Monday, July 20, 2009
Angela stretched on a chaise longue on the deck of the pool, basking in the touch of warm sunlight on her skin. Sometimes, fleetingly, she wished this place were hers. Well, it was hers, at least for the four months her friends and their two kids would be out of the country. When they had asked her to housesit, she had leaped at the chance.
She had found herself in a position of limbo. The bitter divorce, the desertion by her best girl friend, the empty disregard shown by her employer, all had brought her to a crossroad where she needed to re-evaluate her life. By some stroke of luck she had been offered four months in comfortable surroundings in which to do so. A ranch-style house in a well-off neighborhood. A private swimming pool for her own use. No job, but enough in the bank to cover necessities. Almost as good as a vacation. Better in some ways.
She turned over onto her stomach. Let the sun work its magic on the backs of her legs. She reached back and pulled the bottom of her pale yellow tank top up to the middle of her back and seriously considered going inside to change into something scanty, something to reveal more skin to the sun. No, not this time, but she promised herself to buy a bikini soon. If she worked at it and the summer weather cooperated, she could have a marvelous tan by fall, and with it a new confidence and a better outlook on life. What a simple bikini could do.
Through half-closed eyelids she looked at the surface of the still water in the pool. The reflection of the sky was a brilliant blue. She sat up and considered taking a plunge. No, that would mean having to go inside and changing into her black one-piece swimsuit. Unless, of course, she went in naked. Skinny-dipping. She smiled to herself. She hadn’t done that in years, not since she was a teenager. Hey, who was going to see? Her body was nothing to be ashamed of. Sure, the boobs and butt sagged just a little but that’s what happens over the years. A nice thought. She spread sunscreen on her legs, arms, and shoulders, touched up her cheeks and forehead, then rolled the tank top up to just below her breasts and massaged some into the pale skin of her tummy. That would have to do until bikini time. She reconsidered. After glancing around, she stripped the tank top over her head and deftly unhooked her restricting brassiere. She slipped the straps off her shoulders, pulled the cups away from the heaviness of her breasts and dropped the flimsy flesh-toned garment beside the chaise. Her boobies were naked to the sun and the breeze. She shivered, not from the temperature but from the naughtiness of it. Quickly she slipped her top back on but left it rolled up under her breasts, her belly and back bare to the sun.
She lay back with her eyes closed and concentrated on the sun’s light and heat on her exposed skin. It was different with no book or radio to distract her mind. The occasional slight breath of wind, the hum of a bee in the flowerbed, a trickle of perspiration through the hair at her temple, nothing disturbed the overwhelming sensation of being receptive to the sun. The heat seemed to penetrate deep inside her. She became aware of two things; it made her lethargic, unwilling to move, and it made her horny.
She considered her non-existent love life. The anger and betrayal when the dickhead had moved in with her best girl friend right after asking for the divorce had consumed her, left her with neither energy nor inclination to pursue another man. After the split was final she had let one of the girls from work set her up with a friend but that had not worked out. Sometime soon she would have to make some sort of connection to a supply of single men. Meanwhile, all she could do was dream. And dream she did.
It took a few minutes before she realized just what she was daydreaming about. Suddenly she was aware of the sticky dampness between her thighs, that the images drifting through her mind and the sun on her exposed skin had combined to produce that effect within her body. Oh, boy! She was fantasizing about men, naturally, but young men. Boys almost. She recognized the perceptions even though she couldn’t put a name to them immediately. The thin, almost amoral presence of the lead singer of a local rock group she’d seen at a bar last week. The intense baby-faced actor in a dark film from the past summer. The eager teenage boy from down the street who’d helped her with moving some furniture yesterday. God! She was becoming wet; she could almost feel herself squish as she moved her legs together! She tried to relax, to lie back and enjoy the sun but her hands clutched the side of the chaise longue and her buttocks tightened in such a way that her snug shorts created extra pressure against her crotch. Even the slightest tightening of the muscles in her thighs sent gentle tingles throughout her belly. She let herself languish in the slightly lascivious sensations.
She reached and unfastened the button at the waistband of her khaki shorts. The looseness made her feel slightly more comfortable but now she had to put out an effort to keep her hand from slipping under the fabric, from scratching that deep itch. Don’t think about men, she told herself. Too many of them are like the dickhead: kind and thoughtful until they figured they owned you, then egotistical and inconsiderate when you didn’t want exactly what they did. A complete turnaround in just over a year. Good thing there hadn’t been any kids. Yet. She let out an audible snort, then quickly looked around just in case someone was close enough to hear. Anger and resentment were not things she wanted to explain right now.
So, think about other men, she told herself. They’re not all like that. She caught herself thinking about male bodies, bodies she could use to please herself and discard when no longer useful. Disposable members of the opposite sex. Boy toys.
And boy toys brought her mind right back where she had started. The young actor with the baby face, the thick pouting lips, and that steamy languorous look in his eyes. If he was here now, she’d bite those lips, chew on his face, plunge her tongue deep enough to lick his tonsils, suck the breath out of his lungs. And he would do the same to her. She delighted in the quick shivers that ran down her spine. But then again, that singer with the band. Couldn’t remember his name nor the name of the band but she sure remembered his hands. Saw them sliding up and down the mike stand, imagined them sliding up and down her arms and legs, reaching for other places. That long lean body swaying hypnotically like a cobra on that stage, she could almost feel it sliding and slithering all over her.
And then there was young Paul, so delightfully innocent. She could remember his name. He lived two houses away and was so sweet. Only yesterday she had called him over to help her rearrange some of the furniture in the downstairs den. He’d been polite and helpful, refusing money but willing to accept a soda and sit with her in the kitchen afterward. He’d seemed shy and unwilling to talk about himself much, but she’d caught him a couple of times letting his eyes sneak glances at her breasts. She had pretended to be unaware of his interest but secretly provided several more chances for him to ogle her boobs. And then she had screwed up. She straightened after picking something off the floor and caught his eyes still buried deep under the low neckline of her shirt.
‘Do you like what you see?’ she had asked.
Stupid. You don’t ask such questions when the answer is so obvious. She had embarrassed the kid. He had flushed and stammered an apology, emptied his glass and taken off as if threatened by an unknown beast. She still felt a twinge of shame. That was no way to treat a boy; she’d never done so before, not even when she was his age. Sixteen, maybe seventeen? The age of discovery.
Now here she was, lying in the sun alone. The cool invitation of the pool on the one hand, the unanswerable arousal of hormones on the other. A nasty pickle for any girl to find herself in. Again she considered taking a dip in the pool. No, she would lie out for another five minutes and then go in. Then she would decide whether to change and go for a swim or whatever. Maybe less than five. Her nipples were pushing against her top and her panties were sticky. Something had to be done soon.
She was so wrapped up in herself that she heard no sound until he cleared his throat. Young Paul, the subject of her raunchy little fantasy, stood at the gate to the back yard, hesitating to come in. She swung her legs over the side of the chaise and sat up.
‘Hi, Paul! Come on in.’ She gestured toward a chair beside the patio table.
‘Hello, Miss Wernechenko.’ Still seeming unsure of himself, he sat as she directed. ‘I just came over to see if you wanted any more help, you know, like yesterday?’
Automatically she corrected him. ‘Please. It’s Angela.’ At least it wasn’t Mrs. Dickhead any more. And she had always hated that Ms., that stupid hum with a buzz on it. For better than three years she had been Angie Andrews. Yech! Even the memory left a bad taste in her mouth.
A satisfied grin wiped the momentary frown from her eyes. The boy was back! However stupid and forward she’d been with her too quick remark yesterday, it hadn’t kept him away. Well, even if nothing ever happened between the two of them at least she had a small distraction from the boredom of the afternoon.
‘No, I’ve decided to enjoy a lazy afternoon. Just lying in the sun. No book, no radio. Me and my daydreams. That darn pool is a distraction, though. I’m just too lazy to go inside and change into a swimsuit. Oh, can I get you something to drink? There’s some ginger ale in the fridge. I could make a jug of iced tea or lemonade if you want.’
When he protested that he didn’t want anything, thank you very much, she stretched herself out face down on the reclining chaise with her eyes closed, the sun on her legs and partially exposed back, her arms down at her sides. Paul seemed more relaxed. She asked him a few questions about school, what he wanted to do with his life, any hobbies, any girl friends. The heat of the sun on the back of her thighs became uncomfortable. She shifted a little, pushing her pelvis hard against the canvas beneath her. Her shorts and panties rode up a little, renewing that earlier pressure in her crotch. Damn. She was still damp there. And horny. And the kid was sitting there, only five feet away. She turned her head toward him, keeping her eyes closed.
She wondered if he was entranced by her whole body or if it was just her boobs that fascinated him yesterday. She snuck a peek through her lashes. Oh yes. The poor lad couldn’t keep his eyes off her. While he was talking, he would make an effort to look at the pool, the sky, anywhere, but his eyes always came back to rest on the swell of her behind and the curve of her back, the smooth expanse of her upper legs. Automatically she tightened her butt. The movement sent hot thrills deep into her lower belly. It was more than she thought she could stand.
She watched his eyes glance down and stay down, saw them widen as he checked his breath. Something had caught his eye. Oh no. She let her hand dangle down and it came to rest on her bra, discarded there on the deck in plain sight. Oh no. It wasn’t hard to imagine the effect of a lacy item of intimate apparel on the inquisitive mind of a teenage boy. She saw his face flush, then compose itself with a seeming nonchalance. Well, nothing to do about that. He must certainly know she was braless. Probably wondered if the panties matched. Maybe she should sit up and show him. She felt her nipples harden, tight under the fabric of her rolled up top. This whole situation was uncomfortable. Slowly she sat up and faced him, a playful grin on her face.
‘What do you think of the pool, Paul? Want to go swimming? I do, but it’s really not much fun alone.’ She took a deep breath and deliberately pushed her breasts forward and watched his face while his eyes tried to look anywhere but at those hard tips thrusting straight toward him.
He stammered something about not having a suit, having to go home.
‘I don’t have one. I’m going in. Feel free to join me.’
She watched his face flush, became aware that his hands were folded over his groin. Aha! He’s getting hard! A natural reaction. There was nothing wrong with having a body that could make any man react like that!
Angela turned away from him and stood up. With her back toward him, she pulled the tank top over her head and shook her hair free. Her breasts bobbled on her chest; she turned semi profile to give him a look without being too blatant. Her hands grasped at the fabric at her waist, pushed both shorts and panties over the flare of her hips. She bent forward and pushed them down over her knees, stayed like that for a moment as she imagined the view she presented. Long straight legs. Large, well-shaped ass pushing its pale but firm mass back toward him. Sleek ribcage not quite hiding the dangling fruit of her boobies. More than enough to make a man’s mouth water, make his hands instinctively reach out to grasp and hold. Smiling to herself, she hoped he would join her in the game.
Three short steps brought her to the edge of the deeper end of the pool. She paused to glance into the water, then turned toward Paul, offering him her profile. He hadn’t moved.
‘Are you coming in?’
She turned her back to him and posed. Arms raised, feet slightly spread. Pelvis thrust forward to emphasize her butt. The smooth muscles of her back and shoulders stretched taut. Then she relaxed and let her arms fall to her sides, her feet come together. Don’t be such a showoff. The water is too shallow for a proper dive. She shivered and let her body fall headfirst into the welcoming embrace of the lukewarm water of the pool.
The water felt so good! It was cool enough to soothe the sun-warmed expanses of her naked skin, warm enough to feel pleasant against the tender and intimate areas that had been covered. She felt the bottom of the pool with her hands, let her nipples and belly brush against it as she began to breaststroke toward the other side under water. When she touched the side, she turned quickly, began with a crawl and turned that into a roll. She rolled from her belly to her back over and over again, rejoicing in the fun and the freedom of it. Freedom from the limits of clothing. Freedom from ingrained propriety. Felt the water push at her skin all over with an equal pressure, holding her softly as it set her free. She ducked down, then pushed off the bottom, breaking the surface and reaching for the sun. Immediately she dove back down, felt the air on her butt, kicked her legs up. With her hands bracing her against the bottom of the pool, she waved her feet like the fluke of a sounding whale. God! She hadn’t had this much fun since ¼ well, since the last time she’d gone skinny-dipping. But that time there had been the usual mixed group of boys and girls. This was something you had to share.
Two strong strokes brought her to the edge of the pool where she had left Paul. She stood up in the waist high water, drops running down from her hair and face, dripping from the fullness of her breasts as she raised her arms to the sky. She offered her jubilant body as an invitation to the whole world to join her.
No one was there.
She felt her joy, and the power of it, drain from her. For a long moment she stood there, dejected, wondering what she had done this time to frighten him off. Perhaps he had left to fetch his swim trunks. Maybe if she just waited for him in the pool. No. All the energy that had driven her in her playful frolicking was suddenly gone. The sensual tension that had started it no longer existed. She climbed out of the pool and went into the house to look for a towel.
Her shorts and panties, her tank top, her bra remained lying where they’d been discarded. Forgotten. Empty.