Rachel lay stretched in the lounger by the pool, a drop of sweat beading on her forehead. She felt it swell, begin to dribble, and then dissolve into steam before even touching the bridge of her nose. It was hot, no doubt, but it was still better out here than in the apartment.
It had become a cycle in the time they’d lived here. The apartment complex was old, with no central air, so each year after the first summer heat wave, some of the tenants would jury-rig air conditioners to their apartment windows, and the additional draw on the power grid led to brownouts.
Rachel glanced down at her phone – the power had come back two hours ago, but Bertie hadn’t let her know if the hot water was working again.
She spared a thought for her poor boyfriend, still waiting for the superintendent in the apartment above. Convincing him to be the one to stay behind had been hard, and it had taken bribery to accomplish what she couldn’t through chivalry alone.
“If you’re a good boy and wait for me,” she’d told him coyly, “I’ll make it up to you. Even… if you’re really good… with me bent over the kitchen table?”
He hadn’t been impressed. “And if I’d rather not sweat my ass off for hours?”
“Then you wouldn’t be a very good boy, would you? I guess I’d have to give you a spanking.”
She wasn’t sure which way his decision would go, but after a moment he elected to stay – much to Rachel’s relief. In his position, she’d have taken the spanking.
Instead, she was out here, in a cute bikini, getting a different kind of tanning – and the expectation of a little fun after she’d cooled off. It was days like these where she was jealous of her mother and her sun-kissed Mediterranean complexion. Sadly, Rachel had only inherited her thick hair and thicker thighs from that side of her family.
From her prone position, she could see the first signs of sunburn forming on her left shoulder, and she rotated onto her back. The constant turning was starting to make her feel like a rotisserie chicken – which would have brought her mood down enough without the arrival of those gross old men.
Each evening the four Latinos would wait outside the pool grounds smoking until the kids had left. They would then take off their shirts – showing off their droopy bellies and nicotine stains – and then they’d stand around the pool talking loudly in Spanish. She’d never seen them actually go into the pool itself, though she admitted she had no place to judge them.
Bertie had watched this ritual from their apartment window many times. His theory was that they couldn’t swim but that each man was eager to – just as soon as one of his friends tested the water. Until that point, they were trapped in – sigh – a literal Mexican standoff.
But it wasn’t funny to Rachel, not when she was the only other person at the pool and she kept seeing them glance in her direction. She might have been flattered if they’d been discreet, but each time she’d caught one of them staring, his fellows had erupted in laughter.
She didn’t get the joke, and she didn’t want to think that it was on her. Did they think that it was funny that a nearly forty year-old woman still thought she could wear a two-piece? Sure, Rachel’s grey hairs were starting to come in, but she thought she looked pretty damn fine for her age.
Or was exactly what they thought, and they were telling each other what they would have done to the slutty gringawhen they were younger?
Her right forearm was starting to tingle – she hadn’t even had it in the sun for five minutes. She rolled once more onto her stomach, figuring that at least she wouldn’t have to look at them – but that motion got the biggest laugh of all.
She’d had enough.
“Hey!” she yelled with as much volume as she could muster. She stormed toward them with as much fury as she could carry on her five-foot-nothing frame. “Hey, you see something you like?”
They weren’t laughing now. If anything, they looked confused. Good, she thought, now they’re dealing with someone who doesn’t take their bullshit. Let’s see what they have to say for themselves.
The quartet talked among themselves quickly, each one now fixed solely on the whites of Rachel’s eyes. The closest old man, the one with the greasy mustache, found himself elected spokesman for the group.
“It’s nothing,” he said in heavily accented English, “we just like to peek at you.” He emphasized his statement with a gesture toward Rachel’s crotch.
For a second, she was quiet. And then…
“Excuse the FUCK out of me?”
If she’d stabbed his stomach any harder with her finger, she’d have gored him. Instead, the shocked old man reflexively stepped back.
There was a splash.
So much happened in the next few moments that Rachel missed most of it. One moment she was standing by the poolside, her suit wet, the next she was sitting on the side of the bathtub in her apartment. Bertie was there, his shirt off, his face ruddy. He must have come and got her from the pool.
“Are you alright?” She heard him ask.
She nodded, still catching up.
“The old guy’s surprised, but fine. He landed in about three feet of water, so his buddies ran in after him and pulled him out. They’re… kind of scared of you.”
“Good,” Rachel muttered.
“What happened out there? I heard the shouting from up here.”
Rachel rubbed her forehead. “What happened is that those geezers were catcalling me and I told them to piss off. Obviously nobody’s ever done that to the old fucks before. You know what the one guy said? He said, ‘we like to peek at you’.”
“His words?”
“His fucking words.”
“They weren’t ‘we like the Pikachu’?”
“Don’t gaslight me, Bertie, I swear to—“
She stopped in midsentence. Her bikini. Her yellow bikini that had black tips on the cups, and a cartoon rodent’s little face on the seat of her bottoms.
“I believe you when you say that he was staring. But Rachel, that old pervert could have drowned. You can’t rage at him just for being a creep.”
Maybe she had escalated the situation, she admitted to herself, but it had taken escalation to finally wipe the smirks off of those old men’s faces. Just because they were seniors, they were supposed to be harmless…
“I guess you men all like to stick together!” she finished out loud, brandishing another pointed finger. It shot outward – and struck Bertie square in the chest.
Her boyfriend was a man who’d seen her at her worst before. Who’d had the misfortune of being at ground zero when she’d lost her temper. He’d always been her rock at those moments.
Because he didn’t budge.
Her finger left a deep red blotch against his bare, hairy chest. There would absolutely be a bruise. The strength that Rachel’s rage had given her fled as he gently, but firmly grasped her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered.
“I know.”
She wanted so badly to fight him as he took a seat on the edge of the bathtub. She knew what was coming if she didn’t.
“Get over my knee, Rachel.”
He hadn’t spanked her in over a year. He hadn’t had reason to, and she’d felt a strange pride in that accomplishment. And now… that track was over.
What would it feel like, after all this time? How badly would it hurt?
Bertie wasn’t going to leave her in suspense. He held Rachel by the waist and guided her over his waiting lap. She screwed her eyes shut.
“I’m sorry…” she tried again, expecting to feel a pull on her bikini bottoms at any second.
The slap of flesh on flesh was louder than she could have remembered, and she shrieked in surprise more than pain – until he moved his hand back. It stung – she didn’t think it was this bad before! It couldn’t have been!
He struck again, the opposite cheek, and no – there was no way it had hurt like this before. She’d been so smug thinking that she’d seen the last of the view from over his knee –
Again, faster this time, his tempo picking up. Rachel bit her lip. She didn’t want this, but she knew she’d earned it.
Again. Fuck, it burned. She grabbed his leg in an awkward hug, swearing to herself that she would get through this as his hand came down again and again.
“I’m sorry!” she said, and meant it.
She felt his hand close around the swell of one of her buttocks and winced, but instead he started rubbing her soothingly.
“It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” She could hear the concern in his voice seeping through his authoritative mask. She nodded mutely. “I think we’re done.”
He’d smacked her butt no more than a dozen times, but it certainly didn’t feel like she was being let off lightly. Her ass was hot to the touch.
“Do you want me in the corner?” she asked through gritted teeth.
It was clear that he enjoyed the thought, but he shook his head. “No, Rachel. This time you need to do the grown-up thing.”
***
She was astounded to find that the foursome had taken their conversation into the pool. And while none of them dared to let the water climb any higher than their saggy waistlines, it was still a big first step.
One of them saw her coming this time and nudged his partners. She arrived to a an audience of silence and cautious glares.
All right.
She knelt down at the side of the pool.
“Guys… gentlemen,” she changed to the word that Bertie used when he was defusing conflicts, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what you were saying and I overreacted. I didn’t mean to push your friend into the pool. Please accept my apology.”
At least two of them didn’t look convinced, and one had no idea what she was saying – but the last one was Greasy Mustache.
“No problemo,” he said.
He held up a hand as his companions raced to shout him down.
“No. Every day we go to this pool, every day we stay outside. Everybody’s scared to go in… until I disrespect la Pikachita.”
His stone-faced friends were the first to crack. But this time when they laughed, she was in on the joke. She turned her face away before they saw her blushing.
The confused man waded over to her and pointed.
“Pikachita, sus piernas están tán rojo. Tiene una quemadura.”
She bit down the urge to tell him where he could put that finger – especially since he was pointing at her freshly punished backside. She knew she should have put some pants on over the bikini bottoms.
“I… um…” What the Hell. “My boyfriend gave me a spanking, okay?”
“Spanking? No comprendo. Una quemadura es…” He gave up and instead placed the flat of his hand against his arm and rubbed vigourously.
Now Rachel was confused. She’d heard that word being used while they were ogling her. She copied the man’s gesture – and winced in pain. Even before she’d starting rubbing, her arm was red and sore.
So were her shoulders and front of her thighs. She grabbed the edge of her bottoms and twisted at the waist as far as she could, not caring what kind of obscene show she was putting on. The exposed parts of her cheeks were bright red, but under her suit they were barely pink.
That… explained a lot.
“Sorry, guys. My boyfriend and I have to have a little talk. See you around.”
Greasy Mustache turned back to his friends. “Oye, peligro… ¡Cuidado con la Pikachita!” They gasped in mock horror – or maybe it was just relief that they weren’t the targets of her wrath this time.
Bertie wasn’t in any danger, really. Sure, he’d lied by omission about why the spanking had hurt so badly, but that meant he’d been holding back. Even though she’d probably deserved more.
The kitchen table scenario was out for the foreseeable future, but maybe Bertie would settle for an evening spent slathering her in aloe.
