The Pool Boy Read online

  How could Tacoma do something like that? Wasn’t he mine? Hadn’t I paid him to be mine? Why? What was going on between them in the pool boy’s bedroom? And how clueless could I have been not to know that they were more than just close friends? How naïve of me! How stupid!

  Suddenly, they stopped kissing and they were saying things to each other. Dirty talk. Smooth words. Something I couldn’t hear. Some type of connection with syllables and nouns and adjectives. Full sentences, from the way their lips kept moving. I felt hearing-impaired in the secret room, hidden from them. All by myself.

  Jesus Christ, what were they saying to each other? What? I wanted to know. I had to know. At least for my sanity’s sake.

  My view concentrated on Katz’s muscular arms as he held the pool boy against him, then he pulled off and away from his sexual partner, mouthed something to Tacoma that I couldn’t hear, and continued with a session of strong and potent kisses that looked harmful, intent, and against the pool boy’s soft and summery skin.

  Quickly, violently, heatedly, minute after minute, and man against man, they continued their sexual romp with each other. I watched, numb and mesmerized, disgusted and open-mouthed as Katz fucked Tacoma. My temperature rose and fell as if I would puke because of the scene. It became torture for me to sit there and watch their disgusting sexual actions, digesting their man-dance on Tacoma’s bed. I could have ripped my eyes out because of its ugliness, although I didn’t, and continued to stare. Honestly, my entire body stung with pain, including my heart and soul, and my head. I became outraged with their harsh act as they banged together: Katz’s cock entering Tacoma’s bottom again and again and again. They were torturing me. Torturing me! Pure torture!

  How dare Tacoma bring Katz Strong on my property and into my house! How dare he not tell me that he shared a sexual connection with the man! How could he make me feel and act like a fool? How and why?

  Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision. The tiny and hidden room was far too hot and stagnant for me. It felt dingy, worse than an underground bar with sexy, lusting whore-men. I felt uncomfortable in the camera room and needed to leave, to find oxygen. I couldn’t stay there. I wouldn’t. How dare Tacoma and Katz have sex in front of me: licking, biting, sucking, kissing, humping, grinding together, and fucking. Men charged by sex. Men who missed each other. Flesh mixed with flesh. How dare Tacoma lie to me. How could he? How?

  Chapter 47: Rough Boy

  I continued to watch them have at each other. Katz chanted something to Tacoma I couldn’t hear. Positioned between Tacoma’s legs, Katz gritted his teeth and smiled down at his man. He gently lathered Tacoma’s nipples with saliva and it caused the pool boy to arch his back. New sweat formed on both guys in various places as they became steady and rhythmic with their motion: Katz pounding Tacoma, and the pool boy rising his center to his friend’s heated and abrupt thrusts. Their motion like that continued for the next few minutes: chaos and beauty mixed on the bed; an exploration of young sex between male bodies; lust between friends from different sides of the country.

  What I saw that surprised or shocked me the most on Camera 21 was how flexible Katz was: the way he kept his erection inside Tacoma, pleasuring the pool boy, riding his insides, and how he had somehow and someway arched his back and looked as if he were sitting up, but he wasn’t sitting up, and then he bent his neck forward and brought his tongue down to the top of Tacoma’s cock and licked its slip once, twice, three times, and caused his bed partner to squirm in ecstasy. The pool boy’s shaft was hard and long, cut nicely with a round, ball-like head. And Tacoma, bothered and troubled and frazzled, and obviously in a high state of bliss, quickly shook his head left and right because of the action.

  They were no longer boys, I realized. Far from it. They were passionate men in Tacoma’s bedroom, lust-driven, and sexually experienced. They were beyond anything I thought them to be. More than friends. More than children. More than just a summer pool boy and his childhood pal. That was the truth I discovered. Painful knowledge. The reality. Tacoma and Katz were not boys. They weren’t. I’d underestimated everything about them. Both of them. Everything.

  * * * *

  It was time to turn off the computer in the secret room, finding and thinking my task and discovery useless. There was no reason to be there a moment longer.

  But I couldn’t leave. I wouldn’t, glued in my seat, and I continued to watch Camera 21 with wide eyes and fury and anger and trepidation and pain and bitterness and longing and shock.

  I frowned as my heart leaped within my chest, and as sweat poured down and over my brow. And then I took a long sip of my third drink and whispered to no one but myself, “What have you done to me, Tacoma? What have you done to us?”

  They moved passionately together on the bed as if they were meant to be together as boyfriends and lovers. Katz Strong and Kent Tacoma forever. It caused me to drink more of my beverage, keeping my buzz.

  I watched as Katz leaned over Tacoma and I saw the tightness of his ass pinch as he fucked my pool boy, gaining speed and thrusting Tacoma wildly. I saw their bodies meet and pull away. And I thought, How can Tacoma, my pool boy, want another man besides me? How can he want Katz inside him? How can he be in love with Katz? What have I done wrong? How have I treated him badly?

  Katz’s labor continued as he bolted his hips in a slamming action against Tacoma’s rear. He became a rough boy as his abs were like thunderous waves, rolling with his movement, a steady jarring motion that I found stimulating and enjoyable, yet disgusting at the same time. Such a fiasco to watch. A train wreck that I couldn’t peel my eyes away from. Ludicrous play between the young men.

  Katz said something down to Tacoma, and the pool boy responded; again, I couldn’t hear their words, blocked from their communication. Instead, I could only witness the continuous and rushed pounding the pool boy could take from Katz. Minutes after minutes. Pandemonium between the men on the bed. Both of them drowning in sweat, perhaps swimming in each other’s perspiration.

  To my awestruck disbelief, I studied Tacoma on his back: the way he moved his tight and bulbous rump forward and backward for Katz; consuming his friend’s dick down to its hilt, riding all of its length, and finding much pleasure in the act; inch after inch of his friend inside him, balls hitting and slapping against his backside, taking on the rough boy as if he had done it a hundred or more times before, perhaps under Katz’s sexual spell. As boyfriends. As God damn lovers.

  Katz repositioned himself. He sat up on his knees but still continued to thrust his dick inside Tacoma. Then he took Tacoma’s cock in his right hand and began to stroke the beef up and down. Quick shifts. Speedy. Unstoppable. Relentless.

  Tacoma gasped, whined, and groaned, all of which I couldn’t hear, but could see on his face in the camera. I watched with tears in my eyes, dick limp between my legs, a mystery, confusion in my head, and sordid thoughts of my relationship with the young man.

  Katz stroked his friend off while he banged him, hard, his hand wrapped around Tacoma’s dick. And Tacoma pushed into Katz’s palm and fingers, enjoying being played with, on a cloud of pleasure. His eyes lit up and the genteel smile on his face caused his cheeks to look numb. Tacoma couldn’t keep his load in, though. Clearly, Katz’s handjob didn’t last very long. His dick-into-hand thrusts quickened, harder and harder, fucking Katz’s fist. His cheeks became flushed and he batted his eyes. I saw him grind his teeth together and his nostrils flared. Within just a few minutes he was ready to burst his load every which way, prepared to become spent, and quickly.

  The room where I sat was filled with nothing more than silence. The ice in my drink had completely melted, watering down my cocktail. The quiet didn’t stop the activity in Tacoma’s room. On the contrary, the young men kept at it, busy at their sexual doings, occupied, lusting for each other, binging on sex, addicts of pleasure.

  I watched Tacoma buck his hips upward, fall back on the mattress, and upward again. Seconds turned into minutes. He
huffed and puffed on the monitor in front of me. His entire body broke out in droplets of sweat, creating a piece of artwork. Then he vibrated on the bed, created fists with his hands, and released his creamy load. Ejaculation shot out of his stiff dick and hit the center of Katz’s chest, directly between his hairy pecs. The load hung there like icicles. His burst occurred quickly and steadily as Katz continued to crank his rod until nothing more could spurt from its narrow cock-slit, completely draining the tool. Spent.

  Another surprise occurred for me. Katz didn’t come. He honestly didn’t. He simply removed his dick from Tacoma’s bottom, pulled the used condom off, tossed it in the nearby garbage can, and fetched a towel for cleanup.

  They shared the towel, wiping goo, lube, and sweat away until they were semi-clean. Thereafter, both of them sexually drained, time being unimportant, they kissed. The kiss was long and steady and romantic. A kiss that you might see in an independent movie. One of those everlasting kisses or moments that stops time; a kiss that you won’t forget for years or decades.

  And then the night seemed to end for the two of them, but not the way I expected it to. What I expected: for Katz to find the sheet on the floor, bring it to the bed; for him to spoon Tacoma and cover their naked bodies with the sheet; and to hold each other as they would fall asleep in each other’s arms.

  What really happened that Camera 21 picked up: Katz climbed off the bed after kissing Tacoma, brushed a palm through his mussed hair; picked up his boxers off the floor and slipped into them; exited the room without looking back and without kissing Tacoma; and Tacoma lay naked on the bed, staring at the ceiling; an unsmiling face, uncertainty in eyes, blankness.

  How strange. How very strange, I thought, and ended my evening of being a voyeur.

  Chapter 48: Ghost

  I never heard ghosts walking within the lake house during my residence there. No one had ever died on the property that I knew. Nor had the act of suicide taken place there. Spirits of the dead did not roam about the house’s long halls or in the spare and empty rooms. But ghosts walked inside my mind after what I had viewed in my secret, camera room.

  I couldn’t sleep. I wouldn’t sleep without first confronting Katz; the only ghost, goblin, or supernatural being in the night, haunting me.

  I was angry. How couldn’t I be? Yet, I thought it terribly late to make a fuss about the two young men’s sexual encounter. To bide my time, I walked in circles around my bedroom, bit my nails, and tried to keep my sanity. How long could I sustain my pent-up rage for Katz? For the way he had pushed himself into my world along the lake, how he’d licked and humped and fucked the pool boy behind my back? Honestly, I couldn’t stay locked up all night without sleep, stirring with urges to throttle Katz with my bare hands, wanting to murder him, to stop oxygen getting to his brain. Had I become the ghost within the house? Perhaps so. Indeed.

  I stepped out into the hallway with its wood flooring, with the shimmering, overhead light hanging from the ceiling, moonlight caught in its dancing shards, and began my walk to Katz’s room. The boards creaked beneath my feet and I began mumbling as the ghost I had become, “I can’t handle this…I can’t handle this…I can’t handle this. Face reality and your conflict, Robert.”

  Chapter 49: Suffocation

  The door to Katz’s room was unlocked. After entering, I sat on the edge of his bed, gripped his right arm, and shook him a little bit. He stirred at first, groaned, but he didn’t wake up. His naked skin smelled of sex, which caused my stomach to turn sour. Mumbling sounds escaped his opened mouth as he began to roll away from me. I pulled him back toward me by his shoulder, used a little more force, strained fingers against his bones and muscles, but he didn’t budge.

  I burned with anger for him, boiling with rage, and something wicked came over me that turned sinful. He moved on his back, which pleased me, and I—I could still see him with the pool boy, feasting on Tacoma’s skin, nipples, thighs, and dick, invading the pool boy with his erection again and again and again, fucking him hard and harder—positioned my right hand against the smoothness of his neck and pressed his esophagus closed by using my thumb and fingers, squeezed ever so slightly, then harder, and harder, and harder…

  He stirred at first, like any struggler in their sleep would, particularly one who was facing danger. I pressed his neck area a little harder, just for the hell of it, then even harder, and had my left hand pinned against his left shoulder to keep him from rousing too much, preventing him from moving, rising, and getting away from me. Because bad little bitch-boys shouldn’t get away, right? I smelled cigarettes and beer and sex on his breath. I smelled his sweat, every single drop. While squeezing his neck, attempting to suffocate him, I recalled him touching the pool boy’s rump and hips, the pool boy’s lips against his own, the pool boy’s fingers and lips, and the area between the pool boy’s legs, and so many other places that I had fallen in lust and love with throughout the summer weeks, feeling as if I owned the pool boy, believing that the pool boy was mine, all mine. I pressed and pressed and pressed on Katz’s throat, beginning to take the life out of him, locking my fingers and thumb around the cords and flesh of his tight throat, taking his breath away, wanting to take his life away, because I was angry at him, because he had fucking pissed me off, because I hated and loathed him, because he was a piece of shit, and no one along the lake would steal the pool boy away from me. No one. Not even him.

  He opened his eyes like prey in a horror flick: wide, alert, sudden. Blue circles flared broad in the shadows of the night and gawked at me. Katz tried to rise from the bed, but he couldn’t because of my weight against his neck and shoulder, because he was pinned to the bed. Panic rose in him: on his face and throughout his body. Then he tried to scream, but I acted quickly. I blocked his alarm with my other hand by closing my fingers and its palm over his mouth, preventing him from screaming, and pushed down on his face, but mostly his mouth area. The force kept the rear of his head buried against his pillow. His body wriggled but he wasn’t going anywhere, and his blue-blue eyes (the same color as the pool water during the afternoon hours) grew wider and wider in fear. Katz realized that he was suffocating. In danger. In trouble. Robert Fine’s victim. The poor little spoiled bitch-boy.

  “Don’t fucking move. And don’t think of screaming. I will kill you, Katz. Don’t think I won’t.”

  I could have killed him but didn’t. Something sane prevented me. Rather, I pulled my hands away from his mouth and neck, laughed down at him. I brushed my palms together in a feat well accomplished, watched him sit up, and listened to him cough. For the next minute or so he gagged for air, searching for breath, and life. I watched and waited for him to come back into reality again.

  He coughed and coughed and coughed.

  Poor thing.

  I didn’t feel bad for him in the slightest.

  He tried to take Tacoma from me.

  Fucking little bitch-boy. He deserved all my shit.

  Chapter 50: Jump

  After coughing long and hard, Katz blurted, “What the fuck? You tried to choke me to death!”

  I crossed one leg over the other and stated, “You’re quite mistaken. Calm down and listen to me. There’s something important I need to tell you.”

  Katz breathed heavily in and out and gasped for air. “You’re fucking crazy, man. You’re out of your fucking mind!” He rubbed his neck with both palms where I pinned him to the bed.

  Again, I laughed. I bounced one leg on the other, patient and calm, enjoying my visit with him. I shrugged one shoulder, winked at him. “Perhaps. Maybe not. The jury is still out on that decision.” I leaned forward and ran a finger along the young man’s right cheek to remove the tears that formed in his right eye and fell southward. “Don’t overreact, Katz. Calm down. Don’t make me think that you’re crazy.”

  He was still panicked and pulled his head from my touch, backed up on the bed as far as he could, shaking all over. He continued to cough and attempted to catch his breath. “You tried to
kill me.”

  I stared at his nervous and frightened form against the headboard. He was a misshapen ball there, sitting on his knees, scared out of his mind. I sneered at him, feeling in charge, believing him my toy, or prey, and told him, “As a matter of fact, I did. No harm no foul, though. You’re still breathing, Katz. You’re still alive. Any sane man would have murdered you by now and buried you in the woods. I think you should call yourself lucky.”

  “Fuck you, old man!”

  I placed a finger up to my lips, whispered, “Hush now, you’ll wake the pool boy. We don’t want that.”

  He leaped off the bed, naked and frightened, and rushed to the sliding glass doors, slid them open, and stepped out and onto the narrow balcony that overlooked the East Garden, the patio below, and Erie Lake in the distance. His body shivered in the pale moonlight. Weak knees clattered together as his shoulders arched forward in fear.

  Patiently, I sat on the edge of the bed, looked at his floppy, rather long, and used cock between his legs, the blondish bush there, sweat on his thighs, and listened to his chattering teeth. “Where are you going, Katz? Are you going to jump off the balcony? We both know that if you jump, you’ll break your legs on impact. It’s all cement at the bottom. Think about a better escape.”

  He looked at me, then over the balcony. His right hand touched his neck again and he gave it a hurried rub.

  “Actually, you don’t have to go anywhere, young man. I won’t hurt you anymore. I just needed to wake you. As I’ve already told you, there’s something important I have to tell you.”

  The poor thing looked petrified: shaking, wide eyes, chest heaving. He entered the room again and dove for anything he could find to cover up his nakedness. Nothing in his vicinity could be used for cover, so he shielded the goods with his hands. Standing inside the room again, near the sliding glass door, no longer having the intention of jumping, he said, “Just say what you have to say, asshole, and get the fuck out of here so I can get dressed.”