The Pool Boy (A Romance Novella)

By: Penny Wylder

I’m doing the math in my head. In order for him to get to where he is now, a professor in one of the best private universities on the west coast, he would’ve been in college himself back when the movie was made. He also would’ve known videos like those could eventually destroy his career if anyone were to find out. Why would he risk his entire career?

“The only way to find out if it was really him,” Serena continues, “is if someone sees the goods. Also, there’s that birthmark on his hip that would totally give him away.”

There’s that, but I could tell just by seeing his dick. I would know it anywhere. I watched the video several times and have it ingrained in my memory.

“How are you going to do it, just walk up and ask to see his birthmark?” I ask, skeptical.

Boyfriend—I seriously need to learn his name; I think I heard Serena call him Chet, or maybe Chad, once—laughs too loud, getting the attention of everyone around us, including Mr. Johnson. I look down to avoid his irritated gaze. I hate the thought of him thinking I’m fucking around in class and not getting my work done.

“Are you kidding?” Chad (or whatever) says. “I wouldn’t let my girl near that summer sausage; I’d lose her for sure.”

Serena rolls her eyes and says, “I’m not going to find out, but you are,” she says to me.

“He won’t show me,” I insist. I can’t even imagine how I would go about seeing it. I picture the look on his face as I walk up and say, Good day, Mr. Johnson, how about you show me that beautiful fuck-stick. The thought brings a fraction of a grin to my face. Mostly because the voice I use in my head is British. I’m not sure why. It just pops into my head like that. “He wouldn’t be willing to risk his job. He could lose everything.”

“Trust me, for you, he would,” says Chad with a sleazy grin. Serena jabs him in the ribs, giving him a dirty look. “What? He would. She’s hot.” Her angry look continues to harden until he’s squirming. “But you’re hotter,” he says. The nasty glare continues far too long until both me and Boyfriend are super uncomfortable. After a minute she relaxes. The thin compliment seems to satisfy her enough to move on.

When she looks back at me, there’s more heat in her gaze, as if it were my fault her boyfriend called me hot. “I dare you to find a way to catch him naked and get a look at it,” she says.

“How the hell do you suppose I do that? It’s not like he has a reason to strip down in class . . .”

Or does he?

Ideas begin to fire off in my head. Situations. Possibilities. Probabilities.

Here’s where my curiosity will get me into trouble. I don’t back down from dares, and in this case, I kind of don’t want to. I’m just as curious as everyone else, and I actually think I have a plan on how to see him naked that might just work. I look in my backpack to make sure I have what I need, and with a nervous smile, realize that I do.

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