My mind goes into overdrive. I can see myself back in high school as big man on campus, the tight end on the league championship football team, our senior year. Then, to the surprise of everyone, I take tall, thin Cindy to the prom. It seems that I'm the first one to notice that Cindy's still tall, but not nearly as thin as before.

After high school, I court Cindy and we get married. We then go to work and work damn hard. Cindy works at a gym until she learns the operation and then she borrows money and buys the gym. She works hard to run her gym. If Cindy wants to sell memberships to others, she has to look good. Thus Cindy works out regularly and she looks damn good. I take to stopping by after work and also working out, so I can see a bit of Cindy when we're both working long hours.

Cindy undoubtedly now looks better than the other ladies in our group. She also undoubtedly wants to flaunt her nicely aerobicised body in front of the other ladies. Well hell, I look better than the couch potatoes in our group. So why not go down to Mexico and let Cindy have her time in the sun in front of the group?

The one thing that does worry me a bit was that, after we turned 18-years-old and before I married Cindy, I screwed every girl of the wives who now make up the ladies in our group. Cindy reminds me of this sometimes, but only on days, like Monday, that end in day. Can it be that Cindy plans to have some revenge?

I don't think it too likely. I was the tight end on the high school football team and I'm bigger and stronger than any of the rest of the guys. Well, bigger if you discount the fat spare tires some of the guys now have around their waists.

I can see possible problems with a Valentine's Day trip to Mexico, but I can see more and bigger problems if we don't go and get to thinking what we missed.

I let Cindy talk me into the group trip to Mexico and we sign up.

We all fly into San Diego. There are six couples in our group. We take limos from the airport down to San Ysidro, where we buy supplies for the week.

Jose, from the Mexican car rental people, is there to meet us with a couple of 4-wheel-drive jeeps and a large van.

Jose then takes a couple of people and most of the luggage in his van and leads the rest of us more or less around Tijuana and further south. This last is good, because Mexican traffic seems to me to be mainly composed of violent psychopaths and their victims.

Finally, we get to an unpaved trail through sand dunes. Everybody switches to 4-wheel-drive and we slip and slide along the narrow track until suddenly we arrive at two Spanish-looking homes right on the beach.

There's some landscaping around the houses, mainly cactus, but it still looks like a little South of the border slice of paradise.

We get the luggage unpacked and Jose squares us away in the houses. The houses are each basically self contained units, each with its own generator and well water, via pump. The support stuff is simple to set up and operate and it all appears to be in good condition.

Each house can supposedly sleep four couples. I presume they mean that one couple would sleep in the bathtub. However, each house is comfortable for three couples.

Jose departs and we're alone in our own little Mexican hideaway for the next week. (We do have an emergency satellite phone with Jose's number, just in case.)

Since I'm the largest and strongest of all of the vacationers, I get to haul most of the luggage into the bedrooms. I get finished and walk over to the house where Cindy and I will sleep and I find the ladies fixing lunch.

I then go and check out the beach area and find that we have our own little half moon bay with crystal clear water lapping at the shore. Each side of the bay ends in a steep hill covered with loose sand. The beach isn't really private, but it would appear that the chance of visitors is very slim.

We have lunch and then it's a case of everybody can do what they want, until suppertime.

Cindy and I go upstairs and open up our suitcases. Cindy grabs her swim suit and disappears into the bathroom.

I strip and put on one of the two swim suits I have brought. I figure if I switch them back and forth, rinsing and drying in between, I have my wardrobe for the whole week.

Cindy comes out of the bathroom wearing only the bottom of her bikini. She poses and says, "Ta da! This is the look all of the ladies are going to be wearing this week."

The bikini bottom that Cindy has on is maybe half the size of what she last wore back home. Cindy doesn't usually let me see her topless at home, much less go out in public topless.

I'm in semi-shock and I ask Cindy, "Are you serious about going out in public, topless?"

Cindy tells me, "Yes I am. The ladies agreed to try topless before we left home and I'm not gonna to be the only one who doesn't do it." Then she tells me, "Besides, I was the little wallflower in high school and I'm not gonna be that here."

I can see that Cindy's mind is made up and that arguing with her would be worse than useless. We walk out to the beach and I see that, indeed, all of the ladies are topless. I think back to high school. All of our group, with the exception of Cindy, were the top of the heap then. The guys were athletes and/or student leaders. All of the girls were at least homecoming Princesses. Audrey was the Homecoming Queen.