Chapter 2

It maybe got down to eighty-five that night -- and the next day -- Wednesday -- it got up to one-oh-one. And Michael, of course, couldn't use the pool. I'd more or less predicted that. He didn't tell me -- he just didn't come over and spent a lot of time looking at the pool longingly.

One of Heather's girlfriends -- a chunkier girl named Kate -- came over at about three. I'd seen Kate before; there wasn't anything that wrong with her -- she was just a little thicker, that's all. Boys her age might not bother with her, but I would stick my dick in her in a heartbeat -- you learn as you get older that swimsuit models aren't necessarily a good fuck. Kate was also loud -- I think she had a little brother who was hard of hearing or something. They were out back and Kate had tied up her shirt to display her puffy little midriff and she announced, "I wish that guy had kids -- I'd LOVE to go in that pool of his!" Heather spoke quietly to her for a moment, and she erupted, "You did?" More mumbling. "He did? Why aren't..." Mumble, mumble... "So he's a perv or something? What did he do?" Mumble, mumble. "So? I'd LOVE to go naked! I'd go naked right now, if I could!" Mumble, mumble. "So what? Did he DO anything? Did he offer you candy to go to his bedroom or something?" Mumble, mumble. "Then what's the problem?"

"They're all being fucking stupid, that's what!" Michael erupted, and stomped off into the house.

Heather looked frustrated and mumbled some more, and Kate interrupted her with, "But, nothing. The guy TOLD you up front that all you had to do if you didn't want to see him naked is leave by a certain time! That's, what, four hours from now? If an old guy wants to perve on me in my bikini, at least SOMEBODY is! Michael's right -- you guys are chicken-shit."

Michael, realizing that his position was being supported by Heather's girlfriend, stuck his head out the door. "He's got a hot tub and a sauna -- and his house is air conditioned!"

"Jeez, everybody knows you only wear a towel in a sauna!" Kate howled. "He's got central air? I'd go naked to sit for an hour under that! Gawd, I might do more than that!" She swung to look in my direction and I stuck my nose in my book while she asked, "What's he look like?"

"Kate!" Heather howled, and I concealed a smirk. "My God!"

"You're a wuss," Kate opined. "Hiding over here because a guy who has EVERYTHING just MIGHT look at your titties! You're incredible! I'd show him mine just to get them cool and wet! I've been sticky for DAYS!"

I decided I was going to like Kate.

Jean's arrival home occasioned an uproar that made the previous day's pale by comparison. You could hear it all through the wide open windows. Jean actually made Kate leave, because she couldn't handle her objections while controlling her family. The bottom line was that you don't open up something like this and then just hack it off without a LOT of noise and complaint -- and things were just getting hotter, inside and out.

Louse that I am, I didn't want to miss a minute; after the entertainment Kate provided, I went out and got one of those directional microphone things at the local electronics store and pointed it at their house so I could hear what went on from inside my house where it was cool. I made a point of taking my seven-thirty nude dip, too -- and being highly visible about it.

Michael was reletless -- he went on the attack every thirty to forty-five minutes. Heather played apologist; Kate had conveyed to her very clearly that she thought she was hung-up and gutless -- and teen females don't like being told they're too chicken to accept a challenge. So she was in there with, "Maybe we're taking the nudist thing too seriously, Mom. Just because you're a nudist doesn't mean you're a sex fiend. Kate says you aren't supposed to wear anything but a towel in a sauna, anyway..." And so on, and so on, while Michael fairly foamed at the mouth. Add the fact that it was muggy and eighty-eight outside, and probably still hotter in the house, and Jean had two choices -- give in or take a long butcher knife to both of her children! Around ten, she screamed, "ALL RIGHT! You can go over there! But don't go alone!"

"Aw, Mom!" Michael complained, "That's SO unfair! Sis goes off with her girlfriends all the time and I'm stuck here..."

"All right, all RIGHT! You can go over -- but your sister should have either you or one of her girlfriends with her any time she's over there -- understand?"

I didn't know whether to be peeved or not! Being male made Michael safe? On the other hand, the dam had broken; we would see what happened next...

I was hanging out -- literally -- when Michael tapped on the slider Thursday morning at about ten. Fortunately, I have this kind of a towel kilt that is belted by a Velcro strip, so I threw that on -- and was still settling it around my hips as I came into the kitchen to open the slider -- which gave Michael bug-eyes, not that he saw anything. I knew that he would rather die at this point rather than tell his mother or his sister anything that might screw up using the pool AGAIN -- but I wasn't SUPPOSED to... "Hi, Michael -- what brings you over here?" I asked, then pretended to take in the towel and stuff. "Hey, I was left with the impression that your mom didn't want you over here under my bad influence..."

"She changed her mind," Michael announced. "I mean, she was being really stupid about it..."

I grimaced. "I really think she ought to tell me that, don't you?"

"Well..." he replied, eyeing me, "did she really tell you I couldn't come over? I thought she kind of left it..."

"She left an impression and we both know it was the correct one," I chided. "You don't want to screw it up for tomorrow, do you? Better call her so I can talk to her."

Michael rolled his eyes and fished out his cell phone. "Mom? Cletus wants to know if you said it was okay... Yes, Mom. No, Mom. Okay, here..."

"Mr. Putnam?" Jean asked.

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"I, uh, decided that Michael can visit after all -- and Heather can, too, as long as Michael or one of her girlfriends is along."

"I see," I murmured. "That works for me. I'll send him along home when the time comes."

"Thank you so much," Jean replied. "I know Michael appreciates it. I'm sorry if I seemed... stuffy."

"No harm, no foul," I replied grandly, "You're protecting your family, which is your job."

"Thank you for understanding." We closed out the call.

"Okay, we're all set," I announced.

"Yippee!!" Michael broke for the door. There was a splash before I even got outside.

I watched him, while either tanning or hiding under the awning, for a couple of hours -- until I noticed that he was pinking up. "Time to drag it out," I announced.

"Why?"

"Because if you put on any sun block in the first place, it's gone and you're frying," I related. "Let's go inside and cool off for a while."

"Oh." He glanced at his shoulders. "Okay, I guess." We went inside and I turned on the TV and we kicked back with a couple of sodas. Michael was in Hawg Heaven; he was swimming, and when he wasn't, it was cool and there was TV. I didn't mind -- if he wanted to live here, that meant his mama was going to have to show up occasionally. I spent some time with him, then went off to do my own business, banking online and checking on various things to do with managing the family properties.

At about three, Heather showed up -- with Kate. Both of them were in bikinis -- a fact I attributed to Kate's abuse of Heather the day before. They weren't thongs, but they showed more skin than the rig Heather had worn to the first swim party. "Mr. Putnam, is my brother here?" Heather asked.

"He's watching TV," I related. "I dragged him inside when he started pinking up."

"Oh," Heather nodded. "Look, can Kate swim, too?" Kate smiled winningly.

I frowned. The problem here was that I'd made Heather's mother sign a release; if I didn't keep the playing field level, then someone was going to smell a rat. "I made your Mama sign a paper giving permission," I pointed out to Heather. "I don't have one of those for Kate."

"Oh." Heather looked crestfallen.

"Sh--..." Kate cut off a curse at my glance.

"I could give you a form," I offered. "But it's not smart for me to treat one of you differently -- especially since I don't know you."

Kate pursed her lips. "What does this form look like?"

"I think I saved a copy," I muttered, and went off to the office to print one. Bringing it back, I said, "It's sort of like a school event release, you know? It just covers my ass. Do you think your mama would sign it?"

Kate glanced over the form and surprised me with, "This lets her swim too, right?"

I hadn't thought of that. "Yeah, I guess it does. Maybe I should change it."

Kate smiled crookedly. "Then again, maybe Mama will like it better if she sees that."

"Could be," I agreed, wondering what Kate's mother looked like. "You drag it back signed and I'll let you swim and stuff. Be aware that I'm not just gonna accept some signature on this -- I'm gonna call and check..."

"I don't suppose..." Kate looked crafty.

"What?"

"Well, it's a hike to my house," Kate related. "You don't think you could, like, drive us over there? I wouldn't ask, but I KNOW Mama is going shopping soon, and if we miss her..." She turned on the puppy dog eyes, and Heather mirrored them, "Pleeeeze?"

Michael rolled his eyes, but roused himself to ask, "Where's Peter?"

So, to make a long story short, I ended up meeting Karen Moffat and her son Peter. Karen was an older version of Kate -- bigger in all dimensions. She was overweight and had a big ass -- but she had a fine-looking set of soft jugs and dressed reasonably well. I decided that she rated a dick on sight. Peter was, as anticipated, hearing impaired. He got on with hearing aids, but that kind of crap tends to ruin your social life when you're a kid - anything that makes you different screws you. He had reddish brown hair and freckles and seemed cool enough -- and apparently Michael knew him and was just bored enough with being alone that he was glad to see a familiar face, so I carted him back in the car with the other three while Karen toddled off to the market. Apparently, Karen worked nights, somewhere, and generally did her housecleaning and shopping during the day. Her place was cleaner than mine, so I figured she wasn't trailer trash.

By four, I had four kids splashing in my pool, playing Marco Polo. I loved watching Kate's rack bounce in the waves, but I knew I had to be careful about it -- at least when Heather was around. Heather had a sweet bod, too, but she was jealously guarding it. Hey, no problem...

The girls decided to lie out on the deck in the loungers and sunbathe where they could take a dip if they overheated, but Michael had already gotten his minimum daily dose, and Peter decided to hang out with him. I apologized for not having any game consoles, but it turned out that Michael did, so they trooped off to unhook his setup from his room and drag it into my TV room. And that's when something untoward happened...

They were going through the input on the TV when they accidentally hit the porn video I'd been watching that morning when Michael knocked on the door. It took me maybe ten seconds to realize that the soundtrack wasn't rated 'G' and another five or six to get to the TV room. "Guys! Your mothers would BOTH skin me alive if they caught you watching that!" I rushed over to the DVD player and popped out the disc.

The boys were both bug-eyed. "That was so cool!" Michael erupted.

"Yeah, well, telling your mother you saw porn at my place is a GREAT way not to ever come back!" I reiterated. "Just remember that!"

"Yes, Sir!" Michael agreed, nodding -- but I knew the gears were turning. There was an opportunity to be had -- maybe more than one -- but it was likely to be a dangerous either-or kind of thing. Best to control it, I figured. It would be low priority, anyway; females you had to hunt and fish for, but boys -- after a spark like that, it takes nothing to get a flame going even years later. It was best to concentrate on the female contingent.

Jean came and collected her brood at five-thirty, to find me babysitting another pair of kids; they all looked a lot fresher than she did. "You should take a dip," I recommended -- which got me a look -- but I added, "There's plenty of time..."

"Perhaps la---, uh, perhaps some other time," she amended.

"Sure." I let it lie. Heather didn't -- she snickered. The whole Adult Swim thing was a hot topic with Peter for about five minutes -- but Kate already knew about it, which more or less snuffed it out. Heather made me print out four or five more permission slips for her girlfriends; I thought about changing them, but decided to let the whole thing lie.

Karen showed up at about a quarter to six to get Peter and Kate -- and Adult Swim came up during the grand tour. I was caught flat-footed. "Kate, you didn't..."

"Uh, no, I didn't, Mr. Putnam. I forgot." Kate looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry -- I thought you were aware," I apologized to Karen. "I'm a naturist. While I don't flaunt it, I don't wear clothing much in the house -- and house rules are that if you swim in the pool after seven, it's without a suit, because that's how I'll be doing it. With the kids around, of course, I wear clothes -- but come the evening..."

"Are you gonna get all freaked like Heather's mom did?" Kate wanted to know. "Gawd, that was SO stupid!" she added, rolling her eyes. "I mean, if we're not here..."

"I gather it hasn't been an issue?" Karen asked her daughter, eyeing me.

"No, Mom. Okay, he's a guy, but he hasn't been drooling or anything!" Kate was actually quite fetching in her bathing suit -- but I knew better than to get stupid about it. "Actually, he spent a lot more time inside working than he did sitting out with us -- and he spent most of THAT reading!"

I took a risk and eyed Karen, poker-faced, "Actually, if I was going to pick a target for my incredible lechery..."

Karen blushed crimson. "Mr. Putnam!" I laughed. "You shouldn't tease a woman like that!"

I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. "If I scare you, I guess you'd better not come to adult swim!"

"I guess not! Come along kids!" I smiled at her back, knowing she'd been flattered by the flirting. Both Kate and Peter looked back from the car and waved.

Things didn't moderate. It was still in the upper eighties when I went out at seven for my swim. A thunderstorm came through after eleven -- and all it did was make things miserably muggy and damp. I noticed it when I went out to check on the pool after the storm -- nothing was amiss with the pool, but the air was dead still and a steamy fog rose from the ground. Next door, someone's bedroom light was on, and fans were running everywhere. I looked up and saw a woman raise up a T-shirt and flutter it over unfettered breasts -- and got my bony ass out of sight, because those weren't Heather's and I couldn't afford to have Jean catching me playing Peeping Tom, even if it WAS accidental.

The next morning -- Friday -- I awakened to an unholy screeching sound coming from next door. Throwing on a robe, I stuck my head out the door; Jean was standing beside her rice-burner of a car. While I watched, Heather and Michael came out to stand around the thing, too. I chased down a pair of shorts and my flip-flops and pattered out to see what was up. Approaching the trio, I asked, "Was that the car? Sounds like belts..."

"What? Oh..." Jean took notice of me. "Yes, it's making a horrible sound."

"I'll say. Pop the hood," I directed. Michael had to find the hood release for her. I didn't say anything, but I was thinking real loud -- why don't women understand the concept of preventative maintenance where cars are concerned? Lifting the hood, I directed , "Fire it up." She did, and it started screeching again. I looked long enough to be certain what was up and yelled, "Shut it off!"

"What is it?" Jean asked, worried.

"Air conditioning compressor," I replied. "It's frozen in place and the clutch isn't releasing, so the belt is rubbing the pulley."

"How bad is it?" she asked, getting out of the car and coming to stand by me.

"Bad." I pointed. "You have one set of belts that connects everything, so you can't disconnect the compressor. You'll have to get a new one -- or at least one that the clutch works on, if you prefer to run without a/c. It's probably gonna cost six hundred bucks or so... I'll call my mechanic."

"Oh, Gawd," Jean moaned, wringing her hands. "I have to get to work..." She looked like she'd already put in fourteen hours -- I doubted that she'd gotten any sleep this week.

I heaved a sigh and said, "Hang on..." and headed for the house. I have two cars -- a little Saturn that I go out to do utility jobs and collect the rent in and a big German beast I drive to impress the ladies. I popped the garage door opener and snagged my spare keys to the Saturn and handed them to Jean. "Take mine. I'll get my mechanic to come for this piece of shit."

"I can't."

"You've got no choice -- you have to earn a living, right? Get out of here -- and for Pete's sake, turn on the fucking air conditioner!"

"Mr. Putnam!"

I stood my ground. "Do you have ANY IDEA how rough you look? Baby yourself a little! Now, git!" I pointed at the car.

"Th-thank you!" Jean ran for the Saturn.

"Wait'll you get my bill," I growled -- not that she heard me. Turning to Michael and Heather, I said, "You two drag it on over when you've gotten your shit together." Maybe I didn't sound genteel, but I was up earlier than I like, and I'd just been dumb enough to buy into screwing with some woman's problems that weren't mine -- on the off chance I was going to get to screw her. I was a little grouchy and a little pissed at myself for being stupid and gullible.

Twenty minutes later, they trooped in my back slider, Michael in a T-shirt and trunks and Heather -- bravely for her -- braless under a tank top and wearing shorts. Both of them were in rubber flip-flops -- but Heathers were wedgies -- very fashion-conscious was our Heather... "Did you eat?" I grunted, sipping my first coffee of the day.

Michael shrugged, so I pointed at the bagels on the counter and the toaster. Heather ignored the question, saying , "You shocked Mom pretty badly."

"My language?" I grunted.

"Yes."

"Tough. It'll get worse. How proud and stupid is she gonna be? How long has it been since she's slept?" I asked.

"A while," Heather admitted. "She's very sensitive to heat."

"Why doesn't she get a window unit?" I asked.

"We're just making it," Heather replied. "I'm trying to get work at Starbucks. Even if we got the thing, we couldn't afford the electricity. Now..." she looked out the window at their junker.

"Figures," I grunted. "What are you gonna do if Starbucks falls through?"

"I don't know."

One look told me she had no idea -- and that she wasn't getting any job at Starbucks BECAUSE she was clueless. She'd been waited on hand and foot all her life and while she had some idea what paying the bills was all about, there was no gut-check to go with it. "How long have you been waiting?" I asked.

"A week."

I shook my head. "First, get dressed for job-hunting -- that's great for a strip bar, but it won't fly for most other places. Then head for," I mentioned a chain bookstore, "and see if you can get a job there -- doing ANYTHING. You're not in the market for something your friends can see you doing -- you're trying to make a living -- get it?"

"Uh, sure..." she looked hopeful. "Will you drive me?"

"One of the questions they'll ask is how you'll get to work," I told her. "Ride the bus, so you can explain it to them and you'll have a schedule." Heather looked crestfallen, but she dazedly wandered back toward her house. "Kids."

"Uh, Cletus..."

"You're too young to work," I told Michael, "but it'll help if you discover the right attitude. Is your house a wreck? Your mama doesn't have it in her to pick up after your sorry ass when she gets home."

Michael popped the toaster and collected his bagel. "Maybe I'll go clean up a little," he muttered.

"Come back when you're done."

At eight-thirty I called my mechanic and he sent a kid out to look at the rice box. The kid agreed with me, right down the line. "How long?" I asked.

"New parts?"

"Refurbished, if possible."

"Two days -- except it's the weekend coming up."

"So, Monday?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Get it out of here and get started."

They put it on a flatbed wrecker rather than cause more damage. While they were doing it, Heather wandered out of the house and headed up the street, still looking a little dazed, but dressed as formally as the weather allowed. I invaded Jean's home; Michael was picking up laundry and such. "Don't try to wash it," I advised, "you'll only make mistakes. But if you collect it, she's ahead of the game. Get it to the laundry room." Michael nodded; he was a good kid. Heather undoubtedly was, too, for that matter. Jean was doing what a lot of us do -- carrying the whole load and sheltering them -- too much.

The worst of the mess was picked up by about ten; we were kicked back at my house at ten-thirty when Heather called to tell us the bookstore apparently needed someone to stock and do inventory. She would be home by a little after four. Before she got off the phone, she said, "Thanks Mr. Putnam."

"No problem, Honey. I'm sure it seemed like I was being a bastard, but you needed a reality check. There's job hunting, and pretending to job hunt -- and you were doing the latter."

"Yeah." She paused. "I thought someone was just going to hand me something."

I chuckled. "Doesn't happen that way -- sorry."

Heather actually arrived a bit after three-thirty -- a co-worker brought her home. "This is Amy," she announced at the door. "Can she use the pool?"

I eyed the girl -- a chubby brunette with eyeglasses. No guess what she would look like in a bathing suit. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Show me."

Amy shrugged and whipped out her driver's license.

"I make people sign a release," I informed her.

"Heather gave me one." She produced one, filled out. "I hear you like to swim naked."

"That's the rumor," I replied. "Nobody's ever actually seen it, though." Heather opened her mouth, then shut it; a quick glance at Michael found him grinning. "Well, almost nobody. Come on in -- you're making me let out all the cold air."

The pair sailed past me and I closed the door. "Are you really a naturist?" Amy asked.

"No, I'm faking it so I can have sex with everybody within a five mile radius," I replied.

Amy made a face and eyed Heather. "I think that was the truth. He's kinda cute, though, for an old guy." She returned her attention to me. "Where can I change?"

"Anywhere," I replied. "Here is good -- right Michael?"

"Yeah," Michael grinned, "REAL good!"

Amy bumped her eyebrows and pursed her lips. "I think I'll use a bedroom."

"Suit yourself. I don't return lost panties," I told her. Michael chortled.

Heather couldn't decide whether to laugh or be horrified, but Amy took it in stride. "Come on, Heather." She headed down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

"Hey, give us a minute to turn on the cameras!" I shouted after her. Michael just about blew coke all over the couch.

"Wow! If Mom heard that..." he gushed.

"I would hope that she would think I was joking," I told him, then watched him process the statement.

The kid was no fool. "But you weren't."

"Well, I was and I wasn't. Amy's acting like she wants to play games -- and when you play games somebody loses. Would you fuck her?'

Michael blinked at the direct question. "Uh..."

"Go ahead, lie to me."

"Yeah." He flicked a glance at the bedroom. "Shit, you bet!"

"Okay, then -- what's to stop me? Age?"

"Guess not."

"Every Friday night I go out and every Friday night, I try to bring back one or two girls for adult swim," I told him. "Generally, the plan isn't JUST a swim, you know?" Michael nodded warily. "Stick with me, kid," I grinned. Michael grinned back.

The girls emerged in ten minutes or so and Amy swaggered out in front, followed by Heather. Both were wearing bikinis -- the cutesy type with the ties. Heather's was skimpier than yesterday's rig -- which made three days running. I gave Amy the eye and a wolf-whistle -- she was chunky and had a little round belly, but her tits looked nice and experience had taught me that an ass that size was just a cushion as long as the girl could touch her toes -- and I knew Amy could from just looking. Heather looked shocked, but Amy grinned and curtsied. "Don't boil the water, you two, being all hot like that," I teased. They giggled -- Amy happily and Heather dutifully -- and headed outside.

"How many bathing suits does your sister have?" I asked Michael when they were safely on the other side of the slider.

"Jeez, I dunno," Michael replied.

"Better warn her -- if she shows up in a thong, I'm gonna try to get under it." Michael looked mildly shocked, so I explained, "Son, if they're old enough to bleed, they're old enough to breed. I wouldn't recommend that you chase your sister for reasons directly related to genetics, but otherwise, you shouldn't limit yourself -- I don't." Michael grinned; apparently, he didn't get a lot of male -- male interaction. I probably wasn't a good father figure for him, but I was better than nothing.

Jean got home from work at five-thirty and dutifully marched in to thank me. I cut her off while her mouth was still open and before noises came out. "You look like Hell -- whatever it is you have to say can wait. Go take a shower and get the workday off you and we'll talk. Git." I turned my back on her. She sputtered a couple of times then headed for her house to shower.

Michael, who had been in and out a couple of times and was back in watching TV, said, "How come you just boss her around like that?"

"Because I can, Son," I replied. "Because she hasn't showed a helluva lot of sense to date and because she hasn't stood up to me. I'm gonna keep on doing it, too, until she shows some pluck. Then I'll know she's feeling better." Michael blinked and nodded, so I went on, "What do you think we ought to order out for dinner?"

At six, Jean was back, in a sundress, looking a little fresher but still badly worn. "Who cleaned up the house?" she asked Michael.

"We did," he replied, indicating me.

"Well, thanks. Where was your sister?"

"Working," I stuck my oar in. "She got a job at a bookstore."

Jean's eyes popped. "She did?"

"That's what she tells me," I replied blandly. "She and a co-worker are out at the pool, doing girl stuff."

Jean filed that for future investigation and got on with the question she'd wanted to ask half an hour before. "Where's my car?"

"In the shop," I replied. "The mechanic's first pass estimate for completion is Monday night."

"How much will it cost?"

"About what I figured."

I watched Jean's mouth settle into a grim line. "Thank you."

"Wait'll you get my bill," I retorted. She didn't smile. "Michael, get up," I yelled. "It's time to go get dinner." Turning to Jean, I directed, "You still look like Hell. Go in the other room and lie down on the couch and watch some TV." She opened her mouth, and I pressed, "Now."

Michael appeared behind her. "Do it, Mom -- we've got dinner coming. You might as well rest." Jean smiled wanly and made to object, but I just pointed and told Michael, "Let's go." We went out to the garage, piled into the Mercedes and took off.