It was a magical day. We had arrived earlier that afternoon at our vacation home rental, and I was excited for the long weekend ahead. I was resting in the shade of an old tree that looked like it had survived one too many storms, and was now threatening to fall over at the first opportunity.
I had come outside with the intention of swimming, but had lingered here on a pool lounger on the opposite side of the pool to take in the view for a while, nurse a home-mixed margarita, and enjoy this prime, shady, backyard real estate.
A shallow, dreamless sleep had overtaken me, it seems, as a fly had landed on my nose and annoyed me just enough to wake me up into my now-semiconscious state. As I regained my bearings, I noticed that I was steadily moving my feet back and forth as if they were the metronome for some unseen insect orchestra. The chirping of the cicadas as the sun began its descent toward the horizon produced in me a sort of strange, slightly detached mood where I felt as if I had always been here and always would. It felt as if this was some sort of dream world, where anything could happen and fantasies became reality.
I had absentmindedly pulled out my phone to play a racing car game, when the sound of the back door sliding open shook my dulled senses from their haze. I set the phone down next to my beach towel and margarita and looked up.
With sleepily-hooded (and somewhat near-sighted) eyes, I stared across the sunlit expanse of aquamarine, chlorinated water to see a giant flamingo-shaped pool raft emerge from the house in chaotic fashion, first bumping against the side of the doorway, then nearly upsetting a potted plant before collapsing onto the pavers in front of the pool. I was struck by the absurdity, and mused that it was as if the inflatable flamingo had developed sentience, and its first act had been to down one too many of the margaritas I had prepared.
I saw a figure emerging into the late afternoon sunlight and standing behind the fallen pink flamingo, which began to shuffle toward the pool as the figure kicked it several times. Seconds later, there was the sound of a muffled splash, accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of my wife swearing in her soft, high-pitched voice which took on a subtle, but unmistakable drawl when she was upset or excited.
“There you go,” she declared triumphantly with satisfaction, as the pink flamingo bobbed playfully in the sparkling pool water. I rubbed my bleary eyes and reached for my glasses in order to get a better view of Vanessa.
There she stood, the woman who had captured my heart with her charming, playful, and generous soul. I instantly noticed she was wearing a brand-new black and white bikini that could only be described as a declaration of war on gravity. Her sun-kissed skin reminded me of the color of a freshly picked peach, slightly dappled with white patches of sunscreen she had missed when massaging it into her skin. As she turned around and bent over to lay a towel across a pool lounger, I admired her Texas-sized—no, Alaska-sized—ass.
I’ll admit, I wasn’t much attracted to the bigger girls in high school and college, but after becoming friends with Vanessa and getting to know and love and care for her in a very special way, a slow burn for her had taken hold in me, and it was moments like this that fanned those soft, warm feelings for her into a white-hot, five-alarm flame of raging desire.
I let out a low whistle as she shook and spread out her towel—her ass shaking slightly with the movement—and I was reminded of the sultry strains and lyrics of the Cuban folk song, “Chan Chan”. I took in Vanessa’s beauty—my Juanica—remarking to myself with satisfaction how none of the petite, slim girls I pursued in college—and that I had once sworn were “my type”—could hold a candle to Vanessa in the breast and ass department. Finally satisfied with her towel, she turned around to face me, her sparkling eyes hinting at the madness she was about to unleash.
The pink flamingo bobbed in the pool, a silent witness to the impending chaos. Vanessa sauntered over to the pool’s edge, her voluptuous form swaying with a grace that defied her heavyset frame. She took a running leap, her ample breasts bouncing like beach balls in the air, and cannonballed into the water, sending a satisfying splash heavenward in her wake. She surfaced with a laugh, a lime clutched between her teeth, her bikini top looking like it might just give up the fight at any moment. I knew I had left several limes on the counter inside as I tried my hand at mixing my own margaritas, but I was stumped at how she only now produced one of them, and I hadn’t noticed it before. There had always been more to her than met the eye, a sort of magic if you will.
Her eyes locked onto mine, the challenge laid down clearly without so much as a word. With a grin that could only be described as devilish, Vanessa took the lime and lodged it playfully between her supple breasts, and called my name in a seductive murmur. I couldn’t help but feel the stirrings of desire, my eyes drawn to the way her bikini barely contained her assets, the fabric straining like her breasts were begging to be set free.
The poolside margarita in my hand suddenly seemed less important than the game she was playing. Laughing—and breathing somewhat raggedly from excitement—I decided to forget everything else and join in on her fun.
I removed my glasses again—I had a feeling things were about to get wild (this was Vanessa, after all), and as I wasn’t terribly nearsighted, I didn’t want to risk losing or breaking them. I then calmly rose to my feet. I slowly and nonchalantly walked towards her, and crouched before her at the edge of the pool as she came over and looked up at me with a playful, daring expression, just out of my reach. Without warning, I suddenly leaned towards her and made my move, reaching for the lime with one hand, her bikini top with the other—with the mischievous intent of freeing her breasts from it—all while attempting to maintain a precarious balance on the edge of the pool that would have made Nik Wallenda proud.
In response to my move, Vanessa tried to quickly move backwards, squealing with delight and thrashing wildly as I groped at her breasts, the lime slipping away like a man overboard into the now-troubled water. Predictably, I had already begun to lose my balance. She spun around in the water with a flourish, sending me tumbling and flailing forward with a loud splash. I sputtered and coughed, my eyes stinging as the chlorine invaded my nose.
I reached up for her as I righted myself, but she was already gone. By the time I surfaced, she had backstroked away towards the safety of the other side of the pool while hooting and shrieking with laughter. She wasn’t the fastest swimmer I knew, but she was aware of the fact that I could only dog-paddle and float on my back. There was no way I was going to successfully pursue her, or beat her in a swimming race.
“You win,” I gasped between breaths, a defeated smile on my lips.
In response, she dramatically raised both of her fists in the air triumphantly as if she had just won the gold medal. That sudden motion, combined with the effects of our recent horseplay, caused the fabric of her bikini top to slip just enough to tantalizingly expose her astonishingly large, dark areolae, the color of which I can best describe as a very deep shade of coral. As I was enjoying the view, she suddenly rotated both her fists and extended her middle fingers, flashing me a double birdie while cackling with glee.
With an intense burst of energy, she violently pushed off the wall of the pool like an Olympic swimmer and went deep underwater, shimmying like a mermaid, swimming along the bottom of the pool, and touching my ankle tauntingly as she moved past me. She surfaced near the pink flamingo, laughing uproariously, her full breasts spilling out completely as her bikini top had rolled up under them from the force of her previous maneuver.
I was beside myself with arousal now, as I watched them bob and float gently in the water, and she didn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry to put them away. She then slowly and nonchalantly pulled up and readjusted her bikini top (to my chagrin, I might add), all while humming innocently, before turning back toward me and winking.
“What now?” I asked laughing, my erect penis rock hard in my swim shorts in spite of the slightly cool water. “You clearly have me beat. Are you going to take more victory laps around me until I cry? Or maybe go lean against the water jets in celebration?”
That last remark, I should add, was an inside joke between us, and a reference to a story she had shared with me about how she and her sisters used to experiment with the pool’s water jets as a form of sexual stimulation when they would go swimming as teenagers.
She shot me a playfully-scolding look, blushed noticeably, and sassily declared, “None of the above! I want a book,” as she struggled to mount the inflatable raft. “Pick one for me to read, that will be my prize for winning … and don’t you dare get it wet or drop it in the water, Mister, or else!” she called out in feigned aggression.
I shook my head while laughing, turned and made my way up the pool’s steps, the air cool against my wet skin and the netting of my swimming shorts feeling uncomfortably snug in the front.
It took me a while to select a book for her from her book bag. By the time I got back to the pool, my raging boner had subsided somewhat, but Vanessa wasn’t in the water or on the raft. She was wrapped in her beach towel and reclining on the pool lounger.
“I came over here because I knew I couldn’t trust you not to try to pull me back into the water while I’m reading,” she said with a feigned glare, unable to keep the corners of her mouth from rising in a playful smile. “Come here, baby,” she added, taking the book in one hand and pulling me by the neck with the other, kissing me deeply.
I tasted the sweetness of her lips and the slight chlorine from our recent horseplay, and deeply inhaled the rich unique natural perfume of her skin mixing with the coconut-scented sunscreen. I kissed her again, and could feel the warmth radiating from her body and filling my own as I gently ran my fingers through her coarse, slightly wavy hair the color of melted chocolate. I would have taken her right there, but I could see and feel the exhaustion overtaking her body from our time spent in exercise and fun together at the pool, and how the lids of her eyes were drooping like the petals of a tired sunflower.
It had taken us a few hours to drive here earlier today, and the late afternoon had certainly been amazing—I knew she was tired after all that fun. The air was still soft and warm, but the sun was now kissing the horizon and spreading rays of orange and pink that seemed to be slowly taking over the powder-blue sky. She deserved to rest, and read her book if she wanted.
“Baby, are you okay?” she asked, as she gestured toward my crotch. “I promise I won’t let you down. We WILL have sex tonight. I just need to catch my breath first!”
I laughed, and told her I totally understood. The night was still young, and the rest of the long weekend beckoned us with plenty of opportunities for sex. I decided to go inside to prepare us a healthy snack, and we could postpone sex till after we got our strength back. I told her my idea, and Vanessa agreed, smiling sweetly at me one last time as she pulled the bookmark from her novel, and I smiled back. The smile we shared was something simple and deep and real—the unspoken language of two best friends who understood each other, and who would lay down their lives for one another without a second thought.
I went into the kitchen and prepared us sandwiches. I stacked them on a paper plate, and also brought my wife one of my margaritas and a bottle of water. But she had fallen asleep, and was snoring softly, her book resting against her gently rising and falling bosom. I set the food on the table next to her pool lounger, gently removed her reading glasses, and quietly sat down beside her, admiring her and thanking God for blessing me so.
I laid a soft kiss on her forehead, which prompted her to say “Mmmmm” and stir slightly. She continued to sleep peacefully under my watchful eyes as I started on one of the sandwiches.
As I ate in the stillness of the evening, the cicadas’ song once again filled the air that had so recently been full of shouts, squeals, and splashes, and I reminisced how it was these simple moments we shared—the deep love, the loyal friendship, and the passionate warmth and playfulness—that made each day and night with my Vanessa so memorable, like a cherished symphony in my heart.
And this was only one of many treasured moments like it.
I finished my sandwich, got my phone out, and played racing games as I listened to the comforting sound of my soulmate breathing as she slept in the pool lounger beside me.
The post Fun In The Sun appeared first on Married sex stories – erotica – marriage sex blogs.
