I love the community pool during the summer. I don't know how I'd get through the days without it.
It was June. I'd be twenty-five in a couple of months and I still lived at home. I didn't go to school and I didn't work. I hung around the community pool every day. They call it the Aquatic Center but it's really just a pool with loungers and lots of sun. There are four of us. We all graduated high school together six years ago. We've been friends since elementary school. There used to be six of us but two got married and one is already pregnant.
My name is Catlin and I'm spoiled rotten. My mother accepts my lifestyle. I think she wishes I'll meet someone, get married and give her grandchildren, hoping my married friends will influence me. My father, not so much. He thinks I should get a job, an apartment and move out. He's mostly responsible for spoiling me, so he doesn't have support for his position. He's not a fan of my coming home at odd hours of the night and sometimes not coming home at all. I don't know what he thinks I'm doing at night but he's probably right.
The pool opens on Memorial Day weekend and closes the day after Labor Day. After that my friends and I will have to find somewhere else to hang out. We'll probably sleep late, go out early and stay out late just like we have the last six winters.
Days at the pool are generally uneventful. The four of us, in our immodest two-piece swimwear, attract the attention of most of the other members of the pool. Mothers and older women generally look at us with scorn and hide their children's eyes, while the lifeguards and other men seem happy to let us entertain them and feed their imaginations.
There is one individual at the pool that attracts our attention but not for the reasons you might assume. He's older, easily well into his sixties. He sits in a lounger in a corner of the pool deck, in the shade, wearing shorts and a shirt, not a bathing suit, and sunglasses. He has a cap on his head with the logo of some sports team on the front. I haven't been close enough to him to determine which team.
Every day, including weekends, he's in his chair when we get to the pool in the morning and he's still there when we leave late in the afternoon. He just sits there, reading on his tablet or looking at the pool denizens with his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. I've never noticed him leaving his lounger so I don't think he eats or pees. In just three weeks, he's piqued my curiosity and I'm determined to know more about him. After all, maybe he's looking at me.
So, one morning, I waved to him. He looked up. I couldn't see his eyes with his sunglasses but I saw the fingers of his right hand move, as if he was waving back.
A couple of days later, I walked by him and said "Hi." He looked up from his tablet, said "Hi," and returned to his reading. The logo on his hat was for the Iron Pigs. I had no idea what sport they played or if they were even a sports team.
By mid July, our exchange of "Hi's" had progressed through, "Hi." "Hi." "How are you?" to, "Hi." "Hi." "How are you?" "Fine, how are you?" "Fine." Almost a conversation.
Over the next several weeks, I would spend ten or fifteen minutes each day talking to the old man sitting in the corner of the pool deck. I didn't get too close to him, never sitting down, just standing near his lounger. I learned that his name was Stephen, with a "ph" and he was almost seventy years old. I told him my name was Catlin, Cat to my friends, and my twenty-fifth birthday was in a couple of weeks.
One day in the beginning of August, I stood in front of Stephen and said, "Hi."
"Hi," he said.
"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.
He paused for a moment. "Sure," he said.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean, you don't swim. You're not even wearing swim trunks. You don't sit in the sun. You just sit there every day, reading or whatever. You don't seem to move. Why?" I asked.
"An interesting question," he said. "Why don't you pull up a chair and we'll talk about it?"
I didn't know why but I moved a lounger closer to him and sat on the side facing him. "Okay," I said.
"I like it here," he said. "It's convenient, the environment is comfortable. I even enjoy the sounds of the children playing in the pool. Why are you here?"
I had to think about that for a second. Why was I here? "I like the pool environment like you do," I told him.
"I see," he said. "I know you're twenty-four years old. You obviously don't go to school. Don't you have a job or something to keep you busy?"
The way he said it made me ashamed. "You sound like my father," I said.
"Not your father," he responded. "More like your grandfather maybe," he added.
"Either," I said. "My father always called me his 'princess.' He never encouraged me to get a job. Until recently, that is," I told him.
"Your mother?" he asked.
"She thinks I should be married and having babies she can dote over," I shared.
"So, you're here looking for a man?" he asked.
"No," I answered quickly. "Well, yes. Maybe," I stumbled saying.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I'm not looking for a husband, if that's what you're thinking," I asserted.
"Not a husband? Then just someone you can sleep with?" he asked.
"That's personal," I dodged although he was uncomfortably close to the truth.
"You don't have to answer," he said.
"Thank you," I said.
"Can I make another observation?" he asked.
"If it doesn't get personal," I said.
"You look incredible in that bathing suit," he said.
I was wearing a black string bikini, just enough material to be within the Aquatic Center guidelines. Unexpectedly, I felt a tingle that he had noticed. "Thank you," I said.
"You're welcome," he said. "You like to be noticed, don't you?" he asked.
"I guess I do," I said.
"That's why you wear that suit, isn't it?" he pushed.
Suddenly, I was uncomfortable with my oversized breasts in my undersized bathing suit. "I have to wear something," I answered.
"You'd wear less if you could?" he asked.
"That's impertinent," I insisted.
"I'm old but I'm not dead," he said.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means I enjoy looking at you in that suit as much as you enjoy wearing it," he responded.
I was both pleased and embarrassed by his admission. He had put his tablet aside, placing it under his thigh on the lounger. I could plainly see the unusual shape of his shorts in his groin area. I had been with enough men to know the cause of that odd shape. He was very much enjoying looking at me in my bikini.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I asked.
"Not any more uncomfortable than you are," he answered.
Why was I having this conversation with him? Maybe it was the size of the bulge in his shorts. Whatever the reason, I wanted to see where he was headed. "I could be more comfortable," I said.
"I don't think we should have this conversation here," he said.
The tingling in my body insisted I follow his lead. The tingling in my head said I was crazy. "Where else?" I asked.
"I have a place just a short walk from here. Through the gate behind me and about twenty-five yards down the path. We could talk there," he told me.
I nodded in agreement. He turned sideways on the lounger, stood up, picked up his tablet and walked to the fence behind him. Hesitantly, I followed him. He opened a gate and held it while I walked through it. He passed me, close but not quite touching, and led me to a small building in the trees behind the Aquatic Center. It might have been more than twenty-five yards but not much. It didn't look like much from the outside nestled in a small clearing in the trees.
He opened the door and indicated that I should enter. He followed me in and closed the door behind him. The inside of the building was incredible. It was a single very neat and clean room with several well-defined living areas. In the back corner was a queen-sized bed with a lounge chair beside it. The other corner was a sitting area with a television, a half sofa and two comfortable looking chairs. One front corner was a dining area with a table with a computer and four chairs and the remaining corner was a simple kitchen with a worktable.
Stephen walked across the room and settled in the overstuffed reclining lounger next to the bed. I followed and stood in front of him. He waited. I waited. I think he wanted me to sit on the bed. Instead, I took a chair from the dining table, moved it to the bedroom area and sat in front of him.
"You could have sat on the bed," he said.
"Not yet," I thought. "This is fine," I said.
He smiled. "Where were we?" he asked.
"I think you were commenting on my comfort level," I reminded him.
"Right," Stephen said. "I wanted to know if you were comfortable in that bathing suit."
"I think I admitted that I've been more comfortable," I related.
"Actually," he said, "I think you implied that you'd be more comfortable wearing less."
Pivot point. What I said next would guide the rest of the conversation.
Stephen noticed my hesitation. "If the conversation makes you uncomfortable, the door's not locked. You can leave at any time," he stated.
I wasn't uncomfortable but I wasn't calm either. "What am I doing?" I thought. "Would you like to see me in less?" I asked.
It was Stephen's turn to pause. "It's not what I would like at all. It's what you would like. Whether you wear more or less, is not up to me. It's entirely up to you. You're in charge. You make the decisions. I'm just here to appreciate whatever you choose to do," he said.
