The Swimmer

It was a perfect afternoon, 85 degrees and sunny with low humidity and a slight breeze. I'd never been to Colorado Springs before, and there were plenty of things on my must see list. That's why I had flown in two days early for my conference. But after travelling all day from rainy Indiana, I decided to take my book to the pool and sit in the sun for a while. It had been an early morning, and a long travel day, and I didn't feel like sightseeing today; it could wait for tomorrow. I couldn't afford to stay at the Broadmoor at their normal rates, but they had discounted them heavily for conference attendees. The infinity pool was incredible, but it was full of activity, so I opted for the deserted lap pool/whirlpool area. I found a place in the sun overlooking the beautiful golf course and mountains beyond, and had the place to myself. The sun bathed my legs below my gym shorts. I moved the straps on my top to get some sun on my shoulders. It had been a long winter in the Midwest, and this was the first chance I'd had this spring to get any sun. It felt great. As I read my book, a tall man wearing a warm up suit entered the lap pool area and began stretching. He looked to be about eight or ten years younger than I am, probably in his late thirties. His stretching became almost comical, it was so intense. What was he going to do, move a piano? After at least ten minutes of this, he removed his warm up suit. Wow! He was gorgeous. Tall and lean, shaped like a yield sign with a small waist, muscular butt and long legs, he wore close fitting brief swim trunks designed for swimming, not for simply playing in the water. As I watched discretely through my sunglasses, he dove into the water, barely creating a ripple. When he came up, he took long, leisurely strokes and executed a perfect turn. I knew nothing about swimming, but I knew this was a swimmer. Every ten laps, he alternated strokes. He didn't appear to be hurrying, but his long powerful çankaya escort strokes and kicks sped him through the water with a minimum of splashing or noise. My son had been on swim teams as a child, but I had never seen anything like this in person. Watching his beautiful body work with such precision was mesmerizing. I didn't get far in my book, but I did enjoy the show. After about forty five minutes he got out, his chest heaving as he dried off. He then did a post workout stretch without his warm up suit. I've never been attracted to younger guys, but I had to admit he was fun to watch while stretching. Oh, well, show over, back to my novel. That night, showered and changed, I spent an hour or so wandering through the beautiful lobby and grounds, and had a glass of wine. Feeling hungry, I went into the pub and got a small table. As I waited for the menu, I noticed my swimmer at a nearby table and nodded. He got up and approached my table. "Pardon me," he said with an accent. "You are dining alone, as am I. That isn't good for one's digestion. May I join you for dinner?" I've never liked eating out alone. "Sure, please do. My name's Karen," I said, extending my hand. He held my hand gently in his massive hand. "Thank you. My name is Tabare Vazquez. My American friends call me Barry," he said while pulling up a chair. Our conversation at dinner was delightful. In addition to being movie star handsome, "Barry" was almost regal in his demeanor, with impeccable manners. He had come from a very distinguished family in Uruguay that had included a president, who he was named after, and other business and political leaders. He had attended and swam for Stanford University, and had represented his country in several aquatic events in two different summer Olympics. Yet he seemed more interested in listening to me talk about my mundane life, husband and family. His dark eyes bored into me while we spoke, giving rus escort me his complete attention. I had never felt so listened to by anyone. "Why did your husband not accompany you," he asked me. "Marty doesn't like travelling as much as I do, and didn't want to take off from work. He enjoys fishing and camping with our son and his buddies more. He's good about letting me travel when I get the chance without making me feel like I'm deserting him," I answered. "What about you? Why is such an eligible bachelor still available? You don't have to answer if you don't want to." "Not at all," he said. "Marrying into my family is a bit more complicated than most. The women I've considered wouldn't have been comfortable with the obligations and commitments. Besides, I've not been in one place long enough." "Sounds like a feeble excuse," I said, while smiling. "Yes, I agree," he answered, while smiling back at me. We left together and found that our rooms were in the same section of the hotel just a few doors from each other. At my door, he took my hands, looked deep in my eyes, bent down, kissed my cheek and said "I greatly enjoyed meeting you. I hope to see you again. Have a wonderful stay". All I could fumble out was "goodnight." Inside my room I leaned against the door, my heart racing, and beat myself up for being so awkward. "So what did you expect or want, stupid. You're married, he's too young, and he probably has a girl in every port. He could have a thousand young girls, and he's going to hit on a forty six year old married lady from Hicksville, Indiana?" I hated it when I was logical. In bed, I couldn't concentrate on my book. I kept thinking of those eyes penetrating me, and that rich deep voice with its sexy accent and quaint use of English. I had never cheated on Marty, and I still actually liked the grumpy old fart. That didn't keep me from being really turned on by the attention of this beautiful eryaman escort man. I hadn't been this horny in a long time. Sex with Marty was enjoyable but I never had an orgasm during sex. Marty would have freaked if he knew I occasionally used the massaging vibrator to work out kinks other than in my neck. But I rarely did so, only when I knew I had the house to myself, and of course I didn't have it with me now. I would never travel with it, so there was to be no relief for the needy tonight, unfortunately. After re-reading the same paragraph for the fourth time, I gave up and resigned myself to a restless night. That's when I heard the knock at my door that would change my life forever. Of course, I knew without doubt who it was. I could have thought of a hundred reasons not to answer that door, if I had wanted to. But I intentionally blocked them out. The point was, I knew that I would answer it, and I knew exactly what that meant. There would be no necking and pleading for him not to go too far, insisting we didn't know each other well, or any of that other teen age stuff. Putting on the hotel robe, I looked through the peephole to make sure, then cracked the door. My heart was racing and my palms felt clammy. "May I enter?" he said. I opened the door wider and stepped back. Closing the door behind him, he took my face in both hands and gently put his lips on mine. I melted in his kiss, holding my body against his and my hands on his butt. He continued to kiss me all over my face and neck, coming back to my lips over and over again. His kisses were very passionate, but not at all urgent. He kissed me like he talked to me; as though he had all the time in the world to devote to me alone. Finally he removed my robe and let it drop to the floor as he scooped me up and laid me in my bed. He began to remove his clothing and neatly place it over a chair, until he was completely nude in front of me. Laying down facing me, he began kissing me again all over as his hands explored my body. He kneaded my skin in his large palms through my pajamas. I could feel his erection growing against me, yet he still moved deliberately and gently, rubbing my arms, legs, neck and back as he kept his lips on my skin.