The Loves of a Summer Lifeguard

Twenty-year-old Brooke drove furiously from her college back East to her home in the heartland of the United States. She made it home in time to apply for a job as a lifeguard at Edgewood Swim Club, but her poor Camry was now in the shop for maintenance. So, early on an unusually warm Saturday morning in mid-April, Brooke tucked her long red hair into a pony tail, grabbed her new black suit and a large towel, and walked to the Swim Club to apply for the job. She had trudged to the Swim Club many times growing up and the route was familiar to her, taking her through a heavily wooded park and public golf course located next to the Club. While she walked, she smiled thinking about her boyfriend back at college, Dennis. Dennis was a tall, thin grad student, studying fish genetics. He was perfecting ways to make certain species of fish reproduce only males for three generations — long enough to slow down the population, but not enough to cause extinction. He looked a little like a fish, himself — narrow-faced, large eyed, large lips. But Brooke loved him. She promised she would be see him again before final exams this semester (provided the Camry can be repaired), and hoped she could convince him to be a little more demonstrative in his affection for her.

She saw the Swim Club parking lot through the trees, filled with working vehicles from other job applicants. Her eye was drawn to a black Indian Scout motorcycle. It was a good sign. Its owner was last year's head lifeguard, Tyler, who also coached the swim team on which Brooke did so well last year. If Tyler turned out to be the head lifeguard, Brooke felt confident she could land the job.

Then from the corner of her eye, she saw a couple partially hidden in the trees. The dark-haired woman had a beautiful figure, on full display in a small black bikini. Her hair was lustrous, wavy, and thick, stretching out past her shoulders. She had a small musical note tattoo on her left shoulder blade. Brooke didn't recognize her from the pool; she was probably new. Brooke did recognize the blonde man with shades and zinc oxide on his nose. His name was Rowan and he had been a lifeguard for at least four years at the club. He thought he should have been the chief lifeguard last year, when Tyler got the job. Brooke was disappointed to see him still around.

Rowan and the dark-haired woman kissed and pawed each other. The woman pulled his trunks off, kneeling before him. Rowan pulled up her bikini top as she knelt. Her breasts were large and firm, her nipples salmon pink and pointed. Rowan's dick bobbed in front of her face, while she looked up at him, a sly smile on her lips. Her tongue darted out, and she began to paint the tip of his penis with her saliva. Brooke was shocked at her brazenness, and fascinated, too. She herself had never been so bold with Dennis, although she had wondered what he might taste like. She felt warm tingling between her legs.

Rowan stood with his feet apart, his fists on his hips and his head back, thrusting his dick out for the woman's enjoyment. She grabbed it with one hand and placed it in her mouth, so that her cheek bulged from its girth. It made her laugh in a choking fashion, until she centered it, and began to suck, up and down its length. Occasionally, she opened her mouth, the cock quivering on her tongue, watching Rowan for reaction. He grabbed the back of her thick hair and forced her deeper onto his shaft until she gagged, coughed and spit. Her hands found his ass, pulling him even deeper into her. He then forced her head onto his throbbing penis without letting her release until she had coaxed a heavy load of his cum out of his balls. The woman swallowed, and breathed heavily. As he came, he arched his back even further, pulling her head as close as possible to the full length of his shaft. Brooke shuddered at the thought of Dennis using her so roughly. Maybe giving him a blow job might not be as fun as it appeared in her fantasies.

"Whoa, there, baby," Rowan said. "You've already sucked me dry. Leave some for later."

She kept the flaccid dick in her mouth, rolling it around her tongue, until it slipped out. Rowan hitched up his trunks while she wiped her mouth with the back of her forearm. Then she tucked her boobs back into her bikini and stood up and kissed him on the cheek when Rowan turned his lips away from her.

As Rowan turned his head, he saw Brooke, who couldn't help her embarrassing blush as his long teeth showed in a wolfish smile. She put her head down and walked toward the parking lot leading to the Swim Club.

"You're not going to say anything are you, Red?" Rowan taunted. "If you want to discuss it privately later, I'm ready. My friend will be ready, too. Won't you, sweetheart?"

The dark-haired woman's smile told her she might be up to a three-way discussion of what Brooke had witnessed. She pulled her hair back and tied it loosely. Her black single note tattoo was clearly exposed.

Brooke walked quickly into the Swim Club, her head down, but she heard Rowan laughing behind her. She had never liked the arrogant young man, but he had always left her alone. She hoped that would continue, but she worried.

The Edgewood Swim Club advertised for six new lifeguards for the summer. The L-shaped pool stretched fifty meters at the short leg, and one hundred meters at the long end. Part of the short end was a twelve-foot deep well accommodating three diving boards, the tallest a three-meter board, the other two one-meter boards, all with pebbled surface and sprightly bounce. The entire pool was surrounded by a concrete deck that looked bone white in bright sunlight. Strewn around the deck, low wooden triangles in pastels of yellow, pink, green, and blue provided a place to lie down and tan. Long beach towels full of Caribbean colors or cartoon characters would be found flapping against the chain link fence that surrounded the deck, drying in the cool summer breezes and competing sun. Next door, the city had built an flashy, expansive splash park, with meandering rivers, water slides, wave-motion machines, oversized buckets to dump gallons of water, and a wading area. It was the old L-shaped pool that drew the most patrons though, and on hot summer days, a festival of neon-colored bikinis and swim shorts helped form steamy memories that would last a lifetime. Flame-haired, generously freckled, apple-cheeked, green-eyed Brooke returned from college early just to try out for a position and was determined to get a job there. Sixty hopeful lifeguard applicants, most of whom grew up sweating and swimming around the Edgewood Pool, answered the advertisement although only six new people were needed.

The previous year's lifeguards who returned this year, conducted the tryouts for the six spots. Brooke knew most of them from her time on the swim team where she was a record-holder in the breast stroke, and a decent diver. She had a shock when she tried on last season's Speedo, suddenly too tight on her frame that had gained the notorious freshman fifteen pounds. The black lycra one-piece she bought in a hurry would hold her in, mostly, and perhaps hide those extra bulges. Once in the water, who would notice?

Blond haired, winter-tanned, twenty-three-year-old Rowan had been lifeguard for four summers, but never chosen for head lifeguard. He had a goofy, long-toothed grin that was more salacious than inviting. His nose seemed permanently covered with white zinc oxide, and a silver whistle on a blue and gold cord draped around his neck. He shouted orders to the applicants, moving them quickly through the swimming tests. The results were observed and noted by the head lifeguard, Tyler, who had been named to the position over Rowan just last year and retained his job this summer. The dark-haired woman with the rose tattoo on her shoulder stood near Tyler, holding papers and clipboards, handing them to Tyler as he needed them. A lock of Tyler's black hair that looked like a raven's wing fell over his forehead. He had broad shoulders, a flat stomach, and a narrow waist above slender hips. To Brooke, he looked like a triangle atop a clothespin. His obsidian eyes were hidden by dark glasses, but he saw everything. The dark-haired woman glared at Brooke whenever she bothered to look at her at all. Rowan's attention was not as encompassing. He never strayed far from ogling the women applying for the job, and he frequently pulled particularly curvy ones over for a quick personal chat. They appreciated the attention and rewarded him with a coy wiggle of their bouncy behinds or a seductive repositioning of the edges of their suits. They drove Rowan wild. Brooke had not been called over by Rowan, for which she was grateful.

Brooke remembered the seventy-year-old manager of the Edgewood Swim Club, Archie Locke, an irascible curmudgeon who reminded her of a grouchy ostrich. He would approve Tyler's recommendations because Archie just wanted the pool to operate with no hitches. Tyler had been the man to keep things running smoothly last season, and Archie counted on him to do the same this year. Archie had a weakness for his afternoon siestas, and needed Tyler's expertise and management skills to keep the place running smoothly. Brooke easily saw why Archie trusted Tyler, but not why he trusted Rowan. Rowan traded too clumsily on the fact he was the chief judge's son, which cut no mustard with Archie.

At the end of the day, Tyler gathered all sixty applicants together near the deep end of the pool. Rowan stood beside him, his eyes scouring the bodies of the women applicants. He tried to sneak a peek a Tyler's list, but Tyler covered it with his clipboard.

"Thank you all for coming out today," Tyler said. "You all did well, and I'm sorry that I have only six spots to fill. From this point, I will make my recommendations to the manager, and if he approves, offers of summer employment will go out to six of you."

"I will let everyone know by the end of this week," Tyler continued. "I will be using your email addresses so be sure what you've given me is correct. Pool opens May 15. I hope to see you all here sometime this summer, if not as an employee, then as a patron."

Brooke was happy with her performance after she demonstrated her ability to swim while keeping a drowning victim above the water. She saw tall, dark Tyler shoot her a quick wink. That would have be entirely inappropriate, so she must have imagined it. If she did see it, so did the dark-haired woman, who darted hard looks at Brooke through squinty eyes.

After changing into her street clothes, Brooke sat on a fence rail running the length of the parking lot, catching her breath before heading on her walk home. While she waited, she watched her competitors leave, waving to several she remembered from the swim team, including Tyler's cousin, Rue. Rue was tall, thin, with auburn hair and a dancer's body. She wanted to make it as a performer, more than as a lifeguard, but needed the job for the summer. Before long, all the cars had emptied from the parking lot. Brooke picked up her towel and her black wet suit, and trekked across the lot's tarmac.

"Brooke! Brooke, wait up."

Brooke turned around at the sound of Tyler's voice. He had his arm around the dark-haired, tattooed woman, who had changed into a pair of black shorts, sandals, and a rose-colored blouse tied in the front and showing lots of skin at her waist and in front. It was clear that her large breasts were not supported or constrained by anything but the flimsy rose material. She slinked more than walked next to Tyler, but her eyes were locked on Brooke. Her lipstick had been reapplied in a shade of blood red. Every few steps, she turned her head to look up at Tyler.

"Brooke, I haven't seen you since you left for college last year. Still studying biology?" Tyler asked.

"Yep. I love it, though it's not easy. Finals coming up before the end of the month. I'm pretty confident about all my classes, except organic bio."

"You'll get all As. I've heard you're brilliant."

Brooke shook her head, but blushed. Tyler turned to the woman next to him.

"Cat, this is Brooke, one of the better swimmers from these parts. She set some swim records that will stand for a few seasons. Brooke, I want you to meet my fiancée, Cat. She's a singer."

Brooke tried to hide her surprise at the news that Tyler had a fiancée, and that the woman was the same slut Brooke had seen sucking Rowan off that morning. Cat, the dark-haired woman, offered her hand part-way to Brooke, with a half-hearted smile. Brooke reached in to grab her hand, and gave it one shake, that's all. Then she dropped it like it might be diseased.

"Where's your car, Brooke?" Tyler asked.

"In the shop. I can walk. Home's not that far."

"Oh, no, you must be exhausted from your ordeal today." Tyler turned to Cat, "Darling, you don't mind if I give Brooke a quick ride home. I'll be back in a minute. Look! There's Rowan. He'll keep you company until I get back."

"Did I hear someone mention my name?" Rowan asked, sidling up to Cat. Rowan gave Tyler a slap on the back, then gave Cat a hug and an innocent peck on the cheek.

"You'll keep me company while Tyler leaves me for another woman, won't you, Rowan?" Cat said in a silky, sly way. Her voice sounded roughened by too many cigarettes, unusual for a singer.

Brooke saw Rowan drinking in Cat's scanty outfit while she twisted side to side in a teasing manner. Rowan showed his wolf teeth when he smiled at her. Brooke suddenly felt sorry for the naive Tyler. He seemed oblivious to the electricity that was sparking between those two.

"No," she said. "You should stay with your fiancé, Ty. I need the exercise."

"I'll say," laughed Rowan. "What did they feed you at that school?" He puffed up his cheeks and waddled around. Cat covered her laugh with her hand. Only Tyler didn't laugh.

"Cut it out, Rowan. Come on, Brooke. Climb on."

Tyler clambered onto his black Scout Indian. He turned the key, and made the engine roar while exhaust poured out the silver exhaust pipes to the rear.

"Climb on!"

"I don't have a helmet," she shouted back.

"You don't need one. I'm a safe driver. Trust me."

The five-hundred-fifty pound bike shuddered under the power of the engine. Tyler scooted forward to allow Brooke some space. She swung her leg over, and sat as far back on the seat as possible, despite the discomfort.

"Oh, no," Tyler shouted. "Scoot closer."

He pulled her arms so that they encircled his chest, crushing the towel and suit she held into him. Brooke's crotch slid until it was flush against Tyler's ass, and both her legs lay alongside his thighs. Her breasts were squeezed against his back. What flesh wasn't flattened began to quiver. The throbbing engine could be felt right though the seat, and she imagined she was sitting on a five-hundred-fifty pound vibrator.

Cat moved closer to give Tyler a soulful kiss. In response he gunned the engine again. She moved in again for another kiss, but he turned his head away to check on Brooke on last time. As he did, Cat lifted her slim, tan, crooked leg to the side of the bike. She straightened her knee out powerfully, tipping the bike. Brooke let go of Tyler, her hands dropping the towel and suit while she fought to regain her balance. Tyler's reaction was to turn the handle bars away from the direction of the fall. Brooke was able to jump off, backwards.

Tyler was not able to keep the bike upright. It fell, trapping his right leg below it. He screamed.

Cat crouched next to him, cradling his head, stroking his raven hair. He perspired from the pain. Rowan was on his phone, dialing 911.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she said.

"It's not your fault, Cat. It's not your fault."

Then Tyler passed out.

Brooke blamed herself for Tyler's accident. She was the extra weight on the back that made it impossible for Tyler to maintain control of his bike. She wanted to apologize to Tyler personally, but couldn't. Tyler needed surgery to repair the damage that had been done to the bones of his right foot and ankle. His cast covered his entire foot and most of his right leg. He was sedated for the first two days before being sent home. By that time, Brooke's Camry was fixed, and she needed to head back to college.

She cried most of the way back. She couldn't get the image out of her memory of Tyler trapped beneath his bike, passing out from pain, cradled by Cat. She drove slowly, stopping overnight in Nashville, before continuing on to college. Once there, she went directly to her dorm. She had only one more week of classes, then her finals. She sat on her bed, her knees gathered to her chest, her red-hair falling forward. She shut off her phone and avoided her email.

"Brooke," her roommate Dolly said. "Snap out of it. Dennis has been stalking me, trying to find out what's going on. You remember Dennis, the love of your life? He's looks like a big fish to me, but to each her own. Give him a call. Or go see him."

Brooke just shook her head.

"Do you want to talk? What happened? Did you get the lifeguard job? What did they make you do? Girl, talk to me!"

Brooke's roommate gave up and left her in the room. Toward dinner time, Brooke got up, took a shower, and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. She tied her thick hair back in a ponytail, traced on some waterproof mascara, and a little smidge of pale orange lipstick. It wouldn't drive anyone crazy, but it would be perfect for Dennis.

She glanced through the email on her phone. An email from Edgewood Swim Club caught her attention. News about Tyler? She punched it open.

The email offered her a position as lifeguard for this summer at Edgewood. She smiled, and jumped up and down, while she tried to read the rest of the message. It was mostly legalese and told her how to accept and by what date. She calmed down when she failed to see any mention of Tyler or his condition. She told herself this was a good sign, though.

Her spirits lightened, she ran to the combination lab and aquarium where Dennis spent much of his time. The building was long, low, and guarded by large metal doors. She often wondered what experiments had been conducted there before it was converted to its present use. Inside, a blue light suffused the area, as though the entire interior was underwater. Straight ahead, she saw the first of a series of large tanks, where exotic species of fish darted among aerators bubbling, rounded pebbles, long plants. In some of the tanks, there were the silly plastic toys found in dentist office aquariums — treasure chests, sunken ships, and mermaids. When the lab rats saw Brooke, they pointed her toward her boyfriend, Dennis, some shaking their head at the waste of a great woman loving a scientist who loved fish.

When Brooke finally found Dennis, she thought he was submerged in the tank. He wore goggles that fit over his large round glasses, a white lab coat, and blue latex gloves. He waved slowly to her, much like the fronds waving in the tank. But it was an optical illusion. He was behind the tank, counting the fish. He looked at his clipboard, at the fish, at the clipboard again, then threw it to the floor, before climbing down his ladder.

"I'm sorry I made you lose count," Brooke said.

Dennis pulled off his gloves with a snap and positioned the goggles on top of his head. Brooke lifted her face so he could kiss her lips and closed her eyes, waiting. He was about a foot or more taller than Brooke, and bent down to kiss the top of her head.

"It's good to see you, too," Brooke said.

"I've been trying to reach you. I've got great news."

Brooke's shoulders slumped. She would rather have a hug than an announcement from Dennis. But she knew he was so invested in his research and the pursuit of his Ph.D., that she naturally came in a little behind those goals.