SUMMER SWAP // Part 1 // Chapter 1

Nine people, forty minutes past midnight, in a houseboat on bobbing black water in the middle of Lake Charlotte. Four married couples, making eight people, plus one man newly divorced, a total of nine, all sitting around a card table on the yacht’s top deck, protected by the overhead canopy strung with fairy lights. Music they listened to in college beat from the houseboat’s integrated stereo system. Littered around their feet and interspersed on their table were the emptied bounty of their awesome sunshine day on the water. Knocked over tubes of sunscreen, the caps popped open. A snorkel. One Flipper. Countless beer cans depleted of their sudsy contents. Empty White Claws. Two drained bottles of Canadian rye. A sopping wet T-shirt. Abandoned flip-flops . . .

Byron looked at his three cards through beer-bleary eyes. Ace of clubs, king of hearts, and the seven of spades . . . The spades were useless. The king might be okay. But if Scarlet had a higher spade she could beat his king. The rules were complicated in their impromptu card game, and the stakes were high. He did not want to have to choose Truth or Dare.

“By-ron, By-ron, By-ron,” his husband-friends were chanting now in a low hushed sound as he contemplated. Some of their wives told them to be quiet. The girls peered over Scarlet’s shoulders, assessing her cards, but they couldn’t see his.

When Byron’s wife, Cheyenne, whispered in Scarlet’s ear, Sullivan slapped her arm, saying, “No cheating.”

“How is it cheating,” she said, “if I don’t know what Byron has?”

“It doesn’t matter if you know what Byron has. Scarlet is going to make this choice by herself.”

Cheyenne said, “I wasn’t talking about her cards.”

“Oh boo-hoo,” Sullivan said, “you’re such a liar.”

“I’m not lying,” she said but began to smile.

Byron said, “Stop lying and cheating, Cheyenne.”

“Just play your card already,” she told him.

He made his decision. He lay down the King. Scarlet wouldn’t have what she needed.

Cheyenne smiled, peering over Scarlet’s shoulder again, and now Scarlet smiled, too. Scarlet was about as iffy on the rules as he was, but she liked the way Cheyenne smiled. She picked her card and lay it down . . .

The girls cheered and laughed. Carla pointed a finger at him and sneered in his face. “You fucking lose, Byron!”

The married guys covered their faces and groaned; someone punched him in the arm. He would have to take his lumps.

“Truth or dare, bro?” Cody asked.

It wasn’t going to be truth. His friends—no, the girls—were ruthless.

“Dare, I guess.”

Cheyenne said, “Sorry, what was that?” She leaned forward with a hand cupped at her ear.

“Dare,” he said, louder. Then, quieter: “I guess.”

Now he covered his own face in his hands and winced waiting to hear what they would have to say.

So far this evening, Sullivan had to streak around the yacht’s lower deck. The girls had tossed Pringles at his naked body from above, and as he went around the skirt of the upper deck, on the opposite side of the hand-railing, they’d they’d tossed anything they could find at him as he tried not to slip off and fall into the water. Then later Carla had to do it too. And what a boon that had been. Carla had big honkers. All the guys wondered what Carla would look like with her top off (except for her husband Cody). And then they’d watched tonight in the dim light from the cabin below them as Carla walked outside the hand-railing without a stitch of clothing on. Those big pillowy breasts of hers mashed between her forearms, sometimes swinging around, jostling and jiggling. It had been quite the sight, and probably took a lot for all the guys, not to mention what a fucking turn on it was so long as Cody wouldn’t get mad at them.

Carla leaned next to Scarlet and whispered in her ear, sly eyes on Byron.

Scarlet smiled. “You sure you want a dare, Byron?”

“I don’t want truth,” he said.

Cody said, “Sounds like Byron’s got a mistress.”

There was a lowing sound amongst the crowd, everyone looking at Cheyenne.

Cheyenne scowled at Cody. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m kidding,” Cody said.

“I don’t want truth. I’ll take the dare,” Byron said. “And, no, I don’t have a fucking mistress, you idiots.”

Scarlet laced her fingers together and leaned forward, prepared to reveal to him the parameters of his dare. Carla leaned close and repeated her suggestion in Scarlet’s ear. Scarlet said it. “Toilet paper game.”

There was a snicker, everyone else looking around, mystified. What the hell was the toilet paper game?

Carla whispered in Scarlet’s ear again.

Scarlet snickered, covered her face, embarrassed. “Toilet paper tube game. Boy, that’s a mouthful.”

“What the hell is a toilet paper tube game?” he said, trying to figure out what he had to do with a toilet paper tube.

“We need a referee,” Scarlet said, looking to Cheyenne, then shaking her head no. “No, I can’t trust you.”

“Can’t trust me to what?” Cheyenne said.

Then around to Carla again, Scarlet said, “Carla it was your idea, you ref.”

“All right, champ, come on with me,” Carla said, standing up now. He couldn’t tell she had those big Hooters under her sweatshirt. But she still looked pretty, even without makeup, her wavy hair hanging in wet ringlets around her shoulders. And while Carla wore a sweatshirt, when she stood, Byron saw she still sported her skimpy bikini bottom. Carla held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Let’s go, Byron.”

“What do I have to do?” Byron said, standing up shakily.

“Oh, this is cruel,” Cody muttered.

Byron looked to Cody. “What is it? What do I have to do?”

Cody laughed.

Byron said to Carla, “I’m not putting the toilet paper tube up my butt, I can tell you right now, we can go back to truth.”

“Your butthole is safe,” Carla said. “But we have to go downstairs.”

The yacht they’d rented was a big one. Four bedrooms, a living room, a kitchenette, two bathrooms. And not cheap. They were four couples, plus one divorced dude, Philippe, looking to get away in the middle of the summer, and they all chipped in a decent chunk of cash to rent this yacht. All the amenities were top-notch. Tile floors, marble counters, walnut cabinetry. Carla led him down the steps onto the main floor and into the nearest bathroom, holding his hand.

He said, “What are we doing?”

“Just get in here,” she said, coming in behind him then closing the bathroom door behind her. The place was luxurious but small and he felt cramped.

“What do I have to do with a toilet paper tube? Or are you going to do something?”

“Trust me, I’m not doing anything. I have to be here to verify.”

“Verify what?”

It was Friday night, and all the men on the yacht had been in here doing their business. In the trashcan next to the toilet there were four empty rolls of toilet paper. Carla plucked up a cardboard tube and said, “These are a standard size, Byron.”

“Right,” he said, still not getting it. “I don’t want to have to drink anything either. I had enough to drink today.”

“What, you think you’re going do shotgun something with a toilet paper tube? Who am I—MacGyver?”

“Oh no,” he said, “do I have to put my dick in it or something?”

Now Carla smiled, pushed the toilet paper tube against his chest. “That’s exactly what you have to do.”

“Why?”

“It’s a size test, dummy.”

“So what about my size?”

“Are you worried? It’s too late to choose truth now.”

“I’m not worried,” he said.

“Then put your dick in the tube and let’s see what happens.”

“What the hell is going to happen?”

“It’s a dumb sorority thing we used to do, Byron. Is your boyfriend bigger than a toilet paper tube.”

“That’s a thing?”

“You want your boyfriend to be longer than a toilet paper tube and thicker. Or the other girls will make fun of you.”

“Oh, okay,” Byron said. “I think I can do that.”

“Mr. Braggart. Wow, look at you, a regular porn star. Do I need to back up when. you do down that zipper?”

“I’m not a porn star,” he said. “But I think I’m bigger than a toilet paper tube.”

“I don’t know,” she said, taking back the toilet paper tube and examining it. “I think this is like average size. You need to know, looks can be deceiving.”

“A toilet paper tube? It doesn’t look that big.”

“All right then, tiger, show me what you got.”

“I can’t do it with you looking—Cheyenne will fucking kill me.”

“I’m going to turn around. You’re going to put your dick in the tube. Then you tell me and I’ll turn around and take a quick look and then I’m looking away again.”

He looked at her pretty, unblemished face for a long moment, waiting to see if this was a joke. “Fine,” he said at last, “turn around.”

Carla turned around in place, bare feet padding, and he was looking at the backs of her legs now. She was cold, and had her hands tucked up under her sweatshirt.

He said, “Wait a second.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to be hard?”

Carla half-turned. “What’re you, stupid? Of course you have to be hard.”

“I’m not getting an erection with you in the bathroom, Carla. Cheyenne will kill me. And what about Cody?”

“What do you think we’re going to do? Just get a boner and put the toilet paper tube on your giant dick like a little top hat and we can both get out of here.”

“I can’t get hard with you standing here.”

Carla glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling. “Most guys get hard with me standing here.”

“This is crazy,” he said.

“Hey, Byron . . .?”

“What?”

Byron looked up as Carla flipped up the low hanging hem of her sweatshirt and exposed to him her bikini-clad butt. A nice one. Generous and fleshy, but so round. She wagged it left and right. Then covered it up again. “Getting hard?”

“My God, this is so weird,” he said.

“Is it getting hard?”

“I’m just standing here—I’m not doing anything.”

“Hurry up, Byron . . .”

“Okay-okay, hold on,” he said, frowning, glancing at his reflection in the mirror, standing in his T-shirt and sweatshirt and his baggy shorts. A toilet paper tube in his hand. He pushed down the elastic waistband of his shorts, taking his underwear down with it to mid-thigh. Checking to see if Carla were to glance aside, would she get a peep of his penis. But there was a bump out, and Carla leaned against it. If she looked left she wouldn’t even see the mirror, even though they were standing so close together.

But there was something happening. Even though this was weird and awkward, and deep down he knew Cheyenne would be mad at him standing with Carla and his dick hanging out, he began to stiffen. He said, “I have to put my hand on it.”

“I don’t care what you do, just hurry up. I left my drink up there.”

“Okay,” he said, now putting his hand on his dick. “Fucking Cody is going to be so mad at me.”

“Why?”

“I’m trapped in here with you with my dick out.”

“I’ve got my back to you. You’re such a prude.”

“I’m not a prude at all.”

Carla flipped up the hem of her sweatshirt again, and shifted her hips left and right making her but bounce. “Just get this done already.”

“Oh my God,” he said.

Carla said, “Pretend this is Cheyenne’s butt. Forget I’m even here.”

Now Carla let the hem of her sweatshirt down again and he closed his eyes, trying to manhandle his dick as quietly as he could. Getting it aroused, but it was tough to get a hundred percent. There was something about the anxiety of being in this room with her like this that was preventing full hardness.

“You hard yet?”

“It’s getting there.”

“Don’t tell Cody,” Carla said.

“Don’t tell Cody what?” he said, as Carla turned around. He shoved the hanging hem of his sweatshirt down to cover his penis. But Carla wasn’t looking, she had her face away and eyes turned up. Before he could ask her what he was doing, she scrolled up the front of her sweatshirt and exposed her bikini-clad breasts. He hitched a breath. Her thumbs tucked under the bikini bra, pulled the cups up and outward and she jounced in place until her big breasts hopped free and swung and bounced before him.

“Holy fucking shit,” he muttered.

Carla wagged her chest making her breasts go left and right and around and around. They made soft fleshy sounds when they bounced together. They were big and beautiful, her nipples were soft but slightly puffed. A cheery brownish pink not much different than the color of her natural skin.

“Hold on,” he said, staring at her breasts while jerking his cock underneath the front of his sweatshirt. “Oh my God, holy Jesus, Carla, don’t tell Cody.”

“You don’t tell Cody,” Carla laughed and shook her breasts again.

“Holy fuck, this is working,” Byron said.

“Good. What’s the big deal anyway, all you guys stood there watching me go around the outside of the boat without a stitch on. You saw my cooch.”

“You can show me your cooch if you want,” he said—completely joking.

Carla rolled her eyes, still looking away, held up heer sweatshirt with one forearm now, then thumbed down the front of her panties showing off the shaved cleft mound inside them.

“Oh my God,” he laughed. “Carla, you are fucking crazy!”

“Is it hard?”

“Yeah, it’s hard,” he said, “a fucking hundred percent hard right now.”

“Then do it,” she said, letting her bikini bottom snap back in place and the sweatshirt fall around her hips again.

“Yeah,” he said, tugging up on the front of his sweatshirt now, his erection sticking out straight ahead. “Shit, where the fuck did I put the toilet paper tube?”

Carla looked around. “It’s fucking on the counter, you dummy.”

“Are you looking at my dick?”

“I’m supposed to be looking at your dick, Byron, just get the toilet paper tube on it.”

“All right,” he said, and Carla wasn’t averting her eyes. Standing there and watching. He took the toilet paper tube, lined it up with his erection, then began to slide it over his penis. The head went in, the toilet paper tube continued, and he was surprised that he would fit inside it. And embarrassed now. He thought this thing wouldn’t even fit.

“You’re going to be longer,” Carla said.

He better be longer. Jesus.

The toilet paper tube pressed down into his pubic hair and the head of his cock poked out beyond the end of the roll.

“Looks like you were wrong,” Carla said.

“Whatever,” Byron said, yanking the toilet paper tube off, mad, tossing it in the trash. He pulled up his shorts, angled his erection to the side and up. “It’s longer.”

“It is longer,” Carla said, leaving but not thicker unsaid.

“That’s what you’re going to tell everybody.”

“Thinner than, but longer than.” She was smirking at him.

“Is that bad?”

“No, Byron, it’s not bad at all. That’s normal.”

“That’s what you said at the sorority?”

“As long as it was longer or thicker. Didn’t have to be both. Though both was definitely better.”

“I’m longer.”

“You pass the test, Byron, just relax already,” Carla said and patted his chest. “I just think it’s hilarious you thought you were to be splitting that tube in two.”

“Can we just go already,” Byron said. “Don’t you need your drink or something?”