The Smell of Chlorine

This piece was written for

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The Writer's Cramp  (13+) Write the best story or poem in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPs! #333655 by Sophy

Prompt: You are found skinny-dipping in the neighbor's pool... I want to read your excuses.

Remember there is no rating limitations to this contest as long as you use the bitem links. SO for this prompt I will only accept item links.

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The Smell of Chlorine

         Now I won’t tell you that Josh and I were swimming around in my neighbor’s pool on a warm sultry Saturday night, innocently. You wouldn’t believe me if I said that -- not if you heard that we were nude. But back then, when I still lived at home with my parents, I was pretty naïve, and our swim didn’t start out that way, honestly.

         You see, it just flowed in a natural progression as inevitable as heat in the summertime. Josh and I began the evening sitting outside demurely on the old back porch glider. We were talking low and admittedly managing to slide our hands selectively and pleasingly about, when the heat of the air drove us into the neighbor’s pool. After all, they weren’t home, my parents were glued to a movie about three orphaned children lost in the wilderness, and Josh and I had reached that point where we needed cooling down, desperately. We were positive that a quick swim would be the remedy.

         Of course, neither of us had swim suits available, and I didn’t want to disturb my parents by going in and getting mine, so the only solution was to leave our garments hanging on the neighbor’s fence and skinny dip. Reasonable, don’t you think?

         There shouldn’t have been any problem. The neighbors had left for vacation the week before, and since I was in charge of watering their plants, I was intimate with their plans. Therefore, as I said, a quick dive into the pool should have been a logical move for a couple of sixteen-year-old teenagers treading on the heavy panting zone.

         It would have been a good idea except for two things. One, Josh insisted on another of his moonlight kisses and that led to the sampling of a bit of limb entwinement. Believe me, if you’ve never experimented with the lusciousness of underwater exploration, oh, my!

         Anyway, so as I said, arms were hugging and holding tightly, and bodies were kissing bodies, and we were deep inside each other, if not quite yet physically, at least mentally, when the overhead light flipped on and two sets of eyes, the neighbors’ peered down on us.

         It’s amazing how languidly connections form and how quickly they can be separated. Ice cubes couldn’t have cooled us faster. Josh and I bolted instinctively to the side closest to the accusing eyes, not for purposes of words of rattled apology, but because the light was shining on our pale white bodies.

         Since I was the one who’d suggested the swim, it seemed to fall on me to speak first. Mr. and Mrs. Baker sure weren’t. They were frozen immobile, their eyes glazed, their mouths ajar, their towels surrounding aged bodies, naked as ours.

         “You’re back early,” I said, when words were finally stable enough to be coherent.

         Mrs. Baker realigned her towel. Mr. Baker shifted and attempted to look at an unspecified point somewhere over my head.

         “Hi. I’m Josh,” said my constantly campaigning boyfriend, the junior class president, and vice-president of the French Club, Young Republicans, and Future Leaders of America Society.

         For a moment I expected Josh to climb out of the pool and stick out his hand. I hoped he wouldn’t; I was pretty sure he was going to lose this election.

         “Uh, nice to meet you,” said Mr. Baker, dropping his eyes a moment to look at Josh, but they brushed over me, and the poor man reddened to heart attack color. Due to his nervousness, his towel inadvertently dipped, and he scrambled to resurrect its stability.

         “I’m Sarah’s boyfriend,” inserted Josh, still campaigning. If I’d dared move away from the pool edge, I would have kicked him. "We got hot . . ."

         I groaned and used my knee on his leg, urging him to be quiet.

         "He means the night was hot. We just thought we'd take a quick dip . . ." I corrected.

         "That's exactly what we were doing. We hadn't planned on . . . I mean we didn't really . . . We didn't come here to . . ."

         "Josh," I said, kicking him with a toe.

         Josh was oblivious. He rattled on. "We were almost done when you came . . ."

         "He means, we were just getting out," I said, sighing and wondering what I'd ever seen in Josh.

         Mrs. Baker, bless her heart, was the first to reply to all the garbled explanations. “My dear," she said to her husband. "I think I’m too tired for that swim tonight. Let’s just go to bed.”

         "But I thought we were going to . . . Oh . . ."

         Mrs. Baker gently turned her flustered husband around. They retreated toward their back door.

         “I’m sorry, Mrs. Baker. Please don’t call my mom,” I cried out, panicking suddenly.

         Mrs. Baker halted. Without looking around, she said. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Sarah. Right now, I think you and that young man need to get dressed. I’m sure your parents are wondering where you’ve gone. We don’t want them to worry, do we?”

         I nodded, although I'm sure she didn't see.

         Almost immediately, the lights flipped out, and Josh and I scrambled out of the pool.

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         It’s been years since that day, and although Mrs. Baker and I had a chat about birth control and using swimming pools without permission, she didn't tell my parents.

         Josh and I drifted apart after that. We never completed the connection we had so delightfully begun in the Baker’s swimming pool. I hear Josh has turned into quite a lady’s man and is running for congressman this year.

         Me -- I’m single, too. I own my own company now -- Sarah’s Pool Cleaning Service. Business has been great. I love my job, and to tell you the truth, for some reason, the smell of chlorine still really turns me on!

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