She removed her red satin thong as I reached down to pull my jeans and underpants off. As I balanced briefly on my left foot, my head came tantalizingly close to her beautifully formed buttocks. I felt if I wasn’t careful, my hair might brush against her smooth, rounded cheeks. I imagined how it would feel to be on the receiving end—her long, soft hair brushing my bare behind. I picked up my panties and put them in the locker; they were damp and smelled musky. Standing there naked before her, I felt wet and vulnerable.
Bridget grabbed her towel and turned away, heading into the spa. I followed, trotting along behind like the boys in her class. We pondered the choices: Jacuzzi, steam room, or sauna. Bathing suits were required for the Jacuzzi, but no one was around, so we slipped in bare. Above us, high windows flooded the room with daylight, diffused by a tint in the glass. From where we sat, we could see the sauna door at the head of a narrow hallway. Past it, farther down, was the steam room.
Bridget pressed a white, plastic button on the tile floor to start the whirlpool. As the jets rumbled into action, I positioned myself in front of one and felt it pound onto the small of my back. I opened my legs and lifted my pelvis off the bench so that the water in the center of the pool was forced up between my thighs, offering a gentle massage. As I stretched my legs forward, my left calf brushed Bridget’s. She smiled and didn’t move it away. Had that been a smile of pleasure at the sensation of our legs touching, or was she merely being friendly? I allowed our legs to touch for a moment longer, but the electricity traveling up my limbs was too much. I moved it away.
We chatted for a bit, then she leaned backward, eyes closed, arms draped across the sides of the tub, neck arched against the tile. Her cheekbones were high, but not overly defined, her eyelids small and delicate, fringed with long, ebony lashes. Her brows were neatly tweezed into lovely, gradual arches, thicker near the bridge of her nose, thinner at the outside edges. Her ears were dainty and delicate, like little shells. I imagined tracing their edges with my finger, leaning over and gently kissing her tiny lobes, my breath warm, my tongue exploring inside them, my mouth moving to kiss her neck below.
I closed my eyes and pondered where I was going with this. I’m married, I thought. I’ve never even been with a woman before. Am I going to just fantasize all day until I’m insane with desire? I watched her brush a damp strand of hair from her face. How delicious it would be to have a secret. I leaned back and tried to push all thoughts from my mind. After a while, Bridget opened her eyes. I suggested we move on to the steam room, which she thought was a good idea since we were already wet.
I placed my towel on the bench and sat down; she put hers right next to mine. My skin prickled. I wondered if she felt the electricity between us. I looked at her, and she smiled at me. I smiled back, swallowed and looked around at the white tiles dripping with condensation. The air felt oppressive, sensual. I tried not to look at her. Before long, we were both perspiring, and from the corner of my eye, I watched a rivulet of sweat make its way from her neck, between her soft breasts, across her almost-flat stomach, athletic and toned except for a perfect little pillow below her belly button. The rivulet continued on past her navel, then disappeared into the neatly trimmed brown bush between her legs. How I longed to trace its path with my finger.
There was a loud hiss as fresh steam filled the room. Bridget’s face glistened through the fog. She began talking again, and her warm, quiet voice echoed against the tile walls. She wondered aloud at my surprising silence. She asked whether something was bothering me. That depends on how you define the word bother, I thought. It was all I could do to answer her without stammering.
I tried to think of something to say, something that would lead me where I wanted to go, but all I could muster was a bland response about enjoying the heat. She didn’t seem convinced, so I mentioned that I didn’t often have the opportunity to relax this way. I caught her eye, and she smiled. My heart raced.
“I know what you mean,” she said, reaching toward me and covering my hand gently with hers. I felt the electricity again and wondered whether that touch had been a communication, an indication of her own desire.
The heat was getting uncomfortable. Bridget suggested a cold rinse to follow the steam. I laughed to myself, the old cliché about horny husbands and uninterested wives coming to mind. So, this is what I get for my lustful thoughts: a cold shower.
In fact, the cold rinse made me more aroused. My heart pounded as the freezing water ran down my chest; I felt my nipples stand on end. I hopped from foot to foot, turning to let the water rain on my back and buttocks. From the stall next to me, I heard Bridget moan and shiver with delight and wondered where the water was falling on her body. I imagined it following the path of that rivulet of sweat and being warmed by her pussy.
I dried myself, rubbing the towel briskly over my body. As blood circulated through my cold limbs, my skin tingled. Bridget emerged from the shower next to me, dripping wet and radiant. Her nipples, too, were hard, and gooseflesh covered her glistening body. Those tiny bumps on her skin sent me into such a state of agitation it was all I could do not to just grab her and press her to the cold tile floor underneath me.
The dry heat of the sauna welcomed us, slowly warming our cold skin. Bridget lay on the bottom bench on her towel; I sat above, the perfect vantage point for casual observation. There were benches along two of the sauna’s four walls, and they connected at right angles. Like every other part of the spa so far, it was empty. There was a thermostat on the wall, which Bridget turned up when we came in, and next to it, a timer. When she turned the dial, the lights came on, and I could hear the heat coming up. It took only a moment to get hot. I didn’t notice how long she’d set the timer for; it hardly seemed to matter.
I inhaled the dry air and smelled cedar. I leaned back against the wall and felt the warmth of the wood radiate through my skin, listened to the crackling of the rocks. Except for my state of sexual distraction, I felt at ease.
I looked down at Bridget. Her eyes were closed. She was lying flat on her back, legs separating just slightly as they fell apart from one another. Her wet hair spread under her neck and shoulders. Her body was so perfect; there wasn’t a single stretch mark. Every inch of her looked smooth and soft and perfectly formed.
I was taking in the curve of her belly when she opened her eyes and caught me staring. My heart raced. There was an inviting softness in her gaze. Neither of us said anything, and without moving my eyes from hers, I reached down with my big toe and began to trace a line up the inside of her calf to her thigh. Her chest heaved as she released a breath; her legs parted slightly, and she closed her eyes.
Part of me wanted to bolt out the sauna door; instead, I climbed down from the top bench and squatted next to her on the floor. Where my toe had been, I now placed my hand, retracing the same line with my four fingers, this time not stopping at her thigh. As my fingertips reached between her legs, she gasped just a little and parted them more. I explored the warmth there; I was surprised to find she was wet. I took this as encouragement and moved my head toward her mouth, my fingers still caressing her labia and stroking toward her clit.
As my face neared hers, she opened her eyes and parted her lips a bit. I moved to kiss her, and her lips met mine and parted. The tips of our tongues touched, and we spent a moment there, tasting one another’s sweetness before pushing farther inside. I had never tasted a mouth so soft in every way: her lips, her tongue, the way she kissed me back and probed my tongue and teeth. I felt a warmth in my stomach; every part of me was alive and pulsating.