Chapter 3: By the Pool

I got home just after 2pm and took all my bags up to my room. Dropping them on the floor, I lay on my bed to rest for a few moments before I would organize my purchases. At least that’s what I told myself, but the exhaustion of the day caught up to me and I just passed out.

The next thing I knew, I heard persistent knocking on the door. From the tone, it seemed like whoever it was had been knocking for a while. The lack of anyone saying anything gave me a hint to who it might be. Rousing myself, I stumbled over to the door and opened it to see Peter on the other side. Before I could say anything, he raised his hands, as if in apology, “Sorry, I just wanted to check in on you. I tried calling but didn’t get any response, so I got worried.”

I nodded, “It’s okay. I guess I didn’t sleep all that well last night. That, combined with the shopping, I think I lost track of the time and passed out.” I opened the door completely, and instead of staying outside, he let himself into my room.

Jeez, this guy needed to learn to respect my privacy, I grumbled inwardly. I would expect this sort of treatment for a boy, let alone for his own daughter.

He looked at the bags strewn on the floor and with an awry grin on his face, leaned down to go through what I had purchased. Of course, the first thing his eyes would land on were the lingerie that Liz had gifted me and picked them out of the bag. I snatched it out of his hand and shoved it back in to the bag and took them all over to my closet.

Turning back, I glared at him, “Did you need something Peter?” I had decided that if he couldn’t act like a Father, then in return I wouldn’t give him the honor of calling him Dad.

He was looking at me with an appraising look. It seemed like he was reevaluating me in some way, or even worse, imagining me in the item he was just holding. Shrugging, he said, “Actually, I was wanted to let you know that we were thinking of getting into the pool. I just cleaned it today and it’s a beautiful day. So, I was hoping you could join us?”

With a suspicious look on my face, I asked, “Mom’s joining us too?”

He replied, “She will, once she gets home. At least that’s what we decided on when I was cleaning the pool in the morning. It’s 4pm, and she only had the single class today at one pm. So, she should back pretty soon. I was going to change and get in now.”

“That’s fine then. I’ll wait till she gets home.” I said. There was no way I was stripping down to my bare essentials with only Peter around.

The man actually had the audacity to look hurt when I said that. It was like he said split personality. “You sure kiddo? It’s really beautiful outside. It’s a crime to waste this wonderful weather. Tell you what, just change and come get some sun. You can get in to the pool once Jane arrives?” He pleaded.

I was reluctant to buy his baloney, but he made a valid point. I had spoken to Mom (I had decided to refer to Jane as Mom since she had already made a place for herself in my heart), and we had spoken about spending time in the pool. I wasn’t sure if she had meant that to mean today, or in general, but I could always beg off to spend time with her if she came home and wasn’t interested in entering the pool.

Putting my reluctance aside, I nodded, “Fine. Let me get ready and I’ll join you.” Peter got really excited at that, and with a big smile exited my room, closing the door behind himself.

I locked the door just to be sure he didn’t come bursting back in. I paused to contemplate the complicated relation between Anna and her Father. I sat on the bed and tried pulling up any memories regarding their interactions over the past few years to try and understand when things had gotten so bad. But try as I may, I was unable to pull them up. I then tried to pull up memories about Mom, and again the efforts were for naught. All I was getting was a multi-colored haze. Older memories for both of them were available in great detail, but none of the newer memories were available for me to peruse. What I did notice however, was that for each of the memories there was a general color around them. The happy memories were tinged with a shade of gold, while the sadder ones bordered on red. The family had a dog named Sherry many years back. She passed away a long time ago. The memories of Sherry dying were almost black in color. It gave me a gradation schema with plans to build a ‘color classification system’.

My analytical mind started coming up with a thought experiment. I started sketching out the timeline of Anna’s body development. Her breasts started growing around the age of 12, but it was really over the last 9 months that she had truly blossomed as a charming young lady.

I then tried to pull memories for both her parents over the last 4 years. Going from the earliest memories to the present day. The results for Peter were exactly as I guessed, Anna’s general attitude towards Peter had gone from golden to a dark red during this period. With the biggest change occurring over the last 6 months. I guess I wouldn’t know what he did, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out based on his behavior from earlier today. What did come as a surprise though, was Anna’s emotions towards her mother. They stayed golden the whole time, but over the last few months, roughly when her relationship with Peter was tanking, Anna’s memories of Jane were steadily getting more purple, conveying a strong sense of longing and almost sexual desire. I think her father’s emotional abuse had resulted in looking at her mother more and more as her sexual ideal.

Not that any of this mattered if Jane didn’t reciprocate, but if she did, then hoo boy, things were going to get hot and heavy in this house. While incest wasn’t really my thing, Jane wasn’t really my mother, at least not mentally.

Having sorted out some of these details still didn’t help me in figuring out how to deal with Peter. The man was like a bull in a china shop, not knowing when to stop. I didn’t hate the guy (yet!), and he hadn’t taken any physical action that would leave any permanent scars, physical or emotional (again, yet!). I didn’t want to let it get that far either, so I needed a strategy where I could control him and where I had power over him.

I wasn’t getting anywhere with these thoughts, so I shelved them and walked over to the closet and pulled out the bag with my new swimwear. I had purchased two outfits, and I was definitely not wearing the risqué one with Peter around. With a bit of an evil grin, I thought that I’d save it for when I was alone with Mom. Stripping down, I wore the white bikini and looked at myself in the mirror. It looked spectacular on me, highlighting my sleek body.

Looking at my reflection and how exposed I was, I did start reconsidering hanging out with Peter. The last thing I wanted was to give Peter the wrong idea or encourage him to act out on his desires. I knew that he had never seen me in anything this revealing in a long time. Looking at the time of day, I told myself that Mom should be here at any moment, if not already downstairs and headed out of the door.

I hadn’t paid attention to my phone since waking up. If I had, I would have seen a message from Mom. Apparently, she was running late because a colleague was sick, and she had to cover his class. She wouldn’t be home till 7pm and had sent it to both Peter and me at 3:50pm!

Ignorant of these developments, I walked down to join Peter by the poolside. I had purchased a couple of sarongs to go with the swimsuits and had chosen to wear a red one to accompany the white suit.

Walking out, I saw Peter had set up three reclining chaise lounges with beach towels draped over them and a small table with what looked like lemonade. He was occupying the middle one and was sipping a glass full of the drink. Instead of a normal bathing suit, he was wearing a speedo, something you would expect on a beach in Europe. I knew if I said something, then it would give him an opportunity to say something about my outfit and I didn’t want to give him that opportunity.

He was wearing sunglasses but as I walked over, I could sense his gaze on me. I adjusted the location of the chaise, positioning it a little further from him, took off the sarong and dropped it next to the chaise. As I was moving through these actions, Peters gaze made me very conscious of how I was moving. As I leaned over, I could feel my boobs swaying, with a little sweat starting to gather in my cleavage. I could feel my hair falling forward, hiding my face from his vision. I realized that I was unintentionally giving him a titillating scene for his spank bank.

Peter stood up and gestured with a bottle of suntan lotion, “Kiddo, you don’t look like you applied any sunblock? Lie down and I’ll get your back or you’ll burn. Let’s not tempt the cancer gods.”

Given that I was of Indian origin in my past life, I almost always skipped wearing suntan lotion. So, I had honestly forgotten how important it was to protect skin as fair as Anna’s. If I had, I would definitely have put it in on before coming down. As it stood, I now had no choice but to give Peter the chance to satisfy one of his perverted fantasies.

“Okay, but only the back. I can get the rest.” I said as I lay down on my front.

He waited till I was comfortable, put the bottle of lotion and his sunglasses on the table next to me. Leaning over, he moved my hair away from my back and draped it over the chair. Then quickly, using both hands, he untied the bikini strings from my neck and back in one tug. I gritted my teeth in anger and cursed myself for using a single knot. Raising my head, I gave him a look, implying that he shouldn’t take things too far. But the look was lost on the man, he was too busy salivating over the large expanse of nearly naked flesh that he had access to. I calmed myself by reminding myself that mom should be home anytime now (sigh, if only I knew).

Pouring some lotion on his hand, he started gently rubbing in the lotion starting at my neck and shoulders. Instantly I knew that I was in dangerous territory.

Let me explain why; one of the favorite activities that my wife and I used to indulge in, was getting a massage. Over the years, we’d probably spent upwards of several thousand dollars hunting down places to get the best massages. Over time, we’d stopped asking for anything short of a 90-minute massage and if we had the time got pampered with 2-hour long massages.

Now, back to the story, and why I was in trouble. From his initial touch, I could immediately tell that Peter was a trained masseur. From the way he rubbed my neck and shoulders, I knew that he knew what he was doing, and it was a struggle not to love it. I let out an involuntary moan, which drew a chuckle from him.

He continued to rub in the lotion into my neck and shoulders and said, “wow your back is in a tight mess.” To which I replied, “yeah someone’s been giving me a tough time recently,” in what I hoped was a biting tone.

He paused his massage for a second, and then continued, “I’m really sorry if I haven’t been the ideal Father. I’ve been pre-occupied with work and your Mom’s also busy and we’ve just not had a chance to be a family. I promise to be better in the future.” I didn’t realize how much of a hypocrite he was being right then, not having seen the text message from Mom.

I didn’t say anything in response and just let him continue to rub in the lotion. I guess he felt that the silence was awkward, so he kept talking, “Did you know that I was a professional masseur for many years? It’s actually how I earned money through college. I was employed with one of those chain spas at a location down by Pacific Beach. Boy, some of the stories I could tell you about the people that came there. Those were crazy times. When we first got together, your mother used to love my massages, they used to drive her crazy. She’d have multiple orgasms before we were done.”

I turned and glared at him, “TMI Peter. I really didn’t need to know about you and Mom getting it on.” I noticed his eyes staring down at me, and I looked down and realized that I had lifted enough to give him a nearly complete glimpse of my boobies. Squeaking, I lay back down and could hear him laugh. Blushing, I decided not to respond.

He stopped talking and focused on the massage proper now. He was done with my upper back at this point and was starting to focus on the lower back and the sides. He’d make these large and long strokes going from the tip of my spine down to where my bikini bottoms began and then back up. His hands were large enough, that his hand nearly spanned the full width of my waist. He’d occasionally pause to gather more lotion, but for the most part, he focused on working out the knots in my back.

The fatigue from the day was starting to hit me again, and subconsciously I was laying down my defenses as he worked on my back. Sensing this, he started increasing the range of his massage. Starting with my lower back, with every stroke, he’d gently nudge my bikini bottom a little. On the upstroke, his fingers were spread out a little so that they were beginning to graze the sides of my body, near but not quite touching my boobs.

I was so relaxed that I didn’t even notice these small liberties that he was taking. Peter was being very smooth about it, without rushing things. I guess he’d learned from experience on how to get women to lower their inhibitions on the massage table. The only thing missing was some soothing music and I would have fallen asleep under his ministrations.

He was extremely thorough, carefully coating every available inch of exposed skin, without raising any flags. He made sure to gently raise my arms without jostling me to cover them in oil, but then instead of laying them back on my side he let them fall over the sides of the chair. This did two things; it stretched my body to give him a bit more access to my boobs and it meant that when he stood next to my head, my arms now brushed his legs. Again, small victories for him but they were accumulating.

The sun was beating down on both of us and I could feel myself starting to sweat. By now Peter had spent quite a while on my back, getting to me calm down and accept his hands on me. So, when he continued down to my legs, all I did was sleepily mumble a few half-protests. I both wanted and did not want him to continue. He brushed aside my concerns and told me to relax and enjoy the massage.

He started with my feet, applying sufficient pressure to sooth the pressure points in my soles without hurting me. He’d alternate between my feet, liberally applying the oil. If I was fully conscious, I would have noticed how long he was spending on my feet, rhythmically running his fingers through each of my toes. As a guy, I’ve never been hugely fascinated by women’s feet, but having someone lavish their attention to mine was a huge turn-on. Peter’s actions were definitely making me wet and while I didn’t know it, I had already started to soak through my bikini bottoms.

He then moved to my right leg; earlier, to massage my feet, Peter had lifted each leg. Then he’d carefully spread my legs apart when repositioning them. So, now he had uninterrupted access from the bottom of my legs all the way up to my bikini clad pussy.

Taking a large amount of lotion, he spread it from my ankle and started moving up my leg. This action got me a little out my reverie and I tensed up. Sensing the tension, Peter immediately slowed his upward stroke and caressing my legs, he paused a little above my knee. He went back and forth for a while until I was lulled back into my state of calm. Then he carefully began moving up a bit higher on each stroke. I’ve already mentioned how much I loved massages. What I failed to state was that I had always pushed for that little extra. I never liked to go to the places that were essentially fronts for prostitution, but rather I liked visiting good parlors where familiarity led to concessions. Only a few times as a man, have I received a happy ending massage.

So, while I despised the masseur, I glorified in the massage. Peter knew all the buttons to push and he manipulated them, and me, like a maestro.

Very soon I had forgotten my qualms and I found myself accepting his hands creeping ever higher, up my leg. His strokes now had his spread fingers nearly caressing the crease of my ass and strangely I was content to let him. Ridiculous as it may sound, I could feel that tingling sensation again, and I was feeling incredibly horny.

The fact that I had lived a fairly long, adult life as a male where my actions typically did not lead to significant bodily harm meant that I had not developed the wariness that women gain, either through personal experience or from watching and learning from others. In my mind, I was rationalizing this as just another massage, one that I could stop at any point without consequences. Also, as a guy, I didn’t think of myself as bisexual. I was actually more than happy to let guys get me off, but I wasn’t interested in their dicks or in the owners of said appendages.

Peters hands reaching my ass was a major win for him. It essentially told him that he had access to most of my body if not all of it as long as he played the game correctly. His hands flowed over me beautifully, kneading my calves and relaxing them. He made deep strokes along my leg going from the bottom to the top, starting from the outside, but with each stroke he would shift an inch closer in. So, by the tenth stroke, his hands were nearly completely wrapped around the inside of my leg, inching closer to my drenched pussy. If he couldn’t see that my bikini bottoms were soaked through, then the man was blind!