A Lifeguard's Tale

"Sure. Any time. I'm free." Just to make sure, I asked. "So he won't be there? He won't be at this dinner?"

"Now Jack, what do you think?" She gave me a knowing smile. "I thought Barry would have told you: Steve and I are separating."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, straightening up. "I don't need it and he doesn't deserve it."

I thought I'd ruined the moment, but Shelly dropped her sunglasses into her bag and started searching for something. She pulled out a plastic bottle of suntan lotion.

"Listen," she smiled sweetly. "I know this really isn't part of your job, but do you think you could rub some oil on my back? I'm getting really dry, and normally I'd have the kids do it..."

I couldn't really just step out of the guardroom and oil Mrs. Greenberg's back in full sight of everyone at the pool, but then the guard room was where we brought people who needed first aid, and oiling her back was a kind of first aid, wasn't it?

"Sure," I said. "Come on in." And I opened the outside door.

Shelly came in and handed me the lotion, then walked towards the shadowy back of the room behind the ice machine, peeling off the thin white blouse as she went. She leaned against the wall then smiled at me over her shoulder. "Right in the middle, between my shoulder blades."

I didn't see any dry spots, but then I hadn't expected to. Her skin was golden tan and wonderfully smooth. A woman's back, not a girl's. There was muscle there, and experience. I squirted some of the oil into my hand and then rubbed my hands together to warm it. I was already hard, just being this close to her. I touched my palms gently to the center of her back.

"Cold?" I asked.

"No. Feels good."

I oiled her back, using far more lotion than I needed, then did her shoulders and the muscles on the sides of her neck, letting her slippery skin slide through my fingers as I instinctively began to rub harder. She was tense and her muscles were tight, and it just seemed like the natural thing to do. I stopped every so often to squirt even more lotion into my hands, and rubbed until her back was slick and glistening. The rhythmic way I worked caused her to sway slightly back and forth, and she hummed with pleasure. She tilted her head and pulled her hair to the side so I could do the back of her neck too, and soon I was massaging her, not just oiling her skin, rubbing deep into her neck and feeling her relax and melt under my hands. The noise from the pool, the sounds of kids playing, all seemed to fade away till there was just me and Shelly and the feel of her flesh sliding beneath my hands.

"Take down the shoulder straps?" she asked. "I need it there, too."

"Mrs. Greenberg..."

"Shelly," she corrected.

"Shelly. I really can't do that here. I can't--"

And then my eye lighted on the big gray metal door to the filter room set back in the wall. It was kept locked, the key being kept in a shoe box under the cash drawer.

"Wait..."

I got the key and took one more look out at the pool. Barry was on the perch stretched out beneath the big red umbrella, and Lee Adams was working the shallow end, which was pretty empty. I knew that the inside of the guard room was almost impossible to see from the perch because of its darkness, just a black hole in a white stucco wall, but I was pretty certain that if Barry were watching me he wouldn't much care anyhow.

I had some trouble getting the key into the lock with my hands all greased up, but at last I got it in and leaned against the heavy door and motioned for Shelly to follow. She smiled and grabbed her bag then kind of hopped through like a naughty little girl.

It was loud in there with the pumps thrumming and hot from the equipment--machinery-hot like the boiler room of a ship. it was dark, the only light coming from the louvers set high in the walls, and I didn't bother turning the lights on. We were standing on a little steel mesh platform about three feet above the sump where all the machinery was set. The place smelled like machinery oil and chlorine and wet concrete, and over all that now was the smell of the coconut-scented suntan lotion smeared on Shelly's back and my hands.

Shelly smiled. "Oh, I see. Is this where you guards take your girlfriends?"

"It's private at least," I said.

"Good. Then you can finish my back."

She turned around and leaned against the door, and I took the plastic bottle and squirted a long line of the thick, viscous liquid down her spine, not caring that I got some on her suit. She gasped and arched away from it, and I immediately dug in, rubbing the cream over her already greasy shoulders.

She reached up and lowered the straps of her top and tucked her arms in so I could do the two pale bands of skin that had been covered. The top was tight and in no danger of falling down, but still, the sight of her leaning there against the door with the straps hanging loosely down her arms was terribly erotic, and she knew it too. There was no longer any doubt as to what we were doing, and the intense eroticism of the situation had my cock rock hard and pushing against my trunks.

I began sliding my hands up and down her waist, my thumbs over her spine, letting my fingers expand to embrace the flare of her hips as my hands slid over her flanks, and I think that's what finally did it for me. Two-piece bathing suits then weren't like bikinis are now--all flesh and no fabric--and she was wearing a respectable bottom, but it was low enough to reveal the small of her back and the base of her spine, and that's where my thumbs ended up, pressing, circling, caressing, as my hands held her waist.

She hummed as I rubbed her. "God, you have a wonderful touch."

I was completely entranced now and dizzy with desire, but I didn't know what to do. Should I try and fuck her down here in the heat and dirt and roar of the filter house machinery? Should I try and reach down between her legs? Should I try to get her to blow me like Nina Schechtman had blown Barry? And just how did you go about getting a married woman 13 or 14 years your senior to get down on her knees and blow you?

I didn't know what to do so I just kept rubbing, and finally Shelly turned around and leaned her back against the door. She looked at me, then down at my trunks where my cock was screaming for release.

"Now I get to do you," she said.

She took the bottle from me and squirted some lotion into her hand, and then lost no time. With one hand she pulled the front of my suit away from my waist and with the other she reached inside and grabbed my cock, just like that, her eyes never leaving my face.

Her hand was cool and warm and slick and firm and she grabbed my hard cock as if she knew exactly what to do with it. Other girls had touched me and played with me, but they'd been my age and nervous and tentative. But Shelly was no novice and her grip told me that she knew exactly what a man's cock was for and how he liked to be touched.

She pulled the front of my trunks down and over my cock and I helped her, pushing them down around my thighs till my entire cock and balls were exposed, then she slid her oil-slicked hand up and down my length a couple times in a way so lewd and sensuous that I had to lean against the door next to her, grunting in primal pleasure.

"My, what a lovely cock," she said. "What a nice, hard, young cock!"

All I could do was groan, just lean weakly against the door and groan as she pulled me off with her small hand, slowly, firmly, just hard enough to make the skin of my cock slide through her greasy fist and send chills up and down my spine, but not fast enough to make me cum. She knew just what she was doing, and she held me just where she wanted me.

"You know what I like?" she asked. "I like when a man plays with my tits while I jerk him off. I like to feel his hands on me as I get him harder and harder. Would you like that, Jack? Is that a deal?"

I moaned, or groaned, or whispered, "Fuck" or something unintelligible, and Shelly stopped wanking me long enough to pull the top of her suit over her tits, revealing the glowing paleness of her untanned breasts, her nipples round and dark. She opened the lotion again and laid a thick, heavy stream all over her tits and along the length of my cock, then snapped the bottle shut and dropped it and gripped my cock again.

I reached blindly for her breasts with my right hand, leaning against the door still on my left forearm, and I don't know what excited me more, feeling the soft, meaty mass of her tits slipping through my oily hand or the slow, methodical way she jerked me off, matching her rhythm to her own level of pleasure as I played with her tits.

"Oh, that's nice, Jack" she whispered. "Play with my nipples. I love to have them played with. Harder! Harder!"

I really had no idea of how to handle a woman's nipples, or just what, "Harder!" meant in this context, but I learned from Shelly Greenberg that day, who told me to squeeze them, pull them, twist them, all of which I did, though with my fingers and her tits covered with suntan lotion I couldn't have done a very good job. She finally reached up and pulled my head down to her breast and told me to just suck it, and that I could do. That was instinctive. The lotion was bitter as hell and my head was filled with the fumes of coconut, but there was no mistaking the feel of that soft, gravid breast in my mouth and the rubbery nipple, and the way she gasped and arched and pulled my hair when I dug my teeth into her. I sucked her and licked her and bit her till she squealed and pressed her tits into my mouth and began to beat me off in earnest.

I loved the way she used me, the way she owned and controlled my pleasure to get me to do what she wanted. All this time I'd been worried I wouldn't know what to do with her as an older woman, and now I found it didn't matter. She was using me, playing me like a harp, increasing her pressure and speed to excite me and make me suck and bite harder, then backing off just to hear me groan in frustration and make me pump desperately into her slack, teasing hand. She held my cock like a handle, like a tennis racket, thumb forward, so that she was pulling on me as she masturbated me, her greasy hand sliding back and forth. It was like she was milking me like you'd milk an animal, or like she was going to lead me around the room by my dick, and no doubt she could have at that point had she wanted to. I was on fire and desperate to cum, and I would have done anything.

I licked and sucked and squeezed, getting the lotion all over my face, and Shelly jerked me off with growing excitement till she suddenly grabbed my hair and pulled me away from my breasts.

"Come now, Jack. Come for me, baby. Show me what you got for me."

I was weak, literally weak with pleasure and the need to orgasm, and with her hand on my cock, Shelly had no trouble turning me so my back was against the door. She started fisting me wildly, her naked, glistening tits jiggling as she jerked me back and forth. Even above the noise of the pumps I could hear the obscene, viscid sound of her hand sliding on my aching tool, and I felt the burning ecstasy of orgasm ripping up my legs and down my spine, too late to stop now, too late to control even if I'd wanted too,

"Come on, Jack! Come on, baby!"

I don't think I even cried out. The orgasm was too intense for that, too overwhelming. I pushed my ass away from the door and thrust into Shelly's hand and I was there, helplessly shooting big, thick bolts of jizz into the air one after the other as Shelly stopped and just held my prick, enjoying the feel of my cock's spastic jerking and spitting and the sight of me shooting three or four feet across the floor.

"Oh wow," Shelly cooed. "So much, baby! So much! Shoot it all, baby! Show me how much you've got!"

The ejaculations finally stopped and I leaned against the door shuddering as the rest of my load just flooded out in a thick, copious stream that covered her little fingers and dripped from her knuckles. Shelly kept pumping me till I had to push her away to make her stop. I was too sensitive, too exhausted, too overcome. I leaned against the door, eyes closed, gasping for breath, weak with relief.

As soon as it was over I felt embarrassed and ashamed. I'd assumed she wanted me as a manly lover, as some kind of macho stud, and instead I'd succumbed to a simple hand job like any horny teen-ager, spewing my seed all over the dirty floor of the filter room. I felt like I'd let her down.

If so, she didn't make a big deal of it. She didn't make much of a deal of it at all. She just looked at me and the puddles of cum on the floor and asked, "Wow! You always come so much?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't think straight, and besides, I didn't think she really wanted an answer. She wiped her hands off on an old towel hanging from the railing, then quickly pulled the top of her suit up and fixed the straps, then reached inside and adjusted her boobs. She ran her hands through her hair and shook it free and fluffed out her bangs.

"How do I look?" she asked. "Do I look okay?"

I nodded. She did. Her face was a little flushed maybe, and her chest too, but mostly she looked just fine, just a little over-oiled.

She reached up and kissed me, just a brief little peck, and I was surprised at how short she suddenly seemed, how innocent her face was.

"That was lovely," she said, caressing my cheek. "God, you're one virile stud, aren't you, baby? Was it good, Jack? Did you like that?"

I could barely speak. I nodded. "Yes. Oh, yes. God yes!"

She smiled and reached into her bag, found her sunglasses and put them back on. "Good. It'll be even better tomorrow night. I'll take the kids to my mom's so we'll be all alone. Come over about ten? That'll give you time?"

I nodded.

"I'll leave the upstairs shades down with a light on if everything's okay. You just come around the back. I'll keep the patio light off. No reason to attract attention."

Again, I just nodded dumbly.

Shelly smiled and I moved aside so she could open the door a crack and peek outside.

"You're going to be great, Jack. You're going to be just what I need!" She gave me a little wave and scurried off.

I stood there with my trunks down and semen dripping from my cock till I finally caught my breath, then I wiped my cock on the same towel she'd used and cleaned up the cum on the floor.

~ ~ ~

At ten o'clock the next night I walked out into the parking lot to look of Shelly's apartment, which was two buildings back and on the other side of the pool from Nina Schechtman's. The moon was near full and the pool was smooth as glass and brilliant blue, and there was a warm breeze rustling the leaves of the big cottonwoods in the lot behind Cherry Park. I could hear crickets and the soft swish of the automatic sprinklers, but other than that, the whole place was absolutely quiet.

The upstairs shades at Shelly's were down and the lights were on, and when I saw that I felt a sudden tightness in my stomach, a surge of excitement. I went back into the guard room and picked up the pizza I'd ordered-- my excuse in case anyone saw me going into Shelly's-- and turned off all the interior lights for the pool, leaving it bathed in the glow of the big spotlights, which stayed on all night. I was washed, shaved, scented, and had six condoms in my pocket . I thought that should do it. I locked the gate behind me and set off.

I did run into some people walking their dog as I made my way to Shelly's, but they just said hi and joked about where the party was, which I laughed off. I waited till they left then cut around the side of her building and made my way to the back of her place. The whole first floor was dark but I could see the cool gray light of a TV filtering through the vertical blinds on her patio door. I climbed her stairs and knocked, softly.

She pulled the shade back and looked at me, then locks clicked and chains slid back and the door opened. I stepped into Shelly Greenberg's darkened kitchen, my heart pounding.

"Oh! What's that?" she asked, seeing the pizza box in my hands.

"My alibi."

It was dark downstairs and full of shadows but I could see she was wearing a mid-length white terrycloth robe belted at the waist with some kind of thin white tee shirt beneath it, like she'd just stepped out of the shower. I was surprised. Of all the things I'd imagined she might wear, a terrycloth robe wasn't one of them.

"Listen," she said quickly, keeping her voice down. "There's been a little problem. Nothing major, nothing to worry about, but my mom's under the weather and couldn't take the kids, so they're upstairs asleep. But don't worry, don't worry. I gave them a double dose of allergy medicine and that just knocks them out. They won't move, hell or high water."

The idea of Matt and Michelle sleeping upstairs while I fucked their mother was kind of worrisome to me, but I didn't say anything. Shelly took the pizza from me and seemed a bit confused, and I realized she was a little drunk. She even swayed a bit as she put the pizza down on the kitchen table and brushed her hair back from her face. She was nervous too, a long way from the poised and deliberate Mrs. Greenberg I knew from the pool. I wondered if she really knew what she was doing.

Shelly seemed to pick up on my concern and waved her hand. "Don't worry. I know my kids, believe me, and they're down for the count."

She waited for my reaction but I didn't know what to say. I was suddenly very aware that I was in her house, the house she shared with her husband and family. The signs of family were all over: the ruffled curtains over the sink, their kitchen table, their pictures on the dining room wall. Everything was so simple and prosaic and typically suburban: the wall-to-wall carpet in the dining room, the plastic runners on the floor to keep the carpet clean.

It could have been anyone's home. It could have been my own, had I lived out here.

As if she could tell I was suddenly having reservations, Shelly stepped forward and put her arms around my neck and pressed herself against me, then reached into my hair and pulled my mouth down to hers. I could feel she wasn't wearing a bra and her breasts pushed against my chest even through the robe, instantly exciting me. She tasted like gin and tonic, and that excited me too, made me think of debauchery and lose, hungry women, and Shelly Greenberg was hungry. She opened her mouth to me and her little tongue slithered against mine with a sudden urgency that took me by surprise, licking at me, pushing her tongue into my mouth, and sucking mine into hers.

I'd never been kissed like that. I mean, I'd done my share of kissing in high school, maybe too much of it. Long marathon sessions of kissing and groping where the girl wouldn't let you go any further so all you could do was kiss till your balls hurt and your tongue was strained and swollen.

But Shelly was a woman who wanted to fuck, and I knew that, and her kisses were hard, intimate and direct, filled with need and desire, an invitation to take her, an attempt to stoke my own desire. She licked my lips then slid her tongue into my mouth and fucked me with it, showing me what she wanted my cock to do to her. She bit my lip and sucked on it, then broke the kiss but left her lips against mine, breathing her hot breath into my mouth.

I hadn't expected this. I thought there'd be some talk, some joking around, maybe a long make-out session on a sofa, the kind of thing I was used to. But no. She was ready, and we just stood there in that dark, shadowy kitchen kissing like that, our lips sliding over one another's while the clock ticked in the darkness and the TV murmured in the front room. I got hard, instantly hard, my cock jerking erect till it pressed against her belly, and Shelly made a low humming, appreciative sound in her throat. Her fingers went to the buttons on my shirt and she started undoing them.