Leanne the Lusty Lifeguard

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INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER – On New Years’ Eve 1979 in Sydney Australia, 19-year-old student Greg Tyler resolves that from 1980 things in his life will change. No longer will he be a shy virgin with an unrequited crush on his pretty co-worker Morgan, he will ask her out and finally go on a date.

But for the bumbling but well-intentioned Greg this is easier said than done. If Greg cannot even talk to Jane – a pretty tomboy who works at the petrol station who he doesn’t want to ask out – without getting tongue tied, how is he ever going to talk to Morgan and ask her out without looking a fool? Greg taking advice from his Uncle Mervyn probably isn’t such a great idea.

Out of the question entirely is asking out Leanne, a stunning six foot four blonde triathlete who looks more suited to Mt. Olympus in Ancient Greece than the suburban swimming pool where she, Greg and Morgan work. She seems miles out of Greg’s league, and in any case it appears she already has a boyfriend.

But is Morgan really the right girl for Greg, and has the young man got some assumptions about Leanne all wrong? Find out by reading this hilarious sexual comedy, filled with erotica, nostalgia and politically incorrect humor.

All characters and events are entirely fictional and any similarity to real persons living or dead coincidental and unintentional. Only characters aged 18 and older are in any sexual situations. Please note for North American readers that the expression ‘fanny’ sometimes used in this Australian story means vagina. Please enjoy Leanne the Lusty Lifeguard.

***

The night skies over Sydney lit up with fireworks as the year 1979 and the decade of the 1970s entered its last minute. The clocks continued to tick towards midnight and the fireworks bathed the city skyscrapers, the nearly completed Sydney Tower and iconic Sydney Harbor and its famous landmarks of the Harbor Bridge, Opera House and Circular Quay with myriads of multi-colored lights. Crowds gathered in Hyde Park, the Domain and city streets staring upwards at the pyrotechnic display.

In Sydney’s northern suburbs, 19-year-old Greg Tyler, good looking in a smart, bookish kind of way, was one of many people at a New Year’s Eve party, the city fireworks audible. The young man, of average height but with a skinny frame devoid of any fat and muscle-tone with dark hair and blue eyes, did not have far to travel for the party as it was hosted by his Aunty Rose and Uncle Mervyn — always called Merv — from whom he rented a room after relocating from the regional New South Wales city of Wollongong to Sydney to study accounting at university.

Uncle Merv, the older brother of Greg’s father Norm was a tall but portly man with greying untidy hair combed directly back and had definitely had consumed too many refreshments this New Year’s Eve and over-indulged at Christmas, evidenced by his ever-expanding stomach. Not bothering to show much discretion as his wife was looking in another direction, Merv poured himself yet another glass of beer and his eyes roamed around the living room.

Merv and Rose had two sons Jeff and Pete, both aged in their 20s and married, and a younger daughter Andrea, a tall, slim, pretty girl with long dark brown hair who was aged 18 and lived at home while attending university and working part time. Merv’s eyes bulged at the sight of the cute bottom of his older son’s wife, then the shapely legs of his younger’s son’s wife, before concentrating on Andrea’s best friend Sharon, a pretty and very much well-endowed 18-year-old young lady whose massive breasts were the first things one noticed about her. Merv drooled over the sight of Sharon’s big boobs.

Greg had heard plenty of his uncle’s jokes about Sharon — that she could never drown, that she was a girl with big things in front of her and that when she had a baby it would never go hungry — and the young man could only cringe. At times like that Merv fully deserved the unflattering nickname many of the girls in the family had given him of ‘Merv the Perve.’

The last ten seconds of 1979 arrived and everybody counted them down until the clock struck midnight and it was now January 1 1980 — a new year and a new decade. There was the usual cheering and celebration, Uncle Merv loudly slurring his way through ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and the party continued until about two, before the guests thanked their hosts and went on their way.

In bed after the party had ended, Greg thought about his New Year’s resolution. He would start the 1980s by not being a pussy anymore, curbing his bumbling ways around pretty girls and finally mustering the courage to ask out the girl of his dreams.

This New Year Greg would for the first time go out on a date and have a girlfriend. No longer would pretty 18-year-old redhead Morgan Miller, like him a university student who worked part time at the local swimming pool, be his unrequited crush.

* Uncle Merv, who at the age of 52 learned a lesson that he could not drink as much beer as he did as a young man, was as expected much the worse for wear on New Year’s Day. He got no sympathy from his wife, Aunty Rose güvenilir bahis telling Merv that not only did he have to cut back on his drinking but he would be going on a diet too. On January 1 at least Merv was compliant, swearing never to drink anything other than water again and not eating anything at all as the hangover continued all day.

Merv, who worked as a sales manager at a used car dealership and Rose, employed as a school secretary, were on holidays over Christmas and New Year but for Greg it was back to work at the swimming pool on January 2, an overcast humid day across Sydney. Not that Greg minded, he got paid for it and more importantly the object of his affections Morgan would be there.

The day’s plans for Uncle Merv was to attend the Test Cricket game between Australia and England at the Sydney Cricket Ground with some of his friends, while Aunty Rose was going shopping at the New Years’ sales in the Sydney CBD with her sisters, with Uncle Merv offering Greg a lift to work on his way. Andrea had already gone to work, and taken the old car she and Greg shared.

“Thanks for the lift to work, Uncle Merv,” said Greg as the two men went to leave the house.

“Hey, that’s no problem,” Merv assured his nephew. “It gives me a chance to escape before …”

“Merv!” came the shrill voice of Rose from the kitchen.

“That happens,” said Merv in a low voice. He turned to face his wife as she entered the hallway, her dark hair tied back in a bun which made her expression towards her husband look even more severe. Merv put a big grin on his face. “Hello there my darling Rose, the prettiest flower in the garden by a long way.”

“Spare me the bullshit Merv,” said Rose. She held up a blue lunch box. “You seem to have forgotten the lunch I prepared for you.”

“Sorry darl, I thought I might eat it for my tea,” said Merv.

“No, you will eat it for your lunch and for tea this evening you will be having grilled fish with lots of vegetables — green vegetables,” Rose told her husband in no uncertain terms. “You are on a diet, and you are going to stick to it this time. There will be no eating pies, sausage rolls, hot dogs or anything like it at the cricket with those stupid mates of yours today. Otherwise you can come shopping with me and my sisters so I can keep an eye on you. Would you like that to happen, Merv?”

Merv took the lunchbox. “You know me, I always want to do anything that makes my Rosie happy.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Rose. “Have a good day at the cricket, but remember if I find out you’ve broken your diet in any way I will be very cross. Is that clear Merv?”

“Crystal clear,” said Merv. “Have a good day shopping.”

“Yes, we will,” said Rose. “Have a good day at work Greg, I’ll see you later.”

“Have a good day Aunty Rose,” said Greg.

“I don’t think having a good day is possible with those two sisters of hers,” said Merv to his nephew as Greg got into the passenger seat and Merv started the car, reversing down the driveway. “You know what the biggest mystery in the world is Greg?”

Greg was sure it would be something crude and sexual knowing his uncle, but played along. “No, what is the biggest mystery in the world Uncle Merv?”

“Well, it’s not Atlantis, the Bermuda Triangle or the Marie Celeste that’s for sure,” laughed Merv, as he stopped at a red light and lit up a cigarette. “It’s how those two sisters of Rose’s — the fat one and the thin one – have both got kids. You know what that means? Their husbands actually inserted their dicks up their vaginas and had sexual intercourse with them more than once. That’s a scary thought that any man would want to mount and fuck that pair of bitches more than once. There’s some sick people out there, that’s for sure. Of the three sisters, Rose is the only one who has a vagina that a bloke would actually want to fuck. And I should know, I’ve been humping her since 1952.”

“Uncle Merv, that’s really gross,” said the dismayed Greg in a small voice.

Merv laughed like a hyena. “Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” he said. “Are you saying that your Aunty Rose’s vagina is gross?”

Greg blushed and stammered and Merv laughed all the more as her drove down the road. “Relax Greg, I’m just screwing around. You should see your face. Hey, open up the lunch box and see what crap your Aunty has given me to eat today.”

The young man opened the plastic container to see two salad sandwiches, both made with brown bread. “So tell me the bad news,” Uncle Merv prompted him.

“Two sandwiches both with brown bread and no butter,” said Greg, seeing his uncle grimace. “The first one has lettuce, carrot and tomato.”

“Ugh,” said Uncle Merv. “And the second one?”

“Cucumber and watercress.”

“Cucumber and watercress — shit!” exclaimed Merv. “So not only do I have to go to the cricket with my mates with my play-lunch in a box like a nancy boy, but I have to eat one sandwich that only the poofters down in Kings Cross would eat and another sandwich that comes straight from an English tea party. Us Aussies will be smashing the crap türkçe bahis out of the Poms, and I have to look like a bloody Pom eating a bloody cucumber and watercress sandwich at the bloody cricket. I might as well stop in town and buy a suit and a bowler hat to wear. So, you wouldn’t like the sandwiches for your lunch, Greg?”

“Um, no thanks Uncle Merv,” said Greg.

“Sensible boy, sensible boy,” Merv assured his nephew. “You go around eating crap like that, and you know what everyone will think? Everyone will think that you’re a great big poof, like one of those faggots or lesbos making fools of themselves at that new Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras last year. They’re talking about making it an annual event, or maybe with poofs it should be an anal event, hey?” As usual, Merv laughed at his own joke, then continued. “Since when does Sydney need a poofter parade? And talking about lesbians, do you know what a lesbian is Greg?”

Greg did not really want to play along but reluctantly said, “I don’t know, what is a lesbian?”

“Just another woman doing a man’s job,” said Merv, convulsing with laughter and coughing from his cigarette. The older man recovered his breath, again looked at the lunch box in distaste, then his face brightened as he drew level with a park and saw a flock of magpies under a large eucalyptus tree. “Perfect solution, I’ll just be a minute,” he said to his nephew, turning into the park and bringing the car to a halt.

Greg watched his uncle take the lunch box to under the tree and throw the brown bread and salad sandwiches to the magpies. The black and white birds flew in immediately, squawking loudly as they squabbled over the unexpected treat, a few more magpies swooping down from a jacaranda to get their share.

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Uncle Merv ambled back to the car with the now empty lunch box. “Those Western Suburbs supporters have their uses,” he laughed, pointing to where the magpies were still fighting noisily over what remained of the salad sandwiches.

“What if Aunty Rose finds out?” Greg asked.

“What Aunty Rose doesn’t know can’t hurt her,” said Merv.

“What if she sees you on television eating a pie, sausage roll or hot dog?” suggested Greg, knowing that the TV station often showed shots of people in the crowd during cricket telecasts.

Merv lit up a cigarette. “It might take me buying her something big, like one of those new microwave ovens or videos to get me out of the dog house. I’d prefer it if she chose the video. I don’t think I trust those microwaves with all that radiation, I don’t want to get cancer.” Merv took a deep drag on his cigarette as he drove out of the park. “Anyway, I’m being good and not drinking today, so she can’t be totally pissed off at me. I won’t drink at all this week, but on Saturday I reckon I might reward myself with a beer or six.” Merv chuckled, and his attention was drawn to an attractive young woman with long light brown hair walking alongside the road wearing pink shorts and a pink tee-shirt, pushing a stroller containing her baby in one hand and holding a dog leash that tethered a red-coated Australian Cattle Dog in the other.

“Oh yeah, that is one hot young mum,” said Merv, rubbing his stomach and licking his lips. Greg cringed but was hardly surprised. Uncle Merv always behaved this way when he saw an attractive young woman while out driving, except of course when Aunty Rose or his daughter was in the car. “If I was married to her, she wouldn’t have one baby she would have seven or eight. I wouldn’t be able to keep out of her knickers for longer than three hours at a time, that’s for sure.”

“Uncle Merv, she’s young enough to be your daughter,” Greg pointed out.

“Yeah, but what’s a year or two or even thirty between friends?” Merv laughed. He glanced at the young woman, baby and the dog in his mirror as they rapidly vanished from sight. “But what was that dog? It looks like a bloody dingo.”

“It’s a red heeler,” said Greg.

“A red heeler?” asked Merv. “You see blue heelers all the time, but I’ve never seen or heard of a red heeler before.”

“A friend in Wollongong, his family have got a red heeler,” said Greg.

Merv grinned. “Down in Wollongong, do you have yellow heelers, green heelers, orange heelers and purple heelers too?”

“No, just blue and red heelers,” said Greg, used to his uncle making fun of Wollongong.

“It still looks like a dingo,” said Merv. “You can never trust a dingo, they’re cunning animals. They look cute, but turn your back and they’ll happily take a chunk out of your leg or your arse. That girl back there would want to be careful, that dingo might eat her baby one day if it was given half a chance.”

Greg laughed. “Oh, come on Uncle Merv, that’s ridiculous. Dingoes don’t go around eating babies. When was the last time a dingo ate a baby?”

“There’s always a first time,” Uncle Merv asserted. “One day a family might be out for a picnic or camping, turn their backs for a second and a dingo comes in and makes off with their baby. Talking about babies, have your ears recovered yet after you spent Christmas güvenilir bahis siteleri with your nephew? I’ve never heard a baby scream as loud as your sister’s kid, that’s for sure.”

Greg reflected on his Christmas spent with his parents and sister back in Wollongong. While Greg, older by a year had always made the sensible choices in life that had led him to university, Tara tended to make the dumb choices in life which ultimately resulted in her having a baby at the age of 18, with no idea who the father was. Greg thought it must have been a guy with a loud voice, given Tara’s infant son had a scream that sounded like a World War 2 air raid siren.

“I don’t think your Mum and Dad were too happy about Tara making them grandparents,” said Merv.

“No, they weren’t very pleased about it.”

Again Merv laughed. “So Tara became a mother at the age of 18? I thought in Wollongong that would make Tara a woman who started her family late in life.”

Greg shook his head at yet another Wollongong joke from his uncle. Merv looked at the road ahead where the blue and gold sign of a Golden Fleece service station loomed large to the left. “I need some petrol,” said Merv, slowing down the car and turning on his indicator.

Greg glanced at the dashboard, where the needle on the fuel gauge indicated that the fuel tank was about half full. And it wasn’t as though Uncle Merv had to drive that far today, the Sydney Cricket Ground was only in the small inner eastern suburb of Moore Park, sandwiched between the larger better known suburbs of Paddington and Randwick. “You’ve got half a tank of petrol,” Greg pointed out to his uncle.

Merv grinned at his nephew as he put out his cigarette while driving into the service station, driving over the long black tube attached to the sensor that made a loud pinging noise to alert the petrol station staff to the arrival of a customer. “No, I really, really need petrol.”

Greg thought for a few seconds, then cringed as he realized why his uncle wanted to buy petrol, and waited for the reason for this decision to appear.

At the moment, Uncle Merv’s attention was on the large sheep on the service station’s sign. He grinned suggestively and pointed at the sign. “It’s lucky it’s so quiet today. Normally you can’t move around here because of all of the Kiwis here from New Zealand on their pilgrimage, lining up to bow down to that sign.”

Greg laughed at the joke, although he had heard it many times before. When Uncle Merv wasn’t making jokes about other cities in New South Wales most notably Wollongong and Newcastle, he was making jokes about the other states. Queensland was one of his favorite targets, due to the rivalry with New South Wales in Merv’s favorite sport of Rugby League. Victoria was another, due to the Sydney — Melbourne rivalry and the love of rugby league in Sydney, and Australian football down in Melbourne. And when not making jokes about Victoria, Queensland and other Australian states and territories, Uncle Merv would make jokes about other countries, mostly England and New Zealand.

Had Merv not been distracted by the sign to make a joke at the expense of New Zealanders, he would have noticed that the sign in the shop window said, “Back in 5 minutes” and that the lock on the door to the ladies’ toilet was showing the red ‘Engaged’ rather than a green ‘Vacant’.

Behind the closed and locked door of the female lavatory petite and pretty 18-year-old Jane Doyle sat on the toilet, her short denim overalls and her white cotton bikini-style panties down around her ankles, the teenager’s long brown hair tied back in long, loose pig-tails, a white cap on her head and her feet clad in white sneakers. Jane’s knees were slightly open, showing her luxurious triangle of dark brown pubic hair and the pink lips of her oval-shaped vagina.

The attractive teenage tomboy who had perfect, naturally tanned-skin was studying for an engineering degree at university but like Greg on summer holiday, worked part time at her father’s service station as a petrol pump attendant and while normally she would be busy serving customers, this Wednesday morning was as quiet as the grave as everybody was mainly on holidays. Jane had served just one customer and was bored out of her mind. Jane’s brother had been working on a car in the workshop, but had gone out to buy a spare part. Feeling the call of nature from her bladder and her bowels, Jane had locked the service station door, hung the ‘Back in 5 Minutes;’ sign and gone to the toilet, figuring no customers would turn up.

Jane’s pretty face frowned as she heard the bell ring and she rolled her brown eyes. This was typical, no customers for over an hour and somebody turned up while she was on the loo and nowhere near finished. The teenager completed her visit to the toilet as fast as she could, Jane unwinding several lengths of toilet paper to finish before standing up and flushing the toilet. With the sound of the toilet cistern refilling, Jane bent down, the cheeks of her bottom parting to show her vagina and tight starfish-shaped anus and pulled up her knickers, covering her pubic hair, her vagina and her bottom. The girl then pulled up her overalls, strapping them in place over her white tee-shirt. Hastily washing her hands, Jane opened the toilet door and emerged, instantly recognizing the car and its driver.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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