aug. 12 -> coconut (491/491)
(M - no explicit sexual content but implied/referenced)
In hindsight, perhaps it wasn’t Frank’s brightest idea to take a trip to Hawaii with someone that wasn’t his wife.
It was a really good deal though — accumulated airline points practically made the flights free, plus he’d gotten a discount through AAA on the resort and his personal savings were just there, so. Why not, right?
And Abby already had this fancy little vacation back home to Boston planned for her mother’s birthday — feeding their children promises of lobster rolls and baseball games and another small mountain of debt on their joint credit card. Under the impression that Frank would be working a few doubles and unable to tag along.
Plus, the look on Mel’s face when Frank brought it up, the longing and the way she hung onto his every word, he couldn’t not ask her to come along. She’d never left the northeastern US — it was all about sharing the experience. Obviously.
Mel was jittery and nervous and absolutely overpacked, but Frank found it endearing. Maybe he was jaded from the pre-honeymoon and the honeymoon and the babymoon and the random trips at his in-laws’ expense but those paled in comparison to experiencing Hawaii with Mel.
She was loose and free — mentally and physically. Mel didn’t bother braiding her hair, leaving it in loose waves over her freckled shoulders, gently kissed by the sun. She wore little shorts and even littler tank tops that left Frank in a constant state of delirium. Half hard every time she ordered one of those cute cocktails from the beach front bar with the colorful umbrellas.
They’d explore — late walks on the beach with unrestrained tongues and warm pink skin, with brushing fingertips and looks that lingered a beat too long.
They’d take risks — lips that tasted like pure, tropical bliss when Frank convinced her to stay. Laid out on his bed, ethereal, glistening and begging and pawing at him anywhere she could reach. Coconut invaded Frank’s senses – her tongue, her skin, her cunt, every word and breath and moan was like a sweet pina colada and Frank was a very thirsty man.
Selfish, too. Making memories with Mel, thousands of miles away from his family and not feeling a lick of guilt over it. Pictures of her flooding his camera roll – laid out in a beach chair half-asleep, curled up in his hotel sheets with bite marks on her shoulders, a gorgeous meal shared at a local restaurant with too much wine – postcards stuffed in his bag with scribbles of recollections, silly little souvenirs.
Things he didn’t think about when he’d come home. When Abby had to remind him their photos sync in one big cloud, that she’d just happened to hear about Frank’s absence from work she knew nothing about. That she hoped it was worth it because it cost him his wife.
So, Frank did what any rational man would do.
Mel said she’d love to visit Italy someday anyway.
