Pedro Our Marin Country Pool Guy

The three of us were sitting in a small alcove in the Meadows bar, working on a very big problem. It was Thursday afternoon and we were on our second single malt. We usually played golf on Thursday afternoon, but today we were arguing about how to handle our mutual problem: Pedro. Pedro was our Mexican pool guy. And he was fucking our wives.

It is a complicated story. Perhaps I should start at the beginning. My name is Keith Wills and I am a thirty five year old investment banker in San Francisco. I live in Marin together with my wife Gwen. I earn a very good living, even in these hard financial times, because it is the people I advise that lose money, not me – I'm paid on commission.

About three months ago, my wife's friend, Lil, told her about this really great pool guy who cleaned her pool every Tuesday. Lil's husband, Marv Case, was sitting in the bar next to me drinking Macallan-12, and every time I blamed him for my problem he reminded me about all the money he had lost following my investment advice. He could afford it – he owned several large high-end apartment complexes and he was no older than I was.

The third guy at our troubled table was Al Mays and he blamed both Marv and me, because his wife Peg had talked to my wife about Pedro, and had hired him immediately to clean their pool every Monday afternoon. Al was a forty year old tenured Professor at UC Berkley and he had hit it rich with a series of books about the sixties revolution. He could now afford the Marin County lifestyle and so he moved to Mill Valley.

We first got suspicious when our pools started turning green. When I told Gwen to jump on the pool guy, she said she would. Unbeknownst to me she was already jumping on the pool guy, every Wednesday afternoon when he was supposed to be cleaning the pool. The next Thursday at golf, Al and Marv both complained about green pools. It seemed they had the same problem I did.

It was only after we began to talk about green pools that we found out about Pedro, who did all three of our pools. One thing led to another and finally Al used his computer skills and his copious free time (as a tenured professor he only lectured three times a week) to check up on how his pool guy was cleaning his pool. The short answer turned out to be that Pedro wasn't cleaning Al's pool – he was fucking Al's wife.

Al set up his camera at Marv's place on Tuesday and my place on Wednesday and the result was the same. Our pools were growing algae because Pedro was fucking our wives, instead of cleaning our pools. So now we were sitting around drinking single malt and talking about it. What the hell could we do? We sounded more like a script from a Marx Brothers movie than three aggrieved husbands trying to figure out how to reign in their horny wives.

Well at least we had the evidence, which Al had edited and transferred onto DVD disks - one for each of us. Now, Al said, we could show these videos to our wives and demand an explanation.

"That's dumb!" Marv said, looking at Al. "What the hell kind of explanation do you expect? She's fucking him! There is no explanation! You either kick her ass to the curb or put up with it like a wimp. There is no explanation!"

"I can't kick her ass to the curb," Al said. "She's the CEO on my writers copyright corporation. She'll end up in control of all my money."

"How the hell did you let that happen?" Marv asked. "What dumb asshole told you to do that?"

Al pointed to me. "The same dumb asshole who's been investing your money and losing it. Keith told me that there were tax advantages."

Marv looked at me. "I don't know about investment banking but turning your money over to your wife is the dumbest thing I ever heard of."

"Well, " I began.

Marv interrupted me, "Never mind! Just never mind! Jesus Al! She's got you by the balls!"

"But she says she loves me," Al said.

"Yeah," said Marv. "She loves you. That's why she fucking Pedro."

"Look," I said, "all we can do now is show our evidence to our wives so they can't deny anything. Let's find out what the hell they're thinking. And what they plan to do now that we know about Pedro."

"What about my pool?" Al asked. "It's getting greener every day."

Marv and I just looked at him. What the hell could we say? It was his first pool. Peg was his second wife.

We decided to confront our wives at the same time. The next night after dinner, I put the DVD in our player and invited Gwen into the den. We sat on the couch.

"Honey, I have something to show you."

Al may not have known much about the ways of women but he sure understood electronics and computers and remote control and video editing. How he did it I'll never know, but my video opened with a close-up of Gwen riding Pedro like a cowgirl, pounding away with her tits bouncing like jello. The sound was excellent – I'd never heard her grunt quite like that before.

Gwen watched the video for less than a minute, then, she jumped up from the couch.

"You don't trust me!" She shouted. "You don't trust me! How could you possibly take secret pictures of me? You don't love me!"

She was standing there, very angry and screaming. Looking down at me as I sat helplessly on the couch, her eyes blazed with fury. She made me feel like I had done something terribly wrong. Then she stormed out of the den, went up to our bedroom, and locked the door.

I wasn't sure, exactly, what I had expected her to do, but clearly this was not it. I made two quick calls to Marv and Al and then I headed for the club to meet them. It was late. There were only a few people in the bar. We sat at our usual alcove, drinking our usual single malt.

"She was pissed," I said. "She said I didn't trust her and then she locked herself in our bedroom."

"Yeah," said Al. "Peg was the same. She screamed that I didn't love her and didn't trust her. I mean, if she's fucking the pool guy why the hell should I trust her in the first place? It doesn't make any sense!"

"Wimps! I'm playing golf with a couple of wimps," Marv said. "Lil tried that and I shoved her slutty ass back in her chair and called her a whore."

"What did she say then?" I asked.

"Well ... she said ... I mean," Marv stammered. "She didn't really say much of anything. What could she say?"

I looked at Marv's eyes. They were shifting back and forth.

"She must have said something. Did she tell you why she was fucking Pedro?"

"Well ... aah ... kinda," Marv said.

He was hiding something. "Okay Marv," I said, "What exactly did Lil say?"

"She said ... she said," Marv stammered, "Lil said something about me not seeing the most important part of the video."

"Most important part?" I asked. "What did she mean? What exactly did she say?"

Marv hung his head.

"She asked me a question," he mumbled.

"Question? What question?" I asked.

Marv was not looking at us now. He was staring down at his glass of scotch.

Then he said softly, "She said, 'Marv, you're a Peewee. Didn't you see the size of his cock?' That's what she said. Then she laughed. That's when the phone rang and it was you and she was still laughing when I left."

I looked at Al. "Did you see his cock?"

Al shook his head no.

"I didn't either," I said. "Okay guys, lets find a DVD player."

We found one in a conference room in the back where the club board had their meetings.

"Lock that damn door," said Marv. "We don't want somebody wandering in here while we're playing this stuff."

We watched each video for several minutes. Pedro was a tanned, muscular guy in his twenties, with six-pack abs, a hairy chest, and attractive curly hair. But, as we watched closely, his most prominent feature was a cock that seemed to be at least a foot long. Frankly, I hadn't noticed it before because I had gotten so upset watching my sweet wife get fucked. All three gals seemed to focus a lot of their attention on that oversized instrument.

"Jesus!" Marv said. "I see what she was talking about."

"Do women really like that sort of thing?" Al asked.

"It would seem that our wives like that sort of thing," I said. "At least now we know why they're fucking him. But what the hell can we do about it? We sure as hell can't grow bigger dicks!"

"Maybe she'll stop if I ask her to," said Al. "Do you think she will?"

Marv and I looked at each other and didn't answer him.

"Maybe we can get him thrown out of the country," said Al. "I think he's an illegal immigrant – an illegal alien. We can report him to the immigration authorities."

Marv and I looked at each other again. Then I said, "Al, you people at Berkley had a big demonstration last week. You told us you were in it. What was it about?"

"We were demanding that illegal immigrants get free scholarships to college if they graduate from high school," Al responded.

Marv and I just waited while Al digested what he had said.

Then Al said, slowly, "So reporting him as an illegal probably won't work."

Marv shook his head in agreement, then said, "And no way can we lean on him. I mean, who knows what Mexican gang connections he might have. We can't risk that."

"We gotta find a way to make him leave," I said.

"Lawyers," said Al. Let's get a lawyer.

"Three lawyers," Marv said.

And we did. All three of us were sleeping in guest bedrooms. We didn't talk to our wives. We suffered through another Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday knowing what was happening each afternoon. I got another pool company to come in on Fridays and clean my pool. I made sure it was a real old guy. Marv used the same old guy. Al bought some stuff and dumped it in his pool because the clerk at Ace Hardware said it would work.

It was over a week later that we met to share what we had learned from our lawyers. The news was not good. First, it seemed that fucking a pool guy was different in California than it was in Texas where I grew up. Second, divorce in California was a very expensive proposition.

Bottom line: If we kicked the sluts to the curb they would have handfuls of our cash and be met by chauffeured limousines. If we ignored their laughter and our sick feelings that they were going to keep the houses (and of course Pedro), our only consolation would be the knowledge that their pools would be coated with green algae.

We were on our third Macallan-12 by the time we finished sharing the bad news we got from our lawyers. There was a long silence as each of us thought about our alternatives.

Finally Marv said softly, "I was poor when I started. I built it all myself, one property at a time. When you build it yourself, you have a special feel for each place. You remember how proud you were when you got each one and how hard you worked to make it succeed. It took time. I don't want to give the damn things away – not even one of them!"

He sat there thinking. Then he burst out laughing. It was not a happy laugh.

"Shit!" Marv said. "If I was poor, I could kick the bitch to the curb and walk away and get a job and tell her to go fuck her Mexican. And he'd leave her because she'd be broke."

He thought another moment, heaved a big sigh, and then said with resignation, "I gotta keep the bitch! I got no choice."

"Me too," I said, sadly, having reached the same conclusion, after I talked to my own lawyer about my estate.

Al thought for a moment. "She's the only one who knows how to handle the money. My lawyer says I got to learn to do that if I divorce her. I'm a Professor of Philosophy – I'm not supposed to handle money. And right now she signs all the checks."

"Besides," Al continued, "My lawyer looked at the contract and even if we divorce she stays in charge of the money."

"Okay, guys," I said, "We gotta find out exactly what's going on here – what this is costing us. And we gotta find out about Pedro. That means we check our books – and Al, I'll do yours for you – and we hire private dicks to check out Pedro. It'll cost us big bucks but we got no choice."

Marv had worked with several detective agencies in his rental apartment business and he selected what he thought were the best detectives to help us. It was not gonna be cheap.

I just couldn't stay at home so I got a suite across the bay and the boys moved their stuff and joined me. The gals did not seem to miss us. Conversation with them was at a minimum. Two weeks and well over ten thousand dollars later, with us still sleeping in the hotel and eating out, we got together again to review what we had found out. We met at our club as usual.

I started with the financial report. "Gwen and Peg are obviously paying him in cash because there is nothing in the checkbooks or credit cards or bank records or anywhere to show he's getting anything. The payments to our old pool guy were by check and they stopped three months ago. And that's when both gals started getting a lot of extra cash from the banks."

Marv continued. "Same with my records. Except that on two Tuesdays before noon Lil got $750 in cash from the bank. She's fucking him every Tuesday afternoon. If that's what she was paying him, that would work out to three thousand bucks a month! Even if it was just five hundred ... well ... that's a hell of a lot of pool cleaning!"

"That fits with our gals extra cash," I said. "I calculated about that much more cash they got in the past three months than they were getting before that."

"Jesus!" Marv said. "That son-of-a-bitch is taking at least six and maybe nine grand of our money every month just to fuck our wives? I don't believe that!"

"What about the detectives report?" I asked.

Marv was still shaking his head in wonder. "Well you're not gonna believe this either. That Mexican is cleaning pools all over Marin County. From Mill Valley to Larkspur to Kentfield, almost up to the club. Plus some places in Sausalito. And get this! Not many people know that Nancy Pelosi has a place in Marin as well as her house in Frisco - and guess who cleans her pool?"

"You gotta be pulling our legs," I said. "I wonder what he charges to fuck Nancy Pelosi."

Marv laughed. "Probably a hell of a lot more than he charges my wife. I wouldn't touch Nancy for less than a couple of grand."

Nobody laughed. We were thinking about our money.

"He has a regular route," Marv continued. "Two places a day five days a week. Then he spends his weekends resting – get this – in a beautiful bay-front condo he rents in Sausalito – with a big patio that looks out over the bay and has a fabulous view from the bridge to the prison. Everything is done in cash."

Marv pulled out his pocket calculator and started to hastily punch the keys. "That works out to a minimum of two hundred and fifty big ones a year. That sounds like a movie – not real life. That's a hell of a lot of fuckin!"

"Jesus," I said. "If male hookers were legal I could take this guy public in an IPO and we could all get rich."

Our laughter was brief and somewhat bitter.

We sat quietly, sipping Macallan-12. There seemed to be no solution. We couldn't afford to leave them and we couldn't stay with them while they were openly fucking Pedro. I began to wish that I hadn't noticed the algae in the pool to start with.

Finally Marv said, "Let's talk to them one more time to let them know we have figured out the whole thing. At least we can see where things stand now."

The next day we all went home to see our loving wives.

Gwen seemed glad to see me, although she said a very simple hello. We sat in the den and I outlined what the detectives had found out about Pedro.

"He's a professional," I said. "He doesn't give a shit about you."

Gwen chuckled. "You think I don't know that. He's a very skillful professional. He gives me lots of orgasms. It's all about sex. You said the same thing yourself when I caught you fucking your secretary."

"Jesus! That was five years ago," I said. "You can't still be mad about that."

"I can be and I still am mad about that," Gwen said. "You tried to pretend it was not important."

"Well it wasn't important," I said. "It was really nothing."

"Yeah, nothing," Gwen said. "What was it you said? Oh yeah, now I remember. You said you were just looking for some strange stuff. Yeah, that's what you said – strange stuff. Well honey if you had what Pedro's got you could get some strange stuff right here at home. Stuff he's getting that your dick can't reach!"

Then she stared laughing. I couldn't stay there and be laughed at. What do you say when your wife is laughing at your dick?

That night we all met at the club to share our experiences. I told Marv and Al about my meeting with Gwen. I left out the part about "strange stuff." Then I asked Marv about his meeting with Lil.

"How did it go for you Marv?" I asked.

"Not well," Marv said. "Not well at all. She started off telling me that I had not paid much attention to her recently. Then she talked about those annual real estate conventions in Las Vegas."

"What about Vegas?" Al asked.

"Have you ever been to Vegas?" Marv asked Al.

"No. Never."

"Well a lot of the guys pick up hookers in the casinos or go out to the Mustang Ranch," Marv said.

"Mustang Ranch?" said Al. "That's a whorehouse isn't it?"

"Yeah, a fancy one. But I only went there a couple of times," Marv said. "And I never picked up any hookers in the casinos. I was just curious about the Ranch because I'd heard so much about it. Lil found out about my visits there from some of the wives who thought it was funny. Lil didn't think it was funny at all. She got pissed. I told her that I was just curious."

"Well," Marv continued, "Lil reminded me that I had said I was curious. And then she laughed and said she was curious too. Curious about what a man-sized cock would feel like. Then she started making fun of my dick again and laughing. I got mad and stormed out of the house. That wasn't how I had hoped my visit to her would go."

Marv turned to Al. "How did your visit with Peg go?"

Al looked dejected. "Sorta the same. She started off by reminding me of two graduate students I had screwed several years ago and how she had to hear about it from another faculty wife. Then she reminded me that I had told her it was just sex, I didn't love 'em, and I still loved her."

"Then she said it was just sex with Pedro," Al continued. "She said she still loved me. And when I asked her if she planned to stop seeing Pedro she said it probably wouldn't last much longer, because it was very expensive and she didn't think I could afford it much longer."

"Very considerate of her. Did she say how much?" I asked.

"Yeah. She said it was five hundred dollars for each afternoon," Al said. "Then she laughed and said it was a good thing he didn't charge by the inch. Anyway, she's gonna keep seeing him a little longer."

"Gwen didn't tell me she was gonna quit fuckin him," I said. "She just laughed about it. I don't know how much longer I can take this. It's not gonna be easy."

"It's more than I can take," said Al. "We gotta do something!"

"There's gotta be a way to run this guy off," I said.

Marv was obviously as frustrated as Al and I were. "If we're gonna run this guy off, we gotta find somebody ruthless – somebody ugly - somebody not afraid of the Mexican mafia - somebody not afraid of Nancy Pelosi. We gotta find the meanest, baddest, ugliest son-of-a-bitch in the Bay Area. How do we find such a guy? Where the hell could he be?"

I sat there in silent concentration. Marv's words kept running through my mind over and over – "the meanest, baddest, ugliest ..." Then it hit me. All of a sudden it hit me. It was so obvious. Pedro would get away of course – but he would be gone, along with his "pool cleaning business." I must have smiled because I looked over at Marv and he was smiling right back at me. He got the idea at the same time I did.

"The meanest, baddest, ugliest guy in town. That description fits only one guy," I said, softly, looking Marv in the eye.