It's Hot In Here

Table of Contents

“It's hot,” I say to Dylan. I mean it too. It is hot.

My father sent us to pick up some drinks from the local supermarket half an hour ago. Sitting in our hotel room's air conditioning at the time of the request, we foolishly left still wearing jeans.

Big mistake.

We're on our way back now. I'm with little Dylan Morris. Well, he's not so little now. We're both sixteen and we've—how can I put it—
'grown'
quite a lot since we saw each other last year.

Our fathers are best friends. We live in different states but every summer our families meet in the middle for a five day vacation. Every year we stay in the same small resort by the sea. The place is a dump. Seriously, it's falling apart, but our parents love it for some unknown reason.

My mom once told me this is where my sister was conceived.
Gross!

Every year we rent the largest of the resort apartments.
The Blue Lagoon
, as it's called. A four bedroom with a kitchen and lounge room that both families cram into each year.

Every year I have to put up with little Dylan Morris.

OK, it's true, this year I do think he's starting to look cute. But that's it. Nothing more. He's just not a boy anymore. He's not a man either. He's somewhere in the middle, I guess.

All right, all right, I admit it. When I saw him get out of the car earlier for a split second I did think  he looked hot. But I've had time to think about it, and I've concluded I should definitely not let my thoughts drift in that direction. After all, we're talking about Dylan here.

We walk back onto the resort property and see my little sister and his little brother racing past us.

“
Where're you guys going?” I call out.

“
To daddy,” she calls back.

“
Tell him we'll be right up.”

Between the walk to the shop and back, we've been under the sun for close to 30 minutes. That's a long time in the summer heat when you're wearing thick jeans. I'm already sweating pretty badly when Dylan grabs me and pulls me into some kind of maintenance room. He's always done things like this. Always playing the fool. I protest, but I still let him have his immature fun. He may have grown over the past year. Dare I say, he's even started to look a little sexy . . . but he's still a goof ball, that's for sure.

“Quit it,” I say.

“
Make me,” he replies.

It's hot and I'm half delirious so I decide to do just that. He wasn't expecting me to spin out of his grip. He tried to grab me, but I'm too quick. I bounce behind him again, and this time I slam backwards into the door. It slams shut.

Something about the way it clicked worries me.

Dylan grabs the handle. He starts shaking it madly, but it's locked.

He turns and stares at me like this is my fault.

“
You idiot!” I say to him. I push him out of the way and try the handle myself, but it's hopeless. To make matters worse the room has no windows, and the heating system for the entire hotel is humming away behind us. Thankfully the light works. As I stare at the giant heating system I realize for the first time just how hot it is in the room. I mean, it is uncontrollably hot. The temperature's not the problem, it's the humidity. It's out-of-control.

Dylan starts banging on the door. “We're trapped!” he says.

“Calm down.” I look around the room and find some newspaper and a felt tip marker lying there. I take the paper and write in large letters: 'WE'RE INSIDE – HELP!'

I show it to Dylan. He nods. “Good idea.”

I slip our SOS under the door.

“
OK, listen,” I say, “we need to stay calm. It's so hot in here that we just might die of heat stroke!” I'm joking, it's not that bad. But don't be mistaken, it
is
bad. Already my entire body is covered in sweat and Dylan's is, too.

Ten minutes pass by and nobody comes to rescue us. I expected my father to already be here. I'm his little princess and when I'm in distress he's always there for me. I wonder what's taking him so long.

I exhale heavily.

Dylan shakes his head and literally a bucket of sweat goes flying out of his hair.

“We have to do something,” he says. “It's too hot in here! I can't take it!”

“
Just stay calm,” I say. “My dad will be here any minute, I'm sure.”

He wipes his forehead and says, “Look, I really don't want you to take this the wrong way—”

Now I'm worried. Little Dylan Morris has that cheeky look on his face. But it's not his old goofy look. Now he has—it pains me to say— a
sexy
look about him. I don't know what he's suggesting, but I know I'm not going to like it.

“
I think we should take all our clothes off.”

I burst out laughing. “Forget it!”

He huffs. “Tess, look at me. I'm literally soaked with sweat.”

“
And just what do you suggest we say when we finally get rescued?” I ask. “I can just imagine my father opening the door,” I stand up and smack him on the top of his head, “and he finds me naked with little Dylan Morris! I'd die of embarrassment!”

I turn away from him and cross my arms.

“Well I'm taking my clothes off.”

I swing around, “No, you're not!”

He pulls his shirt off despite my protest. I swallow. Did he notice that? I spin back around and act angry, but all I can really think is: When did Dylan develop a body like
that
? I can't turn back around. If I do, he'll know.

I calm myself, but I also can't stare at the wall much longer, so I turn around. He's leaning against some boxes. His naked chest covered in sweat.

My mouth was already dry, but now I'm officially dying.

My eyes widen as he unbuttons his jeans.

“Hold it!” I cry out. He pulls them down to his ankles, then shoots back up and looks at me. Now he's just standing there with his pants around his ankles.

I try to maintain eye contact but it is so-very-hard. I've never felt the effects of gravity so strongly. It's literally pulling my eyes down, but somehow I resist.

Dylan is distracted momentarily. He rubs his eyes and complains about the heat. In that moment the gravitational pull wins out and my eyes shoot down to his groin. He's wearing white boxer shorts, and they are wet with sweat.

One questions races around my mind: What has happened to little Dylan Morris? I don't think I'll ever think of him as little again. In fact, I'm positive.

He leans down and pulls his jeans completely off. He looks relieved.

“
Oh, that's better,” he says.

He looks over at me sweating like mad, and shakes his head.

“Come on, at least take your top off. You'll still have your bra on,” he says. “It's no different than seeing you in your bikini.”

He has a point. I pull my top over my head and stand there. Now I'm thinking of my jeans. If my bra just looks like a bikini, then my underpants do too, right? That's what I tell myself, anyway. 

I resist. Someone could open the door at any minute. I was certain my dad would be looking for me. He has a sixth sense when it comes to things like this.

No, my jeans have to stay on.

But I can't resist.

There is now some foreign Force, some horny Dictator in me, that won't give up until my jeans are off. I don't know what it is, but I give in to it and unbutton the first two buttons.

Dylan diverts his eyes. He swallows hard. I can see some movement going on in his boxer shorts, too. I now have all my buttons undone. I begin to pull my sweat soaked jeans down, but they are really hard to get off.

Dylan looks over and asks, “Need some help?”

Oh, don't you wish!

“
Forget it. You just stay over there,” I say. But I have a problem. I seriously can't get my jeans off. They're stuck on me with sweat. I stand back up and rub my forehead.

“
OK, come here,” I say. I sit on the ground and lift my legs up. "Grab my jeans and yank them off." He walks over and leans down to the waist of my jeans! I was expecting him to grab them by the ends, but he's leaning over and grabbing them around the waist line. Now he's wrestling with them. His head is really close to my naked stomach and I feel like I'm about to explode with hormones.

But, this is little Dylan Morris!

He gets my jeans down to my ankles and then I kick him away. I can't think of a single snappy thing to say, so I don't say a thing.

Now, finally, my jeans are off. Now we're both down to just our underwear.

It's hot. And it's getting hotter.

“
Tess, please don't take this the wrong way,” he says, breaking into a smile, “but I have to take these boxer shorts off, too. Look at them, they're completely soaked. I'm going to get a
rash
if I don't take them off.”

I look down, and as I'm looking he pulls them off with lightning speed. I'm so shocked I don't even look away. I'm still staring.

Now everything goes into overdrive. Everything heats up. I feel my body going crazy with desire. That Force, whatever it is, the Mother of all Hormones perhaps, starts to give me orders.

Take your bra off!
the Force orders, and I obey.

Dylan stares in shock.

Now, your panties!
the Force demands of me. I do as I'm ordered. The Force, my inner hormonal Dictator, is rejoicing. I'm shaking. So is Dylan.

We're both completely naked and I'm pretty sure the same inner Force in me is hard at work in him, too. I'm breathing so hard. It's hot, getting hotter, and we both know things are about to explode.

He's standing in front of me, and his southern region has just grown by about 2,000 percent. I rub the sweat off my chest. I know that in the next five seconds I'll be in his naked arms. Four seconds later, just as we are inches away from embracing, my dad opens the door.

I'm in mid-lunge, like a leopard about to leap on it's prey, when I hear the door click open. My instincts tell me to hide, but I can't stop my momentum. The door swings open and I heard my dad scream, “Princess!”

I panic, plowing into Dylan full throttle and losing my footing. My legs slide between Dylan's and I end up flat on my back, staring right up—someone please kill me right now—at his
thing!

I have no idea what to do.