Even though Michael neither planned nor predicted what was destined to become a milestone in his life, once he was caught up in the rapidly building tsunami he made no attempt to change his course and was soon swept away in the flood of excitement—enthralled, an enthusiastic and eager participant.
The trip started out innocently enough. E.J. Geller—managing editor of the Las Vegas Times and Michael’s immediate boss—had offered Michael and his wife Myra a week’s use of a luxurious two-bedroom penthouse villa at the Caribbean Sands, an exclusive timeshare resort in Cancun. Michael, in turn, invited his assistant at the Times, Kimberly Cohen, to accompany them on the vacation. Why let the second bedroom go to waste, Michael rationalized. Besides, Kimberly and I may as well take our vacations at the same time, for if I’m not in the office, she won’t have any work to do.
Kimberly and Myra had been inseparable friends when they were classmates at Fairfax High School in Los Angeles, but, after graduation, they attended different colleges and eventually lost contact with each other. Myra was overjoyed when, years later, she discovered Kimberly had moved to Las Vegas and was working for the Times. Talk about a small world—Kimberly worked right in the same office as her husband! Perhaps Myra would not have been so eager to rekindle the friendship had she known that from the first day Kimberly and Michael met, Kimberly diligently tried, albeit without success, to seduce him.
Not that Myra lacked reason to be on her guard. One time she caught Michael with Kimberly in a very compromising situation. Myra had stopped by Kimberly’s house to borrow a dress. Michael—not knowing Myra was in the living room—bounded from Kimberly’s bedroom clad only in a bath towel. Myra took one horrified look and immediately assumed, although incorrectly, her husband and Kimberly were having an affair. Furious, she told Michael not to come home, ever.
Michael compounded his predicament by naively accepting Kimberly’s not-so-innocent offer to stay at her house until Myra cooled down. Kimberly was overjoyed. She fully expected she would finally be able to entice Michael into her bed. To her dismay, Michael slept in the guest bedroom and remained faithful to Myra. Eventually, Myra either believed Michael’s explanation for the towel incident or possibly she just forgave him. The two women kissed and made up, and Michael moved back in with his wife.
Michael, Myra, and Kimberly departed early on a Saturday afternoon from McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas. The trip was long and tiring, and there was a two-hour stopover and change of planes in Houston. Their jet arrived in Cancun late at night, but they could feel the warm, tropical humidity the moment they stepped outside the aircraft. After clearing immigration and retrieving their luggage and going through customs, they took a short taxi ride to the Caribbean Sands. Once they had checked in at the resort office, they strolled to their villa, unpacked, and went to bed.
The following morning Michael awoke to a salmon sunrise and the sound of waves gently kissing the snow-white sugar sand a hundred yards below. When he smelled the aroma of coffee brewing in the kitchen, he hopped out of bed, shaved and showered quickly, and put on a bathing suit and sandals. By the time he entered the dining area Myra had just finished setting the table.
She poured their coffee, sat down next to Michael, leaned over, and gave him a good morning kiss. “This is going to be such a perfect vacation! I know it will,” she told him. “There’s so much to see and do here in Cancun. I can’t wait to get started.”
Michael nodded. “I hear you. We can visit the pyramids at Chichén Itzá and the Mayan ruins at Tulum. Perhaps we’ll take a boat ride to Isla Mujeres—that’s the Isle of Women—and do some snorkeling. And lots more. Today, though, I’d prefer to just stay here and lie around on the beach or relax by the pool. I have a touch of jet lag. But I’m flexible. What would you like to do today, Myra?”
Myra took a sip of her coffee. “I really don’t care. It all sounds like fun. Whatever you and Kimberly decide will be fine with me.”
Michael added two spoonfuls of sugar and one of coffee lightener to his coffee. “We’ll leave it up to Kimberly, then. Where is she, anyway? Is she still sleeping?” he asked.
Myra shook her head. “No. Kim must have arisen very early this morning. She set up the coffee—all I had to do was plug in the cord—and left a note on the table saying she was going to take a quick run on the beach and then stop off at a convenience store to buy a few groceries, so we can have breakfast here in the villa. Kimberly will probably be back any time now.”
At that moment, Kimberly bounced in the door. She was wearing a turquoise string bikini; her arms were filled with grocery bags.
“It looks like you bought out the entire store,” Michael commented.
“Not really,” Kimberly shrugged. “Just a few items for breakfast and some munchies for later. I don’t know about you, Myra, but I didn’t come to Cancun to spend my days cooking.”
“Nor did I,” Myra agreed wholeheartedly.
Kimberly set the bags on the counter, removed a bottle of guava nectar, and filled a glass. She declined when Myra offered to pour her a cup of coffee. After slicing a papaya and halving several Mexican limes, Kimberly put the fruit on a plate in the center of the table, next to another plate piled high with sweet rolls.
When Michael finished his coffee, Kimberly jumped up and refilled his cup, then warmed Myra’s coffee. She helped herself to a second glass of guava nectar before sitting down, squeezing in between Michael and Myra.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like to do here in Cancun?” Michael posed the question to Kimberly.
She moistened her lips with her tongue before replying. “Yes. I’ve planned a marvelous adventure, full of surprises for both of you. This will be a vacation we’ll all treasure forever. If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to keep you in suspense for a little while longer. Go ahead, finish your coffee.”
“Whatever you say, Kimberly,” Michael acquiesced.
“We’ll do anything you want,” Myra promised. “Anything at all.”
Kimberly’s turquoise eyes flashed and she grinned wantonly. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear you say,” she gloated.
After breakfast, it was into the swimming pool, where they soaked up the sun and splashed in the water. Myra was intrigued by the swim-up bar at one end of the pool, where drinks could be ordered without leaving the water. “Let’s have a margarita,” she suggested to the others.
Michael glanced at his watch and saw it was only two in the afternoon. He shook his head negatively. “It’s a little too early for me. You know I’m not much of a drinker.”
Kimberly poked Michael in the ribs. “Oh, come on, Michael. Don’t be a spoilsport!” she prodded, both orally and actually. “We’re on vacation, remember?”
Michael realized he was outvoted by the two women and laughingly acquiesced.
They swam up to the pool bar and sat on the underwater stools. Both Michael and Myra told Kimberly the slushy margaritas she made in her blender were far better than the ones served at the resort. Kimberly took their remarks as a supreme compliment and promised to make a pitcher of her margaritas for them later.
“What we need right now is something to nosh on,” Myra decided. “There are bags of microwave popcorn in our villa. All we have to do is nuke them.” She started to get out of the pool.
“Stay where you are. I’ll pop the corn,” Michael offered willingly and took off for the elevator.
He returned a few minutes later carrying three bags of freshly-popped corn. While Michael was in the villa, Myra and Kimberly had exited the water and were reclining on two of the chaise lounges that rimmed the pool. Their heads were close together and they were busily engaged in a muted conversation, but stopped talking the instant they saw Michael approach. He noticed both women appeared to be a trifle flushed and reminded them they should apply sun block frequently because of the intense tropical sun.
As soon as the bags of popcorn were opened, a pigeon-size bird with shiny black feathers a
nd a long, sharply-pointed beak flew down to the lawn, peered up at them with beady black eyes, and chirped for a handout. Michael threw a fistful of popcorn to the concrete decking. Immediately, more birds appeared, as if from nowhere. More popcorn, still more birds. Soon an even two dozen of the friendly crow-like creatures were squawking and scurrying around. Myra asked a pool attendant what the birds were named.
“Pedro, Francisco, Jose, Rosita—” he kidded, pointing to them one at a time. Finally, he laughingly explained that the birds were called Melodious Blackbirds in English and Pich in the Maya language.
Myra was reminded of the nursery rhyme: “Four and twenty blackbirds baked into a pie.”
Kimberly joked, “If they made the pie with these birds, would it be called a Pich pie?”
“That’s a terrible pun, Kim,” Michael groaned.
The rest of the afternoon Michael, Myra, and Kimberly drank margaritas, munched on popcorn, and played Scrabble, using as many Spanish words as they could remember. At dusk they changed from their bathing suits into jeans and tee shirts and went to dinner in the resort’s poolside restaurant, which was housed in a palapa—a large open-sided structure resembling a giant toadstool, its high, sharply-pitched roof made from thatched palm leaves. They were not hungry enough for an elaborate meal, so they grazed on shrimp cocktail, lime soup, and chicken quesadillas, with flan and Mexican coffee for dessert.
They’d planned to go back in the pool again after dinner, but while they were eating, the skies clouded over and a light rain began.
“What difference does a little rain make?” Michael asked. “When we’re swimming, we’ll be wet anyway. Besides, it’s a warm rain. As warm as the water in the pool.”
“I’ve had enough swimming for one day. Let’s go to our villa and rest tonight so we can get an early start tomorrow,” Myra advised.
“That’s a good idea. I still have a touch of jet lag,” Kimberly agreed. She winked at Myra. “Maybe we can find a sexy movie on cable.”
Michael assumed Kimberly would retire to her room, but Myra insisted the three of them watch TV together, as the television set in the master bedroom had a larger screen. Michael was not too happy about the arrangement, for he’d planned on being alone with his wife for the remainder of the evening.
As she had promised earlier, Kimberly made a pitcher of slushy margaritas and brought it into the bedroom. Both Kimberly and Myra were wearing filmy see-through baby doll nighties that left little to the imagination and which Michael found quite disconcerting. Myra’s nightie was peach-colored, Kimberly’s turquoise to match her eyes. Michael was glad he’d packed a pair of pajamas for the trip, as he usually slept in the raw. The pajamas had black and white stripes. When Myra bought the pajamas for Michael, he’d said they made him look like a convict. She replied he was her prisoner of love.
Michael took the right side of the king-size bed, Kimberly the left. Myra was in the middle. They sat on top of the covers drinking their margaritas.
Myra had control of the TV remote. She channel-hopped for a few minutes, then found a movie that was just starting. Michael was not particularly enthused with Myra’s selection, a romantic comedy. Besides, he’d already seen the film one evening when Myra worked late and he was at home alone—an altogether too-frequent occurrence, according to Michael. After a few minutes of trying to remain sociable, he finished the rest of his margarita, set his glass on the night stand, rested his head on his pillow, closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep.
Two
A BRIGHT BLUE-WHITE FLASH of lightning followed immediately by a loud clap of thunder awoke Michael with a start. A heavy rain was invading the covered veranda that adjoined the bedroom, its pounding on the walls and windows drowning out the more tranquil whoosh, whoosh of the gentle surf eight floors below. The television was still on, but the sound had been muted. Myra and Kimberly came into his focus. Both women were completely nude, their baby-doll nighties nowhere in sight. Kimberly was lying on top of Myra and the two were passionately kissing.
Michael was baffled. What in the world are they doing? he thought to himself. No, that’s not right. I can see what they’re doing. What I don’t know is why they’re doing it.
Some months before, Kimberly had confided in him that she’d once lusted for another woman, and suspected she might be bisexual. And Michael knew—Kimberly complained about it constantly—that she had not made love in a long time. But Myra? His wife Myra? Why was she allowing Kimberly to do this to her?
Michael, not quite sure whether he was really awake or still asleep and having an erotic dream, was as fascinated as he was bewildered. He found himself becoming sexually aroused. He was compelled to watch, but did not want to be caught in the act of being a voyeur. His eyes narrowed to slits. He could see everything clearly, but if Myra or Kimberly were to glance in his direction they would think he was still asleep, he reasoned.
Michael could not help making a comparison. Both of the woman lying on the bed next to him were drop-dead gorgeous. Myra was tall, about five-foot-eight; leggy, slender, and well-proportioned. Her brown shoulder-length hair framed an oval face with large, dark brown eyes. She had an olive complexion.
Kimberly was about an inch shorter and a few pounds heavier than Myra, with immense, firm breasts and prominent nipples; a tiny waist; voluptuous hips and thighs; and a callipygian derriere. Kimberly was fair-skinned, her hair a pure honey blonde. She had tantalizingly turquoise eyes and a full, pouty mouth on a face somewhat rounder than Myra’s.
Michael surreptitiously eyed them, in total disbelief. Kimberly lowered slightly on Myra’s body and tentatively took one of Myra’s nipples in her mouth. Michael’s fists clenched. For the life of him, he could not understand why Myra was not doing anything to halt the erogenous stimulation.
A few minutes later, when Kimberly slid still lower, it became obvious to Michael that Myra did not want Kimberly to stop. Myra’s hand was encouraging Kimberly’s head toward its destination. Her legs parted wide to give Kimberly unimpeded access to the sweet reward at the end of the brief journey.
Once Kimberly was in position, Myra locked her legs in a vice-like grip around Kimberly’s neck, as if to prevent Kimberly from pulling away should she change her mind—which it became more and more evident that Kimberly had no intention of doing.
Michael watched transfixed as Myra began the movements he knew all too well. Her chest was heaving and her breathing became heavy. Her lips were parted slightly. One hand was gently stroking Kimberly’s hair, caressing it softly. The other was raised to her mouth to help stifle little moans of ecstasy.
Another flash of lightning momentarily turned night into day. A deafening clap of thunder followed within less than a second. Michael’s eyes opened wide involuntarily, just as Myra turned her head toward him. An expression of panic crossed Myra’s face, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Smiling curiously, she reached out for Michael’s hand and gently pulled him toward her. Kimberly’s activity had not been interrupted by the clamor of the storm.
Michael was abashed, but he heeded Myra’s silent request and moved toward her. She laid his hand across one of her breasts, so as to cup it, and then guided his mouth toward hers. When they kissed, a deep, penetrating kiss, their tongues entwined, Michael realized the kiss was tantamount to giving his imprimatur to the sexual activity in which Myra and Kimberly were, at that very moment, overtly engaging.
Almost immediately, he could feel spasms thrilling his wife’s body and knew Kimberly had succeeded in bringing Myra to an explosive climax. Still Kimberly continued, and a few moments later Myra again convulsed from orgasm.
When Kimberly finally separated from Myra, she seemed to be more than a little surprised to see that Michael was awake, but she showed no signs of regret or embarrassment.
“Are you angry, Michael?” Kimberly asked solicitously.
“No. I’m not angry,” he replied dryly. Michael wasn’t sure how to describe the emotions racking his soul.
She reached out to caress him. “Please don’t be angry with us.”
He pulled away from Kimberly’s touch. “I said I’m not angry,” he repeated, but there was an edge to his voice.
“Are you sure?” Kimberly’s face was covered with a teasing grin.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m not angry. Surprised, yes. Stunned might be a better word. Overwhelmed, even. Tell me—how long has this been going on?”
Myra checked her watch. “About forty-five minutes, I’d estimate.”
“No!” Michael yelped in frustration at the non-response. “What I want to know is, how long have the two of you been having an affair?”
Kimberly replied softly. “This was the only time we’ve ever had sex, Michael. Honestly.”
“This was our first time,” Myra corrected. “There will be more.” When Michael heard the resolve in Myra’s voice he knew there was going to be trouble ahead.
“Why—can either of you tell me why?” Michael pleaded plaintively, rolling onto his back.
“Yes. Because we wanted to,” Kimberly answered truthfully. “Both of us.” She turned her full attention to Michael, straddling his torso and unbuttoning his pajamas.
“What do you think you’re doing now?” he questioned disbelievingly.
“I’m taking your pajamas off, Michael. Now that you’re awake you might as well join our party.”
“No. I can’t—”
Kimberly reached inside Michael’s striped pajama bottoms and wrapped her fingers around his hardness. “It seems to me you can,” she grinned mischievously.
Kimberly brought her mouth to Michael’s. He could taste Myra’s scent on Kimberly’s lips. Her tongue, the tongue that had so recently been stimulating his wife’s most erogenous zone, now probed deeply inside his mouth.
A Time For Us (Michael Kaplan Mysteries) Page 2