Honeymoon Hazards

by Ben Boswell

  I shrugged, took another hit, and passed it back to Annabelle.

  “Yeah,” I said as the words finally broke free.

  She laughed. “Maui Wowie.”

  She took another hit and passed it back to me. I didn’t really want more. Or need more. The world was already blurred and moving in slow motion. I took another toke and again passed it back. Everything took on a weird stop-motion aspect, like I was processing only snapshots at a time. But it was beautiful. Laughing, happy faces, individual strums of the guitars, a sky full of shooting stars.

  “Let’s kill it,” Annabelle said.

  I watched as she moved the joint to her full lips. Saw the tip of the cigarette flare excitedly, shrinking to a tiny, insignificant nub that she tossed into the fire. Then suddenly she reached out, took me by the back of the head and pulled me close. She kissed me hard, open mouthed. I could feel her soft lips, her wet tongue, the weird sensation of smoke being blown into my mouth as she exhaled. I felt another rush of warmth. What the hell was she doing? I tried to pull away, but my body was slow to respond. All the while, our tongues continued wrestling, intertwined. My lungs finally saved me, seizing suddenly, forcing me to expel the smoke and break the embrace. I coughed violently.

  I heard Annabelle giggle. Better to not look at her, I thought. I shot a quick glance at Claire. Had she noticed? She was still half-turned toward Trent, locked in conversation. I breathed a sigh of relief. I would have thought the coughing would have caught her attention, but for the first time I was actually pleased that she was distracted.

  Annabelle was saying something. I wanted to tell her off. But I didn’t really want to confront her. If I just ignored her, she’d leave me alone. And anyway, the fire was mesmerizing. All the colors of the rainbow dancing in the flames. I watched it attentively. Had they added something to make it so bright? And now the flames were coiling and curling like snakes. Was anyone else seeing this?

  I looked back over at Claire. She was still talking with Trent. I looked toward Annabelle and jolted in surprise. A young, shirtless man, very buff, had joined her. I hadn’t even noticed him sit down. Was he one of the fire dancers? The music had stopped. People began to drift away. It was probably time to go, I thought, but my body seemed perfectly content to remain still.

  I heard giggling, Claire’s high titter to my left, Annabelle’s low, throatier chortle to my right. I laughed as well. It really was time to go. Still, I sat with what must have been a goofy grin on my face.

  Annabelle’s leg rubbed against mine. I looked down to see our thighs touching, marveling at the smooth, white flesh of her leg. Was she hitting on me? I needed to tell her to stop. I looked up at her. She was leaning away from me, pressed up against the young man, her head turned toward his. There were kissing, passionately. His dark, muscular hand was caressing her inner thigh, moving up, up, up. Her legs were spread wide. I could see the outline of her sex through her tight, white shorts. His fingers trailed along her pussy lips. Even through the fabric, it was enough to make her jolt and shudder.

  Wordlessly, he stood. His shorts were tented by his erection. He took her hand and they stepped away from the fire, not far though, just a few yards distant. He leaned her up against a gently sloping palm tree and slid his hands under her tight tee shirt. I could see him mauling her big tits under the fabric. They were kissing passionately. She ran the fingers of one hand through his thick, black hair. Her other hand was groping at his crotch, pumping up and down on his hard prick.

  He lifted up her shirt. Her breasts sprung free, high, round, artificial orbs crowned with small, pink nipples. He sucked her tits, going back and forth from one to the other. He reached down and unzipped her shorts, slowly edging them down, until they cleared her hips and slid down to her thighs. He dropped down and eased them off, leaving him face to face with her crotch. She was wearing tiny, white panties, so thin and sheer that it was like she was already naked. He didn’t waste time. He slid them aside and pressed two fingers into her shaved snatch.

  She bucked against his hand as he stood back up. They kissed wetly, sloppily. He removed his fingers from her pussy and fed them into her mouth. She locked eyes with him and sucked his fingers, her pretty, little tongue periodically slipping out to flick his digits. He removed his fingers from her mouth and returned them to her pussy, now finger-banging her hard.

  I saw him fumble with his shorts, and a moment later, they fell to his ankles, exposing his muscular butt. Annabelle reached around and squeezed his cheeks. He edged forward, his body pressing between her legs. There was a moment of awkward fumbling, and then he thrust hard, burying his prick inside her. She squealed excitedly. They kissed again for a few moments, and then he began to fuck her, hard.

  It was mesmerizing watching his hard, muscular ass clenching over and over as he banged that hot slut against the tree. No pauses, no hesitation, he just pounded into her over and over and over. I could hear her gasps and groans over the crackling of the fire, her blond hair periodically arcing as she swung her head in passion.

  “I told you he was a voyeur,” I heard Claire crack from behind me.

  “We should give him a show,” Trent suggested.

  They both laughed.

  Ha Ha. I wanted to turn and confront them, but I was too embarrassed. I just pretended not to hear them as I turned back and stared at the fire. The flames were still magical, but I was sort of wishing my high would end, or at least diminish. I felt trapped inside my body, my reactions slow, my vision altered, impossible to get words out.

  Annabelle was still moaning and sighing, but closer now… and to my left? I stayed resolutely focused on the fire. I was tired of being called a voyeur. Sick of Trent. Annoyed at Claire. I just wanted to go back to our room and sleep.

  Another moan, louder now, and definitely coming from my… left?

  I chanced a look toward Claire and Trent. It took me a few moments to realize what I was seeing.

  “No, stop,” I snapped. Or did I? Those were the words I wanted to say, but no sounds emanated from my mouth.

  I slowly processed the scene. Claire’s dress was bunched up around her waist, her white panties pulled down to mid-thigh and stretched taut as she spread her legs. It was somehow even more obscene than if she’d just taken them off altogether. Trent was fingering her, gently, adroitly. He pressed his middle finger deep into her pussy, then pulled out, slowly, slowly, his digit tracing her channel, lingering against her clit as his palm rested on her closely trimmed muff.

  A sultry moan as he contacted her clit, a sensuous gasp as he entered her again. It was almost hypnotic. I managed to tear away my gaze, looking up at them. Claire had her head back, eyes closed, her lips slightly parted as she made her sounds of pleasure. I looked at him. He gave me a cocky wink.

  “Stop it!” I exclaimed… or tried to. The words seemed to die someplace between my brain and my mouth. I reached out to push him away from her… but when I looked down my hands were firmly planted on my thighs. It felt like I was locked-in, trapped in my own body.

  “He’s watching,” I heard Trent say softly into my wife’s ear.

  She looked at me and smiled, so happy that I couldn’t help but mirror her expression, though I was still struggling to protest. She nodded and rose to her feet. As she stood, her panties fell to the ground, and she kicked them off into the sand. She turned and faced him, straddling his thighs. I looked down into his lap. He’d pulled down his shorts, his prick stood to attention, long and thick with a huge mushroom head.

  “No!” I tried to say again, but again the only sound was that of the crackling fire, the pounding surf.

  She bent her knees, lowering herself against him. He seized his shaft and rubbed the head of his cock against her slit. She moaned softly, then gasped as the tip of his prick entered her. She impaled herself on him, settling into his lap with a satisfied sigh. He grabbed her ass cheeks, his fingers digging into her flesh as she ground against him.

  Then she began to rise,
little by little, his thick shaft now glistening from her juices. And then back down, swallowing his cock into her pussy. Over and over again, faster and faster. Their moans built rapidly, reminding me of the cadence of the drums during the fire dance earlier in the evening.

  I couldn’t believe what was happening. How could she do this to me? What was going on? I looked at the fire and followed a spark rising into the air. I looked up and saw the stars. They began to circle, faster and faster. I felt myself falling, falling, then felt the cool sand through my shirt, against my back.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I woke up, shivering in the sand. Judging by the sun it was shortly after sunrise. The sky was bright and clear. My mind was fuzzy, my mouth painfully dry. I shook the sand out of my hair.

  I sat up, which made me feel a little better.

  Fuck, another one of those crazy dreams or visions or whatever. What the hell was wrong with me? God, Claire must be so pissed at me, passing out on the beach from too much weed. I wondered if I could find some flowers this early to give as an apology.

  I looked around. The fire pit had none of the magic of the previous night. The pile of burnt out logs looked forlorn, the cushions worn and stained. I glanced over at the palm where I’d seen Annabelle and the fire dancer. Had that happened? I wasn’t sure where my memories ended and my dreams began.

  And then I saw it. A small flash of white, barely visible, poking out of the bleached sand. I hooked my finger into the fabric and pulled it out. Claire’s panties. My knees felt weak. I sat back down. It had happened. All of it.

  I stared out at the sea. She’d been drunk. I remembered that. He’d taken advantage of her, the bastard. Is that why she’d left me there? Had she run away embarrassed once she realized what she’d done? Anxiety coursed through me. I hoped she hadn’t done anything crazy, hurt herself somehow.

  But then I remembered more details. She hadn’t been a passive, groggy victim. She’d been doing all the work. Riding him, slowly, expertly. She might have been drunk, but she wasn’t barely conscious. Far from it.

  It didn’t make sense. Obviously her judgment had been impaired. Nothing else really mattered. I sensed I was trying to convince myself as much as anything else. The residual haze of my high was making it hard to concentrate. One thing I did know was that I wasn’t going to buy her flowers.

  Finally, after maybe an hour of unproductive reflection I rose and returned to our room. I hesitated before entering. I braced myself for the coming confrontation. I had decided that I could forgive her, if she was really contrite, really apologetic, but I didn’t know if that would hold once we were face-to-face.

  I needn’t have worried. When I got inside, it was obvious she wasn’t there. The bed hadn’t even been slept in. Another surge of panic rose in me. Had she done something crazy? Had he done something to her? He didn’t seem the type. But then again, she’d never seemed the type to cheat on me. It was later than I had originally thought, around 9:30am. Where could she be?

  It is a testament to how slowly my mind was working that I only now thought to call her. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dropping a handful of sand onto the carpet as I did. I dialed her number. It rang. Once, twice, three, four times before going to voicemail. That ramped up my anxiety. If she’d just had it off, it would have gone to voicemail much quicker.

  As I stared at the phone trying to puzzle out scenarios, a text came through from her.

  --Meet me at the lobby bar in an hour.

  She was out there somewhere. I dialed again, with the same result as before. Then after another few minutes, another text.

  --Just be there and I will explain everything.

  I was tempted to call again, but it seemed pointless. Her games had definitely sapped my sympathy.

  I walked into the lobby bar a little before 11:00am. I’d showered and guzzled a gallon of water. I felt almost normal, except for a profound nervousness.

  I sat down and ordered a coffee. I was on my second sip when Trent walked in and sat down next to me.

  After my incredulity faded, I rounded on him.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Claire?”

  He smiled. He ordered a gin and tonic before answering me.

  “Claire is fine. She just wanted me to speak to you first. She was afraid of how you’d react.”

  “Um, Trent, don’t take this the wrong way, but fuck off. I want to see my wife.”

  “And she wants to see you. She’s feeling very sorry, but she wanted to make sure you were not in too thuggish a mood.”

  I was feeling thuggish, but most of my violent impulses were focused on Trent.

  “You’re a bastard, you know that? She was drunk. You took advantage of her. She was in no state to give consent.”

  He took a sip of his drink.

  “She wasn’t drunk this morning.”

  All of the piss and vinegar drained out of me. “What?”

  He didn’t answer. He knew I’d heard him.

  “What did you do to her?” I asked.

  “John, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Claire and I had a very pleasurable evening together. We both had a bit too much to drink, but I assure you, it was all completely consensual and mutually enjoyable.”

  I didn’t respond. I was trying to process all of it.

  “Your wife is a very sensual woman and quite an accomplished lover. You’re a lucky man.”

  I didn’t feel like a lucky man. I felt like a chump. I looked over at him. He was watching me frankly, almost kindly. He didn’t seem to be gloating.

  “What happened? How? How did this happen?”

  He shrugged. “The tropics do that to people. The sun, the sand, the sea. It makes people randy and silly. And you didn’t help with Annabelle.”

  “What did I do?”

  He laughed. “You mean besides leering at her? And then kissing her?”

  “She kissed me. And then left me for a fire dancer.”

  “Yes. She’s quite a little handful, isn’t she? You can see why I invited her along last night, though I do quite feel like I got the better end of the bargain.”

  “That still doesn’t…”

  He nodded. “No, that was just an excuse, wasn’t it? Claire and I, we have a real chemistry. And, in fairness, John, it wasn’t clear that you didn’t approve. You did watch the entire thing take place passively with a silly grin on your face.”

  “I was stoned out of my gourd.”

  “You seemed to be quite encouraging it.”

  “You knew better.”

  He shrugged.

  “I am quite sorry that this has interrupted your honeymoon, but I hope you can see if for what it was, a silly, island fling. If you’d been ill for just a little longer, this could have been just a quiet affair, with you none the wiser, and Claire and I each coming away with an enjoyable, private memory.”

  “So, it just happened? And then what? You went back to your room…” I prompted.

  He nodded. “Yes. By the time we finished out on the beach, you were passed out. So I invited her back to my suite.”

  I stared at him expectantly.

  He continued. “We took a shower together to wash away the sand. And well, that turned into more.”

  I imagined them soaping each other up. His slippery fingers trailing across her nipples. She squatting before him, swallowing his prick into her mouth as the hot water rained down upon them. Had he come in her mouth then? Had he pressed her up against the marble tiles, taken her from behind?

  “And then we went to bed. I recently turned 40, you know, and had had quite a bit to drink. I would have been almost as happy to fall asleep in the arms of a beautiful woman. But Claire was impressively insistent. She brought me around and then… well, as I say, your wife is a wonderful lover.”

  I pictured her riding him, slowing, working his cock for her pleasure. I could see her running her hands over his muscular chest, relishing the feel of his strong hands on her body. And then wh
en she’d climaxed into exhaustion, I could see her rolling off him, lying face down on the bed, inviting him to take his pleasure.

  “And this morning?” I prodded.

  “Yes,” he said, smiling at the memory. “She woke in me in the nicest way a woman can wake a man.”

  It was amazing how evocative he could be with such a few words. I imagined a ray of sunlight piercing the curtains, illuminating her face as she sucked gently on his prick.

  “We were making love when you called,” he added.

  I visualized him, between her widely spread legs, fucking her hard, both of them knowing this was the end of their encounter. Would they have kissed? No, I imagined them just locking eyes, their fiery gazes complementing the sensations coming from the loins.

  I looked at him. Freshly showered, he showed visible evidence of his night with my wife.

  “She didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  I nodded.

  Our conversation was at an end. He rose and began to leave.

  “Trent?” I called after him. “Did you really get stood up at the altar?”

  He smiled enigmatically.

  “Keep away from her, okay?”

  He nodded. “Of course. But John, if you do decide you want to explore your voyeuristic fancies, please do keep me in mind. I can assure you we’d put on a good show for you.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. He grinned, turned and walked out of the bar.

  I went upstairs. Claire was in the bathroom, the hotel room humid from a recent shower. It occurred to me that insisting on meeting me in the bar might have been a way for her to sneak into our room and get cleaned up. I didn’t like that they were apparently colluding against me.

  She heard me walk in. I looked up to see Claire rushing to greet me. She came to a screeching halt just feet away, realizing, I think, that attempting a hug was not the best way to begin the encounter.

  “John, I’m so sorry,” she began.

  It’s funny. As I’d walked back to the room after meeting Trent, I’d imagined the conversation in my head. Should I get angry, call her a whore, tell her things were over between us? Should I be compassionate, open to an apology, willing to work through whatever issues this episode had uncovered? I’d come around to the idea of just being cool and aloof, an attitude designed to show that not only had she not hurt me, but I was above it all. I’d pity her. But then, suddenly face-to-face with my cheating spouse, I was speechless. I just stared at her mutely. My silence seemed to set her on edge and she started rambling at me.