Paying Her Dues

The walls are bright with paintings Sam has done throughout his life and a few of mine as well when we used to finger paint together as kids when I would come over. It’s alive where my house just feels staged and on life support.

We watch my parents drive slowly and sensibly down the tree-lined drive and then we turn to walk inside the house. Sam comes out in swim trunks with a kombucha with a little umbrella just in time to meet us, with Lagerfeld looking fab in a black tutu in toe. But before Sam gets close enough to hear, Mike says, “Willful, huh?”

I squeeze my violin case to my chest, accidentally making my cleavage spill over the hard edge and Mike’s eyes flash as I dig my incisor into my bottom lip. “Very willful.”

He traces up the line of my curves, my throat, my face. “Willfulness needs a firm hand,” Mike growls.

Oh Lordt.

* * *

My mom’spreference for my swimsuit would be a 1920s bathing dress that comes halfway down my thighs and is the color of surgical support stockings. However. Because I’m at Sam’s, it’s bikini time.

I wriggle out of my panties in the guest room and slip on the tiniest one I’ve got. Sam knocks and comes in.

“Hello, bombshell.” He signals for me to do a twirl, and I do, feeling a little shy. But also very, very happy to feel so free and unencumbered like I do when I’m here.

“Now where did this teeny-tiny thing come from?”

I wriggle the bottom out from between my but cheeks—or is it supposed to snuggle in there like that?

“I ordered it on a whim, told my parents it was an accident, and then ‘forgot to return it.’ Oops!”

“Mmm-hmmm!” Sam says, swizzling his kombucha, and then handing it to me. It’s tart and sweet and mango-ey. Heaven.

I follow Sam down the upstairs hallway toward the steps. “Girl. Just a head’s up. My mom is in town and I’m meeting her for dinner, so you’re on own with Dad. This whole-spend-the-week with us came upon pretty fast, so things were planned.”

I grip the stair rail, blinking. Everything feels spinny, like it did after the wine-a-rita. Only worse. Much worse. Or better? Because me. Him. Alone. Here. Together.

“That’s fine. It’s no problem. It’ll be nice to see your mom, I bet.”

Sam sighs. “I guess! Except my two favorite people are going to be here and it’s kind of a drag that I can’t be with you tonight. Just promise you won’t have too much fun without me.”

Gulp. “Promise.”

Together we trapse down to the pool, where Mike is set up with his laptop on the teak patio table. Normally he faces out at the big field beyond their property, with its thick woods and fireflies at night, but today he’s facing the pool.

Which means he’s looking right at me.

As soon as his eyes lock on mine, the teeny-tiny bikini feels even teenier and tinier.

And for a moment, I’m a deer in the headlights. Do I like his gaze on me like that? Do I like that fire, that intensity, that heat?

I’ve never felt this before—never from any man and certainly never from him.

I take a deep breath, I scoop my hair over my shoulder then up into a messy knot on the top of my head and smile back at him. Looking him right in the eye. Because you’re damned right I like being this deer in those head lights. You’re dammmmmned right.

With his usual gusto, Sam cannonballs into the deep end on a ‘yee haw’ fit for a Texas rodeo star, and Lagerfeld tumbles awkwardly and happily into the pool behind him, doggy paddling around wearing his custom-made flotation device, looking for Sam amongst the bubbles, smiling and laughing like only little doggos can.

I’m a devotee of a cannonball myself, but this time, I take it slower sure the teaspoon of fabric covering my bits would not stay put after a good cannonball so I slip down the pool stairs at the shallow end, watching Mike all the time. His fingers are on the keyboard of his laptop, but they aren’t moving. I can see his eyes under the bill of his hat. And they’re right on me.

I’ve been in their pool with Mike around hundreds of times, but today, everything about it feels different. Buzzing. Alive. As if I’m on display just for him.

I let the water creep up my thighs, feel it between my legs, against my pussy lips. Up my bellybutton making me hiss as the coolness meets my hotness then up to my nipples.

Mike swallows, his Adam’s apple sliding up his muscular throat as he drops his head for a second like he’s praying.

I push back gently, floating on my back, watching him all the time. And in that moment, it’s like everything, everything fades away. He raises his head back, eyes locked on me and he doesn’t move another muscle. He doesn’t give himself away. But even from this far away, I can feel the heat, the desire, the intensity coming off of him. And all for me.