Adam Wilkins & The Eclipse

by Russ

‘Fuck me…’ Rowan exclaimed under her breath.

Adam Wilkins had just climbed into the lifeguard’s chair at the Grimley & Burridge Community Leisure Centre swimming pool. She knew he would, it was precisely why she’d chosen to spend her break in the gallery seats opposite. She took the flask from her bag and poured tea in its plastic cap-cup to steady her quivers. Its steam clouded her glasses so she clamped the cap-cup between her knees and wiped the mist from the lenses with her mittens.

Rowan had been using her breaks to gawp at the Speedo-clad Adam Wilkins since the day he’d been hired. It was chilly up in the gallery, in contrast to the greenhouse temperatures at pool level, but it was nothing a scarf and a woolly hat couldn’t fix. Today, she was working on a fantasy involving him as a merman but found herself stumbling over logistics. If he were fish from the waist down, where would the cock go? Rowan really needed there to be a cock.

It was this thorny issue she was mentally thumbing over when tragedy struck. Her gaze had drifted for the shortest of moments and there’d been an eclipse.

Adam Wilkins had climbed down from his perch, grossly neglecting his duties and endangering the lives of both the pool’s current occupants: a dangerously pregnant lady and a body of indefinable gender which seemed to be composed entirely of wrinkles. Blocking Rowan’s sight of the now fully elongated Adam Wilkins, was a very unwanted addition to the scene.

Rowan shot death rays from her eyes. First, she aimed them at the offending object’s feet. One sat flat on the ceramic floor and the other was raised at the heel making everything above it angle and curve in a way that was so disgustingly, confidently, beautifully, feminine that Rowan wanted to set it on fire. Rowan lifted her mind laser along the spine before letting it slash across the shoulder blades which appeared to create the perfect cantilever balance to what were presumably a pair of nonchalant bastard breasts currently hovering under Adam Wilkins’ chin like buttercups testing if he likes butter. And Rowan just bet that Adam Wilkins likes butter! Finally, Rowan concentrated her fury on the mass of hair which looked as if its sole desire was to waft around blocking people’s view of Adam Wilkins while being completely impractical for swimming.

In a bid to calm herself, Rowan dumped a couple of mints into her mouth. Half a second later Adam Wilkins and the swimsuit encased blockage both laughed and Rowan bit down hard.

‘Fuck me!’ she yelled as the boiled sweets cracked the enamel of at least one tooth. This time it wasn’t under her breath. This time it echoed off the glass roof and earned a pointed tut from the baby oven. Even the five-foot genderless testicle stopped swimming its length to look where the profanity had come from. Adam Wilkins didn’t flinch though, nor did the creature concealing him.

Rowan stuffed her flask into her bag with enough force to reheat the tea and stormed back to reception. Somebody was going to be cracking their shins against the exit turnstile when the thwarted receptionist forgot to press the release button in a short while.

Feedback