sheer cut off USC tee shirt, suspended over her belly by her inflated boobs, the same Chi Omega ball cap, and oversized designer sunglasses. She had a drink in her hand, was talking loudly on her phone, and casting disdainful glances in all directions. It was almost inspiring how aggressively she seemed to want to embrace all the clichéd attributes of a spoiled rich girl.
“This place is sooo fucking lame,” she whined into the phone. “Nothing but old people.”
She glanced over at us and seemed surprisingly unembarrassed that we may have heard her.
“Well, at least the drinks are good,” she added grudgingly as she turned away from us. The slur in her voice attesting that she spoke from experience.
I wondered if she had described her encounter behind the bar to her friend. I thought not. Considering how drunk she was already, I imagined she had more such adventures ahead of her.
Another fling with a waiter? No, that hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped. My mind roamed. She was embracing all the stereotypes so fully that I wondered if she ever fooled around with women. I glanced back at her. She was definitely the type to make out with another girl at a party for attention. But maybe she was curious for more? I imagined what those athletic lesbians might do to her. I pictured the tall one, the brunette holding her by the hair, forcing her go to down on her lover.
That’s it, you little slut, lick that twat!
“Um, you’re drooling,” Claire said, noticing my distraction.
I jolted my head back in her direction.
“Am not.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think she’d be your type. Since getting married, I’m learning all about your kinks. You’re a voyeur and you have a thing for blonde coeds.”
“Those aren’t kinks. They are synonymous with being a man.”
“All men are voyeurs?” she asked incredulously.
“Really Claire? Why do you think porn is a multibillion dollar business?”
She shrugged. “I thought that was mostly for overweight guys living in their mom’s basement. You know, guys who aren’t getting any.”
“I’m not getting any,” I laughed.
It was true. It had been almost two weeks. First it was Claire’s time of the month, then we got wrapped up in the final preparations for the wedding, and then I got sick.
“We’ll fix that tonight,” she replied.
“I thought we had that luau tonight?”
“We do. We’ll go to the luau, eat some pig, watch some hot Polynesians dance with fire. We’ll take a romantic walk on the beach, and then, Mr. Rivers…” she lowered her sunglasses and flashed her bright, blue eyes at me, “I’m going to fuck your brains out.”
“Claire!” I gasped in surprise.
She laughed. “I had to do something to get your mind off blondie back there.”
I probably should have taken her back to the room and consummated our marriage right then and there. But we were clear on the other side of the resort, and Claire wanted to show me the tropical flower garden. By the time we got back to the room we only had time to shower and change before getting to the cultural show and dinner.
The luau was set up on a small grove just off the beach. There was a lovely view of the sea, just a few wispy clouds marring the otherwise perfectly blue sky. They handed us Mai Tais and leis as we were walking in. I was wearing my silk, brown and orange Hawaiian shirt. Claire had on a white dress, very form-fitting except for a little flare at the hem.
We skirted around a pit from which emanated pig-scented steam. It smelled delicious. And I was pleased my stomach didn’t let out a warning rumble. They seated us at one of a series of long tables running perpendicular to a stage. The tables were covered in flowers and various Hawaiian delicacies, including bowls of purple poi, which I am convinced is not actually a food but rather some sort of elaborate practical joke the natives perpetrate on haoles.
Even though I was feeling better I was determined to take
“This place is sooo fucking lame,” she whined into the phone. “Nothing but old people.”
She glanced over at us and seemed surprisingly unembarrassed that we may have heard her.
“Well, at least the drinks are good,” she added grudgingly as she turned away from us. The slur in her voice attesting that she spoke from experience.
I wondered if she had described her encounter behind the bar to her friend. I thought not. Considering how drunk she was already, I imagined she had more such adventures ahead of her.
Another fling with a waiter? No, that hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped. My mind roamed. She was embracing all the stereotypes so fully that I wondered if she ever fooled around with women. I glanced back at her. She was definitely the type to make out with another girl at a party for attention. But maybe she was curious for more? I imagined what those athletic lesbians might do to her. I pictured the tall one, the brunette holding her by the hair, forcing her go to down on her lover.
That’s it, you little slut, lick that twat!
“Um, you’re drooling,” Claire said, noticing my distraction.
I jolted my head back in her direction.
“Am not.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think she’d be your type. Since getting married, I’m learning all about your kinks. You’re a voyeur and you have a thing for blonde coeds.”
“Those aren’t kinks. They are synonymous with being a man.”
“All men are voyeurs?” she asked incredulously.
“Really Claire? Why do you think porn is a multibillion dollar business?”
She shrugged. “I thought that was mostly for overweight guys living in their mom’s basement. You know, guys who aren’t getting any.”
“I’m not getting any,” I laughed.
It was true. It had been almost two weeks. First it was Claire’s time of the month, then we got wrapped up in the final preparations for the wedding, and then I got sick.
“We’ll fix that tonight,” she replied.
“I thought we had that luau tonight?”
“We do. We’ll go to the luau, eat some pig, watch some hot Polynesians dance with fire. We’ll take a romantic walk on the beach, and then, Mr. Rivers…” she lowered her sunglasses and flashed her bright, blue eyes at me, “I’m going to fuck your brains out.”
“Claire!” I gasped in surprise.
She laughed. “I had to do something to get your mind off blondie back there.”
I probably should have taken her back to the room and consummated our marriage right then and there. But we were clear on the other side of the resort, and Claire wanted to show me the tropical flower garden. By the time we got back to the room we only had time to shower and change before getting to the cultural show and dinner.
The luau was set up on a small grove just off the beach. There was a lovely view of the sea, just a few wispy clouds marring the otherwise perfectly blue sky. They handed us Mai Tais and leis as we were walking in. I was wearing my silk, brown and orange Hawaiian shirt. Claire had on a white dress, very form-fitting except for a little flare at the hem.
We skirted around a pit from which emanated pig-scented steam. It smelled delicious. And I was pleased my stomach didn’t let out a warning rumble. They seated us at one of a series of long tables running perpendicular to a stage. The tables were covered in flowers and various Hawaiian delicacies, including bowls of purple poi, which I am convinced is not actually a food but rather some sort of elaborate practical joke the natives perpetrate on haoles.
Even though I was feeling better I was determined to take
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