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Having sex in a swimming pool

Having sex in a swimming pool

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She asked me if I wanted to go in the pool, which I didn’t really. However, my dong said otherwise.

We’d been chatting for about an hour and, apart from a love of ‘The Doors’ and half a litre of low end tequila, we had very little in common. Still, in the grand scheme of things, this absence of anything mutual hasn’t hindered a lot of hook-ups. The hand had been dealt and after a period of utter barrenness with the opposite sex, the unthinkable might happen and I would get my hole. What I hadn’t taken into account was logistics, the complex web of which had hindered my previous sexual conquests.

The first seemed obvious, as the absence of a prophylactic weighed heavily on the mind. Since giving up ton the idea of ever having sex again, the presence of a condom on my person only served as an ironic reminder of my ineptitude. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who would really care anyhow. She shrugged off this potential hurdle with a desultory air that probably suggested that she had done this a lot when faced with the same problem. The fastidious man would have heeded this warning, while the desperate man would see a pitfall undone. I belong to the latter category.

The second major issue was that this was a very big lady, in both personality and stature. The first part was no real issue as I’d discount Eva Braun’s political views in the hope of the shag. The second was different. I love all women, big, small, fat, thin, pink, black or purple, however in my fairly limited experience, I had never ventured to a shore beyond 18-20 stone.

Anyhow, drunk off my ass I dived into the pool. The international language of being both off my tits and soaking, quickly led to the inevitable as we sloppily kissed in the tepid water as the disinterested bar crowd looked on. Buoyancy has contributed a lot to this modern world, and at that moment it was contributing to 18 stone of Californian business analyst lowering herself onto my dong. I have had many strange experiences in my life, but having sex with a 40 year-old mother-of-two in a run-down hotel swimming pool, surrounded by a bunch of coked-up hippies is top five.

After a while I had lost a fair bit of interest in the act and had zoned out, reflecting internally at the lawlessness of the whole situation. Rather depressingly it was probably the most romantic thing I had done in nigh on two years. It was her who broke the moment of introspection;

“Are you gonna cum in the pool?”

Some things in life are probably best left unsaid, and this was certainly one of them. Politely declining to add to the already grim water, we stopped.

My next logistical issue was that I needed a slash; beer will do that to you. Feeling that the moment would probably be spent by the time I climbed out of the shallow end to relieve myself, I waited for another one of her monologues on the cosmic nature of the universe, which came every ten minutes, a welcome relief from all the kissing as it gave me the chance to get more beer. Anyhow, surreptitiously I slipped out my cock and let loose, hoping to god that the water wouldn’t turn purple. It didn’t and I sat there listening to her take on fate while we both wallowed in my urine.

As everyone else vaguely made his or her way to a club, we decided it was time for relocation. Now after a solid four hours of substance abuse, water immersion and having to listen to fairly turgid philosophy, my main doubt was one of performance and indeed my worst fears were realized mere minutes later a I stood limp as a shirt sleeve, naked in front of her, reeking of alcohol and chlorine. Ever the prospect for female kind.

At this point she, ever the optimist with regards to my flaccid dong, took matters quite literally into her own hands and set to task on me. Handling my nether regions with the precision of a Sunderland hull riveter, she seemed to be making some attempt to remove my cock for use at a later date. The experience wasn’t really that pleasant, but for some reason it worked. My body, no doubt in fear of losing a member of the extremities club, did the necessary and we got down to it.

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At this point the logistical issues reappeared again.

Comparing human beings to lithe, graceful creatures like swans never invokes the wrath of calling someone a hippo or a whale, but as far as gracefulness within the maritime realm was concerned, it became evident that the pool had indeed been the best setting for this liaison. Being a lazy bastard, I tried to manoeuvre her on top, but it quickly became evident that on a geometric level this simply wasn’t going to happen. I begrudgingly settled for a classic missionary stance, slightly disappointed that I would be doing most of the work as my physical state was deteriorating at an alarming rate. The next part is between “lovers” but finally victory was achieved through a gargantuan effort from both parties. The pair of us, a sordid sweating mass of humanity, slumped over the substandard sofa.

Gasping for air, a moment of clarity shot through me due to the fact that her roommate had returned only to find us naked, having been so good as to use her bed for our amorous entanglement. Standing naked in the interrogatory light of dawn, I took this as my cue to leave, vowing that I wouldn’t do anything that irresponsible again. I had learned something, namely that having unprotected sex in public under the influence of a concoction of body damaging substances, was now becoming a fool’s errand at the age of 27. No, from now on sense would prevail, from now on I was going to take some responsibility and grow up.

We fucked the next night as well, then I took a bus to a different city.


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