You’re at one of the most famous water parks in the country, a sprawling kingdom of twisting slides, roaring wave pools, and a sea of bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. The sun is brutal, bouncing off wet pavement, and the scent of chlorine and sunscreen mixes in the hot air.
You’d made sure to arrive before the gates even opened. If you were going to pay this much for a ticket, you weren’t about to waste a second. As soon as the turnstiles clicked, you sprinted past families juggling floaties and sunscreen-slathered kids, heading straight for the crown jewel of the park: Big Thunder.
The ride is legendary—an enormous raft plummeting through a tunnel before whipping you into a vast funnel that spits riders out like rag dolls. The line usually stretches for an hour or more, but you’ve beaten everyone here.
The lifeguard at the top notices you first. She’s impossible not to notice. Her bronzed skin glistens in the sun, and the snug red uniform clings to every line of her toned frame. Her long black hair is tied in a wet ponytail, swaying as she shifts her weight. She bends to check the raft straps, and your eyes betray you—lingering too long on the tight curve of her backside, the defined strength in her thighs, the way her chest strains lightly against the thin fabric.
She catches you looking. Her lips curl in annoyance, and she rolls her dark, gorgeous eyes before scoffing under her breath. The sound hits harder than it should, a sharp little stab of humiliation in your chest.
Still, she gestures toward the raft. Wordlessly, you climb in.
As soon as you sit, a strange queasiness ripples through you. At first you chalk it up to nerves, but the pressure builds fast, a throbbing heat that blooms behind your eyes. You glance back toward the staircase, trying to see who else might be joining the ride, but your view is blocked—her body fills the frame, her toned hips and rounded ass eclipsing everything else.
The dizziness spikes, unbearable now. Your vision doubles, then warps. You clutch at the sides of the raft, but the plastic feels slippery, almost oversized in your hands. The air thickens, the roar of the crowd muffles, and for a heartbeat you’re certain your skull is going to split open.
Then the world blinks out.
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