Lilli and I: Night at the Pool

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Walking hand in hand through the dark, we seem to know exactly where we’re going. But little do you suspect I’m the smallest bit confused as to where my new place is, and every street in this sprawling residential neighborhood looks maddeningly the same. Cortland Street? When did I see that before? Did we take a left at Orinoco Drive? That means that Aquarun must be the next one, or at least the next to next one….

I’d probably be more than a little irritated at my inability to master the streets of my own new crash pad if it weren’t for the fact that every step we take, and every step we’ve taken for fifteen minutes now, reveals more and more just how stupendously fabulous we happen to look tonight. From nine to eleven-thirty we danced at a charity benefit, spending the two hours before that getting dressed up as intensely as we ever have, dropping much more money on our clothes than we did on the tickets to the benefit. As a result, I’m wearing a tuxedo for only the third or fourth time in my life. I’ve gotten rid of the tie and undone the top couple of buttons on my blindingly white shirt, but otherwise it’s still intact. Compared to you, though, I happen to think I look like something the bottom of a shoe might find on the bottom of its shoe. You arrived at the party in a ruby red gown with a plunging neckline and a provocative slit down the right leg, sporting a new jade necklace and shiny black high heels.

Gazes followed you all around the dance floor as you spun and wallowed in my clumsy hands, laughing when I turned right when I was supposed to turn left, stepped forward instead of stepping back. Not that you were exactly Gregory Hines yourself out there, but when you look as glamorous as you did, no one much cares about winning any contests. We decided as the party wound down that it would be a minor crime not to exhaust all the possibilities of our clothing, so we decided to park a few blocks shy of our intended destination and wow the public by just strolling down the street, looking wildly out of place, the jewels of the earth. Of course, ten minutes past midnight in this sleepy community has given us exactly no audience except empty sidewalks and lonely lamplights under which you stop once and execute a flawless pirouette as I stand and applaud. The night is warm and the moon is full, and we mosey along looking as if we’ve stepped out of a musical. I’m thinking The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, you’re leaning toward Moulin Rouge. Hell, either one works for me. It’s a great way to close out the night, being beside such a vision in red, your hair tied up with a small silver clasp, your lips the innermost color of fire, the cheap lamplights overhead shining on your necklace and your eyes. Beautiful.

When I know that you’ve started to wonder just where the hell we’re walking to, I begin to plot the neighborhood in my head, still a little buzzed from the champagne we drank so freely. Maybe it’s the champagne that makes me think that if we just cut between two big houses just up ahead, sitting tastefully at the edge of the cul de sac on Wynwyd Lane, we’ll eliminate having to walk five more blocks and halve the distance between us and my place, where I plan to take you right to bed and make love to you in the dark.

“Yeah, definitely if we just cut through here, all we have to do is cross Burberry and we’re there,” I tell you confidently, about eighty percent sure of what the hell I’m talking about. Well, seventy percent.

“I assume by the way you feel the need to convince yourself that you’re actually pretty clueless,” you point out..

“Clueless, yes, but I’m in a tux, so my decisions all seem to make perfect sense, don’t they?” I pull you gently in the direction of the nearest driveway, where a couple of Lexuses are parked obnoxiously side by side. You follow willingly enough, your natural urge to resist my geographical instructions overwhelmed by some residual tipsiness from the booze. Good stuff it was, too.

“We’re going to get shot cutting across their lawn,” you tell me. “That’s really how I want to go, too.”

“They’re not going to shoot people in evening gowns and tuxes,” I insist. “Most they would do is beat us senseless.”

I’ve lowered my voice just a bit, and still holding hands we move past the side of the anonymous sleepers’ house. You put your head on my shoulder and wrap both arms around my waist after pausing briefly to remove your high heels. You curl your toes in the grass once to get that nice summery feeling and then we move on, me gallantly holding your shoes for you.

We walk between two big backyards and the scene opens up a bit on a common field between two long rows of houses. Already I know I’ve made a wee bit of a mistake, but I don’t let on. We amble off to the left through a little thatch of trees and come up against a long running fence protecting evildoers like us from reaching the properties of the semi-rich and never-to-be-famous-unless-they-wind-up-on-some-stupid-reality-show. We walk between the canlı bahis fence and the foliage and critique peoples’ nicely manicured back yards as we pass them. After four or five houses, the wooden fence becomes a chain link affair and we hear soft conversation coming from a house up ahead. So we’re not the only ones awake past midnight on a Saturday after all. Good. Maybe someone will see us pass and think they must be dreaming to see such an image of exotic opulence drifting through their mist. Maybe they’ll even think we’re ghosts from the Titanic or something. I always wanted to be one of those.

We see through the dark that the mellow conversation is coming from two couples sitting poolside at the end of the row of houses. They’re sitting in deck chairs behind the largest house of all, having opened a bottle (or two, looks like) of wine. Their pool is a very nice affair, lit on each side by running lights set into light pink cement. The water is perfectly still. From the looks of them, my neighbors have been taking an occasional dip, as they’re all wearing swimsuits, but the time for actual physical activity is long past. As we go by, we nod and I lift a hand, and one of the women lifts a hand in return. We hear a couple of friendly hellos and we smile and go on, disappearing from their view behind a very tall, intricately cut wooden fence which borders the south side of their property. We angle to the left when we clear their view so as not to head into the large community garden which slumbers under the moon in front of us, and start to climb up a mild, very gradual grass rise that leads to Burberry Lane in another few hundred feet. Home isn’t far away. I start to rub your back, which is exposed confidently by your dress, the rear of which starts almost at your waist. I can’t wait for the pictures they were taking tonight at the dance to be developed so I can make every man I know weep with jealousy.

“Hello, excuse me,” we hear a laughing voice say to our left. One of the women from the pool has poked her head out of a swinging wooden door on the side of the house. She’s younger than I thought she was, maybe late twenties. We stop and turn, and my first thought is that she’s going to ask us if we’re lost.

“Um,” she says, giggling, “I think I should tell you my husband’s in love with you.” She’s looking right at you when she says this (Whew!) and you raise an eyebrow. I do the same and we take a couple of steps toward her when a second head appears behind hers, a guy of about the same age.

“I am so sorry, please excuse us, my wife is insane,” he says, smiling, playfully pulling on her left arm.

“No, seriously, he just told me he’d do anything to have you,” the woman says jovially.

“I can understand that,” I say to them, “but unfortunately she’s taken. Unless we’re talking about a cash offer, of course.” You elbow me in the side and laugh, obviously flattered by this man’s attention. How could he not want you, and say so even in the presence of his wife? You’re obviously the most stunning thing ever to walk past their house.

“Yes, cash, that is what we’re talking about,” the woman says. “Could I buy her for about ten minutes as his present? Just to have her stand by the pool so he can look? His tongue’s hanging out of his mouth.”

“That may be true, but we’ll let you good people be on your way,” the husband says, rolling his eyes. “Lots and lots to drink, obviously.”

“How much do I get for standing by the pool for ten minutes?” you ask, laughing again, stepping over to the swinging door. You’re just a couple of feet from them and I can see the man clearly drop his eyes to your chest for a not-so-subtle glance. I step beside you and play along, what the hell.

“Well, see, it’s his birthday, and I told him he could have anything he wanted in the world because he hated the shaver I gave him,” she tells us.

“I do not hate it, I do not,” the husband insists, sighing and shaking his head.

“So for twenty dollars, you’d get me off the hook,” the wife finishes. “Twenty dollars, I’ll give you a check!”

“Twenty dollars and a glass of wine for each of us sounds more like a deal,” you say toyingly, and the woman claps her hands in joy.

“Yes, absolutely, that’s all included, come on in,” she says, and swings the wooden door open wider, and you, seeing the opportunity to make your second grand entrance of the night, step over the threshold, grabbing my hand and pulling me along. I always love your spontaneous ideas, especially when they involve scoring us some cash and some liquor. I’m actually wishing I had my swimsuit with me because I wouldn’t mind a dip in that nice pool.

The husband and wife step back to allow us in, introducing themselves. “I’m Sarah and this is my husband Shaw,” she says, touching her chest and then his. She’s in a bikini and he’s in a pair of fairly tight black trunks, and they’re both pretty fit, both of them blonde, way too young to have the kind of money it took to buy this house, bahis siteleri but we can forgive them since they’re so silly. Sarah seems like the classic sorority type, full of energy and deeply tanned, probably liking married life in the ‘burbs but wondering why everyone can’t be a little more fun. Her husband is sandy-haired, stylishly stubbled. We introduce ourselves as Declan and Lilli, mysterious visions of glamour and intrigue. We tell them we’ve been dancing all night and intend to wear these clothes for the rest of our lives.

“These are our friends Muriel and Terry,” Sarah says, gesturing as we approach the pool to the other married couple. They nod and smile, a more subdued pair in their late thirties, maybe even early forties. Muriel is a pleasant-looking, unspectacular woman with a very plain haircut that probably hasn’t been changed since the early nineties, and Terry is about twice her size, looking like he could spin Muriel on his little finger. She’s wearing a conservative polka-dot sundress while he lounges in his deck chair in white trunks. We are the extremes of nighttime wear, tuxes and gowns versus whatever the upper middle class happen to have lying around on the deck of their pool.

“I bought her for Shaw for ten minutes so we can settle this,” Sarah informs them, and Terry laughs heartily while Muriel chuckles modestly, looking a little embarrassed.

“I hope you got fair market value for her,” Terry says.

“Twenty bucks, don’t you think her doing a quick fashion show is worth that for my pervert husband?” Sarah asks, tickling Shaw’s ribs.

“You are unbelievable,” Shaw says. “However many apologies I have in me for this, I’m sure it wouldn’t be enough,” he says to us.

“No need to be sorry,” you tell him. “I’m only too happy to make a marriage stronger. What sort of show shall I give you?” You raise your arms like a ballerina up in the air. I can’t stop myself from looking at the slopes of your breasts, straining against the straps of your gown, wildly erotic. Shaw and Terry can’t stop themselves either. They also notice the slit down the side of your gown and all the wonder it promises to the naked eye.

“Look at that,” Sarah says to Muriel. “You see where their eyes go? I should make Shaw pay me for this.” Muriel only smiles politely, maybe a little uncomfortable around strangers, especially like this. The human body is probably not her most passionate interest in this world; scrapbooking is probably more her speed, being obviously a very well-bred, refined, somewhat shy woman. Funny that she and Sarah are friends.

Sarah claps her hands. “Okay, for twenty dollars, and to shut Shaw up about the awful shaver I got him, and to make his birthday complete—” she begins.

“Okay, the shaver was not good, I’m sorry,” Shaw interrupts, grinning.

“—and to make up for the fact that I’m not ever going to do a threesome with him despite his begging to do it just once—” Sarah goes on, obviously quite drunk.

Terry lets out a “Whoa!’ and leans forward, laughing, and Shaw’s eyes get big as he puts on a look of comical embarrassment. Muriel puts a horrified hand to her mouth.

“—yeah, to make up for all that and to give him a nice birthday, I need you to, um… just a small dance beside the pool, that’ll be good.” She turns and lifts a small battery-powered boom box off the deck beside the long lounge chair she and Shaw have settled down on.

“She is so drunk,” Shaw says bashfully, though there’s nothing bashful in the way he’s looking at you when he thinks I’m not noticing. “The whole threesome thing is a total joke from college—“

“Oh, right, a joke, suuuuuuuuuuuure,” Sarah says, fiddling with the buttons on the boom box.

“A small dance, okay, I think I’m up to that, but where’s our money?” you ask, running your hands down your gown, straightening it, smiling.

“I have my checkbook right here,” says Terry, lifting his keys from the table beside him and picking up his wallet. “I’ll make it out to Cash. Sarah, you can pay me back.”

“All right, now we’re talking!” you say, and look up at me and smile. “I hope you’ll be watching too, sweetie.”

“Of course,” I say, and take one of the free deck chairs, crossing my legs, entirely amused now, and more than a little aroused. My spiffy clothes seem to keep me in control somewhat, as if it’s just not terribly dignified to be thinking about naughty things in such finery.

“This is a little bit too decadent for me, I’m afraid,” Muriel titters, and Terry rubs one of her shoulders affectionately.

“Oh, Muriel, this’ll be great, to watch Shaw salivate,” Sarah says, and presses Play on the boom box. A slow Sam Cooke song begins to play: “That’s Heaven to Me”.

“Okay, where do I stand?” you ask, and drop me a little wink. Terry has gotten up and put a glass of wine in your hand. You thank him and give him a nice look, more than aware of where his eyes are directed. You don’t mind a bit. You’re feeling especially bahis şirketleri flirty after the dancing and the champagne.

“Oh, just get right next to the pool so you’re in the lights, sort of,” Sarah says, pointing. “Okay, honey, take a good look, happy birthday,” she says to Shaw, who’s all eyes and isn’t quite able to keep up the impression that it’s all too silly to watch.

“Well, if it’s what you really want,” Shaw says, and leans back on the lounger a bit.

Ten feet away, you start to sway a bit as you step next to the pool, and in one smooth motion place your wine glass down at your feet beside you. The running lights built into the deck shine on your legs but don’t go much above that, so you’re something of a shadow outlined by the cool blue glow off the water. It’s intoxicating to just look at you as you begin to move, closing your eyes and putting your hands behind your head, running your hands through your hair and smiling contentedly.

“You’re a lucky, lucky man,” Terry says to me.

“Oh, I know it,” I assure him.

The music sinks into you and you turn slowly, moving your hips in time to the languorous music. Sarah and Shaw both look at your tanned lower back, your shapely ass, your legs. I look higher, at the artful slopes of your breasts as your side turns to me. You bend your knees slightly, dipping a bit, and then you raise your hands to the level of your bosom, at your sides, and slink them down your red dress toward your hips. You squeeze your shoulders together, creating a heart-stopping moment of pure, unadulterated cleavage for everyone to see. Shaw whistles and Sarah laughs. Terry claps while his wife pays close attention, amazed and blushing.

“How am I doing, folks?” you inquire as you put a little more hip into your movements.

“Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea,” Shaw says. Sarah leans back against him on the lounger and kisses him once, touching his nose fondly, then resumes watching the show.

“You’re great, you have to teach me sometime,” she says to you.

“All in the legs,” you say, and during the bridge of the song you put your hands on your knees seductively and bend at the waist, giving us all a fantastic view of your chest. “Yikes!” Terry says as his polite wife’s face reddens a bit. You straighten back up and give us a rear view once more, your ass moving very slowly left, then very slowly right, commanding attention. You stoop for a second to pick up your glass of wine and as you sip you rotate once more and look me in the eyes, lapsing into a slow, erotic, whole-body vibe which loosens every part of your body. Beginning at your stomach, your free hand glides across your hips and then down to your thighs, which you squeeze together suggestively. You look at Shaw and Terry in turn, sipping more wine, and then you reach back and undo the clasp that holds your hair up. It spills around your shoulders and you toss your head this way and that, shaking it all out, then, as the song reaches its end, you place one finger into your glass. You remove it and push it into your mouth as you look at everyone one by one, ending with me, winking one more time.

“God, we are really getting our money’s worth!” Sarah says. The others have been hypnotized for the moment, unwilling to spend a single second speaking lest they miss some subtlety of your swaying, some minor motion they want to savor right this minute.

The song fades out entirely and you spread your arms, waiting for applause. We all give it to you, of course, and you laugh and bow gracefully.

Sarah lets the CD run on and looks at you in awe. “If that’s what we get for twenty dollars, maybe we should up it some!” she exclaims.

“Yeah, I’d be willing to go much higher than that for more of a show,” Terry says.

“He’s offered to pay me for something like that before,” Muriel says, surprisingly. “Now I’m sure I’ll get even more offers.”

“True, true,” Terry admits.

“Well,” you say, emptying your wine glass, “let’s hear some offers.”

“I’ll spend exactly how much the shaver was, which was sixty-two dollars, so that’ll make it nice and even for this worthless loser,” Sarah says, poking her husband.

“For fifty, do we get to see some skin?” Terry asks, and Muriel shakes her head disbelievingly.

“Oh yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, honey?” Sarah asks Shaw. “That’ll be a great gift.”

“What sort of woman did I marry, I wonder?” he replies, rubbing her shoulders.

“Skin, huh?” you say to them. “What do you think, Dec?”

“Fifty dollars could upgrade my tux for next week,” I say to you, cocking my eyebrow lasciviously.

“Yeah, but, um, fifty dollars should also buy something for us ladies, me and Muriel, so we want to see you both in your underwear, then you can do one lap around the pool for us.”

The others laugh, but not you. “I think that’s a bargain,” you say, and step over to me, grabbing me by the hand and yanking me up to my feet.

“Keep your checkbook out, Terry,” Sarah says.

“Could I make one small request?” Shaw asks, raising his index finger. “And Sarah will understand this, trust me. Could we maybe….could we maybe have the heels on when you do this?”

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