I arrived yesterday from a quiet week in Stockholm with Mario – a cute executive who I was enjoying. It was great, but the trip let me see that perhaps he truly is Scandinavian and should stay there. He’s a great guy, very smart and refined. But a bit cold, bureaucratic and has a methodic pragmatism about sex that was a definite turn off. Not only did he insist on the missionary position, but he always wore his socks.

It was a good trip, I really missed Sweden. But I confess that the cold, combined with the reserved company, made the atmosphere a bit chilly. Imagine that in the last two days, I – we´re talking about Stephany – didn’t even make a point of having sex (sure the sex was as spicy as left over tofu, but it was still sex).  The truth is that I couldn’t wait to get back to the good life and warmth of Brazil.  My return couldn’t have been more telling.

The temperature when I arrived at Hercílio Luz airport was 95 degrees with a noon sun. When I got home, my immediate and inevitable desire was to jump in the pool, completely naked. But a week was enough to leave the water the color of the Ganges River. Frustrating. To be a feminine version of a bon vivant is an essentially (and paradoxically) dynamic activity because of all the parties, social events and travel (not to mention the strategic administration of all those special friends who at times fulfill my demands). Domestic maintenance is something that does not go well with my lifestyle. Of course, I have no obligations:  that’s what hired help is for. And thank goodness that’s how I found Robson, the best looking pool cleaner in Brazil.

I Googled "pool cleaning Florianópolis,"  still a bit irritated with the inevitable surprise of turbid water. I found a small company that worked near my house and after I called they promptly sent over a pool cleaner. I took a cold shower and thought of taking some sun while waiting, but, without knowing what was about to arrive wound up falling asleep on the sofa.

Perhaps 20 minutes passed. The bell rang and woke me up. What was on the other side of the door was in fact more intimately alarming. The pool cleaner was a six foot tall hunk. What a waste of potential! “My name is Robson, I’m here to take care of the pool.” What a shame I thought, he could take care of me. Mulatto, unshaved,  stocky, hairy, with an old turquoise tank top and a scar on his left deltoid.  And those deltoids smiled at me even before Robson himself...Letting the pool get dirty once in a while seemed like a good idea.

I took him out back without a word. That man must have cleaned 10 pools today, he was all sweaty. That smell of the urban proletariat - just a tenuous distinction from the smell of hardcore sex -  filled the house and then out on the deck, the grass, everywhere. I began to get wet. “I was going to take some sun, do you mind? “Well mam, just make yourself at home,  he responded wryly,” looking at me rakishly as he straddled the vacuum hose.

I put on my bikini with the bathroom door half open. I didn’t notice if he was watching, but as soon as I came out I saw a slight smirk in the corner of his mouth, as he caught a leaf from the surface of the water with his net. The sensation I had is that he knew that he would have me even before he saw me...Imagine how many single ...or married...women he must enjoy during his overtime.  His thick arms continued to handle the pole of the net with great skill.

A few minutes passed in silence: I lay down on the mat, on the deck, and Robson calmly collected all the dirt from the water. The sexual tension was imminent, but I needed a pretext to catalyze things. After placing the chlorine in the water, he opened the top of the motor and stooped down to turn on the pump. I took the opportunity to attack:

-  Hey, Robson, how do you turn on this motor?

- Ah madam, just turn this key. Can you see?

- No... I’ll come down.

I came down. Body to body. Only the pipes separated us, a few valves and small metal steps.

- Here, you switch it on below this valve.

- Right...

At that moment my bottom brushed against another valve, which was already open.

- Good, now the water is circulating. But it will take a few hours for the chlorine to become more concentrated and you can jump in...

I didn’t have to say what we could do while I waited. I plunged my hand down his pants and kneeled down right there, over the pool motor. He took off his shirt, and that smell of sweat was even stronger in that little motor room. By then my panties were already all wet. After some time down there, I got up and turned towards him, he ripped off my bikini in one swipe (if I wasn’t so turned on I would have been furious) and came inside me while he grabbed my breasts with his hands stinging from chlorine...

We began lightly, but things slowly became more intense.  In the cramped space I banged my knee on a pipe and scratched my hands on the cement wall, but that just got me more excited. This was probably the only space in the house in which I had never had sex - nothing more suitable than breaking it in with the pool man. He breathed and moaned like a bull around my neck, keeping pace with the roar of the motor that I had switched on. When he was ready to come, he grabbed my two arms and pulled them back, leaving me completely paralyzed. I came with him, and then twice more.

There were still a few more hours. What should we do? Have more sex. I took Robson to my suite, we took a bath together and spent the afternoon in bed, without exchanging much  more than 10 words. I think we tried more positions:  69, on all fours, missionary, roasted chicken, sideways, everything possible. Later, I paid the bill for the cleaning and said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek.

Ah, sunset, I could finally take my dip, naked and satisfied. Thinking of Robson, I even ended the afternoon masturbating on the deck. I love summer in Brazil.