lipstick smeared on his cock and that just sent me over the edge."

"You blew him?"

"God yes, I was lost to it. I had him half way down my throat, he was fucking my face while his hands mauled at my tits. He was about to come, and I was going to take it in my mouth.

"Going to?"

Carol paused for breath, took a sip of her cognac.

"I wasn't as lucky as you: no hotel room. We heard the bar door slam and it was Steve, suddenly there in the alley."

"He saw you?"

"No. We were down the alley a bit, blocked by kegs and crates and stuff. Bill pulled out and put himself away. I stood up and pushed my tits back in my shirt. By the time Steve peered round I had lit a cigarette and we were just stood kind of staring at each other. Steve asked if we had made up."

"Christ!" It was all I could think of to say. "What happened then?"

"With Bill and I? Nothing. I came to my senses pretty quick and kept him at arm's length. He never said a word to anyone, as far as I can tell. It was just madness. We were so strung out back then, from the bank meeting, the debts, everything."

"He left you high and dry then?"

"He did. You didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I left the bar ten minutes after the alleyway. I came home, you had put the kids to bed and you were watching TV. I knelt in front of you, remember?"

My god, did I ever. That night she came home, in a strange mood, didn't want to talk about it. Neither did I. Then out of nowhere she was giving me my first marital blow job in about a year. We ended up doing it right there on the lounge floor. She had been like an animal.

We sat for a while, again in silence.

"And that was all? The only time?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"Quite enough, thanks."

We decided right then to start afresh. We could either carry this stuff around with us, let it poison our future, or just let it go. Neither of us wanted divorce.

From then on we maybe saw each other in a new light, as independent people, sexual beings. We still worked hard, but now when I worked through lunch it was so I could get home in time to take her to dinner. When I worked late, it was to make sure we could have the weekend together. Things improved. We had fun.

In bed we were making up for lost time, and although we said we would let it go, it was here that memories of our mutual indiscretions surfaced, adding a spice of wickedness to our lovemaking. Carol confessed that part of the reason for her little episode was a realisation that she would probably never 'have' another man in her life. I guess the thought of never having another woman was partly driving me also. We accepted that we were sometimes attracted to other people: it was inevitable. We just wouldn't act upon it, although the thoughts added colour to our bedtime fantasies. Certainly, we never took each other for granted again.

So it was when Carol turned 40 I decided on something impetuous: I bought her a bright red Porsche Boxster with a black soft top: her dream car.

It was a statement, I guess, that I knew she was something more than the wife and mother who drove the kids in her Grand Cherokee. She was still an exciting woman in her own right. In her new Porsche.

Carol responded for my own 40th by booking a surprise holiday to an exclusive Caribbean resort. Even more astounding, the kids were to stay at her mother's for the 10 days we would be away. This was certainly a first.

The resort, on the beautiful island of Grenada, was truly first class. The staff to guest ratio was about one to one. Carol had pushed the boat out. We were met at the tiny airport by a driver and a cool air conditioned lincoln stretch which bumped its way over the rutted roads to the resort. She had booked a suite, with a terrific balcony overlooking the picture postcard bay. There was chilled champagne in the ice bucket and a basket full of tropical fruit.

We unpacked, then had a glass or two on the balcony, watching the big red sun boil down into the ocean. I could get used to this.

And get used to it we did. We soon fell into a routine. We had breakfast delivered every morning at 8:30 and took it on the balcony. then we'd split up for the morning, Carol to go to a reiki class or take a beauty treatment, and me to continue my scuba lessons. Then we'd meet up for a long lunch, out of the sun, and spend the afternoons sunbathing on the resort's private beach.

When the sun dipped towards the horizon, we would go up to our suite, have energetic sex, a siesta, and then get showered and dressed for dinner. It might have been a routine, but it was a helluva good one.

Early on, we got talking to the couple in the next door suite, George & Lynn. They too took their breakfast on their balcony, and soon we were exchanging pleasantries and banter across breakfast. The small resort was full with only 200 guests, so it was inevitable that our paths crossed during the day.

I guess George & Lynn were about 10 years older than us, about 50. George was handsome in an English, stiff upper lip kind of way; whilst Lynn was an extremely well kept, petite blonde.

At first we shied away from getting to know them too well; we were here, after all, to spend some quality time with each other. They were light hearted though, and fun to be around. Soon Lynn and Carol were spending their mornings together, whilst George and I went diving or played golf. We had the odd lunch together, all four of us, and often met in the bar after dinner. We got pretty friendly, and often ended the night on each other's balcony drinking champagne and generally letting our hair down. They were much like we might be, ten years on: confident, relaxed in their skin and enjoying a good time.

We got close, that way you sometimes do on vacation, when you're relaxed and enjoying yourself, and find yourself discussing things and sharing confidences you'd never dream of talking about with people you've known for years.

It was during one such conversation, on the golf course, that George let slip a secret about he and Lynn's past: turns out they did a bit of swinging in the 70's. I wasn't that shocked and, the way George told it, pretty much everyone seemed to be at it back then. They had drifted out of it by the end of the 70's and hadn't been involved since. He asked if Carol and I had ever done anything like that, and I said no, but I hinted at the extramarital activities we had both been guilty of and left it at that.

It turned out Carol and Lynn had also been sharing some secrets. That night, as we made love, Carol took my cock deep inside her and told me to hold still. She then started doing this extraordinary thing with her pussy, squeezing my cock from the head to the root and back again with her internal muscles. It was something else, and as we kissed and stroked each other she simply 'milked' me until I came.

"My god, where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"You liked it then, Jamie boy?"

"Liked it? It was incredible! What've you been up to?"

"Yoga."

"Yoga?"

"Yes darling, yoga."

It turns out they were doing some sort of pelvic floor muscle exercises when Lynn told her about this technique she knew 'from the old days'.

"Well, they're quite a couple of dark horses." I said.

"Why do you say that?"

I told her about my discussion with George.

"Oh, he told you then."

"You mean you knew?"

"Course I knew. What do you think we girls talk about all morning; make up?"

It was cooler that night, and we left the balcony doors open. As we settled down to sleep we could here gentle but unmistakable sounds coming from next door: George and Lynn were having sex. At first we giggled a bit and wondered out loud what advanced techniques they were using: was George on top of the wardrobe? Was Lynn in full bondage gear?