[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18; NO EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE TRUE]
[THE ALMOST TRUE TALES OF A LIFE GUARD; BRILLIANT PROMOTER, HE CONVINCED HUSBANDS TO PAY HIM TO ALSO BE A 'WIFE GUARD'; THE WIFE GUARD ENDED UP PLANTING SEEDS IN A LARGE FIELD, RAISING NEW LIFE.]
What was that old rock 'n roll song: Indiana Wants Me (Lord I can't go back there!). Well, Ellis-by-the-sea (hereafter Ellis) and its husbands want me, badly, and I can't go back there. If I was to return, they might resurrect tar 'n feathers, just for me, Tucker.
Let me explain. One summer, I had graduated high school and was waiting for my first college year to start. I had those three lovely months we call summer to work. Since I was profoundly lazy, was in great shape (18, high school wrestling and weightlifting champ), and wasn't adverse to meeting women, I leapt at the chance to be a life guard. The fact that I had to commute 50 miles each way was no problem. I had a Honda Fit that got me 40 mpg. Also, I knew enough about the world to know that if you score with a lot of babes, you might not want to be living around there, irate boyfriends and husbands being what they are.
So, I took the job and went to ten days (2 work weeks) of underpaid safety training. In three weeks, then, I was up there, on the big white wooden guard lookout post. You know, the most admired (women) or hated (men) dude on the beach. It only took me two days to get the obligatory uniform (i.e. tan) and then I was solid.
My luck? It took exactly two hours at work before the first 'guest' was calling. This teeny bopper was at the base of the tower and, to the amusement of her girlfriends, she climbed up the ladder. I was in full SPF mode, covered in white goo, wondering what they saw in me. Anyway, the girl came up, wearing a pink bikini. As she talked, I could tell from her jewelry (plastic charms, not silver or gold) and tattoo (temporary, fruit dye) that she wasn't a member of the AARP. I just had to ask the dreaded: "And how old are you, sweetheart?" before she beat a hasty retreat. Hopefully, she would spread the word around that the Elmo and Hannah Montana set should stay off the guard tower.
My first incident, damn it, was a legitimate rescue. This older couple were way out in the surf for God knows what reason. I guess they didn't figure that occasional 'rogue waves' might come and ruin their day. Sure enough, I could see the white cap way out. I grabbed my board and headed out way before it arrived. When I got there, the man grumbled in some Euro language (Romanian) that they were fine (I think). I just smiled, seeing the white cap two waves away. As he glared at me, that wave over came them, making him gasp and his stolid wife take in some saltwater. I put her on the board, gestured for him to follow, and headed in. By the time we got to shore, the elder lady had aspirated all the water, in or out, and would be fine. The old man patted me on the back as they gathered themselves and walked to their car. I actually got an impromptu ovation from the twenty or so who had gathered to watch this 'drama' unfold. Well, I had won their hearts; knocking them dead in Ellis-by-the-sea.
Every morning I would get up, pound some weights (to keep in shape; it wasn't very taxing just sitting in the guard tower), and have breakfast. My divorced mom would always prepare it, which was odd. She never even got up to see me off when I was in school. Now that I grabbed a sausage biscuit in the AM wearing only a good tan and shorts, looking really buff, kind of pumped, my divorced mom felt compelled to make my breakfast. Well, I didn't dwell on it, or her goodbye kiss either. It didn't occur to me that moms don't kiss their grown sons goodbye in the morning. Kind of creepy, her kisses got more protracted as the summer wore on and I got even tanner and more buff. It was all innocent, though. Really.
Carmen. A heck of a woman, and my first 'conquest' at the beach. Carmen was a Latina, about 22, five foot three, 110, perhaps 34-25-36. Those measurements (my guess of course) were all you could hope for in the real world, the proverbial 36-22-36 only existing in Hollywood or Playboy. Anyway, a friend of mine asked me the body count (how many babes had I bagged this week?). When I said zero, he asked me how often I walked the beach. I said never. He set me straight and soon, I would take an hourly tour. Well, things did change and fast.
Carmen was having an argument with her boyfriend. I'm no cop, but the general idea of peace and tranquility IS our responsibility, so when he slapped her, I stepped in. Grabbing his wrist, I told him to get off the beach or face a little jail time. You never saw anyone leave faster. A grateful Carmen hugged me, caressing my bulging biceps, saying that she was so happy a 'good beach bully' came along to take care of the bad one. I patted that sexy Latina on the head and turned to leave. She didn't want this to end, so she said that her boyfriend had left her there with no way home, could I take her when I got off. Well, to be stone cold and shallow about it, I turned and scoped her out. She was fucking hot, man, with a skimpy bikini, Latina tan, fantastic legs, and some interesting tattoos. I couldn't resist that. I said cool, and it was a date.
The same friend of mine who (brilliantly) recommended the beach tours also told me about this overlook in the hills that was a great place to park. I took Carmen there, so I could take Carmen there. As soon as I had parked, she was caressing my broad shoulders and powerful arms, thanking me for saving her today. Well, I knew an opening when I saw one, and soon I had her power seat reclined. I thanked heavens that I still had an American car that had a column automatic shifter. I have to confess I didn't ask her about her marital situation or her birth control methods. I should have. But, sometimes the little soldier with the helmet down there controls the conversation. Before I knew it, I had entered that hot little Latina, my ten inch soldier moving forward, deep into the mineshaft. She gasped when I had entered her fully, gasped when I withdrew it, and so on. We did this for ten minutes before she closed her eyes and shrieked in pleasure. I took that as a clue and grabbed her soft behind, clamping down firmly, as I pumped a copious amount of my potent seed deep deep inside her unprotected and quite fertile vagina. I couldn't know it at the time, but she soon would be pregnancy number one.
I continued to be irresponsible and entertain strictly bareback. The next day, it was incredibly uneventful. Okay, there was the inflow of jellyfish that took 2 hours for the tide to take them back deeper into the ocean. However, they weren't box jellyfish (the Aussie kind and the deadliest animal on earth) or even the irritating (literally) Portuguese man of war. No, these were relatively harmless. For the two people that got stung, I had a basic solvent that you could use to completely neutralize the stinger.
What happened that day was quite remarkable and a total fluke. The two people stung were a handsome couple, quite well known in Ellis. The woman was quite a fox, her name Eunice. Her husband was Eric and he was delighted that I was so quick to fix their (stinger) problem. He also was delighted that I had not made a 'move' on his wife, who was incredibly sexy. Well, I had not, but that was only because he was standing within 5 feet of me. Ah, but here it happened:
Eric: "I just am glad that you are not like the lifeguard we had here, last year. He spent 100% of the time 'scoping out' the babes, not doing his job. I think we can count on you, though."
I don't know why I did it, but in a lispy voice that gave him the impression that I was 'differently oriented', I said: "Oh, you don't have to worry about ME...women don't interest me at all. I'm afraid I have a different lifestyle if you catch my drift."
Well, he bought this hook, line, and sinker. He told me, "You might do me and the other worried husbands in my business circle a favor. We were planning to go for a month to a retreat, leaving our wives behind. Could you be induced, for a fee perhaps, to ensure that while our wives were on the beach that no one fooled around with them?"
Gee, I thought, I don't know. You mean you will pay me a supplement to ensure that your wives are protected from beach bullies, except for me? Well, okay, if you insist.
And so it was, and it was good. I became not only a life guard, but the world's first tanned, muscular, outdoors type, 'wife guard.' A dozen men in the local business circle pooled their money and gave me an extra $1,000 per month to ensure chastity on their wives' part in their absence. It had to be a secret, from them especially.
Well, after they left for that Colorado retreat, that secret lasted ten seconds. I told mom the first morning, just before she kissed me goodbye for the day in her diaphanous peignoir. Boy, if I wasn't scoring outside my house, I would have...
Sure enough, like a mob, the dozen wives of the business men of the town arrived together. They had a nice little set-up, including their own little hibachi, salads, appetizers, booze, everything man. I just HAD to scope them out. I poked my head in, saying I was just welcoming them to our little beach.
As I was leaving, one woman nodded to the other, who grabbed me. She asked wouldn't I join them.
I said: "Well, I can take off lunch, so sure..."
They introduced themselves as the wives of the business circle.
I then broke the promise (didn't take long, did it?), showing them the agreement I had signed and the check. I knew they were going to stew for awhile, so I coyly beat a retreat.
Back up in my tower where I was relatively safe, the oldest and most prim and proper of the ladies approached me. Eunice was not the one, though she was there too (the wife of the guy that started the 'wife guard' idea.)
Daria: "We took a vote, and we decided that the best way to teach our men a lesson is to fool around, something we would never have done until you showed us that letter. And what would be more ironic than to do it with the 'Wife Guard' hired to protect us. If you want, you can start with little old me. I'm 50, gone thru the 'change of life' so I'm safe, and I'm hot to get started...so what about it?"
I didn't have to be asked twice. I told her when I got off (pun intended). So, as her friends left, Daria stayed behind. This woman looked exactly like Doris Day, the 1960's sexpot of those milder film days. Scary, but she also looked like my grabby mom back at home. Well, no matter, I took that staid conservative woman up to that special lookout point I used before. Within ten minutes of parking, I had her clothes off. I wasn't used to a woman with no jewelry, no tattoos, no ankle bracelet, no nail polish, etc. Well, if she was the first, I had to make a good impression. So, I took her society soft hand, gave her control of my ten inch cock, and let her swirl, drag, and poke with that huge pole. Soon enough, she was moaning in pleasure. I took that opportunity to gently hold her, with increasing pressure, as I irresponsibly again pumped my virile testes' contents directly into an unknown womb. She TOLD me she was 'safe', but I really didn't know or care. Just to add to my ego and conquest total, she too would turn up pregnant some weeks later. Turns out that she lied to me...well, poetic justice?
After we finished, with my still erect ten inch love tube deep inside her, she asked what turned me on about her.
I said: "To be honest, you were attractive and came forward as the leader of a group. I couldn't turn that down."
Daria: "Ok, so you thought I was a good 'strategic conquest' to open the way for the eleven others...but what does turn YOU on?"
I said: "Well, if you are really asking, it's probably stuff that nice ladies know nothing about. I mean like tattoos across your back, or like Christina Aguilera, a sexy triangle within the contours of a fine behind. Tattoos on the ankle like the Hollywood starlets all have, things like that. Oh, and an ankle bracelet in gold, maybe a sleazy outfit showing too much off, jewelry shoes (bracelet on bare feet over no shoes), hair down there—but trimmed in a heart shape. While we are at it, maybe a tattoo near the entrance down there like an arrow or a cupid's heart. And finally, a warning tattoo below the waistline telling other dudes that this is the possession of, well, me. Whew, that was a long list of things you may not have even heard of. I don't expect any of you society types to have even one of those things, but I just wanted you to know how sleazy some people could be...people like yours truly."
She kissed me on the cheek, telling me that I was a dear. She ran to her car and, unknown to me, started feverishly writing down all that she remembered.
Well, the society ladies did not come to the beach the next day, or the next. When they did, WOW. They gathered around the tower like groupies, begging me to come down. How could I resist?
To my amazement, every society wife, as in EVERY one of them, had done something to please me. Man alive, there were tattoos everywhere, and these were permanent and not grape juice appliqués. One of them, a 40-ish brunette, came right up to me and told me to look down.
As I looked down, she used one hand to gape open her bikini bottom. She was showing me her dark forest, which now was neatly trimmed in the shape of a heart. Above that place of wonder, she had them ink "property of Tucker". And she was married! I mean, I loved a little fling, but these women had gone crazy in their anger about the 'wife guard' pact. Now they'd have to explain tattoos, body piercings, new costly jewelry, sexy clothing, and almost daily bikini waxes and pedicures.
One of the first ladies 'up at bat' was Eunice. Yes, the same Eunice that was the loyal and obedient wife of Eric, the originator of the 'wife guard' pact. Like a lot of the angry business circle wives, she had had her wedding band converted. When we were 'warm and friendly' up at the outlook, she absolutely shocked me when she showed me that her wedding band now was a band right over the entrance to her sacred chamber. Wow! If that didn't start my engines, there was her incredible 36D-26-36 41 year old figure. The only thing that went sort of wrong up at the outlook was when she told me about her wedding ring being put down there. You see, she was keyholing my ten inch log, her beautiful mouth helping out too. When she stopped her mouth action, my cockhead purple with passion and about to bust, she related to me about the ring transfer. She also confided that she was very fertile that day, but that she planned for me to breed her...hard...to spite her bastard hubby. Well, that was it! My mighty cannon just lurched, the huge spend like someone had taken a pail full of soapsuds and splashed it on Eunice's face. It dripped down as her tongue caught a lot. She swallowed it noisily. She realized that I now was like that brandy: 'Harvey's Dry Sack'. She was determined to be bred, so she talked her way into it:
Eunice: "I hope I didn't scare you about being bred and all." (She was staring at my unit; no response.)
I said: "No, I have to admit I have a pretty cavalier attitude about that; protected or not, pregnant or not, doesn't faze me."
Eunice: "Well, I just was being candid and all; we ladies had decided to fool you with our cover stories of infertility. Well, I went ahead and candidly confessed that I am very fertile today; Eric and I were tested a year ago because of our 'little breeding problem' and they found him almost sterile. I on the other hand had a very fertile womb. So, don't be frightened just because you would be demonstrating your virility, your manhood, by planting your potent seeds into a very lush, warm, damp and fertile garden. You already confessed that getting women pregnant doesn't scare you, so don't worry about it. Just think of me as if I was your mom."
Well, she couldn't know that that was a poor choice of words. I DID treat her like my mom, that prick-teasing vamp. I grabbed her firm from Shapes-women-only gym behind, pulled it to me with industrial strength, and used my amazingly fast re-charged balls to pump a torrent of baby-making sperm deep inside Eunice's unbelievably fertile womb. And though I had follow-up lunch quickies with all of the wives of the business circle except Eunice, she was the first to become pregnant.
When the next of the society ladies went with me to the lookout place, that conservative 43 year old MILF had a gold ankle bracelet, the catchy phrase "big cocks only" tattooed over her puss (she told me her husband packed a solid three or four inches), her blond muff of beaver fluff shaped in a perfect square, and her wedding ring pounded out and converted into a lower lip piercing.
She was obviously nuts, but just as obviously a fox. Thinking that she might go nuts if I lingered too long, I started on her as soon as we were at the lookout. When I asked her if she was safe, she said it wasn't her time of month to worry, so it was cool. Once again, a woman lied to me (normally, it was the other way around.) I plunged deeply inside her with my normal power and determination, and then pumped my potent seed all over that cervix of hers. Funny thing was, I truly thought she was safe, but my ten inch soldier thought and acted otherwise. Turns out, HE was right again. This hot MILF was at her most fertile and my vibrant, lively, 18 year old sperm had no trouble alighting on her ovum and affixing it to her wall. By nightfall, she too would be another conquest, and pregnant.
Over the course of the two weeks, I entertained all the wives of the men of the business circle (of Ellis). I took every single one of them up to the overlook at least once, foregoing my lunch break for a second helping of married women. I was assured by all of them (their agreed cover story?) that they were too old or outside their cycle time or on the pill, except for Eunice who had 'come clean' about that. Well, every one of them tested my virility and came up a winner (or loser?) They all got a cunt full of my potent seed. They all literally dripped my manly semen down one or both thighs as we drove home. Most of them told me later that as they lay in bed hours later, they were still leaking out excess seed. It normally oozed out slowly, making a puddle that eventually made a stream dripping onto the carpet. Three of them actually filmed it, sending it to me. I kept those DVD's and still watch them.
Anyway, within two months of our beach encounters, all dozen women voted to have Daria call me, telling me that they were ALL pregnant...by me! Fortunately, they couldn't see my smiles, or my basketball gesture of victory ('SWISH!!')
I spoke sympathetically, telling her that my parents' religious training precluded abortions but that I would be delighted to go to all of their husbands, confess, and offer to marry and support them. The caller, Daria hesitated before responding.
She knew that she, and the others, would be cutting a huge chunk of income out of their society lives, what with me being just a punk lifeguard, heading up to college. Without further accusation or apology, she hung up. I never got another long distance call from Ellis. I did occasionally go there before school started, noting the birth announcements that the society ladies, and their business circle husbands, placed in that paper. I never knew if the poor sap believed that kid was his. How could I safely ask? You're right...no way.
So, that was a pretty wild summer, and pretty productive if you consider survival of the fittest and all. Between Carmen and those snooty ladies of high society, I had made sixteen children...in one summer! (One society swell had twins, another had triplets.) It was cold and cruel, but I made the society ladies scramble for cover. Ten of them got their husbands to buy their cover stories (that those wimp dicked 'studs' had done the deeds) while two others quietly put the kids up for adoption in another state.