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Hot time in the Hot tub

I used to attend weekend parties with my housemate Steve. Steve was a nice guy with a gorgeous, sun drenched California girlfriend, yet he still liked going out to parties, had a car and was up for anything. Best of all, he had access to the Berkeley Party Hotline, a special telephone number which, when called, would provide the caller the address of two or three possibly cool parties to try. As we got out of Steve?s car one lovely autumn night a girl we knew slightly was leaving the party. We chatted briefly and she said, ?I?m out of here boys. This party is too weird for me. There?s all kinds of people either naked or wearing orange clothing, playing crazy music, giving each other massages and sitting in the hot tub.?

Steve and I didn?t even exchange glances, just hurriedly said good-bye to our straight-laced acquaintance and went inside. I didn?t see any naked people, just a large living room filled with people, with fewer than half dressed in orange. I also immediately smelled potently pungent marijuana. I, coincidentally enough, was wearing the only close to orange clothing I had, things I almost never wore and never wore together before, a pair of orange painter pants and a rust colored velour shirt ? odd, I know but true. Looking around I saw people smoking joints, while quick investigation by my large and talented nose directed me to the source of the most exquisite smell. Three people were smoking the bottom half of a big fat doobie, having a fine time smoking, smiling and saying things like, ?Wow, this is great pot?. Two anonymous looking partiers and one very interesting and attractive woman. What was interesting, precisely, was how attractive she was, with captivating eyes, long brown hair, colorful flowing hippie clothing, a great body and wicked gap-toothed smile. No orange clothing, although the woman did seem to smile approvingly at my choice of apparel that evening.

I politely asked the group if I could have a toke, using proper party etiquette by first complimenting the aroma and obvious top quality. To my surprise the woman bluntly said no, handing the joint right past me, literally under my nose, to one of the fellas. Honestly, I was shocked and bummed for a second or two, until she said to me ?Let them finish this, I?ll roll us a new one.? Then I was happy! I really am a simple person in many ways.

Leaving her former companions to the roach, Air took me by the arm as we walked to a sofa. She rolled one up even fatter than the other joint, and handed it to me with a smile. She had a lighter, lit me up, and we smoked. She instantly lit me up in other ways as we had a great high chat about the origin of her name, her upcoming annual trip to Bali, ?As soon as I sell the pot I grew in Garberville this year,? the fact that this was a Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh house and that while the guru did give her the name Air Mountain Flower and she was friends with many Ragneeshies, she was not in fact a follower of the guru. Then Air asked if I wanted to check out the backyard hot tub with her.

The hot tub was occupied so Air suggested we go to the room directly inside. Twenty or so people were listening to several more play music, mostly drums and sitar. Some were dancing and yes, others were massaging one another. Most of those getting massaged, and some of those giving massage even had their clothes off as the woman outside the party described. It was a very cool scene but I was happy to move on when after a few minutes Air said ?Look outside,? the hot tub was empty and waiting for us.

Once outside Air took off her clothing and eased into the water. It was a moonless night with starlight and light from inside the house filtered through trees as our illumination. This was enough light for me to look in admiration upon Ms. Flower?s body as she walked down the steps and entered the tub, not even hesitating to adjust to the heat. By time she said aaahhhh I had joined her, making sure not to say ?Ouch, this is hot? as I did.

While my brain may not have been 100 percent sure of what was going to happen next, my confident cock had no doubt. Air faced me as I stood in the wonderfully hot water. She gently but firmly grasped my happy to cooperate penis with both hands, like holding a rope she wanted to pull, and gave a reassuring squeeze. The sensation was friendly and comfortable, like shaking hands with an old friend you haven?t seen in a long time. She looked up into my eyes and said the word which, written on a piece of paper visible through a spyglass accessible only from the top of a ladder in an art gallery, made John Lennon fall in love with Yoko Ono, one word only, ?Yes.?

I have to say making love to Air in that hot tub was a peak experience. She was perfect, we were insanely high on Garberville?s best and the extra buzz of making a connection with someone you met and liked instantly. Existence outdoors in the tub felt divine and I was grateful to be so gloriously alive.

Air was a mistress in the art of making love. No wham bam thank you sonny boy for her, she knew exactly what to do and have me do to make us both ecstatic, and keep us that way for a long time. There?s no other word to describe what I felt. We melted into one another in bliss. With the wisdom of her 34 years Air knew that by nature of my being 22 I was an excitable boy, ready to pump extremely hard a few times, go kablooey and be done for 22 minutes until the cycle could repeat. At my age it could repeat all night, but that wasn?t her goal.

Air knew how to slow me down so that didn?t happen, by increasing my focus on the present, fantastic moment. She had me open my eyes, look into hers and really see her as a fellow human going through the journey called life. I liked that. She had me accept her breath into me as we kissed, and with my conscious mind follow her breath throughout my body. I liked that too. She had me breathe my breath into her, and with my entire body feel it travel throughout hers. Yes, I liked that too. She had me feel every bit of energy in my body and all the heat of the water travel to my ever enlarging lingam as it was lovingly surrounded by her hotter than the hot tub itself yoni. Yes, she used Hindu words like lingam and yoni to express her adoration for our genitalia. And yes, oddly enough, I liked hearing her say those words I had never heard before.

When that erotic opening and looking and seeing and accepting and following and breathing and feeling and enlarging and embracing and hearing still eventually found me about to cum my new sweetheart ? and I could literally feel how sweet her heart was as it beat against mine - Air stopped moving, smiled at me and said ?Do you like to make love?? When I thought about that for a second, the urge to cum vanished, and we resumed our joyous activity.

I knew from physics class that energy absolutely is incapable of being created or destroyed but we sure seemed to be creating a lot of fantastic energy, right in the hot tub. Maybe it was channeled or tapped into or funneled to us from the atmosphere. Big cosmic power, not just your typical good sex waiting for the right ocean wave and riding it in sensation, but feeling privy to universal truths hitherto unknown to mere mortals. Lovingly entwined we became the cosmic male and female forces which created the universe and power it to this day. Ah magic California night!

Air and I spent the weekend making love with occasional pauses to eat, sleep and smoke more super-gange. She treated us to meals in good restaurants and a trip to the neighborhood hot tub rental spa, where of course we spent the entire time blissfully connected. Then she said it was time for her to go to work and sell her crop, minus the large love present she left me and fly to Bali. She?d call me upon her return in six weeks, something to look forward to.

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