Pool of the Naiads Pt. 02

Part 2 The cool of the pool

Hidden away in an old town with a Roman road running straight as a die through it, lies an old house with a red brick walled garden. Owned for years and years by a couple very much getting on, indeed quite old. To everyone around it seemed as if they had always been there. They were surprisingly sprightly for their age -- whatever that was -- a charming couple often to be seen out and about together, hand in hand. The garden was a secluded delight with old English roses and espalier fruit trees upon its red brick walls and neatly mown grass paths crisscrossing between flower beds. In its centre, a stone flagged pool. Its water clear and fed from a fountain in the brick wall. The waters were inviting. There were steps leading down into it.

Alfred Maughan came out into his garden, the sun hot upon his forehead. He picked up an old straw hat and walked steadily and firmly along a path. He had left his clothes behind in the house. He felt tired. It had been a busy morning at his bowls club, not just playing but organising. Alfred was the secretary of the club. For most members he had always been the secretary. His sprightliness belied his age. Some of the more waggish members whispered that he had a picture hidden away that kept him young. The truth was quite different, nothing like what Oscar Wilde had written about Dorian Gray, but it was fantastical nonetheless.

Carefully the old man eased himself into the pool, choosing a sunlit side, his bare feet upon the first step in the water as he seated himself on the side before gently moving forward and lowering himself onto that first step, his feet on the next and then taking himself one step further into the water. The water cool but not cold. The water soothing to tired limbs as he sat there immersed to his neck. More than soothing. There was a rippling, as if a current was disturbing the pool, as if he was perhaps in a flowing stream. A rippling over his skin. It would have been unexpected, perhaps frightening to a stranger entering the pool but not to Alfred. He had felt it before. So soothing. He closed his eyes.

The water flowed gently around his arms, flowed around his legs, even betwixt his toes, caressing his chest and coming up rather more forcibly from under him making his scrotum and soft penis bob around in the water. So very soothing, perhaps a perfect massage for a tiring day.

How good it is, indeed, to have a masseur or masseuse easing taut muscles after a busy day; to lie and feel the tension being released. And, yes, of course if you find the right sort of masseur or masseuse, or perhaps better a good friend, there may be another release of tension -- a 'happy' ending as it is called. Even a gentle stroking of the penis, just not the thing for a 'proper' massage, but how often does the penis grow upon the table? Certainly, under the water, Alfred's penis extended as the water swirled gently around it. A lovely feeling came to him, of water corkscrewing gently up and around his increasingly turgid penis, his balls in their slack scrotum being waved to and fro by the moving water.

Arms being massaged, legs being massaged and his other limb, his fifth limb, his penis, seemingly manipulated as well. Such a pleasure to just lie back in the sunshine and feel the tension being eased. Was that the touch of lips to his extended knob, a gentle caress across it; was that a mouth sliding down the shaft; was that perhaps a vagina easing down and around his hard flesh -- yes, just like that. And what now? Could that be the more difficult passage, a tighter orifice giving way and letting him in, deeper and deeper around his cock? Alfred Maughan opened his eyes but there was, of course, nothing to see below the water but his old, wrinkled body and, prominently, his old wrinkled but strongly upstanding penis. Within the water nothing else to be seen but the swimming fishes, and they were not that close.

A sound behind him; he turned to see his wife coming down the path. A smile for her as there always was, a real happiness at seeing her.

The old man stood as he always did to receive his wife -- but he was standing in more ways than one -- his erection was prominent, as it had been on their wedding night. He smiled as she walked up to him, as lovely to him as she had always been. Indeed, she was now aged, she had not the flawless skin and pert breasts of long ago, but were her hips not as feminine in their breadth; were her breasts not rounded and curving -- if rather downward pointing -- was her face still not lovely and pixie-like with those laughing eyes and mouth he had fallen in love with so many years before; did the now virgin white triangle of curls not excite? Daphne kissed her husband on the cheek, a chaste kiss, but was the squeeze upon his hard penis quite so innocent?

She sat nearby, unconcerned she was sitting on the grass. Not for her that difficulty in rising that is such a bother to old people. Her limbs remained lithe and strong. Alfred returned to the water. He admired her pretty blouse, still swelled out by her breasts, and the blue cotton shorts tied with a bow. From his vantage point he could see a little up one leg of the shorts, only a little way, not inappropriately far (though for a husband that hardly mattered!), not to her knickers, but nonetheless giving the sight of an extra inch or so of smooth inner thigh. Alfred marvelled at how all these years on, something so small, so simple as looking up the leg of a woman's shorts could still be arousing to him. He sat for a little while enjoying the peace and the cool of the water on such a hot day.

A tongue -- or the simulacrum of a tongue -- tickled his penis. He let it tickle.

"Will you bathe?" he called. As he watched his wife stand and begin to remove her clothes he was reminded of her on that first night. How wonderful that had been. Had she really been that shy? How good it had been to watch her slowly -- and it had been so slow and tentative -- remove her 'going away' clothes. The unexpectedly rather sexy underwear. And then bathing together, bathing not sequentially but together in that big hotel bath, and had that not much loosened their initial shyness? That had been wonderful. The bar of soap and the hands. They had not hurried to full intercourse; had taken their time that night, but the marriage had indeed been consummated. And was, of course, again in the early morning before breakfast.

Daphne slipped in beside him, the cool waters parting for her. The couple reclined in their pool quietly talking as the hot sun beat down. Not perhaps unusual, certainly in hot countries, for a couple to lie back in a pool to escape the summer's heat. Less usual in England, perhaps more so in hot countries, that a degree of amorousness arises, the man very literally rising out of the water; a degree of amorousness between the couple -- perhaps a mutual fondling. The old couple, though, were not apparently amorous -- if the erect penis was discounted, were not touching each other but certainly their sexual organs were being delightfully stimulated. If Alfred was rather lying back with extended penis, Daphne's thighs were spread. Cool invisible lips sucked and tickled; firm, male feeling sexual organs touched, rubbed and penetrated -- and was that the touch of a hand, or two, or three?

Beside him, his wife of over seventy years shuddered and came sending ripples across the pond. Alfred smiled looking at her face in the throes of orgasm. It seemed to erase the wrinkles, the look of wonder seemed to take the years from her. It was lovely to see.

"Oh Alfred, so good; would you... in my mouth?"

Not this time an underwater ejaculation; not this time a laughing Salmasis, Arethusa or Lilaea rising from the water with his semen swirling within her transparent head or spreading out from within her hips. This time his semen was for his wife. They stood and came out of the pool.

What a sight! Alfred standing as erect as a young man, his balls dangling, the water from the pool running down his body in the sunshine as his wife knelt before him, her naked and wet knees upon the soft grass. What would young Amy have thought had she managed to peep over the high wall? Did she know of such things -- fellation? Surely, she would at eighteen, but could she imagine someone as old as Mr Alfred Maughan or, indeed his wife, still doing such things? Would she stare in amazement as the old man stroked his clearly strongly erect (would she call it that?) cock to and fro in Mrs Maughan's mouth? Would she realise by the trembling that the old man had just come?

Quite something really. How lovely, how enjoyable for any couple to be able to do that in such a pretty and private garden -- at whatever age. To be naked and sexual in such a garden. For a man to be naked and erect and a woman to drip freely down her thighs. Who would not like to be amorous in such a setting? Certainly, remarkable for such an aged couple. For Alfred to feel, as his body shook, the easy outpouring of his semen. Not a difficulty at all. He had held off for a good minute from first feeling Daphne's lips, soft and warm. The contrast with the coolness of those so soft underwater lips was striking in the heat. Perhaps that was one advantage of age -- he did not come so easily, even if he erected just like a young man, a man Amy's age. Despite the heat around his so sensitive knob from Daphne's mouth, he had held off release until Daphne had, so skilfully with years of practice, made him come. He had spurted delightfully and she, as she always did, indeed had always done since that first time, had swallowed.

That first time -- not in the bedroom, but certainly on honeymoon. They had been so wrapped up in the newfound joys of sexual intercourse that, strangely almost, fellation had come second. It had that day. They had gone on a countryside walk. A long walk with a picnic and had found such a lovely shaded, woodland spot for the picnic that it had turned into rather more. They had copulated under a tree on the bare ground -- the grass anyway -- their first time out of bed. It had been just so good in the dappled sunlight, two naked newlyweds doing what came so naturally beside their knapsacks. Later on, nearing the end of the afternoon and their walk, standing upon a little bridge over a stream, Daphne had leant against the railing, turned to him and suggested, completely out of the blue, that she would really like to suck his cock and make it come in her mouth. Would he be up to it?

He was! Glorious to have his cock sucked. Wonderful to undo his trousers and bring it out ready hard for his young wife. And in such a perfect setting as well on that pretty little bridge over the tinkling stream. Quite something to see her kneel, her pretty face looking up at him and then that first tentative taking of his knob into her mouth and then see her lips wrapped around his cock. So incredibly good to watch her as she sucked and he had then ejaculated, there on the bridge, into her mouth. No less good, seventy years on in their garden. Still good to see Daphne swallow. Still good to be kissed afterwards.

Gentle days of retirement. Plenty to do with looking after the garden; plenty to do otherwise. A fulfilling retirement and with as much sexual pleasure as even a young man could wish. Not just Daphne but the nymphs of the pool. What a thing to step out into his garden of a morning. A late rising having read the newspaper, to find, perhaps, a whole group of seemingly young people there by the pool. Doing what young people perhaps like to do a lot. Young but totally transparent people. Almost more outline that substance but very much three dimensional, the outer appearance of bodies perfectly mimicked. All five perhaps there, Crotus, Pronomus, Salmasis, Arethusa and Lilaea -- with her fish. Why only five, why as many as five, why not just one nymph of the pool? Alfred did not know.

'Cavorting' that was the word: though 'orgy' might have done as well. Sometimes Alfred might just watch. Other times join in. There might only be one or two there in the morning, or the afternoon. There was no pattern. Good in his later years to just sit and watch for a while. But inevitably his penis would rise, and Alfred would be induced to join in. Maybe just him, oft times with Daphne as well.

Sometimes there would be dancing and flute music. Maybe Crotus, Pronomus, Salmasis, Arethusa and Lilaea dancing in a circle around the pool. Beautiful transparent people. Such lovely feminine bodies, such beautiful male bodies always with those erections. More so back in their younger days Daphne and he had delighted in those energetic revels. Dancing with them on and on. Perhaps it was the water, but his penis had seemed almost ever erect in the garden back then. Had been like Pronomus and Crotus in his hardness. Their water swollen cocks and his of flesh and blood.

The old man had not been interested in men or their manly attributes back before his marriage. Very much not the thing to be when he was young. Not at all. With the water sprites, nichus, nicchessa, naiad or satyr -- whatever they were -- things were different, inhibitions seemingly missing. They cavorted freely, very freely. He had seen them with the simulacrum of musical instruments and goblets of wine. Seemingly creatures of pleasure and vice; and they did not restrict their revels to the opposite sex. Not at all. And nor, in the end, had he. They had encouraged him, and so had Daphne, really.

Daphne from the start had been much freer with the girls. Had been very happy to be caressed by Salmasis, Arethusa and Lilaea and it was then that Alfred had learnt quite how friendly she and other girls had been at that boarding school Daphne had attended. His own schooldays had been so different. And like men generally, he certainly liked seeing women together -- naked and more than touching.

For a man so in love with his wife it might have been thought Alfred would have been appalled to see Daphne copulating with the satyrs. But, of course, it had been him first with the denizens of the pool. He had done the deed with Lilaea. He had thought it a wonderful daydream there in the sunlit garden. Daphne had been away, visiting, probably her parents -- it was a very long time ago and it had been a hot day in the garden. A young Alfred was already down to his shirt sleeves gardening when it had come to him that it would be very cooling to take a dip and bathe in the pool. Such crystal-clear water. Surely fresh and good even to drink. Not so usual in those days to so easily be naked outdoors. Topless or even naked on the beach unheard of. But Alfred was so very clearly alone and the old red brick walls so high. A delight to remove his shirt, stand bare chested with the sun coming down and then remove shoes, socks and tug down his gardening trousers. All at once as naked as in the bathroom or as naked as in the bedroom with Daphne. He stood there thinking of her as she had been two days before when they had made love. Naked on the white bed, hair down and spilling over the pillow, breasts there to be sucked and the way she had opened her thighs had delighted him; the sight of her so dark fringed sex there in invitation. He had penetrated and ejaculated but not before a lot of initial grown up play. He had made her come with his cock in the end. Thrusting at her, her hips pushing up in response to his pushing. The house was detached. It was as well. Newlyweds make a lot of noise when copulating. Squelching sounds, moans and cries. Creaking bedsteads and indelicate language.

The young Alfred found his cock erecting. There he was in his own garden in the sunshine not just naked but looking manly -- manly in a way his Daphne liked to see in the bedroom. It felt strange outdoors. Not something he had done before. And he liked it. He walked around, walked with an upstanding erection. He might suggest that to Daphne -- being naked in their garden. Copulating outdoors, perhaps on the seat by the wall, perhaps on the grass. Alfred liked the idea and his hand stole to his cock. He began to wank. Something he had not done since the wedding -- or actually two days before. His slack balls jiggled below him. It was good -- but he did not let it get 'too good.' Instead he proceeded with his original intention to cool himself in the crystal waters of the pool.

Alfred Maughan descended the stone steps into the stone lined pool perhaps as men had done before him. What had gone on in that pool in times past? Was it Roman? Had it then been lost until the brick wall was built around the garden with it discovered as a centre piece -- or had the wall been built around it? Had it always been there? And if Roman, had it been for mixed bathing or just men? Had they gone into the water like Alfred to cool their ardour?

Alfred settled his naked bottom on a stone ledge beneath the water, he cupped his hand and drank the water. So fresh. So clear. And then he leant back closing his eyes. He thought of Daphne. Her beautiful body. What they would surely do on her return. Might she come naked in the garden with him?

There was no reduction in his tumescence. The cool and lovely water did not soften it. Good thoughts, erotic thoughts about his wife. How much he did love her. He was such a lucky man. And then came the feeling. Was it just his imagination? He opened his eyes and looked wondering if it was perhaps one of the little fishes nibbling at his swollen knob. But no, the closest fish was not nibbling. Again, he closed his eyes. Alfred very much liked the feeling. It was just to the end of his penis. It did feel like a fish, perhaps it was a current of water, perhaps from the water flowing into the pool. A gentle but insistent feeling. Whatever it was he liked it. It reminded him of Daphne in bed. Daphne beneath the bed clothes. Daphne 'going down' on him.

And then it felt like a mouth sliding over the rounded, smooth end of his penis. A feeling, since becoming a married man, he had come to know well. Again, nothing in the water he could see. Not a fish. They were not that close and most certainly the fish were not big enough to have mouths like that! Alfred found himself relaxed, his thoughts dreamy and gentle in the sunshine as his knob was gently caressed. All over its taut and swollen body, down to the ridge where it curved over and down to the shaft. Not enough to cause spurting into the water but more than enough to pleasure. He sighed. A shame Daphne was not home. A shame she did not come down the path in that blue dress of hers. Surely she would let him take it off?

His head swam and, opening his eyes he thought he saw a beautiful and naked girl, as lovely as Daphne rising out of the pool. Lovely but not quite there, a little ghost like, transparent but the sun catching all the curves of her exposed body. Her smiling face looking at him and beckoning. Almost in a trance he rose, his strong erection breaking the water like the surfacing of a submarine's periscope. Alfred followed the vision up and out of the water, watching as she settled herself on her back on the grass. No question what the invitation was, as he followed that beckoning finger. The girl's thighs were open, her sex glistening and all clear to see in the sunshine. Alfred mounted, pressing down on her cool, soft and yielding body, feeling the hard points of her nipples, his mouth joining with hers. His, when it came, ejaculation was long and copious, his semen flowing and flowing. So good. Such a wonderfully carnal coupling on a drowsy and hot afternoon.

Alfred woke with a start. He had dropped off to sleep. Lulled by the sun and the refreshing water. He had had such a dream. A wet dream. He could feel he had recently ejaculated. His penis no longer hard. He was surprised to find himself out of the pool, there on the green grass on his face, on his front. What a dream -- a daydream -- such a pretty girl. Insubstantial but quite, quite, wonderful. What to tell Daphne? He must remember the fish. He thought he had seen it swimming -- how ridiculous was that - within the girl. Why on Earth had he dreamt of a ghostly girl with a little fish swimming inside her? Dreams could be very peculiar. Daphne would laugh.