Pool of the Naiads

Part 1 -- The heat of the garden

So hot in the garden, a perfect summer's day and one to be spent outdoors, albeit best in the shade. The old man sat, almost dozing, on the shady side of the old walled garden, his penis flaccid and at rest. Given his age that was very much how you would expect it to be. He was not young. The high old red brick walls gave absolute privacy from the straight and still busy Roman road that ran past his house. The wall muffled and almost kept the sound of the traffic from his ears. No neighbour overlooked the garden, not one little bit, so he was able to be naturist whenever he chose - which was often. His skin was brown and leathery from long years in the sun. His frame remained wiry and without excess fat or sag.

The garden was carefully tended from the pool at its centre out to the climbing vines and roses running up the walls. Old roses and old vines. They had probably climbed like that for centuries. The cool and pretty pool in the garden's centre was set in stone complete with steps leading down into its water. Difficult to discern its original purpose but probably for bathing. A cold plunge pool perhaps. The old man had bathed in its clear water so many times, fed from a spring, a fountain in the wall, its head grey lead and fine. He had bathed right from his early days there. That had been a very long time ago. He had bathed amongst the fishes. Never drying out, its water level never changing and always the overflow running out across the garden, in its stone rill, to disappear through a tiny and low arch in the wall and out into the stream beyond.

The old man closed his eyes and into his mind came thoughts of his neighbour's daughter. Not really thoughts an old man should be having and, you would have thought, for such an old man, not thoughts he was in any way capable of responding to. Yet down his naked body and before him his penis lifted off his thigh, slowly up and into the air, certainly old and craggy; brown leather like the rest of his body, but seemingly fully capable. Up and up until it was rearing like the penis of a young man, the foreskin rolling back exposing the purple fringed head. Beneath, balls too stirred in their wrinkled sack. Surely, they too were not still capable of emitting, surely his semen was not still fertile?

Thoughts of young Amy Alliot, all of eighteen with her long legs and budding breasts. Only yesterday he had talked to her, walking back from the shops. She had offered to carry his bag and he had accepted. He was old enough to permit such a reversal of sexual roles -- but not old enough not to like the company of the girl; nor old enough not to admire the shape of her body beneath her cotton dress and enjoy the sight of her long legs and keep up with her happy conversation. Pretty lips, pretty face, lovely hair, but it was thought of those lips that were in his mind. Thoughts of those lips slipping over the knob of his cock, not simply engulfing but pushing slightly closed upon the head and then opening like a flower as those soft lips engulfed his bulb. A good thing to imagine, rather wonderful for such an old man to have such thoughts.

Another view could be taken. One that thought just how awful it was for an old man to imagine sexual things about someone so young. But what harm did it do? What harm that men fantasise about women, even young ones like Amy who had perhaps not yet sucked upon the plum head and stem of a man; had not yet received what his balls had to offer in mouth or vagina. A virginal girl unused to the ways of men.

For the old man, it was as if his fantasy or dream was coming true. With his eyes closed he, all of a sudden, felt cool lips soft upon the very end of his penis, around the tiny pair of lips that formed the exit from his penis from whence both urine and semen had flowed for so many, many years. Lips that, like the imagined Amy's lips, pushed at him and slowly opened so his knob slipped within. A caressing and cool tongue lapping at his fraenum and then a hand, feeling and separating his testes from where they had been resting hot in their sack against his thighs. The hand cool and soft, fingers curling around his scrotum and cooling the heat in his testes. They had become hot in the sun, it was pleasant to have hot balls cooled.

The mouth seemed not content to have merely the plum but slowly he could feel lips edging beyond and down the shaft of his penis until he knew it was all within. His penis absorbed, indeed swallowed. Hot turgid penis within cool mouth. Amy would not be practised enough -- if at all - to do that, nice though it would be. It was, indeed, not young Amy nor his lovely but aged wife who had most certainly been fellating him for the last, was it really seventy years? It was not her -- indeed it might well not be a 'her' at all. Arguably not a 'him' either, though it would have the semblance of a man or woman, boy or girl. The garden was special. Very special. He had found that out soon after coming to the house and garden. Had revelled in it, as had his young bride. He had not kept that from her -- how could he? Such sexuality had not been his to give. And she was very sexual. Always had been from that very first night.

Thinking of Amy. Thinking -- imagining - after she had carried the shopping in and he had offered her coffee, she had unexpectedly -- so unexpectedly and this certainly was imagination - offered to fellate him. Had insisted on unbuttoning his fly and taking his penis out and into her hand. Marvelling at its aged strength. Or perhaps had accepted the offer of coffee and come and sat in the garden with him and had developed a desire to bathe in the pool. It always looked so inviting and cool -- as it was -- in hot weather. A joy to the old man to imagine Amy lifting her dress over her shoulders. Would she enter the water in her underwear or remove that? Better off, than on -- he thought. Lovely young breasts, the thought of the pinkness of her nipples; and what would her pubic hair be like? Dark like her head, sparse or luxurious? He hoped the latter. Perhaps a flash of pink nether lips through the hair as she stepped down to the pool.

Would she have invited him to join her? Would she have been shocked at not just the fact but also the strength of his erection if he had joined her naked in the pool. Sitting in the cool water as hard as anything. How good to sit there on the steps but well down into the pool as the little fishes swam and Amy's breasts perhaps bobbed upon the water. How good to talk there in the water. Would Amy have been the more surprised to see his erection no less strong when they came out of the pool. Would she have knelt and sucked just as he was now being sucked? Would she, perhaps, have wanted to copulate in the pool?

The thought of the young woman sucking his cock just so pleasing, as was the feeling of it actually being fellated. A mixture of fantasy and reality. Though, was the reality fantasy? It was very close. There was no need to hold back from coming in the quiet and enclosed garden -- had there ever been? His hot balls felt so good cooled by the caressing hand and in that palm they lifted as his penis readied to pump, the feeling of orgasm and ejaculation as good as it had been, first of all, all those years before. Orgasm and ejaculation such a never tiring pleasure.

The old man opened his eyes and watched his penis spurt. In his lap the shape of a young woman's head. Deep in her mouth his penis spurted white, visible to him because the girl, head and body, was completely transparent. The shape of a human girl on the outside but wholly water within. Solid as water, not flesh and blood.

The spurt of semen shooting into the water, almost solid for a moment and then dissipating within the water, spreading like smoke. A second shot, more powerful, before a third bolt sped through the water, piercing the white smoke cloud and bouncing into smaller droplets off the back of her head and then it too spreading out in a white cloud. Such pleasure for the old man; an ejaculation even a young man would be proud to achieve. Strong spurting not merely an ooze. All the time the sucking of the cool lips and the gentle but cool massage of his producing balls.

The girl giggled, as her mouth came up from the penis. She stood, her beautifully proportioned body shimmering as the sun shone through and a little fish swam round and round just behind the beautiful mounding of her pubis, circling from hip to hip. He watched as slowly the fish swam upwards, round and round like a fish in a goldfish bowl but rising upwards, up behind her transparent full breasts, up to where her head was now translucent with white.

Enough semen pumped into her and she would have taken on the appearance of a white marble statue like those dug up from Roman times and placed in a museum. Marble or alabaster, beautiful bodies, male and female, but, unlike her own liquid movements, completely still.

He wondered if it tickled to have a fish inside you. The girl stepped backwards, her fish now feeding upon the semen as it floated down her slim neck. The old man watched the girl retreating towards the pool. He had barely moved. Thoughts of Amy Alliot in his head and then the almost reality of fellation. The girl stepped backwards into the pool, stepping down into the water, down and down until there was not a ripple to disturb the surface. Were the other fishes now feeding as well?

The old man closed his eyes as his old penis subsided, and he dozed in the shadows by the old wall.

He was awoken by a touch to his shoulder. Opening his eyes he smiled at the woman standing there, as lovely to him as she had always been since he first saw her, and then made her his bride. The years had been more than kind to her, as they had to him. An old woman of course, and gravity and age had more than mellowed her body, but there were still such feminine curves. Her breasts ever a delight, only now they were pendulous rather than firm and perky, lines ran down from neck to valley, but still so feminine. Her stomach no longer quite as flat as it had been; now rather wrinkled of course. Her pubic hair once so dark now white like snow, but still as soft as down, her mound of Venus as smooth behind the snow as it had ever been. She sat next to him, her naked hip against his and put her arm around him, her bright painted fingernails clasping his shoulder. He turned and kissed her, stroking her hair, white and tied in a bun at the back, before nuzzling her neck, decorated with a black choker. Her hand felt for his cock. They were a happy and contented couple.

What could be a tenderer act between a loving couple than for the woman to gently pull back man's foreskin, exposing his glans, his smooth plum shape, revealing the sometimes pointed, sometimes rounded or perhaps rather blunt end? An indication she wished it to be pressed against her sex and for it then to part lips, penetrate, excite and pleasure before inseminating. But his wife could see, upon the revealed glans penis, that someone had already taken his semen. It was not for her.

"Not little Amy, I am sure."

The old man shook his head, "No my dear, Lilaea, but I was thinking of Amy when she appeared..."

"She is very young. Amy is very young and not for you, I think. I, though, was thinking of you just now and came to find you..."

Her pout was just like it had been when she was young, a mock crossness at her disappointment. So sweet. They were still very much in love.

"Lilaea has a way about her..."

"And did she have her fish?" She asked.

"Always!"

"Is it that she's careless when she forms? Salamasis or Arethusa never... I wonder if... It does make you smile, that fish." Her hand stroked his soft and flaccid penis, moving the wet skin. "I had hoped to use this but... too late."

Did they listen, were they attuned to his wife and his thoughts or their desires? The old man did not know but from the pool arose new figures. Not Lilaea, they did not have her transparent curves, but two men - very obviously men. Beautiful men with smiling faces, strong arms and legs -- or at least the appearance of strength because, like Lilaea, they were shimmering transparent beings seemingly totally water. Momentarily the level of the pool dropped making it so clear that it was indeed gallons of water rising up in the shape of men: magnificent men, men as women dream of, beautifully formed, handsome and lithe, with tight buttocks and, importantly, no doubt, fine penises that rose at some sixty-degree angle to their front, hard and peeled but strangely transparent, perhaps like a pair of glass dildoes.

They advanced towards the couple, smiling, an arm around the other. Two jolly youths advancing upon the old lady. They knew her desire. Her hands reached and held the twin penes, despite being water they were firm, as firm as a woman could want. Like a human penis they could be squeezed and give a little but not give way like water in a balloon or in a condom; nor burst and emasculate the two young men - their proud penises disappearing and splashing as water on the old flagged floor. The old lady lowered her head as she had done so many times before and took first one and then the other penis into her mouth. Each knob so cool and inevitably smooth. Ice is smooth but this was not frozen water -- but water nonetheless. Pleasantly cooling on a hot day. Not ice cold but even tepid. The water in the pool always pleasant. The old lady ran her lips along and stroked with her tongue like one might do to an ice-lolly bought from an ice cream van.

The old man recalled wondering what it would be like if he was to add, say, raspberry or lemon flavouring to the water of the pool -- whether the men or the girls would taste so much more like a raspberry or lemon lolly. He would not dream of trying that. The naiads, Crinaeae of fountains and wells, and the satyrs -- for that is what he assumed them to be -- might not like that at all. Smiling and obliging, as much to them now they were old as they had been when Daphne and he had been young; friendly and erotic. Kind and gentle they might seem but he had seen what had happened to two unfortunates who had sought to burgle and despoil his house and garden, seeking to wrench the ancient fountain from the wall. That had shown a very different side to them. It had not been nice. The water spirits were not to be angered but appeased and given tribute. He had been careful, so careful never to anger or do anything that might upset them. They had given so much strange pleasure and more.

It was not natural how Daphne and he had stayed so sexually active, nor how their bodies and minds maintained a sort of youthfulness and alertness that belied their age. Over ninety each of them. Well over. He watched Daphne's lips move from one transparent erection to the other as the young men smiled down. He reached and stroked her hair as he leant back against the warm brick wall; felt it hard against his back, hard as the young men were hard but so different. Dark red and ancient, the product of the heat and burning of the kiln: the young men's erections newly formed and mere water held together by thought... magic... who knew what, fresh from the pool.

The young men's hands touched his wife, stroked her breasts and insinuated themselves between her now open thighs, stroking her gloriously white, but hardly virginal, triangle of hair, firm cool fingers poking into hot wetness -- a meeting of waters.

Hardly the cuckold sitting impotently by, as a lusty young man -- or indeed young men - took his wife. Had he not just enjoyed the attentions of a naiad a little before? How many times had he taken, or been taken by Lilaea, Salmasis or Arethusa as his wife had watched? How many times had he arisen from sucking the cool breast of a naiad to find Daphne upon the other or her mouth sucking not a nipple but the ever erect penis of one of the young men, Crotus or Pronomus. The old man continued to stroke his wife's hair. It was good to see her happy, good to see the young men providing what he could not.

Good to see his wife's open sex. How many times since they were married had his penis slipped inside? He had not kept count. Does any man -- there must be some! The wedding night when he had first seen it all framed by dark curls. Such a delight as he had knelt on the bed in that hotel, his penis extended and Daphne whispering it was bigger than she had realised. Had she been under some illusion as to size or had that been meant as a compliment or to arouse? He had not needed anything then to make him more aroused. That first copulation, that first night and then again in the morning; the utter excitement and pleasure of feeling himself slowly sinking into her body. He had been gentle. Daphne had whispered, 'be gentle with me' -- but had that, again, been play? They -- she -- had not been so gentle on further nights on their honeymoon. Quite the lioness. She had been as keen, desperate indeed, as he to copulate. He often wondered how she had contained herself during their courtship; how the 'no' word was used often, though she let him touch her breasts; it had all so dramatically changed on their wedding night.

Crotus looked at him. The old man nodded and reached. The young man, the spirit for a moment taking the watery form of a young man, was seeking his permission, permission to copulate. With his own hand he guided the young man in, hand clasped around the cool transparent erection, the head rearing upwards and needing to be lowered and directed. The young men only did that when he was there -- seeking permission to copulate. They were quite free with Daphne if he was not.

Lovely to see the sliding in, perhaps rather surprising to see her vagina seem to open so round all by itself as the almost invisible penis pushed and spread the entrance and tunnel within. An organ hardly unused to being opened by penises, though it had only ever been him -- and Pronomus and Crotus, or the hands and fingers of the naiads.

He sat there quietly watching as Crotus moved within his wife. Pronomus was not left to wait; again he pushed his penis forward and was sucked. The old man smiled at the scene. How lovely for his wife to be attended to by not just one young man but two. His old wrinkled penis lolled on his thigh. He had very much enjoyed the attentions of Lilaea. It seemed, undoubtedly, the case the creatures of the pool enjoyed the sex as much as Daphne and he. Why that should be so he did not know, but he thought when they disported together in full view or engaged with either or both Daphne and he they did it with pleasure and enthusiasm. He watched young Pronomus' face under his curly but watery hair. It, their enjoyment, might all be as unreal as their bodies, a representation of pleasure but not the real thing -- but he doubted it. They seemed full of vitality and a desire for enjoyment. Perhaps, strangely, they yearned to be corporeal and carnal acts brought them close to that desire. Pronomus' smile, the movement of his face, little winces of pleasure as he was fellated and then undoubted came in orgasm.

The old man could see the look, the look of intense pleasure in his face; and, when he glanced down, he could see the pulsing of his penis and balls. The young man was coming, and coming copiously, Crotus and Pronumus always did, in his wife's mouth or elsewhere. Daphne was swallowing, he could see her neck moving -- her dear old wrinkled neck. It was not difficult. Their ejaculation was mere water -- it pulsed and spurted but it was not semen, it was what they were -- water from the pool. But good, sweet water, fresh water, clean and pure water, perhaps with minerals -- he did not know, he had not had it analysed, but he suspected it was the water that kept Daphne and he if not young, certainly with many of the attributes of youth.