Heatstroked

Literotica 2017 Summer Lovin' Contest entry.

Votes would be especially welcomed by all authors competing as it takes so many just to be eligible, much less win.

All on-screen sexual encounters in the following (when they finally do occur) are between consenting adults over the age of eighteen.

*****

As difficult as it might be to believe, I didn't actually care all that much for summer when I was a kid in a tiny little West Texas town in the '70s. That sounds crazy, even to me. What kid doesn't love being out of school for three months?

I suffered my first heat stroke when I was just seven and I guess once you have one you are more susceptible. At least that's what old Doc Barker told my folks when he gave them the instructions that would ruin my life after stitching up the back of my head.

I might have been some kind of normal before that, but I don't really remember. When I was born, it dropped the average age for that three block radius to fifty-something, so there weren't any kids to play with before I started to school and I only had two years to make an impression before I became the weird kid.

The nine months school was in session were bad enough even once I had fought my way back from Special Ed. And, God, what a foul thing that was to do to me. I didn't have an obvious physical handicap and I didn't really have a mental one either. I just had a new short term memory problem that made it difficult for me to retain things in class. Oh, and I couldn't get out in the heat, of course.

Once I learned a few tricks to overcome my memory issue, I enlisted Mom's help to get me back into the regular mainstream classes. Maybe I shouldn't have fought so hard. We weren't as politically correct back then and I wore the label "retard" for a long time, even though my grades quickly outstripped most of my classmates. However, while my forty-two age mates were allowed to run amok on the playground at recess and the more scripted PE class, I was sent to the library, which was both good and bad. Good because it allowed me to get even further ahead in class. Bad because it just further enhanced my reputation as the odd child out.

During the three long dreary months of summer, I was sent to the purgatory of solitary confinement.

My age mates were too busy running and playing from sun up to sun down to give much thought to the weird kid. A mixed blessing at best. I wasn't picked on for three months, but only because I didn't see anyone except family for those three months.

My parents had to work, of course. Mom was a lawyer and Dad was an accountant. Frankly, though, I was fine with them being mostly gone. Mom could be all right when it was just her, but when Dad was home it was almost worse than being alone. Almost.

Jan, my bitch of a sister, was supposed to hang around and keep an eye on me, but she usually ran off for hours at a time, sometimes the whole day, to "hang out with her friends." I don't know that Jan really had all that many friends. I mean, if she really did, how come they never came by the house where I could see them? I figure she was just trying to escape the house where she had to wear sweaters and mittens, even in July. Of course, if she'd eaten like a normal person and weighed more than seventy pounds, she probably wouldn't have been so cold all the time.

I was left alone with nothing but my books, the television with three channels to choose from (four if you counted PBS, which I didn't except as a last resort), and the pantry for company. For three long boring months, I wasn't allowed to so much as go out in the backyard for more than a few minutes at a time since I was supposed to immediately go back in and cool off if I started to sweat. It was summer in West Texas for crying out loud! It was usually in the high nineties in the shade! I would sweat just stepping out the back door to change out one of the jars of tea brewing in the sun.

Every September when school started back, all the other kids bonded even tighter over all the fun things they had done over the summer.

I'd read a few cool books in between covering the textbooks Mom had managed to get ahold of early for me. I'd watched a few cool television shows and a lot of lame ones. I'd learned how to make some pretty cool stuff in the kitchen and learned quite a few mistakes in there I'd never make again.

And then there was the omnipresent joy of having to write "How I Spent My Summer by Little Johnny Fitzgerald" year after year after year after year. It wasn't bad enough I was locked up alone. It wasn't bad enough I had to look around and see just how uncool I was as my classmates chattered about all the fun stuff they had done, usually together. I was forced to write about how pathetic I was, how pathetic my summer had been. And I had to do it in agonizing detail if I wanted to avoid kicking off the scholastic year with a big honking red F.

No. Summer and it's aftermath were absolutely no fun for me at all. Not for a long, long time.

That all changed after I graduated from eighth grade at the age of fourteen.

At some point, someone in our tiny little town had delusions of grandeur and decided we needed a country club. A farm two miles out of town was converted to a golf course. And there were always wild rumors that this was the year they would finally convert that big patch of bare dirt between the house and the building containing the pro shop and big social room to a swimming pool.

My eighth grade year, I'm sure there were the same rumors. I'm sure people were even chattering about it when they actually broke ground that spring. I didn't pay much attention. After all, those rumors had been going around for a decade or more. And it wasn't as if it would have had anything to do with me if they dug a hole in the dirt and filled it with water two miles out in the country.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

--Summer 1983--

My classmates were all off in Plainview or Lubbock celebrating walking across the stage at school and being handed a diploma certifying that we'd completed eighth grade. My family was having our own "celebration" at home which basically consisting of Mom bringing takeout home from Lubbock instead of me having to cook something, although Dad threw his usual fit over the cost of takeout, and then me having a half gallon tub of Neapolitan ice cream all to myself.

"What do you think, John?"

"Huh?" I tore my attention from trying to see around Dad to watch television and looked at Mom with a mouthful of strawberry and vanilla.

Jan was giggling into her mittened hands so hard I contemplated using my spoon as a catapult, but Dad would have been all over me for wasting food.

"Swimming lessons, John," Mom said patiently. "What do you think?"

"For whom?" I asked.

If Jan had laughed any harder, she would have fallen out of her chair. I glowered at her and weighed whether it would be worth Dad's ire to dump just a small spoonful of my ice cream down the back of her sweatshirt.

"Oh, good grief," Mom said. "Thomas, could we turn off the television for five minutes so we can talk about this?"

"Hmm?" Dad said absently, glancing at Mom. "Talk about what, dear?"

"About the swimming lessons," Mom said.

"There is nothing to talk about, Stephanie." Dad scowled at all of us. "You and I discussed it. I said no. We aren't doing it."

"Yes, we are."

"No, we aren't."

"Yes, we most certainly are."

"No, we most certainly are not!"

So much for a quiet celebration at home with the family. Jan and I had long practice in slipping quietly away from the table once they got started. I really don't think either parent noticed. If they had, I'm sure they probably would have stopped me from carrying my ice cream to my room.

I don't know what Jan did in her room once the parents got cranked up. I always plugged my headphones into my stereo and turned it up. Since the cord wasn't long enough to reach the bed, I sat at my desk and read. About the only difference that evening was I polished off my ice cream at my desk while I read about fifty or so pages of the book I was working on before Dad opened my bedroom door.

"Yes, sir," I said, taking off my headphones.

"Thirty dollars is a lot of money."

"Yes, sir."

"Money we could be using for something more important," Dad said glowering at me. "Something like paying our huge cooling bill. Or our equally large grocery bill."

"Yes, sir."

"You'd better not waste it, boy."

I didn't have a clue what Dad was on about, but since he considered spending money at all wasting it, there was only one correct answer.

"Yes, sir. I won't sir."

"See that you don't," Dad said. "And get that ice cream back to the kitchen! You know better than to be bringing food to the rest of the house!"

"Yes, sir!"

I scurried past Dad with my empty gallon tub and spoon and caught the back of his hand across the back of my head. Mom wasn't thrilled with me either as I dropped my empty tub in the trash and added my spoon in the dishwasher. If they hadn't been annoyed with me over breaking the house rule about food in carpeted areas, one of them might have explained what was going on so I could understand.

As it was, I had to wait until the first Monday in June for just how my summers, and my life, were about to change to become clear.

That Monday, Mom startled me awake by jerking my covers back and dropping a swimsuit, my first, on my face with orders to put it on and come eat breakfast. While I didn't argue with Dad about wasting money, nobody except Dad argued with Mom about anything. Even Dad only argued with her when spending money was involved.

It took me a few minutes to work out that I didn't need, and in fact couldn't fit, a pair of underwear beneath the swimsuit with it's built in mesh. When I came out of my room wearing it and a t-shirt, I found Jan sitting at the table gnawing on a pickle that would be her whole breakfast and Mom cooking up a pan of eggs, a pan of potatoes, and a pan of bacon for me. She wasn't really doing it right, but I appreciated the gesture.

Once Mom had set my piled plate in front of me, she built three brown bag lunches while I ate it. I thought about pointing out we didn't have school, but if Mom made me a lunch, I wouldn't have to scrounge for my own later. And, besides not only was it an hour after school would have started, Jan would surely have already pointed it out. She obviously hadn't had enough "beauty sleep" since she looked even more like crap than usual sitting there with dark circles under her eyes huddled in a pair of heavy sweats.

By the time Mom was chivvying us out of the house to the car, I was certain I must have forgotten something, but was too afraid to mention it. Even the hint I might have a memory issue was to be avoided at all costs in front of parents, teachers, doctors, school counselors or any other supposedly "well meaning" adult. I could ask Jan once I could get her alone. She would be a bitch about it, but she would fill me in on what was happening.

I had my chance when Mom dropped us off in a gravel parking lot two miles out in the country and drove away almost before the doors were good and shut.

"Ok, what the hell is going on?" I turned to Jan in the otherwise empty lot.

"Whatever do you mean, little brother?" Jan asked with that evil grin that meant she knew damn well I didn't have a clue and was going to enjoy messing with me.

Jan was stripping out of her sweats and I frowned as her next layer of clothing was revealed. Jan had swiped one of my old t-shirts. I didn't mind that so much since I'd outgrown it. But, the neck was stretched even more so it hung off her shoulder. And she didn't look like she had anything at all on her skinny legs.

"Where're your pants?" I asked.

"I'm wearing a swimsuit, dummy," Jan rolled her eyes, "just like you."

"Oh," I said. "Why are we wearing swimsuits? Why are we here?"

"Maybe because we're going swimming?"

"I don't know how to swim."

"I guess it's a good thing you're signed up for swimming lessons, then."

"I am?"

"Oh, my God," Jan cackled. "I swear you couldn't be a bigger doofus if you tried. Ok. Are you paying attention? I'm only going to go over this one last time. After this you're on your own. Are you going to listen to me?"

"Not if you're going to be a bitch about it, I'm not."

Jan pretended to yawn and turned away with a shrug.

"All right! Fine. I'm listening. Now, what the hell is going on?"

"We are now members of the country club," Jan said. "And I owe it all to you."

"We are?" I interrupted "Me? What-"

"I thought you were going to listen," Jan interrupted me in turn.

Knowing better than to continue, I closed my mouth and glowered at her. I wasn't near as good with the scowl as Dad, I guess, because Jan just grinned at me.

"You are signed up for swimming lessons every morning. Mom is going to drop us off here for your lessons. Then, we get to use the pool all afternoon. Mom will pick us up when she gets off work."

"But, what about my heat problem?"

"Jesus," Jan snickered. "Don't be a bigger idiot than you are. We're at a pool, dummy. If you get hot, you jump in the water to cool off."

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" I grumbled. "It's not like I've ever been around a swimming pool before."

By the time the building opened, there were a dozen families in that lot with us. I was getting a little worried because I was feeling pretty warm and I could feel sweat starting to bead on my upper lip.

Jan wasn't signed up for swim class, but she was allowed to lounge in the fenced in pool area and watch along with the parents of the other kids.

The other kids in the class were just that; kids. The second oldest in the class was seven. The youngest was a tiny little girl of four with plastic floaties on her arms. And there I stood at fourteen and an extra large fourteen at that.

To make matters worse, the teacher of the class was my age and, man, was she cute. Like, she-should-be-in-magazines-selling-stuff cute. Becki was a bona fide California surfer girl and granddaughter of the couple who ran the country club. She was staying with them for the summer to help them out and make a little money by teaching the swimming class in the morning and acting as lifeguard in the afternoon.

I felt utterly ridiculous standing there in water up to my crotch while the rest of the class clung to the side as Becki walked around with water up to her waist while the parents of the other students all seemed to be staring at me. Jan, the evil bitch, sat there grinning like a loon for the whole damn class.

Jan was an evil bitch, but she was right about one thing. That water in that swimming pool was nice and cool. I couldn't quite sit on the bottom and keep my head out of water, but once I knelt down so it could cover more of me, I didn't have any problem with the heat at all.

I'm really glad Dad wasn't there to see that first swimming class. I swear we didn't do anything for the whole first hour except stand around in the water. Or kneel in my case. Or cling to the edge for the ones too short to reach the bottom even in the three foot shallow end. I didn't know enough at the time to understand Becki was getting us used to being in the water even more than she was getting to know us and letting us get to know her and each other.

About the only thing she taught us that first day was to float hanging on the edge with our hands and letting our feet come up off the bottom (those of us that could reach it) and swing out behind us.

At noon, the class was over and the pool was opened. And holy crap! About half the town showed up!

All right, maybe it wasn't half the town, but it was a lot of people. There wasn't much swimming going on in that pool except at the deep end from the diving area to the ladder. There wasn't room! We weren't quite shoulder to shoulder, but there wasn't enough room to stretch out our arms without touching somebody.

As many people as were in the pool, there were possibly even more sitting and laying around it. There was barely room to walk in between all the people laying on towels. People like Jan, who peeled off my old t-shirt to reveal a really tiny bikini and laid there in the sun the whole time looking like a beached skeleton but never got in the water.

Five beach balls made an appearance and we entertained ourselves by knocking them around. Someone tried slinging a Frisbee plastic flying disc and someone else tried to throw in a football, but Becki confiscated both of those pretty quick.

Becki had her hands full. I was having the time of my life cranking my head around to look at all the people, especially the pretty girls in swimsuits of all types, and keeping an eye out for one of those beach balls to come flying my way.

This was summer? This was awesome!

Very few of us stayed the entire six hours, but as people left, more people came in to take their place. This was so very much better than sitting at home alone trying to find something on television and reading and doing culinary experiments in the kitchen.

We didn't get to go back for a week because I got a second degree sunburn. Dad was furious. Mom wasn't too pleased either. Jan felt like she got the fuzzier side of that particular lollipop, but since shit flows downhill, I got it from her as well as from Mom and Dad. But, how the hell was I supposed to know?! Before that glorious day, my time in the sun had been measured in minutes, not hours.

It wasn't like Jan had come home unscathed either. While she didn't look like a broiled lobster, she was pretty pink.

When we finally got to go back, I swear Jan was like an old mother hen with one chick. It seemed like I couldn't any more than get cooled off good before she was nagging me to come out and let her smear more sunscreen on me. Or making me sit in the shade. Or sending me inside to stand around in the air conditioned social room with the huge lines waiting to play on the two coin operated pool tables and stare out the window at the pool and all the people having fun.

Swim class, though, was almost worse. They'd progressed without me and I had to play catch up. The little four year old still wouldn't stick her face down in the water, but she'd taken off the floaties and wasn't at all shy to let go of the edge and dog paddle all the way down to the deep end during our exercises with Becki swimming alongside us.

Becki was the only good thing about those classes. Not only was she incredibly cute, but she was the first person my age who'd ever been nicer than absently polite to me. Granted, she wasn't any more friendly with me than she was everybody, and not much more than Mrs. Stanton, everybody's favorite third grade teacher. But with Becki being my age, it made our interaction seem more special somehow.

As the summer wore on, the crowds thinned a little. Enough that we could float in the pool, if not actually swim. And enough that Becki had to use her whistle to get onto people trying to run around the pool since there was room to run there. But, it was still pretty full.

In August, when the pool closed (and Becki went back to California), for the first time in my life I was sorry to see summer end. But, the coolness of that summer didn't end with the closing of the pool.

I hadn't been able to get a lot of exercise at the pool, but just being at the pool rather than sitting around eating my cooking mistakes before Dad found out I'd wasted food, I lost some weight. Enough that I actually had to use a belt with my pants and my shirts weren't in constant danger of popping a button. Even better, some of my classmates had been at the pool over the summer and a few of them were almost friendly as we began our freshman year.

In a cruel twist of fate, none of my teachers asked us to write about our summer that year. The story of my life. I finally had a good summer to write about and nobody asked me to write about it.