Young Zoe

When they arrived, swimsuits and towels in little plastic grocery bags, I greeted them and told them all to a volley of cheers that the pool was open.

Then, I went to my office and drew the blinds tightly shut.

The last thing I wanted to get done—a contact review—sat opened and unread on my laptop. I tipped my chair back, rocking and listening to the screams and laughter in the pool. I smiled to myself thinking about the fun they were having.

And my heart pounded away in my chest. I whispered the words right there in my office, "I want to see Zoe in a swimsuit."

I rocked my chair forward, rose, and went to the window. Cracking the blinds, I peered towards the pool.

I could see the three kids, but not Zoe. The screened porch blocked some of my view.

I ran to the master bedroom.

From there, I could see the whole pool area. The four swimmers were spread out in a diamond shape, with Zoe in the deep end. They tossed a ball to one another. I lowered the blinds and drew them shut. Then, l pried a space open and looked at Zoe closely.

She was in a white and blue narrow-striped bikini. The top fastened in a collar around her neck with a high neckline. There would be no cleavage. I could not see the bottoms.

I went downstairs, grabbed binoculars, and raced back up. Adrenaline coursed through my body. I stopped for a moment and held my hand horizontally in front of my face. The more I tried to keep it still, the more it trembled. Giving up, I drew the window blind up about three inches off the bottom sill, went to my knees, and trained the binoculars on Zoe.

She lurched through the water to get the ball. Her robust breasts barely jiggled. Later, Scotty overthrew Gabe. Zoe climbed out of the pool to fetch it. Her bikini bottoms were low cut, but full-coverage.

Of course they were, I thought, what did I think she was going to wear? A string bikini with thong bottoms? She was nannying. I told myself I was glad she chose a fairly conservative suit. It showed some judgment. Like her upper half, Zoe's lower body had a certain baby-fat thickness, but no fat, no rolls, and no cellulite.

I liked how she moved. She had pep and zeal, but it seemed her body prevented her from being as quick as she intended. It was another of her strange, vexing contradictions. In her mind, I thought, she still has a young teenager's skinny, agile frame. She was unaccustomed to hauling around her jutting breasts or propelling herself with such hearty legs.

As I watched her bend over to grab the ball, I whispered, "Fuck, that's beautiful."

Then I drew back from the blinds suddenly. I set the binoculars on a shelf next to me with a thud, cleared my throat, and went back to the office.

I read the contract—or, I tried to.

They were all jumping off the diving board. I imagined Zoe doing it, but I refused to look. I saw the binoculars in my mind's eye, sitting on that shelf, waiting for me to sweep them up and sight in on Zoe's body as she bounced into the air, as she climbed out glistening wet.

No.

I don't know how much time elapsed as I sat in front of the laptop, a man torn in two. It wasn't until I heard the patter of wet footsteps in the kitchen and Scotty yelling my name that I awoke from self-torment.

"Dad! Dad! Zoe's hurt!"

Like a falcon, I swooped out of the office and plummeted downstairs for her.

It wasn't so bad. The kids all looked pale. Zoe was obviously in pain, but it wasn't horrible.

On weekends, I had been pulling up the old wooden decking around the hot tub and replacing the boards with new composite decking. The area was sectioned off with orange cones and low yellow tape. I had warned the kids about the space, but Zoe had apparently wanted to take a quick peek. Those old boards splintered way too easily, and she got a bad one in her left foot.

A knife-life shard of wood, about half the length of a popsicle stick was plunged into the pad just below Zoe's big toe. She was sitting on the ground with the foot in the air, cringing.

It hadn't started bleeding, but it would be a gusher.

The moment she saw me, she whimpered, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have gone in there."

I knelt beside her and took her leg to see. She haltingly explained what had happened.

Fired up on the inside, I knew that, under fire, my exterior could be cool as a Minnesota lake breeze. I turned to Zoe and with a smile, calmly said, "I've got this, Zoe. Have you on your feet in no time."

Before she could respond, my arms dove under her legs and back, and I lifted her up. I wondered how heavy she would be. Now I knew.

I guess baby fat is light, I thought.

Turning to the kids, I said. "Scotty, hand Zoe her towel, please?"

He did.

Then, I said, "Grab your own towels and go inside to the playroom. I'm going to take care of Zoe." Then, I carried her with ease up two flights of stairs to the master bedroom, and I laid her on my freshly made bed.

She trembled. Her breathing came in little fits and bursts, but she wasn't crying.

I said, "You're being pretty brave, Zoe, but I want you to know that I've handled worse than this."

She nodded.

I told her that I was going to fetch a few things and be right back.

"Okay."

"Two minutes," I said.

When I returned, she was laying flat. Her breasts pointed at the bedroom ceiling like two stout warheads. I hesitated, taking in the sight of her body, almost naked, on my bed.

She saw me, and I came in. About to push herself up, I put my hand on her shoulder. I said, "You can lay down."

She nodded, and I sat beside her. "I'm going to put ice on your foot where the splinter is. It'll be cold, but it will numb the area really quickly. It won't hurt."

"Okay."

"When I take out the splinter, the only thing you'll feel will be like a dull poke." I took her hand and pushed my index finger against her palm. "Like that. When it's out, I'll make sure the area is clean and put a bandage on it. Could be some blood, but I'll take care of it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Might be easier for me to keep the ice on your foot and do this if you're on your tummy. Can you roll over?"

She did, and the hemisphere of Zoe's big ass appeared on my bed like a sunrise.

I drew a long, silent breath. A surge of angry lust welled in me. Blinking twice, I said, "You can watch if you want to, but I'm going to sit down beside you and start."

I placed myself on the bed on her left side, facing her. Gently putting my hand on the back her thigh, I raised her foot with the other hand. I stroked the back of her thigh twice, trying to be parent-like and soothing. I said, "Okay, ready Zoe?"

"Mm-hmm."

The operation worked to perfection. Once the shard was out, the foot began to bleed, but I was ready with paper towels.

Zoe didn't complain. She said the ice worked really well.

I briefly caressed her back and told her she did a great job.

Once the wound was dressed and protected, I had her try to stand on it.

She limped at first, but after a few tentative steps, she was putting her full weight on it.

"That going to work?" I asked.

"Yeah—yes. Thank you."

I held up the big splinter. "Want the souvenir?"

She nodded and took it, saying she wanted her Mom to see.

I said, "But don't get me in too much trouble with your Mom, okay?"

She smiled, "It was all my fault. I knew not to go in there."

"Forget it. Was I a good doctor?"

"Better than my regular one even," she responded.

"When the patient is as kind and beautiful as you, being a good doctor is easy."

She blushed. She wasn't wearing her glasses, I noticed. Her face seemed less studious and more alluring. She had seductive blue eyes.

I cleared my throat, declaring, "I'll bring up your bag. You can change out of your suit here in my bedroom."

I liked the idea of Zoe slipping out of those bottoms, unhooking that top and letting it fall to the floor, and standing there with that body, naked, in my bedroom.

I found her panties in the bag on my way back to the bedroom. Bikini style and orangish-red with extremely thin straps and a tiny vee to just barely cover her front.

I stuffed them back into her bag when I entered the bedroom. She was in the bathroom, and I could hear her peeing.

When she came out, I handed her the bag and turned to go.

She called after me, using "Mister" and my last name.

I smiled and asked her to please call me by my first name.

She did, and she asked how it was that I so easily carried her up the stairs.

I stared at her for a moment and said, "I hope you don't think you're heavy, Zoe. You're not. You're light. It was easy to carry you. In fact," I went on, "if I think about it, I'm sure you're lighter than my ex-wife and probably every single one of my previous girlfriends."

A beat passed, and I knew I had said something that meant a great deal to Zoe. Her face grew clear and serene like an overcast day turned radiant with sunshine by a swift gale that retired as suddenly as it arrived.

"Do—do you have a girlfriend?" she asked.

I sighed. "No. She got a job in Houston about two months ago, and we just kind of decided to end it."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"I think we're both happier," I responded. "How about you? I bet you've got a pack of boys asking you out all the time."

"Me? No."

"Really? Well, you're smart for handling things that way. It's better to stay above the mess and wait for the right one to sweep you off your feet."

Zoe looked down at her injured foot, nodding.

"I'll—uh—I'll leave you to change."

"Oh, okay."

Zoe left with Cora and Gabe, but not before thanking me again. I told her to call me and let me know how her foot was feeling.

She glanced at me for a moment, and said, "I will."

Scotty and I waved them off. He screamed, "Come back Tuesday!"

I mussed his hair, and we went inside.

***

Zoe's mother, Carol, called that night to thank me for taking care of her daughter's foot. She was not upset that it happened in a little construction area. I suppose Zoe must have explained that I had warned everyone about it and had cordoned off the area with cones and yellow tape.

Zoe, herself, called a few minutes later. After I asked about her foot, the conversation was awkward until I asked if she was reading any books.

"I started Great Gatsby again," she responded.

"Really? Why?"

"After we talked about it, I wanted to re-read it."

"Cool. How far are you?"

"Chapter five."

"That about halfway?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, Zoe, tell me this: if you had to date Nick or Gatsby, which one would you and why?"

"I had to?"

"Yep."

"Gatsby."

"Ooh! Alright, why?"

She laughed, saying, "Nick is just wandering. He's got no direction. Gatsby, he's a dreamer. He has one girl he loves, and he'll do anything to get her."

"And he's rich?"

Sensing my teasing, she argued, "No, that has nothing to do with it."

"Come on, Zoe. Isn't it nice—the parties he'll be able to throw for you, the jewels, the cars, the boats, the vacations?"

She laughed. Finally, she said, "Okay, I'll admit that it's nice he can—he can provide for me."

"Okay, I'll take it."

"How about you? Would you date Daisy or Jordan? Wait! Daisy or Jordan or Myrtle?"

"Myrtle, easy," I responded. The truth was that I probably would have chosen Jordan—she was tall, leggy, and a professional golfer—but at that moment, I recognized that Zoe probably saw herself more as Myrtle—from the poor side of town, but voluptuously built.

"Why Myrtle?"

"Hmm," I said, "How old are you, Zoe?"

"Eighteen. Why?"

"I suppose you're old enough to hear..."

She gasped. She said my name accusingly. "Is that all you think about?"

We laughed together, and I admitted, "Part of it, sure, but the truth is that Jordan is kind of a bitch, don't you think?"

"Yes!"

"And Daisy, she's so aloof and..."

"Irresponsible," Zoe finished for me.

"Exactly. Compare her to you. Would Daisy spend a summer taking care of her younger brother and sister? No way. I wouldn't want to spend time with a woman like that. So, Myrtle is the best option."

Zoe made a small hum of agreement, and said, "Yeah," with some excitement.

"And," I added, "the bonus is that she's got a nice, sexy body."

She guffawed and giggled.

I followed up, saying, "So, you can blame me for only thinking about sex, and I can blame you for only thinking about money."

This brought on more denials from her, as well as more mirth. We ended the call shortly after, and I told her I hoped to see her again very soon.

She said, "Me, too."

***

Scotty was with his mother, Jessica, all weekend, so I spent the entire time finishing the hot tub deck. It was safe and ready to go when I tested it out on Sunday night.

Jess called on Monday afternoon. She wanted to drop Scotty off at the house at noon on Tuesday.

This was unusual. Typically we met at the halfway point in Beresford on Monday night to do the Scotty exchange.

"Any reason why?" I asked.

"Just works better for my schedule."

"Okay. See you Tuesday at noon."

I began to text Zoe to let her know Scotty wouldn't be here in the morning, but I stopped.

Zoe.

Jess wanted to see Zoe. That was the reason she wanted to come Tuesday. Scotty had probably been talking about Cora, Gabe, and Zoe all weekend.

I texted Zoe, "Scotty not arriving till noon, but you can still come earlier if you want."

She wrote, "Sure it's okay?"

"Yep. Foot?"

"Good. Just a band-aid now."

***

Zoe, Cora, and Gabe showed up at ten-thirty on Tuesday morning. I showed them the hot tub area, and how it was now safe. I pulled the cover off. The kids pleaded with me to let them in. I let them feel the water, instead.

"Guys, I want you to be able to use it, too, but hot tubs can be dangerous, so you and Scotty can only use it if Zoe and I are both in here with you."

Peripherally, I saw Zoe's face turn to me.

"How about Thursday afternoon?" I suggested, "It's supposed to rain in the morning on Thursday, and it'll be cool all day. The hot tub might feel really nice."

High fives ensued.

Zoe asked if they could swim in the afternoon since they weren't going to be able to come on Wednesday.

"Of course," I said.

My ex-wife showed up with Scotty at 11:30. I knew she'd be early; she's always out for the surprise attack.

While Scotty ran off with Cora and Gabe, I introduced Jess to Zoe. It was cordial, and in minutes, it was downright friendly.

My ex-wife knew my type. Zoe was not it. I guarantee that if Zoe had been six or more inches taller, a brunette, and skinnier, Jess would have smiled, shaken her hand, and then pulled me aside. In private, I would have gotten my ass ripped for hiring a hot nanny. She wouldn't have gone so far as to accuse me of trying to seduce Zoe, but she definitely would have thought the situation highly inappropriate—hiring a nanny for eye candy and not for the quality of service for our son.

But Zoe was not my type, so Jess knew there was nothing underhanded going on. Before Jess left, she even told me how much she liked Zoe and thought that she and the younger kids would be great for Scotty.

With Jess gone, Zoe wanted to make lunch for everyone. I showed her around the kitchen, bumping my front into her ass as she searched the refrigerator.

After eating, she made them wait an hour by streaming cute animal videos on our big television. When the hour was up, all four accosted me in the office, begging me to join them in the pool.

I declined, repeatedly, insisting I needed to work.

Zoe finally said, "Okay, come on, guys," and they left to change with disappointed groans. A few minutes later I heard them in the pool.

I was in the office, watching Zoe through the blinds. She wore another bikini. This one was red. The straps were thick, but it had a plunging neckline. Even from fifty feet away, I saw cleavage. The bottoms made a tight inward curve forming a narrow vee in the crotch, and the lovely line that joined her legs to her torso was revealed. In back, the bottom of her ass peeked out.

It was not a conservative suit.

I ran to the master bedroom, but not for the binoculars.

Two minutes later, I emerged from the sliding glass doors in swim trunks with a big smile. I ran towards the pool surrounded by a volley of screams and laughter. Leaping into the air, I formed a cannonball and blasted the swimmers.

We played tons of games.

During Marco Polo, I went for the kids during each of my first three turns. Zoe did on her turns, too. On my fourth turn, I went for Zoe. The kids shrieked and splashed. In a minute or so, I knew I had her cornered, and I dropped underwater and shot like a torpedo for her legs.

I had her.

My arms wrapped around her thighs, and I lifted her completely out of the water, spinning her in the air and screaming, "Zoe!"

The kids shrieked.

I let her down slowly, and her front slid down mine. Her wet breasts slid down my chest. Her ass slid through my arms. I stopped when our faces were opposite on another. She was smiling. So was I.

I let her feet down and turned. "Zoe's Marco Polo! Let's go!"

She didn't come after me that turn, but on her next one, she did. I let her get close, saying "Polo" in several ridiculous ways and making everyone laugh. The kids dove from the corner, but I stayed.

Now, she had me. She lunged, and I caught her and brought her body to mine as we fell under the water. Her hand slid from my chest to my stomach. Mine held her ass, and like a flash message, I thought to myself, Holy shit, this is the greatest fucking ass in the world.

When we came up, I let go, hating myself for doing it. She looked at me with a grin. I announced that she got me.

The kids wanted to play something else, so we had a silly diving contest.

Afterward, I told them I had a new game. I walked behind Zoe, putting my hand on her bare, wet shoulders.

"It's called 'Sea Monster,'" I said.

Gabe asked how we play.

"You three run for your lives," I said, removing my hand from Zoe's shoulder and taking her by the waist. I held her body against mine. "And the Sea Monster tries...to eat you!"

Then, I roared and lifted Zoe up, over my head and onto my shoulders. She screamed in delighted surprise. I held her thighs—just above the knees—and roamed the pool, growling.

It took a few minutes, but we ate them all.

When I let Zoe down, I spun her body so that her front slid down my chest and stomach again. Her legs slid down my sides. A moment later, I held her in a standing missionary position. Her arms were around the back of my neck. My hands were on her ass. My cock lurched inside my trunks. I felt her gaze upon my face, and I held her in that position while I announced to the kids that it was yummy snack time.

Then, I eased her down. She brought her smooth legs together—I felt her do it. She squeezed me and slid her legs over mine until her feet hit the bottom of the pool.

After we changed over and fed the kids their snacks, Zoe hugged Scotty and finger-waved to me as she left with Cora and Gabe.

That night, I laid in bed, remembering the pool. At least three times in the water that afternoon, I had been on the verge of springing an erection. I had been lucky not to; every time Zoe had triggered one, nothing followed it up to complete the job.

But, I was hard in my bed thinking about her.

It was midnight when I texted her. "Scotty and I had a great time with you in the pool today."

Less than a minute later, she responded, "Me 2."

***

I worked hard on Wednesday. Scotty sensed my agitation, and he did his best to entertain himself while I worked through contracts, briefs, and way too many emails.

I knew why I was vexed.

Zoe.

I wanted her here. I felt good with her in my home, even when we weren't even together. Just knowing Zoe was around was enough. I didn't want to wait until Thursday.