Margot was older, she wasn't pretty but her body and personality made up for that, more subtle in some ways, but less reserved in others, so it was a bit of a toss-up.Our boat trip was in its second week – with a crew of three, that is – when Margot and Abigail finally showed a desire to go home. We had tiptoed around Margot's attraction to me for several days, until both women cornered me and made it clear that they both expected my special brand of sexual healing, and Margot was about to lose her mind finding new ways to get the message across.That night Margot came to my bed, instead of Abigail, and we made love until after four A.M. She was like a child on Christmas morning. Once she got my clothes off, it took her about twenty more minutes to completely strip down for me. When I finally got my hands on her, she was panting with desire, and wetness was pouring out of her.Her cries of passion rocked the boat, and it was a good thing we were far from shore, because anyone hearing. No power lines. No cars. Just the sparse weathered forest of an undisturbed barrier island. A small, sandy path led from the porch in the general direction of the beach, and Billie stepped off to follow it. He had no usual frame of reference, but the winding path and the sound of the lightly crashing waves of the Gulf led him to dunes that were fifteen to twenty feet high. He pulled off his oxfords and olive drab socks and ran up and down the little hills through sea oats and long grasses until it sloped down to the beach. The water was a spectacular blue-green, and strikingly clear. Blue heron, egrets, and birds he could not even identify dotted the shoreline. And then he spotted a woman, swimming with strong strokes, about a hundred feet out from the shore. She raised her head and apparently noticed him, as she stopped and stood in chest high water, waving in a long, slow arc. They moved toward one another. Billie, walking awkwardly through soft, white sand, as the woman.
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