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
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
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
“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
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.