I went on holiday. I came back. Whilst there, in my mini self-contained resort, I took an early-morning dip in the pool and followed it up with a soothing session in the sauna. A man joined me there. He was silver-haired, bearded and very refined. We began talking, he at ground level and I one step higher where the heat can tend to go to one's head. The story I wrote later, while sunning myself on the sparse though splendid beach, contains both truth and fiction in around equal measures. I leave it to you, dear reader who knows me so well, to decide where one ends and the next begins.
One factor is definitely not fiction: I really do have the most beautiful sexually-expressive feet.
Searing heat and dexterous feet
The wooden ladle felt rough between my swim-softened fingers, its grain swollen by the constant claustrophobic heat. I scooped water then drizzled it in sparkling dancing droplets that momentarily blackened the sizzling coals. A hot wave, a sensual sirocco, descended on me, taking my breath, melting my tingling skin into salty rivulets. I climbed. Hot wooden boards pressed into my buttocks. Feet eschewed the seat below to dangle in the hellish air, while trembling palms rested on smooth naked thighs. I hung my head and dared myself to breathe. Deep. Deeper.
I watched my breasts stretch the skimpy bikini top till the twin areolic rings were clearly delineated, though my nipples had somehow softened and sunk without trace into their tight, tanned orbs, leaving not a hint of their normally pert presence on the glistening crimson cloth. I rocked on my sitting bones, allowed my spine to relax, align and straighten, till my head floated atop the resulting delicately-swaying jenga of cartilage and bone. Closing my eyes, I breathed out, encouraged my tired, knotted muscles to lengthen and release, my grating, aching joints to open and separate. While my young though exhausted body bathed in the bliss of the blistering heat, my typically lively mind gently approached an unlikely euphoric quietude.
A rush of cool air accompanied the clicking of the door catch. The catch clicked again; feet padded softly. One, two, three. Directly opposite me and beneath me, boards creaked to accommodate the newcomer's rear. The laboured breath hinted at both the sex and age of the intruder. The voice's timbre confirmed my twin conjectures, the refined accent adding colourful overtones all of its own.
'Young lady, may I add a ladle?'
With lips alone, I smiled; the accompanying affirmative nod caused sweat to drip from my shuttered lashes. I heard him fumble wood against wood, heard the water's sizzling transformation into steam, and felt the resultant cloak of almost unbearable heat descend upon me, scorching my nostrils and burning my throat. Sweat prickled, trickled, rose from the roots of my short spiky hair and meandered across my tingling scalp. With the back of a slick hand, I swept a sticky fringe from my forehead. Sparks danced behind my eyelids; the world rocked then righted. I breathed again, gingerly drawing fiery air into my depths. A sudden wave of nausea swept through me. Inexplicably, I shivered and almost painfully, my nipples puckered up. With claw-like fingers, I quickly reached across my body and absently massaged my left shoulder, thus hiding my embarrassingly poking teats from the stranger's gaze. However, with my every minute movement, they chafed uncomfortably, the tight Lycra stimulating the habitually-sensitive tips and thus prolonging my unfortunate predicament.
Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus - extremely generously, I feel - nine further stories in 'Measuring up', my latest collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.
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