Vacation Away Ch. 01

This missive is inspired by Stlimanika's story VACATION AWAY. That story was particularly interesting because the husband as well as the wife had at least somewhat plausible motivations for their behavior. I've utilized a similar premise and somewhat similar circumstances for my story. However; I hope that I've more explicitly provided the wife as well as the husband with more plausible justifications and rationalizations for their behavior.

PLAYALINDA BEACH DAY

THE DAY AFTER

Roger struggled to resist the need for speed as he drove North on Kennedy Parkway. His meetings and engineering surveys at the Space Center had been more prolonged than he had anticipated. The Pentagon brass and Central Intelligence Agency spooks had insisted that he stay to help draft the carefully worded press release and video. They were going public, or at least partially public, about the project.

Rachael and their girls were probably starving by now. His wife was going to be angry with him for being late. However; his attorney as well as his insurance agent had explained that in the wake of his arrest for driving under the influence, he really, Really, REALLY didn't want to risk getting yet another traffic ticket. His security clearances wouldn't save him from the wrath of a municipal court. Even worse, a second offense might result in him loosing his security clearances and thus his career.

The need for speed became even more intense as a private jet landed on the massive runway that paralleled the parkway. Most likely the twin jet belonged to some asshole billionaire. Of course not all billionaires were assholes, but most were. No doubt the passengers were the type of enlightened elitists who justified their extravagances by lecturing normal, middle class folks about how their gasoline powered, sport utility vehicles contributed to global warming. That jet had probably just emitted more Carbon dioxide in a day than most family cars emitted in a year. None of these alleged climate scientists even knew what the Stefan-Boltzman constant was much less the numerical value.

Roger moderated the pressure on the gas pedal. He even tapped the brakes a bit. Although he was fearful of his wife's wrath, he wanted to linger just a bit. He needed to once again peruse the runway. At nearly three miles long and a hundred yards wide, it was one of the biggest runways in the world.

Roger's bosses had big plans for that disused airstrip. The massive super slab had originally been built to accommodate the fundamentally flawed Space Shuttle. Fortunately; that runway was more than big enough to accommodate the Roc. The six engined, twin fuselage behemoth that had been built by the now defunct Stratolaunch corporation was discretely up for sale again.

Roger's bosses had already covertly acquired options to purchase the technology and patents for the SABRE engine and the design data for the defunct Skylon. That spaceplane had been a quixotic quest to develop a single stage to orbit vehicle. Unfortunately; the laws of rocketry and orbital mechanics were unforgiving.

The brass as well as the suits had needed convincing. Roger had somehow forgotten to pack his best calculator. He had been compelled to walk them through the math on his archaic, Hewlett Packard Forty-eight-Gee calculator that he refused to replace. The math was irrefutable. The Skylon became quite plausible and even economically feasible if one wasn't quite so ambitious. A variant of the Skylon could reach orbit easily enough if it could hitch a ride on the Roc.

Of course the space launch system would also be camouflage for the true mission. In the aftermath of the bombing of Iran's Fordo nuclear site, word had came down from President Trump himself. The concept for the Thor project was to be implemented. While the Mother Of All Bombs had done a number on the Fordo bunker, everyone on the planet had learned from that operation. Nascent nuclear powers would dig even deeper. They would pour even more steel and fiber reinforced concrete. They would do whatever they assumed was needed to safeguard their gas centrifuge, isotope separation cascades and Uranium processing facilities. However; such facilities would be vulnerable to hypersonic rods from God, or really telephone poles from God. The Skylon would be the perfect vehicle to launch those weapons. The only viable alternative would be earth penetrating bombs with shaped nuclear charges.

Of course the neo-isolationists offered an alternative, grand strategy. They argued that the United States should abandon its unending quest to prevent nuclear proliferation. Their arguments were seductive. Rather than fight repeated forever wars like Iraq and Afghanistan, or maybe just occasionally bomb nuclear bunkers like Fordo, America should just fold up her nuclear umbrella and come home.

As Thomas Jefferson had said, the United States should be a friend to liberty everywhere but the guarantors of only her own. It was indisputable that America had compromised her founding principles during the last century while establishing and maintaining her global empire. Perhaps the United States should withdraw from NATO and SEATO and the entire litany of entangling alliances? If the Eurotrash were determined to reenact the Crimean war with nuclear weapons, let them.

Why should Americans send their sons and daughters, mother's and fathers, brothers and sisters off to war in foreign lands? Perhaps Americans really should stay home. We could pop popcorn, roast hot dogs and bake apple pies. We could then feast on the bounty while watching live video feeds of mushroom clouds rising over Moscow and Kiev, then Warsaw and Berlin, Rome and Madrid, Barcelona and Athens, Tehran and Tel Aviv.

Finally braking, Roger turned right on the pretentiously named, A Max Brewer Memorial Parkway, otherwise known as Beach Road. He was headed East. Fortunately; the setting sun was at his back. The road was almost deserted. He could risk driving a bit faster. However; he didn't push it past seventy.

Although he'd once worked close by, Roger had never had the courage to actually visit the more infamous portion of the beach. However; he'd known of the reputation. He'd even been a voyeur. In spite of the iffy cell reception, Rachael had managed to text him a photo of where they'd parked. He'd recognized the domed structure of a stereotypical observatory in the background. He had worked at that tracking station two decades ago when he was merely a graduate student.

Roger knew the geography well enough to keep to the left when Beach Road separated from the A Max Brewer Parkway. Naming such an ostentatiously expensive bridge and road after a third rate lawyer and minor league politician had been a prime example of nepotism. Hunter Maxwell Parkway or Wernher Van Braun Boulevard would have been far more appropriate names.

Turning left rather than right where he'd once planted a gigantic fork in the road as a joke, Roger headed North on Playalinda Road. After passing a dozen well developed, paved parking lots on his right and another to his left, he reached the end of the road. Roger turned off to the left onto a sandy, informal parking area. He was right next to the old, optical tracking station that he remembered so well.

Even without the light pollution from nearby urban areas, the seeing at this low altitude so close to the ocean was awful. However; the powerful, astronomical grade, optical reflector had been designed for tracking rockets during launch rather than stargazing. The informal parking area was far from full this late in the evening. Roger had no trouble finding a place to park. He wondered which car was Romeo's.

After checking his cellphone to confirm that he still hadn't received any irate text messages, Roger got out of his car. The soft sand under his sore feet beckoned to him. He removed his heavy work boots and sweaty socks, leaving them in his car. He then walked over the low berm to reach the beach. The moon was not yet at a quarter phase. The tide was still going out with the setting of the sun. Given the alignment of celestial bodies as well as the timing, tidal forces were nearing maximum. The exact calculations required tensor calculus. The sea was withdrawing to expose a wide expanse of soft, drying sand.

Heading North, Roger soon spotted his daughters frolicking on the beach. Their long, platinum blonde hair was rather distinctive. Although the three girls were on a public beach rather than in the private sanctuary of their own backyard, he wasn't entirely surprised to see that both of their younger girls as well as their tween were nude. It seemed to be no big deal to them. Most of the women in this designated area were going topless if not nude. Most of the men were nude. Much to Roger's relief, none of these men seemed to be taking a prurient interest in his daughters. The girls were to busy playing volleyball with the equally nude boys and girls their own age to take notice of their father.

It took only a few moments for Roger to spot his wife. She was up by the berm at the high tide mark where the sand transitioned to saw grass. Rachael was reclining on her beach chair beside her new friend. A small driftwood fire was smoldering beside them. Although Rachael had recently celebrated her thirty-eighth birthday, her increasingly maternal body had never dissuaded her from wearing a bikini. However; she wasn't wearing a bikini today. She was casually nude, just like their daughters!

The sight of Rachael's public nudity took Roger's breath away. Even after three pregnancies, she was neither fat nor thin. Most people might use the words "voluptuous" or "zaftig" to describe her. With her platinum blonde hair, she resembled Joy Harmon, the actress who'd been washing a car in the movie COOL HAND LUKE. Although Rachael's belly wasn't flat and firm, her wide, maternal hips accentuated her waist. She had a classic, hourglass figure. Much like Jane Mansfield, Raquel Welch, Susanne Summers and Sally Field, she was a mother who remained photogenic. The somewhat vulgar acronym "MILF" came to mind.

Roger had never doubted that Rachael's career had benefitted from her willingness to wear clothes that accentuated her sensuous curves. Her wardrobe choices had encouraged her bosses at the local FOX affiliated television station to retain her as an anchorwoman. During more recent years, Roger had occasionally been tormented by suspicions that his wife might have been obliged to exploit her womanly charms somewhat more blatantly to keep her job. However; he'd never discovered any actual evidence that might justify accusations. More importantly; she'd never threatened to leave him for another man. He'd resolved years ago that it would be best to not be excessively inquisitive. He'd not confronted her about the most recent episode that had provoked his suspicions.

The sight of his wife's nudity confirmed Roger's wisdom. Although Rachael's maturing breasts sagged he had never suggested that she get implants or a lift. Natural was sexier, appealing to his primal instincts. The minimal tan lines that had been so obvious yesterday were becoming blurred as the pale flesh of her fully exposed breasts was becoming darker. However; the dark blotches near her nipples remained.

Rachael's casually parted thighs revealed her neatly trimmed but unshaven pubic hair. Although she'd attended a private Christian school then Grand Canyon University, she hadn't been inexperienced when he began courting her much less naïve. Given the abundance of women and paucity of men at GCU, she had understood that abstinence wasn't compatible with romance. Unfortunately; given the intense competition for men, casual sexual encounters had been unlikely to evolve into a serious relationship. Her dark, pubic hair had also inspired many of the guys she'd dated to accuse her of being a bottled blonde. Such disrespectful foolishness had never failed to provoke her wrath.

Rachael had never suggested that she was a virgin when Roger courting her. However; her initial reticence had leant credence to her claim that she hadn't been really promiscuous either. When she finally encouraged him to seduce her, it had been obvious that she was no novice. She'd even taken the precaution of inserting her diaphragm in anticipation. Roger hadn't questioned her about her ruptured hymen or why she'd been casually prepared. He certainly hadn't asked her what her body count might be. He'd eagerly seized the opportunity to court a woman who was obviously longing for a serious commitment. He'd certainly not been foolish enough to impugn her dark pubic hair.

It was obvious that Rachael was dutifully watching her daughters as well as the waves. That was certainly to be expected after Raquel came so close to drowning yesterday. However; it was equally obvious that she was distracted by her conversation with the man who was reclined on a beach chair next to hers. Fortunately; the African American gentleman had already proven himself to be a vigilant lifeguard. He'd no doubt saved their youngest daughter's life.

As Roger approached his spouse and her companion, a not unfamiliar writhing in his guts combined with an equally painful tension in his groin attested to his ambivalence about his status. Anyone on the beach should have no difficulty deducing the situation. A blonde, obviously married, lily white woman relaxing on a nude beach with her three lily white, blonde daughters might seem innocent enough. However; the fact that the woman was accompanied by a somewhat younger black man had obvious implications. People were likely to deduce that the older, blonde, white male who had belatedly arrived was her husband. Even a drama or journalism major could do the math. Roger was certain that everyone could see the cuckold's horns that he was so certain had sprouted from his temples.

It was uncertain if Roger should think of the big, black man as Rachael's beach guide, host, companion, paramour or lover. Perhaps it was more reassuring to think of him as just her fleeting dalliance. However; he could think of no pronoun that might refute the undeniable truth. Roger was almost certain that last night and into the early morning hours, he had become a cuckold.

Perhaps Roger had already been a cuckold but he hadn't known for certain. No husband could be certain of their wife's fidelity. Now his status seemed almost undeniable. His humiliation was exasperated by the certainty that all of the adults on the beach must suspect.

Memories of the events last night drew Roger's attention to the big, black cock that was revealed by Romeo's negligently parted thighs. His Speedo hadn't lied. He noticed that Romeo was uncut rather than circumcised like himself. Although that penis was obviously flaccid, it was longer as well as thicker than Roger's own penis was when fully erect! It was impossible for him to not wonder how big that uncircumcised black cock became when fully aroused.

This last thought drew Roger's gaze back to Rachael's exposed vulva. Motherhood had enhanced not just her breasts. After three vaginal births, her inner labia now protruded somewhat so as to be prominently visible in spite of her sparse growth of dark pubic hair. She now had a butterfly rather than a coin slot. Although his wife was normally a somewhat modest woman, she'd never allowed the risk of a visible cameltoe to dissuade her from wearing a bikini or yoga pants in public. She was resigned to the reality that most men were already fixated on her breasts anyway. Most likely they'd be to preoccupied to notice any impressions of her prominent labia.

Roger found himself staring at Rachael's vulva as he imagined how her labia must have looked last night. It was to easy to imagine how they had been stretched to the limit as her paramour was fucking her. It was profoundly alarming to visualize her labia clinging greedily to that uncircumcised, big, black cock each time it withdrew for yet another plunging stroke. It was profoundly disturbing to imagine how those swollen labia might have formed a tight seal as Romeo ejaculated inside her. Perhaps it was fortunate that her labia now seemed to remain somewhat swollen and distended as a result of last night's tryst.

Roger had heard his wife when she finally returned to their room last night. He'd glanced at the clock. It had been half past two in the morning. He'd feigned sleep as he listened to her quietly washing up in the bathroom. As she approached the bed, he'd noticed the way her labia were distended. Mercifully; shadows concealed the globules of dried semen that he feared were clinging to her pubic hair. The scent of semen had seemed overwhelming.

When he awoke that morning, Roger had been careful to not disturb his spouse. He knew that she hadn't gotten much sleep last night. As he shaved, his attention had been drawn to her diaphragm that was sitting on the bathroom counter to dry. Rachael's contraceptive device was a reminder that they had made love when they went to bed last night. It had offered comforting assurance that at least she'd been protected during her nocturnal excursion while he'd been asleep.

Reminiscing about the events of last night drew Roger's attention to Rachael's smartwatch. Fortunately; the heart shaped widget for her special app was still glowing caution cyan rather than fertile green. Unfortunately; the widget was no longer glowing clear blue. Roger was not sanguine. Their youngest daughter had been conceived rather unexpectedly in spite of Rachael's diligence about using her diaphragm.

Perhaps Rachael was perceptive enough to recognize Roger's torment. He wasn't certain if she might be attempting to distract him or taunt him. However; she said, "you must be hot and sweaty after working all day. Why don't you strip down to get comfortable and go for a swim to cool off?"

Roger struggled to think of an excuse to refuse but couldn't. His wife had certainly seen him nude. He'd been naked in locker rooms with other men often enough. He shouldn't be so shy about Romeo seeing him naked. Although he didn't flaunt himself to his daughters, they'd all bathed and showered with him back when they were just infants, toddlers and even preschoolers just as casually as they had with their mother. Even in more recent years, they'd seen him nude more than a few times when their family was swimming or sunbathing in the privacy of their backyard.

Although Roger felt ashamed, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He resolutely unbuckled his belt then unzipped his pants. He even slipped his underwear off along with his trousers so as to fully reveal himself as quickly as possible. He wasn't merely embarrassed about being naked in public. He felt utterly vulnerable.

It was impossible for Roger to resist the impulse to appraise his own, pale, pink penis and scrotum. Fully flaccid as he was, he wasn't even three inches long. Only the glans of his penis protruded beyond his graying pubic hair.

Roger shifted his attention to Romeo. Even flaccid, that ebony anaconda between his thighs was nearly half a foot long. His scrotum sagged under the weight of his golf ball sized testicles. Roger knew that both of his balls combined wouldn't equal one of Romeo's.

It was profoundly disturbing to visualize the many millions of sperm that were produced by those massive testicles. Those testicles were no doubt busy replenishing the supply that had been expended last night. The only question in Roger's mind was where those testicles had been expended. It was reassuring to think in her mouth or maybe on maybe on her breasts and belly, or at least on her vulva and pubic hair. The possibility that the sperm from those testicles had been deposited deep within Rachael's vagina, close to her womb, was alarming. The diaphragm was far from perfectly effective, especially for parous mothers.

After stripping off his polo shirt, Roger ran across the sand to the ocean. His girls along with their new friends waved at him as he ran past the volleyball net. Thanks to the Gulf Stream, the waters were as warm as a tepid bath. He need not worry about the shrinkage that had humiliated George Castanza. The sensation relieved the tension that had been provoked by his ruminations. In spite of his conflicting emotions, he could feel his scrotum relaxing and his penis swelling somewhat with nascent arousal, but only to half mast.

Roger finally walked out of the sea to cross the sand. He unashamedly walked casually rather than ran the hundred yards back to his wife and her companion. They'd stoked the fire. Rachael was roasting a sausage for him. It was impossible to not notice the resemblance between the large, dark kielbasa and her companion's big, black cock.

Rachael watched as Roger walked out of the surf. She was reassured by the fact that he'd joined her and their daughters at the beach. Given their circumstances, going shopping with their girls or remaining cloistered in their hotel would have been no more reassuring to her husband than accepting Romeo's invitation to explore the nude beach. While there were beds and privacy at their hotel, the beach was public. In spite of the stereotypes and common presumptions, most of the people on the nude beach seemed to be normal, family folk. They were just fabric phobic. She had no doubt that public fornication wouldn't be tolerated.

As she watched her husband walk towards them, Rachael found herself appraising his genitals. She was pleased to see that his penis was now somewhat swollen with arousal rather than flaccid. Even after having time to contemplate recent events, her husband still desired her. There was hope for them.

Unlike Romeo, Roger wasn't extraordinary. Much like the men of Lake Woebegone, he was about average. About average had once been adequate. It was far more important for a man to be a loving husband and a devoted father.

Rachael wasn't naïve. She'd exploited the diversity at GCU. She knew from experience that most black men didn't measure up to the reputation. She'd been with white guys who'd been bigger than the average black guy. Romeo was only the second black man that she'd been with who was truly extraordinary.

Rachael had never been foolish enough to presume that size doesn't matter. However; she'd learned from experience that size wasn't everything. She had also discovered that there were certain, practical disadvantages to an extraordinarily well endowed partner.

Even more problematic was the fact that better endowed guys tended to be arrogant assholes. Of course most not so well endowed guys could be arrogant assholes too. When Roger began courting her, she'd been impressed by the fact that he had been humble rather than arrogant.

More importantly, Rachael had been perceptive enough to understand the difference between courting and just dating. Unlike the other guys she'd dated, Roger's intentions had been honorable. He'd obviously been hoping to get laid, but he had also been hoping to find a wife. When Rachael finally encouraged Roger to seduce her, she'd been disappointed. Although he was over half a decade older than she, he'd been nervous and inept. He'd reluctantly confessed that he had been almost a virgin.

Fortunately; Roger had been perceptive and generous rather than selfish. He'd been eager to learn how to please her. She'd been eager to teach him. Rachael had recognized that unlike most of the other men that she'd dated, Roger would eagerly become a family man.

As she watched her husband walking past the volleyball net, Rachael contemplated their three daughters. Their girls were undeniably beautiful. Their oldest was beginning to blossom. Her breasts were just beginning to swell. Her pubic hair was sprouting. She'd soon become almost a twin of her mother.

Rachael had never doubted that Roger adored their girls, but he'd also been hoping for a boy. His disappointment had been obvious when their second child was born. They'd agreed on only two children. When Rachael unexpectedly conceived their youngest, she'd been hoping and fervently praying for a boy. Unfortunately; it seemed as though Roger's modest testicles were incapable of giving her a son. He had once lamented that there were no boys in his balls.

Soon Roger rejoined his family. Once again seated in a beach chair, he gratefully accepted a foot long hot dog from his wife. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. They'd brought not just sausages but hoagie rolls to use as buns and all of the fixings.

As he reclined with his thighs once again parted to expose his modest endowment to the sun, Roger once again found himself comparing himself to Romeo. Although his own penis was half erect with arousal, the still flaccid, dark penis was half again longer as well as thicker than his own. He quietly muttered, "shit!" Fortunately; no one questioned him about his swearing.

As if to defy stereotypes, Romeo asked, "hey rocketman, what Specific Impulse do you expect to get out of that Skylon?" Roger was suddenly fearful that Romeo was a spy. Perhaps he'd literally been pumping Rachael for information rather than his pleasure. He relaxed when Romeo opened his smartphone. The press release was already on the Internet. Roger hadn't realized that they'd release photos of the meeting. He was amazed to see his smiling face on the screen.

There was considerable information about the Sabre, hybrid ramjet-rocket engine available to the public. "About thirty-five-hundred," Roger answered. It was an inexact answer. The exhaust velocity and thrust, and hence fuel efficiency, would vary with altitude and velocity. However; thirty-five-hundred was the same number that was listed on the Wikipedia page for the Sabre engine.

What wasn't widely understood is that by hitching a ride on the Roc, the Sabre engine could be simplified. There would be no need for the provisions that enabled static thrust. It should then be feasible to modify the Skylon to operate in ramjet mode all the way to Mach seven before shifting to rocket mode. Since the mass ratio of a rocket increases exponentially with Delta Velocity divided by exhaust velocity, that seemingly small increase in ramjet capability was profoundly significant. It should more than compensate for utilizing liquefied Methane rather than deep cryogenic, liquefied Hydrogen for fuel. The Specific Impulse generated by Methane was somewhat lower than by Hydrogen. However; the reduced structural mass for tankage should also result in a higher mass ratio and thus better performance as well as lower costs. Of course Roger wasn't at liberty to talk about these advantages.

"That is impressive, but you still aren't going to reach orbit," Romeo said. "You still need an upper stage." The big, black man with the big black cock casually defied stereotypes by reaching into his big beach bag to retrieve his big, white calculator. It was a modern, Hewlett Packard Prime. Although Roger cherished his vintage Hewlett Packard Forty-eight-Gee, he had a Prime for more complex calculations and graphing. The Hewlett Packard Prime was not only more accurate, it was the fastest and most powerful calculator in the world. Even more impressive, as Romeo began to input numbers, it became obvious that he was utilizing Inverse Polish Notation mode rather than algebraic entry! The black man's intellect obviously wasn't inversely proportional to the size of his genitals.

The fact that Romeo wasn't stupid didn't amaze Roger. He'd once had the honor of meeting Katherine Johnson at the grand opening of the Computational Research Facility that had been named in her honor. While the bell curves might be skewed a bit to the right or left depending on race, they overlapped. There were plenty of black people who were a standard deviation or two above the mean. There certainly was no paucity of white people who were a standard deviation or two below the mean.

Roger found himself perusing Romeo once again. The sight of that big, black cock that he suspected had so recently been fucking his wife was humiliating. Just looking at those enormous testicles that obviously were capable of producing prodigious quantities of sperm provoked his scrotum to contract, protectively hugging his own, much smaller testicles closer to his body. However; it could be worse. Rachael might have allowed herself to be inseminated by some stupid thug of any race.

The rocketry debate continued for half an hour. Roger finally diverted the conversation to other, safer subjects to ensure that he wouldn't divulge any classified information. However; he was amazed to realize that he not only respected Romeo, he sort of liked the guy. That was amazing given the fact that he was almost certain that Romeo had been fucking his wife the previous night and into the morning. However; as he looked at his youngest daughter, he realized that enduring the humiliation was a price he was willingly pay to still have her.

Eventually; the setting sun proclaimed that it was time to leave. Rachael donned her sundress as their girls put on their bikinis. Roger slipped into his trousers. They finally bid Rachael's paramour farewell at the parking lot. Fortunately; Romeo had somewhere else he needed to be before he returned to the hotel.

The drive back to Coco Beach was uneventful. Rachael as well as Roger were silent. What was there to talk about in front of their girls? Fortunately; their three daughters, who were no doubt exhausted from their fun in the sun, fell asleep. As he drove, Roger wondered what his quiet wife might be thinking.