the steaming cauldron

So, I stood in a maze of crossbars, turning a socket wrench with a steady cricket buzz. The bleachers are high. I was looking out the end and into the hot tub, my feet perched on thin metal bars.. Ellie came out of the locker room door. She a blue bikini and she wore it well. Women don’t usually wear two-piece suits at an athletic pool. She quickly glided over the damp concrete and slipped into the steaming cauldron. Her breasts had flourished from the bare wisps of bosom I recalled on little Ellie. Her chest grew flush as the heat poured through her. I slipped my wrench into my pocket, held on tight and held my breath, watching this pretty Diana bathe.

Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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