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Dripping Wet Consent

The warm tropical air swirls around us as we fly across the surface of the Caribbean Sea. Ernesto’s round caramel muscles ripple as he secures the air tanks around the dive boat. I’m trying to be discrete but I can’t keep my eyes off our hunky dive instructor. The sound of the engine is making it near to impossible to hear him as he tries to make friendly conversation with the tourists. But it’s fine for now, just looking at him is entertaining enough. He lifts his arm to point at something out in the water. As the others turn to look, I linger a moment entranced by the vulnerable hollow of his armpit and the natural strength in his torso.

When we arrive at the dive spot buoy, Ernesto cuts the engine. We can finally hear his warm accented English. He’s just so friendly and open. He’s making it difficult for me to objectify him into the fantasy I’m toying with in my imagination. As he begins to give us instructions, I lean forward so my erection is concealed in my lap. I smile back at him as he talks us through the dive details for the day.

“For today dive, we going down maybe 100 feet. No more. Remember no touching the reef with you fins. Keep me in your eyes at all time.” No problem there, I think to myself. “When I give you this (the ok signal) or this (thumbs up!), you give me back. Ok?” he says and smiles. We do a little rehearsal. Ok? Ok! Thumbs up? Thumbs up! And then we all laugh with the simple fun of it.

“We stay together whole time. If you have problem, come to me. Maybe you mask are no working. Or you air no working. We try and fix problem down there. If we can no do that, we come back up. We no want to come back up but if problem, no problem. Ok?” He gives us another ‘ok’ signal and the group of us lift our circled thumbs and index fingers in return.