Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: The Heat Wave
Part: 1 of 25
Universe: The Heat Wave
Summary: Meet Cletus Putnam: landlord, entrepreneur, opportunist, sometime
Dom.  It's hotter than Hell and he has the only swimming pool and central
air conditioning in his little lower middle-class neighborhood -- and he's
not above taking advantage of that fact.
Content: no-sex

The Heat Wave

Copyright © 2009 The Thinking Horndog

Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction for profit
is
forbidden.  Any distribution must include this note and the author's email
address. Don’t be caught attempting to make a buck off me!

Warnings and disclaimers:

This is adult entertainment!  Be warned!  If you’re not into graphic
depictions of sex, this is the wrong story for you!  If you’re too young to
be
legally reading this, move along!

This is a work of fiction.  It is not intended to reflect any particular
person or persons, and the incidents portrayed exist in their current form
solely in the writer’s imagination.  You get the idea.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1

        It was the seventh of July and hotter than Hell -- which was news,
and it wasn't.  It WAS news, because it had BEEN that hot for over a week --
a serious heat wave -- and it wasn't news for the same reason -- it was just
another murderous day in a long line of them.  I sat out on my back deck,
under the awning, watching the neighbor boy listlessly wander the yard,
looking for some respite from the oppressive ninety-nine degree heat.  He
was one of those scrawny yet doughy-looking kids that the upcoming
generation seems to have turned out in great numbers, the pipe-stem legs
sticking out of his baggy shorts still managing to look soft and
underdeveloped.  He was fourteen or so, I figured, with shaggy brown hair
framing a studious face.  We'd never said three words to each other in the
couple of years I'd lived there, but he was looking my way enviously
periodically -- and I couldn't blame him for it.  You see, I had air
conditioning -- and a pool...

        It was on the far side of my property from him, but it was highly
visible off my deck with its retractable awning.  The hot tub was there,
too.  An eight foot privacy fence kept the neighbors on the other side from
seeing any of the hijinks that occurred there, but I'd never bothered on the
kid's side -- in fact, there was no fence there at all, just a couple of
scraggly trees along the property line.  I had the only pool in the
neighborhood -- and the only air conditioning, and the only hot tub, too.

        You're probably wondering why.  More than anything else, it was
luck.  When I'd moved into the house -- a nondescript three-bedroom ranch in
a lower-middle-class neighborhood -- it hadn't sported all the goodies.  But
my uncle died and he owned a couple of houses that he rented out.  My aunt
got the bulk of things, but Uncle John and I had talked about those houses
on many occasions and as a part of his will, he bequeathed them to me -- IF
I could make a certain amount of profit on them two years running.

        One of the houses wasn't a problem -- but the other one was a dump,
and the tenants sucked.  Uncle John's take on it was that the place was
never going to attract decent tenants, so he wouldn't put money in it -- he
said it would be good money following bad.  I always held the dissenting
opinion -- that if he kicked out the current curs and put money into the
place, he could attract a better quality tenant.  We'd argued and wrangled
and I'd more or less begged him to let me prove it again and again -- so he
left me the experiment on his death.

        I took a week after the will was read trying to decide what to do --
play it safe and leave things as they were, or put my theory to the test.
At the end of that period, I became convinced that Uncle John had
deliberately set the target just high enough that it wasn't attainable by
standing fast -- or even jacking up the rental on the good house.  That
being the case, I had no choice -- I girded my loins and did what was
necessary, dumping out the current tenants and putting in twenty thousand in
upgrades.  To help offset things, I raised the rent on the other house a bit
-- but it was nothing more than a nuisance raise.

        I learned all about standing on a contractor's leash so he wouldn't
wander off before he was done -- the hard way.  I barely met my timeline for
re-occupancy -- but I managed, and at seventy-five bucks more a month for
rent.  Fortunately, Uncle John's target numbers were for pure income, not
income after expenses -- but the house was paid for, and had been paying its
way, anyway.  The second year, I did upgrades to the cash cow and raised the
rent again -- and the tenant didn't complain a bit, because I made the house
more energy-efficient in the process.

        Having succeeded, I got the houses -- and took over all of my aunt's
other property management activities from the lawyers.  That was easy, since
they had a good management company in place, anyway.  I sold the 'dud' house
and poured the profits into an eight-unit apartment building -- and quit
working for a living, basically.

        I'm single and forty -- marriage and I never got along, even though
I tried twice -- so I suddenly had more money than I knew what to do with.
Somebody else would have moved, but my little house had everything I needed
in it -- well, except central air and a pool and a hot tub and a fancy
entertainment center and...  The list goes on, but the point was why should
I buy a mansion?  I had simple needs, and my current digs were cheaper to
fix up than buying a huge, showy place would have cost -- especially with
the same upgrades -- so I stayed there and fixed the place up.

        ...Which brings us back to the present, more or less.  The kid kept
looking longingly at the pool and I kept watching him out of the corner of
my eye as I read my book and sipped my iced tea.  It might have gone on
forever, but his sister came wandering out of the house, looking wet and
frazzled in a halter top and shorts.  She parked herself on a lounger and
pretended she was out there to get sun -- but the sun called her a damned
liar in under ten minutes, beating the shit out of her unmercifully, and she
got up and dragged herself back inside, where I could see the fans going in
just about every room through the open windows.  As I eyed her shamelessly
through one of the windows, watching her stand in front of a fan with her
hands laced behind her head to try to dry her wet armpits in the humid air,
I got to thinking...

        The kid's sister was sixteen and had curves in all of the right
places -- and a couple of girlfriends that showed up occasionally that were
built similarly.  Finally, there was the kid's mama -- a woman named Jean
who was nicely if narrowly built and had black hair and features with an
Oriental cast -- and freckles, like Lucy Liu.  I'd never seen a man at that
house -- not that I'd been paying attention, really -- and we'd passed about
a dozen sentences in three or four years, but she was one hot little
number...

        I'd learned that if you flashed a hundred dollar bill in certain
places and in certain ways, it didn't really matter how ugly you were, a
certain type of woman -- the type that had a hard time keeping track of her
panties -- could generally be talked into wandering home to your palatial
estate to provide a little exercise and entertainment.  This type of woman
paradoxically was usually easily dispensed with, afterward, too -- but then
you had to get another hundred and go fishing again.  I generally kept one
around for a week or so -- until she got too cocky -- and then engineered a
fight and sent her on her way.  If I was lucky, I'd have one of her
girlfriends in the pipe.  It helped that I had a reputation for delivering
the goods between the sheets.  Problem was, I was getting jaded...

        A little thought told me that inviting the girl over was a no-no;
I'd have to be more subtle than that -- and that's where the kid came in.
Worst case, I figured, I could try a little experiment I hadn't bothered
with up to now...

        "Hey, kid!"  I waved him over.  "Want some tea?  You look like
you're about to sweat to death."

        "Uh, sure..."  He glanced back at his house, but stumped up onto the
deck, anyway, stepping under the awning with a sigh of relief.  The scrub
trees along the property line gave of some pretty poor shade.  I got up and
threw open the slider, "Come on, I'll get you a glass."  Seventy degree air
hit the kid and I thought he was going to step on me in his rush to get
inside.  I went to the fridge and stuck a glass under the icemaker, "Hotter
than fuck out there, ain't it?"  I did the 'man talk' thing with him,
knowing he would appreciate it.  "I'm surprised you aren't inside where it's
cool."

        "It sure is," he agreed, then, "We don't have air conditioning."

        "No?"  I pretended ignorance.  "That's gotta suck."  I handed him
the glass.

        He half-emptied it in one pass and gasped, "You have no idea!
Sometimes Mom takes us out for a drive in the car before bedtime, just to
cool us down some..."  Seeing my look of confusion, he added, "The car has
air conditioning."

        "Oh," I nodded.  "Does it help?"

        "A little, maybe."

        "Air quality has sucked for a good week," I pointed out.  "Must be
tough."

        "Big time!" he nodded.

        I stuck out my paw.  "Cletus."

        "Michael."  He shook it.

        "Doesn't generally get this bad," I observed.  Weather patterns had
been weird; we'd had a cool, wet spring, then BAM!  Out west, things seemed
to be alternating between hot and muggy and cool and dry, first in the
north, then in the south -- but somehow, we were being bypassed by the jet
stream and getting no breaks.

        "You're right," he agreed.  "This is the worst I've ever seen."

        "Dunno if I oughta let you hang out inside," I grunted.  "You might
catch cold -- and in this heat that would be REAL miserable."  I eyed him.
"Bet the pool looks nice."

        "It sure does!"

        I pretended to consider.  "Well, I might let you use it -- if your
mother says it's okay.  I've got some rules, though."

        "What are they?"

        "There are signs posted," I waved negligently.  "You just need to
follow the rules on the signs."

        There WAS a sign; up top were the usual rules:  No Jumping, No
Diving, No Horseplay Without An Adult Present -- that kind of thing.  Below
that, it said, "Adult Swim After Seven p.m."  I'd done that deliberately --
it was how I got my women out of their clothing.  You see, there was a
second sign, off to the side, with rules for Adult Swim -- the first of
which was 'No Swimsuits During Adult Swim.'  I don't know how many ladies
I'd dragged home late at night and tempted with that pool -- or the hot tub
-- into showing me their beaver or their bald pussy, one or the other.

        I led him back outside; he was reluctant to leave the refrigerated
interior, but had no choice, so he wandered off to examine the pool -- and
the rules.  All he could see from where he stood on the deck were the rules
on the first sign, which were pretty innocuous.  "Those don't look hard," he
opined.

        "They aren't," I agreed.

        "What's Adult Swim all about?"

        "I do that with older folk," I told him.  "It probably won't matter
for you, since you'll only be around in the daytime, I imagine."

        "Oh. Okay."

        "Ask your mother -- I won't let you without her permission -- in
fact, I'll want to talk to her about it," I told him.  "Insurance people get
stupid, you know, and lawyers sue the pants off guys like me.  If you were
to hurt yourself, I could be in a lot of shit, so I'll want her to write
something, maybe."

        Michael watched the pool turn into a shimmering mirage in his mind's
eye as access became more and more difficult.  "Oh."

        "Don't take it like that, Son," I told him.  "Maybe your mother will
play ball..."

        "Yeah, maybe..."  We shot the shit for a while, until the sister
came out looking for him.  Michael headed home then, and I watched him
infect his sister with envy before they went inside; he spoke to her
urgently, and she looked first at me, then at the pool, and I knew the hook
had been set.

                       ----------------------------------

        Jean's old under-powered Japanese piece of crap pulled into the
driveway at five-thirty and I watched the sharks attack from behind the
sheer curtains in my living room.  They were all over her -- both of them;
in fact, I think the daughter led the charge.  Ten minutes later, I was
pretending that I wasn't immediately available as Jean punched the doorbell.
I dragged ass and timed things so she was about to leave when I threw open
the door, standing there in my swim trunks.  The air conditioned air wafted
out of the door and hit her in the face and she swayed forward unconsciously
and licked her lips.  "Mr., uh..."

        "Putnam.  Call me Cletus," I replied jovially.

        "Yes.  Ah, Cletus, my son says you made some offer..."

        "The pool?"  I jerked my thumb behind me.  "Yeah, we talked about
it.  Come on in -- we're letting the cold air out."  I backed up.

        She entered the house cautiously, as if expecting me to be harboring
a half-dozen sluts.  There was no doubt in my mind that she'd seen me bring
home entertainment.  She looked around uneasily, but the place was in good
shape -- the maid had come through earlier in the day.  I didn't let women
leave their mark on the place, anyway.  I smiled innocently.  "Would you
like something to drink?"

        "Um, no, thanks.  Michael said something about rules?"

        "I have signs posted," I told her.  "The usual stuff -- no jumping
or diving -- it's only five feet deep.  I just got to thinking -- you know
how it is -- lawyers and ambulance chasers are everywhere.  I just figured
that for liability purposes, I should talk to you directly and maybe have
you sign something saying they have to abide by the rules and you won't hold
me responsible."

        Jean frowned.  "I see.  Do you have something in mind?"

        I certainly did -- I'd been composing it in my head for several
hours -- but I pretended differently.  "I'll come up with something.  In the
meantime would you like to see the pool?"

        "That's probably a good idea..."  I led her outside and showed her
the pool and the sign most easily seen.  Naturally, she asked after the
'Adult Swim' notice.

        "Adult Swim?" she asked, eyeing me.

        "It's more or less formal notice that after a certain time I may
want to bring adults in and we may not want the younger set disturbing us,"
I replied.  It was a carefully tuned answer, but I could see her draw her
own conclusions.

        "I see."  She eyed me dubiously.  "Well, at least you're up-front
about it."

        I shrugged.  "I think it sends a clear signal that the pool isn't
available for horseplay at all hours of the day and night, don't you?"

        "If you say so."  She turned away.  I led her back into the house.
"What would this release look like?" she asked.

        "Kind of like a school sports release, I guess," I pretended to work
through it mentally.  "I'll just whip up something on my computer."  I went
into my study and pretended to spend time composing, then switched tasks to
the document I'd already created.  I sent it to the printer, then took it
back out and whipped it under her nose.  It said:

                       ----------------------------------

I,____________, the undersigned, agreed to hold Cletus Putnam blameless for
any accidents or injuries that occur to myself or my family while using his
swimming pool, hot tub, or other facilities and agree to abide by the posted
rules for those facilities.

Printed name ____________________________

Signature________________________________

Date____________

                       ----------------------------------

        "A shyster lawyer might be able to get around this," I opined, "but
the intent is clear, I would think."

        "Yes," Jean mused, eyeing it.  She looked up and out the front
window to where Michael and her daughter were standing in the yard, looking
in anxiously.  "It should be all right."

        "I'm just covering myself," I muttered.  "It's a sad thing, but
people are so greedy.  One must protect oneself, you know..."

        "True..."  She gathered herself.  "Do you have a pen?"

        It would have been too pat if I'd been standing there with one; I
deliberately scrabbled around for one, coming up with one in my office.
While she signed, I chattered, "Feel free to use it yourself -- I'm sure it
would be welcome after a hard day at work.  Michael says you don't have air
conditioning -- if it stays this bad or gets worse, I might be able to come
up with an inflatable bed or something and give you guys a night's sleep..."

        "Thanks, but..."  I knew Jean would say no -- but the seed would be
planted, and if I now mentioned it to the kids, it wouldn't be a surprise...
She handed me the signed form and headed for the door.  "Thanks so much for
your hospitality..."  She opened the door and the heat blasted in, wilting
her visibly.  "Goodbye."

        "Any time," I replied.  I watched through the window as Jean related
the results of the negotiations and tried to get control of things in the
ensuing uproar -- I could hear Michael's "Yippee!!" clearly and watched him
dance in the yard while Jean tried to caution him regarding rules and
regulations.  In ten seconds or so, they were off like a shot -- and I knew
they would be back in less than ten minutes.  I got myself a pitcher of tea
and headed on back.

        Sure enough, they were coming across the yard in no time.  Michael
made a beeline for the pool, yelling, "Thanks, Cletus!" as he passed my seat
on the deck.  The girl, whose name I didn't know yet, moved past more
sedately in a modest blue one-piece, correcting Michael with, "That's Mr.
Putnam to you!"

        "I told him he could call me Cletus," I argued.  "It's not a
problem."  I got the usual female look that indicated that I shouldn't
interfere in the rules her mother had set down.  Well, fine -- she was going
to have to play by MY rules, wasn't she?

        It took Heather -- that was the girl's name -- about thirteen
seconds to discover my second sign.  "What's this?"

        "Rules for Adult Swim," I said blandly.  "They've been there all
along."

        "No Swimsuits During Adult Swim," she read aloud.  "Use of the Hot
Tub or Sauna is Governed by the Nudity Rule At All Times."  She eyed me
accusingly.

        I stood my ground, looking serious.  "I practice what I guess you'd
call naturism inside my home.  I don't inflict it on others -- but if you're
in my house, I have the right to feel comfortable by making you abide by my
rules.  Your mother signed the paper -- and all you have to do not to see my
hairy old body in all of its parts is leave by seven, and not use the
Jacuzzi or the sauna.  I figure that's fair, since it's an inconvenience to
me to have to wear clothes at all."  She continued to eye me, so I added,
"Anyway, the sign doesn't say anything about me having the right to feel up
young girls."

        "Jeez, Sis -- lighten up!" Michael chided, then turned to me.
"You've got a sauna?"

        "Yeah," I nodded.  "You need to be careful and not spend an ungodly
amount of time in it, or you might get heat stroke.  The way your sister
seems to feel about it, maybe you'd better not plan on using it."

        "Jeezus, Sis," Michael rasped, glaring at Heather.  "You and your
dirty mind."

        "It's okay, Son," I told him, "I've dealt with this before.  We live
in a sick, hung-up society; for a lot of people, the definition of
'naturist' and 'pervert' overlap." I'm both, of course, but this wasn't the
time to mention it.  Actually, by my rules, I'm not a pervert -- but laws
put in place to keep kids from being taken advantage of would define me as
such if one of them crawled into my lap and started playing with my fuck
stick, with or without encouragement, so...

        Let's go into a bit more depth about this.  Both of these kids were
past puberty -- and that slip Heather, in particular, would have been
married and pumping out children -- legally -- at any time up to the early
part of this century right here in this country.  In some other countries,
it would STILL be happening.  But some group of moral watchdogs decided that
she couldn't make the decision to play with a dick responsibly until she was
eighteen and that no one else could help her with it, as that would be
considered exploitation -- and based upon those rather arbitrary criteria,
anyone she might feel inclined to have sex with MUST be a pervert.  Now, we
were ALL young once -- and I know that YOU know a girl who not only was
capable, but MADE the decision to have sex WELL before her eighteenth
birthday -- I can show you places where they have day care for the babies of
middle-school children!  Many -- probably the majority -- of young girls
don't retain their virginity through graduating high school -- so who are we
trying to kid, here?  Why put laws on the books that we KNOW are going to
get broken?  Why pretend that everyone attains sexual maturity at the same
moment in time when we OBVIOUSLY know better?

        As for boys, it's purely a matter of opportunity; they're ready to
fuck from the moment they stop shooting blanks when they masturbate -- say,
thirteen, to be conservative?  Again, there is some variance, but you wave a
cunt in front of just about ANY boy over the age of twelve -- and as long as
his sexual orientation supports being interested, he's gonna dive in!

        So what are these laws, aside from an effort by some VERY hung-up
people to control the activities of everybody else?  Okay, theoretically,
they're there to keep adults from charming the pants off young kids.  Theory
has it that such a thing is exploitation -- and it is, undoubtedly, for
rapists and murderers and anyone who has sex with a child or youth without
their consent.  Let me say right here that under those circumstances, it IS
exploitation -- and worse -- and should be dealt with in that manner, in my
opinion.  But the laws that have been put in place make no distinction
between consensual and non-consensual sex -- it's ALL child-molesting.  And
that, in my opinion, is wrong.

        Why?  Simple.  What we're saying here is that it's better to fumble
in the back seat of a car with a partner who knows no more and probably less
than you do than it is to learn sex from a person experienced in giving and
receiving pleasure from it and knows both the joys and the dangers.  For
girls, it's better to suffer the pain of the abrupt penetration of an over-
excited boy who will undoubtedly ejaculate before he's even in good,
virtually guaranteeing that her first sex act is more painful than
pleasurable, than it is to obtain that first act from an older male who
understands the requirement to pace himself and ensure that once the painful
parts are over, he has plenty of capacity to bring her to pleasure.  For
boys, it's better for them to have to fight their way between a girl's legs,
hoping they're doing something right, then shoot off embarrassingly on her
stomach before he gets going good -- and then suffer the stigma of hearing
about it from the girl's girlfriends -- than to be brought gently along and
educated in pleasuring a female by an experienced woman who KNOWS he's going
to be overexcited, but KNOWS he's good for that second round that will be
good for both of them.  NO WONDER WE'RE STILL IN THE DARK AGES SEXUALLY!  Do
you ever wonder where some of those rapists and murderers come from?
Experts say that rapists, in particular, are generally seeking revenge on
women for being slighted -- usually sexually.  Gee, I wonder how that
happens?

        I imagine that some of you have leapt to the conclusion that I'm
making a case for, say, incest.  Not really.  Although the dangers of incest
are overblown -- you generally need to cross a bloodline more than once to
begin to see serious genetic issues -- they DO exist, and they SHOULD be
minimized, and the incest taboo comes from the observed evidence of what
happens when you pee too often in the gene pool.  That said, while sex
doesn't necessarily lead to procreation it's better to avoid the situation
entirely.  In these enlightened times, though, one would think that we could
get past the blind observance of moral and ethical rules laid down during
periods of relative ignorance and not be as hard on the occasional
practitioners who get caught.

        We've all heard of the practice by some fathers of taking their sons
to a prostitute for their initial sexual education.  Unfortunately, given
the fact that prostitution is illegal just about everywhere in this country,
there are dangers involved.  Don't get me going on prostitution -- or how
many desperate men have committed desperate acts because a small group of
moralist prigs INSIST on making sexual relief impossible to obtain legally
outside of their short list of proper means -- like marriage.  Duh.  There's
a bright idea.  The divorce statistics are clear; getting married just for
sex doesn't work...  The assertion that prostitution is a criminal act is
laughable -- we MADE it criminal!  We MADE it exploitation!  There are
enlightened countries in Western Europe that not only ALLOW prostitution,
but they REGULATE it and TAX it and use the funds to take care of
prostitutes!  For those who claim that sex shouldn't be a business, I can
show you people in Europe and Asia and Africa and South America -- and
probably everywhere else -- who would want to know why not?  As for
immorality -- ever hear of Mary Magdalene?  Did Jesus crap on her?  Why are
there zillions of people in the world who read the Bible and claim to live
by it -- and go out and do the exact opposite of what it says?

        Oops!  I said I wouldn't go there...

        The point is, legally, I'm a pervert -- because I believe that if a
person past the age of puberty wants to make decisions regarding who they
want to have sex with, it's their business, even if they haven't hit the
more or less arbitrary age limit selected by some group of legislators
looking for re-election.  Perhaps I should add here that if you are playing
sex games with little kids whose equipment doesn't even work yet and who
have no sexual desires or interests, you ARE a scumbag and I hope they throw
those same weighty legal tomes at you -- because you ARE exploiting a child!
For me, it's all about whether the equipment works or not; if it doesn't
then pretending it does is wrong.  On the other hand, pretending that it is
wrong for anyone to have sex during the three, four, or maybe even five or
six years between when the equipments works and the person wants sex and
when SOMEBODY decided 'for their own good' that they can is bullshit -- in
my humble opinion.

        All that said -- and I'm sure you went out and got a beer from the
fridge rather than reading the previous discourse -- I had no interest in
the idea of messing with the kids except possibly as an opportunity to feast
my eyes on some young tits.  I had no plans to actively seduce either of
them -- I wanted their mother!  Anything else that happened would be
gravy...

        Back to the confrontation.  I just stood there, looking at Heather
while she glared back self-righteously.  But she didn't get out of the pool,
and after a while, she apparently decided I'd been chastened enough and went
on with her swimming.  I parked my butt in a lounge chair and read a book
while they played, Michael splashing and frolicking while Heather made the
pretense, at least, of enjoying more sedate pleasures.

        As seven o'clock approached, I stood and announced the fact,
clearly.  "Okay, kids, it's almost seven -- you need to head on home."

        "Awww!" Michael pouted.

        "Son, I will NOT get in trouble over this," I told him.  "The rules
are clear, and your sister would LOVE to find hard evidence that I'm some
kind of pervert.  Your mother signed the paper, but I think it's probably
better that your sister tell her anything she might have missed -- and while
I'm aware that when she does, your mother may decide that it isn't safe to
be here any more, I can't just prostitute myself by bending over backwards
to satisfy every little worry she may have."  I said most of this eyeing
Heather; Michael added his glare to the mix, pressuring her, but I wanted
Jean to know what was up, anyway.  "Out you come," I insisted.  "If your
mother says it's okay, you can come back.  Sorry, that's how it is."

        Heather left the pool with her dignity intact, but Michael whined
and complained and fussed and was extremely reluctant.  And ten minutes
after they left, Jean was at the front door.  "What all this about naturism
and naked pool parties?" she demanded.

        I eyed her pretending confusion and a little mild anger.  "I don't
rub people's noses in my choices, but what I do at home is my business.  I
made sure that your kids weren't exposed to anything you might consider
objectionable by sending them home.  What else do you want?"

        Jean looked frustrated.  "Is this for real or some kind of joke?"

        "It's for real," I replied.  "Again, I'm allowing your family the
use of my facilities -- but they're MY facilities, and I make the rules with
MY comfort in mind.  The kids are home all day -- they have plenty of time
to become wrinkled things before the witching hour at seven o'clock.  After
that, if I want to take a dip, it should be MY way."

        "I just don't know..."  Jean bit her lip.

        "If they aren't here," I rasped, "they won't get a class in
comparative anatomy.  You ask them if I did anything unsavory today, before
we all get bent out of shape!  It's all up to you - I won't let them swim if
you don't want them to be here."

        "Thank you."  She turned and left.

        I waited ten minutes, then went out to the pool wearing just a towel
-- and dropped it before entering the water.  I KNOW I was being watched...