"Fuck. This heat is unreal." I think to myself.
The sun has been relentless today, baking the heavy, dead-calm air into miles-high thunderheads. I can feel the air around me growing ever heavier with humidity. Electricity is building in the clouds west of the pool where I'm lifeguarding. Making ten dollars an hour, sitting in a lifeguard's chair, yelling at punky kids and developing my future age spots and wrinkles. Leaving me to wonder if this summer is going to provide anything memorable.
For the last two summers I've return to my small-town-in-the-midwest home to save on expenses between college semesters. Nothing ever happens here, well nothing besides corn, thunderstorms, and boys breaking rules.
It's purgatory.
I blow my whistle at a group of boys standing in the water below me. They are doing nothing wrong, just ogling me in that way that young boys look at girls in swim suits (even suits as asexual as the red, one-piece I'm wearing now).
I feel droplets of sweat trickle down between my b-cups. I'm covered in sweat and oil and it occurs to me that with my swimmer's body I could be making a lot more money being ogled while sweaty and oily by 'dancing' at Tom 'n Al's, our local men's 'club' (or TnAs as most people know it). It's a wickedly appealing thought in some respects - I'm a bit of an exhibitionist and love to tease the men I find attractive. But I'm a 'good' girl and am willing to save my sweet sweaty tits for 'nice' guys; you know, the sort that don't go to TnAs.
I pull a curly lock of strawberry blonde hair from my eyes, then adjust my sunglasses looking at the thunderheads building... one lightening strike and we get to close down the pool. I'll go home, pour myself a diet coke over ice with a slice of lemon, watch the glass sweat, and read some fiction on Literotica or text my friends.
The pool is crowded today. It's a Saturday and everybody seems to have come here looking to escape from their stifling, air-conditioned prisons. I go to school in Santa Barbara where everybody is beautiful and thin. People here are not beautiful, nor are they thin. Maybe because it's too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter so people don't do anything. Who knows, who cares? I certainly don't. Two more summers and I'm outta here forever: New York? London? Sydney? Christchurch? I've got dreams!
The wind picks up and I feel the hair on my neck begin to prickle. The storm is here, a distant flash confirms it! I look across the pool to the other lifeguard, Billy, a train-wreck of a high school senior who would smoke weed every waking moment of his life if he only could remember where he left his lighter. I wave my hand across my neck and he acknowledges the decision by pumping his fist and pretending to hit on a joint. He's out of his chair and on the way to start cleaning the pool deck before I have a chance to blow my whistle. When I blow the whistle everybody there turns to look at me, already knowing what I'll say, but they're still flashing angry scowls my way - as if they'd rather be electrocuted while swimming than be told told by the likes of me to go home.
"Storms here... everybody out of the water! Pools closed for today. Don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
A collective sigh and murmurs of disappointment peak from the crowd, and just as quickly fade away as they begin to file out.
Billy is hosing down the deck, talking to his girlfriend. She's a cutie, so cute in fact it's hard to understand why she is with him - he's a bit homely and skinny in that "I forget to eat" sorta way. It looks like they are fighting so I turn away and go in to the women's lockers to straighten up and change.
I'm lucky and the lockers aren't a disaster area and it only takes me a few moments to straighten up. I strip quickly and slip into the shower. I glance at myself in the mirror as I pass - I'm pleased. I've lost my freshman "15" and feel strong. A combination o swimming and avoiding late night pizzas is working for me. I soap up and rinse off quickly - more to wash away the thought of the day than anything it's really left on me. I dry off on my way back to the locker and curse my poor planning. I wore an old white v-necked tee shirt on my way here and neglected to bring a bra. If it rains on the 1/2 mile walk home I'll be a lot closer to dancing at TnA's than I'd ever have thought possible. I shrug, slip the shirt over my slightly reddened shoulders, hike up a light-blue pair of boy-short-style panties, and then wiggle into my daisy-duke cut-offs. I kick my feet into purple Chuck Taylors and turn to leave.
The air turns blindingly bright as I'm about to walk onto the pool deck, a flash of lighting strikes nearby. The shock of hearing my own startled scream in response to deafening clap of thunder scares me almost as much as being caught in the dim light of the locker room as the power goes out. The fan circulating the air in here spins to a stop and the air quickly grows heavier with humidity and prickly with electricity.
I scamper out of the locker room and find the pool deserted except for Billy who is sitting in a life guard's chair staring at the pool. His eyes are red from crying and he has a smoldering joint hanging loosely from his lips. Train wreck. She must have dumped him.
Another crash of thunder coincides almost perfectly with the first few drops of rain splatting forcefully onto the pool deck. Before I can even think to duck back inside, the rain is pouring from the sky in sheets. I'm soaked through in the moment of hesitation. While the rain is warm, it's not so warm as to keep my nipples from hardening under the now see-through shirt I'm wearing.
I look down. Sigh. Look over to Billy in the chair. Sigh. I'm kicking myself even as I walk over to the chair. My compassion will be the undoing of me - I can't stand to think of anybody hurting so I've gotta make sure Billy isn't driving himself off some cliff in the wake of whatever happened with his little tart.
"Billy?" I ask as I duck into the dry circle under the umbrella. "You ok?"
Silence as a tear rolls down his cheek. He exhales, the skunky odor of his weed tickles my nose.
I climb a step up the ladder, and reach up to his mouth, remove the doobie and take a long drag on it myself. Billy surprises me again as I realize he isn't smoking the ditch weed I'd assumed he'd have. I take another puff and hand the shortened roach back to him. He looks down at me, his big, green eyes full of tears.
"She broke up with you."
He nods.
"Don't worry man, you'll find another skanky ho soon enough."
He snickers. Puffs. Exhales.
"You want to talk?"
He shakes his head. Billy isn't a wordsmith, and he might very well be alexithymic. I notice that BIlly is totally scoping out my tits. I should be upset with him, but my inner-exhibitionist is enjoying the attention. I also relieved because him scoping me out means that he isn't so far gone in his break-up hurt that I need to worry about him.
I look back up into his face and as our eyes meet I feel my world start to spin. Is it his soft green eyes or the weed? I'm not sure but I'm feeling completely off balance and literally start to slip from the ladder when Billy's hand darts out faster than lightening and grab my wrist, keeping me from plunging in to the pool.
