Page 1 of The Sky in Summer
1
Van
This sinner cannot be saved. You have towantredemption, which sounds boring as shit. I am having brilliant insights into my psyche today. It’s the hypnotic rhythm of the lake’s roll as WaveRunners and boats pass. Stretched out, hands behind my head, even this unforgiving dive platform feels like a cradle. Who wouldn’t love living this life? It is indulgent, but I don’t consider myself a lesser person for enjoying it. Appreciating every passion like a man having his last meal. I want to taste life.
I am half French after all. My father says in my case it is the bottom half. A good imagination is key. Consider all candidates. Thankfully, you can’t go to jail for what you are thinking. I mean, I believe in love. As a concept anyway. The parents have it, but it seems elusive for most. So, if it happens, it happens. Meanwhile, I’m going to have a good time waiting for its doubtful arrival.
The quest for pleasure isn’t shameful. It is the aim. When I’m living in France soon, I will be completely immersed. In art, architecture, the most beautiful language in the world. Some of the most beautiful and sensual women. Bring it on. Without baggage a man is free to choose life’s paths. Or not. Free to change his mind. It isn’t only women who can claim the prerogative. I have managed to stay in that lane for thirty-eight years. No wife. No sticky-fingered kids and their runny noses. There have been exclusive relationships, but few compared to almost every other guy I know. For my life, it never felt normal. Those women are not interested in me anyway.
Some consider my lack of a wife and children sad. They are the ones without a clue. I regret nothing. How many people can say that? Don’t I deserve praise for knowing myself? Not everyone is meant to be a husband or a parent. The role of son, brother, and uncle resonate more. The happiest moments and best memories have been being part of the Lyon tribe. I will miss the holidays and dinners, the everyday fun that is part of the family dynamic. But who could pass up the opportunity to live in a beautiful apartment in Paris?
My eyes go to my nephews, and their two friends, fucking around in the water. Guess they know each other from school. Those four assholes are up to something. I recognize the look. Laughter and a whole lot of glances toward the shoreline. Someone is always keeping a lookout for an adult. And when you do it at seventeen, it’s about something more than a minor infraction.
I am the cool relative who lets them get away with shit. It would be the height of hypocrisy to do anything else. People who forget what it’s like to be a teenager are dicks. They aren’t hurting anybody, so why be Big Brother? They are old enough not to need a watch guard. Right?
Uh okay, I can’t compare the stuff I did at that age. I was the baby of the family, but already sexually active. And I was influenced and egged on by Nobel and Aargon to commit fuckery, on a daily basis. I could get away with things they couldn’t at my age. It pissed them off, and at the same time impressed them. Scarlett and Kristen were rarely as stupid as us boys. No broken bones or missing teeth for the girls. They had their moments, but generally were just sneakier, and it was disguised under the girly thing. Dad doubted his princesses could be up to no good. Ha! My sisters had boyfriends that I knew. They had to be fucking. No doubt about it. Except to my father who thought of them as pure. It was to their great advantage. Mom was more logical and didn’t have amnesia about her own youth. Gaston had no idea what they were capable of until years later when a story would be told, and the dangers of their actions had passed. They would laugh their asses off at pulling the wool over Dad’s eyes. Then kiss his face apologizing for finding it funny. I think it hurt his heart a little bit to find out they were just human. It was a long time ago. Another world.
The wide lake float, inhabited by five sunbathers, rocks me into a kind of half sleep. Indulging my voyeuristic tendencies, while in a bubble of relaxation. It feels like sexy meditation. Or a hypnotic haze. Case in point, today’s riches laid out like pirate’s treasure.Keep your eyes on the bouncing ass. You are getting sleepy.Fuck counting sheep. The riches of the human female animal are much more interesting to concentrate on than how many sheep jump over a fence.
A sigh escapes as I take in the sexy blonde’s flawless booty. It is the color of mocha. I could beat out a calypso rhythm on those two hard-packed cheeks.Babalu.She lays on her stomach a few feet away. A narrow strip of bikini bottom hides within the crack of her ass. Bending a leg up and down, pink toes are on display. Suckable pinkies.
Many men would give it all to live in my world. The secret to a successful lust life is to never hide your intentions. Don’t pretend to be someone different. Playing with emotions is never the goal. After all, I’m not an asshole. Truth is I love women. How they feel, the sound of their voices, the million small details that make up the masterpieces they are. I could teach a master class on the art.
Blonde Venus rises and puts on an unexpected titties show. Dangerously close to spilling out, spilling under, spilling sideways, they call my name.Oh Van! Here, boy!
Dark glasses hide the angle of my gaze and its carnal intent. If she would just lean to one side a few inches, the fabric would buckle, and a nip would slip. I am a caveman with eyes on the vulnerable gazelle. Hungry for the next meal, I hide in plain sight, the mighty club between my legs at the ready. You never know when opportunity will present itself.
One of my float mates might think I am looking at the kids splashing and fucking around beyond her. Nope. Watching her back arch for effect is where my interest lies. She sees me looking. One delicate finger traces the outline of her top, and my gaze follows. I have no complaints with a woman who puts it out there. Go for it, baby. If done right, it’s impossible to look away from. We men are weak that way. But ask us if we care to correct our flaw.
The full tits, barely contained in the yellow bikini, look perfect.Beaux melons.In this fantasy they crave the attention of my mouth. Fat drops of water course from blonde hair to shoulder, then ride the rise of her breasts on the way down. I imagine them callingwheeeeelike a little kid on a child’s roller-coaster. Never envied water before.
The only problem? I am getting hard. Better get in the water before I get kicked off the float for being a pervert. Being bombarded by boobs, ass, and legs is irresistible. This scene is a smorgasbord of women. Even the grey haired athletic one in the black one piece draws my gaze. She has good legs, long and lean. Plus, she gave me a look.
Blondie’s head turns in my direction and holds the stare. A dazzling smile follows. Hi sexy baby.
“Want to cool off?” I say, removing my glasses.
I stand and smooth down my trunks. My hand may have accidentally on purpose brushed my dick. Just to see if her eyes followed. They did. Two can play, and I may have found a worthy opponent. No need to wait for a response, because the answer is obvious. Two steps forward and I dive in the crystal waters of Lake Elmo. My dick retreats with the cold shock.
Surfacing, the sound of her splash confirms my suspicions. I am being joined in a summer day’s bacchanal. When she comes up, we are only a few feet away. There’s the smile. I’m going to consider it an invitation.
“Hi, beautiful.”
The compliment lands squarely. She leisurely rolls onto her back, giving the hound dog she has so accurately sized up a treat.
“I’m not a very good floater,” she giggles. “Can you help?”
It seems a little obvious, but I move to her side, hands reaching under the outstretched body. Toned. Tight. Tempting titties. The trifecta I am always looking for.
“Just relax. I’ve got you.”
Or I will soon.
“I’ve seen you here before. I come every Saturday,” she coos.
Bet I could make her come every day of the week. But it would be rude to point it out in our first conversation.
“I’ve seen you too,” I lie. “What’s your name?”
