Unspoken Pleasure

Watching several twenty-one year old men alternate fucking your beautiful thirty-seven year old wife over the course of three days and nights, might be enough to send most men to a mental institution. Up until last year, I would have been one of them. But I have learned that no one really knows how they might feel or how they would react until they are there, especially when a cosmically perfect set of circumstances falls into place.

Ever since our honeymoon, my wife and I have taken the very same vacation year after year. And I do mean the very same, the same motel, the same dates, the same suite in many cases, seventeen years running now, all the same. I’m sure that sounds painfully monotonous to some and under ordinary circumstances probably would be. But, having a very narrow window of time in the spring while trying to maintain a very strict budget, we just couldn’t top it.

First and foremost this locale had always been quite inexpensive, which absolutely topped our list, but not cheap with amenities. It also had everything we were looking for in a cheap Spring vacation; great beach, great food, quiet, and all just outside our door. We had even grown to know and love the motel owners. There wasn’t anything to dislike.

However, after the first few years of discovering this little patch of sand, we soon realized it was becoming more and more popular with the Spring breakers. They were like locusts for those of us who were only looking for down time. As soon as they invaded Panama City Beach, it was only a matter of time before they found Ft. Walton.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

If you have ever been to Ft. Walton beach back in the late eighties, early nineties, you know exactly what I mean. How it used to be that great little panhandle beach with very few Spring breakers. You probably also remember not having to worry about getting a good room. A week’s stay always broke out to around forty-five bucks per night and you always had folks your own age to relate to. Sadly enough though we watched as our little sanctuary slipped into the hands of the mighty hordes.

Even after the Spring breakers discovered our little piece of paradise, we continued to go. It was our place; we had too many memories to give it up. We finally conceded though that, if we were going to keep it our little spot, we had to live with it. And as it turns out they really weren’t all that rowdy, at least not rowdy enough to run us off.

Last year however broke the mold in so very many ways. We first found ourselves literally surrounded by Spring breakers, again not unusual for late March, but this particular year we found ourselves a literal magnet for many of the college hellions.

It took them very little time to discover that we were both educators at a community college in our hometown of Columbus, Ohio. And, as it turned out, that seemed to be the source of the magnetism attracting them to us. They were absolutely fascinated by the fact that we were normal, cool, and otherwise regular people able to have a good time. Somewhere in their minds, I’m sure they must have believed that we spent most of our free time finding new ways to flunk them into oblivion.

Most were very standoffish at first, treating us like the police or some other higher authority, but after a couple of days they finally figured out that we were actual human beings. Very soon into the second day, we found that the back porch of our suite was becoming the ultimate hangout for some.

Naively, I was sure at first it had much more to do with the fact that we always had beer and liquor and a whole lot less to do with the placement of our porch, but soon found out differently. Many though, being the bright young folks they were, soon discovered that storing and mingling their drinkables with ours, stretched their supply a whole lot further; I watched it too many times to try it.

Most were a very likable sort so we just went with it. Plus, we always overbought when it came to alcohol, not wanting to run back and forth to the liquor store. Funny thing is my wife and I only drink a few times a year, but you would have thought we were mega-lushes with the amount we purchased. I have to say though, we were Nazis about who was and was not of drinking age and, to our surprise, they very much respected our one cardinal rule.

Now being that folks over the age of thirty were indeed rare during this time, you would think that they might try to be as far from us as possible, but several of the guys from the University of Georgia were awe struck with my wife, Gina. It wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Gina’s nickname where we teach is “Ultra MILF” with some of her present and former male students. It’s quite interesting too, over the years she and I both began to notice that her male students always made far better grades than did her female students.

To me it was a no-brainer; they were simply trying to gain her approval. Gina always laughingly told me it was from her revolutionary teaching skills; I always rebutted, “Having a spectacular pair of legs and a nice ass is not a skill.”

She’s the type of female college educator that you might see in a cheap class B movie, only she’s truly brilliant, naturally beautiful, very professional, and has perfect C-cup breasts that God gave her.

The fact that she was a highly sexy thirty-seven year old college educator spread like wildfire at the motel and actually got Gina even more “Hot Points,” as some of the young men began calling it. I sometimes wish I were more ignorant to men gazing at her, but hey, I’m neither naive nor stupid when it comes to what they are staring at; it’s not the bikini, it’s what’s under it.

She truly is gorgeous and will be stared at, especially by her male students, males in general for that matter. It’s been said that if men stare at a woman as she walks by, she’s beautiful, but if both men and women stare, she’s hot.

I can safely say that Gina is hot. At 5’3″, 108 lbs, gorgeous ass, perfect curves, flawless skin, and an amazingly cute innocent looking face, the fact that she is a college professor really made little difference. If she were a bottle washer, the testosterone-filled young men at this motel would have been attracted to her.

Just into our second day there, we ended up driving to her sister’s home ten minutes outside Panama City Beach. We always ended up staying the entire day hanging out and catching up. It was basically our spring routine.

Upon returning to the motel later that evening, we couldn’t help noticing several of the University of Georgia guys sitting on our back porch, not at all unusual after getting to know us. As we walked to the back side of the porch we noticed they had a small table pulled out playing a drinking game, which required the loser to down a shot, and as it appeared they must have all been losing

Gina quickly said in a joking manner as we walked up, “Boys, that’s a game where even the winner’s a loser in the morning.” They all laughed and began brutally heckling us to join them.

Now, I’m not the type to enter a pissing contest over simple heckling, never have been never will be, but Gina on the other hand can’t help herself. She’s hard-wired for it and doesn’t even know it.

She playfully began firing right back saying, “First of all, most of you lightweights are already buzzed, and second, I’m not one of your little girly buddies who follows you around and fakes being tipsy after a shot. Oh, Brian, oh, Stan, that one shot made me a little dizzy.”

That stoked them even more. After another twenty minutes or so of this back and forth banter she finally said, “Fine… Fine. Okay, even if I lose I’ll be able to walk when most of you are curled up in the fetal position on the floor.” I must say I was trying my damnedest not to laugh because I knew full well what a lightweight she was in the drinking department and full-on trying to bluff guys who majored in drinking.

After a few more minutes of this harassing joust between Gina and her antagonists, she and I went into the room to change our clothes. I arrived back out on the deck long before Gina and poured myself a large vodka tonic as we all waited for her.

We began chitchatting about everything and nothing. They must have told me a hundred times how they were going to take her to school on drinking, bragging about what power drinkers they were, how many times they had played this, and how much they could hold.

At times thinking they might be overdoing it, they would quickly begin saying, “Oh, but we’ll take it easy. Anyone can quit at any time.” I actually began wondering if anyone would be coherent by the time she came back out. With every passing minute I began thinking Gina might have been right about most of them ending up in the floor. With the game paused, they continued to pound beer and shots the entire time.

Just as I was about to see what was keeping Gina, she slid the glass door open and walked out. I noticed she was wearing a bikini with a tank top pulled over, quite normal I suppose for where we were, but not what I was expecting with six drunken college students sitting around. Instantly one of the buzzed college students said, “Mr. and Mrs. Arnett, please forgive me, but I have to say this, Gina, you are positively the sexiest college professor alive.”

She quickly giggled slapping him on the shoulder saying, “Don’t try to soften me up, buddy boy, you’ll be passed out soon and I’m gonna be laughing at you tomorrow. That is if you can eek your way out of bed in the morning after the hangover I’m gonna put on ya.”

They were all razzing one another full force. I just sat watching, cracking up as they played their drinking game. After several rounds, one of them said “Mr. Arnett, with the utmost respect, sir, I believe your wife is cheating so we might need to raise the stakes.”

I simply replied laughing, knowing almost instinctively what he might be alluding to, “Yes, she does appear to be kicking your asses. What’s on our mind?”

He immediately uttered, “Strip shots.”