Sharing is Not Caring

“What’s your crew name?” a 5’8” man asks while tying his boat up to ours.  His eyes are the single attractive thing about him.  They are sweet in a way.  There’s also something very telling about them.  It’s very obvious that they see me naked and on my knees.  I wince and start chugging my bud light. 

“I don’t know.  I’m not sure,” I reply.  This is my first trip to the lake this summer and I just met the guy whose boat it is, so I don’t know anything about a crew name. 

I turn around to see a brunette woman wearing revealing bikini bottoms and pasties.  Her breasts flop in every which way as she excitedly jumps up and down and hugs another woman.  I scan the line of boats beyond her star covered nipples to find beer bellies, bare booties and a plethora of pasties.  The lack of modesty isn’t what’s weird to me, the lake is always like your wildest/worst college party, it’s how old everyone seems.  And how natural all the breasts are.  No wonder that guy thought I had a pretty mouth.

Clay squeezes past me to help my eye guy, his fingertips graze the small of my back.  He is, without a doubt, my most beautiful guy friend.  I am in absolute awe of him nearly every time I see him.  The eye-banger guy and I suddenly have something in common; I am totally fantasizing about being underneath him. 

“Are you guys on the website?” eye-banger asks, looking Clay up and down.  I wonder if he’s fantasizing about him too?  I shudder at the thought and finish my beer. 

“Nope, just came to party,” Clay responds, flashing his radiant smile.

“Well you do realize that this is a planned party, 95% of the people here are swingers,” he says nonchalantly, and confidently.

I am immediately thankful that I rocked my over-sized shades, because my eye-brows moved up at least an inch.  I feel the urge to refill my koozie and head for the cooler. 

“Oh-a, that’s cool.  No big deal.  I’m Clay, and this is my wife Natalie,” he says showcasing the silver band on his ring finger, as if that would validate our bogus matrimony, and reaches for me.  I smile like a dutiful wifey. 

Eye-bangers eyes light up.  “Great to have ya,” he says all too excitedly and hops back into his boat.  We wait until he’s in conversation with others before we erupt into quiet laughter. 

Placing a firm grasp on my hips, my gorgeous husband speaks softly through his impeccably white clenched teeth, “Oh my god, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done, ever, and I’m here with you. How is this happening to us?  This is crazy, I can’t wait to tell everyone tonight!”

He leans into me and rests his nose on top of mine.  I breathe steadily in through my nose, purse my lips and close my eyes.  I imagine his lips on mine and run my fingertips up his firm stomach. I can hear him smile as he gives me a soft Eskimo kiss to the rhythm of bow, chicka, bow, wow.           

I sigh and digress from my daydream, “I know, I know!” I whisper with intentional enthusiasm, “I was wondering why everyone was so old.  We are the youngest people here, for sure, and the most attractive, obviously.  Everyone is gunna want to do us.  Crap!” 

We share a timid smile.  Clay suddenly twists my body around with one swift push of my hipbone and one tender pull of my opposite shoulder.  Aroused, hopeful eyes await us.  I can see all their nasty, little thoughts floating next to them like a primetime news anchor’s lead story.     

“Let’s pick out our swap couple, hunny,” he whispers into my right ear. 

His breath is warm and his lips are moist.  I think about how he would feel and bite my lip.

“Well, definitely not that couple, hubby,” I say, nodding my head towards the man who has his hand down the back of a woman’s bikini bottoms.  Her suit is circa 1996 and his busy hand makes me want to cross my legs.    

We laugh in unison and continue surveying our options.  It takes us but two seconds to confirm that it’s slim-picking.  All but one couple are people that neither one of us would ever throw a fuck.  Ever.  However, staying true to the “when in Rome” mentality, we decide on a couple off in the distance.  They sort of look like older versions of us, that is to say if he inflated his body full of hormones and I worshipped the artificial sun gods.  Nonetheless, their bathing suits are cute and they have nice firm bodies.  Her tight, tan cheeks are the prettiest scenery on the water, besides ourselves of course.  Plus, this couple appears to be the owners of the most impressive boat in the cove.  It makes me want to sing, “I’m in Miami trick!”

Feeling relieved to have found a semi-suitable swap couple, just in case some fuglies make an aggressive move on us, and apprehensive about even being here, we agree that a shot is in order.  There are light and dark options in the cooler, but Clay remedies us something pink and sweet. 

“I know what my baby likes,” he says with the same smile that makes me melt every time he sends it my way.  It slowly drops as he looks above my head.   “I could never do this.  I don’t ever want to be married and then just give my wife away.”

I study his expression.  He looks genuine and as heartbroken as a 22-year-old gorgeous bartender can.  I am amazed at how suddenly conservative we’ve become.  We are both entertained and frightened by the taboo soiree that surrounds us.  I, however, observe it and resolve that I don’t ever want to be a wife.  How could I?  I see no pleasure in falling down the slide of despair more commonly referred to as marriage.   A woman in love evolves from the irresistible girlfriend, to the oh-so-lucky fiancé, to the beautiful bride, to the boring housewife, to the fat mother, to the housekeeper, cook and nag, to the stranger in his bed, to the deserted.  Oh yes, and in some special scenarios like today, the bait.  I’d rather lay down and be kicked in the gut. 

“Here’s to us and one of the craziest tales we’ll ever tell,” Clay raises his glass and winks at me.  We toast our first drink as man and wife. 

He whisks me off my feet and carries me through an imaginary threshold and jumps into the water.  I quickly swim away from him to tinkle, those beers I slammed went right through me.  He knows exactly what I’m doing and splashes me.  I’m not even finished yet when we both look over to see a man performing oral sex on the boat right next to ours.  From this perspective, a low-budget porn has never looked so good

“Ummm, we’re going to need more alcohol.”

My nostrils flare with repulsion, I nod quickly, demonstrating the deep desire to be numb.  “Let’s make it a double hunny.”

One thought on “Sharing is Not Caring

  1. Entertaining & funny; -the term ‘eye-banger’ made me laugh out loud! Pictured him to look kinda like Borat in his lime green banana hammock . . . good writing!

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