They Call Her The Flash

Last night was a difficult night. I'm still finding it difficult to deal with, and accept, the sad fact that, once again, I've just been excised from yet another relationship. I did nothing wrong. I was honest and faithful and true, and yet I was so egregiously abandoned in such a truly callous manner that I'm staggered to think that I was willing to commit to that one person for the rest of my life. I honestly thought I knew him.

I'm certainly feeling my age this evening. The number of birthdays piling up behind me accompanied by the slow, steady tick, tock, tick, tock see-saw rhythm that is my biological clock as it tirelessly counts down the number of days between the here and now, and the inevitable menopause.

An old spinster. Childless and alone.

Oh, what a bundle of joy I am tonight.

I'm tired to the point of exhaustion but also too wired to sleep. I have too much on my mind and too many bits of random stupidity performing cartwheels behind my eyes to think about relaxing.

I thought about turning in early, maybe in the company of one of Momma's little magic Sleepy Pills because they always do the trick but somehow that feels like a defeat. We've walked that path before and it never ends well, does it?

There's only one good solution. One proper solution. I need to burn off these excess calories and all of this excess energy. I need to punish my body and my mind for trusting the wrong person.

I jumped into the car and headed down to Freemen's Quay in Durham. Their swimming pool has been my regular saviour in times gone by and it would save me again tonight.

The Pool is busy but manageable, and I was able to squeeze in thirty or so full lengths of the pool before I judged myself too tired to do any more.

I looked at the clock on the wall - nine fifteen. Too soon to go home and face that empty house on my own. I decided to try the sauna. Another round of punishment for my body to endure. Mea Culpa. I can sweat away my blues.

Inside, it's baking hot and humid. Just what the Doctor ordered. I settle down and begin to drift away.

I had the room to myself for the first ten minutes until I was joined by a middle aged guy of around fifty years, slim, quite nice looking, more hair on his chest than on his head but still fairly well toned and muscled.

He greeted me with a casual "Good evening. I am sorry if I disturbed you." His accent was plainly Scandinavian, perhaps Norwegian or Swedish but he was pleasant and smiled a lot. I'll christen him "Bjorn" for no other reason than Bjorn was the name of a Swedish friend I knew at University, whom I got to know and like.

Bjorn had a towel wrapped around his midriff and, so far as I could tell, he was wearing trunks beneath.

Except that he wasn't and would, on occasion, let everything hang out. Not that I minded. I don't think it was deliberate. It didn't get the sense that I'd been deliberately flashed. It was just casual nudity.

And neither was his an ugly cock. Not the way some are. This one was quite pretty, or as pretty as they get.

Over the next twenty minutes, I saw more of Bjorn's cock than I did of my ex's in the last three months of our failing relationship, which is quite telling, no?

And you know what? I flashed him back. I just pretended that my costume had gone right up my arse - which it had (sort of) - and I gave him one or two views of my bits.

Bjorn didn't mind. He just smiled and averted his gaze.

After another five minutes, I lay on my stomach and stretched out along the full length of the bench. I caught Bjorn staring a little but, as before, he was too much of a gentleman to make much of a fuss and, once again, he averted his gaze.

Feeling slightly mischievous, I tried to peek inside his towel. A pretty cock is a pretty cock, no?

Well, that's nice. His formerly rather nicely rounded penis had now swelled to a rather handsome length and I flatter myself that I had been, in some way, responsible for this burgeoning tumescence.

Good for me.

Still lying flat, I peeled the top half of my costume over my shoulders so I was, essentially, topless although, being face down, he could see nothing.

I'm now mostly naked in front of a complete stranger who is, at a guess, only ten feet away from me.

And then he smiled and stood up. "You have a very nice body," he whispered in that gorgeous Scandinavian richness. "And I am both grateful and flattered that you take such pleasure in tormenting me and my poor penis."

I smiled back.

"And were I not here with my wife then I would certainly stay a little longer," he said. "But, alas, I fear that the Attendants will be here in a few moments and they will eject us both onto the street."

"Oh, shit!" I mumbled.

Whilst the idea that the Attendants were never very far away, and that knowledge certainly made my behaviour all the more pleasurable, I absolutely did not want to find myself banned from the pool for inappropriate conduct.

In a panic, I stood up, flashed him my boobs as I did so, and then replaced my costume as quickly as I could.

"There," said Bjorn. "We are all decent now. Although I may find it difficult to explain this..."

Bjorn opened the front of his towel and, well, his dick was now very big indeed. Big 'n' hard.

"... to my wife, and she is not a very understanding woman."

I laughed but Bjorn was out the door and motoring down the side of the pool before I was even dressed.

I thought about waiting, perhaps give him a few minutes to render himself less inflamed but the Attendants were buzzing about outside and I was just too utterly mortified to stay. Instead, I legged it to the changing rooms as quickly as possible, and I didn't even bother with a shower, which was a mistake because, two hours later, I stink of an acrid mix of sweat and chlorine.

But hey... I'm an exhibitionist again.