Confessions

KEY WEST

There is just no place on earth like Key West. The Florida Keys are beautiful, of course-white, sandy beaches and long, rolling shores of clear water so warm swimming feels more like bathing-but Key West is a whole different world altogether.

We were young when we went for the first time, in our twenties, and we’d only been married a few years. It was one of the first trips we’d made away from the kids, and the freedom of not having two little ones hanging onto my skirts all day was exhilarating.

We’d traveled with, among others, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend and her two older teen girls. They were more energetic than we were after the long plane ride, and spent their first night out in a bar-slash-nightclub. In the morning over a free hotel breakfast muffin, my brother-in-law related the night’s events with wide, naive eyes.

“A guy tried to pick me up!” he professed, lowering his voice and looking around as if to make sure no one overheard him to whisper, “He was gay!” As if we hadn’t understood the first time. I hid a smile and exchanged a quick, amused look with my husband. His entire family-aside from him-was wildly homophobic. It had surprised me when his parents suggested a trip to the Florida Keys, with a stay in Key West, considering the population, but who was I to argue with a week away?

“Really?” I took a sip of orange juice to hide my smile. “So what club was this?” He told me, and then went on to describe the compromising position he’d found himself in, speaking in hushed tones. I was tempted to ask, “So why didn’t you take him up on his offer?” but I knew the teasing could only go so far before I crossed a line.

That’s the way it was with them.

But things were different in my marriage. We’d recently been talking about “other people,” talking about jealousy and commitment and what sex had to do with all of that.

Neither of us was in any way homophobic-rather strange, given his Mormon upbringing and my prejudice father-and in fact, both of us were open to the point of having experimented with a member of the opposite sex at one time or another.

He loved hearing about my exploits with my college roommate, and would often ask me to relate a “bedtime story,” about the times she and I had spent in bed together.

The thought of watching or being with me and another woman inevitably turned him on, almost instantly. All I had to do, it seemed, was suggest the idea, and I could make him hard. And I had to admit-the thought appealed to me, too.

I’d joked, packing my suitcase for our trip, that maybe we’d find someone to take back to the hotel when we were staying in Key West. I was half-kidding, half-not, and his response matched mine, “Maybe. Who knows?”

Of course, talking about it wasn’t doing it. Actually doing something crossed a line, it seemed, and as we spent the afternoon at the beach, swimming and soaking up the sun, I thought about how we could eat our cake and have it, too. Was it possible?

Would things change forever, if we did something like that?

We all ate dinner together, but when he took my elbow as we were leaving and murmured, “Want to go hit that club?” in my ear, I smiled, and felt my bottom clench in excitement. It was within walking distance of the hotel, and when we all parted, I grabbed his hand and started walking. We were dressed for dinner-nice, but not too nice. It was still warm, although the last of the sun had faded out of the sky over an hour ago, and my skin was just slightly damp with perspiration.

His hand moved around my waist, massaging my hip through my skirt as we walked. We didn’t talk, but the air was charged around us, electric with possibility. I had no idea what might happen, but I hoped. I think he was hoping, too. The truth was, I’d never been inside a gay bar. In fact, I hadn’t spent much time in bars at all. Neither of us were big partiers, but we both had adventuresome spirits that longed for…more.

It wasn’t anything like I expected. Somehow I’d stereotypically pictured something out of The Birdcage. What we found wasn’t very different from most other night clubs or bars. It wasn’t full of flashy costumes, although both the men and women wore more leather than the general population, and had more tattoos and piercings. Or maybe that was just the bar crowd.

He brought a drink to a table I found near the back-something girly and fruity, because I hated the taste of alcohol-and we sat together, quiet, drinking and watching, through several songs. He ordered more drinks, and I didn’t object, although I was a lightweight. Two drinks and I was feeling warm and fuzzy, everything softening around the edges. Three drinks and I was bold enough to grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor-another thing we didn’t do very often.

The heat, the darkness, the music, all combined to move my body all on its own.

It was me, but it wasn’t me, like some scene out of Dirty Dancing, grinding against him, eyes half closed. I felt him respond, his hands moving over my hips, my waist, down over my ass. It was like having sex in public, and I followed not just the music but the throb in my lower belly and between my legs, making me rock against the hard press of his thigh between mine.

I don’t know how long we danced-I lost time, until he finally pulled me back to the table, where I collapsed into a chair, so dizzy it felt as if we’d been flying.

I drank the rest of the now iced-down fruity concoction in my glass and ordered another. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as I sucked that one down in huge gulps. I felt like I couldn’t get enough of…anything, everything. When his eyes met mine, they blazed with an unbelievable heat as his gaze moved over my body. I pulled my hair up in my hands and gathered it at the back of my head, leaving my neck exposed to the breeze. The front of the bar was open, letting in the night, and everyone with it.

“Having fun?” he asked and I just smiled in response, leaning back in my chair and spreading my thighs under the table, letting the breeze in under my skirt, too.

“Sure looked like it.” The voice startled us both as a woman grabbed the chair between us, turning it around and straddling it as she put her drink on our table. “You’re a great dancer.”

“Thanks.” It was all I could think of to say in my surprise.

She winked at me, her eyes heavily made up in dark black. Her hair was dark, too, short and straight and shaggy, her lips bright red. She had a nose ring and her eyebrow was pierced, and a tattoo that, in the darkness, looked like a mangled butterfly on the top of her bare right arm. She wore a black leather vest laced up the front with nothing underneath, her body full and lush.

“So, wanna go again?” She knocked her drink back-it was nothing froofy like mine. It came in a shot glass. Standing, she set it on the table, jerking her head toward the dance floor. “Come on, let’s go.”

It was a clear invitation, and she moved away, somehow confident I would follow.

Or maybe she wasn’t confident at all, I don’t know. But I did. I didn’t even look at my husband, to tell you the truth, not even a glance. I just stood up and followed, and before I knew it, we were dancing together, the same way he and I had danced, only it was softer, she was softer, her breath a combination of whiskey and Juicy Fruit against my cheek as we rocked, limbs entangled, bodies writhing.

I don’t know how long it was before I noticed him watching. He’d moved to a table close to the floor, but he didn’t join us, although I motioned for him. Shaking his head, he waved me on, his eyes blazing hotter than I’d seen them yet. That spurred me on, and I found myself giving in to her touch, her hands small and soft but surprisingly firm as they pressed my lower back, our breasts meshing, our faces close.

I didn’t think twice when she kissed me. I didn’t think at all. I just felt, her tongue, her teeth, the sharp intake of her breath when I responded, my own hands moving down to cup the swell of her ass. It had gone far beyond invitation now, and somehow I knew where we were going to end up. For the first time, I had no doubt, and I was right. We spent another hour, maybe two, dancing, drinking, talking over the music, all of it a slow, precious tease.

Her name was Meg but I still didn’t know her last time by the time we all reached our hotel room, and I guess I really didn’t need to. She had me pinned to the bed within minutes, arms above my head, skirt up to my hips, her leather-clad thighs pressing mine open as she kissed me, and I forgot for a while that my husband even existed in the world. There was nothing but this hot, breathless, demanding woman, drawing things from me I didn’t even know existed.

Where I fumbled and giggled, she was sure and serious, undressing me quickly, drinking me in with her eyes. Leather and lace, we rolled, hungry and clutching each other. I was more than a little drunk, which made things blurry. I couldn’t think, so I just let myself feel, the weight of her nakedness, the soft press of her flesh. Her breasts fascinated me, soft and round and full in my hands, her nipples dark tips that made her moan and thrash when I sucked them.

Her fingers found me wet and open, parting the red fuzz to delve inside, her thumb strumming my clit with a slow, steady, growing pressure that left me gasping into her mouth as we kissed. Just the feel of her tongue twining with mine as her hand worked between my legs left me weak with lust. She pulled me up to straddle her face, her tongue parting me this time, her hands moving up my waist to cup my breasts, roll my nipples in her fingers as she licked me.

I grasped the headboard, moaning softly as I rocked against her open mouth.

Glancing back, I saw her stretched out on the bed, her fingers working between her own legs. Her dark hair was shaved except for a thin line of hair above her cleft, and her pussy lips glistened in the lamp light. The sight of her made me hungry, eager, and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my husband and remembered him for the first time.

He was sitting in the big chair in the corner, just watching. Well, not entirely just…

he had his pants unzipped, cock in hand. But he didn’t seem disappointed in not joining us. In fact, he looked thrilled to be watching our little show, although I hadn’t considered that was what Meg and I were doing.

“I want you, too,” I murmured in explanation as I moved, hearing her whimper as my pussy left her mouth, turning so I could lick her smooth, shaved mound. She moaned and gasped against my clit as I found hers and pressed it with my tongue. She was wetter than I could have imagined, and I played in her juices, my fingers spreading her wetness over the impossibly soft swell of her lips, drawing it inward toward the tight clutch of her pussy as my fingers slid in, as if I could somehow push it all back inside.

“Oh yes, yes,” she whispered. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck my puss.” I did just as she asked, plunging my fingers in and out as my tongue lapped at her clit. I felt her tremble, her hands clutching my hips as she moaned against my mound. I couldn’t hold off much longer-the press of her tongue made me spread and rock, I couldn’t help it, rolling my hips in her hands.

Through half-closed eyes, I saw my husband stroking his cock and biting his lip as he watched us, and that, too, was incredible, knowing how hot he was just seeing us together. Precum glistened on the tip of his cock, steadily leaking, and I used my other hand to pull her lips wider, showing him the open, pink spread of her pussy. He groaned, and I licked and fucker her even faster, barely able to keep my mouth on her as she bucked and thrashed beneath me, her belly already tightening with her impending orgasm.

“Ohhhh fuck!” I gasped when the hot, wet press of her tongue sent me right to the edge. “Oh god, yes, make me come! Please!”

“Nnnn nnnnnn,” was all she could manage-her mouth was too full of me to get out any more. But she was coming, too, I felt it in the tight shudder of her beneath me, the gentle pulse and clench of her muscles around my fingers as I fucked her. And when I looked over, I saw he was coming, too, a white-hot geyser spilling over his fist.

“Oh god! Now!” I moaned and ground myself against her tongue, taking myself there, making her take me, and she did, wrapping her arms around my hips and pulling me in deep, swallowing every last bit of me.

When she and I finally lay pressed belly to belly in bed, breathless and satisfied, my gaze followed the design of her tattoo. It wasn’t a mangled butterfly, but some Celtic design, repeating over and over, and I traced it with my finger like a mandala until she dozed. I didn’t know then that it was the closest I would come to a threesome as my husband came to bed, too, pressing in behind me, and we slept that way for a while before she got up and dressed and kissed me one last time.