What Happens in Jamaica
The answer was both. I loved the way the blue dress clung to the small of her back before skimming over her curving ass. I couldn't take my eyes off the neckline, where her softly tanned skin made her breasts seem even more alluring next to the dark fabric. The neck was only an inch or so above her nipples, and gathered and lifted them to present an alluring display of cleavage.
"It's maybe...a little too revealing," I said, trying to keep the regret out of my voice.
I couldn't be angry at her. I was blessed with a gorgeous wife, the sort of woman who turns heads everywhere she goes. If anything, I was mad with myself, for wanting her to dress differently. I mean, aren't us guys meant to be over-protective? Aren't we meant to cover our women up, if anything, to stop some other guy stealing them away? So why, whenever we went to the mall together, did I find myself wishing she'd take a few more risks?
I winced. It sounded cheesy. I didn't want us to be one of those couples, desperately trying to find something to re-ignite the fire. The fire had burned just fine by itself when we'd first met. Hell, the sex had been great right up until the last year or so. But I couldn't deny that things had slowed down from a few times a week to a few times a month. Was that why I wanted to see Kim in sexier clothes? Because I was bored with her?
Show herself off a little more?! Why? So that other men could envy me? I was pretty sure I wasn't that insecure. Why, then?
Kim emerged from the fitting room again, this time in a dress whose neckline was a good inch higher, its hem falling to the knee. It was a lot less sexy, but it was also exactly the sort of thing she liked.
I sighed. "Yeah," I said. "Perfect."
We sauntered through the mall, our arms full of shopping bags. When I saw our reflections in one of the plate glass windows, I couldn't help thinking that we looked like the perfect suburban couple...but not perfect in a good way. Perfect in a predictable way. Mr and Mrs. Selman. Kim with her long, blonde hair and hourglass figure. Me, a little taller than her, my dark hair cropped respectably short. We had a nice house, two well-paid jobs—her in finance, me in engineering—a BMW we were still paying off and no kids yet. We ate in the same chain restaurants and watched the same TV shows as about a million other couples. Hell, the marketing men probably had a category especially for us.
I glanced across at my wife. She seemed happy enough, but the lack of sex had to be bothering her, too. Or something else was bothering her and that was causing the lack of sex.
There are moments when random chance shifts the path of your life forever. As I looked again at our reflection in the window, I saw something reflected behind us. White beaches. Azure sea. Palm trees. It was as if we were there.
I look back on that moment now and wonder how our lives would have been different if the commercial had been for Paris, or Vegas, or Mexico. But it wasn't. The friendly, welcoming logo at the end said "Jamaica."
"We need one," I reasoned. "We've both been working too hard."
Kim bit her lip. "It's just so sudden," she said. She sat down on one of the leather couches and her skirt lifted a little way up her legs, showing off smooth, toned thigh. "Weren't we going to save the money, this year? Towards...you know."
Kim noticed her skirt, and tugged the hem down. My heart sank along with it.
Kim's eyes widened. "Next week?" she squeaked. "You're talking about going next week?!"
Kim narrowed her eyes as she saw me looking. "I know why you want to go," she murmured, but there was a teasing smile on her lips.
"Call your boss," I said. "Let's do this,"
It was the fastest I'd ever booked a vacation. The fastest I'd ever booked anything. In the time it took to finish our iced lattes, we had flights and a hotel booked, leaving in less than a week. Then, since we were already in the mall, we started shopping for shorts and t-shirts, sunglasses and sunscreen. Both of us were a little giddy with excitement. That morning, we'd strolled into the mall to pick up a few things. Now we were looking forward to seven days on the beaches and in the bars of Jamaica...a country I knew next to nothing about.
The check-in attendant shook her head. "Nope. But I'll put you as close together as I can."
"It's no big deal," said Kim. "It's only four hours until we switch flights in Atlanta. Can you sit us together for the second leg?"
I told myself that Kim was right—what did it matter if we were sitting apart for a little while? It wasn't as if we were a honeymooning couple who needed to hold hands. It was a minor upset in what would be an otherwise perfect vacation.
A Texan, judging by the Stetson. Bigger than me and a lot bigger than Kim, especially because she was already sitting down and he was standing, holding his carry-on bag in one hand as if it didn't weigh a thing. I saw his eyes go to the old couple next to Kim, who were talking amongst themselves. I could almost see the cogs turning in his head. She's on her own.
"Well now," he said, grinning widely enough to show white teeth. "You mind if I slot this thing in your space, li'l lady?"
The cowboy pushed his bag into the space, slammed it shut, and then took a seat...right across the aisle from my wife.
I knew all that in theory. But in practice...something else was going on. In practice, I watched the cowboy staring at my wife, drinking in every inch of her body, even demurely wrapped as it was...and I was turned on. Really turned on. I could feel my cock swelling and hardening with each second that I watched them. It was like...the nearest I can get to the feeling is that it was like watching a deer, being stalked by a lion. I had a hold of the deer, on a long, fragile rope, and I could jerk it out of danger...or I could watch things unfold.
The flight was filling up, now, and things were getting noisy. I couldn't hear the cowboy when he spoke, but it looked like a friendly question— where are you from, maybe. My wife looked round at him and then, just for an instant, I saw her try to glance back at me. Maybe she wanted to check I wasn't annoyed. But with me directly behind her, it was awkward—she'd have to crane right out of her seat to even see me.
I didn't want this to end. Not right away.
I should stand up, I thought. I should go over there and stop this.
The cowboy made a big show of not being able to figure out how his seatbelt worked. He said something to my wife and I saw her shake her head. Then he said something else, raising his hands in helplessness, and Kim laughed, throwing her head back in a way that made her long, honey-blonde hair catch the light. I saw her stand halfway up, and then she was leaning right across the aisle and into the cowboy's seat, her hands at his waist, helping him secure his belt.
My cock was rock hard, now. I should have been furious—on some level, I think I was furious. But I couldn't look away.
I knew instinctively that that wasn't an accident. The cowboy must have deliberately shortened the belt as far as it would go, just to make the process take longer. Clever. Kim stood there, her breasts swaying as she worked at the belt, jiggling right in front of his face. God, he was close enough to kiss them, if he just leaned forward a little—
Kim finally fastened the belt, stepped back a little and swept her hair out of her face. Our gazes connected and she smiled at me and rolled her eyes, glancing down at the cowboy in a what a schmuck sort of a way, and I smiled and nodded back. Pretending that I agreed. Pretending that I was like any other, normal husband, who'd see some guy flirt with his wife and get mildly annoyed, but ultimately let it go.
As my wife took her own seat and the plane sped down the runway, I sat there stunned. I wanted the guy to check out my wife again. I wanted him to lust over her, to drool over the perfection of her body. I wanted him to get hard, imagining what he longed to do to her. I wanted—
"Be honest," said Kim. "Is it okay? Or is it too sexy?"
And that was the problem. The dress was mouth-watering, from the low neckline to the high hem, Kim's smooth, elegant legs visible right up to mid-thigh. It was better than okay. I loved it. But it was too sexy, in her eyes. I could tell from the way she asked the question. If she bought it, she'd never wear it. My wife just wasn't that sort of woman.
Kim turned and gave me one of her knockout smiles. "I knew it. Thanks, honey." And she flounced back into the fitting room to try the next one. I slumped down on the boutique's couch, dropped the shopping bags between my feet, and sighed.
I had a nasty feeling I knew the reason. After ten years of marriage, were things starting to go a little...stale? Predictable? Was this the time I was supposed to start buying whips and handcuffs, in an effort to "spice things up?"
I knew that was wrong. I didn't want some other woman. How could I? At 32, Kim looked, if anything, more gorgeous than when I'd first met her. Her honey-blonde hair hung down in soft waves almost to her lower back. Those dark green eyes, the shade of a verdant forest, had lost none of their ability to stop me in my tracks. And that body: flaring hips and an ass you wanted to squeeze with both hands. Full, firm breasts that I couldn't stop looking at, especially when she wore one of her tight sweaters. I didn't want anyone else. I wanted her. I just...wished she'd show herself off a little more.
I shook my head again. Recently, it felt like I didn't know what I wanted.
"What do you think?" she asked happily. "Perfect, right?"
Our lives were safe. Predictable. Boring? Was that the problem—that we never took any risks? Sometimes I felt like life was just passing us by, that I was going to wake up one day and suddenly be forty, then fifty, then—
Something had to change.
I slowly turned around. Directly behind us, a huge screen in the window of a store was running a travel commercial on loop. Happy, smiling couples who looked a lot like us ran through the surf. Waiters passed exotic cocktails into waiting hands.
"What if...we took a vacation?" I said slowly.
We went into a coffee shop to talk about it. It was June and already hot enough that we ordered iced lattes, even in the air-conditioned mall. The perfect time to take a vacation.
We had. I figured it might be one reason why things had cooled down in the bedroom. And even if it wasn't, getting out of LA for a while could only help, right?
We'd talked about maybe starting a family later that year. Kim had already come off the pill, and we'd switched over to condoms in preparation for trying. Recently, though, sex had been so infrequent that the idea was academic.
"It won't cost that much," I said quickly. "Not if we book some last-minute flights." I started tapping on my smartphone screen, looking at prices. "Can you get a week off—from the twenty-fourth?"
I understood her surprise—being impulsive wasn't like me at all. We were the sort of couple who planned everything. But seeing the commercial had gotten me all fired up. I could still see it through the coffee shop window and, as I watched, a woman ran in slow motion across a beach, her breasts jiggling in a barely-there bikini.
I flushed a little, but the irony was that she was wrong: I wasn't interested in the model in the ad. I was thinking about how Kim would look, if I could persuade her into something similar. Maybe, in a foreign country, away from it all, she'd be a little more...experimental.
I ordered a travel guide, so that we wouldn't be going in completely cold. But Kim's smile was reassurance enough. As long as it was hot and fun, I didn't really care what else the place did or didn't have. I just wanted us both to relax, let our defenses down and get back to how we used to be, a few years before.
It's funny, in hindsight. We did relax. We did let our defenses down. But instead of getting back to how things used to be, Jamaica ensured our relationship would never be the same again.
"You're sure?" I asked, blinking in disbelief. "There's nothing together?"
That turned out to be four rows distant.
The check-in attendant checked and nodded.
So why did it feel like such a bad omen?
We boarded from the rear, so I got to take my seat first and watch as my wife sat down. We both in row "C": aisle seats, but she was four rows in front of me. An old couple took the two seats next to her. Then he walked up.
I followed his gaze. Kim was wearing a soft gray vest top with a pink cardigan around her shoulders. It was fairly demure but, from the angle he was staring down from, the scoop neck would give him a great view of the soft, dark valley between her breasts. And though she'd tugged her denim skirt down her thighs as soon as she sat down—as she always did—I could see his eyes sweep down her body to those long, shapely legs. He looked all the way down them...and then back up to the spot where they joined.
Kim blinked and reddened. The guy showed her his carry-on bag, faking innocence, but the thinly-veiled come-on clearly wasn't lost on her. She shrugged wordlessly, glancing up at the overhead locker.
I sat there blinking. It was obvious that he was coming on to her...and that he mistakenly thought she was alone on the flight. I knew what I had to do. I had to go over there and make it clear that Kim was my wife. I didn't need to get into a fight over it, just walk up and put my hand on her shoulder or give her a kiss—just enough to let him know he'd made an error. Then he'd leave her alone.
The tension of it, of knowing that he wanted to grab her...kiss her... fuck her. Knowing that I could stop it at any time, just by getting out of my seat and going over there...and yet wanting, for some reason, to wait, to watch just a few more seconds, then a few more again... I found I was actually leaning forward in my seat.
So she gave up. And, to my surprise, I felt relieved.
She looked across the aisle and said something back to the cowboy, a throwaway response designed to shut him down. But it didn't matter. He was far too pushy, far too practiced in seducing women to let a little resistance stop him. What do they call that sort of guy? An alpha male? I actually had a better view of him than I did of her, since he was diagonally across the aisle from me. His muscles pushed out the front of his crisp white shirt—much more tanned than me. Maybe he really did work on a ranch or something. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his forearms were thick and rugged, especially when he rested one on the armrest of his seat, only a couple of feet from my wife's own slender arm.
But then the seatbelt sign came on and I immediately fastened mine, and told myself that now it was too late.
She was now almost facing me, but her eyes were lowered, fixed on what she was doing. It was an awkward position to be in - one foot was still almost under her own seat, the other under the cowboy's seat, her skirt stretched tight across her spread thighs. Leaning forward, her hair was almost touching the cowboy's face. And her breasts were right in front of his eyes—I could see the soft valley of cleavage that he'd stared at earlier, and I could see how his head went dead still as he feasted his eyes.
I think Kim had intended to fix his belt in a second or two and then step away. But of course, the belt wouldn't fasten. It was too short, and she had to spend time adjusting it before it would connect.
I found that I was holding my breath. What the hell was wrong with me?
But that wasn't true at all. I wasn't annoyed, on balance. There was jealousy, sure—a thick, churning sensation of wrongness in the pit of my stomach, a clutching fear that things might go further than I wanted. But both of them were more than outweighed by the arousal I felt.