The Swim

 

RMPdockThe evening air is warm and humid, taking the edge off the breeze from the water and quickly slipping under and around our limbs,  wrapping us in the ease of the life of lake-loving people. Sometimes nature has a gift of reminding us the simple priorities in life… the need for water, the need for play, the need for companionship.

Tonight, it would be easy to be lulled by the gentle sway of the boards under your back and lean in to taste the water on your lips, to let my wet hair fall into your face and tease your skin to attention as the droplets roll off the end of the sodden strands, and each crawls its way downward, through your beard in a pre-determined pull of nature. Water always works this way after separated from the larger body, a slave to this quick return through the planks, to the origins of any skinny dip,  back into the lake, to the rippling, enveloping, secret-keeping water we hear lapping beneath our pier.

Instead, i gently tuck my toes under and straighten my legs. My thighs straddle your shins as i use my hands, placed palms down, fingers spread and anchored outside each of your bent elbows, and then lean forward and shift my weight to hover over you, in a plank position, just near enough to allow the length of my body to graze your skin from ankle to sternum as i move my lips to your chest and take tiny nibbles, making circles and tracing unknown patterns subconsciously designed by my giving heart.  i don’t hesitate to tweak with my teeth your hardened nipple and then immediately cover it with the wet heat of my mouth, an apology for the sharp contrast of night air on recently skinny-dipped skin.

My push up position allows me the good fortune of meeting your want, clearly aroused, dancing and rising to touch my body with its tip, clearly needing touching and tasting, this willful reminder of your interest in learning the language of my hips.

I raise my face to yours and our eyes meet, both of us showing in the briefest glance, how simple priorities,  this pure enjoyment of a warm body, can take us to places we have traveled in our minds over weeks of heated email exchanges. But, with practicalities in mind, you wrap your arms around me,  pull me to you, tightly, and then, just as quickly, we laugh together and let the sounds of silly  travel across the lake and rouse the family of ducks making way to the shore.

Breaking our embrace, i roll to the side and hop to my feet, then stand tall, feet slightly apart, thighs braced as i face my body toward you.

I am warm.  My mind is alive and the throbbing ache between my legs, a familiar feeling when i’m around you, has no warm body to press into while you lie below me. I reach my hand between my legs, and with my fingers dip gently inside to find my swollen self and pull up to stroke the length of my wetness, then, fingers filled with proof of my desire for you, i put them to my lips and slide my fingers into my mouth, over my teeth to my tongue, and taste the heaven i’d offer you,  if only we had more time.

You seem pleased to see me so comfortable touching you,  touching myself.  It does not go unnoticed by you, how my other hand, its longest finger, is slowly tapping the triangle at the base of my throat. With an audible sigh we snap ourselves into the busy work of scooping up lacy things and flip flops and terry towels and make our way toward the house to put together a plan for the evening.

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She slides the book back into place, marveling how lakeside shelves collect such tales.

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#for Reticent Mental Property

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