For some time I had felt the world pressing in. The routine grew set and implacable and I lived from weekend to weekend. Time that once stretched open to long horizons now grew measured and compact. Defined by project and commute, meetings and complaint, my life seemed more and more to belong to someone else. My calendar and events lists appeared each day beside the inbox and called for my attention impatiently. Red flags and exclamations announced deadlines and priorities set by others. I had no now and all my future felt booked and set. I needed a vacation. Thinking about it later I couldn't say how I chose the cottage or if perhaps it chose me. The ad promised hiking and peace and abundant bird life, but so did any number of other possibilities. However it happened, I took a deep breath, booked a week and left my life behind.
The directions they sent said to drive toward the mountains and so I did. The towns grew smaller and the traffic dwindled and the dark green of the long rows of vines pressed in close beside the road. The cottage perched on the foot of the mountains overlooking the broad green valley floor and sat at the very end of every road I'd travelled that day. I sat on the wide front porch and considered the world. Below me, I could see the top of a pick-up truck as it made its way between the miles of grapes. Its pace, deliberately slow enough not to even raise a trailing cloud of dust. At times I could see the head of a worker seeming to float between the aisles. The sun beat down on the hard sandy ground and the wind was restless and strong. The bright green of the fields seemed almost shocking, set against the dark and stony mountains, rising improbably from a sea of sand.
In the later afternoon and in the mornings I followed the small path out through the carefully tended gardens and into the wilderness of the mountains beyond the vineyard. The trail followed the deep cut of a stream. At times I could hear the sound of running water but the stream was careful never to reveal itself. Its course was only visible by the change in vegetation. Pampas grass in stiff plumes and lush tree ferns instead of the stiff and rattling reeds and the oddly graceful spray of the desert rose shockingly red from its thick, squat trunk. It was a landscape of unexpected and sudden treasures. Clumps of brilliant blue flowers bloomed fiercely in the morning but vanished without a trace by midday. White flowers rose waxy and perfect on slim translucent stems from ground impossibly hard and baked. Once, the wild clatter of hooves on the bare rock echoed from crag to crag, as a herd of skittish klipspringers bounded away. I always saved the mountain pool for the trip back.
I could hear the pool long before I saw it. The splash of water falling rang out loud and sudden in such a dry and empty landscape. The path twisted so that I could not see the pool until I stood before it. The first time, I thought, even from a short distance away, that it appeared to be hardly enough to cool my feet. But when I stood full in front of it I saw that it spread cool and clear and utterly inviting between a steep cleft in the bare ledge. The rock around the pool was worn smooth and shining from the torrents that must flow in the rains. Lying on the smooth warm rock after the chill of the water I remembered the welcoming warmth of the sand after too long in the sea when I was young.
That day, I walked long in valleys between the peaks. I left the trail and followed ridges until I had shut out all sounds and sights of civilization. The bird calls echoed from the rocks around me. Nothing but wind and sun punctuated by the calls of birds and frogs and from the cliffs above me the warning bark of a baboon sentinel. By the time I reached the pool I was hot and dusty and eager for the water's chill embrace. I stripped off my sweaty clothes leaving them in a heap and dove in, feeling the water cool and caressing all along my body. I swam to the end just under the waterfall and closed my eyes to let the warmer water falling from above pelt down on my head and shoulders. I turned on my back and floated for a moment; the contrast between the chill of the water and the heat of the air against my cock was stirring and I smiled to feel myself rise. I opened my eyes to swim back and saw you.
You were stretched out lazily on a towel spread over the rock, invisible there beside the rise of the ledge until now. You lay on your side, turned toward me, head propped in your hand smiling. I let myself sink as much as I could in the water. It was too deep to stand and I trod water with as much composure as I could muster. I was suddenly too aware of the white of my ass where the tan on my back ended. Suddenly too aware of the quality of the smile that had just left my face. Suddenly too aware of the rise of my cock from the water just a moment before.
You didn't say a word, only reached back and loosened your hair so it fell to your shoulders when you shook it slightly. Then stood and stretched slowly, easily, arms reaching for the deep blue of the sky above you, and then, as your hands came down you slipped the straps of your swimming suit from your shoulders and slowly, easily eased the top over your breasts and with a shimmy let it fall, unheeded, at your feet. I almost forgot to breathe as I watched you. Watched your legs stretch and flex as you walked to the water's edge. Watched the way your belly tightened as you slid into the water and drew in your breath at the sudden cold. Watched your nipples tighten. Saw the smile shift to resolve as you slipped into the water altogether and swam toward me.
You passed by me so close your shoulder and then your hip and thigh slid against me. Your skin was slick and smooth and blazing against me. I turned and followed you, swimming side by side, our hands brushing with each stroke. At the far end, as we turned, we slid past one another in a long caress, chest and belly, hips and legs all sliding so easily past, the touch so glittering and silver and smooth in the water as if we were creatures of the sea and our skin the smooth cool skin of dolphins. We swam on, and at each turn the touch became more deliberate, but just so easy. Now my hand gliding along your back, now your hand slipping between my legs, now my hand along the length of your leg as you floated by all the way from the swell of your ass until your smallest toe slipped between my fingers.
So we swam this water dance, until, breathing deeply we paused at the shallower end and faced one another. I stepped close enough so the water between us was no longer so cool, no longer a space between us so much as a channel that carried the heat of our bodies from one to the other. Close enough so that the hardness of my cock brushed your thighs and I could reach out and touch the racing pulse in your throat.
My touch brought you closer and you slid into my arms, pressing me back against the smooth rock of the pool, eyes never leaving mine as your hands came around my neck and you reached for me with your lips. Without my thinking it my hands found your sides and slid up past the curve of your breasts, over your shoulders to finally pause and frame your face. The warmth of your breath filled me as your lips met mine. I closed my eyes and felt only the soft pressure of your tongue along the inside edge of my lips and the fullness of your lower lip. I felt the tip of my tongue drawn in to meet yours. A question asked and a question answered. And then deeper questions, searching, as your mouth opened to mine and our lips and tongues were suddenly free to ask and tell and whisper all their secrets. My hands left your face and lazily, slowly, moved down again, drawn by a sure and persistent gravity, over the round smoothness of your shoulders, fingers pressing along the length of your back, down and back, each time discovering the delight of your skin so soft and warm and smooth.
You brought your arms around my neck and leaned back slightly offering me your neck and the fullness of your breasts below. And I, I needed no second invitation. I breathed in your scent, sunshine and lavender, along with the deeper smell of water and life in a dry, dry land. My hands cupped your breasts turning the nipples up to catch and kiss and you laughed and leaned back further until we tipped and slid back into the water. Slid back and under without letting go. We fell so slowly, sinking easily with your hands on my shoulders and your hair in drifting swirls against my face. Until, lungs bursting, my legs found bottom and I pushed for the brilliant light above, bringing you with me.
