textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/swimmin.txt

The Old Swimmin' Hole

My cousins and I, along with our teenaged uncle, sprawled
with the dogs in the gritty shade of the porch, overcome by the
crushing heatwave that had held our town in its grip for eight
miserable days. The Good Humour Man and the public pool
offered some relief, but only for those folks fortunate enough to
have money. Gatlin wanted to go swimming, an impossible
dream, since the pool cost 75 cents *apiece*. Buddy wanted 
to go to the airconditioned movie theater, slightly less
impossible -- if we  could scrounge up a dollar, one of us could
buy a ticket and let the others in by way of the theater exit,
which opened into a alley. But we had been caught sneaking in
before and thrown out, and were warned that  
showing our faces at the Varsity theater would result in the
manager immeadiately calling the police chief to arrest us and
send us to a school for bad kids.

Asking our parents for money was a laughable prospect. All of
us got a small allowance for the chores we did, but once it was
spent, that was that. To ask for more money would get you only
a lecture about blowing hard-earned cash on junk. Besides, our
folks didn't have the cash to spare. We were about one-half
step up from what was called 'white trash'-- Junior's Daddy, our
Granddaddy Jack, worked long hours as a mechanic, and my
Pa was a slave to the local Refinery, along with about 
40% of  the men over 18 in our community. Gatlin and Buddy's
Pa, who was big  brother to my Pa and Junior, was doing time,
so money was tight. Being 11 , I understood this. But 10 year
old Gatlin and 7 year old Buddy  couldn't grasp this fact of life,
and whined about wanting to go swimming. "Dammit, Junior, I
know you got money! I seen you yesterday with five dollars!"
Gatlin (who we called Sissy, although she was anything but)
cried in frustration, punching our uncle a good one in the
shoulder. "Ma gimme  that money for groceries!" Junior
retorted, shoving her away, "You best  quit messin' with me,
girl, or I'll beat your skinny ass!" Sissy responded  to this as a
challenge and shoved him back, saying, "You liar,  Junior! You
took that money outta the sugarbowl; I seen you do it!  And if
you don't take us swimmin', I'm gonna tell!! Then we'll see
whose  skinny ass gets beat!!"

Junior was caught. Buddy and I looked at our leader accusingly
-- he'd been holding out on us? No doubt he'd intended to
spend the ill-gotten money himself, then like as not pin the
blame on us when the theft was discovered. Junior knew he
was licked-- if he didn't comply with us, somebody (probably
my cousin Buddy, the biggest snitch in the state of Texas, a
terrible character flaw that we had unable to beat out of him,
despite repeated attempts) would squeal on him to his Mama,
who would wear him out. Junior's Mama had a dim view of Sin,
and her wrath was,  like the Lord's, mighty to behold.

"Okay, okay! You little brats, I'll *take* you swimmin', dammit! 
But ya'll keep your mouth shut about that money-- swear!"
 We made our solemn oath over Junior's knife, and sealed it by 
spitting in the dirt, as custom dictated. "Now you've swore,"
Junior warned darkly, "and if you tell, you'll be a no-good snitch
and a squealer;  yore tongue'll rot and yore 
teeth'll fall out, and yore lips'll seal shut 'cause you broke your
word. Plus, I'll beat the livin' shit out of yore sorry hides."
 Tough little bastards that they were, my cousins ran into the 
house unafraid, to get their swimming suits. Uncle Junior and I
waited on the porch. I was skeptical about the whole thing, and
rightly so. "I bet you don't even still have that money. I bet you
and your friends spent it on beer and dirty magazines. How're
you gonna get outta this one, big mouth? They'll tell."
 "No they won't," Junior said confidently, "I *said* I'd take 'em 
swimmin; I din't say we'd go t'the *pool*. It costs nothin' to go to
the river, and plenty of people do it." Plenty of people, but not
us. We had been warned time after time not to swim in the
river; it was an unpredictable, muddy brown giant that 
crawled sluggish and shallow at some points and roared swift
and terrible at others. Periodically it flooded its banks and
deluged the neighboring ranchers' land with water; several kids
had drowned in it, although none from our town or that we
knew. Junior knew as well as I did that the 
river was off limits. We weren't even supposed to play around
on its trecherously steep banks, but my adolescent uncle and
his  friends drank beer there and skinny dipped. I knew all of
this, but I kept my mouth shut, because Junior was my hero,
because I wanted to be big and tough and macho, and
because only sissies and babies worried about things 
like getting in trouble or drowning. When I didn't protest, it must
have raised me in Junior's esteem, because he said, "Listen,
on the way back, I'll let you drive a little. And I'll even let you
see what I got with that money." "Don't kid yourself Junior, they
ain't gonna let you take the truck." The fact that my uncle was,
at 14, underage didn't prevent him from being allowed to drive;
the fact that he'd wrecked three cars and got one stuck in a
ditch did. His Mama and Daddy would give him the keys 
to the truck the day they were making snowballs in Hell. My
ingenious uncle was not in the least discouraged by this.
 "We ain't gonna drive the truck. Listen, I've got an idea-- you 
kids just do as I say and keep your mouths shut."

 Gatlin and Buddy ran back outside, letting the screen door
bang against the frame. Mounting our bikes, with Buddy riding
double on Sissy's handlebars, we hadn't even hit the red grit of
the driveway before we were stopped in our tracks by the voice
of unquestionable authority. "You, Junior! Where are you off to
with those chill'un?" his Mama called from the porch. I thought
the whole thing was up, but my uncle just gave her one of his
most dazzling smiles and lied through his teeth as pretty as
you please. "We were just goin' by the shop t'see Daddy-- 
d'ya want me to get anything for you in town?" Grandmama,
who was surprisingly fit and good looking for an old lady of 45,
looked skeptical, but gave us permission to go with the order,
"You run into your  sister in town, you tell her to get home and
help me with supper,hear?" 

 We took off before she could change her mind, legs pumping
and bicycle wheels churning up the thick rust-colored road grit.
We rode the half mile into town, drove by the garage where
Junior's Daddy worked, and waved at it, thus turning Junior's
story to Grandmama from a *real* lie into a *white* lie. Then, to
our surprise, Junior turned on his bike in the direction opposite
of the river. "Junior," Sissy yelled, "this ain't the right way!"
 "Shut up and follow me!"he shouted back at her; our uncle had
a plan. We were puzzled, but didn't dare not to follow-- if we
went back home without him, we would get whipped for riding
back home on the highway by ourselves; Junior would get
whipped for leaving us; we would all get whipped for lying, and
then Sissy, Buddy and I would get the living shit beaten out of
us by Junior for getting him in trouble. So we rode a quarter
mile out of our way to the Refinery where my Pa worked.
 The Refinery towered over the rest of the town, a white
monolith with huge blazing smokestacks, giant tankers, and the
thick, noxious smell of crude oil. When Pa came home from
work, he had to change clothes on the porch-- it stunk that
powerful. He had two sets of everything -- boots, jeans, shirts,
even drawers-- one for home and one for the Refinery. I didn't
know what we were going to do, but I knew if we got caught by
one of the employees or the security or a foreman or, God 
forbid, an all-powerful Manager, we'd be in serious trouble.
There was a lot of heavy equipment and dangerous machinery
there (not to mention enough pollutants and toxins to single
handedly burn off a few feet of the ozone layer), and if a
grownup caught us messing around... Junior didn't seem 
at all nervous, though, he just pulled into the employee's
parking lot and rode up to Pa's pride and joy, a two-year old,
midnight blue Chevy pickup, bought and paid for. To my
surprise, he picked up his bike and threw  it in the flatbed.
"C'mon," said Junior, "we ain't got all day." Sissy looked at
Junior for a second, then shoved Buddy off her bike and he
threw *it* into the flatbed. The three of the them waited for me
to throw my bike in. I sat on my bike, chewing my lip 
and caught in a moral dilemma. Going to the river was bad,
and so was messing around the Refinery, and lying to
Grandmama. Doing all these things *plus* taking my Pa's truck
for a joyride just seemed to be begging for trouble. But, I
rationalized, we'll only get it if we get caught. And Junior had
an amazing ability to not get caught. Also, he could talk his 
way out of anything. Besides, they were going with or without
me. Did I really want to be shamed in the eyes of my teenage
uncle and hero by acting like a baby? If my younger cousin and
his sister were going, my own self-respect demanded that I go
too.

 "Well, are you gonna go swimmin' or are you gonna sit there
all day with your thumb up your butt?" Junior demanded,
snapping me back to reality, and I threw my bike into the
flatbed.The Refinery was built right on the river, but the water
was too nasty to swim in for a good five miles in all directions,
so we drove until we came to an old metal bridge over one of
the deeper spots. There was a shallow grove off the road's
shoulder where all the highschoolers parked when they came
down to drink beer and white lightening, swim, and 
make out. Junior pulled off there so that no passing cars would
see us, and we ran down the steep, slick incline of the bank to
the water's edge, stripping off our tee shirts as we went. Gatlin
and Buddy had worn their swimming suits under their clothes
because they'd thought we were going to the pool, but Junior
and I stripped off our cut-off jeans and drawers and dove in
naked. When I resurfaced, I was shocked to see that my 
littler cousins were following our example and stripping to the
skin.  "Hey! Ya'll leave your clothes on!!" I yelled, "Gatlin, yore
too old t'go around without anything on!" Cousin Sissy didn't
even pause in her undressing, but merely stuck out her tongue
defiantly at me and stepped out of her swimsuit, retorting
smartly, "Shouldn't be lookin'!" She then jumped in the water, 
followed by Buddy, and they started shrieking and splashing. I
was going to swim over and *drag* her out, but Junior grabbed
my shoulder. "Let 'em go ahead," he reasoned, "This water'd
prob'ly ruin their suits anyhow." He had a point; the water was
a rich opaque brown, and had a peculiar smell of cold, oily
mud, decaying fish and rotten tires. Still, it did cool us off, and
the thrill of being in forbidden territory was exhilarating. We
swam and played and fought in the water, and before we 
knew it, two hours had passed. When we heard the locusts
begin to sing in the trees, Junior stood up straight, spilling
Buddy off his shoulders into the water, and thus forfeiting the
chicken-fight. "Shit,"Junior exclaimed, "it's late! Hurry, grab
your clothes, you can get dressed in the truck!!" I didn't get to
drive, as Junior had promised. Hunched over the wheel, Junior
did 80 all the way to the Refinery, swearing the whole 
time while we struggled to pull our clothes over our dripping
bodies in the cramped, stifling, oil-saturated cab of the pickup.
Junior pulled into the parking lot, nearly sideswiping a truck,
and screeched to a stop. We dragged our bikes from the
flatbed and ran two whole blocks, pushing them, before
jumping on and frantically racing home.
 
Just as we were nearly home, and I'd begun to believe we'd
gotten away with it, Grandaddy Jack passed us in *his* pickup,
heading home for supper. Gatlin moaned, I almost wrecked my
bike in dismay, Junior shouted, "SHIT!" Buddy didn't
understand what was wrong, but seeing us so upset, he figured
there was trouble and started to whimper. There was 
trouble, all right, because if Granddaddy Jack got home and
Grandmama asked if where we were, he'd reply how the hell
should he know, and Grandmama would say well, what'd they
say to you when they saw you, and he'd say he hadn't seen us
since breakfast.... we gritted our teeth, lowered our heads, and
fueled by sheer desparation, pedaled the remaining 
1/8th mile home like hell had opened befind us and the very
Devil himself was on our heels.

We made it home faster than I would ever have 
believed possible, eyes watering, mouths
dust-choked, a fine layer of grit coating our damp hair and
sweat-soaked clothes. We were too late. Junior's Daddy had
just beat us; the dust had not yet settled around the wheels of
his pickup. Junior jumped off his bike without stopping it and
ran into the house. Sissy, Buddy and I did the same, 
running in breathless and with stomachs knotted, just in time to
see  Grandaddy Jack paused midway through setting the table,
and giving Junior a skeptical look. Junior was in the middle of
another artfully created lie, "...But we didn't see yore truck
anywhere, so we thought maybe you'd gone into town for gas
or to the hardware store or something, so we went to 
see if we could find you." "More likely, you went in town to try to
sneak into the movies or shoplift candy from the drugstore,"
retorted Junior's sister, who was mashing potatoes.

"That's enough, Lis'beth," Grandaddy said, then to Junior,
" I don't know what kinda foolishness you've been up to, boy,
but you're lucky you got back in time for dinner." Grandmama
saw us standing in the doorway, and said, "Ya'll go get 
cleaned up for dinner- what've you kids been into now? You,
Buddy, what've you got yourself covered with?" My cousin
looked at his grime encrusted hands, swallowed hard, 
and said meekly, "Just dirt, ma'm." Grandaddy Jack asked
Junior, eyes narrowed, "Just what were ya'll doin' in town t'get
so dirty?" Before Junior could answer, Grandmama grabbed
him by the shirt collar, grabbed Sissy by the arm, and started
herding us to the washroom, exclaiming, "Never mind how you
got so dirty, you just march yourself in there and get yourself
clean! And use *soap* this time, hear? Ya'll ain't settin' down at
that table 'til I say you're clean!"

We were crowded around the sink, trying to clean up, and
starting to relax when we heard Pa's truck pull up outside. The
minute the door slammed, I knew we were caught, and when
Pa stormed in the house, banging the screen door and yelling
for Junior at the top of his voice, I knew we were in for it.
Junior's face, tanned and sunburnt from a summer of 
playing outdoors, seemed to turn a few shades paler-- but how
could PA have caught us? We'd gotten the truck back in time!
*Grandaddy* and *Grandmama* were the ones we had to
worry about!

From the kitchen, there was a brief exchange between Pa and 
Grandmama , which we couldn't hear, then the washroom door
slammed open and my Pa stormed in, holding up a pair of
Junior's lightening bolts-covered drawers, and demanding to
know what Junior's underwear was doing  in *his* truck.
 My uncle Junior had never been at a loss for words before to
my knowledge, but at that moment, his just stood there, jaw
dropped; a look of terrible realization on his face. He stood
there for only a moment, because my Pa had hauled his little
brother out into the front room and had him by the scruff of the
neck, demanding, "Did you use my truck?! Answer me, you
little punk, did you?! Did you DO IT with a girl in MY 
truck?! When I'm off at work, bustin' my ass to make a livin',
are you tearin' all over the county with your snot-nosed friends,
screwin' girls in the truck *I* bought and paid for?!"
 Pa was shaking Junior so hard his teeth were rattling, but he 
managed to gasp, "N-no, honest! I-" He never got beyond that,
because when Pa heard the word "no", he was like a mad bull.
He grabbed Junior around the waist with one arm, and with his
free hand, pulled his leather belt out of his jeans. Gatlin, Buddy
and I just stood there, watching with a mixture of terror and
delight as my Pa cracked his belt against the seat of hapless
Uncle Junior's britches.

"Don't you lie to me, boy!" My Pa yelled, "If you *din't* have a 
girl in my pickup, what the hell were your drawers doin' in it?!"
 Junior kicked and stuggled, but my skinny 5'10 adolescent
uncle was no match for his 6'6" brother who was 15 years older
and 75 pounds heavier. Working all day loading trucks at the
Refinery had given my Pa a deep, barrel chest, powerful
shoulders, and biceps and forearms roped with rock-hard
muscles. He cried, "I ain't lyin'! OW! Honest! Ouch!! 
Daddy, make him stop! OH! Please, Luke, I'll--OW!"
 Although it seemed to last forever, Pa only whipped Junior for 
maybe two minutes before Grandmama broke it up and and
made him let him go. My uncle and Pa stood there, Pa
red-faced, breathing heavy, and furious, and Junior red-faced
and rubbing the seat of his bluejeans. Grandaddy Jack said,
"You chill'un, git. We'll call you when it's time 
t'eat." Well, we didn't have to be told more than once! My
cousins and I took the first opportunity to run for the back door
to freedom. Once we were outside, though, we crept under the
porch to listen. We listened with a mixture of shock, awe, and
delicious justification as Junior was given the third degree.
When Junior confessed he took the truck and we 
went to the river, my cousins and I exchanged looks of shock
and outrage-- Junior was squealing on us!!

 "That's it," Sissy said furiously, "I'm goin' in there and tell 
about that money he took, an' I don't give a hang what he does
t'me!" Before she could crawl out from under the porch, though,
we were surprised to hear Grandmama's angry raised voice,
"Don't you *even* think you're gonna get outta this by blamin'
them chill'un!! I bet you met some of your no-good friends in
town an' left those poor chill'un by  themselves while you went
off to th' river t'drink beer!!" "No, Mama, honest--"
 "Don't you lie t'yore Mama, boy!!" (smack!) "But Daddy--OW! I
ain't lyin'! OW!" Then, from under the porch steps, we crouched
and watched in  delight  as Junior was dragged down the steps
and over to the peach tree, with Grandmama keeping a firm
grip on his ear as she twisted off a good sized switch and
proceeded to whale the tar out of him. 

 "But Mama--OW!"  "Don't you 'but Mama' me! ...I'm gonna beat
yore butt three shades of blister blue! ...I've *had* it with you
blamin' them other kids for what you do, and for lyin', and
drinkin', and I know damn well what happened 
t'that money that was in th' sugarbowl--!" I watched, transfixed,
an incredulous grin of sadistic glee spreading across my face
as Junior's Mama held him firmly by the back of the neck,
slightly bent over one leg, and delivered a stinging whipping
with the switch to the background of his protests.
 "It's true, I done all them things! I admit it!! But, honest, I 
din't leave th' li'l kids alone in town t'day t'go drinkin'! We went t' 
th riv--OH! OW! OW!That smarts, Mama-- Okay! Okay! I admit
it! I did it! You're right!" "You did what?!" Demanded
Grandmama, not even out of breath. "I left th' chill'un in town
an' went t' the river an' drank beer and skinnydipped!" My
cousins and I were amazed yet again. Junior had 
deliberately told a lie that put *himself* in the wrong! Even more 
astonding, when he had told the truth, he'd gotten whipped for
lying! 

Grandmama stood, switch in hand, a look of grim satisfaction
on her face. Junior was red-faced and wiping snot and tears
from his face with one had and rubbing his stinging butt with
the other. He started to slink into the house, grateful that his
Mama was no longer whuppin' up on him with the fury of a
caged cyclone, but Grandaddy Jack stopped him and said, 
"You ain't done yet, boy! Now that your Ma's through warmin'
you up, it's MY turn! Get out t'that shed an' get your britches
down!" Junior's face turned white. Tears formed in his eyes; his
lip quivered, "But PA," he whined, "I'm already wore out--"
 He was cut off my his Daddy grabbing him by the ear and
growling, "I'm gonna *give* you 'wore out' if you keep up this
sassy back-talk! Now, you march your sorry butt out there t'that
shed and *git* yore britches down before I whip you so hard
your nose bleeds buttermilk!!"

For the next fifteen minutes, I and my cousins listened as 
justice was blissfully served. From our delapitated storage
shed, we heard every minute of Junior's humiliation, from his
sniveling and bawling to his Daddy's stern lecture ( "Are you
*ever* gonna lie t'me and your mama again?!" "OW! Nosir!!"
"Are you *ever* gonna blame somebody else for somethin' you
done?! "OW! OW! NOSIR!" "Are you gonna do as your 
*told*?" "Nos-- Yessir! YESSIR! OH! OW!") to every crack of
the strap as Junior got his well-deserved licks. It was like
music.