That Morning at the Pool No One Wanted to Put on a Swimsuit

My name is Marina, and I still laugh when I remember that Sunday in August. It was one of those sticky mornings when the air feels heavy and the only solution is to get in the water. What happened at my pool that day had not been in anyone’s plans, and precisely for that reason it ended up being unforgettable.

I had gone to bed at five in the morning. The night before I’d been at my friend Camila’s place celebrating the fact that we’d finally finished the course. A girls’ night, with drinks, music, silly confessions, and dances none of us should have been doing. At eleven in the morning I woke up with a fuzzy mouth and hair like a bird’s nest.

—Good morning, princess —said Adrián, my boyfriend, setting the car keys on the kitchen table—. I’m back from the countryside. Did you just get up?

—Don’t talk so loud —I muttered, covering my eyes with my forearm—. Last night was a long one.

—So I’ve been told. Camila texted me earlier saying you were snoring like a truck driver.

—Lies! —I protested, though I knew it was true—. You’re no silent sleeper either, for the record.

Adrián laughed and asked me for the key so he could take a shower and a quick dip in my pool before lunch. My parents would be arriving later, so the house was his alone. I tossed him the key ring from the sofa and warned him not to fall asleep in the sun.

—I’ll come down after —I told him—. I’m going to help Camila clean up last night’s mess.

We spent a couple of hours sweeping up bottles and plastic cups, laughing at photos neither of us remembered taking. At half past twelve I called my mother, Patricia. We’d all be eating at the house: the two of them, Adrián, and me. My father was fixing something in the garage, and my mother was coming with her friend Lorena, with whom she spent hours sewing curtains and tablecloths.

Just before leaving, I called Adrián to ask if he needed anything.

—Bring me a swimsuit, yeah? I can’t find mine anywhere.

Camila, listening on speakerphone, burst out laughing.

—Oh, you little rascal. He’s probably swimming naked and only telling us now so we won’t blush when we go in.

—You’re the one swimming naked —I shot back at Adrián over the phone—. I know you. We’ll be there in five minutes.

We parked in front of the house and the door was left ajar. Adrián, thinking ahead, had left us a way in. Before going on, let me describe the cast, because things get complicated after that.

Adrián is thirty-five years old. He’s slim, dark-haired, pale-skinned because he hates the sun. He’s five foot seven and weighs seventy kilos. Narrow back and big hands. Camila is twenty-five, from Galicia, long hair and long legs, with a figure that walks into any room without asking permission. I, Marina, am twenty-six. I’m sturdily built, with brown curly hair, wide hips, and a chest I wear with pride even if it no longer points to the sky like it used to.

I went in with Camila through the kitchen door. We left the bags on the table and, while she went to greet Adrián, I went upstairs to change. I had a new red bikini my boyfriend hadn’t even seen me wear yet: a tiny triangle on top and a narrow bottom that barely deserved the name. Too daring to come out of my room in.

Camila came upstairs a couple of minutes later, her face flushed.

—Marina, you’re not going to believe this.

—What? —I asked while I finished taking my clothes off in front of the mirror.

She stopped in the doorway, looking at me.

—Aren’t you embarrassed being like that, completely naked, with the door open?

—I couldn’t with my sisters. With you I don’t care. But spit out what you were going to say.

Camila swallowed and lowered her voice as though someone might hear us.

—Your boyfriend is naked in the pool. I sat on the edge to put my feet in, and when I looked at him, he wasn’t wearing a thing. I nearly fell in. And on top of that he had his… well, he had it there, hanging out, he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

—Did he get hard when he saw you? —I asked, biting my lip so I wouldn’t laugh.

—Marina, for God’s sake —she whispered, red to her ears—. A little, yes. It moved. I looked away, but it moved.

I tied my bikini and went down the stairs, hiding my laughter with my hand. Camila followed behind, still blushing. When I got to the garden, Adrián was leaning on the pool edge, arms open, with a naughty little boy’s smile.

—I told you to bring me a swimsuit —he protested.

—And I told you you were lying —I answered—. Turns out the liar was the one telling the truth.

—I’m completely relaxed. I’ve been like this all morning. Try it; there’s no going back.

Camila sat on a lounger, pretending not to care, but I caught her several times looking toward the part where the water stopped covering my boyfriend. You could tell the situation turned her on, though she would never have admitted it out loud.

—Come on, get in the mood —I told her, throwing her a blue bikini I’d hung on the back of a chair—. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do.

She changed in the downstairs bathroom and came back looking at the floor. When she got into the water, Adrián had the decency to keep looking at the wall whenever she moved. I kissed him on the shoulder for that gesture. Not every man is respectful like that.

***

Twenty minutes of silly laughter, bad jokes, and a couple of badly chilled beers went by. Camila had to leave for lunch with her parents, so she went over to the outdoor shower, took off her bikini facing away from us, and rinsed off. Adrián and I both turned away without either of us having to say a word. When she came back dressed, she hugged me and whispered in my ear:

—I was dying of arousal. I nearly stayed topless. Another time. And with your boyfriend’s cock two meters away… I almost touched myself right there, girl.

She left, and Adrián and I were alone in the pool. I’d untied the top of my bikini as soon as Camila closed the door. My nipples hardened in the open air, and Adrián wasted no second. He swam over to corner me against the edge, with a smile that was no longer a naughty boy’s smile but a hungry man’s.

—I’ve had a hard-on all morning —he murmured, grabbing my waist and pressing me against the wall—. Since I heard you arrive. And on top of that Camila put on that bikini and I thought about fucking both of you.

—Filthy thing —I told him, biting his lip.

I slipped my hand under the water and grabbed his cock, already rock hard, throbbing in my palm. I worked it slowly, squeezing the tip with my thumb every time I stroked up. He groaned against my neck and sucked one of my nipples, pulling it with his teeth until a moan escaped me that echoed against the tiles.

—Shut up, shut up —he whispered, laughing—. You can hear that from the street.

—Then don’t suck me like that, asshole.

He pulled my bikini bottom down under the water and left it hanging from one ankle. He slipped two fingers between my lips and found my clit with the pad of his thumb. I spread my legs wider, bracing myself on the edge with my elbows, and let him do it. His fingers sank into me with obscene ease, sliding in and out with a soft splash that was driving me crazy.

—You’re soaked. And it’s not pool water.

—Shut up and fuck me with your cock, come on.

He turned me against the edge and put me on my back. I felt the tip of him searching for me, sliding along my cunt until it lined up. With one push he drove it all the way in. I cried out into my arm, biting down on it, while he fucked me from behind, gripping my hips. His cock sank to the hilt with every thrust, tearing a broken gasp from me I couldn’t hide. I reached for his hand and put it on my breast so he’d squeeze it for me. He pinched my nipple between two fingers while he kept fucking me against the wall.

—Like that, give it to me hard. Break me —I begged, squeezing his ass with my free hand.

—I want to come inside you. I want to fill you before your mother gets here.

—Yes, come. Come on, come already.

He started pumping faster, with those hard, familiar slaps we already knew by heart. I shoved two fingers in my mouth, wet them well, and went for my clit. In half a minute I was shaking, my legs weak, squeezing his cock from inside with those contractions that always shoved him to the finish. A long groan escaped him, he grabbed my hips with both hands, and he came in spurts inside me. I felt every pulse of his cock emptying, and on top of that my own, chained together.

We stayed there for a second, panting, heads empty, the water rocking our legs.

—Come upstairs and we’ll spend another while in bed before lunch —I whispered, still with him inside me.

—I can’t move —he replied, nodding downward with his chin—. And if I get out of the water now, your mother’s going to think I’m waiting for her with honors. And dripping what I’ve just put into you, too.

I let out a stupid laugh and tied my bikini bottom halfway on, fishing for it with my foot. And then we heard the keys.

***

—Daughteeer! —my mother sang from the entrance—. We came early!

Patricia, my mother, is fifty-five years old. She’s dyed blonde, with long hair and a laugh you can hear all down the street. She’s been in a losing battle with the scale for years and with a neckline that still remains her calling card. That morning she arrived in high spirits. Too high-spirited. She smelled of vermouth from the hallway.

—Mom, wait, wait! —I shouted, trying and failing to tie my bikini—. We’re naked, Mom!

Too late. Patricia came out into the garden followed by Lorena, her soul mate. Lorena is fifty, tall, with brown hair and an imposing figure. Big breasts, well shaped, and legs my mother has envied since they met. The two of them came in laughing, tipsy, like two schoolgirls who’d run off from class.

I pushed Adrián to stay behind me in the water. I came out just enough to kiss my mother, still with my breasts uncovered and the warm sensation of semen sliding between my thighs under the water.

—Well, well —said Patricia, looking at me with raised eyebrows—. So the young can swim naked and the old can’t. Then I’m in too.

—Patricia, please —Lorena tried to stop her—. We’re not at a club.

—I’m in my daughter’s house. If they can, so can I.

Lorena rolled her eyes and took her phone out of her bag.

—I’m calling Mateo —she said, referring to her son—. He should come. If I was going to be bored with you lot, I’d have an even worse time alone at home.

Mateo showed up ten minutes later. Twenty years old, tall, blond, with a trendy crest haircut and the smile of a boy who’s never been told no. They opened the door without warning me, and he came straight into the garden. I found him less than a meter from me, still topless. I made the absurd gesture of covering myself with my hands at the same time as I kissed him on both cheeks, which left my breasts exposed again halfway through the greeting. He pretended not to look. His smile said otherwise, and so did the bulge starting to show in his shorts.

—I’m in for this party —he announced—. Only thing is, I’ll get in in my underwear, since I didn’t bring a swimsuit.

—Get in however you want —Patricia answered from the water—. There are no rules here today.

Mateo took off his T-shirt without thinking twice and, before his mother could react, his shorts and underwear too. His cock hung there thick and half-hard, with that insolent presence of twenty years old. Lorena let out a muffled cry. Patricia, on the other hand, choked on her vermouth and couldn’t tear her eyes away.

—My son, don’t do this to me! Patricia’s daughter is right there!

—Mom, everyone’s naked. I’m not going to be the weird one.

He jumped into the water and resurfaced with his crest flattened and a half-proud smile.

***

While Patricia settled onto the pool steps and Lorena went into the kitchen to get herself another drink, I asked Adrián to prepare a couple of vermouths and some beers. He came out of the water wrapped in a small towel, trying to make sure nothing showed. He failed. He was still half-hard from what we’d done, and no matter how tightly he pulled the towel around his waist, the bulge still showed brazenly.

—I’m going to the kitchen —he muttered—. Don’t look at me.

Lorena, who was just coming back at that moment, burst out laughing.

—Too late, handsome. I’ve already seen half your life.

Adrián blushed for the first time in six years together. Just as he crossed the living room curtain, the towel snagged on the doorknob and fell to the floor. He was left completely exposed in front of Lorena, his thick cock still hanging there half-inflated and his balls tight from the cool water. She stared without the slightest pretense, lips parted and tits rising and falling all at once.

—Come on, let me help you —she said, bending down to pick up the towel.

She took longer than necessary to stand up. She rose to just the right height and, instead of handing him the towel directly, she slid it up his legs very slowly, as though brushing off water drops. When she reached his thigh, she stopped. Adrián told me later that he felt Lorena’s fingers on the inside, moving up an extra centimeter, then another, until her knuckles brushed his balls. It was a short, calculated touch, one that could be mistaken for an accident if someone found it convenient to mistake it.

—Oh, sorry, darling, my hand slipped —she murmured, not quite taking her fingers away—. The towel’s tiny.

She tied the cloth around his waist and, as she made the knot, ran her open palm across the front of him, flattening his cock against his belly over the cotton. Adrián got hard again in two seconds. Lorena noticed, bit her lip, and squeezed him once more, this time deliberately, before letting go.

—What a prize you’ve got at home, Marina —she said over her shoulder, still with her hand on my boyfriend’s waist—. If I had this, I’d never let him out of bed.

—Lorena, for God’s sake —I protested, still laughing.

—I’ll walk you back to the pool, handsome —she added, holding the towel with one hand, the other resting on his ass—. Just in case it falls off again.

When they reached the edge, Adrián handed me the vermouth and jumped back into the water without missing a beat. Patricia had pulled down the top of her bathing suit and was laughing her head off. Mateo floated on his back with his arms open, putting on a show my mother and her friend watched with far less subtlety than they intended. His cock floated half-erect over his belly, thick and pink, swaying with the movement of the water.

—Holy mother of God —Patricia commented, still staring at Mateo—. This boy isn’t a boy anymore. And your boyfriend, Marina, isn’t exactly lacking either.

—Mom —I protested.

—It’s the truth, girl. You’ve got eyes, don’t you? At your age I used to look too, make no mistake.

Lorena finished taking off her blouse and skirt at the pool edge and, without warning, unclasped her bra too. Her breasts spilled out heavy, with dark, erect nipples like cherries. She yanked her panties down in one tug, revealing a neatly trimmed slit of pubic hair, and got into the water with the smile of someone who’d been waiting years for an excuse to do it.

—Sundays —she said, looking at me knowingly— are for free Sundays, free tits, and friends who know how to look without touching.

Patricia took off her swimsuit completely and threw it onto a lounger. I was struck by how little she cared: the blond pubic hair, more plentiful than Lorena’s, and a pair of large, sagging breasts that moved with every laugh. I stripped off my bikini bottom too, feeling Adrián’s semen thinning in the water between my legs. Adrián and Mateo dipped under and came up trying not to stare, and failing every time. I caught both of them. They caught me. Lorena caught Adrián. Patricia caught Mateo, especially when the current made his cock float upward. No one touched anyone. No one needed to. The whole pool was a game of glances bouncing from one body to another like a ball nobody wanted to put an end to.

We played four corners with the clumsiness of people who’d already had enough to drink. On one of the swaps my mother swam past me and I felt her breast brush my arm. She laughed as though nothing had happened and kept going. On another, Mateo gave Adrián a little shove in the shoulder that was almost a hug, and the two of them parted with nervous laughter. Mateo flashed me a long, slow smile, that smile a twenty-year-old boy doesn’t know can be seen from miles away. I looked at his cock under the water, now fully hard, pointing upward with a shamelessness even he couldn’t control. He caught me looking and went red, but he didn’t turn away. Adrián grabbed me around the waist under the water, slipped a hand between my legs without it showing from the outside, and whispered in my ear:

—As soon as they leave I’m going to bend you over the kitchen table. I’m going to rip off your bikini and eat your cunt until you beg me to stop. Then I’m going to put it in you from behind, slowly, and leave it in you until you come again. Do you hear me? And I’m still going to be hard. I’m going to fuck you the way Lorena would have fucked me if you’re not careful.

—Shut up, bastard —I whispered back, squeezing his cock under the water—. You’re getting me soaked all over again.

—I know. I can tell.

He pinched my nipple under the water and kept going as though nothing had happened, smiling at my mother over his shoulder. Lorena, less than a meter away, was staring at Adrián’s hands with an intensity that left no room for doubt. She knew perfectly well what was happening down there. And she was touching herself under the water, hiding it with her arm resting on the edge. I could see the rhythm: short, measured, the rhythm of a woman who learned long ago how to come without anyone noticing. Patricia, beside her, had her eyes glued to Mateo, and although her hands were above the water, the way she was breathing made it obvious she was working herself up somehow too.

Two-thirty came. Nobody was hungry. My father called to say he’d be late, which all of us thought was the best news of the summer. We got out of the water to fetch more ice, still naked, and nobody made any move to cover anything. I saw Lorena drying her tits slowly in front of Adrián, and Mateo passing behind me closer than necessary, his cock still half-hard and swaying. That August morning I understood that the strongest kind of arousal isn’t touching, but looking and letting yourself be looked at without anything else happening. And that an ordinary Sunday, with the least expected people, can turn into a memory you keep like a secret shared by everyone.