Come in, the water's fine

Once again, Sam and I crept along the fifty yards of wooded path toward the abandoned mansion. It was August now, and chillier this time; the brisk air raised goosebumps on my arms.

'Here it is,' Sam said.

'Yes, here it is,' said I.

'You have a rubber, right?'

'Of course.'

I wondered for a moment whether I really wanted to do this. Usually, Samantha was so aggressive that, by the time I got to actually thinking things out, she was already pulling me toward her, pinning me against her nippled chest, whispering, 'Come in, the water's fine.' I thought maybe she'd turned less enthusiastic this evening; but no, she lurked ten yards off, pants down and peeing in the woods. Then she came to me, pressed me to her chest, and whispered, 'Come in, the water's fine.'

Once again, I heeded the call.