My career today as an investment banker has its perks; good pay, dynamic work environment, opportunity for advancement, the whole bit. I have two secretaries, a six-figure savings account, and the respect of my peers. My wife and I have two great kids and a terrific marriage. Life is good, and I have no regrets.
However, there are many days when the phones are ringing constantly, and the glorious sun is shining in through the windows of my corner office that I think back to one of my summer jobs I had when I was younger, working as an assistant to the groundskeeper at a local park at a lake not far from the city where I grew up. I had just graduated high school, and was saving money for the fall when I would be starting classes at our local university. It was hard work -- there were many days that I would come home with burst blisters hidden under the layers of dirty Band-Aids covering my fingers like gloves, my skin raw from endless hours of shoveling fresh sand into the play area or from trimming the growth back from the camping areas or along the beach area.
The pay wasn't great, just a bit more than minimum wage, but the job did have its advantages. I was outside all day, had a great tan, and the constant level of physical activity kept me in great shape. Plus, I got a real level of satisfaction from a job well done. I could see the immediate results from my efforts in a tangible way, in the verdant green spread of a well-mowed expanse of lawn, or in the tidy look of a repainted shed.
The beach might not have been much by some standards, but it was all we had, and in the golden-tinted hues of my memories, it was paradise. On weekends, it was pure pandemonium... the parking lots were usually full by nine o'clock in the morning, and if you didn't have your towel space staked by ten o'clock, you were doomed to stretching out on the grass since the beach would have been full.
I was lucky enough to have weekends off, but even then my friends and I spent much of our time at the park. We played Frisbee and beach volleyball, swam in the lake, and drank soft-drinks by the gallon at the ice cream shack. But mostly, like almost every other post-adolescent male within a mile of the place, we were there for the bikinis.
There's something indescribable, something beyond beautiful in your first glimpse of the first bikini of summer. It's nothing sexual... OK, it's sexual, at it's also something more than that; it's pure innocence and beauty, and raw animal desire rolled into one sanctified icon of perfection.
But weekends aside, there was no lack of work to be done. My boss was a decent guy, but he had a schedule to keep to and kicked my ass regularly if I fell behind. I took pride in the fact that my ass got kicked fewer than any of the other park staff, and when he needed something done within a critical time frame, he gave the job to me. And that is how I wound up having to put a new roof on the showers at the start of my last year there.
The showers building was a rambling affair built on a concrete slab, with brown, paneled siding from the ground up to around eight feet high, and then it had two-foot high translucent white fiberglass panels around the top of the wall up to the eaves. This made the most of the ambient daylight to chase the shadows out of the shower areas, but still managed to frustrate the peeping eyes of the ever-hopeful teenage boys who tried repeatedly to sneak a peek of the girls in the showers. A floor-to-ceiling wall divided the men's and women's sides straight up the middle, and each summer I had to check daily to fill in or cover over the peepholes that somehow continued to appear in the wall (usually with the help of a hand-held drill held in the hand of a horny boy!)
The problem with the roof was that the last time it had been repaired it had been done very poorly, and much of the roof was rotten and needed to be replaced. It wasn't a huge job as far as some of my projects went, but it was really should have been more than a one-man operation. Unfortunately, the other guy I usually work with had called in sick for the last two days straight, so I was doing all the dirty work myself. Over the last day and a half, through sweltering heat and humidity, I had managed to strip the roof down to the bare sheeting, and had cut and torn away all of the rotten wood. I was left with an opening through to the rafters approximately twenty feet across, through which I could see into both the men's and women's showers. With this done, all that was left for me to do was to cut and install new sheeting, new felt and new shingles.
By mid-afternoon, I knew I wouldn't be able to get the job done today, and with rain in the forecast and black clouds on the horizon, I had covered the open areas with a heavy blue tarp to keep out the rain. It's really kind of dumb, when you think about it, since anyone in the showers was there to get wet after all. But, when my boss says jump, "how high" is not too far behind on my lips. I had thrown the tarp over the big open hole in the roof and tacked down the corners, and then had ducked into the men's side of the showers for a quick rinse. Tearing the old roofing off had left me with splinters of rotten wood and old shingles in my hair, and a not-too-thin film of grime covering my sweaty body, and all I wanted was to clean off.
I stripped down and hung my clothes on one of the hooks just inside the doorway, enjoying the feeling on my naked body of the cool breeze that had sprung up. I was all itchy from the sawdust and splinters, and couldn't wait to get clean. Having turned on the shower and, after waiting for the water to warm up, I ducked my head under the spray. Several lather/rinse/repeat cycles later, I started to feel clean.
I was about to turn off my shower when I heard some giggling from the other side of the wall. I put my ear to the wall and heard the sounds of running water and giggling girls. Occasionally one would squeal or laugh and I could imagine them testing the temperature of the water with a bare foot, or by splashing a friend. Looking up, I realized that the only thing separating me from what sounded like at least two or more girls showering was a big blue tarp, and I could feel my cock twitch with the realization.
I had stored all of my repair gear in the men's side of the showers so I could lock it up tonight after my shift, and my eyes were drawn inexorably to the folding aluminum stepladder leaning against the wall only a few feet away from where I was standing.
I'm sure we've all seen movies or cartoons with the imagery of your conscience being a devil standing on your left shoulder and an angel on your right. Well, I can honestly say that either my angel is a total wuss or my devil is a bad-ass kung-fu master, because it was only a matter of seconds before I was trying to set the ladder up beneath the big hole in the roof without making any noise.
I wasn't too worried about getting caught, since I had plastered an "Out of Service" sign on the door leading into the men's shower area when I had come in for my shower, and was planning to do the same on the girl's side when I was done. I could have locked the door, since I had the keys in my pocket, but hadn't bothered.
I crept up the ladder, pausing every few steps to make sure I wasn't making any noise they could hear, but I was also afraid to take too long and miss my chance. Finally my head was just touching the blue tarp, and as the wind fluttered it over my head, I caught glimpses of the girl's side of the shower as the wind lifted it. I could hear the wind picking up outside, and realized I didn't have to be careful about making noise. The storm that had been predicted must have been rearing up outside, and I could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance.
Like most boys my age, I had a bit of experience with sex, but not enough to be blasé about the chance to scope out a few (possibly) naked chicks! I was especially interested since I was pretty sure I recognized one of the voices through the wall as Allison, a girl in my graduating class.
I carefully lifted the tarp and peeked up over the top of the wall.
Standing around the shower post in the middle of the room were three girls, and I recognized two of them as girls from my graduating class. Allison and Terri had both been cheerleaders for our school's football team. The third girl had her back to me, so I couldn't tell if I knew her or not, but I could sure enjoy the view of her butt where her bathing suit clung to it.
All three girls were still wearing their bathing suits, but I could tell that part of the giggling was each girl daring the other to take her bikini off and step under the spray. From my vantage point, it looked like Allison was taking most of the ribbing.
She was wearing a skimpy bikini that revealed much more than it covered. It had two small triangles of day-glow orange material that left the sides of her gorgeous breasts exposes, and a matching bottom with string sides. Her long blonde hair was tied into a pony tail that bobbed playfully across her shoulders as she tentatively stuck her leg into the shower spray and shrieked that it wasn't warm enough yet. Allison's bountiful chest bounced as she jumped away from the water, laughing.
Terri, on the other hand, was wearing a blue one-piece suit that was much more conservative. As well as being a cheerleader, Terri was on the school swim team, which had left her body toned and lean. Her brown hair was cut short, likely to make drying off after swim practice easier. As she leaned in to turn the water temperature up, I enjoyed the view I was given of her trim frame. Her chest was much smaller than Allison's, but her legs were more toned, and her ass looked like it could crack walnuts.
"Oh, for crying out loud," said the third girl with mock indignity, "it's like babysitting my neighbour's kids," as she reached her arms behind her back and untied her bikini top.
My skin crawled with excitement as I recognized the voice at the same instant I recognized the bathing suit. My sister Jean stood beside these other two foxes and playfully pulled her top off and threw it at her friends.
Jean and I were twins, but (obviously!) not identical. We had the same sandy-coloured hair and hazel eyes, and shared many facial features with both our mom and dad. Any time we were out together, there was no mistaking that we were siblings. When we were younger, we had been inseparable. We did everything together, from playing soldiers in the park to dressing up to tea parties (God, did I ever hope that one never came back to haunt me!) But, as we got older, we grew apart for obvious reasons. I started to get into sports, and she spent hours chatting on the phone with her new girl friends.
Plus, there was the whole "puberty" thing that introduced a new level of complication. It seemed like every time she walked into a room and I got a peek at her pointy little boobs starting to poke out of her t-shirt, I'd have to sit down and put a pillow or a magazine in my lap. And as we got older, it got worse. She developed these incredible curves and moved with an unconscious wiggle and bounce that drove me out of my mind, and many sweaty nights were spent with my cock clenched in my fist imagining what she looked like under her nightgown on the other side of the wall separating our bedrooms.
And here she now stood, only ten feet away from me, raising her hands to her hips and, bending at the waist, pushing her clinging bikini bottoms down to the wet cement floor. Even though I wasn't touching myself, I almost came the second I saw her bare ass pointed up in the air, the dark crack of her smooth, round ass cheeks spread open as she kicked her bottoms away. Confidently, she stepped under the shower spray.
Oh, man, I couldn't believe my eyes. The water, now warm, was coursing down her naked body as she turned slowly, letting the pulsing spray cover her. I lowered my hand to my aching member and rubbed it vigorously as I watched her turn. Now I could see her firm, grapefruit-sized breasts in profile and could only imagine what it would feel like to hold them in my trembling hands. She turned further, and was now facing the wall with her back into the spray. I moaned quietly at my first view of her exposed bush. She had apparently gotten into the habit of keeping her pubic hair trimmed, since there was only a small, light patch of it, hardly enough to cover her pussy lips. I could almost make out her slit through the thin hairy cover and I licked my lips, imagining the feel that coarse blanket of wiry hair parting under my tongue.
