AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is going to be a bit of story here before we get to the sex parts. I hope you'll stay with it!
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Ten years ago, Cyndi was the belle of our pool club.
She had a full figure that made the guys around the club follow her like a bunch of panting dogs. Her large breasts fairly spilled out of the tiny bikini tops she always wore. She had thick, muscular legs that ended at the skimpiest of bikini bottoms. A large, firm ass that hung out of her bikini, which every guy wanted to grab. Five feet eight, long, curly dirty-blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a pretty face with a warm, inviting smile. All the guys were crazy about her.
It didn't hurt that her daddy was CEO of a large corporation and was filthy stinking rich.
To most of us – me included – that hardly mattered. She was one of the gang. She would join in our bull sessions, sing when one of us had a guitar, played a mean game of volleyball, played cards with the best of us and would sink a beer or three in the park at night.
Chris, the lifeguard that everyone hated anyway for his haughty attitude and terrible work ethic, had claimed her as his own at the beginning of the summer. Even though she had let him know that she wasn't the slightest bit interested, that didn't stop him from pestering her, trying to get her back into the lifeguards' changing room, or being a general nuisance. More than once he'd been told by one of us, "Hey, man, back off. She's not into you." He wouldn't take the hint. All of this created a palpable antipathy between us and him. None of us guys wanted to find out what would happen if one of us was drowning and he was sitting in the lifeguard chair.
I was a college junior, she a sophomore, but I'd been well aware of her since middle school. Although I have to admit to having a HUGE crush on her, I didn't want to upset the balance. I wasn't bad looking, 5'10, 170, lean and muscular. But for now, I was happy just having Cyndi as a pal.
Fate, it seemed, had other plans.
One sun-drenched July Tuesday, I was lying on my lounge near the deep end of the pool, reading a magazine and lost in my own thoughts. I glanced around for a second, surveying the scene: parents and toddlers in the kiddie pool; the usual sun-worshippers spread out on their lounges; some people playing board games; Chris up in the lifeguard tower yapping away on his cell phone and paying no attention to the ten or so swimmers paddling around.
I went back to my magazine, but after a few minutes was jolted from it by a nearby commotion. I heard splashing and grunting, and looked up just in time to see Cyndi in the deep water, about ten feet from the edge of the pool. She reared up with a panicked look on her face, then went under. I waited a few seconds to see if she resurfaced. I looked up again at Chris; he was lost in his phone conversation. That convinced me. I jumped off my lounge, and with three or four lunging steps I was in the water. I dove down, and found Cyndi floating, motionless, about a foot above the bottom of the pool. I grabbed her around the waist, braced on the bottom and propelled us to the surface. Struggling to keep her head above water, I kicked mightily for the side and screamed, "SOMEBODY HELP ME GET HER OUT!!!!"
In no time several helping hands had grabbed Cyndi by the shoulders and pulled her onto the poolside deck. I climbed out, and saw that she was lying flat on her back and not moving. I lifted her arms over her head as my CPR training had taught me, and leaned in close to her. She didn't appear to be breathing. I opened her mouth, breathed hard into it five or six times, and was just about to start compression when she suddenly gagged and vomited out a sizable volume of water. I got her into a sitting position, and gently rubbed her back as she hung her head and puked out some more water into her lap. She was gasping, but breathing regularly. She stayed in that position as several people called 911 on their cell phones.
It was only after the tumult had died down that Chris wandered over, dumbly asking what had happened. A few people cursed at him, and one said to him, "Enjoy your last day on the job, asshole. We ALL saw you talking on your phone in the lifeguard tower while this girl was drowning. You KNOW that the home office is going to know about this before five more minutes is out!" He vainly mumbled some excuse, then bumped off.
As the paramedics came and strapped her onto a gurney, she kept saying "No, I'm fine, I don't WANT to go to the hospital!" I looked on as part of the crowd, saying nothing. Jill, one of her girlfriends who I knew casually, rode along with her in the ambulance.
Figuring I'd had enough excitement for one day, I showered, changed into my street clothes and walked home. I didn't even tell my parents what had happened.
About 9 that night, my friend Ken called me.
"Quite the Superman, aren't you?"
"What do you mean?" I was genuinely curious.
"Diving into the pool and saving Cyndi Landau's life. It's all over the fucking NEIGHBORHOOD, bro! Did you really do it?"
I was embarrassed. "Yeah, I did, but so what? I was only doing what that shit-heel Chris should've been. It wasn't that big a deal."
"Tell that to Cyndi and her friends. Or her parents, for that matter. The first thing she and her folks wanted to know at the hospital was who had pulled her out of the pool. Jill told everybody who would listen that it was you, and that you had done CPR on her, too. YOU brought her back! That's all she and her friends were talking about the whole time. 'Mike' this and 'Mike' that."
"Wait a minute, how do you know about it?" He didn't really know Cyndi well, although he would sometimes hang out with her and our group.
"Dumbass. Don't you remember? My dad is an emergency room doctor. He dealt with the Landaus after she was brought in. My dad overheard the conversation and called me when your name came up. You're a fucking HERO, man!"
"Bullshit. It was no biggie."
"Just be ready. A LOT of people think differently."
"Does anybody know why she went under? She's a good swimmer."
"She caught a bad cramp in her leg. My dad said she was limping slightly when she left the hospital. She was discharged a couple of hours ago."
"So she's home."
"Yes. Not only is she home, but she and her friends are asking around the neighborhood where you live. Jason (another of our mutual friends) was on the avenue and saw them. You're fucking
set
, bro. Big Daddy Landau is one of the richest men in town, and I've heard he's VERY generous with rewards. I can only imagine what kind of thank-you
she's
going to give you."
"Yeah, right. I should only live so long. Talk to you tomorrow." I hung up.
I really didn't think any more of it as I was walking to the club the next day. That is, until I was a couple of blocks away and saw Chris, head down, trudging along with a gym bag slung over his shoulder.
"Hey Chris, isn't the club THAT way?" I sneered, pointing in the direction of the building.
"Not for me, asshole. I got in just now, they handed me my last paycheck and told me to clean out my stuff and get out. The replacement lifeguard was waiting there to take my locker. Can you
believe
that shit?"
"Actually, I CAN believe it. People have been complaining about you – your attitude and your inattentiveness to your job – from Day One. Yesterday was just icing on the cake. One of the people who paid your salary with their pool dues nearly DROWNED because
you
