SUMMER SWAP // Part 2 // Chapter 4

The nap was real. So real, getting out of its depth was like pulling a bare foot out of a wet rubber boot. And when at last he was free from slumber, he was left gasping and blinking. His heart thudded slow. Big heavy bonks, like an old diesel motor trying to turn over. Like the sleep had been so deep his heart had stopped. He touched hands to his hot stomach, licking his lips and looking around like Rip van Winkle. It was bright. It was daytime. Probably hadn’t been asleep for more than twenty minutes or half an hour. But his mouth was dry and his brain was foggy. Last thing he remembered was laying here with a racing heartbeat thinking of . . . that spectacle. Philippe with his huge dick stuck to the railing divider. Cheyenne seeing it. Cheyenne seeing it in the bathroom last night.

With a deep inhale, he looked around to assess his surroundings—Cheyenne was absent. The lounger next to him empty. Down at his feet, he could see Sullivan and Scarlett were also gone. But on the lounger on the other side of Cheyenne’s empty one, Carla still lay face down, getting sun on her naked back and bare ass. Her head was turned his way, her arms folded up above her head. Her big breasts were squashed against the lounger. Her eyes were closed.

He sat up swiftly, hissing an intake of air, still feeling woozy and groggy. Where was Cheyenne?

The creaking of his lounger got Carla’s eyes fluttering open. She was looking at him. He asked her where Cheyenne went to.

Carla tried to answer, but her lips were stuck together. She licked them. “Swimming,” she said.

“Cheyenne went swimming?”

Carla nodded. “Scarlet and Sullivan and her went down.”

“Oh yeah?” He tried to get out of the lounger but fell back to sit again. Trying harder, getting out of the lounger now, he walked to the railing and looked below to the lake. Sure enough, there were people swimming down there.

Someone had brought out the huge inflatable raft. It was like an enormous inner tube, but with a trampoline in the center. It was tied to the boat still, but instead of trailing off the back deck, it was now off to the side of the boat where Cody and Philippe had jumped. They were in the water down there. And so was Cheyenne.

The three of them were leaning chins and elbows on the raft’s lower edge, talking to each other. It was clear that Cody was still naked because Byron could see Cody’s full body, legs kicking to keep him afloat, his bare ass with the split in his crack. Philippe was clockwise from Cody on the far side. Byron could see Cheyenne’s face, chin on her folded wrists while she paddled with the guys, talking. No sign of Scarlet and Sullivan.

Byron watched for a moment, but didn’t call out to her. She didn’t notice him either, and stayed talking with Philippe and Cody. He returned to the lounger. Carla was up on her elbows now, and she held in her right hand a tube of Hawaiian Tropic. When she heard his footsteps, she looked over her shoulder at him, saying, “Would you get my back for me, please?”

“What, rub lotion on your back?”

Carla flicked him a look and smirked. “I can’t believe it’s Cody that’s the private investigator. It should be you. Just a real piercing intellect.”

“Ha ha,” he pronounced. “I just want to make sure I’m understanding what you’re saying.”

“Would you, please, Byron, my good friend, take this bottle of Hawaiian Tropic that I’m holding in my right hand—it’s the bronzing oil—and apply it to my bare back, beginning somewhere near the top, perhaps my left shoulder, then working—”

“Holy shit,” he said, “what a fucking comedian you are,” and plucked the bottle from her hand.

She laughed, gave him a sly look, tracing her hair off her back and down one side of her neck. “Please, put oil on my back, okay?”

He sat on Cheyenne’s lounger next to Carla, put a hand underneath, scooted closer so he could reach her. Cheyenne was down there swimming with two naked guys. So what was the big deal? He was going to rub oil on Carla’s back. But, damn, it was heart racing to see Carla’s naked body right in front of his eyes like this. She had a full figure, a big round bottom, and her skin was absolutely flawless and tanned. Her ass cheeks were paler, but she must sun like this at her and Cody’s home. She raised her feet again, crossing her ankles over, and he looked at the pale soles, the way they scrunched up when she pointed her toes.

Carla said, “Are they still swimming down there?”

“I didn’t see Scarlett and Sullivan.”

“They all went down together.”

“Were they bouncing on the trampoline?” He squirted a coin of Hawaiian Tropic into his hand, then did a childish puff of the tube to blast his nose with the fragrant scent.

He rubbed his hands together over the middle of Carla’s back, droplets of the oil falling to her skin. He watched the way they melted on her beautiful skin.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess. I heard yelling like people were having fun.”

He paused now with his two hands hovered out over Carla’s bare back, one between her shoulder blades, the left hand at the narrow of her waist.

If they were jumping on the trampoline, they would be naked. Cheyenne would’ve been watching Philippe and Cody bouncing off that thing, doing back flips into the water like they were doing yesterday—only today their dicks would be flopping all over the place.

Would she go down there with two naked guys and watch them perform for her like that?

That wasn’t like Cheyenne.

And why was his heart racing so hard?

It was the combined thought. It should just be this naked beautiful girl he was about to put hands on—platonically—but he couldn’t help combine it with the terrible idea of Cheyenne down there in the water with two naked guys.

What about that would be thrilling? And all that dirty talk last night?

There was a real weird and kinky feeling inside he couldn’t quite figure. Best way to extinguish it was to lay hands on Carla’s back.

When his oily palms touched her hot skin, his eyes fluttered at the taboo of it. It was just putting some oil on her back, and it would be gross to let Carla know how much he was enjoying this. But shit, if this was not an erotic thrill.

He spread the oil from her ribs up her right shoulder, squeezing her shoulder blades, across to the other shoulder, down those ribs, back up again. He thumbed circles on her shoulder blades and she made a sound like it felt good and he stopped right away. That was massage. She did not ask for a massage, she asked him to put oil on her back.

His heart was beating in his throat now, and his eyes were wide. He slipped oily hands down her waist, stroking his hands up her sides, feeling the suppleness of her sun-scorched skin. “How’s that?”

Carla wagged her hips. “Would you mind getting my butt, too?”

“Are you sure?”

“Would you just do it, please? I don’t want a bright pink butt. Or can you not keep a secret like that? You going to tell Cheyenne how you rubbed oil on my butt, you blabbermouth?”

“No,” he said, getting challenged, remembering that his wife was right now down with two good-looking guys who may have been jumping their naked bodies up and down on a trampoline with their dicks slapping everywhere. And Philippe with that big whopper. He hadn’t seen what Cody had, but it couldn’t possibly be bigger.

He lay hands on Carla again, putting thumbs in those divots above her ass cheeks, then swiping downward, caressing the globes of her bare ass, sweeping upward, putting thumbs along either side of her butt crack, spreading oil up to her tailbone. “Thighs?”

“You got it,” she said, and then lightly parted her legs. It was a simple act, but it spiked his adrenaline. Carla parted her legs, and that would give him access to her most sacred and private space. Was it an invitation? Hey, would you mind rubbing some oil on my clit, please?

Shit, now he was erect. Scooting down the lounger, running his hands from her waist over her ass, his hands moved down to the backs of her smooth thighs. What a figure.

“Going to need some more oil,” he said, voice a little too low and lusty.

Carla gave no answer.

With his hands held up to his chest so the oil wouldn’t drip all over the place, he rose and trotted to the railing edge and peered down. Cheyenne was still talking with two naked guys.

When he returned to the loungers, he stopped short. Carla was rolling over. Up on one elbow, hips turned, knees together, she adjusted her hair again. Her big bare breasts hung down. Then she got on her back, shifting, weight on her elbows, slinking her legs together. Fully frontally naked before him. He returned, flabbergasted, his steps creaky and slow.

She said, “I need my front done, too. Can you do that?”

He swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I can do that.”

“Checking to see if Cheyenne was still down there?”

“Yeah, she was still swimming.” The oil trickled down his forearms, weaving through the hair.

“She still naked?”

“What do you mean?”

“They all went skinny dipping.”

He said, “Just the guys.”

“No. Cheyenne did too.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Sure she did.”

His eyes roamed from her face, her eyes watching his. He was contemplating, but in the act of contemplation, his eyes had lowered to her bare breasts. The raised puffiness of her nipples. Down lower to her navel, and the cleft of her sex between her held together thighs. He looked back to her eyes again. “I don’t care if Cheyenne goes skinny-dipping.”

“Good,” she said.

He said, “Did Sullivan and Scarlett go, too?”

“I don’t think Scarlet did,” she said, “but Sullivan got naked.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, acting like it was all no big deal. “How long was I out for?”

“I don’t know how long. Half an hour?”

“So, Cheyenne’s out there with naked guys.”

“And Scarlet in her one-piece.” Carla laughed, tossing her head back and shaking her hair out.

With the erotic sight of this naked woman before him, so confident with her nudity, confident with her sexuality, and with his wife down swimming with naked guys—naked herself—there were channels opening up inside him, sluice gates slapping wide to allow the thundering river flow of feelings he’d never had before. Like sexual barriers had just clunked open and all these new feelings were racing through him. Like the day he first discovered you could masturbate and stuff would come out. Something that had never happened to him before, happening all of a sudden, and him liking it.

What was there to like about this situation beyond the naked woman?

He didn’t feel like Cheyenne would necessarily be mad at him right now. And if she were, he would challenge her and say, “Weren’t you down there with naked guys?” But she would say, “I wasn’t rubbing suntan lotion on their naked bodies.” And that would be a good point.

But last night, she’d come very close to touching Philippe’s penis. And as weird as it was, that did not throw him into a rage. Sure, it twisted him up with jealousy and some bubbling anger, but there was this weird curious sort of dark lusting that sugarcoated those normal feelings of anger and hurt.

He drizzled more suntan lotion oil into a palm, flicked the lid closed, and rubbed his hands together. Carla spied him while he did, giving a sly, knowing look—thinking he wouldn’t have the guts to do it. And he wondered if she really wanted him to do it or if this was just one of those things she liked to do to intimidate people to get control of them.

But he wouldn’t back down.

Cheyenne wouldn’t be up here in time to catch him doing it. And there wasn’t much she could say if she did. And he didn’t want to back down. So, with his freshly oiled hands held out, he lowered them to touch Carla’s stomach. She was soft and warm, and when he stroked her ribs, he could feel a grumble inside her like she purred.

Now she closed her eyes and lay back down. A vulnerable act that turned him on like crazy. He absolutely ached between his legs.

While he didn’t back down, he was still timid, and that couldn’t be helped. His hands stayed to the acceptable parts of Carla’s naked body. Rubbing her stomach over and over, coming up to her ribs but staying about an inch below the swell of her big breasts. Back down, thumbs touching her hipbones. But when his thumbs touched her hipbones, an electric shot went through him. It jolted between his legs, making his dick struggle inside his shorts.

Carla’s eyes fluttered open. She said, “They all got naked, Byron. You can, too.”

“They all did? Scarlett didn’t.”

“I just mean everybody’s kinda cool today.”

“You’re saying I should be cool.”

“Don’t you want to be like the big kids?”

Byron’s eyes went to hers. She had a pretty smile, and it was glossy and pink and tugged to one side right now.

He got up again, crossed over to the railing to peer down. All three of them were still in the water, but not hugging the trampoline. Philippe was swimming nearer to Cheyenne. Cody was dog paddling six feet off from the inner tube. But they weren’t returning to the boat, they were just playing around. And sure enough, with Cheyenne away from the inner tube now, he could see that her shoulders were bare. No bikini straps.

A sudden furious thought seized him. He wanted to race down to the water, stand at the swimming deck off the back of the boat and wave Cheyenne in. Give her some lame ass excuse why she has to get her naked ass back on board. Pull her close to him and protect her from those naked guys.

It took a full half minute of intense focus to stop his legs from zipping him down to the lower deck. He watched. Cheyenne smiled at Philippe. She wasn’t touching him, wasn’t really close to him. But they were all naked under the water. Maybe she’d seen them naked, bouncing on the trampoline. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen already.

But Cheyenne was having fun. And that was very soothing. If soothing could be electric. He was happy she was happy. Happy and yet twisted with worry—but not truly worried.

He looked back to Carla, laying naked on her lounger and waiting for him. Back to Cheyenne. Both sights amazing to see. He didn’t know which one to choose. He wished there was a way to choose both. Rub Carla and watch his wife swim around naked with two good-looking guys.

Hunched over, he poked with his elbow at his erection to hide it under the bulk of his fly, then returned to the lounger.

Carla’s eyes were closed, and he took the opportunity to unbutton his shorts.