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Undressing was an effort. The night air was cold, but that was only part of the problem. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that Debbie Tripplet was watching, so Ben had to swell his chest, tighten his stomach muscles, and still breath enough to avoid passing out while slipping out of his trousers. Debbie probably wasn't watching though. Who cared about a naked fourteen-year-old whose genetics were busy blessing him with height rather than stock? Furthermore, the splashing and laughter coming from the pool convinced Ben that Debbie was already frolicking with Kurt Petakos, the Greek wonderboy. A giggle caught Ben's attention, and with primitive reflex, he turned to scan the pool hoping for an uncensored glimpse of Debbie. Even fully clothed it was obvious that the Tripplet X-chromosomes were hallowed. The fact that she would be willing to offer a clinical glimpse to Ben and Kurt was unimaginable -- enough fuel for Ben's fantasies until graduation and possibly well into his college years. Unfortunately, the only vision Ben was rewarded with was that of two dark heads bobbing playfully in the iridescence of the lit pool. Kurt's head disappeared, and after a tense moment, Debbie screamed then began giggling and slapping at the water yelling, "Stop it!" Her cries clove the night like a shih tzu who from behind the safety of a window, barks madly at the sheppard peeing on the mailbox. She managed another scream before being yanked under the water by wonderboy. That was when reality struck: he couldn't wear his contacts into the pool. Ben stared into the lights of the pool as his brain attempted to work out the dilemma. It had only taken an instant the first time he'd tried to swim with corrected vision to realize that the fragile and expensive disks were not finicky about the moisture to which they were attracted. Finding a needle in a haystack would be a brief task compared to finding a contact lens in a swimming pool. After having sacrificed two months of lawn mowing money to replace the first set, he wasn't about to lose another. So with a heavy heart, Ben slipped his hands into the folds of his jeans in search of his contact lens case. The giggling filled his ears once more as he slipped the contacts from his eyes and plunged into 20/240 blindness. This time, when he looked back at the pool, all he could make out was a teal-colored cloud possessing a vague sense of animation. "I guess there's no turning back now," he said, and taking a deep breath of the June evening air, he slipped the briefs down his legs. He folded the underwear and placed the bright white square on the pile of clothes he had balanced on top of his sneakers in an attempt to keep them dry of dew. He then slipped the bundle under the skirt of a forsythia bush. Armies of goosebumps surged against his skin as he raced for the flap of chain-link fence he'd seen Kurt and Debbie slip through earlier. He pushed through the opening and winced as a burr from the fence scraped along his back. Still blinded, yet able to see the dark shapes at the far end of the pool, he ran to the edge of the concrete, and without hesitating to ponder if the water was frigid or not, he dove. It was frigid. And yet it was unbelievably freeing and natural. To have the water rush around his privates filled him with a momentary rush, and he dove toward the bottom in ecstasy. Even with the bright underwater lights, the distortion of shapes mere inches beneath the surface made him feel completely concealed and uninhibited. It seemed as though his lungs held more air, he could swim faster, he could dive deeper. Then a shape swam over him, and although it was a terribly out-of-focus shape, it was hard to disguise Debbie's ample figure. He wished skinny-dipping helped him see better too. Frustrated, he pushed off the pool bottom and swam toward the surface. A couple of feet from the surface, he had to lunge sideways to avoid colliding with Kurt who was pushing hard through the water after Debbie. It was depressing to watch the pair recede toward a corner of the pool, and Ben stopped swimming letting his buoyancy lift him to the surface. "What the heck am I doing here?" he whispered as his head burst back into the cool night air. It had been Kurt who'd invited him, telling him about this wonderful public pool where a group of them had been skinny-dipping for the past two weeks. And to add immeasurable incentive to the invitation, Debbie Tripplet had promised to go. But Kurt's description seemed a great deal more adventurous not to mention more erotic than this was turning out to be. Of course it was miraculous to be naked in the same pool as Debbie. That went without saying. But with his eyesight as it was, he might as well have been swimming with Margaret Thatcher. Actually, it might be a bit less lonely swimming with the Prime Minister, but the thought of that gave him a brief fit of the heebie-jeebies. So Ben contented himself with solitary dives to the concrete bottom as Kurt and Debbie grabbed and chased each other around the pool. Each time he came up, he'd scan the surroundings for any sign of movement that might indicate they'd been discovered. But even with squinting, he couldn't see a damn thing. Ben knew there were a couple of houses not far away, and from their nearest windows, they must have shown vividly against this bright blue rectangle of light. Detection was simply a matter of time. Debbie was probably insurance against half of the population turning them in, but at least one of those houses must be inhabited by a woman. Finally, he decided he'd swim a few more cursory circles around the pool before getting out and letting the lovebirds have their solitude. Even those body parts that had been quite smitten with the sensation of cool water rushing around them were beginning to lose the rush. It was time to get out. Ben broke the water's surface for a last time, and fearful of catching his swimming companions in the act of lust they were obviously destined for, timidly searched the pool. He was alone. No dark shapes splashing about or even huddled quietly in a corner. He squinted into the darkness beyond the fence searching for movement, but couldn't see any. None, that is, until he heard the brief murmur of a voice behind him followed by the sound of a chain struggling against the steel poles of the fence. Ben spun around and saw two men unlocking the gate to the pool, both oddly out of place fully dressed. Squinting revealed the possibility that one might be wearing a uniform. He swam hard toward the opposite side of the pool. The men were shouting something, but through the splashing of his wild strokes and the pounding of the adrenaline-filled blood in his ears, the shouts were a jumble of syllables. Intent on only swimming, his left hand crashed into the concrete to announce his arrival at the pool edge. There must have been pain, but Ben couldn't feel any, and he pulled myself from the water. "Stop, son!" The men were running, the jingling of the change in their pockets or keys or maybe even handcuffs coming in a hard cadence. Ben dove for the flap in the fence, but was stopped short by a large hand clamping into the flesh of his upper arm. Like slapping at an annoying fly, he swung his free arm and drove his fist into the jaw of his captor. After letting out a bark of pain, the man's fingers slipped from Ben's wet skin giving the boy a chance at a second lunge for the opening. This time, he made it. After scooping his clothes from under the forsythia bush, he ran naked up the street until he found a dark grove of trees to get dressed behind. He couldn't seem to find his contact case. |