Summer Strokes Pt. 01

Friday

Submerged beneath the water, I heard screaming. I planted my feet on the floor of the pool and stood.

"Sandy?" A woman called out.

The sun's rays warmed my upper body as I felt water repel down my torso. I pulled my goggles off and squinted in the sunlight. Near the swinging gate to my, well, my parent's, technically, near their gate I could make out a feminine figure standing a foot or two into the backyard.

"Who are you?" She asked, taking another step forward. "Where's Sandy?"

Holy shit - it was Mrs. Roanoke. She'd been my mother's neighbor since right after my dad moved out. I was eight when she moved in and a little over a decade later she was still stunning. She wore a sundress, like she always did. I still remember the way her body would silhouette in them during the summer, showing off her firm yet curvaceous body. I spent most my junior high years convinced that if I stared hard enough the dress would be struck translucent and I'd be able to watch her boobs bounce as she ran, or her ass jiggle slightly with each step.

Today she had to be in her 40's and her cheeks has lost their roundness, yet the rest of her hadn't. Her once full, blond tresses that fell past her shoulders now bounced in tight curls, framing her face. Mrs. Roanoke's chilling blue eyes hid themselves behind sunglasses, but immediately I remembered what it felt like to look right in them. How it felt like she could see right me to my core and easily suss out any time I had broken a rule when she babysat me.

"Seriously. Who are you?"

Yanked from my reminiscing, I yanked off my swim cap.

"Mrs. Roanake, it's me -- Jeremy. Sandy's son."

"Jeremy?" She pulled off her sunglasses and took another step closer. When recognition hit her face, she held her hand to her mouth and laughed. "Oh my god. I didn't recognize you. It's been years."

"Yeah, it's gotta be at least three years. I started living with my dad the summer after sophomore year."

Her eyes darted across my body. In those three years I had changed as well. I went from being awkward and chubby to a confident, collegiate swimmer. Granted, it's a D3 school, but the training gave me broad shoulders, strong pecs, and an impressive core.

"Wow," she said, gulping. Her eyes shot back up to my face. "I mean, wow, I can't believe it's been that long. Are you here for the summer?"

Watching her scan my body made me smile widely. Because the pool was waist high, she couldn't tell that I was wearing my official swimming gear. That is, a snugly fitting Speedo that had become one of my main sources of confidence.

"Yeah, my mom said she'd pay for off-campus housing if I stayed her with her this summer. But, of course, she then promised her work she'd go conference hopping for most of my time here."

"Oh. Shoot. I wanted to check with her about staying in the spare bedroom this weekend. I just found out my house has to be fumigated, like, now, so I won't be able to stay here until Tuesday night."

I was fighting not to stare at her cleavage. Her boobs were always so perfect, so round. They swayed slightly when she moved and constantly caught my attention.

"You can totally stay over. Stay in my mom's room. I was planning on lounging around and eating a bunch of junk food and watching Netflix all weekend anyway."

"Are you sure? I don't want to crash your fun, college lifestyle."

I laughed.

"My 'fun, college lifestyle'?"

"Yeah, like throwing a kegger and stealing another college's mascot or something."

"I go to a school at a liberal arts school, not the 80's"

Now it was her turn to laugh and for her smile to widen.

"Wow -- calling me old. You're really rolling out the red carpet for me here."

"C'mon, " I said, enjoying this back-and-forth. "I'm just a dumb college jock who doesn't know any better. Stay over, have some pizza, watch Parks and Recreation with me. Who knows, if you play your cards right, I'll even let you buy me a six-pack."

"Looks to me like you've already got a six-pack, sport."

She blushed after saying it, clearly unsure if it was appropriate. Sensing my opportunity, I took a step forward in the sloping pool. I lifted my bulge into her sightline as the water fell to my mid-thigh. For a moment, she was transfixed. Realizing what she was staring at, she then looked seemingly everywhere else, trying to cover up her gaze.

"I'm done with my laps," I said. "Do you want me to help you grab anything next door and bring it over?"

"No," she said, looking to my right for no reason at all. "No. I think I'll be fine. Why don't you put some, why don't you, ah, why don't you order some..."

"How about I'll order some pizza and get Netflix loaded up. I'll leave the front door unlocked and you can come over whenever you're ready."

"Yes. Thank you. I really do appreciate it."

She pivoted, somewhat awkwardly, and left the backyard, leaving me to wait for her return.

The night was turning out to be fun, but uneventful. In all honesty, while I did enjoy catching up with Mrs. Roanake, er, Diane, as she asked me to call her (and she looked incredible, even after she changed into some soccer shorts and a baggy tee), I kinda wanted to spend the weekend smoking the weed I picked up from my dealer at college.

Diane had loosened up over the course of the night, especially after her fourth glass of white wine. So, I decided to be blunt with her, pun somewhat intended.

"Hey, so I feel weird asking this," I started. "But since it's just us kids, would you wanna smoke a preroll with me?"

"A preroll? She looked at me, eyes squinting, seemingly trying to figure out what I was talking about.

"Oh," I said, getting off the couch and moving towards my backpack that still sat in the front hallway. I started searching through the front pocket. "A joint. Y'know. Weed."

"A preroll. I get it." She smiled. "You college kids and your cool terms."

"Yeah," I said, snagging my sandwich bagged stash. "Our cool college terms like 'weed' and 'preroll.'"

"In my days we called it a joint and it was always at least a quarter oregano"

"If your weed has oregano in it, it's called The Olive Garden."

Her blank stare let me know she had no idea what I was talking about.

"I'm just joking," I said. "It's not one of my cool college terms."

She smiled, and for the first time there was just a hint of something besides laughter in it.

"You've become really funny," she said. "Okay. As your former baby sitter, I feel I should say 'No.' But, as someone who's feeling pretty good after a-" she picked up the wine bottle off the coffee table and shook it to indicate its emptiness. "- a full bottle of wine, I feel I should tell you this wouldn't be my first time smoking weed in your mom's home."

"What?!" I fished out a joint and a lighter and returned to the couch where Diane lounged, her loose body language showing how relaxed she felt. "You and my mom used to smoke?"

"No," she said, blushing again. God, how was this beautiful woman so damn cute, too. "It's worse than that. I used to smoke when I babysat you."

"What!?" I said again. "You mean you were high when I would do my Lego plays for you."

"I mean I wasn't high out of my mind or anything. But, the plots of those Lego plays weren't really crafted with a woman's perspective in mind. It was all underwater adventures or spaceships crashing on water planets," she said, straightening herself as I took the first hit.

I passed it her to and she took a hit like a champ and passed it back.

"Whoa -- I can't believe this. Not only were you high when you were responsible for my well-being," I said with mock outrage. "But now you're trashing my Lego plays. I'll have you know those plays were critically acclaimed."

"Oh really. And who were these critics?"

"Well my Eeyore stuffed animal for one," I said. I could feel the fuzziness behind my eyeballs, meaning the weed was starting to kick in. "And before you say 'Oh, he's just a stuff animal,' he did get a Winnie-the-Pooh-litzer in 2008."

We both laughed, hard. Clearly the weed was having an effect on her, too. Her shoulders became a little slumped. The end credits to the latest Parks and Recreation played on the TV. We had plowed through a solid six or seven episodes already.

"Oh boy. This fun college weed is a lot stronger than I'm used to. Do you mind if lie down?"

Before I could even answer, she grabbed a pillow and resituated herself with her head on top of the pillow, which she placed propped on my right leg.

"No," I said softly. I started to feel warm. At this angle, I could see down her shirt pretty well, and her cleavage was enticing. I felt the beginning of my dick beginning to grow, which made me nervous as her head was now perilously close to it and I was wearing basketball shorts.

Almost immediately, though, she was out. I heard her breathing deeply as she opening credits to the new episode faded out. I finished up the J, then switched from watching the TV show to glancing at her boobs.

They were so full, so round, so perfect. I could see the white lace of her bra, which really kicked me into overdrive. Immediately, I felt my dick getting mischievous. I did wear boxer briefs under my shorts, so luckily it was well contained, but as my cock grew, my soft underwear began to actually feel good against my most sensitive parts. The weed was really kicking in.

I lost track of time because it seemed like the end credits started again almost immediately. All night, we had been adjusting the volume, because they were so much louder than the show itself.

The noise woke Diane. She lifted her head slightly, blocking my view down her shirt.

"Where's the remote?" She asked.

"Over here," I said. It was on the other side of my body.

"Let me turn this down," she said, and then, to my horror, she tried to reach over my lap, but the combination of wine, weed, and sleep caused her to miss, and instead fell right on my boner.

While I deeply wanted her hand to wrap around my cock and start stroking, the context here was terrifying. Luckily, in her state, she didn't seem to quite realize what happened.

"It's okay, I got it," I said, trying to find my own way through this haze.

Her hand relaxed and retreated. My boner, however, was still advancing. She immediately fell back asleep. I'm not sure how many episodes passed, but eventually I succumbed to slumber, too. I usually don't dream much after a night of smoking, but my dreams that night were incredible.

Saturday

I woke up curled on the couch, a blanket placed on top of me. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filtered through the air. I gave myself a moment for my morning wood to subside and wondered if she had seen it before putting that blanket on me. The thought was not helping my boner go down, but after a minute or two (or ten), I got up and set off to the kitchen for the source of that smell.

Diane's back was to me, with her head poking in the fridge. She wore the same soccer shorts from last night and I could barely detect the bottom roundness of her cheeks poking out. My senses were still dulled from the weed last night and the fact that it was morning, otherwise I'm sure I would've gotten hard immediately.

"Good morning," I said. "Please tell me you made coffee and aren't just wearing some enticing coffee-based perfume."

Diane turned around and smiled.

"No, it's real live coffee. Help yourself," she said, then shook her head. "Sorry, it's your house. I guess I've helped myself. Both last night and this morning."

I assumed she was talking about the wine, but there was something in her voice. Did she remember touching my boner? Wait - did she know she touched my boner?

"No worries," I said, pouring myself a cup and then setting myself down on a stool at the kitchen island.

"So, what are your plans for the day?" She said, grabbing her own, already filled and still steaming mug of the counter and placing herself on the stool across from mine.

"Not much, really," I said, blowing on my mug in an attempt to cool it off. "Like I said yesterday, my aim this weekend is to do some laps, relax, and eat junk food."

"Well, I'm not sure it qualifies as junk food, but I was thinking about cooking up some pancakes for you and me. Looks like your mom has some strawberries and blueberries that are about to go bad, so I could toss them in there, too, maybe make the pancakes a bit healthier."

I looked at her and tried to find a way to sound agreeable to this beautiful woman while also telling her I was in no mood for healthy fruit in my breakfast.

"Or," she said, intuitively. "I could throw in that bag of chocolate chips and see if there's a deep fryer lying around here somewhere I could dunk some butter in."

"That sounds perfect. And don't worry about the deep fried butter, that's more of a light afternoon snack, anyway."

She laughed. God, I could listen to that laugh every day.

"Okay, champ. Go take a shower, and I'll have it ready when you get out."

Laughing, I got up, and, just for a moment, I could swear I saw her eyes linger on my crotch.

My mom's shower is amazing. It was one of those fancy ones with multiple shower heads, multiple settings, and a frosted glass sliding door. It was so much better than the communal one at my school's pool, or even the rinky-dink one in my off-campus apartment.

After last night, and this morning, too, I really needed to rub one out. I grabbed some coconut butter-moisturizer-stuff and lathered it in my hands. The hot water and steam had relaxed my muscles, but I was hard as rock. I took some of the lather and begin to slowly rub and massage my balls. I closed my eyes and began to picture Diane from last night, lying on my lap.

I relived the moment where she grabbed my boner, but this time, instead, she continued to rub it.

"Oh," she said, waking up. "What do we have here?"

I started stroking myself. Slowly at first, mimicking what I wanted her to do.

"Your cock is so big." She flipped over so she was looking at me, her blue eyes intense. Her hand snaked her way up through the legs of my shorts and made contact. Lightly tracing her fingers around my head, then down my shaft. Soon she just barely caressing my balls.

I was stroking faster and faster, my other hand holding myself up against the shower wall.

"Oh my," she said. "I want to see you cum so bad. I want your hot, sticky cum to-"

I exploded against the shower wall. Spurt after spurt after spurt. I haven't cum that much since I first started jerking off. I detached a shower head and washed down the walls. Once finished, I gave myself a final rinse, before hearing a knock at the bathroom door.

"Jeremy?" Diane said through the door.

"I'm still in here. Do you need something?"

She said something, but I couldn't hear it over the shower. I turned off the water and asked if she needed something again.

The door opened, just a crack, but I almost froze as I feared she would open and come in. God, I was so confident yesterday in the pool, why am I so scared of her now?

Her head poked through the crack. I couldn't see her eyes, so there's no way she saw me.

"Sorry -- didn't mean to interrupt. Do you know if your mom has any maple syrup? I checked the fridge and pantry but couldn't find any."

"Oh. Uhhh," I said, not sure if I should be covering up or getting out of the shower or what. "I don't know, to be honest, but if she had some it would be in those places."

"Damn," she said. "Well, pancakes are ready, but I guess they'll be dry."

"It's okay," I said. I was surprised how long this conversation was lasting. "I usually just have my pancakes with butter on 'em anyway."

"Sounds good," she said. "Looking good, too, stud."

How could she see me? Then, my eyes locked on hers in the reflection in the mirror. She was smiling deeply. After turning off the shower, the steam had relented, clearing up some of the fogginess on the mirror and shower door. I still don't think she could see everything, with the towel draped across the bar of the sliding door. Still, her blue eyes, looking right into mine as I was naked, instantly made me rock hard.

"Uh, thanks," I said.

She smiled and closed the door after her head retreated through the cracked opening.

Holy shit, I thought. Holy shit.

Despite, or maybe because of, a heavy stack of chocolate chip pancakes in my stomach, I decided to do some laps after breakfast. Diane was getting ready, so she didn't get a chance to see me in my Speedo before jumping in. I was weirdly glad about this. While she was hesitant, blushing even, when she first saw me, far from the commanding, but fun, presence she had earlier in my life, now that she regained some confidence, I felt like a 12-year-old again, embarrassed she would find out about my crush.

As I tagged the nearside wall of the pool. I planted my feet to check my time on my watch.

"Setting any world records?"

I looked up and Diane was sitting in a lounge chair reading a paperback. She was wearing a one-piece bathing suit and looked damn good in it. Her legs were well-toned and shining with either perspiration or lotion. God, again, her boobs were perfect. I never quite got why guys called boobs "melons" because the shape always seemed slightly off. But Diane's, seriously, hers were like two ripe cantaloupes pushed together.

"Hey, buddy, my eyes are up here."

"I'm so sorry," I said as it was now my turn to blush. "It's just that... Y'know. With the chlorine. And the sun. I didn't mean to-"

"Don't sweat it," she said. "It's nice to know that I still got it, even in this one-piece."

"I can definitely confirm that you still have it," I said. "And do not discount the power of a good one-piece."

"Yours certainly looks good on you," she said as her eyes scanned my body. I was standing in the shallow end, so my crotch was above the surface.

"Hey, lady, my eyes are up here," I said, becoming comfortable in our banter again. I felt at ease again.

"I'm sure they are," she said, continuing to gaze at my body.

With that comment, my cock began filling up. In my Speedo, I wouldn't be able to hide that for long.

"Sorry," she shook her head and then looked me in the eyes. "I may have found a preroll and toked up a bit while you were getting ready. Smoking always gets me-"

"Horny?" I offered, but immediately regretted it when I saw her sharp look at me. Had I stepped over the line?

"I prefer saucy. Flirty, even."

"I think the rule is if it's my weed, the word choice is my preference."

"Alright. Down, tiger," she said.

Was she just making a joke, or was she referring to my growing boner. As she put her paperback back face down on the table, I did a quick glance down and while the dark fabric made it so you'd really only see the full definition of my hardness if you were staring, she had been staring

"Do you wanna jump in?" I asked, ducking down and floating back to the middle of the pool. "Water's warm."

"Are you staying in or are you done with your laps?"

"I'm done with my laps, but I'm a water-guy, so I'll stay in for a few minutes for you."

She hesitated, thinking about it. My heart was beating surprisingly fast. I knew if she got in, there's no way we wouldn't playfully roughhouse a little bit. I thought about us playing around, pressing up against each other, wearing only our bathing suits. God, it felt like I'd been hard the past 12 hours getting increasingly harder.

"No, I don't think so," she said. "I'm a sunshine-girl, but not necessarily a water-girl."

"Suit yourself," I said as I swam back to the shallow end of the pool. Once there, I stood up, letting the wall from my body. "I'm gonna take another shower to get all this chlorine off me. Wanna watch some Parks and Rec afterwards?"