Close Too Close (3 page)

As you stop to rest at the pool end, I tumble turn, trying to remain cool. Your elbows are propped up in the pool’s shelf. Your cleavage sits just under the water’s edge. I stare at the costume’s cups holding your breasts at just the right angle. I catch sight of a red glow on your cleavage. I love your boldness in wearing that low-cut costume here. I toy with the idea of talking to you, but lose the nerve. I hope we are playing pool tango.

I rush to swim off the thoughts in my head and the horniness that creeps into me. Why now, here, so early in the morning? This will ruin me for the day. There will be nowhere to wank, here at the club or at work. I try to focus on the work I have to do and people I am meeting for lunch, but again find myself behind you as you launch yourself forward inappropriately in front of my face and into my track on the next lap.

This time, as I see your legs open and close, I glimpse a slip of you escaping from your costume. A tip of lighter lip escaping. Completely mesmerized and stricken. I am a rabbit caught in the headlights wanting to jump to the safety of the hedge, but unable to, I plough on behind you, slowing my pace, my goggle eyes widening to focus on the soft tone of your pussy. You are shaved. I love that neatness. It means that your costume slips more smoothly over your lips. I peer forward to see how far up your costume rides as you kick out. I stare at the cross hatching on the elastic trenches that frame your lips. But you kick too fast to let me see inside. Now I really want you.

Eventually you push yourself out of the pool using your arms and, with a quick flip, you are up on your feet. You don’t look back. Swing your hips. Brazen femme you are. I’m devastated. You slip away to the changing rooms. I try to exorcise my energy by swimming four laps of front crawl, powerfully pounding the pool and breathing deeply. Trying to hold back some cool before I slither after you.

However, before finishing my usual fifty, I lose my nerve and creep sheepishly back to the changing rooms. Suddenly hoards of women are changing and rubbing and oiling and giggling inside. The Lodi estate madams have arrived, their children being driven to school as they get changed. Time on their side, they are discussing the newest members. Usually I slip into the corner to avoid feeling like a voyeur and unexpected guest in their assumed sexless zone. This time I relish the play and the opportunity to look from body to body to search you out. One woman catches my gaze roaming the scores of half-naked bodies and tightens her eyes. I’m breaking the changing room code. Cruising at the club. My father will at some point be told. Politely, on the balcony or when he recommends a new member. He puts up with a lot. The lifted eyebrows of the tennis ladies when I wear my favourite ribbed vests and button-fly jeans. The low rumble of tut-tut across the lawns when I come here with my rapid succession of fuck buddies. The way I hold my cigarettes. How I’m too friendly with the waiters.

But my arousal has pushed me into this reckless mood. I linger on the soft curves of one of the more aloof Lodi madams. I pause at a swimmer rubbing a rough towel across her back. One tall athletic figure has surprisingly cropped hair. I thought I was the only one. She pulls her costume down her broad shoulders and I gaze at her large dark nipples in the mirror. At least two inches wide, with an almost black tone gradually easing into wheatish skin. Her breasts barely contain them.

Finally I see you, disappeared into a corner. Your costume is still on. Your body looks stronger as you stand up. I carefully move my towel and bag next to where you are changing, any shyness dissolved by lust. Did you glance at me? And why was your costume still on? Could I dare to guess you are undressing slowly for my benefit?

I start to get my clothes ready and dry my hair roughly.

I can gaze at you from under my towel. You turn, and look at me with a start. I wonder if you recognize me. You seem to, and I see your gaze slip to my arms and now even more alert nipples.

I peel my costume off and start to slowly rub myself dry, feeling strong and confident, the neat lines of my body on show.

Then you peel the edges of your costume off and I can see the lines where the elastic has marked your soft skin. A white zigzag on your shoulders and around the edge of your breasts. Looking at me, you edge your polka-dot costume down your flat stomach. Your breasts spring out of it. I can see your back in the mirror. As your arms pull your costume down your body, the definition of your back muscles becomes stronger. I can see the strength of your back and softness of your breasts both at the same time. The mirror-covered wall has never been so welcome. The constant clanging of the pool doors is muffled as I’m getting lost in you. Momentarily I think of the strict attendant, but now I’m in the tunnel of no return watching you from every side.

I’m beyond caring as you stand naked before me. You catch my gaze and follow it back boldly, although I catch a flash of timidity on your eyelids and a slight rising of your breasts. They are magnificent, large and deep with a close line of cleavage and dark, dark small nipples. Smooth and upright, they rest on your taut stomach which lies flat until the front of your thighs. You look even stronger than you did in the water. You face me and I start to put cream on my arms. I have pulled my costume hurriedly to the floor. The moist of me mixing with the moist of pool. I stuff the costume back past the drawstring. Force my hand with a push past the top knot. My thumb caught outside the string.

But now both of us are naked. Obvious that now we are together in this.

I offer you some cream on my upturned hand, with a smile but no words. My nails, thankfully, I cut yesterday. I see you studying my hand. It’s strong and sometimes too wide. You take the cream and, carefully, whilst still watching me, rub it into your breasts one at a time. I can feel your eyes on my eyes as I gaze at you softly caressing cream across, around your nipples. A small dash is left just at their highest point.

I back into the shower cubicle. The curtain is just wide enough to fill the space. The cold tiles on the back wall make me gasp as I lean against them. I wait for a second to see if you will follow me in. You do. I see two of the other women lift an eyebrow together to wonder. The changing room attendant stares, confused.

As you close the curtain behind you, I lift one creamed hand and place it on your right breast, feeling the nipple between finger and thumb and rolling it in my hand. I see your goose bumps extend across your cleavage and up your neck. As you bite your lip to stop a gasp from escaping I roll your nipple between finger and thumb sweetly at first, then with a tightness that surprises you. I enjoy watching your eyes quiz me as I pinch your nipple between finger and thumb. I turn you around to press against the back of the cubicle. You fall back onto the tiled wall, making a quiet thud with the back of your head.

I push my hands underneath your breasts, squeezing them together to feel their full weight. Your eyes close and your gasps are suppressed by the force of my clenched teeth and my lips on yours.

I start to imagine the pinkness inside you and feel the rapid desire to push into you rise in me. I bite your neck, push closer and closer up into your ear, smelling the wet chlorine and tasting edges of hair. I can feel the warmth of the fast swim and desire in you. I bite so hard your knee kicks out against my thigh but I stop that by pressing my body into yours and pushing the length of you against the wall, marking your neck with a dotted pink half-moon from my teeth.

My breath is rapid and heavy. Yours mirrors mine. I clasp your hands in mine behind you and pull your arms. Bend onto your nipples. Pull your arms together behind you, so I can clench into your soft bouncy flesh. I leave a trail of matching teeth prints zigzagging across your tits. I enjoy the slow, even, methodical process of marking you. Turn you into a treasure trail.

I turn the shower on. Take one of my hands away from you to hold your hair. As I guessed, it’s long, down to your shoulders. I grasp all of it in one hand, tighten my grip and pull your head back. Now I just look at you. You move your gaze from the ceiling to me. Look up at me from under your eyelids. I finalize the bites with a nip on your earlobe. Then whisper, ‘Say “more”.’

You are silent. I knew you were strong. So I start to loosen my grip on hair and arms. Start to pull my body away from yours. Pull out of the long tunnel of lust back into chlorine stench and damp towels.

‘More,’ you finally growl with less meekness than I expected.

So, I turn on the shower. Push you down onto your knees. Hold your hair again into the stream. Then your face. Watching the water wash over your eyes. Into your mouth.

I lean into the shower and pull you onto me. You stumble, shocked, surprised at the order of things, but quickly catch up. I part my legs and pull the roughness of your cold tongue into me. Now hungry, you graze over me through the water and spray. Licking carefully around me. Managing to tease me. I push and pull you where I want you. Pull you out of me when it gets too much. Frustrate you. Then smash your face back into my cunt, hard. I sit on your face to make you look at me as your tongue enters me. But I’m not giving you too much. I love watching your startled face as I let the water drain over it. But I love more the willingness you have to kneel and how you hold still whilst the shower pounds your forehead, closes your eyes and runs off your nose.