Boathouse Heat

First, it was dinners at their place. Then it was real friendship. Paul would rope me into weekend outings — hiking (not my thing), kayaking (worse), or birdwatching (kill me now). I endured it all because it meant time with Nora afterward, usually over a meal where she’d shine in some effortlessly chic dress. They introduced me to the town’s upper crust, landing me invites to their lavish parties — think endless gin martinis, jazz drifting through the air, women in designer gowns, and whispers of who was slipping off with who.

Those nights started early and burned till sunrise. Husbands drowned in bourbon, wives restless for something more. And me? Still on the sidelines, holding out for Nora. I had chances — plenty — but they weren’t her, so they didn’t matter.

In under a year, we were close — close enough to share secrets. Paul admitted his energy was fading, said he worried Nora’s fire was still burning bright while he couldn’t keep up. “Look at you,” he’d say – “you’re in your prime. When I was your age, I had it all. Now? I want to, but the body’s not cooperating.”

Nora, on her end, hinted at Paul’s struggles — too much scotch, too little spark. It was her way of saying their bed had gone cold. I nodded along, barely listening, my mind racing with want. But I played the loyal friend, defending Paul while wrestling my own desires. Until one sweltering Saturday in late summer, when everything shifted.

We’d spent the morning on a grueling hike, Paul knocking back half a flask of whiskey to “take the edge off.” Lunch at their place was fine at first, but by the time dessert rolled around, he was slurring and excused himself to crash upstairs, leaving his liquor-soaked snores to echo through the house.

Nora and I lingered at the table, the air thick with heat and something unspoken. She leaned back, fanning herself with a napkin. “I’m dying to cool off by the lake,” she said – “maybe take a dip.” I shrugged. “Sounds perfect. Don’t let me stop you.” She smiled, a glint in her eye. “I’ll go change.” I stayed put, nursing a glass of iced tea under the porch awning. When she returned ten minutes later, my breath caught.

Picture this slow, because it’s burned into my mind. She stepped out in a black one-piece swimsuit, cut high on the hips, plunging low in the front. Her body was a masterpiece — toned, smooth, no trace of time’s wear. The suit clung to her curves, accentuating every line, her hips swaying with each step. Her legs stretched endlessly, capped with strappy sandals that showed off crimson-painted toes. Her hair was swept up, loose strands catching the sunlight. She was unreal.

She settled onto a chair by the lake’s edge, glanced my way, and called out, “Matt – would you help with some sunscreen?” Her voice was casual, but her eyes weren’t.

I was up in a heartbeat, trying not to look too eager. I knelt beside her, squeezing lotion into my palms, and started with her shoulders, my hands gliding over her warm skin. Either Nora thought I was oblivious, or she was playing me like a fiddle. No way I was that dense — she was pulling me in. My pulse hammered as I worked the lotion down her back, her breath hitching slightly. She laughed softly – “that tickles a bit.”

I stole a glance around. The house was empty — staff always took weekends off. My hands circled lower, brushing the small of her back, and I felt her lean into my touch. I was losing it, my body screaming to act. I murmured, “Mind standing? Easier to get the rest.”

She rose, and I slid behind her, my hands still working. She tilted her hips just enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her. That was it — I couldn’t hold back. I stood, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pressed my lips to the curve of her neck, slow and deliberate, my breath grazing her skin. My hands traced her sides, pulling her closer, letting her feel me against her.

She gasped, a little too theatrical. “Matt – what’s this?” But her body didn’t pull away.

I didn’t answer. I turned her gently, guiding her toward the boathouse nearby, my hands firm on her hips. Inside, I shut the door and kissed her—hard, hungry, no holding back. Her lips met mine with equal fire, her tongue seeking mine, her hands gripping my shoulders. I slid the straps of her swimsuit down, letting it fall to her waist, revealing her bare skin, full and perfect under my palms. I cupped her, my thumbs teasing her peaks, and she arched into me with a soft moan.

“Nora,” I breathed against her ear – “I’ve wanted you for months. I can’t stop.”

She didn’t speak — just reached for me, her fingers deft and urgent, freeing me from my shorts. She sank to her knees, her eyes locked on mine as she took me in, slow at first, then deeper, her hands steady on my hips. The heat of her mouth, the way she moved—it was deliberate, consuming, like she’d been waiting for this as long as I had. I tangled my fingers in her hair, guiding her gently, my breath ragged as waves of pleasure built.

I couldn’t let it end there. I pulled her up, kissing her again, tasting myself on her lips. I tugged her swimsuit down entirely, letting it pool at her feet, and lifted her onto a cushioned bench against the wall. My hands roamed her thighs, parting them as I sank lower, my lips tracing her inner skin until I reached her core. She gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders as I explored her, slow and deliberate, savoring every shudder, every whispered plea for more. She was sweet, responsive, her body trembling under my touch.