Asian Parade

“Is there any place else you need to be cooled?” You ask as
you retrieve another ice cube.
I just shrug casually, but I watch intently as you bring your
hand toward my abdomen. As the first drops of water hit my skin, I
gasp slightly, but I want to feel it - where will you touch it?
Meanwhile, further south I can feel increasing warmth and swelling.
You take your time, letting drops fall to my skin. The water
begins to pool at my navel, then rivulets roll down my side. I close my
eyes and enjoy the delicate tickle of the cool drops, as you guide
them downward. Then … I feel a light touch …
Involuntarily, I jump, but with pleasure, not shock. I
realize it’s not ice I feel … cold, but not that cold. Your fingers -
inside my left thigh, near the crotch. Gently, your touch glides
upward to the crease, then up and down along the crease. I let a soft
sigh escape. Edging slowly inward, you stroke the skin, then the
curly, trimmed hair of my bush. It dawns on me that my hands are
tightly gripping the arms of the lounger; I’m holding my breath. I
consciously force myself to breathe slowly, deeply. I can’t quite
relax my arms, resisting my urge to press against your hand.
As you reach the denim, and a solitary finger slips underneath to
find the wetness, I again catch my breath with a whimper.