Dear Readers: First, thank you for all the feedback on the first story (more than I could ever respond to). Do not worry about offending me with your comments or ideas. I believe human sexuality spans a broad spectrum of activities and though I must admit not everything people do to each other arouses me, I am not easily offended.
This story introduces another character in my world: Professor. Dear professor is young, handsome and deeply repressed. He is enamored with the female body and voyeuristic to the point of occasional apoplexy (as his full blood supply is easily diverted to his little brain) but blessed as women seem to be profoundly flattered and aroused by his carnal interest. His stories are also an exercise in writing from the male perspective (albeit a fairly passive male). Our worlds occasionally overlap as they did in this short story. I hope you enjoy. As always, your comments are encouraged and appreciated.
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Coffee, Paper and ...
The swimming pool in my apartment complex was large, not Olympic size but big enough to accommodate the needs of the young professionals who swam for exercise as well as families with small children who needed the shallower water to play. It was rectangular and ran north-south with a single row of chairs on the south side so that you could sit with the sun at your back for reading or you could sit on the north side where were two rows of lounge chairs were arranged for sunbathers. The lap lane was against the north wall and separated from the rest of the pool by a white rope interspersed with blue and white floats. This provided the more serious swimmers a kid-free zone and the young moms could easily supervise their children, chat, and tan all at once by sitting on the north side. The arrangement worked well for everyone.
I often went out in the morning to enjoy the warm sun, read my paper and drink my coffee before going into lab. This particular Saturday was beautiful; at 7:00 AM the sun was already strong and warm but had not yet driven the early morning chill from the air. The world smelled of early summer and I inhaled deeply as I walked, coffee and paper in hand, across the grassy courtyard to the pool.
I opened the gate and headed toward south side of the pool. Things were pretty quiet and mist was hanging over the water. It was too early for sunbathing and the pool had one lone occupant. I recognized Carol, a young divorcee, doing relaxed laps. Carol and I met several months ago at one of the apartment complex social events. She was gorgeous and flirtatious. We hit it off immediately and though we did not see each other often there was a sexual charge between us that, when coupled with the impish gleam of her green eyes, made my breathing difficult. I walked slowly along the pool apron, matching her pace and admiring her form as she slid through the water. When I reached the middle of the row, I dragged my eyes away from her ass, set my coffee on the table, sat down in a lounge chair and began reading my paper.
Between sips of coffee I watched her tan body glide through the water. At each end of the pool, she executed a perfect flip turn. The muscles of her legs, ass, and shoulders were tight and I was hypnotized by their strength as they powered her body through the water. By the time she finished my penis had hardened, and my nylon running shorts were visibly tented. She pulled out of the pool using the ladder to my right, pulled off her swimming cap and goggles, grabbed a towel and began to dry her hair as she walked toward me.
Her suit was one-piece, competition-style, and dark red. Made for serious swimmers I'm sure it was marketed as sleek and lightweight. Translated to the real world that meant skin tight and transparent when wet. As Carol focused on walking and vigorously toweling her hair, my eyes traveled down her body. The material clung to the gentle curve of her breasts like a second skin. Her boobs were smallish and firm enough that they only shook slightly, her dark nipples and areolae were stiff from the cold water and pressed enticingly against the thin fabric. A short chain hung from her pierced navel. Just below was a patch of dark hair trimmed into a neat rectangle. The suit cupped her smooth outer lips dipping slightly between them. Her thigh and calf muscles rippled gently as she walked. My eyes had just completed their trip and landed on her French-pedicured toes when she stopped at the end of my lounge chair.
"Good morning Professor!"
