I splashed into the tumult feeling like a jackass and just managed to snag the tip of my rod as it was going under for the last time. It didn't help one bit that you were doubled over laughing a few yards down the bank. I bristled, but then grinned. The trout were no doubt laughing, too.
Fishing conjures up visions of calm serenity; of early mornings on the lake with waters like a mirror whose only purpose was to reflect the glory of the gathering dawn. An afternoon at the beach laughing among friends while keeping a steady hand on the pole and an eye on the line. A sunset-filled evening by the pond as the day quiets in time with the lazy bobber nodding drowsily among the reeds.
Fly fishing is more like batting bees with a belt.
"The wrist, Sara! It's all in the wrist. Let the rod f-l-o-w in your hand, like this." The fly on the end of your line danced enticingly across the top of a little pool and suddenly there was an explosion in the water and yet another trout was added to your haul.
"Not bad for the first day," you said with satisfaction. "We did well."
Meaning you did well. At least we weren't going to starve on our first day in the mountain wilds of Idaho. I was not sorry to leave the boulder-strewn stream behind as we picked our way up the slope to the cabin perched on a shoulder of the looming mountain. Suddenly, you stopped and grabbed my arm. As the sun slipped behind the rim of the mountain opposite, a single beam of light had found our cottage and it was glowing in the gathering gloom like a fairy-home.
"Oh," I exclaimed, and we stood a minute admiring your handiwork framed in the blazing crimson and gold of the autumn foliage with the purple mountain as a backdrop. Again I wondered how you had managed to build it in this canyon so far from the nearest road. "A labor of love," was what you'd told me, and I believed it.
It was only yesterday that we'd met for the first time, yet it seemed like we had known each other forever. What had started as a chance encounter over the internet had grown into something much more. We had shared secrets about ourselves that even our spouses did not know, and in many ways we'd become as intimate as lovers, although we had never met - until yesterday.
I was nervous as I made my way through the concourse towards the gate, hoping desperately that you would not be disappointed and come to regret your invitation. At first I thought you were joking when you suggested that I accompany you on a fishing trip to Idaho. Why, we had never even met face-to-face! How did I know that you would like me? How did I know that I would like you? I was a prig - a prude. I could never be so reckless.
Yet, here I was on the edge of a great adventure - not on a girls’ holiday in New York as I'd told my husband but about to make my first foray into a world that had previously existed only as fantasy. For once in my life I'd thrown caution to the winds.
There you were: I recognized you immediately from your pictures. You glanced appraisingly my way as I walked the long concourse, followed by startled recognition and a delighted smile as you rose to greet me. The awkwardness of a first meeting soon melted away, soothed by your warmth and eagerness.
I feel different with you. More open. Free. How do you bring that out in me?
The Grove Hotel in Boise was simply magnificent. For our first night together you had chosen the perfect mix of sophistication, luxury and warmth before trekking into the primitive wilderness. Our room was more sumptuous than I thought possible. Pastel blues spoke of clear mountain skies and rich woods and lustrous marble were reminiscent of the trees and granite of the canyon where you maintained your retreat. How wonderful it was going to be to slip into bed with you, nap away the exhaustion of the long flight, and awake refreshed ready to begin our adventure together! A quick glance out the window overlooking downtown and you disappeared into the bath to clean up.
I took a deep breath, hand on the door handle listening to you splash in the marble garden tub. One more glance in the mirror and I stepped suddenly and irrevocably into the white glare of the bathroom.
Startled, you looked up. I had caught you soaping your strong arms and my stomach flip-flopped when I saw your taut body for the first time. I smiled shyly and strutted a little, arched my back and thrust my chest out. Could you tell that I was naked under the thick terry robe?
You hastily dropped the wash cloth into your lap and I smiled to myself, gaining confidence. Slowly I pulled the sash, loosening the slip knot, my eyes locked on yours, watching your reaction. Still you had not spoken. You seemed mesmerized by my hands, by the slow undoing of the cinch at my waist. I felt devilish - pleased that I had caught you by surprise. For once your cultured, controlled veneer fell away and I could see the schoolboy that lived inside you. You swallowed and parted your lips as if to say something, but the words did not come.
The sash fell away and I teased a little, letting the robe slip past my shoulders, baring them to your greedy gaze. I turned my body first one way then the other, showing off playfully, holding your eyes with mine although I could tell you wanted nothing more than to ogle my cleavage while my enticing hands fiddled with the knot at my waist. I shrugged off the robe and stood revealed in all my naked glory.
"Good God!" I heard you exclaim softly. Your eyes roamed everywhere at once and I felt absurdly proud of the reaction my little striptease had provoked. I turned so that you could see me completely.
My boobs aren't large, but they're very firm - athletic, as someone described them. I like my breasts and I so wanted you to like them too. Did you notice that my nipples were erect? My areolae are pale, almost the color of my skin.
"Stunning," you muttered distractedly.
Your eyes dropped compulsively and I knew what you were staring at. I blush as I remember how exposed I felt then, without even a wisp of pubic hair to conceal my nakedness. It took all my willpower not to lock my hands in front of me to modestly hide my secret place from your lust. Modesty was not why I was there. I wanted you to see me. All of me. I wanted to be open to you and shed this stifling prudishness. I forced myself to stand still, legs slightly parted, hands at my sides. Look your fill, Michael. Know my secrets - all of them.
Finally, you managed to croak, "My Sara! You are so beautiful. Come to me." And I obediently stepped into the tub and lowered myself into the water facing you with my calves straddling your thighs. I smiled nervously. It took only a moment for you to regain your composure and once more you were in command.
"You must be exhausted after that flight. Let me wash you."
You lathered the wash rag and took my hand in yours. I was surprised at how deftly you washed it. Not clumsy or rough like a younger man, but sure, confident, gentle and sensuous. You delicately explored the palm and fingers of my right hand, then with firmer strokes washed the rest of my arm. I reveled in your touch, willing to be led. My left arm was next. I felt your hands tremble slightly and I could sense how aroused you were, yet you remained completely under control.
You washed my face delicately, as if I was made of rare porcelain that might shatter under a coarser touch. The rag wandered to my neck, your finger traced the hollow at the base of my throat. My breasts were engorged, my nipples taut. How I desired your touch. How I wanted your hands to cup them - to squeeze them - to make me cry out in pleasure.