This story is a work of fiction. All characters are over the age of 18.
I hope you enjoy it and any feedback is appreciated.
And thanks to Kenji Sato for his help with editing
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I love the water. I was addicted at an early age as my family loved to swim and my mother took me to the YMCA pool at an early age. She thought it was important to teach me how to swim so I would be safe around water. Well, I took to it like a fish. I was never scared of it and some of my earliest memories are splashing around and kicking forward with little yellow floaties on my arms.
It was not long before I was swimming without any assistance and they had to drag me out of the pool when it was time to leave.
Well, needless to say, I am a swimmer. I was on State's swim team and was a state champion in the 100 Free while in high school, but the University competition was a much greater challenge. No, I was not an Olympian-caliber swimmer, but I loved the sport and swimming for State was a dream come true. We didn't win a lot of meets, but the sport and camaraderie of the team, were all I needed. However, I was pretty good at it and swimming was just a part of my life.
Each year as the seasons change, I can't help but recall the summer between my Junior and Senior year at State. It was one of the best summers of my life.
They had closed down both the big pool, as well as the practice pool, for renovations and we all went home for the summer. Our coach told us to keep a training schedule which he would mail to us each week. He closed by saying don't drink a lot of beer! He was a great coach and knew us all too well.
I did miss my teammates, and it is harder to train without the friendly competition we had during workouts. I set a schedule and each afternoon I would hit our local Y and do my thing. With my workout schedule, it was hard to find a summer job, for we all needed a bit of extra cash above and beyond our scholarship money. You know, for the beer the coach warned us about.
I grew up in a nice middle-class neighborhood. It was one of those new developments in our community when I was a kid. There was a mix of homes of different sizes, and the ones on the big hill at the end of our cul-de-sac were extremely nice. In fact, some were damn big. I knew them all since I took over the paper route for the area when I was twelve.
Yes, this was some years ago, when people actually got a rolled-up newspaper each morning on their front lawn. Sounds crazy doesn't it. I would get up early, get the stack of morning papers they left by the curb, roll them up, load up the racks on the back of my bike and take off. I got pretty good at throwing them left and right as I rolled down the street. And I am proud to say, I only broke one window in my career. Cost me almost a week's profit, however.
Part of the job, for we were technically independent jobbers, was to collect money from our customers each week or so, to pay for the wholesale papers we got. We kept the extra as our profit. It was actually a little business. I had to 'pay' for the papers regardless of how much I was able to collect from my customers. There was a set price and we had a book with pages for each house. When we collected, we tore off little tickets as their receipt. Sometimes, no one was home and I had to make several trips to get my money. It was work.
The reason I am telling about the paper route is that it is where I first met Mrs. Chambers. The Chambers had the biggest house up the hill. Mr. Chambers owned most of the real estate in our town, or so my parents said. Regardless, they had a large and beautiful home on my paper route. The worst part was that they were at the top of the hill and I always saved that for last on my route, and it was a tough climb some days.
Mr. Chambers was rarely at home and his wife, Ann, always came to the door and paid me. The first time I met Mrs. Chambers was on my collection day. She answered the door with a smile and was always very friendly. She always called me Timmy and I made sure their paper was always on the porch. The Chambers even gave me a big tip at Christmas time.
So, you can see why I was intrigued when I talked with my mother soon after I got home for the summer. My mom knew I was going to want some type of part-time job to make some extra cash. She had run into Ann Chambers at the Safeway and they had chatted. They were not good friends, but being neighbors in our area, they always said hello and would engage in a polite, short conversation. My Mom mentioned I was home for the summer and Mrs. Chambers had inquired how her old paperboy, Timmy, was doing. As it so happened, Mrs. Chambers was looking for someone to help do some yard work and was having trouble finding someone she trusted.
As I learned from Mom, the Chambers had divorced a few years ago. As the gossip went, Mr. Chambers was banging his secretary and got caught. Apparently, Ann Chambers took him to the proverbial cleaners in the divorce, and got the house and a wad of cash. Well, my Mom told her I was looking for something just like that, and to make a long story short, I was to go see her the next morning.
So, I found myself walking up to the same door I did back when I was twelve years old. You just never know where life leads you. Little did I imagine it would be this door and what lay behind it.
After I rang the doorbell, and in a minute, Ann Chambers opened the door.
"Yes, can I help you?" she said.
"Hello, Mrs. Chambers," I said. "It's me, Tim Johnson."
"Oh my God!" she cried. "Timmy! I didn't recognize you. You've...well, you've grown."
"Yes, a bit I guess." I was now about six foot one inch, and had a swimmer's build. Broad shoulders, a classic V-shape torso, and very little body fat.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed once again. "I can't believe it. Come in. Please come in."
I stood still for a moment, almost frozen. Mrs. Chambers had hardly changed a bit in the last seven or eight years. I had assumed she was going to be much older, and well, fat. Later, I learned she had also been Mr. Chambers' secretary when they had married and was several years younger than I had assumed.
She was still very attractive and seemed to have filled out a bit, but in all the right places. She was a natural blonde, or so it seemed, with creamy, flawless skin, that was tanned from the sun. She was dressed in a white silk blouse that fit snugly around her breasts. The first two buttons were undone allowing a nice amount of cleavage to be showing. She had on black shorts that came to just above her knees and her legs looked smooth and tanned. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. I was speechless.
I had never actually been in her home, even though I had been on her doorstep dozens of times. She led me into the living room. A flood of thoughts invaded my mind as I followed her. I was not an expert at gauging a woman's age, but she seemed much younger than I expected. I guess all adults look old to a twelve-year-old.
Her home was immaculate and furnished in a modern style. It was a sea of greys, browns, chrome, and emitted a vibe that was relaxing, and inviting. She sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her.
"Come, sit down. Your mother told me you were at State. How is college life treating you?"
