Hot, sizzlin' July day. Sweat drenching

my forehead and making my blue jean

shorts stick to my skin. Deep and dark

green tank top darkening with sweat. I

feel the left strap slip down ever so sl–

One arm around my waist pauses me.

(Stomach tightens then relaxes.)

One pair of lips on my neck stills me.

(Fiery desire, oh. Everywhere.)

I close my eyes, breathe in, in and I

release the air. Oh. Whispers, now.

“Lookin' hot. Sizzlin', in fact.”

Not quite the words I wanted.

*

Silky soft though, shiver, shiver.

Enough for me to tense, mouth

slightly open. I just want to spin

around, but his arm's firm in place.

Hand on my stomach, cool. Icy. Always

icy, his hands. Like those eyes. Gray and

blue frost. Sometimes, his eyes look like

liquid cigarette smoke in a sea-blue glass

marble ball.

Finally he lets me turn around, but his arm stays,

sliding so that, if he wanted to, he could slip his

hand into my shorts. He does not. Naughty me

wants him to. Angel me knows it could go too far.

*

Lips connecting, his free left hand does touch

me in other places. My right shoulder, down

my arm, momentarily laced with my hand then

resting on my hip. Suddenly his cool hands are

not enough for this heat. I free myself of my

flip-flops then begin dragging him towards the

sea, enjoying oh so very much the feel of sand

between my toes, soft and caressing.

“Come on!”

Into the ocean we went, clothes and all,

swimming then surfacing to kiss. Float,

floating like dead fish in a fishbowl, only

we're not so dead. In fact, we're very alive.

*

I catch glimpses of the clementine-orange

and aquamarine seawater. I feel him hug

me now. Holding me close. So close. As

if he's afraid a sudden storm will take me

away from him. Far from the shore.

*

“I love you.” Finally. “I love you too.”