Waking Soaked

In our love I would stand nude beside you as as you relaxed on a chaise lounge and cool you with a large reed fan as you tightly clasp the hose in both of your palms and coax cool water out the end. The pulsing current expands the rubber ever so slightly as the summer sun swelters down on the tableau of memorial dimensions, causing the hem of your skirt to rustle in the breeze and the flowers to radiate with evaporating heat as the moisture turns into sticky steam. My swimming trunks fit uncomfortably as I watch you cross your legs, and I rue the bet I made that put me in such an exposed and vulnerable position.