Seymour Leggs - Tease Them With Ease

If there's one thing Neil Felton loved more than anything else it was water. Not water to drink but water to dive into, plunge his youthful body into, swim in. He was a brand new senior in high school, still eighteen, two months away from nineteen, a sure bet to make first string on the swim team this coming spring.

That's why he enjoyed his part-time job, which involved a few hours a week after class and Sunday mornings. It was a custom-made job, cleaning the pool at the Green Palms Apartments, a job he was never late to, never complained about. As a matter of fact, Neil saw only one drawback – not enough hours, which meant not enough pay. But he was only waiting until the time was right to ask Mr. Walker, the owner of the sprawling Los Angeles apartment complex, for more work. He knew there would be plenty of things he could handle and he wanted to make as much money as possible before the swim team started practice and he'd have to cut the hours back.

Even though it was early winter the sun shone and the days were warm in the semitropical western climate, so Neil came directly from school and changed in the pump house into his official nylon swim-team trunks, and increased his smooth, golden tan while working.

His moderately long hair should have been brown but, due to the constant sun he lavished himself in, it was closer to blond than anything else. His first duty was to dive into the pool with a brush and sponge. Then, he would work his away along the blue-tiled pool edge and clean off the collected grease and oils washed from the bodies of the swimmers.

Even though there was a rule that no one should swim unless they showered first and got all the suntan lotion off their body, it was infrequently followed. Understandably, too – after all, the Green Palms was a pretty large complex. It stretched out in four directions from the pool; "wings" was what Mr. Walker called them.

Each wing was two stories high, the upstairs apartments bad sundecks on one side, and the ground-level apartments had private patios. It was a luxurious, plush place. Palm trees and exotic plants grew with healthy abundance everywhere one looked. Each patio was fenced in for the utmost privacy and landscaped in a manner which almost totally obscured each fence from view.

Neil liked the patio apartments best because from them you could walk directly to the pool. It was convenient and practical, and he knew that if he were grown and married he would choose a place like this to live. Up in the morning and right to the pool for a swim before breakfast.

As a matter of fact, he wondered how many tenants really did that. He was never there in the morning except on Sundays. And the only person he ever saw swimming that early was Mr. Himmel, and that only lasted two Sundays. Mr. Himmel had just moved in but after a few weeks of the athletic life seemed to lose interest.

The only other person Neil saw regularly was Mr. Crocker. He never swam. He was at least eighty, he lived there with his daughter and son-in-law. Mr. Crocker loved the sun though; he was always sitting in the pool area, sometimes watching the sunbathers and swimmers, but most of the time he was sleeping. He was a nice old guy, Neil liked him.

As Neil worked his brush across the last few tiles he looked up and saw Mr. Crocker, fast asleep, sitting in his usual place. He quietly climbed the ladder from the pool not to disturb Mr. Crocker and went into the pump house to get the brush. The brush was an aluminum affair with a twelve-foot handle used to sweep the pool bottom. It hung in the pump house over the filters and pressure tanks, it was always a hassle to get down and outside.

Neil had to struggle for several minutes to get the blasted thing free. Then he noticed that the brush part had come loose, so he had to dig up screwdriver and tighten it, which took more time. The hum of the filtering system filled his ears as he repaired the giant brush, so he didn't hear the splash.

It wasn't until he had the long handle hallway out the door that he heard the commotion. A high-pitched, female voice filled the air with a wretched screech. He spun around and saw a blond-haired woman staring over the top of her patio fence. She was excited, hysterical, pointing at the pool.

Then Neil saw it. Or rather her. The little girl. Down deep in the pool and hardly moving. He didn't waste a second. The brush clattered onto the cement as he dropped it and leaped into the water. By this time Mr. Crocker was rubbing his eyes and as awake as he could ever hope to get. He saw Neil fly by and splash, then all he saw were bubbles.

As Neil came up with the small girl, she couldn't have been more than five or six, the hysterical screaming once again filled his ears. But he knew everything was all right, the girl was okay, no one near death could have struggled like she did. Her fingers tore at his hair and pulled his ear, she kicked and twisted like a fighting animal as he brought her face back to a more friendly atmosphere.

Then there were two high-pitched whines. One was mom, the other daughter. But daughter's scream served to let mom know all was okay, she disappeared behind her fence. Neil carried the still-thrashing child from the water and holding her in his arms walked toward the patio of the screaming mother.

But the girl was wet and wild, she squirmed and kicked in the most ungrateful manner. Neil slipped and almost dropped her when the tiny foot smashed cruelly into his softest spot and sent his unprotected testicles into a chorus of agonizing pain. The swim-team suits had no supporters built in and the coach told them not to wear them, because they constricted the hips and tired the legs. during swimming. Of course, the lack of protection did have a bad side too.

Neil grimaced with pain and managed to somehow hold on to the little girl Then the mother came rushing out, tears in eyes, all concern and worry. Neil gladly turned his squirming charge over to her. It was Mrs. Thompson, Neil liked her, she was a nice, friendly lady who always said hello.

"Oh, my baby!" she moaned and hugged the child tight.

The little girl stopped howling and kicking when she finally recognized the safety of mother's arms. Mrs. Thompson was in a bikini swimsuit that might as well not have been there at all. Neil enjoyed watching her when she came out of her patio to wade with her daughter. She was beautiful, slim but full, with a narrow waistline and large, soft breasts and full, round hips.

He knew she was at least twenty-eight, much too old to be interested in him, but he could always dream. Even though her body was so splendid Neil was most attracted to her face. It was the nicest, kindest face he could think of. She had perfect white teeth, a flawless complexion, petulant, almost puffy lips, and the deepest eyes he'd ever seen.

To Neil deep eyes meant eyes that show more than the whites, iris, and pupil. Something else was there, an understanding, an ability to say something as simple as hello and give it a full, honest sincerity. Maybe that was it, sincerity. Anyway, it was something he didn't get when the girls at school said hello. The closest thing to it he ever found was when he talked with Mr. Crocker, but it wasn't in Mr. Crocker's eyes, 'cause Mr. Crocker always wore sunglasses. In Mr. Crocker it was something else, something Neil didn't quite yet understand.

Then an amazing thing happened. Mrs. Thompson put her daughter down on the cement and slapped her plump little backside. The girl had stopped crying but it immediately started again.

"That's for going out without me!" the mother scolded.

The daughter ran tearfully into the patio. Then it happened: Mrs. Thompson stood in front of Neil and hugged him. She used both arms and really hugged like she meant it. Neil felt the soft, warm squash of her big breasts as they plastered against his wet chest. He smelled the sweetness of her suntanned body and felt her breath as she kissed his cheek.