If you have not read the "Conquering the Fearsome Foursome" series, this is how I became interested, sexually, in the mature women. After reading this one, I invite you to read that series as well.
Also, I have received a few comments regarding the spelling of the area that surround the nipple. In my stories, I have been told the correct spelling is "aureola". According to "The American Heritage Dictionary, that is an alternative spelling for aureole, which is defined as "a circle of light surrounding the head, a halo, or around a celestial body. I am using "areola" which is defined as "a small, dark-colored area around a center portion, as about a nipple or part of the iris of the eye." Since I am an American, I will continue to use the latter spelling. If this is a problem, get over it, and just enjoy the story. I do, however, thank you for your note, forcing me to double-check myself.
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For those who have not read the series, my name is Jack. At the time of this story, I had just graduated from high school and preparing to go to college in the fall. I started school a year later than most of my classmates, so I was about to turn 19 at the end of that summer. During high school, I was anything but a ladies man. I was about 5'10", fluctuated from 180 to 195 depending on the amount of beer I drank, with a fairly athletic physique. I played most of the major sports, but wasn't one of the marquis players on any of the teams. My problem with all the girls was that I looked like the guy next door. I was everyone's friend. I lacked that "bad boy" personae that seemed to get my friends laid…a lot. I did have dates and even found myself getting some here and there, but it was just not as often as I would have liked. But then again, if I got it 24/7, it probably wouldn't have been often enough. Ah, youth and hormones!
During that summer, rather than get a physically or mentally demanding job before heading off to college, I got a job as a life guard at the local swimming pool. As luck would have it, the pool was just down the road from my house so that I could roll out of bed at 8:45 AM and be at work by 9:00, which was really helpful on those mornings after some wild nights on the town. My hours would alternate each day. Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays, I would work 9:00 AM – 3:00PM and on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I had 3:00 PM – 9:00 PM, with Fridays and Sundays off. Being one of the oldest guards, most were rising juniors and seniors in high school, I was given a set of keys to open or close, depending on the days I worked.
Since this pool was also my neighborhood pool, it was the one I grew up swimming at every summer. You could say that I was a "pool rat", in that I rarely left except for meals. I was even a member of the swim team. My history with that team is how this all began.
That particular year, the team did not have enough older guys. Without at least 4, they would have to forfeit too many races and therefore would not be very competitive as a whole. The team mom, a mother that basically keeps all the parents and kids in line when not swimming, recruited me and another guard to swim, and they would see to it that my work schedule could be altered to accommodate the meets. And since I was at the pool most of the day anyway, I wouldn't have to go to practice. I half-heartedly agreed, seeing that she asked me in front of a dozen other moms, including my own.
The first meet came and, when it was my turn to swim, the entire team and gallery were amused by the fact that I took my place wearing a pair of swim trunks that went down to mid-thigh, and not those ball busting racing suits. I took a respectable second place in the race. Given that there were only two of us, I was happy just not to get disqualified.
The following Monday I was collared by the team mom. "I want you to try this on." It was one of those racing suits.
"No ma'am! I am NOT putting one of those things on. I will look ridiculous. Really!"
"I am not asking you to wear it at the meet, just try it on and see if it fits. That's all."
Knowing better, I again caved and did as she asked. I went into the guard's locker room and changed. The suit would have fit except for the bulge in the front. I never considered myself to be other than average, if 7" on a guy my height is average. What I did know was I was thicker than most, a lot thicker. And with this suit on, it looked even thicker. There was no way I was going to wear this out in public, much less at a swim meet where there would be families that I knew since grammar school.
"Mrs. M.," I called out, "this thing does not fit me right." Mrs. M., short for some long eastern European name that had a bunch of consonants and no vowels, was the team mom. In order to be the team mom, she had to be on the pushy side; otherwise she would never have been able to get anything done. So before I knew it, she had walked in the locker room, "Let me see, maybe you just need the next size."
She stopped short once she got an eyeful. It was of no use trying to cover up now, since the damage was done, so I just stood there and said, "See."
She just stood there, gawking for about 10 seconds. Finally she realized what she was doing; blushed, mumbled as quick "Sorry", and made a hasty retreat out of the same door she entered.
For a quick second, I was sort of proud, but then the realization set in that she was one of the women that I would have to face on a daily basis. I began to feel the embarrassment of it all overtake me. I speedily changed back into my trunks, which hid what needed to be hidden very effectively, and walked back out. If I hadn't been embarrassed before, I was now. In the corner Mrs. M. was in a huddle with a group of other women, talking in that hushed voice that women who are telling secrets use, and looking over there shoulder at the locker room door. When they saw me, they stopped, straightened themselves up and separated.
Great! And to make it all worse, the Chairperson of the Pool Operations Committee, Marie Pardoe, my boss, was one of them. I could only suck in my pride and head for cover, the guard's office. When I related the story to one of the other guys, hoping for some type of male consolation, he just broke into hysterics and said "Man that sucks!" Looking back, that really was male consolation at its best.
For the rest of the week, as I walked around the pool doing my tasks, I would catch the glimpses of those same women. Thankfully, they hadn't spread it further, because if they had, I am positive it would have gotten back to my mother, the queen of the rumor mill. I tried my best to smile, but most of the time I ignored it.
On Friday, normally my day off, I had volunteered to work the afternoon shift and help set up for the swim meet the following morning because I needed the cash. I got all the lanes in the water, the team areas cordoned off, and the chairs set up for the spectators. I went off to lock the back gate, and on my way, I saw Mrs. Pardoe walking up the sidewalk. I was a little taken back by seeing her, not only because it was after closing hours but because she was dressed really nicely.
I should tell you about Mrs. Marie Pardoe. First, she really isn't a Missus, at least not any more. She lost her husband to cancer a few years earlier, but we all continued to use the Missus out of respect. She is a fiery little woman in her mid to late 30's. She stands about 5'3, big Texas-style red hair, which is probably colored since every now and then the tint changes slightly. Her body type would be characterized in today's politically correct terminology as "thick". She wasn't fat by any means, there weren't any signs of varicose veins or cellulite on her legs, nor did she have the arm wings or sagging cheeks etc. What made her appear to be that way were her enormous tits. The guys would always joke that those things entered a room a good 5 minutes before she did. They were THAT big. And when she went swimming, if she did the backstroke, they would protrude out over the water like two buoys in the ocean. It was pure joy to see her walk around the pool deck in her bathing suit because with each step, those tits took on a life of their own.
Her personality was great though. She had 2 young pre-teenage girls at home so she knew all the slang, dirty jokes and culture of my generation. On occasion, she even told me a few jokes that I hadn't heard before, complete with the profanity. At first, it was weird having an adult talk to me that way, but I soon realized she was treating me as an adult too.
