+---------------------------------------------------------------+ | *** DISCLAIMER *** | | | | This is a story of pure fiction. Any resemblance to persons | | living or dead, incidents real or imagined, places real or | | imagined, is purely coincidental. | | | | IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ FURTHER. | | | | No part of this story may be reproduced on any media of any | | kind without the written permission of the author. | | | +---------------------------------------------------------------+ - 4 - Even before I rounded the corner I could smell the chlorine. Or bromine. Or whatever it is you put into those things. Steven led the way. We stopped at a small closet and Steven pulled out a handful of small white terrycloth towels. We walked past a little alcove with a washer and dryer and then, there we were. It was a tiny room with a tightly planked wood deck and benches all around. Like a sauna. In the middle sat a large moulded fiberglass spa. It looked large enough for at least four people, possibly six. The only noise was the hum of a blower and the sound of bubbling water. Despite the blower, the humidity was oppressive. I didn't know much about houses, but I knew enough to believe that this one was doomed if they kept pumping that much moisture into the air down here. Steven walked to the far wall and switched on the stereo. Mozart streamed into the room from everywhere. "Dad..." I hadn't even noticed Peter. His head was all that was visible as he sat plastered against one side of the spa. The surface of the water foamed and bubbled around his head. I imagined a group of head- hunters standing behind him, their big sticks stirring the water around and around. Steam rose from everywhere and I thought, a few carrots, some onions, a little seasoning. Turn up the temperature a bit. It was a great scene, the one that floated through my head. It was. Natives chanting. A string quartet doing great justice to Wolfgang. The smell of dinner cooking in the big pot. And a fitting end for an arrogant little bastard. Now, all we needed was a nice Zinfandel and... "Alan will be staying with us tonight. Peter, you'll stay in my room." "How come I always..." Steven held up his hand to silence his son. Peter thrashed at the surface of the water. He glared at me. My popularity here just dropped into the single digits. I tried to be the diplomat. "Actually, I could sleep on the sofa in the..." "No guest of ours is going to sleep on a couch." And that was the end of the discussion. Peter slid around so that now he was sitting with his back toward us. I got the message. Steven placed the pile of towels on one of the benches, then started to leave. He turned back and was about to say something to Peter. He thought better, I guess. He turned to me. "I have an appointment this evening. Would you mind watching the kids?" I choked. I couldn't refuse his request. Not after all of the hospitality I'd been shown. Still, there was Peter. I didn't trust him. Zoe. I would stay anywhere with her, anytime. But Peter. There was something about him. Mean, vicious, I don't know. Something. "Sure, I'd be happy to," I managed. "Good. Now have a good soak. I'll be back in a couple of hours." Then he was gone. I looked toward Peter. He ignored me. I thought, what could possibly happen in two hours? Well, let's see. Cities have been destroyed and thousands of people killed in a few seconds with nuclear weapons. Earthquakes, avalanches, tsunamis, deadly bacteria spills, electrocution... I'm in big trouble here. -+- "I don't have a suit." "What?" "A suit. I don't have a swimsuit," I said, hoping to make some sort of contact with Peter. Peter stood up. He was completely naked. No suit. Then he returned to the bubbles. No suit. Okay. So I undressed. I placed my clothes in a neat pile on one of the benches. I stood on the deck. I gazed down at my feet, pale from the long winter. I looked at the rest of my aging body. No competition for a healthy 12-year- old boy, I thought. Well, perhaps some competition. Peter watched me climb into the spa. When I was settled in, he looked away. I was up to my neck, so to speak, in a warm, pleasant galaxy of soothing water and massaging bubbles. My mind raced. I tried to think of something to say to Peter. I tried to remember what words I wanted to hear when I was that age. I couldn't remember anymore. Maybe sports. "How's the soccer going?" Peter glared at me. "We haven't one a single game." Then he looked away. Damn. I forgot. Negative numbers. Now I'm into negative numbers. That's okay. If they can work their way back on Jeopardy then so can I. "Why do you think?" "What?" "Your games. Why do you think you're losing all the time?" "'Cause they're winning all the time. What do you think?" Yep. Couldn't argue with that one. But at lest we're talking. I inhaled to speak again but a noise outside the door drew my attention. She floated around the corner Zoe. Still in her school dress, her hair still tousled from her fight with Peter. She looked disappointed to see Peter still in the spa. She began with her dress. Slowly, deliberately, she undid each button. From her neck to her waist where the buttons ended and the skirt part began. One after the other. I looked at Peter. He was watching me watch Zoe. I steeled myself and said, "Doesn't your skin get wrinkled if you stay in too long?" He didn't say anything. He just stared at me. I was bigger, stronger, smarter, wealthier, and he just cut me in half with that look. I didn't like this boy. I shifted my position so I could watch Zoe without turning my head sideways. She pulled the dress from her shoulders, exposing the most beautiful and delicate arms I've ever seen. She looked up at me and smiled as the top of the dress fell to her waist. She didn't wear a bra. There wasn't much there to hold up. But what was there was excruciatingly beautiful. Her breasts, two broad, delicate mounds that rose maybe an inch from her chest. On top of each was a shiny pink saucer-shaped disk that extended out even further. And in the center of each, a little dot of a nipple, now hard from rubbing against the rough fabric of her dress. Zoe undid the little belt and pushed the dress all the way to the floor. It dropped in a heap, dead. She had killed it. The life she gave it was gone. But now my eyes gazed on those exquisite legs, rising from the deceased fabric. Zoe bent down and scratched her ankle, pushing her white sock almost flat against her black shoe. Her panties were tiny little things. Not tight. Not baggy. They moved with her. As she stood up again, she dragged her hand up her leg, over her hip, and stopped at her waist. She slid her fingers under the elastic waistband of her panties and pushed them down over her legs. One at a time, she removed each foot. Zoe stood there, naked except for her shoes and socks. She picked up her dress and walked to the wall. There was a hook there and she had to stretch way up on her tiptoes to reach it. The heat from the water and the sight of this beautiful young creature stretched out was causing me to become lightheaded. I felt I was about to pass out. "Are you coming in or not!" yelled Peter. Ah, the breaker of bubbles. Peter was better than a cold shower. I recovered. Zoe almost had the dress up to the hook. Her leg muscles, slender and firm. Her tight little ass with its twin, almost spherical cheeks. The creamy color of her perfect skin. If I died right now, it all would have been worth it. With a tiny grunt, she made it. The dress was safe. Zoe turned. It was the first time I had seen her body. Completely. She pranced back to the bench. She put one foot on it and began to unlace her shoe. Slowly, deliberately, she untied the bow, then the knot. She slipped the shoe off and changed legs. She repeated the operation on the other foot. Now, only her socks remained. I became conscious that my cock was now fully erect and that my hand had been drawn to it. Did Zoe know the effect she was having on me? Would she care? She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. Oh how I wanted to enfold her and keep her warm. She moved the tips of her fingers down over her pink nipples, past her smooth tummy, and brought them together over the smooth, shiny mound between her legs. She slipped a single index finger into her slit for just a second. It seemed to be an almost unconscious thing for her to do. The kind of thing a child can get away with, but never a grownup. She looked up and caught my eyes appreciating her. I guess it's just not possible to look without looking. I was losing my sense of timing. "C'mon, pebble tits. In or not?" Somebody needs to slap this kid in the mouth. Zoe took off one sock and threw it at Peter. It landed on his face. Great shot! I bet Peter wished he could shoot soccer goals that well. Peter immediately grabbed it and threw the now wet sock back at Zoe. It hit her in the chest with a resounding slap. "Ow!" "Ha!" and Peter seemed satisfied. Although you never really knew with him, I was beginning to learn. The sound of a car's engine starting close by drew all of our attentions. Steven was off to his appointment. We were on our own. I was on my own. Was Peter about to turn into Mr. Hyde now? I waited for something to happen. I held my breath. I looked around. Everything was the same as before. I watched as Zoe wound up to throw her other sock at Peter. Oh no, I thought, the final provocation. But she threw high and the breeze from the blower re-targeted the missile. Before I knew it, I had a sock resting on my face. Peter laughed as hard as he could. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry," cried Zoe. And Peter laughed even harder. Thank God, I thought. The ice had been broken. Now to most people, the thought of having someone else's smelly sock resting on their face is, well, you can imagine. But to me, the scent of any part of the child who, only moments ago, wore this, this, ethereal glove was the finest perfume. I drank it in. I reached up and drew the sock across my face, pressing it against my skin. I looked at Peter. Then at Zoe. She had her hands over her mouth. They both looked at me for signs of anger. I laughed hard. Then they laughed. We all laughed together. I tossed the sock back to Zoe. Peter actually smiled at me. We splashed each other. Did he accept me now? Why did I care? Zoe was now completely naked as she walked to the edge of the spa. She braced her hands against the edge and went up on her tiptoes. She peered in. My cock was still hard but the bubbles and moving water kept it hidden. Zoe dipped her hand into the water, She looked at me and smiled. "What does it take to get you in?" screeched Peter. "C'mon pebble tits." "Stop calling me that." "Then get in." "I'm getting. I'm getting." And Zoe lifted her leg gracefully over the edge of the spa and pierced the surface of the water with her toe. I followed that beautiful leg as it slowly disappeared beneath the surface. As her leg went in, Zoe turned her body toward me. Her legs were spread apart as she prepared to swing her other leg over the edge. The slit in her tiny mound opened wide giving me a priceless view of her precious little cunt. Could she possibly know what she was doing to me? Zoe now stood in the middle of the spa. The water came up to a spot midway between her knees and her crotch and swirled all around her. She looked at Peter, then at me. I think she was trying to pick a place to sit down. Suddenly, Peter reached up and pulled her down and toward him. Zoe lost her balance and splashed into the water. Her legs went up into the air and her head went under. I was about to reach out and rescue her when she bobbed to the surface. She hit the water where Peter was, I suspect in hopes of hitting him. Peter just laughed. Zoe wiggled away from his grip and found a seat between us. For a moment, everything and everyone was calm. "Quit it!" shouted Zoe. She glared at Peter. "What?" "Just quit it!" I could see Peter and he must be reaching out to Zoe under the water. I could see that she was pushing his hand away over and over again. He was relentless. With that much persistence, I can't understand why his soccer team hasn't won any games. I decided to try to help the situation. "Anybody know any good songs?" The way they both looked at me. I felt like an unwanted substitute teacher at the start of a school day. I'm losing ground here. * * * ------------------------- (End of Chapter 4) ------------------------- ------------ (Comments, pro or con, are always welcome) --------------