9.
 Next night, Lou crawled out of bed. He and Marie had not made love. He felt a longing to be free, to get away, to run. No sirens. Just run. He donned his trunks and went downstairs. He stepped out into the pool area. Turned on the lights. There, on a chair, lay Linda. She was wrapped in a large beach towel and appeared to be sleeping. She opened one eye, then the other. "Oh I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to disturb you." He felt butterflies again.
"Oh hi, Charlie. I must have dozed off. I was waiting for Chris and I guess he never showed." Chris was the policeman boyfriend.
"I was about to go for a dip," Lou said. He pulled a fresh towel out of the locker that was kept supplied by the help. "Hope you don't mind."
"Oh no," she said giggling, "sounds like fun."
"Care to join me?" His heart was pounding.
"Hokay." She rose, leaving her towel behind. Not a slim girl, she was nevertheless attractive to Lou. Ample breasted, heavy of arm and leg, smooth of skin, a tawny golden color, every bit of her young and firm. Smooth, and expensive, and elegant, and unreachable. What if he had her in his arms? Would he forget the policeman? Would she? His desire for her swirled in a mix with his resentment of her social and financial stratosphere.
He walked up on the board, jackknifed, and entered the cool water. Surrounded by bubbles, he stayed under and swam from light port to light port. He came up for air just as she made her splash into the deep end. He dove down and swam toward her. His mouth was dry with desire. His heart was pounding. She was floating, kicking gently, in a light the color of lime. He surfaced beside her, blew water, and laughed.
She lay back and stroked sensually across the pool. He played around her like one fish around another, getting closer, wanting to mate. Finally they were splashing water at each other; holding hands and jumping in together; after all, he was barely seven years older than she, and handsome, he thought; why not? Am I getting too dulled out on older women? He did not dare think about tomorrow or the next day. Maybe she would yield in a moment of passion.
He swam up to her, put his arms around her in the shadow of the shallow end, where the Brazilian pepper tree laid its great shadow over the pool of the moon, and pressed his mouth against hers. Her lips parted. He could feel the flutter in her neck, the warmth of escaping breath. Her tongue stabbed out to meet his. Her hands roved around his back and cupped his buttocks. She pulled him close and he let his mouth rove down the cool goose bumps of her tight body. She found his penis and rubbed it hard, pumping it to make it spring against her palm. Somewhere a telephone was ringing. He pulled her skimpy top away, threw it on the side of the pool. She had heavy firm breasts and he kissed her nipples. She pushed down his bathing trunks in the water with her foot while continuing to stroke him. He pulled down her bottom, but she pulled it up. He pulled down again, and she pushed up.
Desire was a taste in his mouth, a pounding in his throat, a singing in his ears as he forced his hand down her front.
Then she slapped him resoundingly across the face. What the hell? His head hit the edge of the pool and for a few moments he traveled into darkness and then into a gray place where he couldn't move or feel anything. He heard her braying over and over again: "MOTHER!"
|
Thank you for reading. If you love it, tell your friends. Please post a favorable review at Amazon, Good Reads,
and other online resources. If you want to thank the author, you may also buy a copy for the low price of a cup of
coffee. It's called Read-a-Latte: similar (or lower) price as a latte at your favorite coffeeshop, but the book lasts
forever while the beverage is quickly gone. Thank you (JTC).
|
TOP
|
MAIN
Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
|
