“You’re amazing. You say you swim for exercise, but that looked trained for speed. Have you competed?”
“You’re very perceptive, Brett. I went to Georgia on a double athletic scholarship. I was a star swimmer in high school but only good enough to fill out relay teams as a Bulldog. Actually, track was my better sport where my victories led to Olympic trials. But that was a long time ago.”
“Olympics, huh? I don’t doubt it. Not only do you look young enough to compete, you probably still could. I feel no shame in being smoked by you in a race either, now that I know what kind of athlete I’m up against.”
We swam for another hour, some of it in competition. When I did another underwater turn, he asked me to teach him the move. He wanted some technique he could use to show off when swimming in a public pool. When he said that, I recognized I had succeeded in impressing him, the result of my new willingness to draw attention to myself.
Brett offered me lunch. I’ve maintained my leanness by avoiding certain foods and I worried his offer would involve slabs of processed meat on white bread; he’s a man after all. To my delight, lunch was a Mediterranean style pita stuffed with veggies. We each had another beer and it went down fast with the food. We started a third beer as we sat in the shade of his patio umbrella to talk.
I asked for his opinion of my swimsuit even though I considered it frumpy. I wanted him to think about my body again and what style he would like to see me wear. He was dryly critical of its coverage and style, insisting that my body was ideal for a bikini that showed as much of my skin as I dared.
He chose to emphasize his points by using my undergarments as props. A flush of embarrassment warmed my face as I realized that I had left them in plain view at the top of my bag between our lounge chairs. My embarrassment turned into excitement when I saw him fingering my panty gusset and stiff, padded, bra cups as if he was entitled to handle my intimate apparel with such familiarity.
The heat soon chased us back into the water but we swam little this time, preferring instead to bob around with our whole bodies submerged. Thanks to foam sleeves that kept the beers cold, we enjoyed them at the pool’s edge while we talked. My first beer consumption in decades turned into four bottles. I blurted out provocative things but I didn’t regret my loose tongue. The beer was making me bold and saucy.
My tipsy condition affected my balance such that simple movements often made contact with him; sometimes he bumped me. I developed renewed awareness of his naked body in close proximity to me. The way he bumped me, I anticipated cock collisions instigated by him but none occurred. I didn’t succeed when I twice dared to aim my bumps; the second time I was certain he avoided my attempt like a matador.
Our afternoon conversations matched my alcohol influenced mood. Topics became light and often humorous; laughter came easily. Despite our opposite sexual pasts, we found common interests in both mundane life matters and personal relationships. We shared quips and innuendos while huddled close like co-conspirators, our bodies often in prolonged, sideways contact.
I was comfortable in his presence now. Brett’s nudity didn’t present itself as a sign of sexual expectations on his part, but offered a memorable exploration for me. If anything sexual were to happen, I would probably have to instigate it.
Brett made a comment about me being more than friendly again, which I used as an excuse to hug him. When I pressed against him, I was disappointed to feel his nakedness less distinctly than I did before at the gate. Blaming the heaviness of my swimsuit, I resolved to try direct ways; I decided to touch his cock with my hand.
Leaning my shoulders back, I thanked him for helping me relax and enjoy his company. In my stance, my hips stayed against him and I felt the tip of his cock on my naked thigh. I knew right where my target was. I leaned in for another hug with one hand on his shoulder. On impulse, I pecked at his cheek but it produced no reaction from Brett.
Sliding my body sideways pulled my hand from his shoulder as my other reached for my beer on the pool ledge behind him. My aim was good but I miscalculated the distance. My fingertips dropped across his cock before I expected and my hand stopped somewhat oddly on his thigh.
As I lifted my bottle for a swig, Brett also turned around, breaking contact with my hand. When he reached for his beer with a little lean, I felt his body pressing against my hand again. Looking into the water, I saw the back of my hand now on his other thigh, an inch away from his cock. The decision to act came without thoughts of consequence.
With a twist of my wrist, my palm was pressing on his cock, thumb and three fingers curling around the shaft, and forefinger touching the glans. Brett stood motionless, his beer an inch from his lips, silent save for a breathy exhale. I held his flaccid member for several seconds before moving away, giggling over my brazen act.
I thought my obvious grope would open the door for more intimate play on his part but he seemed still reluctant to do more than bump into me. Frustrated that he might be missing my signals, I gave him another bear hug. With my lips brushing across his ear, I sighed his name, then let my lips drag to the middle of his cheek where they planted a deliberate kiss.
He pushed me back but held me at arm’s length while his eyes peered into mine. After a little smile, he pulled me back against his body for another hug. This time his lips caressed my ear and he spoke of his intentions. “Anna, you are the most exciting woman I have met in years. I want to be more than friendly with you too.”
I felt so relieved to hear his encouraging words, ones that confirmed I wasn’t making a fool of myself with a man half my age. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his. I expected him to kiss back with passionate energy; instead, his lips were soft and sensuous, his tongue absent until the second act.
It was such a simple kiss, yet blissfully tender; I didn’t anticipate how moving I would find the experience. Sadly, the only other man to kiss me, my husband, never kissed me like that. I was so used to life devoid of physical affection that I had stopped expecting any even in a sexual relationship.
Despite being focused on sampling the hard sexuality of Brett’s body, the pleasure I found just in his lips overwhelmed me, even before our tongues added passionate tones. I couldn’t get enough and initiated more kisses that afternoon. I was learning how to kiss at my age because he was the first to kiss back.
Having changed several of my personal boundaries over time just to approach him, I was now discarding others in his presence. Our body contact became constant, not just when we hugged and kissed. I had no qualms about touching him anywhere, and I did. He groped me a little, too, but I barely sensed his touch and felt no stimulation. I wonder what he could feel through padding and ultra-heavy fabric.