Summer Jobs

Ahoy! Let's party

This summer I chose to work as a lifeguard. Back in Cali, I'd teach surfing lessons to little kids and spend my days on the waves. I've been working out more; my body looks incredible, and it's not like Hawkins has a fucking beach, so I've settled for the pool.

I only work Monday through Friday, never weekends. Even if it's summer, working on the weekend is too much of a drag to bear. Even so, my job's hella easy and the hours are flexible so I can't really complain.

I get to the pool around noon because all the proper swimming lessons happen until 10 and the swim coaches monitor those. Plus, I'd never want to work mornings. I change into my uniform: bright red trunks and a shiny red whistle that I probably overuse on the pool deck— and god do I look good.

Not to sound conceited.

 I monitor the pool, mostly sitting up in the lifeguard's seat tanning. I've probably fallen asleep on the job a few times, but other than that I'm a perfect lifeguard. Tan, fit, and gorgeous. Although, the truly great part of the job is the Wednesday evening adult swim. That shift is always on my calendar. When I tell you the hottest moms show up to that shit, I'm not kidding. It's only a matter of time before I fully woo Karen Wheeler.

The pros of the job aside, every Friday the boss lets us close up early and then takes us for ice cream in the mall. I've tried to swindle my way out of it, but that old fuck says that if I can't be part of the team I might as well quit.

Now,  I'm sure you also think free ice cream from your boss and a shortened shift once a week makes a sweet deal. At first, I thought it was great too. That was until I found out that Steve Harrington is a fucking slave to Scoops Ahoy and that he's always working there. 

Every "Ice Cream Friday" we show up, we sit in the big booth and we make a note of who wants what. Mr. Barbour, my boss, insists that I should always take ordering duty. I'm the only male senior worker so he insists it's my god-given purpose. So, every Friday I march my way up to Steve Harrington in his little sailor suit and I do that fucking duty.

The first time I ordered I was so shocked that I didn't say anything and had to hand Steve the paper with the order. Probably one of the most embarrassing moments of my Hawkins life. 

The second time I ordered I was painfully bashful and I fucking stammered on my words. Me, a guy who's known for being flashy and confident, being all flustered like that.

What pisses me off the most is that Steve never reacts. He never reacts to anything I do. He just gives me the same blank look and waits patiently for me to finish embarrassing myself. It'd almost be better to have him laugh in my face. His indifference burns more than his hatred.

This Friday is no different. It's time to order and it's Steve's shift. This whole situation is awkward for a few reasons. First of all, I sort of bullied Steve. I beat the fuck out of him, harassed him until he quit the basketball team, and occasionally humiliated him. 

The second reason, I think I want to fuck Steve. Maybe that's too vulgar. I want to get with Steve. There's something about him that I can't put my finger on and I want to see him make a face full of emotion. Emotion that he feels from me, or for me, or however the hell you want to see it.

Mind you, it took me a while to figure out whether I was attracted to him or not. The thought first crossed my mind in the school locker room after practice when he was standing in just his boxer briefs leaned up against the wall smoking. 

I'd shot a few extra hoops at the end of practice and so I got to the locker room after everyone had left. Everyone except Steve. He was leaning there all cool, looked up at me through his lashes when I walked in, and began to undress. He'd held eye contact with me while I took off my shirt and then he got dressed and left without a word.