Sultry deep house pulses in the background. I step down into the hot water and look the stranger in the eye. Jets of bubbles cascade coyly around us, the only pretense to humility this scene requires.
We’ve already said more than is necessary. I’m not here to chat. A last lingering gaze and I tilt my head back onto the edge of the rim, and close my eyes.
The air jets buoy our bodies in a slow, rhythmic flow. The stranger uses this fluid motion to brush up against me…it’s a request. I answer by not pulling away. Our legs rest against each other, pushing, pulling as the ebb and flow of the bubbles mimic the unspoken carnal connection to follow.
But this not some public animal rutting between two lust-hungry youths. The stranger is older than my forty-two years, with a devilishly light and gracefully slow touch.
Hands trace my form. The stranger moves in time to the serene music, barely audible over the roiling jets of hot water.
Is it getting hotter in here?
Breathe. And sink down under the waves. A light touch bears down as the stranger’s nails dig in to carve a souvenir from my chest.
“It’s too hot.” Ambiguous words refresh reality as the stranger rises up from the water and wraps up in a towel.
A glance back, a beckoning to follow somewhere into the darkness and the sound of more strangers’ most urgent wiles…but my eyes close and I sink back into the boiling water.
I connect with water and all the games I play take place beneath the surface. If you want to play, that’s where I’ll be.
Our moment has passed; the connection made in a stranger’s touch is broken.
© Dave Luis 2016. All Rights Reserved.
Disclaimer: the adult nature of posts like these respects and promotes a culture of consent and safe practices. Do not ask if these are fictional or real life encounters. What matters is the words about sense and the emotions they describe. If you are unable to read material like this without a knee-jerk reaction, please scroll on to another blog. These are not the posts you seek.