It was another August Wednesday, another meeting of the Methodist Domino Club of Seville Hills, MO. They sat in the park next to the community pool on benches, analyzing the problems of the world as the local teenage society played out nearby. All but one were comfortably plump old men, with little or no hair, little or no teeth, and prune wrinkled skin. The only one who wasn't was a much younger man of fifty one with a full beard, a full head of hair, and a slightly full figure. The head of a four year old wearing a white swimming cap approached them, raised up and demanded: "Sing the song, Daddy! Sing the Song!"
Tom Albright sat forward and started singing:
"That's my daughter in the water. . ."
"He needs help! Help him!" Amanda Albright demanded.
Tom's companions Hoot Pidgeon, Freddy Kleinschmidt, Petey Harms, Mutt Hayes, and Chigger Jones immediately joined in: "
. . .everything she owns I bought her/ everything she owns. . ."
A group of six teenaged girls across the pool giggled at the old men's chorus. Only Hoot had any sense of pitch, two were singing an octave lower and the other two in random disharmony. Amanda paddled back and forth in front of them, beaming at the attention from her daddy and her uncles by adoption.
"Ya know, Tom," Mutt mused after they finished, "it's been more fun to come out here since you started bringing Mandy with you."
Tom looked at Mutt with amazement. "Really? After all the kids you've had running under your feet I thought she'd be just another irritation."
"No, Mandy's smart, sweet, and at the end of the day, she goes home with you. And she gives us an excuse to sit next to the pool, my eyesight's going, and I can hardly see them from the shelter house any more."
The teenagers could hear that of course, and laughed heartily. It was a different group than five years ago, all around 18, and just as interested in attracting male attention. The other old men nearby smiled at Mutt's observation with their heads down, determined not to let their granddaughters see them.
Directly across the parking lot was another group of young boys hanging around a couple of old cars, talking and smoking cigarettes. They all wore sunglasses, t-shirts and jeans. All were classmates of the girls in the pool. Their eyes followed the girls as well, hungry for blossoming womanhood on display, but they lacked the testicular fortitude to approach them. Tom could see their lips moving around their cigarettes, talking about the same kind of things their grandfathers did, with just as much purpose and lack of realization. Tom spotted Freddy's grandson and Hoot's twin nephews in their midst. The old men ignored them.
The girls decided to try their skills on the high diving board. Monica Hayes bounced up and down on the board far too many times, letting her puppy fat jiggle shamelessly in her low cut, grey, one piece suit before doing a flip into the water. She made a point to surface near the men, her nipples erect as she awkwardly got out of the water and shook her hair in front of them shamelessly before walking back. Grandpa Mutt clapped his hands in incestuous admiration.
Tammy Kleinschmidt was next, wearing a skimpy yellow bikini that did nothing to hide her charms. As she bounced on the high board, her right breast came out of her suit. Embarrassed, she just stepped off the board and went down like a lightning bolt, feet first. When she came up, her top was in place, but she already had the boys' appreciation, which she acknowledged with a shy smile.
"I want to go off the high board, daddy," an insistent voice nearby warbled.
Tom turned toward Amanda, standing near him next to the pool. "No, baby, you're not big enough yet," he replied.
"I dive off the dock all the time back home."
"No, sweetheart. It's not the same thing. Not yet."
"But, Daddy. . ."
"Amanda Joy Albright. You are not going to do it. You are not big enough, or old enough. When it's time, I'll see you get lessons. Understood?"
A pause. "Yes, Father, understood," came the whimper. Chigger clapped Tom on the back in appreciation of his successfully exercised authority.
"Here comes my little Tabitha," Hoot said. "Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted: "C'mon, precious, show'em how it's done." Tabitha Smoot's body was longer and leaner than the other girls, and she waved from the board at her grandfather before she jumped up and down to try a back somersault. Her pink suit stayed firmly in place, but it showed the boys what they wanted to see when wet.
Mutt whistled and clapped. The old men sipped their drinks and sat in silence for a few moments. Mutt began,"Hoot, your kid is a cute one, I'll give you that, but. . ."
A chorus of shrieks and giggles from the pool cut Mutt off in mid sentence. A pool volleyball game was beginning, three girls per side, leaping up to keep the ball in play and threatening the integrity of the swimsuit tops. The men murmured to one another at a level they could hear and the girls couldn't:
Monica came up from underwater with her cups askew again; the men and boys enjoyed the sight of wet, brown tipped ice cream mounds uncovered. It was their lucky day: she didn't notice she was exposed until the long rally was over. She shrieked and giggled as she ducked down to rearrange herself underwater.
A shrill voice, silent for a while, demanded: "Sing the song, Daddy!"
The older men's reverie was broken and they began their ragged chorus again: "
That's my daughter in the water. . .
"
Having re-established herself as the center of attention, Amanda paddled to the middle, crouching down to do her synchronized swimmer impersonation. The men kept singing as long as she performed for them, breaking occasionally to laugh at her antics; the old men were well rehearsed in meeting her demands. The girls resumed their volleyball game and the boys continued their dreaming of lusts fulfilled.
Amanda finished, and turned to notice a new car pulling up, a convertible. Tom looked over to see who is was and noticed the woman get out of the car. She wore a wide brimmed, floppy hat, a low cut, white, one piece swim suit, and a wrap around skirt. Her skin was perfectly tanned, neither dark brown and leather rough nor egg white naked. Her body was neither extremely lean nor chubby: her hips were nicely rounded and the curves of her legs and breasts were ample. Carrying a large bag, she went over to the pool house and disappeared inside.
The little girl swam back over and said to her father: "Shelley's here, daddy, Shelley's here."
"I saw her, baby. I saw her."
"Shelley's here." The little girl splashed her hands extravagantly in the water in excitement, the other small children around her wading quickly away aghast at her energy.
A few moments later, Michelle Hawkins entered the pool area, slowly and gracefully as the queen of England. Her wrap around was gone, and her suit was cut high enough to show off her graceful legs and rounded butt to best advantage. Her cleavage was deep, presenting her tear drop breasts powerfully, without a tan line in sight. The men realized to their disappointment that her top was secure, showing much but denying more, and not likely to slip.
With an almost audible click, all ten eyes on the bench settled on the newcomer. Freddy was the first to speak: "We been hanging around princesses, but boys, the Queen has just arrived."
"There's enough woman there to be continued on the next girl," Petey observed,
Mutt was speechless for a moment. "Coo, coo, ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson," he murmured at last.
When Michelle entered the pool area, the shades came off and the male mouths dropped. The boys locked their eyes on the woman old enough to be their mother. One boy's cancer stick fell to the ground, unnoticed.
The men looked agape as Michelle lowered herself into the water, the girls volleyball game ignored. Her nipples rose as the cold water hit her, then relaxed again as she adjusted to the temperature. A small white swimming cap made her way over. "Hi, Shelley," Amanda chirped. "Glad you made it."
"Oh, I'm glad I had the time, Mandy. You ready to swim with me?"
"Sure." Michelle dove gracefully sideways and began swimming toward the men in a typical Australian crawl. She was slow enough that Amanda could keep up with her without tiring. The woman's flip at the got the old men a little wet, but none of them minded. The game stopped, and the girls looked on with mixed disdain and jealously.
After a few turns, she got out of the pool and laid down on a lounger across from Tom and his friends. The teenage boys started a slow, chaotic amble toward the shelter house for a better view. The girls restarted their game in a vain attempt to distract themselves and recapture their audience. Amanda got out of the pool and laid down in a lounger beside her friend.
Chigger whistled lowly to himself. "Hey, Tom, isn't she your neighbor?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, what's her name?"
"Her name is Michelle Hawkins, and she's from back east somewhere. Baltimore area, I think. She's got a night job at the child care center, seems to like it. Hasn't said anything about her family yet, but if you look closely, there's a white spot on her finger where a wedding ring used to be."
"So you think she's a divorced?" Mutt asked anxiously.
"No, Mutt, she's the astronaut who drove 900 miles wearing a diaper," Hoot snapped.
"Don't get so defensive," Mutt backtracked. "After all I'm a married man."
"That never stopped you before," Hoot murmured. The other men turned and nodded assent.
"Oh, Reverend Pidgeon? Like you're immune to temptation? I know what happened at Springwater twenty five years ago; if that'd happened today, they'd toss you out on your ear quicker than you could say Jack Robinson. Freddy Kleinschmidt and Petey Harms: we were in the Navy together, and you two were able to forget the girls who had your picture on their piano quite a few times, even when we went to the reunion in St. Louis three years ago. Our friend Thomas has an illegitimate daughter by a girl who'd graduated from High School the year before: that used to mean something in the good old days. I don't doubt our friend Chigger Jones has something still itching him from his past; I can tell by the smirk on his face that he does, and he doesn't think he has a God to answer to. So don't go pointing your righteous fingers at me, friends. I'm no different than any other red blooded American man."
"I guess not," Hoot intoned. "No different than any other red blooded American man who only thinks with cock."
Mutt shook his head. "I knew that giving up beer because of the little girl was a bad idea. We're not drunk enough, and I'm going to remedy that. Good night, gentlemen, Reverend Pidgeon." He stood up quickly enough to wobble a little, then strode quickly to his car in the lot, giving the girls a couple of quick looks and a nod to his spawn hanging out at the shelter house.
The volleyball game stopped as the girls jumped out of the pool, soaking wet, to rest on the side of the pool. One of them came over and talked to Amanda for a moment, and the little girl trotted over to her father."
"Daddy," she said, "Monica and her friends want you to take their pictures with me."
"Of course, baby. Tell them they can come over and I'll take your pictures."
She turned and waved them over excitedly, and Tom pushed the buttons that turned his cell phone into a camera. The girls took turns posing with the four year old, standing behind her to flirt outrageously with the old men as they went through many combinations. The boys across the way were gesturing to each other and digging into each other's ribs, flecks of conversation drifted across that were full of boasts and promises. Amanda was beside herself with delight in having so many friends who would obey her orders about who was next.
Michelle watched all this serenely from across the pool, and Tom snapped a couple of shots of her in passing. The boys at the shelter house turned their cell phone cameras on her and she subtly adjusted her posture to give them better shots without being obvious.
