My backyard pool at dusk is my favorite room in the world, baby, and it is not even a room. The string lights come on, the water goes that deep evening blue, and the heat of the whole day lives right on the surface. Last Thursday I floated out there until the sky went purple, and then my phone lit up on the pool deck with the name of a man who knows exactly what water does to me. Some regulars call for my voice. He calls for my element.
"Tell me you are in the pool," he said.
"I am so in the pool."
I put him on speaker, because a girl needs her hands, and I let the water hold me up while I told him the state of things. My swimsuit was already a technicality, the top floating somewhere near the filter like it had given notice. I spread out on the pool steps with the water at my waist, my legs open on the submerged tile, and slid my hand down into the warm water and into myself in one motion, two fingers, no warm up required when a body has been simmering all day. I described the way the water changes everything, how my fingers moved slick and silent, how my clit swells bigger in the heat until the lightest circle of my thumb has me gasping loud enough for the fence line.
He was stroking by then. I could hear the wet of his hand keeping time with the lapping at my waist, and that sound, his fist and my pool in rhythm, undid something in my schedule. I hooked one leg over the pool's edge, opened myself completely to the purple sky, and fucked myself with three fingers while my other hand pinched and rolled my nipple above the waterline. The steps are hard and my back arched against them and I stopped narrating like a professional and started just reacting, because this is the part of squirting calls that my regulars save up for. The build is not quiet. My breathing got ragged, my thighs started to tremble against the tile, the water around my hips started moving in little waves from the motion of my own hand, and I told him, "Baby, it is coming, it is really coming, do not you dare stop."
When I squirt in a pool there is no containing it. It pulsed out of me in wave after wave, my fingers still pumping, my body bucking on those steps, half of me convinced I could power the whole pool with it. I screamed into the dusk without one thought for the neighbors, because my neighbors have had three summers to soundproof and they have made their choices. He came mid scream, I heard it, that wrecked gasp of a man who has learned to time his whole body to mine, and then there was just the water settling, the lights buzzing soft, and both of us laughing like teenagers caught by the pool they were skinny dipping in.
He asked if the pool was still warm. Baby, the pool was never the warmest thing in it.
So. Do you run hot for a girl who loses control in the water, who narrates her own fingers and then forgets how to narrate at all? Then your Thursday nights are about to improve. I am on PhoneBuckFuck for a dollar a minute of squirt phone sex, and if you have not yet heard me wreck a perfectly good bathtub, that is your homework. The string lights are on, the water is warm, and I float better with an audience. Call me and come swimming.