WET [Part 13 - Arches]
My summer at the adults-only water park…
The next two weeks passed in a blur.
The quiet lulls I’d grown accustomed to vanished completely, swallowed by the relentless energy of the busy season. The resort was packed to capacity, and things were busier than ever. Mara had warned me this would happen toward the tail end of the summer, and she was right; a shift on the poolside bar was followed by yoga which was followed by turn-down service on the cabanas, my eyes gritty with exhaustion, and it sometimes felt as if I was assigned everywhere all at once.
In the chaos, Pete became like a ghost. I’d catch fleeting glimpses of him across the golf course, a distant figure pushing a cart of clean linens toward the staff quarters. Sometimes we’d pass in the staff corridors, our shoulders almost brushing as we moved in opposite directions, exchanging a tired smile and a quick nod. I thought about him often when we weren’t together, but the frantic pace allowed little time for reminiscing, and the resort itself seemed to ramp up a level in its sexuality, the sheer number of people seeming to give everyone a new cloak of anonymity.
“Don’t they give you any breaks? You must be exhausted.”
I straightened up, my back protesting the movement. I was turning down one of the private cabanas when the voice called out to me, and I peered around the corner separating Cabana Six from Cabana Seven. The man who had spoken was lying on a daybed, propped up on one elbow, a book lying open beside him. He was slightly older than the usual crowd, maybe early thirties. He wore expensive-looking chinos and a simple silver watch on his wrist.
“That’s the busy season for you.” I offered a tired smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Can I get you anything, sir? Another towel? A fresh drink?”
He chuckled. “I’m good. It’s you that needs the break, not me. How about a foot rub?”
I laughed. “I wish.“
“I’m serious,” he said, swinging his legs off the daybed and sitting up. “Give me ten minutes; I’ll change your life.”
“That’s very kind,” I said, picking up his used glasses from the small table at the end of the day bed. “But I’m already behind schedule.”
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he said, his tone casual. “How does a hundred dollars sound?”
I stopped and turned to face him, my hands on my hips. The number was tempting, absurdly so. I looked him over again. He was clean, well-groomed, and he had an air of money about him that wasn’t just the watch.
“A hundred dollars? For ten minutes? What are you, some kind of foot freak?”
“If it helps you to think of it that way, sure.”
My eyes darted around the cabana area. It was quiet, the other guests either asleep or down by the main pool.
“And it’s just a foot rub, right? No funny business?”
He smiled. “No funny business.”
I sighed. What was the harm, really? It was just a foot rub. I needed a break anyway, and a hundred bucks was a hundred bucks. “Fuck it,” I heard myself say. “Ten minutes. Pay upfront.”
“Deal.”
He stood up, turning to the bed where he had been laying and grabbing the pillows, plumping them up and placing them back. I looked around the private poolside area again as he worked, suddenly wondering if this was a terrible area.
“Come, sit.”
I did, leaning back against cushions. Massage or no massage, it felt great the weight off my feet, and I watched as he sat down perpendicular to me and tapped his thigh. I smiled and obeyed, placing my feet on his leg.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He gripped one of my legs at the ankle, his hands warm and strong, and lifted my sandal, slipping it from me and exposing the soft soles of my feet. He dropped it to the floor, holding both of my feet together momentarily as if they were precious. I watched him, stifling a giggle as his facial expression changed from cool and confident to awed and reverent.
“You have very nice feet,” he whispered.
And then I did giggle, wiggling my toes for him. “Thanks!”
That seemed to have an effect on him, and his thumbs began to work on the arch, smoothing them upward and spreading my toes. It felt nice. Nothing remarkable. Especially compared to Anya’s performance a few weeks ago, but nice nonetheless. I sighed, leaning back on my elbows, feeling the sun on my skin, the gentle breeze in my hair.
“That’s it,” he whispered, readjusting himself. “Just relax.”
I nodded, losing myself in the moment, allowing him to move his hands across my heels, pressing his thumbs deeper along the curve of the arch. He eased the pressure, letting his palms cradle my heel while his fingertips traced small circles just below my toes. Every so often he shifted his grip, sliding one hand beneath my ankle to lift it slightly, stretching my foot gently before letting it settle back into his lap again.
I had almost completely relaxed when I felt it, my sole brushing up against something unmistakably hard and solid beneath the fabric of his chinos. I found myself holding my breath in anticipation, my toes curling slightly as he moved my foot. I stopped fighting it and started to lean into it, a small, secret smile playing on my lips as I realized I didn’t just like it; I was the one in control. I flexed my foot, my toes brushing against the hard length of him. He let out a sharp hiss of breath, his hips jerking forward. I did it again, this time more deliberately, my toes tracing the outline of his cock through the thin fabric.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes closing. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”
I wiggled my toes again. “Maybe…”