The Hot Tub Guy

CHAPTER 1

On the eve of his thirty-second birthday Ginger Jones gave up his job as a steakhouse chef, sick of kitchen smells and working shifts and being bawled out by diners who believed coarse-ground peppercorns on their rare peppered steak were rodent droppings.

Redheaded Michael, who'd been called Ginger from the time he entered Junior High, had purchased a one-man business from a crooked-nosed man who'd promoted himself as The Hot Tub Maintenance Man. The annual statement of accounts and the bookings register for the business indicated the hours were humane and the business was super profitable because the guy charged like a wounded bull and had no labor costs to share out.

"People who can afford hot tubs can afford to pay through the nose to get them back up running," Colin Doig said, rubbing his nose as if attempting to straighten it.

Ginger loved that concept of exploiter wealthier people. The business appeared to fit his needs like a carving glove but the business was stupidly named. He paid across the twenty-seven grand (the guy's asking price had been thirty-five grand) and Colin undertook to teach Ginger all he knew in his final week of ownership before Ginger took control.

In his first and only year at college, Ginger had injected capital into the stretched funding his parents injected to underpin their higher educational aspirations for their only child. Working as a pool boy boosted his personal spending to allow him to spend on vehicle running costs, clothes, booze and the high costs of investing in hot females in the chase for the ultimate goal.

Those promiscuous women endowed Ginger with one of the benefits of a college education, even a brief one, and unexpectedly the time spent cleaning swimming pools and correcting deficiencies in water balance and pool hygiene gave him the grounding that would enrich him for his future career when he'd opt out of an unhappy career in the food chain.

On the second day of the 5-day apprenticeship in Jacuzzi/hot tub/swirl pool/spa pool maintenance business, collectively known as the small pool maintenance business, Ginger asked his older mentor, "Have any of the females at home alone ever come on strong to you?"

Colin rubbed his crooked nose and thought of those days of nursing a splattered nose and cracked ribs and lied laconically, "Not that I can recall."

That puzzled Ginger, wondering how any guy could forget scoring unexpectedly with females who were strangers until the point of entry. That tuition ended at 3:30 on Friday when Colin shook hands with Ginger and walked off to begin looking to buy a retirement cabin by a lake where he could fish and not be responsible for the quality of the water.

Ginger coupled the trailer containing the necessities of the business to his Ford F150 pickup and went to a sign-writer he'd arranged to visit and had the signs on the trailer canopy painted over and the name and details of his new business that he'd decided to call The Hot Tub Man painted on to both vehicles. Colin had already arranged with the maintenance contracts he had with clients to be reassigned to Ginger. Only a handful of clients decided not to reassign and that left Ginger with a clientele list of 81 small pool owners.

As Colin had said, "Regard 60 monthly-visit contracts as your core business and anything over that plus emergency call-outs as straight profit."

Intending to work as Colin had done of 6-hour days five days a week, Ginger decided to find more pool owners to lift that client list to 95. Colin said clients didn't want service calls before 9:00 but Ginger would be willing to work later into afternoons if it meant making more bucks. He wanted to buy his own house and already had saved more that enough for a big deposit. Once he established himself in business he'd seek a bank loan to get that house.

Ginger lived with his grandmother and drove into her property that had a big garage with a spare space to park the trailer. Hilda came out to admire his new road outfit and said it looked real cool. His Gran picked up words from her neighbor's kids.

"Right I've seen it and I like it and I know you'll succeed in business. Now clean our hot tub please."

Huh?

Ginger smiled and went to work, pretending she was a hot client and would be peeping between the curtains to admire his muscular body. Actually he knew grandma would be watching one of her favorite soaps on TV.

His girlfriend Sandra called at 6:15, dragging Ginger away from the table.

He returned smiling and said, "That was Sandra calling to dump me. She's found a new guy."

Gran said, "Well I didn't like her. Her breasts were too prominent. For goodness sakes boy, get yourself a female who looks the part of a housewife and will raise healthy children."

Huh?

"What size tits?"

"Go wash out your mouth Ginger."

"Sorry Gran, what size breasts should I go for?"

"Small ones like your mother and me. Females with larger breasts tend to be more promiscuous."

Huh?

Then it dawned on Ginger why he was attracted to women with large breasts and short skirts.

After dinner on Sunday, Ginger called the five small pool owners he was due to call on next day. All were home and either the husband or wife who answered confirmed it was okay to call. He then called the five he was due to visit on Tuesday and got four of them and they said it was okay to call.

Ginger then played Scrabble with Gran and her friend Mrs Stout who really was (stout) and smiled in satisfaction, knowing he was in business.

After three days of straightforward maintenance Ginger wondered if he'd brought into the world's most boring job. But then on his first call next day it happened.

The pool was as green as a sludge pool in a forest.

"It turned green and greener and greener," said Mrs Wilks. "My husband is overseas and I didn't know what to do."

"It's okay Mrs Wilks. The small pool doctor is here on the job."

"Thank god. William would smack me if he'd found I'd fouled his pool."

Ginger emptied the pool and then refilled it and sanitized it, emptied it and replaced the filter and then refilled it and chemically 'shocked' the water to remove any remaining traces of nasties.

Ginger called out and Mrs Wilks reappeared. She looked at the water and beamed.

"When will Mr Wilks return home?"

"Saturday."

"Right I'll make a complimentary call Friday and check that everything pool-wise is perfect for his homecoming."

"Oh you gorgeous man. Please wait for a moment."

Mrs Wilks appeared with the money plus a fifty-buck tip.

It was his first tip and he was enthralled, being an uncomplicated guy.

During the next two weeks Ginger picked up two new clients as a result of Mrs Wilks praising the service of The Hot Pool Guy to her friends.

The day after solving Mrs Wilks' dilemma, Ginger skirted the Armstrong's house and on the back deck beside the Jacuzzi found Mrs Armstrong sitting at the table. She was in a bikini.

"Grab yourself a beer or a wine from the fridge and join me," she said, and then sipped wine and added, "You are a few cuts above the guy you have replaced."

"Looks, intelligence and body shape have nothing to do with skill in pool maintenance ma'am."

"Call me Jilli. Why are you called Ginger," she grinned.

He grinned and didn't answer.

Ginger sat with his glass of wine, wondering what he was required to do to earn it.

Nothing it would appear.

When he finished his wine as they chatted she then said, "Well you best do our pool.

When he looked up a few minutes later he saw her tits were sagging. She'd removed her top.

Later after replacing the cleaned filter he saw she was kicking off the bottom of her bikini.

"Anything to report?" she asked.

"Yes. I suggest you increase the timer on your filter control by thirty minutes each day. You should notice the sparkle is really back when looking at the water."

"Thanks. Your money is on the bench," said the forty-something.

Ginger departed with his money saying, "Goodbye Mrs Armstrong."

"Bye, have a nice day."

He half-expected her to call him back but she didn't.

Weird.

She must be one of those exhibitionists he'd heard guys talk about.

Two days later Mr French was watching what Ginger was doing and dropped his shorts, exposing an erection.

Mr French was in his late sixties and Ginger was not at all impressed.

"I'm not interested Mr French."

"Sorry," the guy mumbled and his wife inside the house called asking had Jerry got the check ready for the poolman.

Scary.

Ginger began educating pool owners about the need to clean filters to avoid the cost of early replacement and the value of giving attention to stain and scale inhibition. However about half of the person who looked after the pool would not be there when he called and the person who was there didn't have a clue of what he was on about. And so he used Gran's computer to compose and printout some basic maintenance tips to owners to supplement what his service offered them.

Where was the world of sex as enjoyed by poolman and depicted on porn websites and in sexy literature? Ginger was disappointed those accounts of over-sexed women banging the poolman were based on fable. However, the money was good and he enjoyed being freed from the kitchen and knew he had a year-round business because people in this area of the country had no need to winterize their pools. He should rejoice, be glad he worked in fresh air and go get his own woman.

Gran did his best invited some granddaughters of her friends but she appeared to select the ones with only bumps of their chests. Lovely young women, sure, but alas Ginger knew he was addicted to women who had big dollops of fat where it counted. He wondered about wearing briefer shorts and a tighter polo shirt for his work clothing. Yeah that might work because females were always staring at guy's groin, chest or butt.

"You're not going to work looking like that," his Gran yelled and made Ginger go back and change into baggy shorts. At least she didn't notice how tight his new polo shirt was around the chest.

Mrs Maple eyed Ginger's chest as he yelled through the ranch-slider, "Poolman" and she said from where she was sitting three feet away, "So I can see and you're the new guy aren't you. I suppose you're called Ginger?"

Ginger gaped. Christ a woman with imagination.

"Yes ma'am," he said, eyeing the 40-something.

She stretched, displaying big tit wobble.

He gawked and she smiled and said to step inside and say hi properly.

He stepped inside and she stood and clutched him hungrily and her mouth hung open as they kissed and Ginger jumped because at the same time Mrs Maple's hand closed around his flaccid dick and she burbled, "Christ."

Her tongue battered his and she panted just one command, "Tits."

Ginger dug in and secured a handful and she pulled him down on to the sofa, her legs opened wide.

She broke from the tonguing and said, "I've been waiting for you. I'm not wearing panties. I know you'll have a fairly tight schedule.

Mrs Maple was a seasoned seducer and manipulated well to fully prime Ginger to have him blasting into her inside ten minutes.

Ginger walked off to the pool whistling, knowing by Mrs Maple's behavior that she was one happy woman and at last he'd added total service to his pool maintenance role. Later that day he received a call from one of Mrs Maple's friends and she signed up with him. He guessed she did have a pool.

One third of his pools were installed under cover, either in glassed-in back porches or in bathrooms. Some of course were installed away from the house, either open or under some sort of cover, fixed or removable. As part of the service Ginger checked on safety of covers and fencing if installed and paid particular attention to the electrical circuits.

One afternoon he was working on a bathroom Jacuzzi when Mrs Barr came up behind him and began dry humping him. That led to a 30-minute diversion and a fairly indifferent sexual encounter and when she burst into tears he returned to service the pool, feeling helpless.

When Jan was paying him she was still sobbing.

"That was the first time I've committed adultery. It was such a shock but you were blameless."

"Um I was responsible for my insertion"

"Yes of course but if you hadn't I would have been beside myself and gone after you with the kitchen knife."

Phew.

At the end of that month Ginger sent off $10,000 to his parents living in retirement several hundred miles away and wrote briefly:

'This is a little something toward your failed attempt to put me through college. I know I failed and disappointed you but one day, not too far distant I hope, I will present you with the grandchild you desire that is if I can find the mother to bear it. The business is going well and Gran is happy that I keep her busy. You know she likes to fuss. Ginger.'

A couple of months later Ginger went to his bank and met the residential loans manager.

"You're a female," he said stupidly, having expected an important position like a bank loans officer to be safely placed in the hands of a male.

"Yes I believe I am," she smiled but lost that smile when she saw Ginger's eyes focus on her jutting chest.

She waited and looked riled when Ginger looked straight at her face and said, "You are very attractive. Please give me a bank loan authority to an agreed figure so I can buy land and then build a house."

"I'm Miss Philips. Your name please sir and do you have accounts with us?"

" Jones and yes I do."

"Ginger Jones," she said arching an eyebrow.

"Er sorry, Michael James Jones."

"Ah here we are. I see you operate as The Hot Tub Man."

"That is I... er that is me."

Miss Philips smiled and said, "I believe I is technically correct but me is used very widely and saying that's me is considered to be very safe in grammar."

"Intelligent as well as beautiful," Ginger murmured and she blushed and appeared shocked at that weakness.

"ID please," she snapped.

"Yes Miss Philips," he said, digging out his Social Security card and she sighed and said to please call her Monica and looked at his chest.

"Do you have a pool?"

"Yes I share an apartment."

"Are you happy there?"

"Not particularly. It's noisy and the two women I share with are not easy to live with."

"I believe I may have become too personal."

"No it's okay Michael."

"Not even my mom calls me Michael."

"I am happy chatting to you," she glanced at his hair, "Ginger."

"Michael is okay if you have difficult with Ginger."

"We really should move on Ginger."

The business side to the discussion ended with Monica saying that the bank would be prepared to lend up to $200,000 providing his present income remained stable. If he wanted more that application would have to go before the loans panel.

"Two hundred sounds fine. I'll now start looking. Please may I cook dinner for you this Saturday night?"

"I don't think so. I don't know you."

"What do you do for excitement or risk-taking Monica?"

"Nothing at all."

"Why aren't I surprised?"

She flushed. "Excuse me."

"I'm not asking for sex Monica. I'm asking can I cook for you and your two flatmates if they are home."

"I expect they well be. They usually go out late."

"Well?"

She appeared close to panic. "You can't do this to me and this interview is being recorded."

"So?"

"Oh god, yes very well. But you better manage more than scrambled eggs."

"I will. Give me your home address Monica. I'll arrive at 6:00."

She turned pale and looked up at the camera.

"Monica please forget Big Brother. Be yourself. You have my details. Call if you wish to chicken out."

She made no reply and with the scribbled address in his hand Ginger walked out and wondered if that noise behind him was Monica grinding her teeth.

* * *

Monica opened the door and another blonde also in a fancy top and short skirt stood behind her, as if in support.

"Hi Monica. Hi cutie?"

A third blonde entered the room wearing only underwear and a cami.

"So you are cooking for us?" she said.

"Yeah and I'm cooking looking at you dressed like that."

"I'm more dressed than wearing a bikini."

"Agree. I was only trying to wind you up."

She giggled and said he was cute. "I'm Sharon, house mother. You know Monica although not intimately I understand and this is Rita. Rita and I are attorneys and you have greatly intrigued us with this generous offer. We agree it must represent one of the best pick up lines ever made."

"Well Monica was stone-walling so I became desperate."

"Well desperation certainly worked for you," Rita said. "Males have a low strike rate with Monica when they pitch for a date. Unless she knows them she doesn't wish to know such men. I really don't know how she can go so long without..."

"That's enough Rita," Monica said. "Come in a make yourself at home Ginger."

The three women looked at his hair.

Ginger looked at three stacks of breasts and was impressed.

"Where's the booze?"

Sharon smiled. "I have made a jug of martinis but I did buy beer in case you turn your nose up at cocktails."

"Thanks that was thoughtful. I'll drink a martini now but will switch to beer when I'm cooking."

"Did Monica tell you Rita and I are lovers?"

"No."

"Does that shock you?"

"Hell no. You two are on to a good thing. You should be great in bed."

The three women laughed and then Monica said, "You see I told you guys Ginger is rather unusual."

"Are you aiming to bed Monica?"

"That's something I've yet to consider Rita but I appreciate your interest."

Monica handed Ginger his drink and he smiled as their fingers touched and she smiled back.

Sharon: Can you really cook?

Ginger: Yep.

Monica: Who taught you?

Ginger: I learned more from my mother than anyone. She's part Italian and grew up in a restaurant.

Rita: Sharon has had cooking lessons. She will be your biggest critic.

Ginger: I guess my reputation as a cook is on the line with all three of you.

Sharon: How does your mother rate you?

Ginger: She had nothing but praise for me but I haven't seen her for more than a year.

Monica: How high was her praise?

Ginger: Aw you won't wish to hear that stuff.

Sharon: Come on, what was her highest accolade?

Ginger: Can we change the subject?

Monica (softly): Tell me Ginger.

Ginger (looking at the floor): She reckoned I cooked better than she did, her mother and her father.

They three women looked at him and Ginger shuffled.

Sharon then said, "Time to cook for us darling. We'll be on the deck so when you serve you can surprise us. Monica said you needed an hour."

Seventy minutes later the women sat at the table in high anticipation. Monica had told her roommates, "This guy is no fool. He won't disappoint us."

Ginger, who was providing the wine as well as the food, placed a bottle of chilled Chablis on to the table and then returned with a tray and as the woman oohed at the sight of the starters. He named the dishes as tuna loin, king prawns coated in herbs, garlic, cheese and wine, and salmon fillets.

He then returned with salad leaves and three styles of dressing.

The four of them ate and chatted and then Sharon accused: "You are a trained and experienced chef."

"Yeah that true," he grinned.

Clearing away Ginger returned with an elite Californian Napa Valley Chardonnay and an acclaimed Australian Hunter Valley red and then placed three dishes of mains on the table identified as honey and chilli chicken, southern style chicken goujons and pork ribs. He returned with a baked vegetarian dish and an array of steam vegetables and roast potato.

Desert was lemon brulee served in teracotta pots.

Sharon left the table at the end of the meal and returned with a bottle of port and glasses.