The Bathing Pool

We hid when we heard the men. Their voices sent us scurrying into the trees, clutching our clothes.

We boys swam almost every day that long, hot summer of fifty-five. We bolted our breakfast and cycled in single file along the forest track until we reached the bathing pool. As the water closed over our heads, we were reborn, naked, laughing, as slick as seals as we popped like corks into the sunlight.

We hid when we heard the men. Their voices sent us scurrying into the trees, clutching our clothes. They were older than we were. They had jobs and girlfriends with glossy hair who played pool and necked in the front seat of their pickup trucks.

We watched as they stripped. Their bodies were sinuous, with muscles coiled like vines, and we stared wide-eyed as they kissed and jumped into the pool hand in hand with their knees drawn to their chins. They gasped as they hit the water and when they surfaced; they were holding each other and laughing.

We wondered what their girlfriends would say. Some of us told our mothers what we had seen and our mothers told our fathers. Our fathers went to the men’s houses and dragged them into the street. They kicked them as they lay in the dirt with their knees drawn to their chins. The men cried and mewled like babies, and our fathers said we had done a fine thing. They said the men were perverted, an abomination in the sight of the Lord. They slapped us on the back and my friends were happy and proud. Only I was afraid because I was an abomination too.

You can support my writing and enjoy more dark tales delivered to your inbox by subscribing.

All my stories are free, but any donations made through the ‘Buy me a Coffee’ link below will go to Zante Strays. This lovely charity rescues and rehomes stray cats and dogs from the Greek island of Zante. Including our pup Smee pictured below with his litter mates.