Steam

"And this one time...at tennis camp...I stuck a..."

"Hey, Trina! Do you need to get that racket restrung? Those strings look all out of whack."

Cut her off just in time. It was clearly too hot to be outside playing tennis. Whenever Trina gets overheated, she's liable to say anything. All sorts of bizarre utterances can come flying out of her mouth unbidden. Telling people we've only known for a few days about her intimate encounter with the handle of a Wilson Pro Staff indicated that she'd already gotten too much sun.

She looked at me sheepishly. "The strings are okay," she began, "but I think I need some water."

"Yeah," I replied, "maybe that's a good idea."

Keith, the head instructor, called us all in. "Everybody, let's meet on court seven and a half." The five other instructors led their charges to the large, open area between courts seven and eight. As usual, Oskar, the tall, handsome Hungarian, was the last to arrive with his group. Randy and Chuck - about the same in age in their mid-50s and the oldest instructors - Keith and Andy the two Canadians, and Sandra had already gathered with the twenty-three tennis campers.

"Great job everybody!"

Most of the middle-aged campers' skills ranged from pitiful to middling adept at tennis but they had managed to do enough other things well in their lives so that they could afford to attend the camp in the middle of Vermont. The drive there was gorgeous. Once you actually took Interstate 91 up through the heart of the state, it was easy to see how it had gotten its name. Vermont. Green mountain. From the French.

Following a quick collective cheer, everyone trudged up the small hill to the clubhouse. "Is it still possible to get a massage?" one of the two single males walking ahead of us asked at the reception desk. "No, I'm sorry. The slots are all booked for today," came the response.

The two single guys were actually both divorced, well...one of them was in the process of finalizing divorce number two. They each had grown children, but the one working on his second split still had a five-year-old who lived with his mother.

"I've worked really hard, and I need a massage or something," Trina said.

"The steam rooms are available, if that helps." The receptionist did his best to mollify the four of us. All the other campers had left for their hotels and their drives or flights home. We four were lingering, basking in the afterglow of modestly improved strokes and opinions of our prospects for tennis glory.

"Rooms?" Trina asked.

"When you go into the locker rooms, you'll find a steam room on both the men's and women's sides."

"They're not coed?" I asked.

"No." The receptionist didn't seem especially amused by the question.

Trina leaned toward me and murmured, "I don't want to get all steamy and sweaty...sweatier without you."

The two divorced guys caught my eye. With raised eyebrows, they seemed to be indicating that they were headed to the steam room, and they weren't particularly concerned about who might join them. They then headed off to the men's locker room.

"Go ahead and shower in the women's locker room" I whispered to Trina, "then come on over to the men's steam room. I don't think the other guys are gonna give a rat's ass who's in there. We're all tired and need to relax."

I grabbed a couple of towels off the counter and sped to the showers. The hot water felt great, although the locker room wasn't air conditioned, which meant that I was clean but immediately drenched in perspiration again. Since there was no point fighting it, I grabbed my two towels and headed to the steam room. Carl and Murat, as their names turned out to be, were already there sitting about as far apart as they could on the upper of two tiers. I sat on the lower tier midway between the two.

"Debentures, blah, blah, blah..."

"...Liquidity ratios, yadda, yadda, yadda..."

Their conversation struck me as an extension of their work and, under the circumstances of Trina and my mini-vacation, of no interest whatsoever. Another time, another place and I'd probably be raptly attentive. Now, however, I let their words and the luxuriant steam lull me into near-sleep.

There was a "whooshing" sound as the door opened. Trina sauntered in wearing only a huge smile on her face. She draped one towel on the bench between Carl and Murat, positioning herself directly behind me. The other towel was folded into a square so that it served as a pillow against which she laid her head and closed her eyes.

The two guys were now completely silent. I could hear Trina's feet scuffle over the wooden bench until they found either side of my neck. She began absently massaging my neck and shoulders with her toes and the soles of her feet.

"This feels wooonderful!" she said. After a long pause, she added languidly, "I can feel my pores opening right up."

My neck felt much better, although I hadn't realized it was knotted up. Still, the only sounds were the mild hissing from the expulsion of steam into the room, and shuffle of Trina's feet against my skin. I was curious about our two compatriots, as I hadn't heard a peep from them for several minutes.

"This other time...at tennis camp,..." Trina began, "this one woman told a bunch of us in the locker room about how she'd gotten three of the male instructors to get naked with her so she could experience three dicks at once." There was another long pause. "I've always wanted to try that," she added, at last.

There was no lock on the door, but there was a window, which I figured I better try to cover, but Trina already had Carl's member in one hand and Murat's in the other. Oh, well. I thought. Trina had scooted herself near the edge of the bench. It was easy to slide into her with a single stroke.

Huge beads of sweat were flying everywhere. They pooled in Trina's bellybutton to overflowing. Even though the steam was thick and water beads clung to my eyelashes obscuring my vision, looking at Trina's face with her eyes closed tight and her head thrown back, I could still see that she was right, he pores were, indeed, wide open.

Deep, guttural grunts thudded off the room's walls. Spent, the three of us, Carl, Murat, and I oozed back onto our towels.

Once again, the only sound was the hissing of the rapidly heating water turning into steam. Finally, Trina broke the silence, "I love going to camp," she murmured.