Taillights glowed red, lighting Jim's face as he watched Mia's legs swing into the passenger seat of Kevin's silver sports car. The taillights glowed white, then red again as Kevin threw the car into gear before disappearing out the gate. Jim felt a hand on his shoulder. "Stay awhile," urged Ted, startling Jim out of his late-night reverie.
A full moon hung low over the Ted and Erica's place, the Briars, a little pocket estate out on the West End that neither of them could really afford. She had inherited the place as a wedding gift from her parents. It sat back in a corner of woods, and had a long winding drive that took you over a little creek, past the tenant house and up to a circle that took you into the main house. If that weren't privacy enough, the backyard had a high hedge that completely hid the small kidney-shaped pool, a patio, and a garden for outdoor entertaining. The nearest neighbors were a mile away, and they liked their privacy, too.
Parties at the Briars usually ran late, and ended with one or two guests sprawled out to dry on the lawn, in the bathhouse, or with a drunken discussion as to whether the trains were still running, whether they should chance a run to one of the all-night steak places, or whose car could get us down to the beach by sunrise. If the guests were part of a select circle of friends, the night usually ended with a bit of skinny-dipping, lime green slacks and flowered summer dresses crumpled on the grass; tanned bodies enjoying the freedom of cool water flowing over hot skin and well-worked muscles, inhibitions lost, along with car keys and cellphones.
Jim had been watching Mia all night, a flash of beautiful white teeth when she laughed, twinkling brown eyes, short black hair, and dark skin. She had majored in fine arts, and his gaze had lingered on her cleavage and the curve of her thighs as they discussed the Hellenistic frescoes that she had seen on a visit to western Turkey. Mia admired Jim's dapper, offhand style, knowledgeable questions, humorous quips, and, yes, the way his tanned, sinewy arms filled out his neatly pressed white Oxford, khakis, a little frayed at the cuff, and Adidas. She conveniently looked away when they chatted, now and then, to give him time to check out her tits.
Jim's full name was James Henry Codrington Pruitt III. People recognized the name from the little bronze plaques bolted onto the walls of museums and hospitals. He had dropped the Roman numerals when his grandfather died. Now he was just plain Jim. He worked for non-profits and drove an old Honda, when he drove at all. Usually, he just walked.
Now Jim sat. Ted poured an extra dollop of gin into Jim's soda glass. "Sorry," he offered without conviction as the gin slopped over the wrought iron patio furniture and onto Jim's slacks.
Jim couldn't refuse. Cara was feeling the effects of the evening, and sat musing on a bench in the moonlight, her legs crossed, her head gently swaying to some internal melody. Ted emptied the remains of a bottle of pinot noir into her glass. Jim noticed that his friend was looking over her shoulder, and straight down at her dress. Cara swilled absently, her feet keeping time as Ted admired her ample majesties stretching the cloth of her dress. Jim observed Ted's gaze and made no mistake about the way the fabric of Ted's shorts strained at his crotch. He felt a certain elation, not sure where the night was going, but quite certain that he wanted to find out.
Earlier that day, as he zipped Cara's dress up, he had mentioned the way Ted and Erica's parties could get. "Of course," she smiled over her shoulder. "Ted and I talked it over the other night at the Wooden Knickel. It's settled. We're all going to have a foursome."
"Really?" Jim flushed.
"No, not really. Cara laughed silently, pulled her chin in, smiled impishly, and stuck out her tongue. "But I know what you mean. I think Ted would like to do more than see me swimming around his pool naked." Jim kissed her behind the ear. Cara Andrews, from upstate. Worked her way through college on a scholarship. Sharp as a whip. Beautiful, long brown hair, full tits, wide hips, and a narrow waist. Uninhibited. The scary smart girl from school. She tittered modestly in acknowledgement, wiggled her hips, and put on her lipstick. "And Erica? You never know."
"I think she likes women."
"Good for me." She smacked her lips one last time and showed off her sleeveless dress to Jim. It fit tightly around her waist and hips, with a plunging neckline that barely covered her boobs, packing them into a narrow vee that pushed her cleavage up into two fresh mounds. Jim had never heard her speak this openly before. "Let's just see how things go."
Now Jim considered Cara, his love, as she and Ted sat quietly on a bench. Ted was saying something in that soothing, persuasive tone of his, that Jim couldn't make out. Cara leaned away from Ted, her clasped hands between her legs, turned toward him, and nodded, checking out the way his polo shirt opened at his chest. The corners of her mouth turned up into a grin. Moonlight glinted on her eyes, half hidden under her bangs. Compared to Erica's taught, boy like form, Cara was all woman. Jim knew that Ted liked big boobs. Jim wondered what had happened to Erica, whether she had gone to bed, and whether he should check in on her. He thought of her plump little cupcakes that stood up when she talked about postmodernism or the latest trends in- Just then Ted stood up. "Time to go skinny dipping," he announced.
With that, Ted pulled off his shirt, dropped his slacks, his cock tumbling out under a garland of blond pubic hair. He dove into the deep end. Cara giggled, tugged at her dress, and let it drop, to reveal her bone white bra and panties. She reached behind her back, twisted, and lifted: her tits bounced and blinked. Jim admired her pale skin in the moonlight as her boobs floated over her tight waistline and shimmering ass. His cock tugged at his pants like a young colt as she stepped—swayed—seductively toward the steps that ran across the shallow end, her boobs staring out in the pale light like big expressionless eyes. Ted looked on, splashing. "I'm cold," she whimpered.
Jim undid his pants and dove into the pool, wearing only a cowrie shell necklace. The water felt good against his skin, running up past his semihard cock, up his ass, filling every crevasse, over his pecks. Suspended in an underwater world, he floated free, primal, the water keeping him up in his own grey world. Jim stretched out, suspended, then turned sharply and swam for a light, breaking surface as the water deliciously filled every pore.
Ted and Cara sat on the steps, talking. Jim couldn't hear what he said, but Cara looked up, nodding. Her big breasts stared back at him. "I'm cold," Cara whimpered. She stood up, arching her back, stepped down gingerly into the water. Her areolae, seemed to darken as her nipples stood up, jiggling slightly. Chestnut brown hair and a dark triangle of pubic hair stood out against ivory skin. Jim, longing to feel his cock sliding inside her tight, welcoming folds, felt a fluttering feeling as he watched Ted's lust manifest itself in his appraising gaze, as a hand held her arm to steady her. Her tits perked up, the nipples rising as she sank down into the water and pushed off. "It's cold," she protested.
Jim kicked up water, dove, and swam around on his back, his semi-erect penis like a periscope as he swam around the deep end. He could make out Cara's form as she swam around in the gloom of the underwater pool lights down by the shallow end. "Swim around a bit," he encouraged. "It will warm you up."
Ted rested on the steps. Edward Otterbein, from Bismarck, North Dakota. Contractor's son. Self-made. At six one, he was a little taller than Jim. Like Jim, he was athletic. Ted could beat Jim hands down at tennis, but Jim was the better all-around athlete. Both were burly and beefy, but where Jim was dark, with brown hair and a manly chest, Ted was light, with thick blond hair, that included a mat of mustard-colored fur on his chest. His cock was smaller than Jim's, and more slender, but still substantial and growing rapidly as Cara swam over to him, her ass and the perfect smooth skin of her legs gliding through the water. They talked again while Jim set against a water jet, massaging his lower back, a light heady feeling of freshly mown grass and warm summer wind settled on him. Ted said something and Cara laughed, splashing water at him with her legs as she swam away.
"This water is too cold." Cara climbed out and walked over to the table where their drinks sat. Jim knew that tone of voice. Cara was anything but cold. She picked up her wine glass and drank.
