There's something so... so... so wondrous about sitting back in the jacuzzi on a moonlit night, sipping on a bit of whiskey as he does laps in the pool next to me. His strong, youthful muscles pulling him through the cold water at the end of a crisp October day. I've always marveled how unfazed he always is by the temperature: he can run naked through the snow without batting an eye. Always virile, always playful.
I, of course, am too much of a chicken to jump into the pool, despite his silent encouragement. I know what I mean to him. I know he'll come to me sooner or later. For the moment it's just me and my drink, basking in warmth, watching his form slide through the water by the nearly full moon. A born swimmer, with a born swimmer's body.
I close my eyes and slide my naked form beneath the surface. Clutching myself in a ball, nearly fetal, feeling my weight held suspended, feeling the warmth permeate my being. My breath is not held, it's just gone, it doesn't matter. I could blissfully drown here, with no regrets.
Again I break the surface, taking in the cool night air. I see him getting out of the pool and walking towards me, but I pretend to be entranced by the vines growing on the trellis. I hear his breathing as he kneels down to me. He nuzzles my ear, then I feel first his lips, then his tongue. I turn to face him. He's wearing the collar I bought for him. He's mine, and he knows it.
Again I feel his tongue. And again. He surprises me by plunging into the water and turning to face me. I feel his nails rake across my shoulders as I stroke his neck. We've only known each other for ten months, but I know I'll do anything to be with him for as long as we both live. I love him. He loves me.
Then he snorts and blows his nose in my face. His ears prick up. He sees a cat. He pulls himself out of the water and I see every muscle shimmy in perfect unison as he shakes himself dry. Then he barks his fool head off as he drives the feline interloper the hell out of our yard.
What a good, good boy.
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