THE ACCIDENTAL UNICORN

It’s cocktail hour in the hot tub at the back of the Princess Delirium; I’m on a 5-day cruise of the Western Caribbean with my husband, Joe and his brother, Bob. Initially, the tub is full, mostly couples, and I’m next to a man and his wife is next to him. They are younger than me, in their 50’s. Every so often he manspreads and his leg brushes mine. After awhile, it feels intentional, but I’m not sure so I don’t acknowledge it; I don’t move away either.

The crowd thins and eventually it’s just us five. They’re a fun couple and we all have some geography and education in common. But after some quality time together, our drinks are depleted, and Joe and Bob say they want to go back to the rooms. I’m in the middle of an interesting chat with the wife and say I’ll be up soon. On his way out, Joe hits the hot tub timer to add 30 minutes to the clock and the bubbly water and conversation continues. 

The benign back and forth between we three morphs to more intimate topics: How long have you been married, Cathy? What do you and Joe do for fun? They admit they frequent clothing optional and couples retreats. I know what that means. Then the wife says she hates wearing anything in a hot tub and before you can say, “One little titty, two little titties,” she pulls the string behind her back and her bikini top falls into the water and is carried away by the turbulence. She giggles and her husband shakes his head at me like she’s a handful to manage. She’s very slender and of course younger, which makes me a little self-conscious, but her husband has a kind and encouraging look about him, so – staying low in my seat – I summon the courage to remove my modest tankini top. He raises his eyebrows. My carumbas are five times the size of his wife’s and the water works to my advantage – they float. 

We keep talking like nothing has changed, but it has – the four tits in the water saw to that. The wife starts talking up her husband like he’s Prince Charming and Don Juan rolled into one, and she’s so lucky to have him and happy to share her good fortune. He pulls her to him and kisses her and I can’t help but watch them go at it, but when it amps to full-on foreplay – fiddling with each other’s bits beneath the foam, I become unsure of myself. The obvious and proper thing for me to do is make my exit, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I put my head on the edge of the hot tub, lie back, and let the water racing from a powerful jet roll under me and propel me to the surface. I gaze up at the night sky so as not to intrude on their increasingly intimate interaction, but it’s hard to ignore their ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs.’ My feet are pretty close to them and he touches a toe – says he likes my emerald green nail polish. I say thank you, but that’s all I say. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see her stand, and he works her bottoms down around her upper thighs and squeezes her ass. She laughs. Next thing I hear is him sucking on those perky little breasts of hers. I feel a twinge and an ache and then that hot honey begins to flow. 

“My husband loves your tits,” she says, over her shoulder, surprising the hell out of me. 

“Hahahaha,” I laugh nervously, pleased at the compliment, but avoiding their eyes, “These floppy old gals?” 

“You are very attractive, Cathy,” he says, sincerely. 

He tugs on my ankle and I release my hold on the edge of the hot tub and float over to them. They sit me between them and we chitchat about nothing. Obviously, they’re trying to put me at ease, but I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck. I’m pretty confident they’re in ‘the lifestyle’ and very possibly in recruitment mode. 

Of course I’m terribly anxious, but I’m also horny as hell. I’m waiting for someone to touch me; I’m definitely not making the first move. The wife guesses correctly that I’m not gay and doesn’t make any advances, keeping the conversation light and nonsexual, but her husband begins to massage my thigh under the water, working his way up from the knee. I expect to experience the old angel on one shoulder – devil on the other, but I don’t. Instead, it feels like a ‘now or never’ opportunity, and when I spread just a little to signal my tentative readiness, her handsome hubby positions my leg over his. Very soon his fingers have crawled under the crotch of my suit and he gently begins to navigate my nether region. I put my head back and close my eyes and he kisses my neck, then slips a finger inside me, and the talking stops. 

That’s when the wife joins in, toying with my buoyant bombshells – sweeping her palms across the nipples, hardening them. All of her husband’s fingers are inside of me and I swell and push against them with my muscular walls. She kisses him on the mouth then moves her mouth to mine and lowers her tongue. I’ve never kissed a woman before, but I’ve imagined it – didn’t think I’d like it – but I do. 

“Do you want to fuck my husband?” she asks, breathing the words into me. 

“Yes, please,” I whisper, as if in a dream, then it’s a little bit of a blur as they prepare to make my fantasy come true. 

The wife pulls me to standing, and I hold on to her shoulders as she gets my bottoms off. Her husband sits up on the edge of the tub, opens the Velcro fly on his suit, and out pops his royal hardness. He reaches into a beach bag, pulls out a condom, and in a flash it’s on him. Then he squirts some kind of tanning oil – Coppertone perhaps – onto himself, and strokes it along his saran-wrapped shaft. I realize what I’ve set in motion and I swallow hard. I can’t believe I’m about to do what I’m about to do. 

He steps back down into the tub and resumes his seated position and smiles at me, reaching for my hands, but I’m frozen in place, unable to take any initiative. His wife feels my resistance and positions herself behind me. She presses me towards him and they maneuver me into a straddle. I feel her narrow hips flexing against my bare ass, propelling me back and forth along his rod – his bulbous tip bumping into my clit, then tickling the nerve endings around my ass. 

“Are you sure?” he asks me, sweetly, giving me a moment to reflect and, if necessary, change course, but I’ve been fantasizing about an opportunity like this for years, and by Kismet, or more likely by accident, I find myself sitting on it – literally. 

I nod and he smiles then lifts me by the waist. His wife assists, putting her hands under me, spreading me nice and wide for him, guiding me onto his cock. I suck in air and hold my breath as he groans his way into my long, narrow, tender trap and his wife whispers shit in my ear like: 

“Relax – let him fill you.” and 

“Just roll with it – let go – that’s it.” and 

“How does my husband’s cock feel inside of you, Cathy?” 

It’s fucking erotic as hell!!! 

When he’s reached the end of the road, he begins to lift and lower me up and down – all the way in, all the way out, with increasing tempo and ferocity. My mondo maracas are splashing around on top of the water, slapping against his face. His wife reaches around and corrals them with her long athletic fingers and pinches my nipples while she humps against me – her little titties compressing and decompressing against my back. 

“You like watching me fuck Cathy?” he asks his wife. 

“Oh God yes, baby,” she moans. She’s getting off on this just as much her husband and I are, but this isn’t all she wants from me. 

“Time to assume the position,” she says. 

I’m just about to give way to an earthquake that’s going to split me in half when she loops her arms under mine and drags me backwards over the water towards the other side of the hot tub. Her husband stands and then he winces as he squeezes himself off. 

“Damn, that was close,” he says. 

The wife sits on a step and I look up at her with a quizzical expression, as if to say, ‘OK now what?’ Then I feel her husband’s hands on my ankles and I know. I wait for him to widen me, work his way back into me, and for his wife to resume the nipple play. 

But that’s not what happens. 

In one coordinated fell swoop, they crossover my appendages and flip me onto my tummy, and I think, oh yeah – they’ve practiced that move more than once. Now my forearms are on the wife’s knees, which she fans, and my nose and mouth lower to her mound – the water bubbling under my chin. 

“Is this a first for you, Cathy?” she says, neglecting to ask if I’m even interested in engaging in what she’s proposing, but I don’t bother answering. I haven’t even kissed another man’s lips since the early ‘80s, let alone a woman’s snatch – I’m starving for newness. 

So for the first time ever, I eat pussy. Initially, it tastes like chlorine, but then it gets much better, it tastes like me, and it reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve been on the receiving end of an eager tongue. 

“You getting this, honey?” she asks her husband. 

“Oh yeah, pretty woman,” he answers her, and I look back and see that he’s recording us with his phone. It’s dangerous and it should scare me, but it doesn’t, not even a little. 

What’s gotten into me? 

“Baby, you are so sexy,” he says to his wife. She’s back on her elbows rocking her pelvis up into my face, moaning, telling me to finger fuck her, so I do. 

“I’m going to . . . to . . . cum soon,” she says through labored breathing, “You two . . . oh yeah . . . that’s it Cathy . . . need to catch up!” 

“Spread your legs for me, Cathy,” he says, as he maneuvers between them, and I feel the head of his cock sweep up and down across my chasm until he settles on it, then he buries himself into me. I love taking it from behind – always have – but this variation on that theme – splayed out and floating on my stomach while he makes waves drilling me from standing position – there are no words to describe it. 

“Look at this magnificent ass,” he says, squeezing my left cheek then slapping it, as he sways me up and down in the water, creating some serious surf. 

“Honey . . . BABY! I’m going to CUM!” his wife warns, “Like! Right! NOW!!” 

I feed all my energy into her – my lips on her stone – three fingers in her hungry cave. And when she’s about to tumble into climax, she throws her head back and lifts her hips and I poke the tip of my middle finger into her bum and wiggle it. She jerks violently on the step as her holes spasm on my fingers and her clit quivers against my tongue. 

“Oh my GOD, baby! You’re so fucking BEAUTIFUL!” her husband shouts, as he records her mighty release. 

Gotta say – it was good for me too – not AS good obviously – but satisfying in a different way. 

“Wow,” she exhales as she deflates, and then a swift hitch in her breath as I slip my fatigued fingers from her. “Wonderful first effort, Cathy,” she adds. 

“GodDAMN!” from above, followed by a “Sssshhhh!” 

And the three of us go silent. 

“Want me to jump out and turn the tub back on?” the wife whispers to her husband. The timer has expired, but the tub is still flooded with blue light and my big full moon of an ass is lit up by its partner in the sky. Whoever is on those balconies has a pretty good view – no sense camouflaging our choreography with unnecessary turbulence. 

“No, please don’t,” I answer before her husband can say yes. 

“Time to reward our guest, honey,” she says, taking the phone from him and training it on him. 

“My pleasure,” he says, low and lusty. 

I’m still anchored to his wife and I lay my head sideways in her lap, then grip the stainless steel rail beside me. I spread my legs as wide as I can and her husband nudges up tighter against my center, burrowing his length another half inch. 

“Are you ready for me, Cathy?” 

“Yesssssssss,” I moan, the sound gurgling from my lips as they sink into the water. I close my eyes and prepare to be shock-and-awed. 

“Make her yours,” his wife says, “and don’t hold back – obviously, she likes an audience.” 

And so he takes possession of me: reaching around and down under with his meaty paw to fiddle my clit – curling himself around my bottom. It changes the angle of attack, precipitating a surprisingly delicious pressure – the sensation magnified by his wife’s concentrated effort to twist my nipple from my left breast. 

“I’m going to cum,” I moan into his wife’s thigh. 

“Let go of the rail,” he orders, and when I do, he pulls me backwards onto his lap and takes a seat. “Put your feet on the ledge,” he adds, moving his hands to cup my breasts, “Now lean back against me and spread your knees for the camera.” 

“Perfect,” his wife exclaims, as she stands and holds the phone closer to us, recording me raw and exposed as I ride her husband’s rod reverse. 

“JEEEEEEEESUZZZZZZZ!” floats down from above, accompanied by another “Sssshhhh!!!” 

And the three of us have a little chuckle at the effect our experience is having on the onlookers – one of them now with a flashlight – some with binoculars. 

“How do you want to cum, Cathy?” the husband asks, his sexy bass timbre tickling my ear. 

I turn my head. 

“I want you to kiss me,” I say to him, and then to the wife, “Is that OK?” 

“Of course,” she says, nodding at me and smiling at her husband. 

I stand and turn to face him, and once again she maneuvers me into a straddle and guides me onto his magic wand. He wraps one arm around my waist, grips the back of my neck, and pulls me in for a romantic kiss. We begin to – and this sounds silly – and I know we aren’t – but it feels like we’re making love. 

“Oh my God, you two are so into each other,” says the wife, sitting down a couple feet from us, filming us from a side perspective, “This is so effin hot!” 

Eventually, we break our synchronic spiritual bond, and he peers up at me and says: 

“Fuck me, Cathy.” 

CRACK!!! 

The starting pistol goes off in my head, and I begin the grind to the finish line. He gets his mitts on my big titties and sucks and yum-yums them and that kicks me closer to climax – always does. 

“Mmmmmmmm,” he moans, mouth full, as his prodigious pecker punches up against my rooftop. 

“I’m almost there,” I whimper. 

“Let’s give her the grandest of finales,” his wife says, and she paws around behind his head looking for something. And then the bottle of Coppertone Dark Tanning Oil is in her hand and she’s drizzling it in his open palm. I know what’s going to happen next, and just the thought of it directs a bolt of lightning into my center. He squeezes my ass cheek, tugging it sideways, searching for my starfruit with his slippery fingers, and I arch to facilitate the discovery. 

And then he finds it, slides his middle finger back and forth across it, then stops to ask if it’s OK to enter it. 

“Oh HELL yeah!” 

My enthusiastic response puts a smile on his face and mine too, as he fingers that taboo tunnel in cadence with his pussy pumping. 

“OH . . . FUCK . . . YES!” I howl, as I fly towards orgasm, and he bucks up hard into me, drives his finger deep into my ass, and holds me still while I double spasm on him. 

Destroyed, I float off and away and sink below the water. When I emerge to take a much needed breath, he’s sitting on the edge of the hot tub, and his wife is standing on the ledge in front of him. They’re both suited up, so I figure they’re getting ready to leave. I glide to the ledge to say goodbye, and I notice her husband’s shaft is out, unwrapped, and painfully hard – the bulging blue veins, like ropes, strangling it. 

“Keep recording,” the wife says, handing the phone to me, and she goes down on him. 

“HO – LEEEEE – FUCK!!!” and “DAMN!” and the like, make their way down from the mouths of the voyeurs. 

“Oh baby, no one sucks cock like you do,” he says, petting her braided brown hair, and I feel a twinge of unwarranted envy. I like giving head and I think I’m pretty damn good at it, but there’s no way I could take her husband that far down my throat, and with such artistry. 

“Hey Olive! Get your ass out here! Some woman is giving a guy a blowjob in the hot tub while a naked lady films it!” 

We laugh, but obviously this is more than risky business. 

“Ready when you are, sweetheart,” he groans, and the wife goes to work on him like it’s her job and she’s up for promotion. She’s not one minute more into it, before he turns beet red and cries out: 

“Swallow me, baby! Drain me!” 

And then it’s all over but the shouting, and he flops back and rests his head on a towel – it lobs side to side as she kisses his limp twig and his berries. Then she climbs out of the tub and lays flat on top of him and they embrace. 

“Bravo! Encore! Mucho Bueno!” the peanut gallery cheers and claps their hands. 

And I stop the recording. 

I put on my suit and we gather our belongings and begin our trek back to our respective rooms – the husband leading the way – the wife and I in tow. 

“We’re in room 1024 if you can get away some night,” she says, “I’ll teach you how to do it.” 

“How to do what?” 

“Suck cock like a pro. You can practice on Kevin.” 

“Kevin?” I ask, just realizing I never learned their names – didn’t seem important. 

“Yes,” she laughs, “and I’m Debbie.” 

“See you tomorrow, Debbie,” I say, with a wink, and turn to take the stairs while she follows her husband onto the elevator. But as I climb to the 8th deck, I wonder if I really will get together with them again, or if sanity and/or guilt will take over and keep me from escalating this episode into a series. 

As it turns out, we don’t run into Kevin and Debbie again until two days later at the disco. 

“I’m going to call it a night,” says Bob, covering his yawn with the back of his hand. 

“Me too,” says Joe, “Don’t forget your purse, Cathy,” he adds, pointing to it hanging on a hook under the bar. 

“Oh, don’t go yet,” says Debbie, “I want to give you the details of our next vacation; it’s a theme cruise. Maybe you would like to join us.” 

“Theme cruise?” asks Bob, “What, like a Blues cruise? Or St. Paddy’s cruise?” 

“It’s a lifestyle cruise,” says Kevin, signaling the bartender for another Grey Goose martini, “on the Fornication.” 

“We can discuss it at breakfast,” I say, reaching for my purse, anxious to get the boys out of there before the urban dictionary definition of ‘lifestyle’ is revealed. 

“The Carnival Fornication,” clarifies Debbie, when she registers the blank stares on Joe’s and Bob’s faces, “It’s coming to Port Canaveral – part of their new Lifestyle series. The Orgasm will be out of Miami, and the Jizz will be in Tampa.” 

“You’ve got to be joking,” says Joe with a smirk, but his comment goes unanswered. 

“Man-about-town like you, Bob?” Kevin says, “You’d do very well – plenty of action for a good-looking unicorn.” 

Joe and Bob look at each other with a confused expression, then back at Kevin. 

“Unicorn?” they say, in unison. 

“A single who plays with couples, an odd man out if you will, or in Cathy’s case, odd woman out,” he explains, tossing some popcorn into his mouth and winking at me. 

Bob’s eyebrows arch. 

“In . . . ter . . . est . . . ing,” says Joe, as his hand curls around mine and pulses a pattern against it. He expects me to decipher his S.O.S. and after 38 years of marriage, it’s a relatively easy task. “Alrighty then,” he adds, smiling, nodding, and then a little wave, and he leads me across the dancefloor and out the door. 

“Wow,” says Bob, as soon as we make the first corner, “Who knew?” 

“I think they’re fun,” I say, and Joe stops his march towards our destination and puts his hands on my shoulders. 

“Now look, Cathy,” he says, pointing his finger in my face, “You stay away from them – they’re dangerous – they’re swingers!” 

“Yeah Cath,” says Bob, crossing his arms and nodding, “You don’t want to accidentally become a unicorn!” 

“Trust me boys,” I say, slapping their backs and propelling us onward, “there is absolutely no chance of that happening.” 

And that is the truth, for it will never be ‘accidental’ again.

THE END