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Sex underwater
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
>>> SCUBA details to follow! <<<
An acquaintance and I decided to "Attempt the Impossible" a few summers
ago. As I was living in New England at the time, the Atlantic was the ocean of
choice, and we proceeded to gather up our equipment for our dive. First of
all, August may be 80 degrees at the beach, but the water temperature at
Gloucester is about 60 degrees once you get more than 20 feet down. Hence,
wetsuits are not optional apparel. For those of you who haven't done any
cold-water diving, wetsuits come in two parts: the "Farmer John," something
like a pair of tight-fitting overalls, and the "shortie," a jacket-like
thing which covers the arms and torso. Since Farmer Johns don't have any
zippers or fasteners, we were going to have to dive without them in just our
shorties, leaving the legs exposed to the water. We also needed old-fashioned
shorties, since we were accustomed to diving in our custom wetsuits. These
were both of the "side-zipper" style. What we needed were the "beaver-tail"
shorties, with the crotch strap that fastened in front with a kind of buckle
arrangement. However, a trip to the local dive shop provided us with the
necessary wetsuits.
The next problem was air. Both Diane and myself were moderately ex-
perienced and in halfway-descent shape; we usually could dive to 30' for about
an hour without running out of air if were were careful, and we weren't
planning to do anything but go for the Big One on the sand floor and get the
hell out. However, we realized that our air consumption would be exessive,
so we decided to dive with double tanks, giving us enough air for about two
hours of normal activity. Of course, doubles weigh A LOT!!!!! We figured
we would hit the surf with about 90-100 lbs of gear on various parts of the
anatomy.
The final difficulty was the expected lack of lubrication. Normal
vaginal lubrication is, of course, water soluble, and after some experimen-
tation in the bathtub (grin!) we figured we would probably need something,
so we got three small tubes of K-Y jelly (N.B.: Scuba divers always dive
with backup equipment :-} ) and stashed them in the B.C. pockets. After
an "equipment check-out" the night before (grin!), we were ready to hit the
beach.
We drove to the beach with some friends of Diane (who had no idea of
what we were planning :-} ), who were going to get some sun on the beach while
we went "hunting for lobsters." Once we got to the beach, Diane's friends
helped us suit up and get our tanks on. Actually, it was a good thing they
were there; I don't think I could have managed lifting Diane's doubles onto
her back with my own already on. After a buddy check (regulators and octopi,
air, gauges, weights, B.C. inflators, etc.) we hit the surf, looking for a
"secluded spot."
At first, getting in the water was a great relief; it really is no fun
standing on a sunny beach on a humid August day, wearing a rubber suit and
a hundred pounds of gear. Once we got out about fifty yards from shore, and
settled in on the sand, I began to have a few second thoughts. That water was
cold! We had timed the dive to be about half an hour after high tide, so that
the warm (comparatively) water of the cove would be drifting out to sea,
rather than the cold water of the ocean proper filling the cove. Even so, the
water temperature was a brisk 65 degrees.
Once we found a spot Diane found acceptable, we kicked off our fins
and "got down to business." Here we ran into our first hurdle. Have you
ever tried to get an erection when your balls are fondly remembering that
nice warm place in the abdominal cavity they left a few months before your
birth, and are doing their damnedest to return there? At that point, I wanted
nothing more that to call it quits, get the hell out of the water, and drink
the hot chocolate I had in a Thermos back on the beach. Diane, however, had
other ideas. She had come all this way, and no way was she going to back out
now! She grabbed my weight belt and undid the fastening to my beavertail.
Whooosh! All that nice warm water I had inside my suit went gushing into the
void, to be replaced by something akin to icewater. Once I was free of the
wetsuit and my genitals had grown accustomed to being frozen in an icecube,
I have to admit my interest picked up. Diane spat out her regulator, kissed
my mask, and started to kiss my dick in (what was by this completely unneces-
sary attempt to get me hard. This sensation is impossible to desribe. The
incompressibility of the water somehow made her lips contact seem, well, more
_intense_, and the teasing nature of it (made necessary by her natural inclin-
ation to breathe) made me gasp each time she took me in her mouth. When she
discovered the reaction she could get by purging her octopus, sending a blast
of air bubbles right at my dick, you might say she restored my interest in
what we had planned.
She got out her tube of K-Y, and gave me a mischievous look through
her mask as she proceeded to lubricate my dick. It this point I decided to
take advantage of the neat stuff one can do underwater. Up to this point,
I had been in that half kneeling, half crouching posture that is so effortless
underwater and utterly impossible on land. I figured that since Diane was so
considerate to get me ready for sex, the least I could do was return the
favor. So I put a little air in my BC and flipped upsided down, holding
lightly to Diane's waist, and unbuckling _her_ beavertail. Now it was her
turn to gasp as the cold water hit some sensitive areas.
Being inverted or face up underwater takes some getting used to. The
inevitable water droplets that leak into your mask fall into your eyes and
nose, which can be disconserting, and you unconsiously are _certain_ that it's
impossible to breathe in that position. Of course, a good regulator is
perfectly capable of supplying dry air in any position; anything less would be
dangerous. Nonetheless, it took a few moments to get my bearings. Of course,
I had an obvious reference point hanging about six inches in front of my
face. ( ;-} ) I started to lick her with long, slow strokes, and after a few
moments she seemed to lose interest in lubricating me and grabbed my tanks
to keep me in position. About this time I recalled the trick with the octopus,
and wanted to find out how she would react. So I groped around for my octopus,
and pushed the purge button, letting loose a violent stream of bubbles between
her legs.
Recalling the threat of air embolism, and the fact that a scuba tank's
first stage regulator steps the tanks' 3000psi down to a mere 150 or so, I was
careful to keep the regulator well way from her pussy and anus. Even so, Diane
went rigid, andI thought I might have injured her somehow when she jerked when
the bubbles hit. When she spun me upright I realized that she had something
completely different in my mind. The time had come for the main event!
All this fooling around had allowed most of the K-Y to wash away, but
Diane was wet enough ( ;-} ) so that it didn't seem to matter. We had prev-
iously decided that a vertical facing position would probably be the most
manageable, so Diane gently pushed herself up vertically, and settled herself
(oh so sloooooly!) on my dick. As usual, I let her set the pace, and as she
started rocking slowly back and forth, I settled back to "enjoy the ride."
The scuba gear started to show its restraint. I usually liked to kiss Diane's
neck and breasts, and fondle and stroke her sides while we made love, but this
was impossible while she was wearing her wetsuit, BC, tanks, and regulator.
I was left with nothing to do but relax....
While I found it personally unsatisfying, Diane was apparently enjoying
herself a great deal, displayed primarily by the huge cloud of bubbles that
spat out of her regulator's vents with alarming frequency. I suddenly realized
that I had no idea of how long we had been submerged or how much air I had
remaining. While Diane continued rocking, I started groping for my console.
The tank pressure gauge read 900 lbs, while the bottom timer blinked
"22 min." 900 lbs!!! We had hit the water at about 3100 psi, and I expected
to need about 100 to return. Saving another 500 psi as a reserve, I figured
we were right on the edge. About that time I noticed Diane's heavy breathing,
and started to get concerned. I pulled out of Diane and spun her around with
my left hand, grabbing for her console with my right. As I suspected, she
was almost to the 300 psi redline. Enough fun and games; we were in a bit
of a pickle!
After waving Diane's console in front of her face, she noticed her
air pressure and got the "cease and desist" message. Back on went the swim-
suits, the beavertails (sigh!) and the fins, while we headed back to shore.
Neither of us really used to diving with doubles, and since the extra weight
was most noticeable at the surface, I decided to swim back underwater rather
than snorkel back on the surface. In order to conserve Diane's dangerously
low air supply, I had her breathe from my octopus while swimming above me,
holding lightly to my tanks. Since I was navigating with my compass,
Diane had the task of watching my air.
We had gotten about halfway back when Diane jerked violently backwards,
tangling me up in her fins. After sorting untangling myself, I turned around
and saw that Diane was doubled up, clutching her calf, obviously suffering from
a leg cramp. Well, there was no other alternative; we had to go back on the
surface. I got Diane's regulator in her mouth, and while she tried to
stretch out the cramp I brought us slowly to the surface and inflated our
BC's. Flipping Diane onto her back, I started towing her slowly back to shore.
As I feared, Diane's cramp seemed to brought about by the cold. I
could feel her shivering as I towed her in by her tanks, and by the time we
got into the shallows she was jerking uncontrollably. Her friends on the beach
could see a that something was wrong as soon as the noticed my towing Diane
back to the beach, and they were waiting for us in about four feet of water.
When I felt them grap Diane and bundle her up the beach, I just collapsed and
waited for some strength to return. When I felt that could manage it, I
reached up and popped the emergency releases of the BC' shoulder straps, undid
my weight belt, and rolled out of my gear. Luckily, Diane's friends had
managed to get her gear off and in into a few beach towels, and one of them
came back to the beach and helped me drag my tanks and weight belt out of the
surf zone. Stripping off my wetsuit, I stumbled up the beach and and joined
Diane in the towels.
After we managed to get Diane warmed up to the point where she could
stand up (requiring the hot chocolate in the Thermos and some cuddling in the
towels :-} ) we decided to call it a day. We gathered up the gear, (I swear,
scuba tanks weigh twice as much when they're empty as when they're full...)
tossed it in the trunk, and drove home. After Diane's friends dropped us
off at her condo, I shoved Diane into the bathtub to finish warming up while
I went outside and started cleaning the gear. By the time I finished up,
Diane had switched from a bath to a shower and was proceeding to rinse the
salt out of her hair. Being a little, er, salty, myself, I was unceremoniously
dragged into the shower ( ;-} ) and scrubbed. Twenty minutes later, Diane and
I emerged from the shower and collapsed on the bed. No "funny business"
beyond an occasional poke or prod; we were both to tired.
When we were both coherent enough to talk about the afternoon, I found
we were both in agreement: It was fun once, but certainly not something we
would care to repeat. Underwater sex, at least in New England, had to be
classed as a feat of athletic prowess rather than an enjoyable sexual
activity. It was scary how close we were to getting in serious trouble;
we were both moderately experience scuba divers, had only ventured about fifty
yards out and thirty feet down, and still managed to wind up in an unpleasant
predicament. Ah well, it makes a good story, and I must admit, every once in
a while, I get this desire to repeat the affair .... IN THE CARIBBEAN !!!!!
MURPHY'S LAWS ON SEX
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1. The more beautiful the woman is who loves you, the easier it is
to leave her with no hard feelings.
2. Nothing improves with age.
3. No matter how many times you've had it, if it's offered take it,
because it'll never be quite the same again.
4. Sex has no calories.
5. Sex takes up the least amount of time and causes the most amount
of trouble.
6. There is no remedy for sex but more sex.
7. Sex appeal is 50% what you've got and 50% what people think you've got.
8. No sex with anyone in the same office.
9. Sex is like snow; you never know how many inches you are going to
get or how long it is going to last.
10. A man in the house is worth two in the street.
{11. If you get them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.
12. Virginity can be cured.
13. When a man's wife learns to understand him, she usually stops
listening to him.
14. Never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself.
15. The qualities that most attract a woman to a man are usually the
same ones she can't stand years later.
16. Sex is dirty only if it's done right.
17. It is always the wrong time of month.
18. The best way to hold a man is in your arms.
19. When the lights are out, all women are beautiful.
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