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We were without vacations because of me, so I did not say no mu when he showed up with that hulk for the pool. A giant float, orange phosphorite, shaped like an armchair. I thought it was a passing whim, but it became his second skin, the weekends of that hot summer. He packed himself with a book, olives and several beers, while writing in my office, grateful that this love was his only resemblance to Homer Simpson.
That Saturday, the light of the sunset filtered through the branches of the trees and gave to his face a magical aura. Look out from the window at the gleam of water in his beard, in the hair on his chest, in his naked sex. I was thirsty. I turned off the laptop and went out into the garden. The robe slipped to my feet and I dived naked. I dug up her legs and emerged between them with open jaws. His cock grew in my mouth. I knew chlorine, and I played with it until the first drops lubricated my lips. He swallowed it up to the throat while it gripped his thighs. I wanted him to run and fill me with it.
He stopped me by grabbing my hair and dived into my side. He lifted me up to the couch and lubricated my ass with suntan oil. He sank a finger into it, two, three ... and when I raised my hip for more, it penetrated me to the bottom. The water licked my sex like a giant tongue, and his cock I drilled with the rhythm that imprinted his arms to the mat. I ran when he clenched my clit, and he, when I squeezed my buttocks into him.
That one also became my second skin until I broke it with my nails one day he fucked me in front, my feet resting on his shoulders, and his hands clutching my breasts. I bought another.

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Sex in the pool and in the cinema