The Couch 14

2. The couch

One day in early autumn I was walking home from work, and in the window of some travel agency (I do not remember which one, one of those that died out when everything went online) I saw a weeklong trip to Ibiza offered for half price, but the flight was in two days early in the morning. They were already closing, but allowed me to call my wife. She told me to take it; she would arrange it with her parents. Indeed, next morning her dad arrived, took both babies, and the day after we were in that paradise.

We got a two-story house, two hundred meters from the beach. Upstairs there was a bedroom, so tiny, that only the bed could fit in it: there was no placard, no table. Downstairs there was an equally tiny living room with a kitchenette and a bathroom. There was a couch in the living room, but no table either. However, there was a terrace with a garden table and chairs. Well, everything you could wish!

The beach nearby was excellent, and the people, mainly young, were very relaxed therein. The men were, of course, in swimming trunks, but, among the ladies, only one out of ten was wearing a top, and many did not bother about bottoms either, though it was just an ordinary beach, not a naturist one. (Now, of course, everything is different; people became much more prudent.)

And in the evening there were discos until you drop dead. There, too, many girls undressed and threw their bras into the air; this was against the rules, but nobody cared.

We were lying on this wonderful beach, a sleepy bliss was already overtaking me, and suddenly, through half-closed eyes, I noticed that Petra was vigorously waving to someone. Indeed, a young guy, looking a bit jerky, was heading towards us. She whispered that he was from her "former" (meaning, before we met) life. Not ex-boyfriend (I was introduced to each of those), but they "hooked up a couple of times," as she likes to say. Petra, of course, was topless, the guy (his name was Ulrich) was uncomfortable and looked away. She told him, like, you have already seen my tits, so don't be shy, but he still tried to look in the other direction.

Ulrich told us a sad story. He and his girlfriend came to Ibiza as backpackers, hoping to find some lodging on the spot. (There was no Airbnb back then.) They indeed found some crappy room, but she suddenly dumped him and ran away with some other guy. As a result, he was left without a girl and without a roof: alone, he could not pay even for the kennel that they found. He already spent one night on the beach, cold and unpleasant. Indeed, it was not July, but mid-September.

Petra, of course, offered him to join us, meaning the couch downstairs. I was not thrilled with this idea, but did not object. We agreed that he would show up in the evening.

Indeed, Ulrich came. By then, we were already done with the dinner, sitting on the couch, sipping wine. I was in trunks, Petra naked. She invited him to join us on the couch, on her side. However, he again became shy and sat down on the floor, cross-legged, though he did not refuse the wine and kept up the conversation. I was already burning all over, whispered to her, like, let us do it right here, but she did not react. Finally, we went upstairs, and, man, it was great! The door was open, he could hear us, which made us even hornier. When we were done, I fell asleep instantly.

I woke up at about 3 am. I was alone in bed: Petra was not there. And I knew well where she was! I did not want to disturb them, but I needed to visit the bathroom, downstairs. So I went down, without looking at the couch. But on my way back, I did look. They were already done, sitting on the couch embraced. Petra was perky, as usual, but the guy was embarrassed, looked away. I winked at them and went upstairs.

Some minutes later I heard the shower, and my dear joined me back. And I was ready, as you can guess.

This is how we started our "open marriage", from that very couch. (By the way, Ulrich left early in the morning, before we woke up. Apparently, he felt guilty.)