Taboo (3 page)

“Did he just adjust himself?”

“I’m sure he did. It’s constant,” I say. And while it should be gross, for some reason it isn’t. Nothing about him is repulsive the way it should be for a kid his age. Everything about him has been cast in a glow of light and sunshine and all things glorious. It’s like Carter walks around with a halo over his head, leaving him in an ethereal glow. And as the summer days pass, Finley and I settle into an easy rhythm. We talk about him and what he’s like away from the pool and if he’s ever had sex and of course he’s had sex, but was it good sex? We watch him perform the mundane tasks of his job, and never before has cleaning up or yelling at kids or sitting in a chair high above the pool been so fascinating.

Bu
t there was one thing Aqua-Man does that is better than everyone else. He’s the master of the diving board. When he’s up there,
everyone
watches.

“Dear sweet baby Jesus. How can one man-boy
be so hot?” This comes from Finley, who has been with Ryan for years but still can’t help her infatuation with Carter. I shake my head and hold my breath as he nears the edge of the diving board. He turns so his back faces the water and hangs his heels over the edge.  Two little bounces before one big, deep one and he flies through the air, somersaulting with ease before landing with a splash.

“That was a
-mazing.”

“Truly,” she agrees, giving him two thumbs up while he’s still submerged.
“I give it a 9.5.”

He pulls himself out of the water, two strong arms graspin
g the ladder rails. Water slides off his body. It’s more than an average girl can take. We stare, hiding only behind the dark, plastic lenses of our sunglasses. He waits at the bottom of the high dive, hands resting on the metal rungs.

“Have you noticed his wing-span?” I ask Finley.

“His arms are just…epic.”

Epic.
The perfect word. Perfect, long and muscular. I want to run my hands down them, feeling every curve. I want to lick the dip between his bicep and tricep. I want him to throw me over his shoulder and do dirty, dirty things.

“Oh man,” Finley says, undoubtedly thinking the same inappropriate thoughts.

“Can you imagine?”

Fr
om my periphery, I see her nod, neither of us willing to take our eyes off of him. At the edge of the board he pauses and glances over his shoulder. Peacocking a little. He knows he’s being watched and he likes it. With a quick, deep bounce he sails through the air, twisting sideways, and landing in the water with ease.

“I want to hump him,
” I declare.

“I know
, right?” Finley agrees, taking a sip of her drink. “Last night when Ryan and I were doing it, I pretended it was him.”

My jaw drops.
“You did not.”

“Yes, I did. And I d
on’t feel bad about it. I know he thinks about Angelina Jolie when we screw. I deserve a break. It was fantastic, too. Hottest sex we’ve had in months.”

“Wow.”

She taps her finger to her chin, thoughtfully. “I should send him a card.”

“Ruthie,” Claire stands in front of my chair,
blocking my view, but her eyes are red so I try to focus on her and not the diving performance.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I left my mermaid in the car.”

“Oh, no
problem sweetie, I’ll go get her.” I stand and walk past Finley, “Be back in a minute.”

I run out to the car
barefoot and find the mermaid squished in the backseat. The black asphalt pavement burns like hot coals and I race back to the shelter, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Hot, hot, hot,” I chant, once I’m inside the shelter, bouncing gingerly on the balls of my feet
. I look up and see him leaning against the wrought iron fence, water rolling down his neck, over his chest and down, down below.

“Hey,” he says, lifting a towel from the fence.
“You okay?

I adjust my biki
ni top, which for all I know has shifted down to my waist after all that jiggling. “I burned my feet out there.”

“Want me to look at them?”

My eyes flash to his hands and my face heats as much as my feet.

“We’ve got some burn cream in the First Aid kit.
” I look up and see his confused expression, because I’ve gone silent thinking about him touching me. “Ruthie?”

I blink twice, regaining my senses. “I think I’m okay, but thanks.”

“No problem.”

We stare
at one another and I hold the mermaid up by its red hair. “Claire forgot her toy.”

He shakes his head and droplets of water scatter across the pavement and m
e. “She’s cute.” He coughs. “Claire that is. She’s cute.”

“
She really is,” I agree. Then I blurt, “I saw you on the board.”

“Oh
, yeah?”

“But you knew that.
”

A smile b
reaks on his face. His teeth are pretty and white against his tan. “You coming to watch the girls swim tonight?”

“I promised th
em I would. First meet and all. They’re very excited.”

“They’ll do great.”

I spy Claire looking for me across the pool. “I should take these to her. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

“Maybe.”

Chapter  6

I do see him that night. The swim meet is packed and I’m forced to walk half a mile from my car just to get to the pool. People and kids roam everywhere, like animals in a zoo.

I make
it in time to see the girls’ events, cheering while Harper barely crosses the finish line in a not-so-elegant dog paddle. It’s okay though because it’s her first swim meet and any success counts. She struggles the whole way down the lane, her head bobbing in and out of the water. I can tell she loves it since she flashes the crowed a wide grin with every stroke. Carter kneels at the end of her lane, encouraging her stroke by stroke. He lifts her out of the water by her arms and gives her a big hug when she finally makes it to the end.

Is it wrong that I’m jealous of that hug? Well, I am.
I’m jealous.

The heats go from youngest to oldest and by the time the teenage boys hit the deck a current ripples through the crowd. People start to chatter when Carter’s age group is announced and I hear his name on the lips of the crowd. Carter Hightower. All-American. It’s in that moment I realize that it’s not only me and the other moms that notice him. Everyone notices him. Carter Hightower, genetically superior eighteen-year-old. grabs the attention of the young and old, male and female. Even Betsy, my boss, elbows me and says, “You’ll want to watch this.”

Obviously, I do, but I only realize
why the instant whistle blows.

Before the
start, Carter ducks behind the timers and coaches, stepping out of his board shorts. My breath catches when he mounts the starting block in a blue and gold Speedo, while the other boys wear our team colors of red and black. It’s so low in the front, so very, very low. When he turns to speak to one of the coaches I see his high school logo across this backside.

A cougar.

No shit.

He
gently tugs at the swim cap, until it’s covering his ears and stretches his arms and legs. My eyes are glued to his every move. My heart pounds with every twist and turn, as warms up his body.

Have mercy.

Over the megaphone the referee says, “On your mark,” and Carter bends forward, arching his arms to his toes. I nearly drool seeing his shoulders tense and ready.

“Do you see Carter?
In lane three?” Betsy asks.

“Uh
, yeah, I see him.”

“He’s amazing. M
ake sure you keep an eye on him.”

The gun fires and they’re off, Carter dives in the water, his feet disappearing last and he reemerges half-way down the lane.

I should have realized with all those muscles, with that body, that he’s an absolute powerhouse. A force in the water, overtaking every other swimmer he competes against.  The Butterfly is his stroke and I appreciate the beauty in his form, the way his arms transform into literal wings, propelling him through the water. Too soon it’s over and he touches the wall first, the other boys following seconds later.

Betsy grabs my arm in excitement and says, “Did you see that? We’re so lucky he’s on our team.”

Lucky is exactly the word I’d been searching for.  I twist to see around the man in front of me, who’s no longer interested now that the race is over. I want to see him when he climbs out of the water. He’s soaking wet, of course, skin pink from exertion, and my eyes fall on that Speedo.

A Speedo.

No one looks good in a Speedo. No one, I realize, but Aqua-Man.

The whole thing is
a turn on. I’m turned on. From seeing him hugging Harper to the Speedo, to the way he dominated the race. Desire settles deep in my belly. It’s all I can do not to follow him to his spot with the rest of the swimmers and rip that tiny piece of Lycra off his hips.

But I can’t. I won’t
, and I spend the rest of the meet doting on the girls, buying them pizza and soda from the concessions stand. Anything to distract myself, but nothing I do makes the feeling go away.

I spy on him between events, watching him inhale three pieces of pizza and drink a gallon of Gatorade. He uses it as fuel, I’m certain, feeding his mass and all the energy that rolls off his body in waves. When I can’
t stand it for a minute longer, I find Betsy and say, “I’m going to head out.”

“Thanks for coming,” she says, giving me a hug. “It means a lot to the girls.”

“Of course,” I tell her. They’re going out with the team for ice cream afterwards and it feels like one of those family moments, anyway.

Leaving the nois
y swim meet behind, I step into the darkened street toward my car. I haven’t gone far when I spot his SUV, the trunk door lifted up. In the faint glow of his interior car light, I see Carter pulling a shirt over his head. The magnetic draw to him overwhelms me, but I resist, reminding myself I could be his much, much older sister and forcing myself to think of non-sexual things like puppies and shoes.

“Ruthie.”

Dammit.

“Hey, Carter,”
I say, veering in his direction. I eye his damp hair and the towel slung low over his hips. In the dark I see the blue and gold Speedo on the ground. He’s got a pair of shorts in his hand.

“Oh, um…” he’
s naked under that towel. Naked. One shift and that towel could fall to the ground and there will be nothing I can do to stop myself. My mind wanders…

“Yeah, give me a second.” He sort of turns away and performs some kind of magic where he slips his shorts on under the towel. They’re sports shorts.
The mesh kind, blue with the number 17 in a circle on his thigh.

“I can’t stand wearing that wet bathing suit all night,” he says as if nothing just transpired between us. Does he even know I gave him a mental blow job?
Because I did. I fully imagined it. What it looks and feels like. What he tastes like.

Stop.
It.

“I bet,” I say, choking a little on the words.
What now? Do I tell him congratulations on his win, on his gift of genetic superiority, for being able to turn my body into a quivering mess?

Or
, you know, just congratulations.

“Great swim
.” I lick my lips, still tasting his imaginary cum. I’m a pervert, and he watches my every move closely because he’s a boy and I think he can read my mind.

“You saw my race?”

“Didn’t everyone?”

He shrugs but I see the small smile on his mouth and I know he knows how amazing he is. I like that about him. I like that he owns his power. When you’re king of the world
, claim your title. “The girls did well. Harper made it across the finish line—that’s a very big deal when you’re four.”

I keep my eyes on his chest but I feel his lingering on my mouth.
I attempt to say something else, something witty, but I don’t. Instead my mind goes blank and then I’ve pressed my mouth to his and I taste his tongue and the sugary sweet of the candy he must’ve just eaten.

Oh god.

Any thoughts of him not being receptive are instantly dashed when his teeth crash into mine. He’s a little sloppy, but so, so eager, and I forgive him when his hands cinch around my waist, engulfing me with their size. He may be a boy, but gah, he feels like a man.

Laughter from a group of kids walking to their car split us a
part and my heart beats so furiously I’m sure he can hear it. The interruption is enough to clear my head. Sort of.

“Wow,” I
say, once the group passes and we’re alone, again. “So, that was weird. I don’t normally just kiss guys like that. Especially, you know, younger ones like you and um… you probably think I’m gross and old and a creeper.” I stop rambling because he’s looking at me in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. Halfway like he may puke and halfway like he may have already shot his load in his pants.