Summer Erotica
2007-03-22 @ 9:22 p.m.

Why erotic as opposed to 'hot' or 'sexy?' The definition of erotic eludes me. I suppose that is because it's subjective. Personally, erotic is all about atmosphere, mood and anticipation. It's the gateway to the hotness. It's the ballroom dance with Carey Grant, it's the long stroll under the moonlight, it's Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr frolicking in the Hawaiian surf (and if you don't know that reference you can't possibly be a romantic).

It was the Summer after my first year of college. I was home, spending time with friends from high school.

The day had been hot and humid. Nighttime brought no relief from the weather. The humidity clung to the air and it felt as if you were swimming rather than walking. Truly unbearable. Although I can't recall exactly, the weather had been like that for two or three days.

A friend's parents were away. Naturally, there was a party. Lots of adult beverages were consumed. I had my Dad's car so I did not drink. Matt, a former boyfriend, was there. He and I dated the Summer between high school and college. He was my, "going off to college, lets see other people," boyfriend. We did go off to college. We did see other people, if 'other people' does not include each other.

Mike, another friend, was also there. Matt and Mike had been drinking. The party broke-up early because a neighbor threatened to phone the police. Matt asked for a lift home. Mike tagged along. Neither of them really wanted to go home. They still had a bottle of something or other and they were not ready to call it a night.

After nearly a thousand references to the heat and humidity, Mike suggested we go to his family's camp and go swimming in the lake.

"How far is that?" I asked.

"About 50 minutes away," said Mike.

"How about my house," I suggested. "We have a pool. And it's a lot closer."

That suggestion didn't fly so we went off to camp.

I do not recall the name of the small lake, or large pond, where Mike's family camp was situated. I doubt I could find my way there again. It was off a main road, onto a minor road, a left here, a right there, onto a dirt road, another left, another right....

Mike's camp was a small, cozy-looking cottage that was not on the water. Most of the camps were not on the water. We drove passed his camp towards the beach, along a windy, twisting, dark road, before arriving at the beach. It was dark, real dark.

The beach was small, not that I saw much of it. There was a T-shaped dock and, so I was told, a small dock about two-hundred feet out into the lake. A small, wooden pavilion sat at water's edge, near the dock.

Matt and Mike, their motor skills somewhat impaired by the alcohol, began to undress. I wasn't that far away from them but I could see very little in the darkness. I did catch a glimpse of their chests and shoulder. Both had obviously been working out. They were broader and more muscular than I remembered: Nice, hard bodies. I don't think I quite appreciated those young, hard 19 year-old male bodies the way I might now appreciate them.

"You coming," asked Matt.

I said no. It wasn't the nudity that prevented me, after all, you'd have to be almost on top of someone to see anything. I've just never been a fan of swimming in ponds and lakes. There are two or three such places where I will swim, mainly because they are places I frequented as a child. I feel I know those places. This place? A miserable, hazy night: deep, dark water. Rationally, I know there are no ragged, scuttling claws in such places. I also know that those ragged, scuttling claws can't get me if I stay near shore.

The boys went into the water. Dare I say they frolicked? Both of them would occasionally approach me, trying to convince me to come into the water. They were completely unabashed about their nakedness. Booze isn't all bad, Mom.

I was finally pressured into wading in. The water offered no relief. It was like a tepid bath. I kept my clothes on, which weren't much. I had on a pair of very short, khaki shorts and a tank top. I didn't think much of my body at the time. I've never had 'womanly curves', and had even less then. I was just above average height, skinny, tiny breasts and virtually no hips.

I stayed in for a short time, never going more than waist-deep. I then retreated to the little pavilion for a cigarette. Eventually, Matt came up to try and get me in the water again. He was behind me and caught me by surprise. I felt his hard cock against my ass.

I don't remember exactly how he phrased it but it was something along the lines of, "how about it, for old time's sake."

I said no and pushed him away. We stood facing one another, maybe ten feet apart. After a few seconds, I realized that he was stroking himself and all the while he just stared at me. His desire, no matter that it came from a bottle, aroused me. I moved closer to Matt and slowly raised my tank top. He continued to stoke himself. I then unclasped my bra and exposed my breasts.

Mike arrived at that point and stood near by. He watched for a minute. Then he approached me, reaching for my tits. I pushed his hands away.

"Come, on," he said, disappointed.

"No," I replied. I began touching my breasts and I played with my nipples. Soon, Mike was stroking himself as well.

I then slid my hand into my pants and began to masturbate. I closed my eyes and drifted away for a few minutes. I then made myself cum. After my body stopped quivering, I opened my eyes to see that Mike and Matt had finished as well.

Of course, after that, the evening descended into an odd, embarrassed atmosphere. The ride home was rather quiet.

I know that if it had been me, another guy and a girlfriend, and we had done the same thing, my girlfriend and I would have talked about it afterwards. Laughed, discussed how sexy it had been, how erotic. I have a feeling Matt and Mike did not discuss it afterwards. Just a hunch.