I’m reclining on an air chaise that has soft arms with an attached table with drink holder and small cooler, in the middle of the pool. In the holder sits a chilled globed glass with orange pineapple juice with grapefruit Stoli over cranberry juice rocks.
It is Summer, with a clear sky overhead, a blazing hot sun, and breeze, more than a waft, less than a gust. It brushes along my skin, stimulating yet relaxing; 82 degrees; humidity 50%. A misting machine keeps my skin from sizzling.
Ambient, slow-pulse, Boards of Canada, Philip Glass, Vangelis exhales from the quadrophonic system positioned around the pool.
Estaban’s Vervaine incense punctuates the space, competing with lilacs, roses, and peonies along the perimeter of the yard.
I watch you swim, under the water, leisurely traveling from end to end, your long, lean body gliding, effortlessly, from years of laps. Neptunic lungs keep you submerged for what seems like minutes at a time.
My lungs crave air watching you, and my eyes crave glimpses of the clear outline of your form. Finally you emerge and lithely lift your frame to the far edge of the pool. You look over, to see if I’m looking. My eyes, carefully hidden behind glasses, my expression kept blank, it appears to you as if I’m either asleep or disinterested. It is with great will that my breath stays calm. You glance over again, then stand and reach for the nearby fluffy towel. Drying yourself, you walk into the house.
The heat, the breeze, the music, the drink lulls me into a blissful sleep; images of you inhabit my dream. You step back into view on the patio and turn this way and that, posing for me, smiling, then reaching for suntan oil. The music changes, to a stronger pulse, and there is a different scent in the air.
I emerge from slumber to cries of delight – my own. Startled, I reach between my legs and feel your face. I trace the outline of your jaw, half-submerged.