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. 

The Quiet Pool

I was soaking in the quiet pool. It was a nice pool. The water was warm. There was group of us in there. Everybody was as naked as a Jaybird. The sun had fallen and the pool was dimly lit.

            There was a young woman sitting next to me. She was kind of pretty. It’s hard to sit by someone when you’re naked and not think about sex, or the potential for sex. Those thoughts did cross my mind as I sat there next to her, but one had to be respectful.

            I closed my eyes and tried to think about something else. I was successful, however briefly.

            It was a nice night. The weather was perfect. People came in and out of the pool. You did your best not to gawk, but everybody did in their own little way.

            I turned and looked at the woman next to me. I was checking to see if there was a pulse. There wasn’t. I had been sitting there for some time when I got a whiff of a foul odor. It was halitosis breath. I was sure of it. There’s no mistaking that smell. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. It went away and I didn’t think much about it after that. A short time later I smelled it again. It quickly became an issue. I wanted to limit my exposure to it. I looked around to try to figure out where it was coming from. There was no answer for it.

            I sat there with my eyes closed. When I opened them, I saw the woman next to me yawning, and than I got a whiff of the halitosis. Her breath was perfectly unacceptable. I looked at her once more, and than slowly moved away.  

Too Hippy

The hippy compound had a common kitchen area. The mood in the kitchen was very serious. The importance of food had taken on a new meaning. I was somewhat intimidated by it, and I consider myself a good cook.

There were four or five people trying to put a meal together. The kitchen was set up to accommodate the numbers. There were three sinks, two stoves, and all the utensils you needed to cook and eat.

I looked around to see what all the fuss was about. There was a lot of tension in the room. I noticed a slender man with a stern look on his face, very intense. He was putting together a salad. Not that hard, not worthy of a intensive look that’s for sure.

There was a lady standing at the stove stirring a pot of water with some kind of pre-packaged ingredient in it. She had a scow on her face. Experts! These people think they’re exports, but they’re not! I had them figured.

I was slicing suquini into quarters. I was going to make pasta, with garlic, and olive oil with a splash of oregano, something simple and fast.

I was cutting the suquini, when a man with a humorless look on his face nudged by me and put two pieces of bread into the toaster. I didn’t think anything of it. He came back a short time later to check on his toast. You’d think he was doing something incredibly important the way he carried himself. He had a look on his face that suggested that he was. But as far as I could tell, he was making toast. He came back a third time. His toast was ready. He inspected it. It checked out.