We lay side by side on our backs at the pool’s edge, spent and out of breath, our nakedness streaming with rivulets of water and sweat. Faint patterns of reflected light shifted rhythmically over our skin with the rise and fall of respiration as heart rates slowly stabilized.

I stared raptly up at the leaf mosaic framing the hazy night sky. Cricket songs increased their cadence as a mockingbird added his brash triplicate choruses to the audio mix. The textured cradle of the cool concrete deck had warmed beneath my weightless weight.

He was less than an arm’s length from me, his hand discreetly splayed over himself, on the descent from his own heights.

I wanted to absorb every sultry drop of that solstice evening, to press each voluptuous detail between scented pages and archive the volume for unlimited retrieval and reenactment.

Which one of us would speak first, I wondered. No, it can’t be me. I’ll say something clumsy and ruin the moment. I’ll wait.

But I can’t wait too long. It’s getting late and Mom will get suspicious.

Reluctantly I sat up, aware of the deliciously aching glow still radiating outward from my satiated loins. I drew my feet from the water as quietly as possible, modestly tucking knees against bare breasts.

On the ripples generated by the disturbance floated some of the remnants of his ecstatic release. A tremendous frisson cartwheeled through me. For the first time, I felt every inch a woman.

He shifted onto his side, facing away. I took the cue to turn as well, picking up a towel and wrapping it around me.

With my back to him, I busied myself with gathering clothes.

His even voice broke the post coital stillness. “I’ll wait here while you change inside, then come see me, please.”

“Yes, thank you.” Relieved at this permission to react quickly and efficiently, I flew across the veranda, through the back door and into the little half bath off the kitchen, where I washed my hands and scrambled into a dry t-shirt and cutoffs. My hair was a wet mess but there was no time to do anything except leave it.

He was right; it would have been awkward to get dressed in his presence, even though I had felt no shame in doing the reverse.

I unwrapped a cinnamon candy to moisten a dry mouth until the mounting thirst could be slaked at home. Inexplicably, I had just been naked with him and come with him, yet I wouldn’t so much as help myself to a glass of water in his house. Not all intimacies are equal, I mused.

But what did he want to see me about? It was fun but we can't do this again? You've made me very happy, darling girl, but this should never have happened?

Somewhat apprehensively I ventured back outside.

He was waiting, once again in his shirt and sailing shorts, looking nearly the same as when he had first seen me that evening. I knew what must have been missing, though, and it excited me again.

As I approached, he rested his hand on my upper arm. “I know you have to hurry home, so I’ll be quick. Do you have your phone with you?”

“Yes.”

He recited his private number, which I tapped in under “M.” My fingers began to tremble as I keyed the neon numerals.

“Would you try it now, to make certain?”

I pressed “send” and waited for the chime from one of his pockets.

“I’ll text you with a time next weekend and we can talk if you're free. If you change your mind, I’ll understand.”

Change my mind? I would be there with bells on, and as few clothes as possible.

He leaned in and his warm lips brushed my cheek, sparking a blissful shiver that terminated in my pink polished toes. “Good night, Fiona.”

“Good night, Mike,” I blushed, then fled into the lawn scented darkness.

He kissed me, he kissed me, he kissed me, my heart drummed with every rapid footfall on the soft grass. The consonants of his new name clung like creamed honey to the roof of my mouth.

Safe in my room again, having told Mom I was tired and turning in early, I undressed completely and stood before the plain mirror. How could everything look the same, when I feel so different?

I picked up a comb and patiently attempted to unsnarl the wild locks. The pool chemicals wouldn’t be good for it, or for my skin, but I was reluctant to shower just yet.

Momentarily unsure if everything that happened that evening had been just another vivid dream, I reached down and felt the easy slide of my fingers over the physical evidence to remind myself that yes, this had been very real.

***

He is somewhere nearby, swimming with me. I kept thinking. He has taken his clothes off, too. He wants me. I want him. My emotions were a conflicted tangle, each single strand vibrating at high volume. Infatuation. Lust. Fear. Elation. Shyness. Desire.

Terror.

Suddenly I didn’t know what to do. My heart was pounding so erratically I couldn’t think. Have I started something I can’t continue, let alone finish?

I dove under and swam randomly through the tranquil blue beneath the surface, in a realm where all the troubling questions could be suspended for awhile.

Didn’t guys need time, after entering the water? Where had I seen or heard that? Why am I even thinking of this?

Coming up for air, I shook the water from my eyes and saw him standing waist deep at the opposite end, waiting for me.

All those times his open collars had stirred my pulse had culminated in this first shirtless moment, and it justified every fantasy I ever had of kissing wantonly meandering paths down his chest and beyond.

My core temperature began to rebound. Wet or dry, I wouldn't care. It was time to find out what he would feel like, if he would let me.

The adagio of seduction resumed and reeled me in. I swam toward him with a balletic, unhurried breast stroke, flipping onto my back as I got closer. I wanted to look up at his face, to read what was in it and follow his lead.

***

The room was too hot and the comb was making no progress. I switched on the window fan, fetched a clean towel from the linen closet, and stepped under the running shower without waiting for the water to heat.

Soon I was lost in the refreshment of frothy grooming rituals, underscored this time by a heightened awareness of scent and texture, sensuality in a brand new context, and most of all, the secret smile of having triggered a man's pleasure.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I prepared for an avalanche of rinsed bubbles.

***

“Close your eyes, Fiona,” he suggested as I drifted in front of him.

Grateful for this, I did. But now what?

"You haven't changed your mind?" His tone was genuine, without a trace of reproach.

I shook my head. "No."

A little more playful, “Not afraid of me, are you?”

“No,” I whispered truthfully. I'm afraid of myself, of freezing up, of disappointing you.

“Then don't say anything, just listen. You look so innocent floating here, don't you, and yet you were so obviously turned on when I saw you earlier.

"What were you thinking about when you touched yourself before? Yes, you said about me. You must have known I would find that immensely flattering."

I had been thinking about him watching the deepest secrets of my desire for him. His emphasis of 'immensely' brought to mind something of his which might be affected, and my face flushed hotly.

"Just remember those things you found pleasing, and relax.”

His voice was calming and so sexy to my ears. As if following a reopened internal script, my hands prepared to read familiar lines over my skin. They crossed over one another and settled onto my breasts as his might, cupping them gently.

“Beautiful. Take as long as you need. I would very much crave to touch you as I see you now, the way you're holding yourself...soft, open, trusting.

"What other things had you wanted me to do with you, either tonight or the other times you mentioned? Or you, with me? Answer that inside your lovely mind. Don’t speak. Feel.”

Or you, with me? His words sent an electric flashback through my groin as I recalled wanting the intimate exploration of his tongue. Wanting to take his hardness between my hungry lips and to listen to him plead for more. Wanting to be filled with him as he was overcome with the need to pleasure himself deep inside me.

"Feel," he continued, "and think to yourself that I'm utterly turned on by the things you must be imagining, but are too shy to tell me in words. So show me, Fiona."

A little moan stirred in my chest as points south rekindled their fire. My fingers stretched out in the direction of the neediness.

"That's my girl. Show me."

***

The towel was spread out on the bathroom floor beneath me as I lay face down and knees open in a slavish state of surrender. The urge had returned and built rapidly as I rinsed and dried, and there was only one way to force it into remission.

As my fingertips attempted to nurse what was clamoring for their intuitive coddling, a new surge of molten arousal trickled from its cauldron and amplified each stroke from tingling to downright dizzying. How did anyone ever do this while standing? Yet he had.

The physical touch was overridden with the recollection of Mike's verbal foreplay and the interplay which followed. I squirmed and widened with each flashback, until it became too much to bear.

At any second I was going to come again, and was hoping I wouldn't scream.

***

I felt his hand intercept mine as it crossed my tummy on its path downward, the way I had done his before we entered the pool. He guided it away from my body and toward his own as he mounted a step and raised more of himself above the surface.

His palm pressed mine over his hardness. To my amazement, he had left his briefs on. There was something right about it, less intimidating. As my hand cupped his distended maleness through the drenched cotton, the pulse between my legs intensified, demanding to be relieved.

Not yet. I found something much more interesting, and I hope he wants me to keep going.

"Does that help you at all?" he asked rhetorically.

I broke into a delighted smile. "Yes."

"You can call me Mike, you know." An answering smile warmed his voice.

"You feel so good to me, Mike," I confessed, his name both strange and exhilarating on my lips.

"It feels wonderful to hear you say that." He eased his hand away to let mine explore him on its own. "And to feel that you mean it."

Still self-blinded, I ran my fingers somewhat clumsily along his swollen outline, rubbing him lightly, then almost squeezing him in their savoring of his thickness, until they climbed atop his waistband and began to tuck themselves beneath it.

Should I? Will he think it's too forward? Or is he waiting for me to do it?

Tentatively I tugged at the elastic. When he didn't stop me, I pulled it down. My knuckles connected with a solid wall of sinew.

He feels so intimidating after all. Should I look?

He came to my rescue and freed himself. I heard the sloshing as he stepped out of the briefs, but the motion also pulled his erection out of my potential grasp.

I flailed at empty liquid space until it returned, only this time his hand was firmly wrapped over it. My lower belly throbbed in response as my fingers eagerly sought for a breach in his, longing to feel more of him, then located and fumbled over a pliant, exposed slope just north of his thumb.

He grunted softly and began to pump his possessive fist.

"You knew I would do this, didn't you?" His voice roughened. "Is this what you wanted? Does it shock you, or arouse you?"

"Show me what this would make you want to do, Fiona."

I was on fire and ready to do exactly as he said. My fingers leaped from his self pleasuring strokes and returned to the yearning he caused, zeroing in on the most efficient pressure point I knew and waiting for the inevitable eruption in my soul. Except it would be a shared one this time.

Was I ready for the reality, and not merely the snapshots I had developed in the cloistered darkroom of my mind?

Should I open my eyes? If not now, when?

He might come harder if I watch him. So I will.

Turning my head toward the sounds he was making, I took the risk.

My abdominal cradle tightened and bowed my body in preparation for what was threatening to overtake it.

Upon seeing his up close autoerotic frenzy the storm broke, smashed the moorings and submerged me in wave after mindless wave of agonized joy.

In his company, free from the chaste confines of my bedroom, there was no longer any need to suppress his name when the crazed sounds burst from my throat, no need to bite my lip or jam my face into a pillow. A sharp, unbridled shout of "Mike!" dissolved into the hush of startled crickets.

There was no pause to wonder if he was disturbed or urged on by my contorted expression or primal utterances. He stood above me in deeply shadowed but well defined profile. I didn't think it was possible for a man to rub himself so quickly or brutally, and it surprised and hypnotized me.

His thighs shifted; his abdomen tensed. Then a resonance from within his heaving chest warned of his own explosive finish which, against the glare of the deep end's deep sky spotlight, took the form of a backlit fountain cascading thickly over the ridges of his clenched fingers and into the ripples that lapped at my wide open slit.

The ultimate reflex seized and shook me again until my bones were as liquid as his essence.

A stray drop warmed my chin; I brushed it with a fingertip and licked, tasting him, and liking its faint saltiness because it was his.

Without speaking, he lifted me onto the deck and lay beside me.

***

Gingerly I ratcheted my limbs back into place and got up from the floor. There was a red patch on each of my knees and a fresh bite mark in my left forearm. What I had showered squeaky clean was awash in slickness once more. At my center, swirling currents ebbed within the hidden, spasm pummeled musculature. How was it possible to come so much, yet remain so unsatisfied?

Fatigue was rapidly gaining ground as I moved back to the bedroom, tripped the light and took off the towel. With a contented sigh I parted the sheets and slid nude between them for the first time, euphoric and aroused yet again. The gentle whir of the fan breezed over my damp skin but couldn't cool the smoldering embers that threatened to reignite without warning.

At first light I was still wide awake after endless replays of the night, already anticipating the following weekend and doubting I would be able to think of anything else until then.

To be continued