s experience follows (Mike Honcho--he writes romance novels on the side). I hope you enjoy.
“He entered the pool for the first time through the gate rather than over the fence in the dark of night for the first time in a few months…no longer a cheap harlot but a legitimate girl with her new party dress on her way to the cotillion through the Front Door. He was as giddy as a school boy on Christmas morning. As he exited the dark, surprisingly still disgustingly dirty locker room, in his favorite harlequin Agon drag suit, his pasty-white quarantine skin fully absorbed all of the Arizona sunshine. He carefully laid nearly each and every pool toy he accumulated in the last 40 years neatly behind his lane (despite having the pool to himself, he chose lane 5 to not be too presumptuous). He took his time warming up. He then softly caressed the strong lines of his TYR cross-blade fins. As he slipped them on, he discovered they fit like a glove. Barry Whiteâ€s “Canâ€t Get Enough of Your Love†played in his mind. As he began to move forward, his foot and fin became one…up, down, up, down. Now, it was time for some pulling. He slipped his now pool-water-glistening Eney-buoy between his once muscular now quarantine-atrophied adductors. His finis freestyle snorkel and his soft-ruby lips met in what can only be described as a passionate soul kiss for the ages. With the addition of some circa-1980 speedo paddles, they charged forward as one…faster, faster…until he found himself laying in a heap on the warm cool-deck, pool toys scattered now, in no particular order. A calm peacefulness came over him: he was bruised, sore, and wanting more…until tomorrow.â€
Hopefully, we will all escape to the place we love in the near future and meet again.
s experience follows (Mike Honcho--he writes romance novels on the side). I hope you enjoy.
“He entered the pool for the first time through the gate rather than over the fence in the dark of night for the first time in a few months…no longer a cheap harlot but a legitimate girl with her new party dress on her way to the cotillion through the Front Door. He was as giddy as a school boy on Christmas morning. As he exited the dark, surprisingly still disgustingly dirty locker room, in his favorite harlequin Agon drag suit, his pasty-white quarantine skin fully absorbed all of the Arizona sunshine. He carefully laid nearly each and every pool toy he accumulated in the last 40 years neatly behind his lane (despite having the pool to himself, he chose lane 5 to not be too presumptuous). He took his time warming up. He then softly caressed the strong lines of his TYR cross-blade fins. As he slipped them on, he discovered they fit like a glove. Barry Whiteâ€s “Canâ€t Get Enough of Your Love†played in his mind. As he began to move forward, his foot and fin became one…up, down, up, down. Now, it was time for some pulling. He slipped his now pool-water-glistening Eney-buoy between his once muscular now quarantine-atrophied adductors. His finis freestyle snorkel and his soft-ruby lips met in what can only be described as a passionate soul kiss for the ages. With the addition of some circa-1980 speedo paddles, they charged forward as one…faster, faster…until he found himself laying in a heap on the warm cool-deck, pool toys scattered now, in no particular order. A calm peacefulness came over him: he was bruised, sore, and wanting more…until tomorrow.â€
Hopefully, we will all escape to the place we love in the near future and meet again.
