By Christof Bour
(MF, Fsolo, oral, dream)

Louise was the last one left, the other life guards having long gone, only 15 minutes till the recreation center was to close for the night. Eight-forty-five on the large clock on the wall near the deep end of the pool. The water was clear and flat as a table. She thought about closing up early. She had to turn out the lights, lock the doors, set the alarm. It was easy, she'd done it before. But technically the center was still open. Plus, she didn't have anywhere to go but home.

The men's locker room door swung open. She'd seen the man before, he often showed up toward the end of the night, but never this late. He was tall, dark hair with a little gray at the temples, in good shape but not too pumped up. There was a splash of dark hair on his chest that ran in a thin line down past his belly button and into his swimsuit. The other girls would call it "the hairway to heaven." He spoke with some sort of accent, maybe British or Irish or Australian. She was no good at accents. She liked him because he was friendly and didn't ogle her like some of the other guys did.

"I know it's late," he said as he approached her chair. "I'm just going to do a few laps, if that's okay."

"No problem," she said, noticing the silver wedding band on his finger.

She watched him sit at the edge of the pool and put on his giggles. He wore a dark blue swimsuit that hung almost to his knees. Thank God he wasn't wearing one of those tight little Speedos that some of these men wore. What did the girls call them? Grape smugglers? Banana hammocks? They were so unflattering, even on the younger, good looking guys.

He jumped in and started swimming, his long arms pumping the water, creating little waves all across the pool.

Louise had been working as a life guard all summer long, and last summer too. In a few weeks she would head back to college. She looked forward to seeing her friends and going to classes again. She wouldn't miss this deadly dull job. For hours and hours she just sat here watching people swim, listening to their complaints about the chlorine or whatever, enduring the leering eyes of the bored, undersexed husbands and daddies who dreaded going home to their wives and kids.

Louise had a shapely figure, clear, tanned skin and long blonde hair. She had to wear a one-piece bathing suit on the job, so it wasn't like she was showing off or anything, the guys just liked looking at her. She supposed it was a sort of compliment, but it got weird when they'd approach her to chat about the weather or ask about her studies as if they cared. They just liked the way it said REC CTR on the rear of the shorts she wore over her suit, that's all.

The man was flying now, getting in as many laps as he could before closing. At the end of each lap he submerged, did a flip, and pushed off. Very smooth.

There was one guy who asked her out for a drink. He was actually good looking, probably rich, but there was something in his eyes that said "Shark". She knew guys like that at school, the frat boys with wealthy daddies and a future on Wall Street. They always got what they wanted—but not from her. She told the guy she'd like to, but that she had plans to see her fiancé that night. She remembered how he looked down at her hand then, looking for a ring. "Oh, I don't wear it when I swim," she told him.

Of course she had no fiancé, not even a boyfriend. Her mother called her a loner, and worried about her. But watching this man coursing through the water, she had to admit that she might say yes if "he" asked her out for a drink. He had a strong back, and his ropy arms were like pistons. Absentmindedly, she reached down between her legs and rubbed herself lightly. A tingle ran up her spine.

It was almost nine o'clock now. She decided she'd let him swim for as long as he wanted. She liked watching him, she liked how the pulsing water reflected light onto the tile walls. She liked the feeling between her legs. She stuck her hand inside her shorts and rubbed herself. Her suit was damp at the soft spot where her pussy lips bulged. She shut her eyes.

So many nights spent like this, shut up in her bedroom, her parents asleep down the hall, her sister in the room next door. She'd read until two or three, books by Anais Nin and Erica Jong, books she kept locked in a drawer. She would get all worked up, her breath getting more and more shallow, her cheeks warm, and then she would touch herself, explore her folds and crevices, until she forgot where she was, who she was, and lay there writhing on the same bed she'd slept in as a ten year old.

"Sorry I went a little over."

She opened her eyes. He was standing next to her, his striped towel over his shoulder. She yanked her hand out of her shorts.

"No problem," she squawked, waving her arms like an idiot.

He wore a smile that was not the least bit gross or dirty. It was as though he understood exactly what was going on, and thought it was just fine.

"I'll just take a quick shower," he told her.

"Take your time," she said. "I'm the only one here, so…"

She didn't know why she told him that. She turned away and held her breath.

"In that case," he said, then walked toward the locker room. She worked up some nerve and turned to watch him. At the door he paused and looked back at her. Their eyes met. Then she noticed something. There was a distinct bulge in his swim shorts. She supposed it could be the way the fabric was hanging, or a trick of the light, but there it was. Again, she felt that tingle rise up from deep inside her. Then he went inside.

She breathed. What was wrong with her? she wondered. She got up and went over to the light box. One by one she switched off the overheads. She liked to see the pool lit up from beneath the water, the wavy shadows on the ceiling. Then she switched these off.

The pool room was dark now, with only pale moonlight shining in through the tall windows on the far wall. She walked toward the women's locker room. She would change, wait for him to go, then shut out the rest of the lights, etc. As she passed the men's room she could hear the shower. She paused, imagining him in there, his body lathered up with soap. She thought of that look he gave her as he went through the door. It wasn't a come-on, exactly. More like an invitation. Was she crazy? Maybe he was just smiling because he's a nice guy. But then there was that bulge in his shorts…

She couldn't believe she was doing this, it was so totally unlike her, but she opened the locker room door and peered inside. She'd been in here before, to shut off the lights, and knew it was designed identically to the ladies locker room, with a long shower area with individual stalls along one side, then the locker area beyond that.

He was in the nearest shower stall, the large one designed for the handicapped. Steam billowed out from under the rubberized curtain. She stepped inside. Her heart was banging against her ribs. Something was drawing her here, like a rope pulling her up a steep hill.

She stood just outside the shower stall. Now what? She couldn't knock—there was nothing to knock on. She could say something, but what if she frightened him? What if he was shocked, said "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hello out there," he called out.

She practically jumped out her skin as he pulled the curtain aside. He stood beneath the shower spray, his cock thick and hard.

"Hi," he said.


She stood there, frozen.

"Wanna come in?" he asked.

She nodded meekly.

"Well, come on," he said, holding out his hand.

She took it and walked inside. The water was warm.

"Here," he said, and removed her shorts. He made no move to take off her suit. Instead, he held her in his arms for a moment. She felt his cock against her belly, like some sort of animal, a third party.

"Tell me something about yourself," he said.

What a strange thing to say, she thought. "Like my name?" she asked.

"No. Something else. Something about you."

She thought for a moment. "I'm afraid of elevators."

He nodded. "I don't like to fly," he told her.

She felt more calm now, unafraid. She reached down and touched his cock. She cupped her hand around the shaft, moved down to the balls.

"That's nice," he said.

He ran his hand through her long hair. He touched her cheek, her chin, her lips. She felt his balls in her palm, weighing them. He shivered. Then he bent down and kissed her on the lips, gently at first, then more passionately, his tongue running lightly across her lips. She opened her mouth to him.

As they kissed, he gently pulled down the straps of her suit, exposing her breasts. They were large and firm. He palmed them, squeezed, ran his fingers over her hard nipples. She tugged harder at his cock, and with her other hand reached around and grabbed his ass.

After a moment, he pushed her away then yanked down the rest of her swimsuit. She lifted one leg for him, then the other. Now she was naked before him. She covered her pussy with her hands and looked off to the side.

"Come here," he said, sitting her down on the narrow bench that was required in all handicapped showers. She leaned back against the wall, the water spraying down on her. He gently but firmly took her hands and moved them aside. Her hair down there was fair and wispy. You could see her vulva clearly. He knelt before her, kissed her thighs. She opened her legs ever so slowly. He ran his tongue up to her pussy, tapped lightly at her clit, poked at her lips. She shuddered and looked up at the ceiling. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing her, one finger at the entrance to her vagina.

"Oh my God," she moaned.

He continued like this for a long time, occasionally licking her clit, but mostly holding back, his finger never quite entering her. He was holding a carrot just out of reach and it was driving her mad.

"Please," she begged.

She was sure that if he would just suck on her clit, if he would just jam his finger deep inside her, she would explode.

But he stopped, pulled back and smiled.

"No," she pleaded.

He stood up, his cock now half-erect in front of her. He took her head in his hands, wrapped his fingers in her wet hair.

She looked at it. It hung to one side, the head large and purple. She took it in her hand and it immediately perked up. She licked the head, ran her tongue under and around. She put it in her mouth and felt it stiffen against her palate.

"Mmmm," he moaned.

She sucked hard on the tip as she stroked the shaft with her hand. With her other hand she cupped his balls and squeezed. She liked how he tugged at her hair, moving her head back and forth with each stroke. His hands were large and powerful. She began to stroke faster, sucking harder, her tongue licking at the spot beneath the tip. He moaned loudly. Then, just as she thought he might come, he pulled away.

"C'mere," he whispered.

He pulled her to her feet, then, in the same move, lifted her off the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he rammed himself inside her.

"Fuck," she thought.

He pushed her up against the wall, lifting her and dropping her, lifting and dropping as his cock pounded in and out of her. She could sense every inch of it, grabbed at it with the strong muscles of her pussy. In the warm spray of the shower they mashed their lips together, their tongues wrestling. It was as though a live wire ran from her mouth to her pussy and back. No, it was a fuse, slow burning, the spark now approaching the stick of dynamite that was pounding inside her. As it moved, the spark got bigger and brighter until that was all there was. She couldn't feel the water anymore, the cold tiles against her back and ass. All she could feel was his cock and his tongue.

He buried his face into her shoulder now as he pushed deeper inside her. He ran his left hand through her hair down to her cheek. She took his ring finger in her mouth, sucking on it, tasting the metal of his wedding band.

Her body began to quiver, to quake. The spark was an inch away from the dynamite. She thought she could smell gunpowder as he pushed himself deeper into her, his cock moving in long, fast strokes now.

"Here I come," she hissed into his ear.

"Me, too," he answered, and she could feel it rumbling inside him, too, as he impaled her against the wall with one final lunge that set them both off, a mutual explosion that blinded her, deafened her, and all she could feel was a white light flaring inside her, and a hot gush of cum pouring out of him.

It lasted for a long, long time. All she knew was that, slowly, very slowly, she became aware of her surroundings. The pool, the bright overhead light, the cold tile floor on her feet.

"Sorry if I made you stay late," she heard him say.

He was standing next to her chair by the side of the pool, his towel over his shoulder. Water dripped down his muscular legs.

"Oh," she said. "That's okay."

She could still feel the tingle of her self-administered orgasm.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks."

He walked toward the men's locker room. Louise put her hand to her face. It was warm.

She turned to see him standing at the door, looking back at her. His swim shorts bulged in front. She felt a strong sense of déjà vu as he smiled, then turned and entered the locker room.

She waited a moment, breathing deeply. Then she stood up and turned off the lights.

© Copyright 2006 Christof Bour

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