Pools: things get complicated in a family

A year ago, things had been pretty normal for me: I had a loving wife, three loving kids, good relationships with my family—even my in-laws—and some good friends. After a recent promotion at work, things were looking up for me financially, and with two of my kids in college and the other on the way soon, I was looking to some peace and quiet around the house.

But then everything started getting … complicated. Not bad. Not really. Just complicated. And all of it revolved around three pools.

The first of the pools causing me headaches was the in-ground pool I was having installed in my backyard. My kids and even my wife had been begging me to put one in for years, but we’d never really been able to afford it until my promotion. A couple of months ago I’d finally pulled the trigger, and the contractors promised that the final finishing touches would be done, the water would be in, and it would be ready for us to start swimming and sunning out there by tomorrow.

It seemed like the new pool would be nothing but good, clean fun for me and my family. The truth was that it was going to complicate our relationships in ways I could never have expected.

The second of the pools that was about to complicate my life was the hot-tub already installed in the backyard of my best friend Jeremy Fisher, who lived in the same neighborhood just one street away. It was maybe a five minute drive to Jeremy’s place from mine, going around a couple of blocks, but it was also just a five minute walk as well, if you cut through a couple of backyards and crossed a street to get there. Since we lived so close by, our families visited each other’s places fairly often, for dinners or backyard barbecues.

The Fishers’ large hot-tub was always a popular attraction when we visited their place, winter or summer. Soon, however, things in and around that private spa were about to get very complicated indeed.

The final “pool” which was about to complicate my life, and the one which was going to cause the most disruption by far, was the carpool I took to and from work every day. I’d been involved in it for a few years now, but I barely knew my co-workers who rode along with me in the mornings and evenings, beyond a simple hello-and-goodbye every day, and occasionally a casual backseat blowjob between colleagues. All that was about to change, however, and I couldn’t even begin to dream of just how complicated my life was going to become because of it.

In fact, although I’ve always thought of my own backyard pool as being the catalyst which started changing my life, on the day that things really started to change, the carpool had its own role to play as well, if only because it had put me in a fairly frustrated mood when I got home.

“Hi, hon,” I greeted my wife after I walked through the front door and into the adjoining kitchen. I put my hands on her bare ass and leaned over her shoulder to plant a kiss on her cheek as she worked in front of the stove. The hard-on in my pants pressed up against her rear insistently. As I ran my hand over her still-firm asscheeks, I gave thanks once again that my wife preferred going nude around the house—although she usually wore clothes when they had company over, or when she went out.

“Not now, babe,” she chided me. “I’m in the middle of making dinner.” My wife gave me a light swat on the arm to brush me away, so that I wouldn’t crowd her as she tried to work.

“Sorry, hon. It’s just that Ellen left me in a real state,” I complained.

“Which one’s Ellen?” Liz asked me, distracted with her cooking.

“The blonde?” I reminded her.

“So what’s the problem?” Liz asked. “You like blondes, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “I like redheads better,” I said, giving my wife’s lustrous copper hair an affectionate stroke.

“After dinner, buster,” she reminded me. “What, doesn’t she like you?” Liz asked. “I thought I remembered you told me you’ve done her before?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, obediently taking my hand away from her hair to give her space to cook. “That’s not the problem. The problem is Don Vance, from marketing.”

“I don’t understand,” Liz said, though it was obvious her mind was on the meal she was preparing, not really on my own carpool troubles. “What does he have to do with it? Was Ellen busy with him?”

“No, not exactly,” I said, feeling a bit frustrated not only with my unsatisfied hard-on, but also with my wife’s distraction. “Don ‘call me Donald’ is a bit too uppity and high-strung for his own good,” I explained. “He likes to put on airs, pretend he’s some high-class snob. He has real tight-assed views on sex in public. Thinks anything more than a blowjob under the table in a restaurant with long tablecloths is ‘indiscreet.'”

“What does that have to do with you and Ellen?” Liz asked. “Did he ask you two to stop?”

“No, no, nothing like that. See, the way I see it, Ellen Hart sitting in my lap in the back seat of Warren Edwards’ SUV is hardly the same thing as rutting in a public street,” I complained bitterly. “But Ellen’s real politically correct: she goes all ultra-conservative whenever Don’s around, ‘out of respect for his views’ or whatever.”

“So you didn’t get to fuck her? Well, is that really so big a deal? I mean, you can go for a whole car-ride without fucking somebody, can’t you?” my wife asked sardonically.

I sighed. “It’s not that,” I said, feeling frustrated again. “Don gets dropped off first. So after he was gone, Ellen was more than happy to suck my dick. But then Ellen gets dropped off just five minutes later. And between a blowjob from Wendy in H.R., fucking my secretary Angela before lunch, and a little orgy after a meeting with one of our clients this afternoon, five minutes was not enough time for me to get off.”

Liz laughed. “So she got your engine all revved up, then left you high and dry, huh? Poor baby. Well, sorry, but you’re just gonna have to wait until after dinner.”

I glowered. “Come on, hon … just a quickie?” I asked, running a hand over her bare bottom again. “You’re simmering spaghetti sauce, right. It won’t burn or anything.”

Liz slapped my hand gently away. “No way, mister. You know I take pride in my cooking.”

“When it’s done, then, before we eat?” I pled.

“Absolutely not! It’d get cold,” my wife refused.

I heaved a sigh, and walked off out of the kitchen to go watch some TV until dinner.

“Oh, before I forget,” Liz called out after me, “Joey’s home.”

“What?” I asked, surprised.

Joey was our nineteen-year-old son, and he’d gone off to college a couple of years ago. It was summertime, but we weren’t expecting him back for another month. He had planned on backpacking through Europe this year, seeing the sights and fucking exotic foreigners with some of his college friends.

“There was some sort of problem with his plans, so he’s going to go to Europe next summer instead,” Liz explained, calling to me from the kitchen while I plopped myself down on the livingroom couch and turned on the television.

“Okay, I guess it’s no big deal. Did you convert the office for him already?” I asked. After Joey had moved out, we’d converted his old bedroom into a home office.

“This afternoon,” Liz confirmed. “He’s up there with the Hunter twins now.”

I grinned. Donna and Sandra Hunter had been my favorite of Joey’s old high school girlfriends. They were a pair of identical twins, and during his senior year they’d come around the house fairly often for threesomes. I’d never been with twins before myself, so watching the three of them go at it on the living room couch once or twice had been some of the highlights of parenthood, for me.

“When did they get here?” I called into the kitchen as I turned on the television.

“As soon as they found out he was back in town,” Liz called back. “They’ve been up there for about half and hour.”

I gave some thought to going up and joining them, but I knew that was my unsatisfied hard-on talking: Joey certainly wouldn’t appreciate his old man barging in and spoiling his fun with his old friends by horning in on the action.

I flipped through the channels on television, looking for something with a decent sex scene so I could at least jerk off. I found an episode of Celebrity Exposure, with some young starlet I didn’t recognize getting gangbanged by a bunch of fans in a busy city park, while a big crowd watched and cheered. I grinned and opened my fly, pulling out my still-hard dick to stroke it while I watched the pretty star getting stuffed in all holes, already well-coated in the crowd’s cum.

Someone entered the room and a voice startled me out of my reverie.