Sam wished he’d put his tank top back on. All of a sudden he felt very under-dressed. “Oh, um…That’s okay. I’ll just go through the garage.”

She sidestepped and cut him off, shaking her head. “Mr. Murray’s new hotrod is in there, and he hates it when anyone else goes in.” She rolled her eyes. “Men and their cars. Sorry, Sammy. But you’ll have to use the outdoor shower.”

Sam considered making a run for it. He was probably faster than her, even laden down with a bucket of tools and the pole. Fuck, she hasn’t paid me yet. That settled it, he had to play her game for a while longer.

Mrs. Murray turned and led him back toward the pool. Against the house on the other side of the small outdoor kitchen, the Murrays had a small bathroom. It was tiled in dark greens and blues, so the confined space felt like you were drowning in the ocean. Unfortunately, it was only a half-bath with a toilet and small sink. The shower was just outside the bathroom. It was plumbed so water would come straight down from the dark bronze head and tiled in natural stone. If it weren’t for the five-foot-high bamboo panel, anyone using it would be completely exposed to the backyard.

Sam managed to hold back a scowl but only barely. “Do you have any towels? I’ll rinse off really quick.”

Mrs. Murray went into the bathroom and emerged with a thick white towel, draping it on a black wire rack. “Best use the soap. Oh, and make sure you give those a good ring out. We don’t want any chlorine getting on the new carpet.”

He dropped the tools and gave Mrs. Murray a tight-lipped smile. “Of course.” Kicking off his flip flops, he cranked the knobs to get the water running. Water gushed out of the showerhead like it was raining. A wide, heavy stream of water splashed down. If he weren’t so upset, he may have enjoyed the experience. The Murrays’ outdoor shower was nicer than his indoor shower.

As it was, Sam wasn’t very happy. Before he dared take off his swim trunks, he waited until Mrs. Murray was sitting in one of the lounge chairs beside the pool. He scooted the bamboo partition until he was satisfied she couldn’t see anything through the crack where the panels hinged together. With a grunt, Sam yanked the clingy trunks off and started rinsing them. He went so far as to get a good lather of soap going and actually wash the garment. The last thing he wanted was Mrs. Murray trying to get him into her son’s shorts again because his had traces of chlorine. The trunks were synthetic, and water wrung out of them easily. Tossing them over the towel rack, Sam stepped fully into the shower.

The deluge hit him like a wall of water. It had excellent pressure, and after over an hour of brushing the swimming pool, it felt glorious on his aching muscles. It had been a warm day, but the breeze had wicked away the sweat and water and whatever heat his body had accumulated. The goosebumps on his body disappeared. It was like climbing into a warm bed after a long day.

Keeping with the tropical theme, the shampoo smelled of coconut. There wasn’t any facewash, so, guy that he was, the shampoo did double duty. His face turned to the sky, and he let the water rinse away the suds. His tense muscles weren’t just due to the work. Everything that had happened with Mr. Williams, with Judy…with him and Ash…not to mention the ever-present stress of having to have perfect grades, worrying about his mom working too much, and wanting to help her however he could.

It all weighed on him, and he exhaled a deep breath, trying to let the worries swirl down the drain with the water and carpet-ruining chemicals. Even if it was just for a few minutes. The water pounded on his shoulders, driving out the ache of more than just tense muscles. He picked up the bar of soap and closed his eyes to better enjoy the heat on his face, lathering up his chest and stomach.

“Need help getting your back?”

His eyes flew open, and he fought the urge to turn around. The natural stone was rough and lumpy as he pressed himself against it. The soap slipped out of his hands and plopped in the shallow puddle at his feet.

“What—what are you doing? I’m naked!” He cranked his head to look over his shoulder. Mrs. Murray was bent over picking up the soap. When she stood, his eyes bulged. The strappy bikini was gone, and so were her sunglasses, but those were less relevant to the situation at hand.

“I noticed.” Stepping forward, Mrs. Murray passed through the downstream of water, moving her head aside so her hair didn’t get wet. The water crashed into her shoulders and breasts, dimpling her supple flesh. Streams of the clear liquid sluiced off her breasts, funneling down her cleavage in a thick torrent. Smaller rivulets of water trickled from her nipples, the darker skin pursed like they were waiting for a kiss. With another step, she exited the water. Beads of it clung to her like sparkling dewdrops. She rubbed her palms together, working up a thick lather of white bubbles, and then before he could say anything, her hands were on his shoulders, kneading his muscles and spreading the suds over his back.

“Um—um—um—I don’t think this was built for two. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll be done in a minute.” Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the sensation of her cool, smooth palms running up and down his back.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“You poor, sweet boy. Pining after that girl when she doesn’t even see you.”

“Um…what?” His thoughts whirled like the vortex of water funneling down the drain at their feet. “No—no, it—it’s fine. Veronica and I are probably going to the dance together.”

She leaned closer. He could feel the heat of her body radiating into his, could feel the supple flesh of her breasts pressing against his back. “She flounces around with that spoiled rugby player right in front of you. Rubbing your face in it.”

Oh. She means Ash. Pressing against the stone wall, he shook his head as best he could. “No, it’s not like that. We’re just friends—best friends since we were kids.”

“She settles for sirloin when she could have Wagyu tenderloin.” Her hands kneaded and lathered farther down his back.

“I…I don’t know what that means, but thanks, I guess. Um, I think I can handle it from here. Thanks for—woah!” Mrs. Murray’s hands slid from his lower back down to his ass. Without thinking, Sam twirled around, jerking his tender buns out of her clutches and almost slipping on the soapy floor.

Mrs. Murray’s eyes flew open, and her jaw dropped. Too late, Sam realized what he’d done. He may have taken his buns out of the frying pan, but he’d put something much more delicate right in the fire.

“Oh, Sammy… I knew you had a gift, but I never suspected…” Her eyes were locked on like a hawk diving for its dinner.

He wanted to yell Hey, eyes up here! “Um…” was all he could think to say.

Her gaze snapped to his, and she stepped forward, leaning until her mouth was a hair’s breadth from his ear, her breasts pressing against his chest. He tried to back away, but the stone wall was immovable. He settled for wishing with all his heart that Mr. Murray didn’t choose that moment to come home.

“She doesn’t deserve you, Sammy.”

It took him a moment to remember what she had been talking about.

“She doesn’t see you. Doesn’t see how you treat her, how you care for her.” Her hands pressed against his abdomen. He flinched as they brushed his sides—despite the circumstances, he was still very much ticklish. Her voice was a throaty whisper. “She doesn’t deserve you.” Her left hand drifted down his stomach, past his waist, and she grabbed a handful of him. They both uttered a low moan, for similar, but very different reasons.

Mrs. Murray reached up and adjusted the showerhead so the cascading stream gushed over them. The liquid pooled between their chests, dribbling down their sides in thick rivulets. A stream ran down her left arm, curled around the back of her hand, and trickled down his balls. Despite himself, a throb slammed through his body. Mrs. Murray smirked, then slowly began to pump her hand, a faint scent of coconuts wafting with each stroke.

“I think…" The words caught in his throat. "I think it’s clean now…”

“Shhh, Sammy. I’ll give you everything you deserve. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His eyes fluttered closed. “What about—” He had to swallow before the words would come. “What about Mr. Murray?”

“I don’t begrudge him his fun, and he doesn’t begrudge me mine.”

What would it hurt? He didn’t know where the thought came from, but it was hard to argue with. It was hard to concentrate, to think of a reason why he should stop Mrs. Murray. His eyes fluttered and another moan slipped through his lips.

What about Veronica? What about Ash? The thoughts jolted through his brain, with them came his mental faculties. If he weren't pressed against the hard rock wall he'd have jerked away from Mrs. Murray's warm body. He opened his mouth to stop her, but before the first syllable could form, a new voice rang out.

“Mom! What the hell?” Mike Murray’s eyes were wide, confusion and fury on his face. His eyes bounced between his mom, her hand and Sam. “Sam? Dude, what the actual fuck? You’re bangin’ my mom?”

Sam pushed away from the wall and wrenched—ahem, himself—out of Mrs. Murray’s grasp. “No, Mike, it’s not like—”

“Holy shit, dude! Do you have a concealed carry permit for that canon?” Mike took an involuntary step back, tripping over the towel rack and going down.

“Honey!” Mrs. Murray slipped in the soapy water and almost went down, too, but she skidded her way to her son, reaching to help him up. Mike vacillated between accepting her help and not wanting to be near his naked mom or grabbing that hand.

What the fuck am I doing here? The towel and his clothes were draped over the towel rack, underneath the struggling teenager. Sam didn’t want to go anywhere near Mrs. Murray’s reach.

He ran. The Murrays would just have to deal with water, soap, and chlorine getting on their new carpet. Sam didn’t slow down as he barreled out the front door, down the porch, across the yard, and over the hedge. It was still broad daylight, but his pale ass ran like it was on fire. A car’s horn blared, but Sam didn’t look back to see if it had anything to do with him. It was his first experience running naked, especially with a full-on erection. He did not recommend it.

Slamming the door behind him, he threw the bolt and slumped against it. Hands on knees, he bent double to catch his breath. All his tools, supplies, and clothes were still next door, but there was no way he was going back for them. And he definitely wasn’t going to be asking Mrs. Murray for his pay. He would have to come up with a reason for the Williams to move. There was no way he could face Mrs. Murray again.

Or Mike. Oh, god… What would Sam do when he saw Mike at school? It was a good thing it was Spring Break. Maybe everything would blow over by the time they returned to school.

Another honk sounded from the street, and Sam cringed. Then he realized that the Williams’ front door had a full glass panel. It was decorative glass, but with his bare ass pressed against it, there was no denying that he was mooning the entire neighborhood.

“Fuck me!” He threw himself away from the door and ran to Ash’s room where his outfit from earlier was waiting.