"Are you ready?" He asked me. I was ready.
"You know it. I just want to get this done. Let's go on the count of three."
"Let's go now!" Ed shouted, and off he went, dashing into the shallows, then a moment later wading, wading through deepening water, and I couldn't see his face, and watching him disappear into the lake was enough to push me into it myself. I stepped in -- one foot and then the other, and the iciness bit at my toes, but I forced myself forward as quickly as I could, and before my body could process the extreme discomfort I was in it up above my knees, and then suddenly to my waist -- it seemed that the lake bed had a steep dip shortly off shore, into which I plunged. Then the shock of it caught up, hit me hard and took all of my breath. I half fell, half threw myself forward, into a childish swimming motion, grasping crazily with my arms, rough and useless strokes that just churned up the water around me. A second later my ability to breathe returned, and I gained control of my swimming, turned it into a serviceable breaststroke and got my head up to look for Ed. There he was. Performing some sort of undignified doggy paddle, like a kid on his second swimming lesson. I wanted to laugh but found myself physically unable, so I just swam over to him. His expression wasn't clear until we were almost touching, so small was the piece of moon that night. He was smiling, happily, beautifully. I smiled back and went to kiss him. We bumped foreheads but got it right the second time.
I tried to say, completely redundantly, that it was so, so cold, but speech failed me. He nodded anyway, probably wanting to make the same obvious remark. I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine, and there was something pure about that moment, as my body calmed itself down and adjusted to survive, and my brain received a rush of positivity from achieving our weird little goal. I ducked my head fully under for fun, and Ed copied me. I reached out and put my hands on his shoulders, and he did the same. We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then he inclined his head to the shore, and we swam back.
Coming out was even worse than going in. The air hit my wet body and a second later I was shuddering -- real convulsions of cold, my jaw going of its own accord. Ed raced to the bag and got a towel around me, rubbed me all over with it before getting his own one on. Then back to the bag to retrieve the tracksuits, and he helped me into mine, both of us still unable to speak. Shoes on and he bundled our wet things into the rucksack and off we went, back up the path, speed walking it back to the hotel. Thankfully no one witnessed our return, and we laughed as we took the stairs two at a time, so happy to have done it and to be so close to warmth. Ed did a little 'I've lost the key card' routine at the door, but he was clearly too freezing cold to keep it up for long enough to convince me, and he opened the door and in we hurried. That room, gently heated as it was, felt heavenly, but what we really wanted was the shower.
"Let's get in there," Ed stammered, the first words either of us had managed since entering the lake. We stripped and stepped into the shower -- it was one of those big, luxurious walk-in ones, which had been Ed's primary reason for booking a more expensive room. He turned it on and the large rainfall shower head started up, a cascade of wonderful warm water, crashing over our frigid bodies, and I nearly shouted from the immediate bliss of it. For several minutes we were off in our own little worlds of recovery, close to each other but not quite touching, just allowing ourselves to recover decent core temperatures, and enjoying what felt like the ultimate luxury. I don't think I have ever enjoyed a shower more, and I suppose I probably never will, it really was that good.
When I was ready, I reached for Ed and he put his arms around me, we stood under the flow in a close hug. I felt the honey kiss of the water, I felt his supple skin, I felt the hot thick vapour of the room, closing in on us protectively. I felt his cock grow against me, to push at my navel. Resting my head on his shoulder, I massaged his lower back, and he responded, cupping the cheeks of my bum and gently squeezing them.
"I need you to want me," I whispered to him.
"I do," he said.
"Good." We broke our embrace, the humid heat of the shower was becoming too much. Into the warm room I went, and he followed, pushed me playfully down onto the bed. Wet skin on the bedcovers. He stood there, as if waiting for instructions, and I shuffled up the bed and opened my legs, to avoid any possible doubt. Then he did the right thing, positioning himself over me, elbows keeping his weight off me, our eyes meeting and relaying our mutual need. For a while we just kissed, lightly, then deeply, and he teased me, nudging his hard cock against my entrance, promising and not giving. But then he gave, he pushed into me, and with a sharp intake of breath I accepted him inside, took him wetly and willingly. And wow it felt good. It felt so good. I don't mind saying that, even after all that followed, all of the messed up things that happened. That really was an amazing moment, when we joined physically, and I was so, so turned on, wanting it so much, wanting him so much. And I knew that he wanted me.
At first he used shallow strokes. Testing the waters. Testing my responses. I squeezed his upper arm, took slow and deliberate breaths, as warmth spread through me. Bit my lip when he increased his pace, started to go deeper. Further into me. It all felt so right. I let myself go, let myself go into it, and it all felt so right. Until I remembered something. My eyes flashed open and I put my hands urgently onto his torso, stopped his movements, and his eyes were wide and fearful, wondering what it could be.
"We forgot the condom."
"Oh, wow. Well remembered."
"Better late than never," I said, and we parted awkwardly, him withdrawing and me slipping away from under him. He went over to his bag, fumbled for a minute, then raised his hand triumphantly. As he sat on the bed, and rolled it on, I swung my leg over him and pushed him down. "I'll drive." I lowered myself onto him, filling myself again, and he took hold of my hips, gently lifted me to start my rhythm, his head lifted so that he could see me, so that he could see his parts inside of mine, the happy joining. I could feel the condom and didn't love that, but I chased that from my mind, and moved, moved on him, knees on the bed, back arching and breasts pushed forward. His right hand left my hip and grabbed one, rolled the nipples between his fingers, and I rode harder.
I let myself go to the feeling. I let it guide me, I moved with it. I went harder when it told me to go harder, and I eased off when it asked for that. His breathing was thick. My eyes were closed and it filled my ears, the only other sounds were body meeting body, and my own escaping whimpers. He gripped my tits, one in each hand, and I began to grind on him, pressing my clit to his pelvis, rubbing, pushing myself further down the road, almost like I was just using him. He returned his attentions to my hips, encouraged me to rise from him, but I selfishly kept going, knowing I was close, and then I came, suddenly and hard, shouting it out, whole body quivering. I collapsed forward onto him. Tried to whisper an apology, knowing now how men felt when they finished sooner than intended, but the words didn't make it out. I lay on him, breathing hard into his neck.
He tolerated this for a moment, then smoothly turned me over, back onto my back, and when he looked into my eyes for permission I nodded. So he shoved his way back inside of me, clumsily, desperately, and all of his motions were quick, untidy, deep and lustful. It was his turn to be the user. Mine to be used. I wanted to help him, help him get there fast. I whispered filth into his ear.
"Fuck me like I'm your dirty little slut. Like I'm just here to be used. I'm your little bitch, you own me."
That brought things along nicely, he pounded into me a few more times, making me draw breath sharply, fingers in my hair and stubble against my cheek, and then he exploded inside, gasping. When it was all spent he shuddered, and withdrew carefully. We both looked down at the condom. In tact and unbroken, a job well done. We smiled at each other almost shyly, kissed gently, and then he excused himself to the bathroom to deal with the prophylactic.
The rest of the night was easy -- blissfully so. We just lay there together, intertwined. Naked physically. And I thought naked emotionally, but it turns out I was wrong about that. How much can we really show another person anyway, even if we tell ourselves that we do truly want to. Well, in any case, there we were. Together. Nothing was said, nothing needed to be. I could have said things. I could have said that it felt so good with him. That he was wonderful. That I wanted this to be my last first-time with someone. But speech would have spoiled it, so I didn't, and we looked up at the ceiling, looked at each other, shifted our positions, stroked each other's skin. I didn't want to fall asleep but eventually I had to. And it was deep, and dreamless.
