We met them at poolside at the Halekulani Hotel in Waikiki. Lydia, my lady, had just finished the newspaper and was stretched out on the chaise oiling her body in the sun, I was lying on the float beside her, when Nicole and Frank came up and asked if they could borrow the TV listing. We'd seen them around the hotel and pool, in the restaurants and cocktail lounges but this was the first time we talked.
Looking back on it now, it seems almost a dreamlike beginning. In a matter of moments, we were chatting like old friends but the conversation seemed to be going on outside us, like a choral backdrop to the real action that was taking place. For in retrospect I can see that there was, almost immediately, an unspoken sexual tension crackling between us.
Frank, dark and good-looking, was a well-built fellow with a quick smile and a ready laugh. Nicole, blonde and sun-browned, was a lot of woman. It was very hard not to stare at her in her skimpy yellow bikini with beads of sweat atop the oiled skin of her ample breasts. Rolling over onto my back, I gazed up her well-formed legs to the swell of her lower belly and the pouty mound of her pussy.
Lydia noticed my stare and gave me just a flicker of a smile; as if to tell me she knew what was going through my mind. We'd never done anything sexual with anyone else, though we'd often talked about it in intimate moments of fantasy and it got us both very aroused indeed. So it wasn't unusual that I felt the first stirring of an erection working against my bathing suit. Lydia noticed that too. And so, I think, did Nicole, whose eyes met mine for just a moment with a look of frank, bold curiosity.
They joined us at poolside, and our conversation rolled along easily. It turned out that we were not only staying on the same floor of the hotel; we lived only a few miles apart outside San Francisco. We swapped favorite restaurants in Honolulu, regaled each other with the usual array of vacation tales, and found ourselves enjoying our mutual company. We were politically in tune; we enjoyed many of the same TV shows; we were all Forty-niner fans. We even liked several of the same Napa wines. And so we agreed to meet for dinner that evening at the Halekulani's renowned seaside restaurant.
In typical Hawaiian fashion, we dressed casually, comfortably. Frank and I wore aloha shirts and slacks; Lydia and Nicole, loose, light-weight flowing muumuus. The restaurant ambience was warm, candle-lit, tropic rustic with bamboo walls; the room hung out over a cobalt sea stunned by a silver moon and our table stood against an open window on the seaward edge of it. The meal; oysters and mahi-mahi for Lydia and me; pink baby lamb for them, was superb. Our choices of wine were no less so. The service was perfect. And when Frank and Nicole invited us to their room for a night cap, it all seemed like a perfectly natural ending to a lovely evening.
The room was a replica of ours: elegantly appointed in soft, tropical creams and pastel blues, with a king-sized bed, an overstuffed sofa against the opposite wall, a kitchenette at one end and, at the other, sliding doors that opened onto a broad terrace looking down Waikiki to Diamond Head. A warm breeze rustled the filmy curtains. Lydia and I settled down on the couch.
Nicole curled up cross-legged on the big bed. Frank went to the fridge, took out a chilled bottle of Chateau Montelena chardonnay, and poured for us all. "Anyone for a joint?" he asked.
Lydia and I both love an occasional toke. It makes us both so sexy, so tactilely sensitive. I wondered if it affected Frank and Nicole the same way. I smiled. "I thought you'd never ask," I said.
I took a long hit and held it deep in my lungs, then I passed it to Lydia, who did the same. "Maui wowie," Frank explained. "One hit and you're flying. Two and you're in orbit."
We had passed the joint around three times when I felt the first toke hit, and Frank was right. I felt like the top of my head was soaring into space. I felt a longing, a roaring, in my crotch, and wanted to feel my nipples touched.
"That's wonderful stuff," I remarked to no one in particular, and giggled.
"You know, we probably should have warned you: grass really turns us on." I smiled at Lydia; she smiled back, sipped her wine, and wriggled voluptuously, so that her dress pressed tightly into the valley between her thighs, and her pelvis seemed to rise up in invitation to us all. Nicole gazed at Lydia's plainly outlined pussy, then looked intently at Frank and said, "It turns us on too, huh, honey?"
"In a very special way," Frank replied. He ran a fond finger down her hair and along her cheek and throat.
"Why don't you tell them?" Nicole blushed. "I'm embarrassed," she said. She lowered her eyes demurely, but she wore no bra and her hardening nipples were plainly visible through the thin fabric of her dress.
Lydia coaxed her: "I'll tell you our fantasy if you tell us yours."
Nicole hesitated. Frank sat down beside her on the bed. "That's fair enough," he said.
"We haven't actually done it yet," Lydia looked down at her clearly visible mound, locked her hands behind her laid-back head so her breasts thrust out, and went on, "but... well, we've talked about what it would be like to fool around in front of another couple."
"Us too," Frank said.
Nicole took a deep breath. So it was out in the open. We were on the same wave length. We were now trying to deal with that realization and figure out what to do next.
Everyone was silent for what seemed like ages, each of us hoping the other would somehow break the ice, but, being innocents, not knowing how. I looked at Lydia and giggled. She giggled back, but there was lust in the dark corners of her eyes.
She took my hand and placed it on her breast. "Feel me," she whispered, and turned her wanton smile to Frank and Nicole. "Feel my tits. I want Frank and Nicole to look at me while you feeling my tits."
Lydia's nipple leaped to rubbery, bud-like erection. I felt her breath on my lips and could smell the rising passion of her pussy on her breath. We kissed with our tongues and Lydia groaned as she likes to do while Frank and Nicole looked on. I took Lydia's other nipple between my fingers too. She sighed: "Oh, Jesus!" We looked at our new found friends and saw them looking at us.
"Oh Jesus!" Lydia whispered again.
Frank had snuggled behind Nicole on the bed and was nuzzling her neck. He brought his hands around in front and cupped both her breasts for us to see. Nicole closed her eyes, pressed back against him like a cat, and moaned. I was electrified. My cock stiffened.
"Pretty, no?" Lydia whispered.
"No, no, yes," I replied.
Lydia chuckled softly, deep in her throat. "You're getting hot, aren't you?" she asked as she brought her hand to my crotch and began stroking the hard shaft through my slacks.
"I'm stoned, baby," I told her.
"So am I," she replied. "And I'm getting so hot!"
"So am I!" I whispered, moving my hips up to her inviting hand. Suddenly, in a blurted whisper, she said, "I want to do it... to do what we've talked about. I want to fuck you. I want to feel your stiff prick inside me."
I looked into her eyes. "With them watching?" I asked.
"With them watching," she replied. Then she moaned, squeezed my cock, and kissed me hard, thrusting her luscious, comfortable hips forward and her tongue into my mouth.
But since this is in essence a story about real life, we didn't actually do it in front of our friends. We were interrupted by a waiter and things never quite got back to the same point again.
But the vacation was a great success and Nicole and Frank and Lydia and I were inseparable for the rest of the week. I don't know how things would have gone if we'd really gone any further with our little show, but what I do know is that we did have the best sex in our life that night in our room all alone.