Free Bathing Beauty by Andrea Dale

 
    BATHING BEAUTY
    by
    Andrea Dale
     
    copyright 2011, Andrea Dale
    Published by Soul’s Road Press
     
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    BATHING BEAUTY
    by
    Andrea Dale
     
    It all started because Paul's mother was an
Esther Williams fan.
    He grew up watching the sleek swimmer,
respectful and fascinated by strong, independent, creative
women.
    And rubber bathing caps.
    I didn't actually learn this about him until
we found an old poster of Esther in an antiques-and-collectibles
shop at the shore. We had a funky and eclectic décor, and I thought
the poster was neat, too, so we bought it and had it framed and
hung it on our sun porch, which had something of a nautical theme
already.
    It wasn't until I came home early from
shopping with the girls one day and found Paul masturbating to the
poster that I suspected that anything was up.
    I wasn't upset, or even concerned. We had a
healthy sex life, and hey, sometimes a guy (and even a girl) has
gotta take matters into his own hands. In fact, the sight of him
sitting there, cock red and slick in his fist, made me feel frisky
enough to dive in and help out.
    I knelt between his legs and took the hot,
hard length of him into my mouth.
    He'd been at it long enough that his own
sweet pre-come mingled with the mostly flavorless lubricant he'd
used. I flicked my tongue against the little hole to coax out more
of the sweet liquid. He whispered "Oh, yeah," and caressed my hair,
not quite pulling me down harder on him, but encouraging me to
continue at will.
    It wasn't long before I felt his balls tense
and heard his breathing catch, and I knew he was on the edge. My
pussy tingled in empathetic response (knowing too that he'd return
the favor) as I coaxed out his pleasure. I looked up at him as he
came, and saw his eyes were wide, and fixated on the poster.

    *
    I asked him about it later, when we were in
bed, and he confessed everything like a naughty schoolboy who
always knew—and even half-hoped—that his secret would be
discovered.
    Esther had consumed his boyhood fantasies,
featured heavily in his adolescent longings. His first wet dream
had been of her (and we both laughed at the pun in that). Finally,
out of erotic desperation, he'd stolen his mother's rubber bathing
cap. It was lime green, he said, with big flowers sprouting off of
it. Hideous. But compelling.
    He knew he couldn't give it back to her
afterwards, so he said the dog had chewed it up. He kept it hidden
in his mattress for years, brought out only in the dead of
night.
    Paul was a little hesitant as he told me the
story, watching for my reaction, having to be coaxed to tell all
the details. We'd been happily experimental when it came to sex,
but he'd worried that this was a little farther over the edge than
I'd be interested in. I knew, too, that he'd feared tainting the
adolescent fantasy. I reassured him, and in the end he said he was
glad to be able to tell me.
    What he didn't know is that I was already
mentally plotting a nice sticky fun birthday surprise for him.
    *
    Thankfully, I had time to prepare, because
it took me a while to find exactly what I needed. I wasn’t even
sure it existed. But it did: a retro water skiing show, the kind
with people stacked in a pyramid, like in the Go-Go’s “Vacation”
video.
    Best part was, they wore bathing caps.
    Not rubber ones, alas, but close enough for
my purposes and, I hoped, Paul’s desires. From afar, it wouldn’t
really be easy to tell what the