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  BATHING BEAUTY

  by

  Andrea Dale

  copyright 2011, Andrea Dale

  Published by Soul’s Road Press

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  BATHING BEAUTY

  by

  Andrea Dale

  It all started because Paul's mother was an Esther Williams fan.

  He grew up watching the sleek swimmer, respectful and fascinated by strong, independent, creative women.

  And rubber bathing caps.

  I didn't actually learn this about him until we found an old poster of Esther in an antiques-and-collectibles shop at the shore. We had a funky and eclectic décor, and I thought the poster was neat, too, so we bought it and had it framed and hung it on our sun porch, which had something of a nautical theme already.

  It wasn't until I came home early from shopping with the girls one day and found Paul masturbating to the poster that I suspected that anything was up.

  I wasn't upset, or even concerned. We had a healthy sex life, and hey, sometimes a guy (and even a girl) has gotta take matters into his own hands. In fact, the sight of him sitting there, cock red and slick in his fist, made me feel frisky enough to dive in and help out.

  I knelt between his legs and took the hot, hard length of him into my mouth.

  He'd been at it long enough that his own sweet pre-come mingled with the mostly flavorless lubricant he'd used. I flicked my tongue against the little hole to coax out more of the sweet liquid. He whispered "Oh, yeah," and caressed my hair, not quite pulling me down harder on him, but encouraging me to continue at will.

  It wasn't long before I felt his balls tense and heard his breathing catch, and I knew he was on the edge. My pussy tingled in empathetic response (knowing too that he'd return the favor) as I coaxed out his pleasure. I looked up at him as he came, and saw his eyes were wide, and fixated on the poster.

  *

  I asked him about it later, when we were in bed, and he confessed everything like a naughty schoolboy who always knew—and even half-hoped—that his secret would be discovered.

  Esther had consumed his boyhood fantasies, featured heavily in his adolescent longings. His first wet dream had been of her (and we both laughed at the pun in that). Finally, out of erotic desperation, he'd stolen his mother's rubber bathing cap. It was lime green, he said, with big flowers sprouting off of it. Hideous. But compelling.

  He knew he couldn't give it back to her afterwards, so he said the dog had chewed it up. He kept it hidden in his mattress for years, brought out only in the dead of night.

  Paul was a little hesitant as he told me the story, watching for my reaction, having to be coaxed to tell all the details. We'd been happily experimental when it came to sex, but he'd worried that this was a little farther over the edge than I'd be interested in. I knew, too, that he'd feared tainting the adolescent fantasy. I reassured him, and in the end he said he was glad to be able to tell me.

  What he didn't know is that I was already mentally plotting a nice sticky fun birthday surprise for him.

  *

  Thankfully, I had time to prepare, because it took me a while to find exactly what I needed. I wasn’t even sure it existed. But it did: a retro water skiing show, the kind with people stacked in a pyramid, like in the Go-Go’s “Vacation” video.

  Best part was, they wore bathing caps.

  Not rubber ones, alas, but close enough for my purposes and, I hoped, Paul’s desires. From afar, it wouldn’t really be easy to tell what the elaborate headdresses were made of. It was the show that counted.

  Plus there’d be synchronized swimming. And proper bathing caps or no, that had to count for something. It was an Esther Williams fan’s dream come true.

  When Paul woke on his birthday morning, I greeted him with a kiss, cappuccino, a bagel with cream cheese and lox, and a card that told him he was going to have a special day.

  Lunch was a lovely meal at a prime seafood restaurant at the shore, and then we were off to the show.

  Paul had a mix of mild confusion and burgeoning lust on his face when he realized what we were about to see. I snuggled up against him and breathed into his ear, “This is your special day, honey. Enjoy.”

  He enjoyed, all right. More than once I saw him adjust himself, and for a while even lay his program over his lap to ensure innocent bystanders weren’t treated to an eyeful. I was tempted to bring him off right there at the show, but the bleachers weren’t exactly set up for any modicum of privacy, and it would kind of spoil the occasion to get arrested for public indecency.

  I had other, better plans.

  In the parking lot, he backed me up against the car and kissed me, his tongue darting into my mouth in a way that makes me think only of how that would feel on my clit (and I always knew that pleasure would be forthcoming). He pressed his hips against mine, and I felt the outline of his hard cock against my mound.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said when we broke for air. “That was special.”

  “Oh, we’re not through yet,” I said, unable to keep the teasing glee from my voice. “This was just…foreplay.”

  I swear I felt his cock twitch against me. We decided I should be the one to drive home, just to be safe.

  *

  It wasn’t long before I had Paul naked and stretched out on our bed, his cock at half mast, pulsing towards full erection as he imagined what erotic surprises I might have in store for him.

  He'd been a competitive swimmer in high school and college, and had the body for it: long and lean with sleek, seal-like muscles; broad shoulders and narrow hips; and mostly hairless, so he hadn't had to shave his chest and legs like some of his teammates. Indeed, I'd always been hot for the way he looked in a Speedo, the shiny Lycra outlining the taut dimples in his hips and the heavy soft package of his penis and balls cupped in the front.

  I didn’t think I had a rubber fetish myself, but I found myself wondering how his groin would look encased in rubber. Deep royal blue, to bring out his eyes.

  As if I’d be looking at his eyes.

  We’d played with cock rings before—simple leather adjustable ones—so I figured a slightly stretchy rubber one wouldn’t be too much of a step up. I rolled it down Paul’s cock, gently tucked it behind his balls. Now he was fully hard, his cock like velvet-covered steel in my hands.

  He reached for me, nuzzling my breasts before grazing his teeth across my nipples, just the way I like it. I’d been wet all day, really, just imagining how this would go, and now a fresh wave of desire shimmered through me, from nipples to clit. I wanted more.

  That’s when I pulled out the bathing cap.

  Yep, I’d found one of those old rubber ones, It wasn’t lime green, unfortunately, but white, with a couple of red and blue flowers on one side that gave it the look of a cloche hat from the 1920s.

  Paul sucked in his breath when he saw it. With a deliberately lewd grin, I sprawled back on the bed and stretched it across my pussy. “Dive in,” I suggested.

  He didn’t need further encouragement. He rarely did, but this time he was like a man possessed, breathing in the rubbery smell as he found my clit.

  It wasn’t long before I needed more, though. The material was just too thick for me to get full sensation—and I needed it right
now. I pulled the cap away, and he paused, just for a moment, to turn it over and run his tongue along the side that had been against me, tasting my juices coating the rubber. His eyes were closed, his face worshipful. Then he turned back to me, and he gave me the same worshipful attention.

  I held the cap across his neck and used it to pull him closer as my thighs started to tremble. My orgasm wasn’t long in coming, but I could feel every second, every degree of it as the erotic sensations pooled in my groin. My legs, my stomach tightened, and then the flick of Paul’s tongue against me finally pushed me over the edge.

  It took me a moment to recover, but when I did, it was time to focus on him.

  To my amazement—and, I’ll confess, delight—I almost sent Paul over the edge when I rubbed the bathing cap across his nipples. I knew he was sensitive there, but the feel of the rubber heightened things exponentially. I expect the cock ring was the only thing that kept him from coming from the nipple play alone.

  Well. He was close, and I wanted to bring him off so much my clit was tingling again in anticipation. I trailed the cap across his balls, watching as they jumped. Listened to his breath hissing between his teeth.

  I slipped my hand into the cap and drizzled rubber-friendly lube across it, and then, using it almost like a mitten, wrapped it and my fingers around his steely cock.

  He cried out my name, his hips rising off the bed. Just a few tight strokes, and he was pulsing and twitching, his come mingling with the lube, the musky scent mingling with the rubber smell, and I think I had a sympathetic mini-climax just from watching him and hearing him.

  You’d think that would be enough. But we played long into the night. I don’t know…I didn’t think rubber was my thing. Still, there’s this bra-and-panties set I’ve found online, in a jaunty red, that I’ve got my eye on…

  *

  Called a “legendary erotica heavy-hitter” (by the über-legendary Violet Blue), ANDREA DALE writes sizzling erotica with a generous dash of romance. Her work appeared in the LAMBDA-award-winning anthology Lesbian Cowboys: Erotic Adventures and Romantic Times 4.5-star anthology Fairy Tale Lust, as well as about 100 other anthologies from Harlequin Spice, Avon Red, and Cleis Press. She finds passion in rock music, clever words, piercing blue eyes, the wind in her hair, and the scent of the ocean. Visit her website for more information.

  If you liked this story, you might also enjoy these other Andrea Dale treats:

  “In Her Hands”

  “The Queen of Christmas”

  “Redemption”

  And for even more of Andrea Dale’s online publications, visit Soul’s Road Press.

  “Bathing Beauty” originally appeared in Rubber Sex: Erotic Stories (Cleis Press, 2008).

  Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

 

 

  Andrea Dale, Bathing Beauty

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