Buried in the cobwebs of my mind rest memories from late adolescence, tangled in a hodgepodge of fond recollections woven together with old friends, empty beer cans, and an unlit, small body of water.
It was summer 1985 and we called it pool hopping.
It was an innocent act void of vandalism or any other fineable offenses, outside of trespassing in community pool space. We seized the night, if only for a brief moment on select summer evenings, all under the cover of darkness, near the midnight hour.
Our numbers varied. It was not uncommon to have upwards of ten guys and girls awkwardly scaling chain link, yelling at each other to shut up before some neighbor called the cops. Those were raucous events, for sure. However, this particular Saturday night, there were only three of us – Lori, Kenny, and me. Now I’m not a math guy, but even I know those numbers don’t add up.
Somebody’s getting third wheel status.
We didn’t bring beer with us, besides what was already gurgling inside of our stomachs. However, these abdominal contents revealed two truths. One, inebriated persons practice awful noise discipline. Two, alcohol lowers one’s inhibitions.
Both were important this night, but the second loomed larger in significance. Tonight’s foray was an impromptu. We did not come prepared. Rather than wearing swimsuits, tonight’s water escapades at the Stratford Landing Recreational Center were to be au naturel.
The three of us were part of a larger friend group, equally comprised of guys and girls. We’d spent substantial time together, thereby building a strong comfort level with each other. Kenny and Lori had known each other since grade school. I didn’t join into their mix until high school, but we were still a tight knit group.
Tonight, we would further test the boundaries of our friendships.
Kenny truly believed we would both get laid. He was exuberant with the possibility of imminent sex lingering in the air, his and Lori’s familiarity with each other only heightening the suspense. He insisted that I was an integral part of this, so as a dutiful wingman, I tagged along.
His positivity was infectious, even though I didn’t believe Lori thought of me that way. However, she was attractive and maybe, just maybe, Kenny was right. My curiosity and libido delivered a clear message – it is time to rise to the occasion!
Our point of entry sat directly beneath a mercury vapor lamp, illuminating us for anyone within eyeshot. More discrete spots existed, but this was the easiest climb and we were ultimately too lazy to bother scoping out a better option. It was also the noisiest part of the chain link to scale. The gate latch clanged against the steel post and the chain and lock rattled against the metal fence.
However Kenny and I rapidly scrambled over, no doubt fueled by the excitement of impending nudity with a hot chick. I had no idea what motivated Lori and I could have cared less. Skinny-dipping has a profound ability to mitigate rational thought.
The pool sat in the middle of a wide-open expanse, but completely secluded from the outside by plentiful trees in full July foliage, which surrounded the entire property. The moonless sky provided next to no illumination, even for our keen teenage eyes.
Lori went to one side of the pool while Kenny and I stayed on the opposite deck, per her direction. It was so dark we could barely see each other, even from just across the water. The excitement mounted as Lori undressed, even though it was like ogling shadows.
Kenny stripped down buck naked and jumped into the pool first. I followed suit and jumped into the cool water. Having effectively called her bluff and heading to her side of the pool, Lori knew she’d be plainly visible in a matter of seconds. She doffed what little clothing remained and leapt into the water, obscuring her body under the ripples.
Kenny was a sage.
I was about to get lucky in a pool. I just hoped it was with the girl.
As expected from their years together, Kenny was far more comfortable with approaching Lori than I was. She held Kenny off by splashing him in the face and screaming at him to keep his junk away. As the wingman I occasionally joined him, but Lori’s splashes, raised voice, and constant threats of genital damage kept us at bay. The sexual crescendo waned into playful banter and laughter.
It was quickly obvious that nothing of a carnal nature would occur. We gradually fell back into our friendship roles, albeit naked. This was all for the best. Kenny’s and Lori’s relationship was more akin to brother and sister than one night stand, what with their sibling-like bickering, and constant rivalry.
If Kenny had been right, his fornication prediction would have possessed a nauseating, incestuous-like edge. Knowing I could have be a part of that would have left me feeling shameful, at best.
I’m sure Lori knew exactly what she was doing, though.
She likely filed that experience in her brain under “how to manipulate idiot teenage boys.” I’d like to proudly proclaim I never again let the possibility of sex put me in a potentially compromising position, but the flesh can be weak, especially back then.
This incident was a proverbial and literal testing of the waters. The pilot and the wingman crashed and burned while Lori gained insightful knowledge into moronic male behavior.
Despite all the sexual tension dangling in the air that night, Kenny and I were the ones left dangling, mentally and physically. It’s amazing what you don’t see when all you’re trying to see is a naked girl.