Watsu

I have one more hippy compound story. I was sitting in the quiet pool, and there was a couple doing Watsu. They were in their fifties, or maybe a little older. The man was cradling the woman. She was face up, and her boobs were hanging to the side near her armpits. It wasn’t uncommon to see Watsu in the quiet pool.

The woman was levitating over the water, floating with the help of the man who was holding her with his palms up. He was rocking her softly and slowly through the water. She had smile on her face. It went on for half an hour or so, before she started to moan. It sounded like she was having an orgasm. Nobody wanted to hear it. It was bad enough they were hogging the pool with their movements.

At about the forty-one minute mark, the man grabbed hold of the woman’s hair and started pulling her about. She still had a smile on her face. He was roughhousing her. He was swirling her about like a man possessed. It looked like he had a magic wound in his hand, and was waving about. He was like a Watsu fencer. He was standing back and whipping her back and forth. People started to leave the pool. It was too much!

But it didn’t stop there. At around the fifty-first minute the woman affixed a swimmers nose plug to the bridge of her nose to keep the water from going in. The man still had a hold of her hair and he flung her about. She was doing summersaults under the water. With every revolution her giant ass would surface like a Gray whale surfacing for air. There were just a few of us left in the pool by then. It went on and on. It finally ended. She was happy, and so was I.