This is going to turn into the worst vacation of my life, thought Carol Livingston as she rubbed suntan lotion on her body. First, Frank cancels out at the last minute because of that crummy trial. That's the third time in twelve years of marriage he does this, the third damn time, Mr. Big Time Prosecutor. Then the damn airlines losses my luggage and I am forced to borrow Rita's clothing and she's one or two sizes smaller than I am. I'm embarrassed to wear this white mesh string bikini. This outfit barely covers my nipples and crotch. I'm exposing my tits to the world and the beach waiter was staring directly at my breasts while he took the order. It was embarrassing to be ogled.
"Carol you look tense," Rita said, interrupting her thoughts, "Relax. Have another margarita. Enjoy the beach. "
"It's such crap," Carol answered, "I spend nine months teaching history to thirty-two high school students and my vacation starts with Frank canceling and my luggage getting lost."
"Don't worry about it," Rita answered as she waved to a passing waiter, "The insurance will pay for the loss and you can have a fling. I'll get you a date."
Rita, a television editor, was twice divorced. The two thirty-four year old women had been good friends since high school, although their personalities and physical appearances contrasted. Rita had chestnut hair and green eyes with a body to match her wild side. Carol was taller, heavier and better endowed with more orthodox moral views. She wore her black hair in a mane of curls that dripped halfway down her neck.
"A date?" Carol remarked, "I'm a married lady."
"Several hundred miles from home."
"I didn't leave my morals at home."
"Morality is the most flexible word in the dictionary."
"Really, Rita..."
"Yes. Think about it. What's moral for Christians is not necessarily moral for Muslims or Mormons or for some tribe in the Amazon. Morality is flexible. Everywhere you turn the corner the rules change."
"I'm sure," Carol answered, "but not for me. I can't be unfaithful to Frank."
"You mean to tell me you haven't cheated in twelve years of marriage?"
"No," she answered, "once almost."
"Really. When?"
"Earlier this year. I went to a charity party without Frank and I was angry and had a few drinks and ended up in the parking lot with Charlie, who's an English teacher. We just made out like high school kids and he felt me up, but that was all."
"That's it?"
"Yeah. I would not cheat on Frank. I didn't initiate the thing with Charlie. He didn't ask for permission, he just told me he was going to kiss me and I let him do it. Then he started to feel me up and I began to protest and he hushed me softly. His hands went into my blouse and up my skirt and I played with him through his pants, without taking it out. A security car entering the parking lot interrupted us. Perhaps I would have continued but I don't think so. Anyway, I don't want to cheat on Frank."
"Okay, relax. Check out the view and imagine a fantasy."
"What are you talking about?"
"You silly girl. Either the first margarita hit you hard or the sun has fried your brain. Over there, on the left, near the palm tree."
Carol looked, seeing two well-muscled young men in swim trunks setting up a beach umbrella.
"U.S. Marines," Rita sighed, "government inspected prime meat."
"How do you know they are marines?"
"One guy just removed a red T-shirt with the emblem and they are both wearing dogtags."
"You are a regular detective, Rita."
"Enjoy the view. Wouldn't one of them be better than Frank?"
Carol did not answer. Her sex life with Frank, she pondered, had been narrowed down to unimaginative quickies sandwiched in between trials and depositions. Frank had turned into a flabby workaholic and the last two years of their marriage had been frustrating. Over the last few months she had occasionally imagined a sexual situation with a stranger. The incident with Charlie had excited her, as she had not been in years. Carol had not pursued the relationship but had often masturbated to the memory of her only sexual adventure as a married woman.
"Oh my God, Carol, check out the new arrival," Rita whispered, "he's bigger than a truck."
A third man joined the two marines. The new arrival was dressed in sandals, black swim shorts, a watch, a pair of dark shades and his dogtag insignia. He was six-three, two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle with a washboard stomach. His blonde hair was cut an inch long on the top and shaved on the sides. The marine had a well-trimmed mustache.
"Wouldn't you like to spend a weekend with him?"
"I am married."
"I am not discussing reality, honey. Can you imagine being in bed under that man?"
"Yes," Carol said, "just as a fantasy, of course."
"Honey, he's huge, two pounds short of a horse."
"You are a slut, Rita," Carol said laughing.
"Look at him. Tell me you would not want to spend a couple of hours in a foxhole with him. Compare him to normal men and it's like a truck and compact cars."
Carol looked at the muscled leatherneck, noticing that even from a few hundred feet away she could see his tanned skin glistening in the sunlight, the muscles rippling as he moved, bending over to pick up a beer from the cooler, then straightening and stretching his body like a jungle animal. He swigged the cold beer tipping his head back, his thick biceps shining in the sunlight.
Rita is on the money, Carol thought, he is a prime slab of beef. I've never in my life been to bed with any man resembling this guy.
"He's looking this way and smiling at us," Rita said, "We could be dating the proud, the few, this very afternoon."
"Not interested."
"He's coming this way," Rita said, "let me do the talking. You are married but I am not and he is just what I need."
The big marine approached them, swigging his beer as he walked.
"Well," he said as he came near, "You are a long way from Dayton, Mrs. Livingston."
"Whaaat?" Carol was stunned; "Who are you?"
"Mike Williams. Second seat, first row, third hour American History."
"That's...Oh, my God!"
She remembered him as a shy, rawboned eighteen-year old with unkempt butter hair worn long, nothing like this mountain of human flesh and muscle in front of her. He sat across from Rita and Carol, in one of the empty wood lounge chairs. Carol suddenly felt vulnerable, aware of her half-exposed breasts. Was he ogling her tits?
"I haven't seen you in years. You have changed, Mike."
"In more ways than one. Five years in the marines and I'm seventy pounds heavier than when I left high school."
"None of it fat, I bet," Rita said, cutting into the conversation.
"Oh...excuse me. This is my friend Rita. Mike. Rita."
"Pleasure," Rita said, "are you stationed around here?"
"Yes," he answered, "I'm a sergeant in a heavy-weapons platoon at Pensacola."
They talked as Carol finished her second margarita and started on her third, feeling slightly buzzed. The conversation centered on their high school, the football and track teams and news gossip about former students. Carol was feeling at ease. As they talked she could not see his eyes hidden behind dark shades, but wondered if Mike was staring at her breasts. In her drunken buzz her eyes wandered once or twice towards the large bulge in his shorts.
This is wrong, she thought, it's wrong to be aroused by my former student. I'm at least ten years older than he is, maybe more, but he is soooo fine. His legs are massive, like tree trunks and he has that six-pack stomach, a huge muscled rear end and a prominent bulge between his legs. He is a hunk and he knows it. Mike doesn't seem to be a shy boy anymore. I've never had a man that big and strong.
Halfway through the third margarita, Rita excused herself "for a few minutes," leaving them alone.
"Is Mr. Livingston here?" Mike asked as soon as Rita left.
