I’m not stupid. I know that not everything in life is going to be bells and whistles, cake and flowers, sunshine and rainbows … you get my drift. And for the most part, my life is satisfactory; good job, nice home, hot car, loving family, great friends, and an adequate, familiar marriage.
I live a simple life. It’s so simple, it’s complex. It’s too easy, too predictable, and simple things that I want—to eat a restaurant that I choose, to stay in instead of going out, to choose the movie, to choose my clothes, to do it doggy-style, to do it in the living room instead of the bedroom, on the sofa, in the car—I go without.
From the outside, I look like I have it all. But you know as well as I do, my blog followers, that on the inside, I’m a hallow shell of the person I long to be. I ask myself the same three questions multiple times a day, every day; Can’t I have just a little bit of excitement? Can’t I find my voice? Can’t I get a little in the backdoor?
And with no answers in sight, here I sit, webbed in yet another day of my fucked up life.
I had heard it all before. I nodded and worked to keep my eyes from rolling with frustrated disgust.
“So, you see here … you’re Ph balance is out-a-whack.”
Just fix it, you old fuck, I said to myself. “Can you fix it?” I kindly requested.
“Yep … that’s what your husband pays me for.”
I turned away and finally allowed my eyes to roll. It felt good, like the small act was invented solely to relive my vexation. I’ve worked with this man each month for two years, and it’s the same old shit; he comes, he checks the water, he tells me there’s a problem, waits for me to ask him to do his job, and then does it.
“Sounds good,” I replied habitually.
I looked around the small addition off the back of the house. Added at my husband Jake’s persistence, the addition was built to hold an expensive, custom-built lap pool. The initial conversation about the add-on replayed often in my mind, every time I stepped inside the room come to think of it, and it wasn’t a pleasant memory. Jake’s deep voice said, “I’d give my left nut to have an indoor lap pool.”
“You would?” I asked. “But you don't swim.”
“Fuck it. We’re getting the pool.”
“But Jake—”
“But nothing. We’re getting the pool and that’s that.”
“Okay,” I said, the memory still fresh, still painful.
“Did you hear me, Mrs. Paul?”
“Oh, sorry Gray. What?”
“The pool’s clean. I just gotta check one more thing,” he said, turning his back to me and walking to the hidden supply cabinet at the far end of the building.
I sat down like I did each time he came to clean the pool. I watched the old man work while secret sentiments for my husband swam around inside my head.
How many times has he even swum in the GD pool? Three … four maybe? What a dickhead. I use this pool more than he does. Left nut, my ass! And he leaves me here every time that old fucker comes to clean it while he goes golfing with his buddies. I hate him. I—
“Mrs. Paul?”
“Sorry,” I said again as I stood.
“There’s a problem with your pool. Wanna take a look?” He pointed in the direction of the other side of the pool where a wall of windows that exposed everything inside the small addition to the outside world sat.
As I circled the far end of the lap pool, I remembered the one and only time I had ever tried to use the pool to my advantage. Jake had been out of town on business for over two weeks, and I was hurting for some attention. I was horny, willing, and more than ready to move our sex life out of the bedroom and away from the boring Missionary position we always used into something a bit spicier.
The memory, like most with my husband, was intense. Just a year into the marriage, and I was bored … bored and longing for more. Upon seeing Jake’s car pull into the garage, I ran to the pool. I stripped naked, down to the yellow ribbon I wore in my hair that day, and jumped head first into the warm, clean water. When he walked in and saw my naked body floating on the pool's surface, he stopped dead in his tracks.
I expected fireworks. I was so excited, and the thought of him ravaging my needy body in the warm bath was a turn on, to say the least. My wants and needs were obvious; my expression pleaded with him to engage with me and my pussy ached for him to fuck it.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled from across the room. His face, the anger and disappointment, showed how he truly felt about my stunt. He ran to where my clothes were and scooped them up. He was furious. He stood with his back to the windows, in between me and the glass, and frantically motioned for me to get out of the water. Once I climbed from the side of the pool, he wrapped my clothes around me and took me into the private hallway that connected the pool house to our home.
“What the hell are you thinking, Kate? My God, our neighbors are probably going to call the cops.”
“For what?” I asked, scared.
“For you being indecent … and exposed. We live in a family neighborhood! There are families just on the other side of our property, for Crissakes!”
I looked at the glass, then back at my husband. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be smart! You’re too smart to do stupid, juvenile shit like this! This isn’t college. We’re not teenagers, so stop acting like one.” Jake stormed off in my memory at the same time I arrived at the hole in the cement floor where Gray, our pool cleaner, was working.
“See this compartment? It holds the overflow water going into the pump. It’s plugged and the water’s backed up here.” He pointed. “It’s full of stagnant water. That’s a problem. Bacteria’s breeding in there, and I know how Mr. Paul likes everything with his pool to be clean.”
“Yes … he does,” I mumbled.
Gray stood and turned to face me. “He likes everything to be in perfect working condition, doesn’t he?”
“Yes …”
“Yes, he does. He told me about you’re little strip show out here. He’s was madder than skunk for a good long time about it.”
“Yes. He was,” I said robotically, looking up the tall old man standing next to me. I had never really looked at Gray Swensen. Handsome, surprisingly so, his face had a distinguished, experienced look to it that reminded me of my favorite uncle Hal. His hair was white with a little bit of black mixed in here and there, but thick and shiny nonetheless. He had clouded gray eyes and nice teeth, and coupled with his khaki slacks and logo-ed golf shirt, I wondered how old he was.
Most of the time, Gray did his work with little problem. But today there was a problem, and it felt a lot more serious than the bacteria floating in the plugged box at my feet.
I was cautious. “So, what do we need to do to clean the box?”
“Well, let me tell you, darlin’,” he said. He ran his pointer finger down my arm and I chilled. Prickly bumps formed on all my exposed skin and I was shocked at how little I wanted to stop him from touching me.
“This problem’s gonna cost Jake a good chunk of change. You see … I can see the tail end of a yellow piece of fabric clogging up the valve to the pool’s pump. To remove it, replace the pump, and return everything to working order, I say Jake’s looking at about, oh … let’s say seven grand. Give or take,” he said, wagging his head back and forth as he spoke.
“Seven grand? Seven grand to remove a hair ribbon from a stupid pool pump? I think that’s a little steep, Gray.”
“No, actually it’s not. This entire system is state of the art and was built custom for this pool. The filter alone sets Jake back eight hundred dollars a pop. Did you know that?”
“Of course not. Even though I make as much money as my husband, I don’t spend it the way he does.”
“Well, I assume that that yellow bow is yours and that your husband’s going to be mighty upset with you.”
“Duh,” I grunted in frustration like a juvenile.
“So, let me make you a deal. I’m going to take the afternoon off, and hang around here … with you. I don’t have anyone to go home to and this old man’s lonely.”
“I’m not a prostitute,” I snapped.
“I’m not saying that you are. You’re still gonna have to pay me for the pump. But for the labor … let’s say this little deal is a ‘you scratch me back, I’ll scratch yours’ kind of arrangement.”
“You want your back scratched?” I asked. I was confused, my eyebrows pinched together in bewilderment.
“I just wanna have a little fun. Spend the afternoon with me, play with me, and I’ll do the labor for free.”
We shared a stare for a moment and when he took a slow step toward me, I had a sinking feeling that the exchange was going to be daring and risky, and an unfamiliar excitement within me formed. As he rounded my body and stood behind me, my stomach jumped with apprehensive wonder.
He moved slowly, more slowly than I had ever seen Jake move. And that the last attention Jake’s getting today, I said to myself as the zipper down the back of my dress was lowered by Gray’s long fingers.
The tips of his fingers helped the cotton dress off my shoulders and it fell to the tile around my feet. I shuddered. I crossed my arms across my bare stomach and watched as his hand reached around me from the side. He pulled me back to him a step. While one hand worked to unfasten my bra, the hand above my naval made smooth, circular strokes on my skin.
I sighed, heavily, and Gray leaned in to me from behind. “I know he doesn’t touch you enough.”
“No.”
My bra hit the floor atop my dress at the same time both Gray’s hands moved up and cupped my tits. From behind, he kneaded them and tugged on my nipples with his fingers.
I felt the bulge in his pants in the small of my back and closed my eyes. He’s right. I don’t get touched nearly as much as I need to be or … or want to be.
I relished in the attention, basked in the thrill and newness to the risk I was taking. His hand slipped down into the front of my panties and to my nether region. He whispered, “Spread your legs a little, darlin’,” and I gladly complied.
His long finger, soft and warm, gently got acquainted with my freshly saturated pussy.
