Theresa
She dresses frumpy so you never noticed her. Sneaking off to the springs proves eye opening.
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Fireflies blink lazy patterns around the edges. The full moon’s out. The sky’s wide and bare. You can even see the lights from the lodge, distant and safe.
You glance over as you drop your things and stop dead.
She’s pulling it off slow, peeling the sleeves inside out as she stretches. The hoodie drops. Then the sweatpants. No rush. No show. Just casual and unaware.
Holy. Shit.
You’d always figured Theresa was soft, kind of big, maybe awkward under all the layers. You were dead wrong. She’s thick, yeah, but in the kind of way that makes your hands itch. Big hips, built thighs, that tight fuck-you waistline leading into an ass that looks sculpted. Her bikini clings, navy blue, simple, but there’s no mistaking the curves it’s barely containing. Her tits are massive, round, high, perfect, and somehow she’s been hiding those this whole time?
Her hair’s up in a loose ponytail, two strands curling in front of her cheeks. In the moonlight, her tan skin looks damn near golden. She steps down into the pool like she’s done this a hundred times, water licking at her ankles, knees, thighs. Her ass jiggles with each step. It’s hypnotic.
You feel the heat flooding to your crotch. Cursing under your breath, you make a quick adjustment, shoving your stubborn boner up under your waistband and tugging your hoodie down. Fuck. There’s no hiding the tent if you take off that sweater.
She turns, not noticing. Her eyes closed. Chin tilted up.
What the hell are you waiting for? she says, voice loose and low. It’s perfect.
Heart racing, you pray she doesn’t open her eyes just yet. Because if you take your sweatshirt off now, your dick’s gonna be real obvious, poking straight through your mesh shorts like a damn flagpole.