The Pool Man
"...1754 Gleason," the radio dispatcher said. "It's a new account, Phil, a very
"Ok, but I was hoping to knock off for the day. My friends tell me there
are some killer waves off Black Beach right now."
"Sorry, Phil. It's your last stop for the day."
"Ok," he said resentfully. It seemed that there was always "just one more
stop" with this company. He had been working for them for over two years, what
could be so important about cleaning a pool, he wondered? Was there really a
pool cleaning emergency? Hell, everybody wanted to be first, everybody wanted
preferential treatment. But they all wanted to pay rock bottom when it came to
"Dam!" he said, slapping the dash. He slowed the big white truck and made
a u-turn. With thoughts on the huge waves cresting off Black Beach, and his
friends out enjoying them. He turned and headed toward a pool cleaning
emergency, where a high classed party totally destroyed the water in an olympic
sized pool. Now he was to fix it, without draining the pool if possible.
"They had better pay big on this one," he growled. He found the house, a
spanish hacienda with a red tiled roof. He turned and pulled up into the short
driveway. As he shut off the engine he saw a face appear in the window. It was a
teenaged female face. She had dark brown hair, a slightly Spanish look, nicely
tanned, and a pouting expression. His interest began to raise. From what he
could see from one quick glance, she was highly fuckable.
Phil took his PH meter, water analyzer, and a few choice chemical tests
from the back of the truck. He stopped at the wooden gate and rang the old
fashioned bell. It clanged as he pulled the rope. How quaint, he thought as he
looked around. He had a wonderful view of the valley, and far off he could see
the ocean he was missing. Seven or eight houses dotted the valley between him
and the ocean. Well down the valley, near the ocean, he could see a highway
filled with afternoon traffic. That would be highway 1, his gateway to great
surfing. What a way to spend a fucking Friday, he thought as he waited.
"Yes?" A female voice asked from the other side of the fence. He knew they
had seen him, they knew who he was from the huge sign on the side of the truck,
so what was the holdup?
"Do I fix your pool or not?" he asked, suddenly angry at the delay. He
should have been surfing, not facing an old faded wooden fence and an unknown
"Oh, the pool man," the gate suddenly opened. Phil was embarrassed to see
that the girl was not the one he had seen in the window. She was about ten years
older and a real fox.
"Sorry, I thought you were... somebody else," he said in embarassment. He
could see the chair with a towel laid out across it. The woman must have been
sunbathing, maybe even asleep.
"No problem. Bad day?"
"There's the pool," she pointed at the pool. It looked like pool of mud.
"What happened?" he asked in disgust.
"We had a party. I think somebody pulled a prank on us. I don't think
they'd do it maliciously. Can you fix it?"
"I don't know. I will take a sample and see if I have the chemicals to
treat it. If you need to refill it, the fire department can do it for you. It
would only take a day or two."
"My God, it would cost a fortune up here," she said, returning to her
Phil agreed as he filled a glass picture with pool water. He pulled a cord
from the analyzer and dropped it into the picture. It came back negative. He
used the oldest testing method in the world. He sniffed the picture.
"Chocolate," he said in amusement. It would take a gallon of chocolate to
cloud a pool this size, he thought to himself. Well, it was an easy fix. He had
several bottles of concentrated chlorine in the truck. It took only a moment to
pour the chlorine in. It began working in his area immediately. In an hour the
pool would be clear and he could drop in the de-chlorinating crystals.
He hummed to himself as he waited. The sexy blonde was laying with her
head back, her long slender legs extended, one laying out straight, one kinked.
They were perfect. She was wearing a black and white halter topped bikini. It
was small, but tasteful. She was sexy, if not beautiful. She had long blonde
hair, sexy brown cat-like eyes, and a long forehead.
Near her right hand was a hardbound book and a small ice chest of drinks.
He licked his lips as he looked at the top of several glass bottles. He was
dying of thirst and out of Avion.
"What the hell are you looking at?" a snarling voice came from the back
door of the house. It was the little brat from the window. She couldn't have
been more than 18, but she was a small little snot who needed a lesson or two.
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