The Pool Boy by R.W. Clinger

Author:R.W. Clinger [Clinger, R.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2020-08-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32: All About Timing

July 28. Close to August. Closer to the end of summer than not, and to the pool boy’s final days at the estate.

We didn’t discuss my kiss to his neck. The topic never came up. Some things were better left unsaid. Perhaps he had chalked it up as both of us being drunk and sloppy, having too much white wine to drink. Silence was golden, as the old cliché went. I didn’t object to such an action. Not at all. Amen to that.

* * * *

July 29.

Rare, hardback Steinbecks sat in my private library and I pulled four of them off one of the mahogany shelves. Nothing went better together than an expensive vodka and The Red Pony, Of Mice and Men, Cannery Row, or The Pearl. I kept clean tumblers behind rare, leather copies of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls and one of my all-time favorites, Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine, and poured myself a drink. And there, tucked beside Leavitt and White and Baldwin, I consumed the two fingers of vodka straight, letting it burn the tip of my tongue and the back of my throat.

I don’t know how long I sat there with Of Mice and Men on my lap and thought about my actions on the patio with Tacoma, touching him with my lips, wishing to do more with him, and creating forbidden passion with the young man. How could I slip like that and become reckless as his employer? How could I forgive myself of such a disgrace? How could I…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I gazed at the closed door of the study. There was only one other person in the lake house besides me. There were no apparitions. Things never went bump in the day, or night. Obviously, Tacoma stood in the hallway, needing my attention, concerned about something.

I placed my drink down on a nearby table with the copy of Mice, stood, and walked across the wooden and creaking boards that sounded like a bed shifting under two men having rough sex. Sporting a smile on my face, having enjoyed the evening thus far, I turned the brass knob on the library’s door, and pulled on its brass door, opening it. Again, as always, the pool boy’s handsomeness and youth caught me off guard, leaving me breathless.

“Robert.”

“Dear Lord,” I gasped. Tacoma stood in front of me, semi-naked. He had nothing on except for a cottony towel pressed between his legs with the help of one hand, instead of having it wrapped around his middle. I could see the top of his dark triangular-shaped pubes, his thick thighs, and the narrow landing strip of hair that fell down to his hidden cock, beneath his navel; he hadn’t manscaped or shaved his chest in a few days and it had grown in. Without thinking I licked my lips, stared at his perfect abs, the mounds of firm muscles that designed his pecs, the semi-thick neck that I had casually kissed two evenings before on the patio.

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