The Hot Tub 7

Home from his second year of college during a short spring break, Chris was taking the trash out to the street at the front of his parents' home. A young woman on a power walk stopped to talk.

"Chris? Chris, is that you?"

"Why, ah, Angela?"

"Yes, you remember me. How nice," she said extending her hand to him.

He shook her hand and said, "I almost didn't recognize you. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no need," she laughed lightly. "It's good to see you. How's college treating you?"

"Great," he said enthusiastically, "I like it a lot. What about you?"

"Well, I started college, but then fell in love and got married and moved to my husband's home in Canada."

"Oh," he said slyly, "are you here on a spring break, too?"

"No," she responded, ignoring his attempt at humor," I got divorced several months ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No problem," she said, waving her hand, signifying no offense. "It just didn't work out."

"I thought you looked a little sad."

"How would you know?" she asked taken aback.

"Oh, well, you were always so sunny and upbeat the few times we met during Spanish club. Now you have sad eyes."

"You noticed me in high school?" she asked with gleeful surprise.

"Yeah," he laughed nervously, "you were always smiling and enthusiastic. I noticed that, because it was unusual to see such a beautiful co-ed participate so thoroughly with us ordinary folks."

"Is that an insult or a compliment, Chris?" she asked craning her neck so her sad brown eyes could meet his happy brown irises.

"Definitely a compliment, Angela. Your dark blonde ringlets were always bobbing up and down, and your lips so full—oh, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Are you kidding?" she interjected. "What woman doesn't live to receive a stream of compliments like this? Please," she urged, "please go on."

"Really?" he asked in relief.

"Yeah really," she laughed gaily. "In fact, if you're not busy, why don't you come to my house for a swim?"

"Uh, okay. Are you sure?" he asked as a furrow crossed his brow.

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"Well...I've never been to your house."

"Well..." she mimicked with arms akimbo, "I've never been to yours."

"Huh! How is that, do you suppose? How could we go to school together for so many years and live four doors away from each other, and never visit even once?"

"Well, I guess," Angela began, "I was a year behind you in school for one, and except for Spanish club we didn't move in the same circles. Maybe it's time we do."

"Okay. Thanks. I'd like to visit you. But will your parents mind?"

She giggled as she said, "My parents are out of town for a few days, and they've told me that since I'm a big girl and have already been married, that I'm 'emancipated' and can pretty much come and go and invite whomever I please into the house."

"Hmm. Okay. How about in an hour?"

"Okay. That will give me time to finish my walk. Bring a bathing suit. Our pool and hot tub are just begging to be used." She turned to leave. "See you soon," she smiled broadly.

"Yeah, thanks again." He waved and gazed at her until she walked out of sight. How could I have not seen how beautifully proportioned she was? he asked himself. I do recall that she was well built, but I didn't remember her incredible cleavage. Could her chest have grown in the last two years? Did she mention a hot tub? He began to perspire and the butterflies in his stomach refused to leave him. They intensified as he approached her door. Immediately after he pressed the buzzer, the door opened wide and he gasped at the five foot five inch package of bikini dynamite standing in front of him. Before Chris knew what he was saying, he blurted out "Oh my God! Be still my heart!"

Angela burst out laughing. "Close your mouth before you attract flies, for heaven's sake. You're so foolish. Come in." She reached out and pulled him inside by his wrist and closed the door.

"You mean you've never been ogled before, Angela?"

"You know, Canadian men are more reserved than American men. By comparison, you're so silly, and I didn't realize how much I missed that inane quality...until I went away."

"Ain't that the truth. You take for granted what you have every day until it's no longer there," Chris pointed out, his nervousness finally subsiding. "Like you, for instance," he observed.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I took you for granted until I saw you just now. Before, you were a good looking chick, and now..."

"Yes?" she waited anxiously.

"But now, you're a radiant woman. How could I not see that back then? It's only been two years."

"Thanks, Chris, that means a lot to me. But to be fair, you've changed and become more mature—although just as silly as ever—and I, too, have changed quite a bit. Go get your suit on now so you can come to the pool and tell me all about college."

"Okay," he responded heading to the bathroom, "but first, I want to hear all about your marriage, because marriage trumps college on the scale of life, I think."

When he emerged from the bathroom, Angela motioned to him as she yelled, "Over here, Chris." He joined her on a screened-in sun-splashed deck of paved multi-colored stones surrounding a large pool of clear water. In the corner a luxurious hot tub churned and foamed. His butterflies returned and then vanished just as quickly when he heard "Race you to the end of the pool and back!"

He got into the pool beside her and upon her "Ready, set, go!" a furious race ensued. They both touched the wall at almost the same time, resulting in a mock argument as to who won. Finally, Chris pronounced in a clipped British accent: "Upon consulting the international sports federation, the judges have decided that the gold medal is to be awarded to Angela. A moment of silence, please, as we observe the Canadian national anthem." Chris began to bellow the strains of "Oh Canada!" while Angela held her ribs and doubled over amid fits of laughter.

"Okay, okay. Enough. I never knew you were so funny!"

"I'm not usually this hilarious, Angela. Only when I'm around people I enjoy, like that British announcer. He's sure a charmer," he winked. "Now tell me about Canada and your marriage, or has the gold medal already gone to your head?"

"Well, maybe I'll deign to speak with that announcer," she winked back. "Come, let's sit in the tub and we'll talk. It should be the right temperature about now."

They descended into the tub and took a seat in the frothing warm water. They both acknowledged how good the warm jets felt on their back muscles, and she regaled him about the beauty and the cold of the north, and about her harsh marriage in which her husband berated and controlled her until she could bear it no longer.

She put her hands over her face and started to cry. "I thought he loved me," she squeaked between tears. "How could he turn out to be so mean? How come I couldn't see it coming before I turned my whole life upside down for him? Oh, Chris, what a mess I made," she said before breaking down again.

"There, there, Angela." He slid over beside her. He put his arm around her and drew her head onto his shoulder to console her. She noticed that he was slender, perhaps about five foot ten with short brown hair and a long nose on a long face.

"Thanks, Chris. You're sweet, and that's one thing I took note about you in high school," she said as she lightly stroked his cheek.

He thought he felt himself turn red, and hoped she wouldn't notice as she continued. "But in high school, we 'beautiful co-eds' as you say, wanted the athletic, well-chiseled macho types. We were too dumb not to appreciate congenial, sweet men like yourself."

"Well, don't beat yourself up over that, Angela," he said gazing intently at her thick curly hair, "because at that age, we boys didn't exactly want to be thought of as sweet. Friendly yes, nice maybe, but sweet, no—that was just too gay." They both grinned at each other, and nodded in agreement, as she nonchalantly placed her hand on his thigh under the water. His butterflies returned; he inhaled quickly. "Angela, you gotta answer one question for me. I remember a lot about your appearance, but I honestly can't remember you ever being that-that...you know..." he said looking directly at her cleavage.

"That big?" she laughed.

"Yeah, thanks. That's it."

"Well, the truth of the matter is that my bust actually grew an inch or two during my senior year, and then grew even more when I started to have sex with my husband. Something about hormones, probably. Why do you ask? Do you like them?" she asked coyly.

"No, why should I like them? They're only magnificent."

"Just magnificent? Is that all?" she asked in mock disappointment.

"No, actually they're spectacular, if you really must know."

"Well then," she started to untie the bikini top from behind her back. "Why not look at them?"

"No don't, Angela."

"Why not?" Don't you want to see my spectacular breasts?" she asked with a lilt in her voice.

"It wouldn't do any good anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be like looking at the sun. I'd be blinded by your beauty."

"You are such a nut, did you know that?" But you're sure the sweetest man I know. May I kiss you?"

"Oh, all right," he said in feigned resignation, "if you insist."

She laughed loudly. He was expecting her to reach her lips up toward his, but was surprised instead when in one motion she brought her head across his torso to the other shoulder, and then reached up behind his neck to bring his head downward to her waiting lips.

"Mmm, that was nice, Angela. Do you mind if we do that again?"

"Well, I don't know," she said in jest, "let me think about it. Well, maybe we'd enjoy it more if you'd do this," she suggested. Before he knew it, she took his hand and slipped it under the top half of her bikini. He was flabbergasted and not a little flustered, but it was the softest, most delicious sensation Chris ever experienced—until a lump grew out from his groin. Now that felt delicious. Before he could complete this thought, his head was being brought down again to kiss her lips. His brain felt like the foaming water that enveloped them.

"That was wonderful, Angela," he said softly. "You're wonderful. B-but...I-I can't do this."

"Do what, sweetheart, kiss and caress me?"

"No, the part where I want you."

"Yes, but...okay. I'll discuss this, but keep on caressing me. Here, I'll make it easier. Before he knew what happened, she peeled off her top, and in one motion she brought his arms around her back so his hands could cover her large brown nipples. "There, that's better. Now you'll know how large I am, and not have to guess. Go ahead. Don't be bashful. You can also look while you talk...or do you need sunglasses?"

She paused to hear Chris laugh at her joke, and then continued. "I think I should also know how large you are too, don't you agree?" Before he could respond, she had reached through the froth to take the measure of his member straining under his bathing suit. He could tell that the growth in his groin was complete. "Jeez, Chris, if I had known you were that well built, I would have just cut through all the chit-chat and cheap thrills, and rode you like the sweet stud you are."

Thanks, Angela. You're sublimely lovely, and I want you, too, but I can't have sex with you."

"You mean, you don't like me?"

"No, I mean...Oh, I don't know what I mean. Since you slipped your hand under my suit and fondled me, my IQ is like an imbecile's. It's not you I don't like. I'm trying—unsuccessfully, I see—to save myself for when I get married."

"You are such a darling. Look, Chris," she said taking her hand out of his suit and sitting upright, "I'm going to move over here away from you, and I'm only going to say this once. So listen up, stud," she admonished. "First, saving myself for my husband didn't help me at all. I would've been much better off if I had lived with him first before marrying him. I'm sure I would've found out about my fiancé's problems before I committed myself to marriage.

"Oh, please excuse me now while I rub my own nipples. You were doing a great job, but if you're not going to finish what you started, then I will. Now, second, if we don't have sex soon, do you think you'll just leave here and never think of me again?"

He shook his head meekly, unable to take his eyes off the fingers sybaritically plying her bosom. "Of course not," she said with sly emphasis. "In fact, you'll go home and probably go straight to your room, think of us here, wish your fingers were where mine are now, and finish yourself off until you explode. I wouldn't be surprised if I heard you scream all the way from here...that's if you don't hear me scream first. And what a waste that would be, eh?"

Chris grinned at Angela's Canadian expression. "I think you're just trying to seduce me," he said in an accusatory manner, trying with difficulty not to smile.

"Oh, really? Is it that obvious? Jeez, and I thought I was doing such a good job of keeping my motives a secret. I guess I'm slippin'. Well, tell me, how'm I doin' in the seduction department?"

"You really are a witch, you know."

"I know," she cackled, "but at least I know what I want. What do you want, Chris?"

His pause seemed like an eternity for them both, during which time neither could breathe. Finally, Chris said methodically, "Yes, I want you. Come here, you luscious, voluptuous woman. But, I'm a virgin, you know, so you'll have to teach me."

"There's no crime in being a virgin, Chris. In fact, Angela, a full professor in the College of Sex, will teach you, and it'll be my pleasure to show you what to do to make me feel good. Then, I'll make you feel so good you'll beg for more from this gold medal winner. How does that sound, college boy?"

"Mmm, heavenly. Now come here, you temptress, and first show me how to French kiss."

"Mmm, with pleasure, my darling sweet man."

They spent a long afternoon together converting the simmering hot tub into a scalding cauldron. Sounds of their incipient love filled the air. Her sad eyes turned happy as she engulfed him: his happy eyes turned delirious with desire as he buried himself into her.