Angel took me to the hot spring this evening. It’s still far too cold for swimming in the lake near the house. Truthfully, I’m not sure it will ever be warm enough for swimming there.
The hot springs are hidden away forest cave, a miracle of geothermal energy and sulfuric magic. I didn’t know such things existed in this part of world. Maybe they don’t, and the whole event was just a heartbeat in the fever dream that has been my winter.
I don’t know if it was Peter or Hugo, or perhaps some long ago trapper, who built the lean-to over the entrance, but there it stands, just outside a perfectly circular grove of Hemlocks that raises the fine hairs on my arms. Angel must have found the shack on his own before I arrived in November, because I had no idea it existed until the first time he brought me there, on a December night so warm as to be surreal.
The cottage is yours when I die, and all its secrets with it, wrote Hugo, and yet somehow both my body and my cabin, cottage, whichever, has become the property of this Andalusian.
The warm water in the spring fed pool reminded me of the Caribbean, which reminded me of Daniel. I wondered idly if Daniel would enjoy watching me with Angel as much as he’d enjoyed watching me fuck the surfer. I thought not.
He had no business looking so good in a diving suit.
He picked up his gear and walked up the beach towards the spot where I’d stopped to watch him emerge from the water.
Angel tied a dark blue bandanna around my eyes and took my robe from my shoulders. The sound of a door opening, his hands leading me. The first kiss of chilly spring air on my body was alarming.
He brought me, naked and blind through the woods, singing softly in Spanish until he took the blindfold off in the Hemlock grove. Gooseflesh rose on my arms, a flood of arousal wet my pussy.
The suit was half unzipped, dangling awkwardly from his hips. His chiseled lower obliques, more like Michelangelo’s David than a living man’s, drew my gaze; he caught me speculating about what one might find if one reached out to shed the waterproof skin.
I followed Angel into the lean-to and down between the cleft rocks which formed the pool’s shelter. He stripped out of his clothes and into the hot water, then patted the dry granite that formed the edge of the pool. I sat, dropping my feet into the water. A sheen of sweat sprang up on my face and he vanished beneath the surface.
If the Australian flag on the surfer’s board hadn’t given him away, I would have known it by the way he repeated my name back to me just he thrust his cock inside me. His quicksilver smile and broad, nasal vowels gave him away. Pinioned between his body and the stuccoed column of the lanai with my sarong pooled at my feet and bikini akimbo, I felt like laughing. His unfettered delight in the conquest gave me back a youth I’d traded in almost a decade before.
Angel surfaced at my dangling feet, slick and warm, smelling of brimstone. He parted my legs, skimmed hot, wet hands up my thighs. He touched every part of my naked body he could reach from his place in the pool. He fed me droplets of mineralized water from his fingertips and stroked my hair until it was damp. He left me open, aching, pulsing for release and swam across the pool so he could turn and watch me wordlessly begging for him.
The surfer fucked me with joyful abandon, pumping his young body into mine like a piston rod. I coasted on his wave, one that built up slow, swelling and roaring, but never breaking. I squeezed my legs hard around his waist.
“Where are my manners?” He grinned. The Down Under in his voice nearly did me in. “Ladies first.”
He pushed my tits together, licked a swirl around my left nipple and nipped, playful as a puppy, at the tight peak. He winked, licked, nipped at the right, and drove into me, filling me fast and hard. I came in a rush, screaming, muscles locked around him like a fist.
Angel pushed himself from the pool like the competitive swimmer he’d been in his youth, picked up his clothes, and left the cave.