As heard on National Public Radio's "Selected Shorts" and featured in New Stories from the South: The Best of 2006.

JUBILATION, FLORIDA
It's not a good idea. Nordan and Sara both know it.  Both are over forty. Both love their spouses. Both are drunk. Both naked––and not thin. Both wonder if the other is lying when they say, nearly simultaneously, "I’ve never done this before."
And they’re friends¬––or think they are. It’s difficult to tell. They were total strangers before they checked into adjoining hotel rooms in Jubilation; a planned community featuring Key West-styled homes in sherbet colors with white picket fences. The resort is Gingerbread Victorian, with a permit-only beach where the sand is raked into traditional Zen patterns three times a day. There are no homeless people in Jubilation. No tattoo shops. There’s nothing sordid, or dangerous. You can’t even walk down the side streets unless you have security clearance; surveillance cameras are everywhere. It’s not the kind of place you’d have an affair in.
But here they are, naked––and a little cold. It’s off-season.
“Two things before we go any further,” Nordan says––all business, all courage, all confidence. In the moonlight, his goose bumps are disconcerting; make him look a little like a plucked turkey.
“I want to be clear.  My wife is so great; I don’t even have a pool because I’m afraid she’d run off with the pool guy.  Mary Anne is the most glorious control freak on Earth. Kicked my ass into shape.  I have to warn you, if she finds out about this, she’ll hunt you down like a feral dog and chew your heart out.”
 Sara is unfazed. Doesn’t even blink. “That’s a given,” she says.  “More bourbon?”  She pours the last of it before he can answer. Nordan takes a mouthful, swallows it so fast he coughs.
An alarmed look passes over Sara’s face. “We don’t have to do this.”
“No. I want you. I want to.“
“So, what’s the second thing?”
 “The second thing is that I would never leave my wife. For all her goofy shit, she’s fierce. Not many women like that anymore.”
Sara is relieved.  She takes a sip from Nordan’s glass, looks at him closely––the plucked skin, the pleading eyes, the ‘What the Hell am I doing?’ look on his face. She has no idea how she’s going to explain this to her therapist.
“Okay,” she says. “There are two things you should know.”
“Fair enough.”
 “First, my husband is the kindest, most gentle man I have ever met. I clearly don’t deserve him. He’s like a surfing, golfing St. Francis of Assisi.  If he ever finds out, he may want to kill you, but he’s so kind-hearted, and not very well organized, so he couldn’t pull it off.  I’d have to do it. I’m kind of his ‘go-to’ guy.  Just thought you should know.”
“Noted. The second thing?”
“Well, afterwards, I’m planning to burn your body and sprinkle your ashes on my roses. “
“Makes sense.”
“Absolutely. Bone marrow is a superior fertilizer, plus I’ve kind of gotten kind of used to you hanging around––so, it would be the best of both worlds,” she says, then corrects. “Well, for me of course. You’d be mulch.“
 It is at this moment that Nordan realizes why people should not talk before having sex.