I Live In My Scuba Gear
Chapter Two
Scott took her hand and led her down the hall to his bedroom. As they wended their way, Belinda Lyle reflected on the past hour.
Swimming Night Sport
Belinda had walked behind him from the cab to his building, while admiring both his grace and his form. She couldn’t imagine Scott Wagner having to resort to this night ruse, just to get laid. His fame, coupled with his handsomely chiseled features and exceptionally fine physique would have the females in any nightclub fighting for the opportunity of squirming wantonly in his muscular arms.
‘Why me?’ As Wagner had keyed the outer knob, she had asked. His answer had been, ‘that is the last question you should ask.’ His inflection had left her unsure of whether he meant it was an answer she might regret hearing or if the answer to it would terminate their deal.
To his credit, Scott hadn’t simply ushered her to a bed and ordered her to strip as a common night strumpet might’ve been. Instead, he lit candles in the living room and put on some mellow music. They had sat on the sofa necking and engaging in foreplay. Their bodies were now both piqued for the consummating event and as they moved to the bedroom, they were already in a state of partial undress.
The sport reporter stopped on entry and looked around the bedroom. The paraphernalia and sport photos one should expect to find in a world class athlete’s home were as absent here as they had been missing from the rest of the suite. The only signs of his swimming career were his four Olympic gold medals hanging haphazardly on his bedpost—as if he had just tossed them there like an unlaundered t-shirt. Framed pictures on the walls were of tropical reef scenes and a full set of scuba gear was hung reverently in the half-open closet. Belinda was so engrossed in viewing his private domain that she barely felt him tenderly removing the rest of her clothing, or noticed his stripping off his own.
“Do you have protection?” She asked as he lowered her nude body onto the sheets.
“I only wear a wet suit when swimming in cold water.”
“What about at night in an unfamiliar ocean?”
“Immersion in water gives me a sense of security, regardless of where it’s pooled. And where might a man feel more at home at night, than in his own comfortable bed?”
The sport reporter balked only briefly and then relented. If the swimmer’s night past had been hedonistic, it would’ve already been splashed in newspapers. If anything, the swimmer’s night lifestyle was devoid of any reported sex partners. His failure to stock prophylactics actually lent the sport reporter a convoluted impression of safety. It implied that the swimmer wasn’t a weirdo with a scripted night scenario that was complete with all the night props in place. At least she allowed her mind to trust in that because the only other option was calling for an immediate cease and desist. In ordering a halt, the sport reporter would be tossing away a possession she’d already purchased this night by agreeing to mortgage her genitals to finance her ambitions.
Swimming Night Sport
“Just be prepared to pull out,” Belinda spread her thighs apart as an open threshold for his hips, “because I’m not on any birth control.”
Scott’s gender sought her pubic triangle like it was a welcome mat. He found the moisture in the folds then entered her as smoothly and powerfully as if diving into a tepid pool. He plumbed to the extreme range of his depth finding equipment and on finding the wet sleeve was a pleasurable locale, he energetically frolicked in it.
The sport reporter’s hands caressed the swimmer’s shoulders and she felt that her fingertips could almost read the tattoo emblazoned there as if it were brail bumps on his flesh. ‘I live in my scuba gear’. The motion in his legs was fluidic as he pumped and the sport reporter locked her heels around his thighs to better appreciate the sensational friction. She felt as if riding a merman or a dolphin as in the act of sex, the swimmer employed the unique kick that made his butterfly stroke so amazingly fast. ‘I could use a description of this sex experience as a comparative article on his swimming style,’ Belinda thought, ‘if I could find a magazine that would publish sports erotica.’
Previously, she had only ever achieved an orgasm during masturbation. This time, the reporter climaxed twice as the tempo of their lovemaking crested towards a grand finale and had an even stronger one when she felt his legs quiver and the searing gushes of his finishing spasms inside her.
“You were supposed to pull out!” In mock frustration, she slapped both his biceps. Retrospectively, neither one of them could’ve interrupted the inevitable end of such an intensely passionate night session.
“I can slip out now.”
“It’s too late so don’t bother.” In the night afterglow of her orgasms, even this didn’t seem crucial enough to panic her. There was not much she could do about it now either. “If your sperms swim anywhere near as fast as you do, they’ve already mapped out and conquered the most remote regions of my egg realm.”
“That reminds me of a life defining element of my childhood,” the swimmer pushed up from between her legs and rolled to a position beside her, “and you’ve now definitely earned the right to hear it.”
Belinda wished that he hadn’t cheapened the wonderful night moment with a reminder of their night pact but she rapt her attention onto the lips she had so recently been kissing.
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