Summer at School Ch. 02

After a minute or two more the couple slowed and Laura straightened up. Without a word she slipped from between the coach’s legs, put a blue towel down and leaned onto the cement. He legs were spread again in the pool and the coach pushed himself off the side and into the pool behind his wife. Dean saw the man in the pool was only half hard when he bellied-up to the pretty brunette. After all that sucking! Dean thought. Hell, sex is wasted on old people.

The coach held his manhood and pressed behind his wife. He was bent slightly at the knee and had one hand on the small of her back. She spread her feet even wider as he entered her. After several attempts they began to rock in unison; Coach Miller had both hands on her hips and their loving went in waves: slow at times, building to a crescendo, then slower, building again, then slower. There was no talking between the lovers that Dean could hear. Crazily, he wondered if Coach Miller used words like ‘pussy’ except when addressing a shortstop afraid to get in front of a hard hit groundball.

Suddenly, Dean was embarrassed watching Beth’s parents in the Jacuzzi. What was once the promise of a great erection hung between his bent knees looking down in deference to gravity. He pushed back, still on all fours, from the edge of the balcony, and eased into Beth’s bedroom. Only then did he stand up after twenty or thirty minutes of moving around on his hands and knees.

Only then did he notice Beth was in the room.

“Beth, I…”

“You were watching them, and eavesdropping! I can’t believe you were watching my father!” She tried to sound angry, angrier than she’d ever been before, but it wasn’t working. Dean thought she smiled when she walked around the bed, past him, and slowly closed the sliding glass door.

“I heard them talking, and—“

“—and nothing! Two grownups in a Jacuzzi in a house they think is empty. What did you think they were going to do?” Beth folded her arms just beneath her breasts. Dean loved the peasant blouse she’d chosen to wear; her small titties and erect nipples pressed against the light fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her jeans hugged slim hips and he could see about three inches of skin between her belt and the tied bottom of her green/blue blouse. She was still holding her shoes.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, trying not to smile. He tried to think of something really sad in his life, tried to call up some distant sorrow to sound convincing. “I was just sitting here, thinking of getting dressed and running away, but I didn’t want to lose the bet. Then I heard them…I watched, I guess.” He looked down dramatically. ‘ACTING’, he thought to himself. “But I didn’t like it,” he said into his chest.

Dean and Beth laughed together. And loud. He was glad she had closed the door.

They sat on the side of Beth’s bed and looked through the glass door into the night. For a long time they nothing. Neither touched the other. A couple times one or the other would start to say something, but they would just break out into laughter. Dean did not feel the least bit uncomfortable being the only naked person in the room. Beth looked out into the starry sky and told herself she’d never been happier.

“I hate her,” Beth said, finally.

“Who?” But Dean knew Beth was talking about her stepmother.

“Laura.” Beth’s eyes were moist. Not tears exactly, but moist just the same.

“Why?” Dean asked. The boyfriend thing to do would be to pull her close to him and let her know that it would be okay. That’s how Dean would’ve comforted Amy, but this was different somehow. No fake arm-around-the-shoulder would work here. Communication is the answer here, Dean thought, and besides, he really wanted to know why.

“I just don’t think she’s right for my dad. I can’t explain it.”

“Why do you say that? Your dad seems happy.” Dean wondered if he really believed Coach Miller was happy—his cock never did get fully erect in the Jacuzzi, maybe he was just going through the motions--or, was Dean so happy that EVERYONE seemed happy?

“I don’t think she loves him, okay? I’ve said too much already.”

He kissed her, and for the first time Dean felt a little uncomfortable being the only naked person in the room.

“Get dressed,” Beth said. “We’re going out.”

***

The Outta The Weigh was a small roadside joint off Interstate 80 about twenty minutes from Beth’s house. Two class clowns and “dedicated party animals” bought the closed weigh station from the Department of Transportation after a ‘90s budget crunch dictated travelers were just as safe on these highways without making truckers pause here. To their credit, Jefferson Dawes and Clinton Deems cleaned the place up, worked harder than anyone could have imagined, and managed a successful sandwich and souvenir shop by day, and quiet bistro at night. State law was lax at ‘Chez Weigh’ and all its patrons respected unwritten rules of decorum.

Jeff was sitting on the other side of the tinted door when Dean and Beth walked in.

“Coach girl, holá,” Jefferson said. His Spanish was abysmal, his complexion pockmarked and ashen. Beth cringed a little that he remembered her as Coach Miller’s daughter.

Dean stepped forward. “Two please.” He reached for his wallet suggesting he’d show an ID if that was necessary.

Jeff waved him off. “No cover on Sundays, my man.”

Beth nodded and Dean mumbled a ‘thank you’.

The entryway was plastered with posters advertising bands at other clubs. Outdated posters mostly, but Dean saw that ‘Barely Tolerable’ was downtown next weekend and ‘Your Mother Should Know’ was at the Rathskellar on campus next Friday. He pushed through another tinted door into the bistro and held it for Beth.

Soft black lights set the ambience of the room. Beth picked a table in the corner and Dean went to the bar for drinks. When he returned she was pushing something white into her black purse.

“Nice place,” he said sarcastically as he set her Cosmopolitan and his Old Style down on the round table.

“Seems nice enough, I guess,” Beth said. “I thought we could go here and not be noticed, that’s all. Sometimes it’s nice to go out and still be alone. Know what I mean?”

Dean looked around. There were two old guys at the bar that he thought he might’ve known once upon a time, but there was no recognition when he and Beth walked in. Two tables away another couple talked separately into cell phones. Maybe a dozen people were in the poolroom shooting or playing video games. The dance floor, such as it was, had no dancers; the DJ stand was un-manned.

Beth raised her martini glass. Dean met it with the neck of his beer bottle. “Thank you Dean Allen,” she said. “Thank you for so many reasons.”

They both drank.

“What did you put in your purse?” Dean asked, and then took another sip of his beer.

“When?”

“When? When I was coming back with the drinks. I saw you putting something very white into your purse. These black lights made it seem even whiter. I was just wondering…”

“Panties,” Beth said, matter of factly.

“But you have on jeans. How did you…?”

Beth looked at him. “Why do boys always want to know all the secrets right away? Do you know why men make the best magicians? Because women accept that there is magic in the world. Men are always asking ‘How did you do that?’”

Dean blushed on behalf of his entire gender.

Beth’s countenance turned serious. “She doesn’t love my father. I know she doesn’t.”

Dean looked across the table at the beautiful redhead and searched for something to say. Finally he offered, “Beth, I saw them in the pool tonight. They wanted each other.” He reached for her hand and found it. “Thanks to you I know when two people want each other.”

“I think you are wrong!” Beth said defiantly. She pushed away from the table and walked toward the restrooms.

Laughter erupted from the poolroom and two goofs spilled onto the empty dance floor. They mock wrestled a minute and pushed back through the open doorway and out of sight. The couple on cell phones two tables away sat silently; Dean thought each was probably waiting for another call so one or the other could talk again. The old men at the bar were joined by a third. Gentle acknowledgement between the three suggested to Dean that none of then had anywhere else to be.

“Oh by the way,” Beth said when she returned with drinks. “ You lose our bet.” She sat down in the chair next to his. The whole room spread out in front of the young couple.

“Lose? We had to get out of the house. I had to get my car out of there. You told me to get dressed.”

Beth shrugged. “Naked all day is naked all day. Are you naked now?”

“You cannot be serious?”

“Are you naked now?” she asked again.

Dean looked down, just in case he was. “No.”

Beth reached for her drink with her left hand and rubbed his groin with her right. She raised her glass and offered a silent toast. Dean lifted his Old Style and met her glass. He felt his belt unbuckle and his zipper go down as he swallowed half his beer. Beth sipped her Cosmopolitan and deftly unsnapped his Cargo shorts. When his hardening cock was in her hand he thought about all the laws they were probably breaking. When she started moving her hand up and down on his unit he didn’t care.

Dean pushed his legs out under the table and spread them a little. He tried to appear nonchalant when he glanced down and watched Beth’s fist swallow his prick and stroke him with an agonizing slowness that was at once teasing and fulfilling. She giggled into side of his neck. Dean kept both hands on the table and surveyed the room for any signs of traffic coming their way. He acknowledged something she said, but didn’t really hear it. He smiled and sipped his beer. This must be the price for losing the bet, he thought. It was a price he was willing to pay.

Beth stroked a little faster and squeezed a little tighter. Dean could feel his scrotum tightening with each full stroke. He knew ecstasy was imminent and gave himself over to Beth and her pumping fist. He looked down again and saw the slit on the head of his cock open and close the slightest bit with each stroke. Dean kept one hand on his Old Style and slipped the other under the table and wrapped it around Beth’s hand. Together they stroked fast and hard, oblivious to the others in the bar. In a minute Dean shot into the air and onto their hands, his shirt and lap, and probably onto the floor. The smell of semen cut through the cigarette smoke for a second, and then was gone.

The Outta the Weigh is not the kind of lounge that demands, or even suggests, patrons use napkins. Dean looked to Beth for some help with the mess.

“Spill your beer,” she said.

“What?”

“Spill your beer on yourself. Trust me.”

Dean pulled the bottle toward him and let it fall. Beth pushed away from the table and laughed. She got up and went to the bar to find the carefully guarded stack of napkins in a Gilbey’s promotional tray. The bartender anticipated her need and had a handful waiting for her.

“He okay?” the bartender asked.

“He just needs a cigarette,” Beth said and smiled.

They stayed for a couple more drinks. Dean was mostly dry and Beth was a little tipsy when the walked to the car. The humid summer night smothered them when they pushed through the door. The neon signs reflected off what must have been a brief downpour. Beth skipped a little and waited for Dean to open her car door. Inside the car she was sullen again.

“I know Laura is cheating on my father,” she said before Dean even had a chance to put the keys in the ignition.

That’s the booze talking, he said to himself. He started the car and felt the air conditioner blast coolly on him. He turned on the windshield wipers and in two passes the droplets were gone. Beth was turned to him and awkwardly tried to put her arm over the back of his seat but she was too short. When two attempts failed she settled for keeping both her arms in her lap.

“How do you know Laura is cheating on your dad?”

“I just do. You have to believe me. I just do.”

Dean turned from Beth and looked into the night. Clouds filled the sky and he guessed there was going to be more rain before the night was over. He thought about what Beth had just said. It made sense. Laura Miller had to be twelve or fourteen years younger than Coach Miller. She was the trophy wife. Coach Miller always told his teams that sacrifices have to be made to win trophies. Maybe his sacrifice was his wife’s infidelities.

“I believe you,” Dean said half-heartedly.

“No you don’t,” Beth said indignantly. She turned and faced forward as if to say I’m ready to go.

Dean reached over and put his hand on her knee. “Beth, I do believe you,” he said slowly.

Beth straightened a little in her seat. “I know she cheats on my dad,” Beth said at last, “because she made a pass at me last week.”