My wife and I are not swingers.  We’d never engaged in sexual activity with others, nor even thought of doing it.  And we had no such intentions in mind when we knocked on the apartment door of two strangers on the Greek island of Santorini. Yet that’s what happened.

Sometimes the simplest request can start a train of events.  Our story started when we politely asked these strangers if we could strip our clothes off on their balcony.  Sounds odd, even to me writing this, but wait.  Let me explain. 

My wife and I (she is Clarice, I am Claude) had visited the picturesque island of Santorini a number of years ago.  We were new in our relationship then.  We rented a nice weekly-rental apartment high up on the island, with a balcony that commanded an expansive view of the ocean and the surrounding blue and white painted buildings.  One night, after an evening of wine, we lay on the couch, our bodies pressed together.  Clarice made a startling suggestion. 

“Come, let’s stand out on the balcony.”  She pulled my hand. 

Huh?  We were nude at the time.  We’d never engaged in any exhibitionism like that.  Although it was night, we’d not be invisible, what with the lights of the other buildings and the moon.

“You mean like this,” I asked, dumbly. “We’re naked.”

“Yes.  It will be sexy and romantic, stupid,” she replied. 

I was surprised, but guys don’t often turn down an invitation from a beautiful naked woman.  Was I to be the shy one?’

With a brief look around to see if there were people obvious on the other balconies or at windows, we slipped outside.  Clarice is a beautiful woman, thin, with long auburn hair and large, full breasts, larger than you’d expect with her trim body.  A tight ass, firmed by years of track while in college.  Even in clothes, she takes my breath away.  But without them… stunning. 

Clarice stood in front, I clutching her body.  The warm Aegean wind gently cooled our bodies.  I let my hands explore her breasts, her mid-section, the full bush of pubic hair that she never trimmed at my insistence.  She reached behind and grabbed my ass, pressing my by-now erect penis against her.  It was exciting and stirred our passion.  Within a few minutes, we were laying on the floor of balcony, me engaged in a frenzied exploration of her.  We had sex, then lay there for awhile recovering in each other’s arms.  It was a lovely, sweet moment of love.  We often referred to that special time afterward.  Something we’d never done before, or in fact, after. 

That was years ago.  We are older now, maybe even wiser.  But we were still in love, and back on vacation in Santorini.  And my woman wanted something. 

“Let’s find that apartment,” she said to me. 

“Of course, but I’m sure it’s rented or locked.  We’ll have to view it from the street,” I said.  All very reasonable.  But I didn’t realize what Clarice had in mind. 

When we found the apartment house, Clarice insisted we ride the elevator to the top floor. 

"What are we doing?” I asked.

“We’re going to recreate that tender moment, Claude.  Leave this to me.”

I had no idea what she meant (even though in hindsight I realize she told me exactly what she meant.) 

We knocked on the door.  A young woman answered, maybe just a few years younger than us.  She was Romanian (we later learned) but spoke excellent English. 

“Hello,” said Clarice cheerfully.  “My husband and I rented this apartment a number of years ago, when we were first falling in love.  We spent some very romantic moments in here.  Would you mind terribly if we came in and looked around?”

Clarice’s smile and gleaming eyes are hard to resist when she’s being charming.  And I guess she and I looked harmless.  The woman let us in.  Her husband was sitting on the couch, and rose to meet us.  We introduced ourselves.  Her name was Ana, the husband was Stefan. 

Clarice has an easy way with people, and chatted amiably with them about us, about our visits to Greece, and about our connection to the apartment.

“Claude and I have a fond memory of standing out on the balcony, watching the moon and the beautiful view of Santorini.  The romance of this beautiful island captured us, and made us realize we were destined to be together forever.” 
(She was laying it on a little thick, I thought, but whatever.)

“I wonder if you’d mind if we stood out on that balcony once more.  Perhaps you could take a picture of us with our camera.” Clarice suggested.

“Of course,” said the woman.

“I should add that we stood out there in the nude.  Would you mind terribly if we recreated that scene?  It will just take a minute.”

The silence as the two stared at us maybe lasted 10 seconds, but the husband broke it with a laugh.

“You two want to strip and go out onto the balcony?”

“Yes,” said Clarice.  “We’re not bashful.  Would you mind?”

The husband and wife looked at each other.  The wife, Ana, was about to open her mouth (surely to order us the hell out) when Stefan held up his hand to her.

“Zorba the Greek, in that famous movie, said that it offends God if a man declines an offer from a beautiful woman.  I’d be happy to have you do that, although I’d like to take a picture with my camera, too.”
I assumed his wife would scream at him, but she did not.  She just smiled.  Maybe this wouldn’t be his first escapade with a camera?

“Of course,” Clarice said. 

I was not at all sure about this, but clearly I was just along for the ride.

Clarice began to unbutton her blouse.  She looked at me, and I did the same.  She slipped the blouse off and unclasped the bra.  Her full breasts tumbled out.  She cupped them with her hands, and massaged underneath to rub away lines from the bra.  Stefan’s eyes grew wide, and he left to find his camera.

I pulled off my clothes.  I’m not bad looking, if I say so myself, and the wife watched me lower my trousers.  I was just in my briefs.  I pulled them off.  Ana’s eyes were glued to my privates.

Stefan returned with a camera.  Clarice and I moved out to the balcony.  Again, the night was bright and clear, and we held each other as we had that night years before.  My arms around her; her hands reaching behind me to press me forward against her.  The husband took pictures with our camera – and with his.

When we returned to the apartment, we were about to put our clothes back on, but Stefan stopped us.

“I see how comfortable you are in the nude. Ana and I like to go to a mixed-sex sauna in Romania.  No one wears clothes in a sauna.  We are comfortable that way.  We’re all adults here.  Let me get some drinks and we can talk.  Is that okay?”

We agreed, and we sat down.  Clarice and I, nude, the wife, Ana, wearing clothes.  A little strange, I thought, but let’s see where this takes us.

Stefan returned with vodka, and we all toasted each other’s health with a full glass.  As we chatted, Ana began to unbutton her blouse.  Stefan took off his shoes and socks.  The more we talked, the more clothes they removed.  They were soon down to underwear.  Then they were both nude.

Ana’s breasts were not as large as Clarice’s, but well-formed and proportionate to her body.  They turned upward, with prominent nipples.  She was clean-shaven below.  Stefan was a muscular guy with an uncircumcised penis.  Clarice spent more time staring at it than politeness would suggest, as its appearance is different from what she was used to (I’m cut.) 

“I’m sure you made love out on that balcony,” Stefan said.  “Would you like to do that now?” he asked.  “I could take pictures.”

I envisioned such intimate pictures showing up online back in the states (the internet isn’t called the world-wide web for no reason.)  Tasteful nudity is one thing; photographs of intercourse would be another level.

No,” I answered.  “That could be awkward.”

“I understand completely,”  Stefan said quickly.  “Too soon.  Let’s get to know each other better.”

I won’t say the man plied us with alcohol.  No, we knew how much we were drinking.  But the more we talked, the more we drank, the more comfortable we became with each other.  Still, I didn’t expect it when Ana moved to the couch where Clarice and I set, to join us.  More accurately, to join me, as Clarice was to my right and Ana sat on my left side. 

Ana placed her hand on my bare back.  “Would you like a back massage?” she asked. 

As Clarice and I looked at each other, without answering, the husband beckoned to Clarice.

“I wouldn’t let you be left out, dear,” Stefan offered.  “I can loosen your tight muscles while Ana does the same for Claude.”

There is always a ‘go/no-go’ moment when a choice is presented.  When the next step taken ordains that 10 more will follow. This was our moment, our Rubicon. I looked at Clarice, for a sign, a gesture, a word. 

“I need to use the bathroom,” said Clarice.  Stefan pointed it out to her and she rose.  We three watched her bare back and round, lovely butt, stride away. 

I was as nonplussed as our two hosts.  Should I follow Clarice into the bathroom so we could talk?  That would look awkward.  Ana absentmindedly stroked my back as we waited.  We sat there in silence as no one knew what to say.  Or what Clarice was going to do. 

In a few minutes, the bathroom door opened.  My beautiful woman strode toward us, self-confident as she unashamedly displayed her naked body to us. 

“I think that would be lovely, don’t you, Claude?” she said, looking at me.

I nodded my agreement.  Clarice walked over to Stefan and, turning around, sat in his lap, her back to him.  She leaned forward. 

“Let’s see how good a masseur you are,” she said.

The floodgates opened. 

Ana stroked my back, but soon reached over my shoulders to rub the chest.  She shifted to her knees and knelt behind me on the couch.  She lowered her hands to my stomach.  By this time, the penis had risen and was reaching for her.  Her hands slid down that organ and cupped the testicles.  My moaning almost drowned out the sounds coming from the easy chair, where Stefan had taken advantage of Clarice sitting on his lap.  His hands kneaded the breasts, stroked down her flank, slid over the thighs.  Clarice leaned back and opened her thighs wide, giving his hands access to her folds.  Stefan stroked through that tangle of pubic hair, and slide a finger into her.  She was already wet, and he plunged deep inside.  Now it was her moaning that filled the room.

Ana stood up, took my hand, and pulled me toward the bedroom.  This left her husband and my wife alone in the living room.  We had earlier crossed the Rubicon, so what followed was just the natural consequence.  Ana and I fell onto the bed.  “There are condoms in the drawer,” she whispered to me.  (Perhaps they had done this with others once or twice?)  I didn’t send a second request.  She guided my erect penis to her entrance. 

I plunged into her, while grabbing her buttocks to compress the tightness between us.  Thrusting for all I was worth, we both soon had our release.

Clarice, as she later told me, was a rag doll against the ferocity of Stefan’s passion.  There were condoms in the lamp stand in the living room and he covered himself.  (Did I suggest they’ve done this before?) On the rug in the living room, he pinned her body to the floor, holding her arms above her head.  His legs spread her thighs open and he shoved into her cavity, asserting male dominance and control.  But Clarice let herself be taken.  I could hear his growls, and Clarice’s more lady-like cries, in the bedroom. 

Afterward, we all washed up together in their bathroom, like old roommates.  We gathered in the living room. 

“You’ll want a souvenir of this time, won’t you?” Stefan asked.  He positioned his camera, set the self-timer, and four naked bodies huddled together on the couch, big smiles for a portrait. 

It’s now a treasured memory.  We just need to be sure the kids never find it.