Chapter Six
Getting Naughty At The Pool Party
Any other guy would have been having the time of his life, Frankie Robles glumly thought to himself. The young man sure didn't feel twenty-two years old that afternoon. No, he felt more like he was fifty-two years old, or maybe even eighty-two. Inwardly sighing to himself, he tilted his head down a little, in order to sneak a peek over the top of his dark, aviator style sunglasses. Frankie's gaze shifted over to the apartment complex's rounded swimming pool.
It was a typical, warm Southern California day, with a gentle breeze swelling across the landscape. Three beautiful and scantily clad women were playing in the pool. They were splashing and sloshing about so much that their wild antics occasionally sent a torrent of cool water crashing down near him on the low lying deck chair. Normally, having three beautiful women jumping around in their bikinis might have been a cause for a minor celebration, but not so this time. On this day, unfortunately, all three of the bouncing honeys were either related to him or married to him.
First, there was his pretty wife, Carmela. She was lean and trim at twenty-three years of age, sporting a red two-piece bikini. Carmela's bikini blended nicely with her tanned bronze skin. Possessing fully rounded C cups, she had the largest breasts of the trio of babes prancing around in the water. Her ass, after having spent countless hours jogging on a fitness center treadmill, was incredibly shapely and tight enough to crack walnuts.
Next, came his equally attractive sister Melinda. She was a full year younger than Frankie, and wore the usual tiny black thong she displayed on such public outings. Her B cups were barely kept in check by the small triangular patches of fabric strung across her chest, and her naturally thick hips gave way to big and meaty butt cheeks. Every so often, she'd absently reach into the deep cleft of her ass and tug that stubborn, stringy thong out.
The last of the shapely females was Frankie's youngest sister Amanda. Recently, she had turned eighteen and was blessed with a magnificent figure all her own. Her bikini was a simple white two-piece, cut a little more generously than the other two women's outfits. Regardless of this prudence, her perky B cups and pleasing rump were just as much on display as the rest. Amanda was also the most hesitant participant of the three, Frankie noticed. She'd frequently taken to wading over in the shallow end of the pool whenever any of the neighborhood lechers got too close.
Of course, such an unparalleled display of female flesh was bound to bring the dogs out; this time they'd arrived in kennels. The apartment complex was veritably teeming with horny men. The younger, shapelier ones had wasted little time in donning their own swimming trunks and diving right into the pool. The older perverts had probably feigned some excuse or other to their wives in order to step out and leer from their tiny balconies or patios. No less than six virile studs (the day's record was set earlier at eight) were presently in the water thrashing and crashing about for any sort of attention from the trio of pretty girls.
Admittedly, his voluptuous sister Melinda was basking and even thriving in the male attention. This behavior hadn't been totally unexpected, not from her. Frankie knew what his sister did for a living: she was a professional stripper.
What was disconcerting, on the other hand, was the fact that his wife had apparently forgotten that Frankie was part of the audience. From his viewpoint, Carmela was taking great pains to steal some of the limelight away from his curvy sister. For example, when the girls were playing volleyball earlier, Carmela was spiking the ball extra hard in Melinda's direction. Obviously, his wife was trying to show up his sister. Whenever she succeeded, Carmela openly gloated about it. Later, a playful wrestling match between the sexy pair threatened to turn ugly, until several pairs of eager male hands reached out to grope the two women apart.
The final straw occurred when one of Melinda's breasts slipped out from its flimsy protection. Of course, Melinda made a vain, public show of harnessing and reigning in her valuable asset. At this point, it seemed inevitable that the increasingly jealous Mount Carmela would erupt. In his wife's enviously surpassing fashion, she did just that. Less than five minutes after Melinda's mishap, and much to the enjoyment of the throng of horny male spectators, Carmela retaliated by losing her entire top. It was discovered shortly, floating near the bottom of the pool, and resulted in a piranha-like frenzy as several of the guys set out to rescue it.
Now, one of the things Frankie admired most regarding his wife was her competitive drive and ambition. Carmela had landed herself a great job with great pay, drove a brand new SUV, wore very stylish clothes and had leased an apartment in one of the nicer parts of town. That much was fine with Frankie, except for the mounting credit card bills she kept racking up in order to keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. So, while Frankie felt he had to tolerate some horseplay in their marriage, how could Carmela rationalize losing her bikini top while in a swimming pool full of horny guys?
Irritated, Frankie knew he had only two options. One, he could start a huge and very public argument right then and there. Such a fight was likely to spill over into the rest of the afternoon, and probably into the next few days as well. Or two, Frankie could quietly retreat into Melinda's apartment and ignore the whole thing. He mulled this over for an extra long minute, before he finally decided to throw in the towel and leave.
After snatching up the remote control and flopping onto Melinda's posh couch, he searched through the TV channels until he found a good ball game. That would help put him out of his misery, he thought, but he only caught a grand total of two pitches before a skeptical manager came out and called in for a reliever. All Frankie was left with was a lengthy commercial break full of light beer and overpriced trucks. Well, that figures, he thought with some resentment.
Impatiently, he waited until the game finally started up again. Being the sports fanatic that he was, he soon became absorbed in the on-field action. A couple of innings later, Frankie heard Melinda's voice approaching the open front door. Close behind her, one of the many horn-dogs outside was already urging for her to hurry back.
Melinda stepped inside, pulling her wet hair behind her head and wringing some of the clingy water from it. "Don't you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Your phone, you dummy." Melinda rolled her eyes at him. "I can hear it all the way outside."
The ringing crept into focus.
"That's Carmela's phone." Frankie grumbled.
"Well, are you going to answer it?" Melinda asked, right before she strode towards the kitchen counter where the phone was crying out for attention. "Hello?" She paused to listen. "Oh, yeah, she's right outside. Let me go grab her." Melinda stalked past. "Hey, Frankie. You're a lazy fucking bum, you know that?"
Meh, Frankie thought, and almost turned his attention back to the ball game. Before he did, though, he caught a glimpse of Melinda's big butt stepping outside, and of the black string of her thong hiding out in the middle of it. If Melinda hadn't been his sister, he sure wouldn't have minded going to one of her strip shows.
"Carmela, you've got a phone call!" Melinda's loud voice called out.
Back on the screen, Frankie noticed that a good base stealer had managed to coax a walk. With the score being tight, the pitcher started paying close attention to first base. The baseball was lobbed over to first in an attempt to keep the runner honest.
In the back of his mind, Frankie could hear his wife stepping inside the apartment while she was still on the phone. Since Carmela was droning on and on, Frankie did what he usually did at home. This was to block his wife's voice out completely and concentrate instead on the ball game.
It wasn't until she stepped between him and the TV that he lost focus. "Frankie! I'm talking to you!"
"What?"
"I just asked you if you've seen my purse!" She sounded frantic.
Frankie shrugged his shoulders. "Isn't it on the counter where you left it?"
"No!" She snapped back as she hurried toward the hallway where the bathroom was.
He noticed she had her street clothes in her arms. "What's going on?"
"I was scheduled to show a suite to this guy yesterday." Carmela explained. "But his flight got delayed and he couldn't make the appointment."
"So?"
