Naiad in Plain Sight

Mediterranean sun broiled them on the Costa Garraf. Paul Lowery didn't find this sun as wearying as that under the Rockies. There, on the Western Slope, rarefied daylight hammered skin.

Now in Spain on the beach smothering clamminess sapped him. Surprisingly enough, especially during midday, Lowery had more trouble breathing at sea level than he'd initially encountered at mountainous heights.

Accustomed to heat, he blamed the humidity.

Lowery never stated his discomfort to his companions. Two women, nude as himself, substantially younger, flanked him. All reclined in their own chaises. The women firm, invulnerable, existed in some impervious condition Lowery remembered better than he could actually summon. Immunized by vigor the pair might sympathize with his plight but wouldn't understand for at least another 15 years.

Probably his same response at their age.

The trio lay on resort town sand west of Barcelona. One of the more obscure refuges, it drew few Americans. Of straight stripe at least. Perhaps it was the disproportionate percentage of gays who thronged the town's lanes and filled the cribs ramping up the hills that repulsed and fascinated their starkly hetero sun-worshipping fellow countrymen. Most of them anyway.

Occasional trainloads of looky-lous detrained long enough to gawk at the environ's lively color then venture near water's edge to gaze and drool over the taut browning flesh casually offered beneath this sun.

Having attended many pro golf tournaments, Lowery needed to visit Spain before hearing his first-ever discreet camera click. To his ear in the States such sneaked photography reminded him of loading cartridges into rifle chambers. Here the same was muffled. As if all those bated breaths somehow diminished the tattling clacks.

Another condition he ascribed to the humidity.

Lowery pulled his lean form upright. His feet landed on dense warm grain. Sweat had glued his scrotum inside his thighs. One tug and the boys joined his dong in freedom.

The walk to the Mediterranean was short. Lowery waded into the lukewarm sea until buoyant. He swam out several dozen yards then returned to shore. Dripping on the beach, the effort failed reinvigorating him.

Every dip in the sea seemed as though he'd only immersed himself in a big pool of perspiration. Large as it was, this water was nowhere near as bracing as any Western stream. And Lowery knew cold water. Aside from swimming pools, his balls had shrunk, breathing seized and limbs tightened in many a winter run-off fed lake or trace.

Those things kept beer real cold, too.

He trudged back to his companions. Along the way two hairless skinny Spanish boys, darkening towards mahogany, walked across his sightline. For him a glance sufficed. They slowed, sizing him up.

One of Lowery's admirers had the telltale bent anteater indicative of tight cock ring overdependence. This beach had exhibited penises in myriad shapes, lengths and conditions. Not that Lowery was any kind of penile expert, but the last time he'd seen a tool veering 90 degrees had been in his college dorm's communal showers.

Some things one never forgot. After dicey inquiry, he and his dormmates found out the prick's owner straightened it out and drove it into mujeres and muchachas. Lowery thought almost 30 years between bent-dick sightings a good thing.

To the naked brown beachcombers Lowery called out: "Sorry, boys! All this is for ladies only!"

He stopped between the two women. Lowery's panderers, pouting, disappointed, moved on. He snickered to himself then reached down to pluck his towel from the chaise and wipe off the sweaty sea mixture.

Nancy Kirkwood, a sharp-featured brunette, still dozed. Stretched level further flattened her small chest. Upright at least she benefited from minor tugs of gravity. The chaise exaggerated her belly's plain. This way she could've been mistaken for emaciated. Following the trend, Nancy had shaven her mons bare. No forest. No patch. Just a slit leading into passion delivering folds.

Their sorrel-tressed sidekick, pro-golfer Kathy Peck, might've been regarded as sunny if calm intelligence hadn't won out over enigmatic beauty. Until this social detour, Kathy had little appreciation of how a well-trained prick could expand her outlook on life. Awake now, she idly stared between his legs. While he toweled off, Lowery made sure his steam and nuts jiggled.

Not only had his trick let Kathy whimper in guilty joy, but his ball sac fascinated her. All aspects of it. The hair. Its texture. The weight of his nuts in her palms or hanging off her chin or against her ass. Then again a man in his entirety came as one late revelation to Kathy.

The boys who'd sexually indoctrinated her let the male side down. Hardwired as Kathy was towards her own fair sex, those spare early spearing experiences offered little laudable about the alternative. Whatever curiosity Kathy had for dick died through lousy lays. Given the unexpected opportunity in Spain, Lowery did what he could to fix that.

Her late discovery of the male member's capabilities was an unintended benefit of their trip. Initially all Spain involved was brief escape.

Kathy Peck had been the wild card in the relationship between Lowery and Nancy. A more substantial woman than slinky Nancy, Kathy's bosom was comparatively voluptuous. Firm as her 20-something tits were, each nipple still gravitated towards its respective side.

A minor rim of healthy fat circled Kathy's belly button. After pure smooth flesh a slim proud "V" of roughage hid her sex. Kathy's rounder thighs made Nancy's muscular ones look stringy. Given their respective professions, Lowery thought the opposite would've been true.

Contemporaries, Kathy Peck was Nancy Kirkwood's other lover. Paul Lowery was one of the very few men he knew who upon learning his girl shared pillows, sheets and sighs with another woman never felt his manhood assaulted. Nor did he ever beg to watch them together. Nancy wasn't a type. She preferred a sexual smorgasbord. That Nancy seemed an almost insatiable sexual dervish helped him accept her voracity.

Having gone around the block several times, Lowery was sure enough of himself not to occupy his vanity about which of them sated Nancy best. Besides, Kathy was getting more and more comfortable with his new insertion into their arrangement. Since women were prone to blab he'd hear the good stuff soon enough.

Lowery met Kathy through Nancy. He met Nancy at his place of employment, a resort.

A summer earlier, Paul Lowery gloried in another morning in his dream job. He served as facilities manager at a year-round recreational venue. In winter, nearby deep powder lured skiers. During spring and summer, the golf course attracted occasional second-tier tournaments and always attracted well-heeled Intermountain duffers. Year-round tennis was available either on open-air courts or inside bubbles.

Nestled in a valley, the main hostelry loomed manor-like.

A more ideal job Lowery couldn't have designed for himself. He'd grown up skiing, golfing and playing tennis. Now in his late 40s, he retained the lean supple build vital in order to perform each endeavor gracefully.

While he never considered himself a ladykiller in the looks department, a constant presence outdoors etched ennobling character lines in his face. Ease at demonstrating athletic prowess rounded off his demeanor. He had an easy smile people often mistook as being genuine. Brown eyes men found trustworthy swallowed women. These days far more salt than pepper flavored his hair. During the colder months he wore a brush cut and swore by butch wax; otherwise buzz cuts sufficed.

His hybrid position offered better opportunities than those of the instructors' and club pro's. He was that rare office dweller whose job hadn't bloated, dulled or stiffened his skills into embarrassing displays.

Physical ability flowed into social gifts. Glad-handing obligations never wearied him. At mixers he availed himself to any attractive wife whose husband gravitated to someone younger and sweeter in the room. When those occasions worked out right, the night before Lowery satisfied neglected better halfs then spent subsequent days completing jolly foursomes or partnering in doubles with their spouses. Invariably some fellow he'd displaced in bed would recount some recompensed get-together with a compliant member of the housekeeping staff. Perhaps as a change there'd be a gamy interlude with another guest instead.

Empty boasts and great man laughs always ended these jittery stories. Indeed, all agreed Marta, Awilda, Nicole or whatever her nametag read sure had been a frisky piece. Better than the timid players, Lowery could vouch for the condescended upon women involved.

Even if they faked respecting him, knowing how the game was scored, smart ambitious women housekeepers kept Lowery happy. He was one of the few in management who compounded favors.

On a sunny day which promised nothing more than the Rocky Mountain norm, Lowery, having finished a light jog, took a shortcut to the clubhouse past the main pool. Early as he jogged, few, if any, guests had overcome their nights' excesses to lounge outside.

However, this morning Lowery heard the measured power of determined strokes. His sight informed him the swimmer wasn't just pounding out simple laps. These churns had purpose.

When he lifted eyes off the water and looked around, Lowery saw the maintenance staff quite riveted by the swimmer. Ordinarily pretty girls barely wearing decorative cloth strips near the water provoked such rapt attention. But there was only one woman -- Lowery discerned the swimmer's sex through her suit, a black and yellow one-piece -- and she exerted herself instead of lolled under their covetous gazes.

As suddenly as he'd come upon it, the thrashing stopped. The woman Lowery would soon know as Nancy Kirkwood boosted herself from the water. On her clamber up the ladder onto the pool deck, Lowery appraised the breadth of Nancy's shoulders. Her arms were packed cords. A wasp waist let out into long ropy legs. Thin silver spun around one ankle, two toes and a finger.

Goggles now resting atop her swimming cap, Nancy moved towards the chair holding her towel. Lowery beat her to it. He presented her the cloth. Nancy's surprise almost erupted into laughter. Except for an irrepressible grin she recovered instantly. While she dried off, Lowery spoke.

"I know you didn't need my help but good deeds are so hard to come by nowadays. I try fulfilling mine at least once a day."

"Little old to be a Boy Scout, aren't you?" Nancy asked.

"I collect big boy badges." Lowery introduced himself.

Nancy made a show of being impressed. She commanded him to dry her back. She could've stuttered and he would've understood her implication. The thick towel did nothing to blot the hard muscle sheets comprising her wide back.

"So you're the man I need to thank," she said. "For use of your pool."

He finished drying her. She turned and Lowery returned her towel.

"Nothing to thank me for," he said. "The pool is an amenity available to all our guests. It's just that maybe some look better getting out of it than others."

Nancy bunched then draped the fabric around her neck. She held both ends which formed a loose yoke. Through this gesture biceps bulged and forearms flexed.

"Oh! I'm not a guest, Paul. I'm one of your neighbors. Maybe I'm copying Burt Lancaster. You know that movie where he swims in every neighbors' pool until he gets home."

"Me? Never seen that one. I got a friend who probably has, though."

"Since I'm not a guest, since I'm a trespasser, an interloper, you going to have me escorted off the premises, Paul?"

"If you were a guy or a fat ugly woman, you'd already be gone. But this hotel likes sleek women. And even if it didn't, I do! Join me in a cup of coffee? We put our heads together, sort this out, I'm sure it'll be easy to straighten out."

She answered, "We put our heads together, something will straighten out."

That's how Paul Lowery met Nancy Kirkwood.

Having helped dry her thoroughly, he found them less visible seating. By then Nancy had pried off her cap and goggles, airing out a thick wedge of fashionably chopped hair. Lowery got one of the lingering cleaning staffers to fetch somebody from food services. The liveried person brought coffee and pastry. Nancy complimented his pull.

"And all without snapping your fingers," she said.

"My fingers know better tricks than that."

They recognized the arch of the other's eye brow and its kindred leer. Except hers were saucier. Copper flecks in her eyes glittered. An timbre or two lower and she would've approached a man's laugh. Nancy's wide lips became a broad white smile that nearly engulfed her face's lower half.

Across from him in a chair barely containing her strong slender limbs and torso, Nancy let Lowery know he sat in the presence of minor celebrity. She was a triathlete. Until she mentioned her "sport," Lowery had been excited. In his book triathlons equaled beach volleyball. Like cotton candy, sweet but empty.

Indeed Nancy Kirkwood was a local girl. Junk sport earnings had allowed her to purchase some nearby seclusion. She usually trained for her event's swimming portion in the regional high school pool. As an alum of dubious fame, the administration couldn't have denied her.

However, the school's athletic department used this summer break to upgrade its facilities. She might've been a fish out of water if someone in hotel management hadn't been an insomniac sports fan, learned of her plight and graciously offered the hotel pool as a morning alternative.

"That's my story," Nancy said. "I'm sticking to it."

Lowery liked her. That was beyond her obvious physical appeal. She exuded confidence as well as lacked pretension. To him, Nancy seemed a tomboy who'd grown into womanhood. He thought her the only kind of woman left who still might fluster him.

He wasn't necessarily taking a chance by asking her out. Other than "yes" all she could've said was "no." Her enthusiasm exceeded his own.

Before they parted, Lowery told her, "Be sure to wear your dancing boots and bring a thirst."

The smile she left dazzled him.

Lowery swung by Nancy's ranchita Saturday night. Its seclusion was relative. Gravel instead of dirt packed her driveway. The Nancy he met at the door was taller than the woman encountered at the pool. There Lowery had slightly tilted his head down to meet her eyes. Tonight their sightlines were level.

Dress boots shod both.

Her demure first-date blouse and skirt failed concealing the powerful body they draped. Turquoise and silver dropped light around her neck into her stingy cleavage. Clunky bracelets rattled on her wrists. Dull studs poked Nancy's earlobes.

For Lowery, a dark sports coat over a light button down and roomy chinos sufficed. Although he wore Western boots without qualm, he felt quite the drugstore cowboy in wide-brim hats and bolo ties. Despite decades in the Intermountain West, Lowery still worried he'd be perceived as a "dude." So no brim, no bolo.

He took them to Ruiz', a Mexican restaurant he considered the county's best. There they gorged. Of course Nancy wasn't a dainty eater. She burned thousands of calories daily training. Watching her dine without remorse pleased him.

Among bites, Lowery disclosed how he'd settled there. One of those Easterners who'd attended university out west, he intended returning to manicured lawns, closed minds and regimented life after graduating. But freedom, space, both released that bound person he'd been. Distance permitted Lowery to deviate.

"Besides," he said, "I met better people here. If I'd gone back to Connecticut, I never would've recognized what genteel biases I needed to shake."

Nancy screwed up her face. "You were rich?"

"Better than that," he said. "We were included and accepted."

After dinner, Lowery escorted Nancy to L'il Sutty's, his favorite honky-tonk. On weekends it featured decent live country/western bands. That, and it was one place where fights rarely broke out.

A girl singer fronted that evening's band. Her black hair was teased big, a tight spangly outfit encased her curvy contours. She could sing, too. When necessary she easily reached plaintive.

Beyond line dancing, Lowery's country swing moves impressed Nancy. He stepped smoothly while guiding her confidently. Towards the night's final set, shots and chasers having helped the ballads descend into deeper aches on the way to despair, Nancy hung her chin on his shoulder. She erased any further mystery by clutching him as close as he held her.

Town street lights faded fast. Only Lowery's pickup headlamps relieved pitch black night. Bright stars spackled moonless sky. Lowery thought it amazing that every song the local FM station's overnight jock spun matched his own disposition. A Stone Poneys tune filled the cab. Her youth aside, Nancy sang along. Driver and passenger cut eyes at each other until her gravel driveway crunched under tires.

Her house lights were barely on before their mouths mixed. Lowery hiked up her dress and grabbed Nancy's ass. Two immediate discoveries: her rump was as hard as fists, nor had she troubled wearing anything frilly, lacy or cut high.

Lowery didn't sag when she wrapped her legs around his waist. They pulled their mouths apart long enough for her to direct him into the bedroom. Nancy's boot heels bumped table and chair corners on the way.

In the bedroom only their boots required efforts to remove. Every other piece of clothing magically slipped to the floor.

Just as she unfastened her sheer bra, the night's last garment, Nancy's glance became a study. As many a woman had before her, Nancy stared at his tool. Over years, Lowery had heard it described as "big" and "wow!" With the wrong woman it could even transform ardor into reluctance.

He considered it normal.

Bra off and small tits out, Nancy complimented him. "Mister, you are a credit to your gender."

Both Lowery and his stiffening cock eliminated the distance. While drowning in kisses, their palms ran all over each other. She mashed a considerable amount of her hard flat torso against his boner.

Nancy sat on the foot of the bed. His wang almost catapulted against her nose. Opportunity well within reach, she leaned forward. Nancy licked him inch by inch. Once her tongue made him glisten, Nancy sucked him whole. He wondered if his knob brushed the back of her mouth or the top of her throat.

She loosened her lips, freeing his dick. A strand of saliva stretched from her mouth, bowed then broke, the residue creeping down her chin. Using the back of a hand she wiped away the wet former connection.

"Tell me you got Johnnies," Lowery demanded.

She reached over to a notions box on her bedside table. Fingers rooted around momentarily before clasping the goods. Nancy tossed him a foil packet. He inspected the packaging and stifled a laugh. She'd paid extra for useless ribbing.

As he opened the foil, Lowery asked whether she capable of affixing the rubber orally. Nancy pulled a face then back-crawled towards pillows and headboard. She waited there, expectantly propped on elbows, knees up, legs open, staring at him.

Lowery surmised. "So you're not ambidextrous."

He unfurled latex over his meat. The membrane fell short of complete coverage. Fortunately girth tightened it beyond safety.

Lowery entered the bed on his knees. He crawled between Nancy's legs. They aligned themselves advantageously. Unlike other women's bodies, hers didn't yield much under his. Nancy's muscularity also exuded heat. Compared to other women he'd fucked, her body was feverish.

While their tongues massaged and mauled, Nancy grabbed his shaft. She didn't yank it so much as put it through some paces. He figured by the time they finished the topography of his dick would be permanently imprinted in her palm.