At the poolside

The moment I step onto the pool deck in my tiny bikini, every pair of eyes finds me. Some men whistle, others lean in and whisper things they’d never say if their wives were listening. I let them look. Let them want. My body was built to draw attention, and I’ve never felt the need to hide it. I slide onto a lounge chair, the sun warm on my skin, and the fabric of my suit barely covering anything at all. My fingers trail down my stomach, slow, almost absent-minded. When they slip beneath the thin triangle of cloth, I don’t bother looking around to see who’s watching. I know they are. My breath catches, hips shifting, legs parting just enough. I touch myself like I’m alone, like the sun and water are the only ones there, yet every stroke says otherwise. The soft sounds I make aren’t for show—they come because it feels good, because the heat between my legs is real. And if someone’s getting harder just from watching, well… that’s their problem, not mine.