How to properly hot tub

Vacation. We settle into it nicely. The clapboard cabin sits at the steep embankment and has a semi-circle deck overlooking the rail that leads up to it. Next to us is another cabin with matching deck, and between our two established boundaries, a shared hot tub. We finish up dinner and I go over to check that the hot tub is at the proper setting. It usually idles at 89 degrees, so it's important to jack it up to 105 several minutes before getting in.

Sunset is bleeding out across the horizon. It's been a full day of hiking and the jets of the tub sound inviting. While I lift the cover and check the temperature, our neighbor couple stroll over, very pedestrian beer bottles in their hand. These two, they're ok, but somewhat mainstream. He's clean-shaven, her tan is a little fake, they probably like some horrible music, but harmless.

"How's the temperature?" he asks.

"Needs to climb up a bit."

"Sweet. You guys getting in soon?"

I rub my chin. "When it gets a little darker."

I let that statement linger without explanation. We don't use swimsuits is why. Anyone who gets in a hot tub with a swimsuit is too WASPy for their own good.

"Pretty sunset," she says.

I nod, put the cover back down. "You guys eat yet? We have a lot left over."

"No, we're good," he says. "Actually boiling some water right now."

They wave, go back to their side, their identical piece of the earth for the weekend, disappear around the cabin.

I go into ours and find you there on the bed, laid out, with one boot off. I look at you, you at me. We both laugh.

"Tired?"

"Beat," you say.

"Hmmm. Guess you won't want to partake, then."

You sit up. "I didn't say that."

I get the kit out of my bag, turn on the fan unit by the window, set the fan to blow out rather than suck in.  I unzip the kit, take out the little baggie of crumbly green goodies. I take a bud in hand, delicately remove the stem, a few seeds. While I do this, you rest your head on my thigh like a cat. I half expect you to bat the contents out of my hand like a cat. I take the glass bowl in my other hand, sprinkle the bits of bud into it, fill it to the top, press gently with my thumb to pack it lightly. I pass it over to you with my left hand, the lighter with my right. You hang over the bed on your stomach, and cross your legs into the air as you spark the green. You hold the carb with your left thumb until you get a nice hit, then release, taking the roasty, sweet smoke into your chest. To you, the first hit of the green is a little like roast pork: a delicious, earthy and altogether unique flavor. You hold it in as long as you can, blow out slow, though with the last few seconds you begin to cough. It's a pleasant cough, a ticklish affair. Your eyes water, you gulp, try to produce a feeling of "getting on top of your hiccup." You roll over on the bed, twin tears streaming down your face. I hit the other half of the green, hold it in, exhale slow and long into your face as a mist. You smile, suck at the swirling vapor above you. Both of us, our eyes become half-slits. The relaxation has begun.

When we do this, it's a feeling of getting back to the zone. All life spent outside the zone has been an interruption of the zone. Half-eyed, grinning, all senses on "yes" and "more." We're in the wilderness, miles from nowhere, no reason to be paranoid. It's our weekend. This is what people come here for. We stretch out on the bed, letting the feeling saturate us. Everything untwists and tingles. A lightness has enveloped the room.

I stroke your hair, palm your cheek.

"Do you think the hot tub is ready?" you ask.

"Ready enough," I say.

You close your eyes, face the ceiling and give a sexy groan as you twist off the bed and get to your feet. With a slippery eel maneuver I could never duplicate, you slide off your shorts, shirt, underwear, everything, cock a brow at me and wrap yourself in a towel. "It's time," you say. "Bring the wine."

I follow suit not nearly as elegantly, wrap a towel, and grab the bottle of shiraz and two plastic cups. (No glass in the "bathing area.")

The sunset has all but surrendered to the night. A few slashes of deep orange mar the blackness, emerging stars dot their way on purple velvet. We slope down the small set of wooden steps to the hot tub, bend the lid back. 103. Not ideal, but close enough. You shoot a glance towards our neighbors who are not out. The cabin light is on. With a feline grace, you slip the towel off, step into the water. With your senses alit, it feels like a delicious lava. You almost feel like you're melting into it yourself, dissolving in the slowing watery substance. Yes, slowing. To be in it is to turn time to molasses, the pleasure is so great. In this water, everything below the neck is a clitoral nerve ending bundle. You moan long and slow, sinking in and floating your legs to break the surface. Your wet skin in the night breeze is like Olympian gods blowing steam off of you. You giggle. I slip in too and groan in delight.

"mmmfrek," you mumble.

"What was that?"

"Perrrrrfect," you say and smile wide.

"Yes," I say. "This is awesome."

I attend to the buttons. One makes a blue light shine from the bottom. Another produces jets, another a torrent of bubbles.

"Oh!" you coo, and slide over in front of a jet, position yourself so it's center of your spine. You picture a fibrous tree trunk untangling itself from the force of the jet. The weed is kicking in, mixing with the tiredness. You are impervious to stress. All is right with the world. I begin scoring the wine bottle, pulling the cork. As I wrench it free, our neighbors come down wearing swimsuits and walking cautiously like something will suddenly trip them out of the dark.

As they wind their way down towards us, I squeeze your thigh with one hand, a wet, beautiful smooth angle of flesh. With the other I pour the wine into our dinky cups.

"Think they know we're high?" you ask.

"Who cares?" I reply.

They reach the edge of the tub.

"'d say the water's fine, but that's cliched," I say.

"It's not?" she says, swipes a toe at the surface of the water. Maybe she misunderstood or hadn't heard me clearly over the bubble whir. Or maybe she's just dense. What a ridiculous one-piece she's wearing. So bottled-up. So safe. So not like you.

He's got these big surfer trunks with white Hawaiian flowers. He looks like he shaves his chest.

"It's fine!" I say a little louder, even as they're getting in. They look uncomfortable. They're in one of the most beautiful places on earth and they look uncomfortable. What's wrong with people?

They sit there and we both start giggling as we sip our wine. The awkwardness of it all is as hilarious as it is peculiar. How do you relate to people? What do you talk about? Weather? Sports? We don't really care about those things, it's just something to say. We're in the zone. We're on a different plane. Those topics wouldn't fly. So we sit and grin and stifle giggles. My hand is still on your thigh, masked by the torrential blur of moving water.

"Where did you guys hike today?" he asks.

"Down in the valley," I say, avoiding specifics on purpose. Obtuse for comedic effect. But he doesn't get it. And that makes you laugh. She joins you in laughing, whether she thought it was funny or whether your laughter is infectious. I move my hand up your thigh.

"Yeah. You guys want some wine?"

"Oh, no thanks. Red gives me headaches. Shelly?" he says.

Shelly shrugs. "I don't have a cup or anything."

You offer, "You can drink straight from the bottle, we don't mind." As you say this, I feel your hand search in the water, first my right thigh, then my left, until you seize on my cock, and you grasp firmly, though your face stays neutral and you don't look my way to give it away. We're both becoming excited by this game. Keeping up appearances above water, meanwhile, playtime is occurring below the surface.

You pass the shiraz to Shelly, who politely takes a birdsip. "Mm. It's good."

"It's Australian," I offer, and this cracks you up. You laugh for a good minute and I shrug. "She likes Crocodile Dundee. Inside joke." This satisfies them.

I move my hand down your thigh and among the sweet hot watery miasma, I find your lovely divide. You are turned on and relaxed both, and I love feeling the contours of your opening with my fingers, lost among the bubble to the two interlopers across from us. It's a wide tub, we could probably fit five more people before things got uncomfortable, but the other cabins were empty this weekend.

I trace the arch of your vulva, back and forth, like a horseshoe, needing no pressure, as the hot water makes all a delight. I trigger your clit in a tight, lazy circle, letting the rhythm build and feeling your body tense and respond to my touch. All  the while we're carrying on a mundane conversation with he and Shelly. Your hand has begun to pump my cock up and down, same rhythm as I'm doing to you.

The steam on the water's bubbly top suddenly abates. The timer of the jets and bubbles has stopped. "Oh! I'll get it!" you say and spin up and around to hit the buttons. As you set them both into motion, and sink back into the water, it's apparent to both of our visitors that they are in the company of two nude people. He is turning red and Shelly is looking at him turn red to make sure he doesn't like what he saw, isn't trying to memorize it for later. Because clearly your breasts broke the surface for those few seconds, you felt the Olympian kiss on them, and they both saw. Shelly hands back the wine, and you take it, climb onto my lap, letting your breasts break the surface again.

"We have to be up early for the gorge hike, so...." they say, and grumble something else as they get their towels. He may have had a budding erection and Shelly may have been staring it down, back to repression. They say their good nights and whatfors, start back up towards their cabin. As you slide onto my lap, we join, I easily slide into you, inside you. Slickness, heat, us. It was bound to happen. It couldn't NOT happen. Even as our interlopers are still within earshot, you begin to bounce up and down on me. You turn, put the wine bottle down and kill the blue light at the same time. Now there's just the cabin light, starlight, the heat, the water, the ecstasy of it all. You move and the water sloshes, you lower yourself onto me and with each lowering our excitement builds, inflates. The water sloshes over the edge, you start to groan a little. I reach my hand around to your cheek and you take my finger into your mouth to stifle the noise. This sensation becomes too much and I convulse once, twice, sink into the water.

"That didn't last long," you say.

"Yeah, but give me a few seconds. I'll be ready for round two as soon as you get in that cabin." It's true. I already feel myself swelling. There's certain times where I last a long time and then once I'm done, I'm done. Other times I can come multiple occasions in one night and always get back to hard within a few seconds. This is one of those nights.

I grab the wine bottle and the towels, and we scamper up to our own cabin after haphazardly replacing the cover. You jump onto the bed, bury your face in the pillow, then raise your lower body and lift your head, peek around your shoulder. You're beautiful. I get on the bed too. I press down on your back, creating a small dip/contour. I pour a tiny amount of wine there and lap it up with my tongue. Our lust and passion are dizzying. Senses are afire and glowing with the steaminess of the tub. I pour another tiny bit of shiraz down your back and it slips past your ass. I drag my tongue from your vulva all the way up to your back where I started pouring. You moan in delight and I see your toes flex in anticipation. "Shall I do that again?"

You moan out, "Oh, you'd better. Don't stop."

I pour. I lap. I pour. I lap. I pour. I lap. Each time you get more excited. Each time it's like fireworks, an explosion of fantastic pleasure. You claw the covers as I lick you. You begin to moan in time with my strokes. You begin to quiver beginning with your knees, working up to your thighs. Your fingertips, pruned from water, are numb and tingling. When the tingling reaches your face, your whole body is a lightning rod for pleasure and you climax with such force you think you're going to throw your back out. For a good three minutes, all you can do is exhale little groans and slowly melt onto the covers. When you get to be flat-out, you fall fast asleep. I pull the covers over you, brush away a strand of hair from your forehead and kiss you there.