“Wet My Pet”
Eleven-thirty and Celia was feeling tired, her bed was beckoning. The gentle knock at her apartment door was an unwelcome interruption. She peeped through the little spyhole and saw Stephan looking back. A little reluctantly, she opened the door. “What d’you say to a midnight swim?” he whispered. “Pool doesn’t open till next week.” “I’ve got a key,” he grinned and brandished a large bunch. “I’ve no suit,” she was too tired for this. “Skinny dip,” he shrugged, “if you don’t wear yours, I won’t wear mine.” His mood caught her and she felt herself yielding. She sighed and he smiled his smile. He really was a persuasive man, “Wait, let me find a towel.” Celia went to the bedroom, suddenly eager to go with him. She rummaged in a drawer, looking through her underwear, …