Summer Secrets

I only heard this story about my wife years after it had happened. Back when we had first started dating, my wife, though a girlfriend at the time, was a regular skinny-dipper. She and a few of her girlfriends would hike into remote swimming holes on weekends, stripping down to swim and sunbathe together. It was actually her friends who told me this story, years later, after we had married. They told me about it casually one night when we were all together, having a few too many drinks at our place after my wife had felt tired and gone to bed early.

On this particular summer’s evening, the air was cool and sweet. The sun had set a couple of hours before, and the night felt comforting and free. We lived in a nice, but modest home. It was a single-story, open-concept house, with a large garden and patio, where we now sat in the August air.

As I listened to her friends brag about their sexual escapades, I couldn't help but notice a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The women's eyes, once filled with laughter and camaraderie, now seemed to hold a certain intensity. A fiery glint had replaced the warmth, and a collective tension seemed to permeate the room.

I was the only male present, and it felt, at least to me, as if the narrative had shifted slightly. It was as though they were now performing for my benefit, their stories a calculated display designed to...