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From: "rdodger" <rajahdodger@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Rajah Dodger Repost Flood: Midnight Swim [mf]
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Date: Fri, 01 Dec 2006 17:10:05 -0500
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Abstract: A young man and his girlfriend find time for secluded company
at summer camp

     Midnight Swim, by Rajah Dodger <rdodger@hotmail.com>, Copyright
(c) 2000.  All rights reserved, except that electronic not-for-profit
reproduction rights only are explicitly granted with the stipulation
that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.

     Five o'clock. Time to sweep the last customers out of the store,
souvenirs in hand, and call it a day. By the time Nate and I finished
straightening the shelves, sweeping the floors and balancing the
registers it was just after 5:30. I left him to lock up and I headed
off to the men's dorm, stopping by the refectory to get some fruit and
rolls. At my room I changed into my swim trunks, threw a baggy pair of
shorts over that and tossed a towel into my bag with the munchies. The
weather was humid and close, so an early swim for two seemed indicated.
But when I checked the calendar I saw that Sandi was scheduled for the
Bolling jazz suite, so I gave her a mental delay of game penalty and
grabbed a tape player and some tapes as well.

     I wandered over to the concert shell and found a seat in the big
middle. A couple of 12-year-olds were playing a saxophone reduction of
the Gershwin preludes, notable more for the audacity of the concept
than the execution, and I took a few minutes to scan the program.
Sandi's group was third on the program, then the Vivaldi concerto for
four violins and the last movement of Schubert's Trout quintet.

     After the Gershwin came a woodwind quintet arrangement of the
Candide overture, better realized even if I've heard that overture a
thousand times. The audience applauded as the piano and trap set were
rolled out on stage, and the trio took their places. The flutist sent
the first strains of cool jazz floating out into the muggy August air.
I enjoyed watching her play - the way she got into the rhythm, her
upper body swaying with the music. Her legs were long and
strong-looking, cleanly defined thanks to the camp shorts she was
wearing, and the stiff cloth of her shirt only hinted tantalizingly at
the curves beneath. I can't say much about the pianist, some guy
sporting a Van Dyck beard. Then, of course there was Sandi. It's always
a joy to watch her at work. Think Tito Puente, only younger and with
curves that move delightfully as she shifts and bounces from one drum
to another.

     This was a fun piece at any rate; you could see the audience
smiling and getting into it. Claude Bolling wrote four jazz suites, but
I've always liked the one for flute and jazz piano the best. I took a
bathroom break when it was over, and returned to my seat for the
Vivaldi. Two of the violinists were college-age girls and the other two
looked like high school seniors in jean shorts and crop tops; I was
enjoying the visual aspect of the performance as much as the
musicianship. Sandi slipped into the seat next to me midway through the
second movement and we gossiped quietly until the performance was over.

     The concert closed with the Trout quintet. As the melodic strains
of Schubert rolled into the woodland behind the concert shell, I leaned
over and kissed her soft lips lightly. "Enjoy the performance?," she
asked. "Always - and I liked the music too," I joked. She poked me in
the ribs, then held my hand on her leg as we listened to the music. I
felt the warmth of her bare skin under my palm, and squeezed her a
couple of times, lightly.

     After the concert, we made our way across the quad past the
now-quiet art building. Sandi stopped to peer into one glazed window;
there was a long-standing rumor that some of the art students had
unapproved "private" modeling sessions after hours. The room was dark,
though, and we continued on down toward the woods with her arm laced
through mine.

     There's an inlet off the lake, and a secluded place we found last
year that is just right for swimming in the late summer. Sandi pulled a
beach towel out of her backpack and I pulled out my cache of munchies,
and we settled down for a byte to eat. When we finished, the sun was
well down and the moon was above the horizon. Out of nowhere, Sandi
spoke up. "You enjoyed the view at the concert, didn't you?" I didn't
connect with what she was talking about, until her hand slid out of my
palm and onto my leg, insinuating itself under the leg of my shorts. "A
couple of those violinists were jailbait, hon, in case you didn't
notice."  Her fingers had found the crease where my leg meets my thigh,
and my camp shorts started feeling tight on me.  "I didn't think so,"
she went on.  And with that she leaned over and kissed me.

     Kissing Sandi is like eating a full six-course Italian meal.  It
takes your entire attention and focus, and involves your whole body.
It felt like hours later when her lips left mine, and I watched as she
unbuttoned her camp blouse and pulled it off, her white bra gleaming in
the soft moonlight.  "You're overdressed for swimming," she pointed out
as she headed toward the water's edge.  By the time I got my wits
together and got undressed, she was already treading water in the
shallows.  "This is a public area, you know," I told her.  "Not after
sundown," she replied as I got into the still-warm water and swum out
to meet her.  I stood up in the shallow water and we kissed, ankles
playing against calves, her breasts warm against my chest.  We swam for
a bit in the sheltered cove, and then I found the Pirate's Chair.  That
was our name for an underwater outcropping of rock, just at the right
depth for one person to sit on.  I took the seat and urged Sandi into
my lap, where we kissed with urgently dueling tongues while she
swiveled around to find my erection.  She straddled me and held me in
her hand as she lowered herself down, until we were no longer two but
one.

     We held there for a timeless moment, our breathing perfectly
synchronized, and then she lifted her hips and sank back down on me in
a rhythm older than any heard in the concert hall.  Her nipples tickled
my chest as the water supported her breasts, and I held her hips
tightly as my passion rose to meet hers.  When I exploded, barely
keeping my position in the Pirate's Chair, she came right along with me
and we splashed quietly together in the leaf-mottled light.

     When her breathing and mine were back to normal, and she pulled
her face back from mine, I reached up to brush a damp strand of hair
from her face.  "You're beautiful, you know that?"  She smiled back at
me and chuckled, "I bet you say that to all the mermaids you make love
to."  She shivered as a breeze whipped across the surface of the water,
and I realized it was way past lights-out.  We made our way with
giggles and familiar intimate touches out of the water, finding our
various pieces of clothing and eventually getting the towel out of my
bag so we'd look presentable when we made it to our respective cabins.

     Sure enough, the camp was dark and still when we made it back
through the wooded path.  It was a good thing they didn't have bed
checks in the college-age dorms.  I took her in my arms at the door to
her cabin, holding her gently against me just listening to her breathe.
 She gave me a peck on my forehead, and quietly opened her door just
enough to slip inside.

     I went back to my own room, the moon and her scent keeping me
company.  There's nothing like a summer night!

***** {END} ***** Completed 2000-05-18, 1298 words

Copyright (c) 2000 Rajah Dodger (rdodger@hotmail.com)

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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