Show and Tell

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Here’s a quick one-off, a slight departure from some of the stuff I’ve been doing lately. This is probably a little more like the stories I did a couple years back, and it was a lot of fun to write.

I’m entering this in the Lit Summer Loving contest. Please make sure you vote on your favorites!

* * *

I didn’t really think I’d want to fuck Rachel until we all got on the boat.

I’d been on the boat before, obviously: I’d been coming up to the Berrys’ place on the Cove every summer for years. My wife Shari had known Cindy Berry in college, and as soon as her folks had retired out here to the Cove they’d started inviting us to spend the occasional summer weekend here. “We love having all of you!” Mrs Berry would gush with her grandmotherly warmth when we left, and all my wife’s friends would gather round and share a teary hug and I’d stand off to the side with the other husbands, holding our bags of leftovers and waiting around to be told it was time to go to the car.

This year, though, Cindy’d sent out an email a few days before the party, telling all of us she and her husband had invited a friend of theirs. Someone, apparently, who taught at her school with her. Someone who sang with her in the church choir.

Someone new.

I’d greeted the news hectically, with my usual lack of any kind of care; I looked forward the Cove Weekend every summer, but it wasn’t something I could allow to preoccupy me. Most of my wife’s friends are teachers or moms, accustomed to having summers off, but I’m an insurance lawyer. That means I make an awful lot of money for doing… well, not quite a lot of work. But enough work, of a tedious and precise nature, to leave me strung the fuck out by the time I got out to the Cove every summer, after a week of working even harder so that I could take the Friday off.

We’d come in, set our bags down, traded smiles; we lived closest to the Cove, so my wife and I were usually the first ones there. I didn’t get to see her wife’s friends often, but I’d known them longer than we’d been married and I’d gotten to know them very well over those fifteen years or so.

Cindy, busying herself around her mom’s house, had always given me the vague sense that she disapproved of me. But that was fine; I disapproved of her too, and neither of us let it get in the way of us being friendly. Her husband Lars was in real estate, and seemed to be doing quite well despite having such a silly name. I never remembered his last name, but it couldn’t be all that great either; Cindy had kept hers.

Allison, newly divorced that year from the guy who’d gotten her pregnant, though he’d politely waited until she’d gotten her degree before he’d done it. He was a weasel and a drunk and she was already looking happier and better able to deal with life.

Jess, towing Keith, the bland nonentity she’d married. They had a kid, a cute little thing about age four? Seven? Hell, I’m no judge. Jess had been the first of my wife’s friends I’d met, so consequently she’d factored into more of my masturbation fantasies than the others had. Not because she was all that much hotter than them, but just because she had seniority.

And Kenny, the sole male in their group, invited because he’d found a wife just like them and they liked having her around. They usually arrived last, mostly because they had three fucking kids and that meant they arrived everywhere late. His wife Bonnie was witty and earthy and quick, and also quite unattractive; I’d always been vaguely impressed she’d gotten Kenny to fuck her enough times to spawn three kids. But I liked her. She was fun. She was good at sexual puns, and so was I, and since we were both “outsiders” from the group we’d always gotten along well.

This year I’d given out the usual hugs, enjoying as I always did the vaguely sick thrill of feeling my wife’s friends’ tits squishing against my t-shirt. But the entire time I’d been greeting my friends, my eyes had been sliding sideways at the church-singing schoolteacher Cindy had dragged to her folks’ house.

“Rachel,” she’d introduced herself, her hand jutting out for a shake. She’d been pretty shy, but then I’d expected that; Cindy had invited her into a group of people who’d been meeting up for almost two decades, so of course she wasn’t all that comfortable right away. I’d sized her up quickly, having expected someone middle-aged and comfortable like the rest of us, but she seemed younger. Late twenties? She had an unfortunate face, the weak-chinned kind you’d see in an eighteenth century British portrait, and what looked like an unremarkable pair of boobs under a flour-smeared shirt. Her glasses were smudged. She’d been making the quiche for the next morning.

“Hi! I’m Eric Walsh.” She had pale, watery grey eyes and a tendency to use them to stare. I matched her. “Welcome to the Cove,” I smiled, even though it wasn’t my house, nor my Cove, nor my job to welcome anybody anywhere. But hell, she was new. I like meeting new people. “We’re harmless.”

“Mm, that’s Van Escort what Cindy told me.” She had a pleasant voice, a little deeper and quieter than I’d expect from a teacher. “I’m happy to be here.”

“The Cove is a very relaxing place,” I went on, wondering vaguely if I was babbling; I could see the interrupted quiche on the granite counter behind her.

“I know. Cindy had my husband and I over last year.” I felt my eyebrows rise, then decided there was probably no good answer to a peremptory where’s your husband? coming from a total stranger. Instead, I just smiled.

“Awesome,” I said vaguely, but that was when I heard Keith’s voice at the door. The party was starting, and Rachel went back out of my mind. There was, after all, a hug to receive, complete with Jess’ tits to be squished so pleasantly.

The weather was fine this year. I was looking forward to water-skiing off the back of the Berrys’ speedboat later.

* * *

I could tell when Lars stopped paying attention to our conversation about the Orioles; his eyes, never usually all that focused, suddenly fixed on something over my shoulder. I assumed it was probably my wife, approaching the boat. Many times over the years I’d caught sight of him staring at her, and no wonder. Her tits were a lot more impressive than Cindy’s, and we were all in bathing suits by now.

I half-turned, expecting to greet Shari with a kiss; I liked doing that in front of Lars. And that’s when I began to think I might just want to fuck Rachel. Or, at least, that’s what the sudden twinge in my dick told me.

Rachel moved with a certain assertiveness in spite of her unremarkable face and her short acquaintance with the rest of us, and right away I knew why. When a woman is in a group of other women, I’d noticed over the years, she knows right away when she’s at the top of the sexual pecking order, and Rachel certainly was now.

I’d been right about her tits, I could see at once: they filled out the top of her short tankini, but not to any great extent. What her shapelessly floured shirt hadn’t let me see was the rest of her, the smooth hips flaring above smooth-skinned thighs, the soft pinch of her waist, the hint of a ribcage I hadn’t seen on my wife in a few years now. Before I could stop myself I knew I was searching her dark blue suit bottom, seeking cameltoe, then remembering I wasn’t wearing sunglasses. I jerked my guilty eyes upward, and when I saw her face I wanted her.

Because she was smirking.

It wasn’t just her body my lurching dick was reacting to. It was her manner, the slight confident strut of a woman in a swimsuit among other women ten or twelve years older. And, I knew without a doubt, that strut was meant for the benefit of those older womens’ husbands.

I know, because she was staring at me through a pair of sunglasses barely tinted at all.

I blinked, then knew I’d need to sit down soon. Rachel was no model, but she was no slouch either. She walked past me without a word, her pale eyes slithering at mine behind her shades, and I saw Lars’ eyes fall to her passing butt at the same moment mine did. The modest bottoms she wore didn’t hide the sweetly-rounded swell of her ass, the swimsuit giving out just high enough to make out the crease at the back of her leg where thigh turned into cheek. Three mosquito bites puckered her flesh in a line, and she smiled at Lars. “Can I steal your bug juice?”

“Huh?” Lars looked down at the Cutter spray in his hand. “Oh. Sure.” He made a big point of not watching while she bent gracefully and gave her bare legs a hissing treatment. I debated about whether I should make the obvious comment.

“Looks like you’re too late.”

“What?” She smiled up at me.

“The vampires have already been at your leg.” I hoped my grin was more wholesome than lecherous; she certainly didn’t seem to take offense, anyway. Besides, she had to know we’d look at her legs.

“Well. Better late than never,” she shrugged, bending back over. I had an overpowering urge to reach straight down into her swimsuit bottoms and grab a fleshy handful.

Lars and I looked guiltily at each other in the same moment, then we both gave that shameful smile married men give each other at times like that. I nodded at him amid the bustle of people loading themselves onto the Berrys’ speedboat, then started back across the sandy grass to head quickly back into the house.

I’d need my sunglasses.

* * *

The sun glittered off the surface out on the Cove. On such a fine summer day the open sea out past the breakwater was packed with weekend sailors, but Cindy piloted her parents’ boat deftly to the stretch of flatter water where the tubers and skiers played.

Lulled by the sun and by my early wakeup that morning, I was dozing up in the front of the boat when Cindy idled the engine and called loudly for skiers. “Who’s going first?”

The kids all wanted to go, but only Allison’s daughter was old enough. She scrambled back toward the stern to grab a life Van Escort Bayan jacket, and as she made her way along the narrow deck between everyone’s legs there was a general reshuffling to make room: Lars was moving off to handle the towrope, and that left a seat next to me. I was astonished, my eyes snapping open behind my shades, when Rachel very straightforwardly slid into his place.

“Last time I came to visit,” she began conversationally, “he was back at the rope for the whole trip. And I like sitting up in the bow.”

“Yeah?” I straightened and made a token attempt to shift sideways to give her more space, but the angle of the seats kept me from moving more than a couple inches. “Sorry,” I muttered as her bare knee brushed along mine. “I like it up here, too.”

“It’s where the boat bounces.” She settled in, the two of us touching slightly at the knee and shoulder. We’d both put shirts on against the sun. I glanced sideways and the two beers I’d already consumed spoke up.

“I always like it when things bounce.” I registered a look of surprise on her face, her weak chin suddenly transformed by a wide-open grin. “Like boats,” I added after a pause, a little lamely. It’s the kind of thing I’d have said to Bonnie, the kind of mild double-entendre that was part and parcel of a summer weekend at the Cove, but then Rachel didn’t know that. I held my breath to see how she’d take it.

“Bouncy things are fun,” she agreed with a giggle, to my vast relief, and I sat back more comfortably into the plastic cushions. She gave me a longer pause than I’d given her, then threw in, “especially things that start with B.”

“Boats,” I repeated, nodding. Then we did one of those things men and women do when they’re feeling each other out, one of those measuring glances flicking up and down each others’ faces, bodies, and legs. I saw the slow grin spread across her face in time with my own. I raised my open bottle. “Beers.”

“Bodies,” she shot right back, and that’s when Cindy gunned the engine and the boat took off with a whoop from Allison’s daughter and a general shout from the other kids. She leaned toward me over the engine noise. “I forgot mine.”

‘Your body?” I was enjoying this. A lot. “Or your boat?” She was as good as Bonnie and a lot better looking.

“My beer.” I handed her my bottle without a word and she nodded a quick thanks. “I’ll get you back later.”

“It’s excellent beer,” I replied, yelling over the engine noise. My wife was five feet away, watching our waterskier as she tried to keep her balance. “Don’t kill it.”

“Why not?” She took a swallow and handed it back. “There’s plenty more in the cooler. I’m glad you like it,” she went on, leaning closer, the boat starting to leap over the water. We lurched together. “I brought it.”

“Ah!” I drained the bottle, aware of her saliva on the neck of the bottle. It gave me a dark thrill. “You’ve got good taste.” I risked another pun, angling my head to look down at her lap. “I’d imagine.” She got it right away, throwing her head back and laughing loudly. Heads turned, and I leaned forward to toss the empty bottle into the recycle bag.

“You guys are fun.”

“Some of us are more fun than others,” I winked, nodding over at the dour Kenny, and she giggled. She beamed at me, and I hoped my dick wasn’t as prominent as I suspected it might be.

Rachel was fitting right in.

The boat spun to a whitecapped halt as, out the corner of my eye, I saw Allison get unsteadily to her feet; her daughter had just wiped out, probably. I turned to Rachel in the sudden silence, and in a world where everyone was looking back behind the boat, she turned her head lazily to smile at me. “Gonna go skiing?” I asked her. Allison was making her way to help her kid.

Rachel smirked. “I don’t see any mountains. Is that the right answer?”

“Who’s next?” Cindy, impatient at the wheel, glared at me. “Get a move on, Eric. You always love waterskiing.”

Called out, I could do nothing but stand up. I glanced down at Rachel, seeing cleavage and her smirk, and took off my shades. “Hold these?” She was smiling as I whisked my shirt over my head; I’m not all that sexy, but I was probably the most in-shape man on that fucking boat. I tossed the shirt onto my seat and smiled at Shari as I went by, hoping I wouldn’t wipe out. Though it wasn’t my wife I was showing off for, as I well knew.

* * *

The men did the dishes after dinner, mostly so that the women wouldn’t accuse us of sexism. “That was a great ride today, Eric.” Kenny wasn’t a thorough person, so we put him at the end of the line with a towel in his hand, drying. “I thought you were going to eat it, coming off the wake that time.”

“Thanks, man.” I never really had much to say to Kenny, but he was right: it had been a fucking great move, and the best part was that I’d been convinced I was going to faceplant into the water the entire time. I’d climbed back aboard to the scattered applause of enthusiastic kids and their impressed Escort Van parents, though Rachel had done nothing but smile thinly at me as I took my seat again, dripping and topless.

“Nice job,” she’d said wryly, handing over my glasses. I’d glanced over, still panting, and raised my eyebrows. “Even if it was a fluke.”

“Sure was,” I’d confessed, watching as her eyes fluttered over my chest. “I’ll put my shirt on after I dry off.” In the back of the boat, Kenny was strapping on a life jacket to take his turn on the skis.

“Mmm?” She’d blinked, then blushed. “Oh. Sorry. My husband’s Asian.” She’d looked away. “I don’t see a lot of hairy chests.”

“You should see Keith.” I’d nodded back at Jess’ husband. “Well, you will soon. Front and back.”

“Yeah,” Rachel had said with thoughtful slowness. “About back hair…” She’d chuckled, and then leaned to the side to get me a towel

Now, she was relaxing after dinner with the women, gabbling about reality TV. I focused on the scrub brush and watched dully as Lars got the booze out. The usual routine was to put the kids down after dark, then sit around drinking and talking for hours afterward; this was the girls’ big annual opportunity to catch up in person, and I usually enjoyed listening to the conversation while glancing at Jess.

I was in the middle of that, making occasional smart comments to Bonnie and sitting there in my pajama bottoms while everyone else lounged around the room in various stages of mild inebriation. Allison’s girl would get up tomorrow morning with the younger kids; she was a good babysitter, so we all figured we could stay up late and not worry about a wake-up time.

Rachel wasn’t drinking much, I noticed. She sat there in the chair with her bare legs curled under her, swirling a gin-and-tonic thoughtfully in her glass. Across the room, Shari and Cindy were engaged in some sort of low-voiced conversation that looked serious.

Probably about pregnancies.

I cleared my throat. “So, what’s your husband do? Is he a teacher too?” Bonnie, my usual conversational partner-in-crime, stirred from her phone, ascertained I wasn’t talking to her, and then went right back to the screen, jabbing at it with her thumbs.

“A teacher?” She laughed low. “God no. He’s a line cook at an Italian place.”

“No shit?” I blinked. “I thought you said he was Asian?”

She lolled her head sideways and looked at me with humor in those pale eyes. “I see,” she said slowly. “So, therefore, he can only churn out rice and kimchee?”

I hesitated, then decided to say it. “Well, duh,” I shrugged, and Rachel’s laugh brought Bonnie’s head back up. I grinned.

“More like risotto and… well, whatever the Italian version of kimchee is.” She subsided into chuckles. “You like Italian?”

“I’m not into restaurants.”

She blinked. “I thought you were a lawyer?”

“I am.” I shrugged again and took a sip of my scotch. “I’m not the kind of lawyer that schmoozes clients. I’m the kind of lawyer that files briefs.”

“Not boxers?” Bonnie grinned at us.

“Silly goose,” I winked back at her. “I never tell.”

“So,” Rachel said, her head still tipped whimsically, “you don’t get to eat out much.” She winked very slowly, and I felt myself flush slightly. My cock spasmed lightly. Quite suddenly, I remembered her ass in the blue swimsuit.

“Well, not in some ways.” I shifted my eyes over to my wife, now nodding sympathetically while Cindy wept a little, and then brought my eyes back to Rachel’s. I raised an eyebrow to make sure she got the joke.

Bonnie sure did. “Kenny eats out,” she said flatly, her eyes twinkling. “In all sorts of ways. Don’t you, Kenny?”

“What’s that?” Kenny was across the room on his iPad, paying no attention to us, and Bonnie and I laughed. I wondered whether there’d be a fourth Bonnie/Kenny spawn coming soon. Bonnie blew him a kiss and then disappeared back into her phone.

“That’s too bad,” Rachel went on, her voice quieter. I leaned in slightly. “My husband doesn’t, either.” Then it was her own eyebrow’s turn to rise, and I started to wonder where this would all end up. I swirled my scotch now in rhythm with her G&T.

“I guess,” I said, matching her quiet, “that a guy who spends so much time working with people who eat out, loses the urge to do it himself.”

“Maybe.” She straightened her head. “But, regardless of the reason, I miss it.” She lifted her glass in a precise sip, her eyes pale on mine, and once more I felt the warning tightness in my dick. She lowered the glass, her lips pursing as the booze went down. “So. Is it true that you never tell?”

My mind raced back in the conversation, rewinding in a bright hormonal thread before I remembered what she meant. I glanced once more at my wife, to see if she was paying attention. “You’re a teacher.” I licked my lips. “What’s better? Tell? Or show and tell?”

Her smile this time was that smirk from the boat, quick and wicked, and now she joined me in glancing at Shari. “I think I need to visit the restroom,” she announced, a bit louder, still staring at me. Her legs uncoiled and she stretched high, her faded sleeping shirt rising to show me her belly button. “Anyone need anything from the kitchen on my way back?”

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