Jeez, what do I need an ex-wife for

I’m always kind of uncomfortable riding in luxury cars. Totally smooth and
silent, air conditioned, with soft leather seats that perfectly conform to your
body, I think it’s the remote, disconnected feeling that I find disconcerting.
I’m much more comfortable in my noisy, rough riding 1968 Dodge pickup. I don’t
want to say the woman driving the car I was in reminded me a little of a luxury
car herself, but . . .

I had known her, Frieda Miller, for years, first working for her father, now
for her. Her father ran Miller Maritime Insurance in Miami, and had passed the
business onto his daughter when he retired. They regularly contracted with me
to dive down and inspect and photograph sunken vessels they had insured, to
check for any signs of insurance fraud. Frieda was very attractive, if a bit on
the serious side for me. Her hair was carefully styled to look like it wasn’t
carefully styled, and you couldn’t tell it was dyed, only it was too perfect a
shade of light brown not to be. I can’t remember seeing her in the same outfit
twice, and her trim figure seemed to shout, “I hit the gym every morning at
6AM!” I always had the urge, every time I saw her, to tell her guys didn’t mind
a little bit of a butt on a girl. We were about the same age, and when we had
first met years ago there might have been some spark of mutual attraction, but
we were really just too different from one another.

I ran a one person diving school, doing insurance work on the side, only
getting serious about finding work toward the end of the month, when rent and
alimony were due. By and large, diving instructors aren’t exactly go-getter,
Fortune 500 types, and I guess wouldn’t mesh too well with Frieda’s way of
life. She worked pretty damn hard, a local independent agency up against the
big national firms, getting up and heading to work every morning at 5AM, my
usual bedtime. We had gone out to dinner a few times when we had first met, but
quickly realized it wouldn’t work out and settled into a routine of kidding
around, idle flirting, and occasionally meeting for lunch to find out what was
new with one another.

naked-scuba-diving

Frieda surprised me a little while ago, expressing some interest in learning
how to dive, and I encouraged her, thinking it would do her some good. As
pretty as she was, her hectic work schedule was beginning to show on her face a
bit. When you’re diving you forget about the past and the future, and just
think about the moment you’re in, just what I figured she needed. I met with
her once a week at various spots up and down the beach, and applying the same
seriousness and diligence to her diving that she did to her business affairs,
quickly caught on, becoming comfortable in the water after just three or four
lessons. After a few months I had taught her pretty much every thing I could,
but we kept on diving most every Sunday anyway, just enjoying ourselves.

Late one Saturday I got a call from Frieda. She told me that a sailboat,
insured by her agency, had caught fire and sunk off Rock Harbor, about midway
down Key Largo. She asked me if I could get to it tomorrow and inspect it,
before the scavengers that cruise the area got to it and stripped it of all its
valuables. You have to get to a sunken boat quickly- If you can show that the
owner removed all the valuables before the boat went down, you can make a good
case for insurance fraud, but if you leave it too long, you can’t prove it
wasn’t done by the thugs who roam the waterways, looking for opportunities.
Since it was on a Sunday, I asked Frieda if she wouldn’t like to come out with
me. I could teach her how to use the underwater camera, and the basics of how
to safely inspect the interior of a sunken boat. I couldn’t afford a partner to
work with me, and since poking around the cabin of a boat while underwater has
more than a few hazards, I was glad to have any company I could get. She said
it sounded like fun, and agreed to meet me at my dive shop early the next
morning. I decided to sleep on the cot in back so we could get an early start.

“Hey Joe! C’mon lazyass, get up,” I heard Frieda call out, banging on the door.

“Jeez, why do I need an ex-wife when I’ve got you around,” I said, scratching
and yawning, opening the door for her.

As I carried the equipment to my ancient, battered pickup, which Frieda
joshingly referred to as my “Land Rover”, she said, “Listen, would all this
stuff fit in the trunk of my car?,” Pointing at her gleaming silver Lexus. “It
will be a long drive.” I shrugged and said it probably would, lugging the tanks
over to it.

Whisking along A1A, I looked through a plastic bag of CDs she had just bought.
The bag they were in was emblazoned with the Virgin Megastore logo. I held the
bag up to her and asked, “You sure you should be shopping here?”

“Very funny. Although, with the way things have been going for me, maybe it’s
appropriate.”

“What about that guy, with the Porsche, a psychiatrist or something?”

“Yeah . . . It really didn’t work out . . . Our schedules, y’know.” She gave a
resigned shrug. About halfway there I talked Frieda into stopping for
breakfast. Since the insurance company would be picking up the tab, I ordered
steak and eggs, and Frieda had toast and half a grapefruit, which she idly
picked at.

After gazing out the window for a while, she asked, “So, how have things been
going for you?”

I shrugged (We both seemed to be shrugging a lot lately). “Oh, you know me.”

“Any ladyfriends I should know about? Anyone out there silly enough to go out
with you?”

I smiled. “Well, with alimony and all, I’ve been pretty broke lately. I haven’t
really had the money to get anything going. Summers coming up though, things’ll
pick up then. I guess I’ll find someone dumb enough.”

“Oh, listen to you. You’re not that gruesome looking.”

“Yeah, well, you try picking up chicks with a car like mine.”
I noticed Frieda had been toying around with her drinking straw. “You quit
smoking again?”

“Yeah, again,” She said wearily, adding, sarcastically, “This time for sure.”

“Well, when you want to quit smoking, you have to find something to take it’s
place,” I said, eyeing her suggestively.

“Oh really. And what would you suggest?”

“Hmm, I don’t know . . . something equally stimulating . . . miniature golf
maybe.”

She let out a little laugh. “Yeah, that’d be more action than I’ve gotten
recently, though. Look, would you finish already? The sun’s been up for an
hour.”

After speaking with the harbormaster, we got a pretty good idea of where the
boat had sunk. It was just about fifty yards offshore, so we would be able to
swim out to it, and wouldn’t need to rent a boat of our own. We carried the
gear to the end of the jetty and I helped Frieda on with hers, then put my own
on. The wreck was in fairly shallow water, so I figured we wouldn’t need
wetsuits. I was wearing a probably ten year old pair of trunks with a faded
Hawaiian print, and she was wearing a light pink bikini, the bottoms cut high
on the sides to show off her narrow hips and slight ripple of muscles on her
stomach, the top giving a slight pushup effect, showing a nice bit of cleavage.
Implants? I figured so. Just like the color of her hair, her breasts were a
little too perfect. Her arms and legs were gracefully muscled, and she had a
light, even tan all over. (I know, I said earlier that I don’t mind a woman
with a little bit of a butt, and I don’t. Skinny, curvy, if you’re a chick,
I’ll probably like you). I’m in pretty decent shape myself, doing push-ups
every day and keeping my gut under control, but I suddenly wished I had shaved
the hair off my shoulders. Frieda certainly wasn’t the type of woman I usually
associated with, though. Most of the women I went with liked to have a beer or
three, and wouldn’t go into a gym unless they mistook it for a bar.

Frieda insisted on taking the photographs, so before we put our masks on I
showed her how the camera worked, and explained to her that, for safeties sake,
only one of us would go into the cabin at a time, the other waiting by the
entrance. We swam out, going slowly against the weight of our equipment. I
spotted the wreck, in about twenty feet of water, and waved Frieda over. I
handed the camera to her, gave our equipment a last checkover, nodded at her,
then dove for the bottom.

It really is like entering another world. The muted sunlight swirling around,
the feeling of floating, moving in slow motion, every dive was different and
you never knew what to expect, so you just opened your eyes wide and took it
all in. It kind of made you feel like a little k*d. But the part I really liked
was how the surface world, and all it’s problems and concerns were totally
forgotten. It was a real feeling of freedom.

I stayed a little bit behind Frieda to make sure she was doing okay, and at the
same time admired her graceful body. We swam around the sunken sailboat, and
Frieda pointed to a small hole just below the waterline where the fire had
burned through the hull. I opened the door to the cabin and looked in.
Everything looked okay, so I turned and waved her in, Frieda working her way
slowly and carefully. I watched her examining the interior, her body moving in
graceful slow motion. Man, was she beautiful. Watching the dappled sunlight
that was coming in through the windows playing over the curves of her body, the
muscles of her butt contracting as she kicked her feet to maneuver around, I
gradually, without meaning to, got a hard-on. Oh, I did dream about her now and
then, but it felt kind of awkward, since we had been friends for so long, and
never really attempted anything romantic.

If you must know, yes, I have jerked off underwater. I had never really planned
to, but once on a dive off of Islamorada, poking around the coral reefs, I swam
by two female divers who were exploring the same reef. As we approached each
other we waved, and just as we were passing, one of them pulled down her bikini
bottom, flashing her butt at me. The other woman socked her friend on the arm,
not believing what she had just done. You know when you just have to jerk off,
right now? I swam down to the bottom of the reef and found a small crevice that
didn’t really conceal me much, but I was too horny to wait. I slipped off my
trunks and put a rock on top of them, then started stroking my dick, thinking
of the woman’s beautiful butt, thinking, oh man, why didn’t I just reach over
and grab it, squeeze it, pull her over to me, feel the soft, firm curves of it,
let my hand slip between her legs, rub her pussy, then yank down my trunks and
grab her hips, pulling her onto my big throbbing erection, thrusting, pumping
her. With that in mind I let out a groan into my breathing regulator as I came,
a jet of cum shooting out of my dick, suddenly slowing as it met the resistance
of the water, then dissipating gradually as it floated away. I watched as four
or five more spurts shot out and drifted away, hopefully not going on to knock
up some unsuspecting female swimmer. As I pulled on my trunks I happened to
look up, and saw the two women I had just run across, floating about thirty
feet above me. They had been watching me the entire time, and when they saw I
had noticed them, they gave me a round of applause then quickly swam away,
looking at one another. Did this experience discourage me? All I can say is,
women, be careful swimming off the coast of south Florida.

Frieda was just finishing up her inspection, scanning the interior one last
time, then turned to swim out. The motion of the water as she turned around
dislodged a towel that was on a top shelf. The towel drifted down and draped
over her head, Frieda turning quickly in surprise and banging her head on a
cabinet. She began to panic, thrashing her arms around. I reached in and caught
her wrist, slowly but firmly pulling her out. Frieda was hyperventilating, her
eyes wide. Getting into something like that in a small confined space can be
pretty scary, so I held onto her hand and put my arm around her lower back,
underneath her air tanks, till she had calmed down. In just half a minute she
looked at me and nodded, smiling with her eyes.

I kept holding her. You know how I said the surface world seems to disappear
from your mind when you’re diving? I wanted someone, and I knew she did too. We
looked at each other. Money, schedules, responsibilities, they didn’t exist. It
was like we were the only two people on earth. It was natural that we would
come together. Gazing at each other, I stroked her waist, moving down to the
curve of her butt, and Frieda slowly ran her hand along the muscles of my arm
and chest, working down, sliding it into the waistband of my shorts. Not being
able to kiss, we just stared, hypnotized, into one another’s eyes. Pulling our
hips together, she ran her hands over my butt, then slid my trunks down, my
erection springing free. I stroked her hips, her butt, slowly pulling down her
bikini bottom, exposing a neat triangle of pubic hair. The ocean water swirling
around my crotch felt great.

Frieda maneuvered herself down a little, wrapping her hand around my dick,
caressing my balls with her other hand. I think she saw how hard I was, how the
veins were bulging out and stroked very gently, so the fun wouldn’t be over too
soon. Even underwater, I could tell how soft her hands were, her slender
fingers playing over my thick erection. After a minute I pulled her up and got
her to hold onto a light fixture on the side of the cabin to keep herself
steady. With her legs floating in front of her, her body undulating with the
current, I circled my hand between her legs, zeroing in on the little bump of
her clit while Frieda slid her hand under the straps of her diving harness,
under her bikini top, and massaged her nipples. You might not think it was a
very close or intimate encounter, not being able to kiss or even really embrace
because of our harnesses, but you’d be wrong. We felt so alone, so isolated,
forgetting that anyone else even existed, I can’t remember ever feeling
connected in quite this way.

I felt her clit becoming erect. I parted her legs a bit more and moved in
closer, circling my fingers around, admiring her little pussy in the dappled
sunlight. It was taking a risk, but . . . I took a couple quick breaths, then
one deep one, took out my breathing regulator and leaned in, running my tongue
around her clit. Frieda looked down in surprise, then let her head drop back,
closing her eyes. After a few tries I was able to tickle her with my tongue for
about twenty seconds at a time before needing a breath. I could tell she was
really getting into it- Her hips were writhing around while she ran her fingers
through my hair, pushing me into her. Getting it with all the ocean water
swirling around her groin really must have been an experience. After a few
minutes I got a little light headed and decided to take over with just my hand.
Frieda looked up at me with that heavy lidded, satisfied, lustful expression.

She swam against me, pulling our hips together, my very erect dick laying
across her flat stomach. Looking into my eyes, she slowly lowered herself. With
one hand stroking my erection and the other on her breathing regulator, I knew
what she had in mind. She wasn’t that experienced a diver, and I thought about
stopping her, but, oh man did I want it. Feeling the currents of water running
along the length of my dick, Frieda took a couple of deep breaths, pulled the
regulator from her mouth and took two quick tentative sucks before taking a
breath. Trying again, she was able to take a few more, and after a few more
tries, with a determination to do as well as I had done, she was able to work
her mouth up and down for as long as I had, using a lot of suction, firmly
running her soft tongue along the length of my achingly erect dick. Now I know
what she had been feeling, and it was incredible- Getting sucked off with the
tropical ocean water circulating around my groin was unlike anything I had ever
felt.

She eventually put the regulator back in her mouth and swam up, coming face to
face with me. We stroked each other, looking hungrily, eagerly into one
another’s eyes. I looked up and down the sunken sailboat, then put my arm
around Frieda and led her to the front of the boat. There was a railing running
along the bow, coming to a point at the very front, and, as though she were
reading my mind, she swam up to the front where she could reach the railing on
both sides. Turning over on her back, gripping the railing to steady herself, I
swam on top of her, holding onto her and positioning myself. We looked at each
other. It was a helpless feeling not being able to kiss, and I hesitated a
moment. Frieda wrapped both her legs around me and impatiently pulled me into
her. Holding onto her shoulders I poked the tip of my dick around, found her
little opening and slowly eased in. The sensation of going from the warm
Caribbean water into her hot, slick, tight pussy was almost indescribable. It
was pretty awkward at first, with the weight of our equipment and the
resistance of the water, but after a minute I got a slow, fluid motion going,
Frieda using her strong lower body to buck her hips upward into me.

Her role of overworked business person, mine as flat broke diving bum were
totally cast off, our minds free and clear of everything except the feelings we
were experiencing, being connected at the groin, the water surrounding us
making us feel even closer, the steady wave of pleasure washing outward through
our bodies. We pumped at each other very slowly. I wasn’t able to go any
faster, and decided I really didn’t want to. I wanted this moment to last a
while. I’m not exactly known for taking my time in these matters, but this was
kind of special. We fucked for, what, the next five, ten, twenty minutes? I
really couldn’t tell you. Frieda eventually let go of the railing, letting us
drift away with her legs still tightly around me, keeping us connected,
floating, drifting with the tide but not caring where we were headed. It took
us a moment to develop a rhythm, awkwardly pumping at each other till we
coordinated ourselves. Floating through the Caribbean waters, we thrusted into
one another in perfect synchronization, completely in a world of our own.

It was like a dream, drifting further and further from reality, being pulled
back only when I felt my orgasm coming. I pumped as fast as I possibly could,
Frieda picking up on it and pumping into me more quickly. I dug my fingers into
her butt, really humping her in to me, feeling the tight muscles of her
buttocks, toned from so many hours in the gym, powerfully contracting as she
thrust her hips into me. My dick, seconds away from coming, was pumped up to
it’s absolute maximum, snugged within the tight muscles of Frieda’s vagina.
Exploding inside her, I had to concentrate to keep from spitting out my
regulator, groaning as I shot out a sudden, powerful jet of cum. I pushed in
her and stopped pumping, continuing to shoot spurt after spurt, my entire
erection being firmly gripped, milked of every last drop.

I can never ‘just be friends’ with a woman- there’s always going to be some
flirting and silliness with me, but a guy does need a woman he can sit and talk
with occasionally. Looking at Frieda, I suddenly became realized how important
she had been for me over the years, what a good friend she had been.

I slowly, self-consciously pulled out of her. We held onto one another,
floating, staring, still a little bit dazed. I began to come out of it, looking
around for my trunks and her bikini bottom. Putting them on, we slowly made our
way to the surface and swam toward the jetty, the reality of what had just
happened dawning on us. Sitting on some rocks, we stared out at the sea,
breathing heavily, not bothering to take off our equipment. We looked over at
each other with somewhat blank expressions. Simultaneously, we looked down at
the bright yellow camera clipped to Frieda’s harness. We both slowly grinned-
oh yeah, we went down there to take pictures of a sunken sailboat- then broke
up laughing. As our laughter died down, an awkwardness settled over us. Oh
well, we can sit here being awkward, or . . . I leaned over and kissed her, a
little tentatively, Frieda opening her mouth a bit, realizing along with me
that this was better than sitting there being uncomfortable. The kiss became
more intense, not representing a deep passionate love or anything, more like a
very enthusiastic thank you.

We sat there on the jetty for a while, drying off in the morning sun and warm
offshore breeze, gazing at the horizon, till Frieda got up and yanked on my
ear. “C’mon lazyass, we’ve gotta get this film developed.”

“Jeez, what do I need an ex-wife for . . . “ I had known her for so long that
the few words she had said to me had said a lot. Her confident nature had taken
over the discomfort we had first felt, realizing there was nothing wrong with
what had happened. It wasn’t a cheap one night stand, it was two friends who
knew one another well, better than they had realized, knowing what the other
wanted. As we got up to walk to the car the brief glance she gave me seemed to
say, “Thanks Joe, you knew just what I needed. I hope it meant as much to you.”

My wink answered her. “You better believe it did, sweetie. You don’t know how
much it meant . . . “