When I worked in a gym with posh pools
there was often underwater monkey business among the members, all of whom assumed that a. they'd thought of it first and b. nobody knew what they were up to. Wrong! We knew all the dodges and watched out for them.

The 'spa pool' was a giant jacuzzi with flat underwater platforms to recline on - just right for, say, a young man to lie back on, and if a young lady happened to slip onto his lap and wriggle a la cowgirl, then the bubbles would hide everything. Yeah.

Word soon spread when this happened and staff would suddenly find important jobs to do in the balcony overlooking the spa pool. The male exhibitionist would sometimes glance up and see the audience - we sometimes got a grin or even a thumbs-up - whle the women, concentrating on staying in the saddle, never noticed.

Strangely, the balcony stayed empty when the gym's over-60s members availed themselves of the bubbly smokescreen for a spot of shaky mutual masturbation or a wrinkly shag.
There's no accounting for taste.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 25 Apr 2009, 21:40, Reply)