… fling …
It’s hot. Sticky. Air heavy with summer heat.
The martini glasses are sweating. I tilt mine, the last of the vodka sliding down my throat.
He’s behind me. His hand in my hair, wrapping it around his wrist like a rope. He tugs, cocking my head to the side, exposing my throat. Mouth on my skin.
Across the counter, his wife watches with coy half-smile. I look back through half-closed lids, sighing. Her husband runs his nose up the back of my neck, giving me goosebumps despite the heat.
She chuckles, perfectly manicured nails on the toothpick in her drink. She brings it to her lips, sliding the olive into her mouth. Lifts it from the pointed end with her tongue. Bites down.
I follow them from the house. The sun went down an hour ago, but the night brings little relief. Wooded stairs beneath our feet, I look up to see the lake stretch out before us, liquid black.
Ahead of me, husband and wife reach the gravelly beach. They shed their clothes like unnecessary skin, revealing bodies faintly luminous in the moonlight. Their movements are relaxed, languid. He touches her, says something close to her ear. She laughs in response, natural and genuine.
I pause for a moment on the stairs, feeling the voyeur to something intimate and personal, yet routine. Normal. The exchange between two people comfortable with one another, who know each other well.
He reaches for her hand, and together they enter the lake. He drops quickly under the black water, resurfaces, tosses his blond head to rid the water in such a characteristically male way. She dives to follow, her body arching perfectly before she disappears. She emerges slowly next to him, her black hair like liquid, skin glistening.
Again, I stop. Watching them come back together. Kissing.
They turn toward me, gliding back toward the beach. They pause, waiting for me. Open, expectant. Inviting.
My clothes pool at my feet. I step out of their circle and onto the stones of the beach, still warm from the day’s sun, and into the cool relief of the dark water. It slides up my legs as I step forward towards them, licking the sweat from my heated skin.
My summer fling has just begun.
This is an Insomnia Club post. Check out what other sizzlin’ stories and discussions are happening with the rest of the Insomniacs…
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Single Much? – Summer – err Winter Fling
Miss Taylor Cast – Summer Lovin’
The Urban Dater – Summer Flings Make Me Feel Fine
Train Wreck Love – Summer fling – for the Insomnia Club
Sam Sharpe @ Met Another Frog – This Relationship Has a Best Before Date