Note: For everyone who has assumed that my stories are autobiographical because I write in first person and concentrate on the realism...how does this one strike you gentlemen out there?
*****
Ahhh... Saturday. So there you are eating a hotdog and trying not to let ketchup become a part of your summer wardrobe. It's good of your best friend to throw these barbeques every other weekend, you think. Even if he never uses his own pool, at least he has the good sense to invite over enough people on a regular basis to make it seem worthwhile having it. That and there always seem to be plenty of girls in swimsuits jiggling around, and your eager buddy trying to fix you up with whoever might be available.
Of course this ruminating on the relative benefits of having friends with entertaining space nearly costs you a blob of ketchup on your shorts. A deft if not graceful move saves you the embarrassment though, and you quickly finish your hotdog to avoid further complications.
You decide to toss the paper towel you were using as an ersatz plate in the garbage over by the grill. This also happens to be conveniently located near the drink table, and you are suffering from a momentary shortage of iced tea.
Then you see her. She's coming up the ladder out of the deep end of the pool, and everything snaps into slow motion. Suddenly The Cars' "Moving in Stereo" begins to play in your head. The sparkling pool water seems to cling to her every curve (and mercy there are a
lot
of them!) and only slide away at the last possible instant in the most alluring way possible. You have never seen water so reluctant to leave a female form.
Her electric blue one-piece shows off her hourglass figure in its best light...not that it wouldn't look good in any light. This lady could have been a movie star in the fifties -- enormous up top, narrow in the middle, curvy hips below that. She is tan, but naturally so. She is tall, but not too tall. She is very generously proportioned, but with nothing extra. She's...well...she's perfect...if you like curves...big soft curves.
As she gets out of the pool she naturally bends over by holding the rails of the ladder and walking up it. It's then that whoever designed the deeply plunged lace-up front to her swimsuit earned everything he or she was paid, and you are treated to a view down the most magnificent cleavage you have ever seen. Whatever idea you were just having is lost forever in the deep void between those incredible globes.
The Cars play on, and your penis (sensing the temporal anomaly) springs up and asks,
"Hey, what's going – WOW! DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE?"
Then because all your blood is rushing downward, you are only capable of a single-syllable "Uhhh?". Meanwhile your penis manages a multi-syllabic,
"Boi-oi-oi-oing!"
"Hey! Earth to red-blooded American male!" your buddy shouts at you from a foot away, making you jump. "Do you think you can be any less obvious?" he continues more quietly.
Your Cars theme music ends abruptly with the sound of a record stylus being rudely dragged across a stretch of vinyl, and only then do you realize that you had actually frozen in mid-stride to stare at the incredible breasts now emerged from the pool.
You turn to your friend and intend to say something wittily evasive like, "Sorry, I was contemplating quantum mechanics and was momentarily frozen while solving a fourth-order polynomial equation in my head."
Actually what you manage is something similar to the sound Scooby-Doo makes when he's confused. It's much less erudite.
"I know, I know," he laughs. "She has that effect on a lot of people."
"Wow! who is she?" you ask, talking to him and gawking at her.
"She's a new financial administrator my office. Just moved in from out of state."
"I don't see a wedding ring," you say. "Is there a six hundred pound gorilla with her name on it lurking around somewhere ready to pounce on the curious?"
"As far as I know she's single and unattached," your buddy explains. "None of the guys at work have asked her out though. She's kind of hard to get to know."
"Why's that?" you ask, tearing your eyes away from her.
"I'd hazard a guess it's because everyone looks at her the way you're looking at her right now. How'd you like to feel like prey every time you walked out the door?"
"Good point. I guess that would make anyone guarded. That's why I keep you around, man," you say, "for perspective."
"Yeah, well here's some more. First off don't point that thing at me. People will start to talk," he says, pointing down at the tent in your shorts that your alert crotch rocket has made. "Second, once you get that under control, go talk to her. You're an unknown, so you might get somewhere."
"Ever the optimist."
"No, I'm a realist. Your dick is the optimist. Talk some sense into it," he says and turns back to the grill.
So you continue onward to refill your plastic cup of tea and to try get your penis to settle down. You think of politics, baseball, taxes, Roseanne Barr -- boom! that knocked him down.
As you pour your tea, you realize that your host didn't even tell you the new lady's name. You turn quickly to walk back and ask him, and knock right into her as she approaches the table. It's an abrupt collision, but let's just say that you bump into her very slowly. Mercifully you don't spill tea all over the pool goddess, but a lone piece of ice liberates itself from your cup and arcs gracefully into the smooth depths of your victim's expansive cleavage. Talk about an inauspicious first impression.
"Whoa! I'm sorry," you quickly apologize. "My head was elsewhere, and I wasn't watching where I was going."
She looks down after the long-gone piece of ice and replies, "I was all set to be impressed if you had done that intentionally. That was a neat trick."
"Nope, it was honest unpremeditated clumsiness. Seriously, I didn't hurt you did I?"
"No, but I think your ice is lost," she says looking up.
"It probably turned directly to steam," you say and instantly regret it.
She narrows her eyes and moves to push past you, "Nice..."
You stop her, "Look, I'm sorry. That was me talking past my embarrassment. I don't even know you, and I've already screwed up twice. Can we start over?" You extend a hand and introduce yourself.
She takes a deep breath as if to shake off the cold shoulder she was in the process of administering, and grips your hand. "I'm Angel."
In the front of your mind, but fortunately not close enough to your mouth to fall out like your previous comment, you think,
'Of
course
it is. What else would you be named?'
