The Italian Stallion

On Tuesday night I went down to the Swimming Club to do my bit of volunteering as a pool helper, with my screaming kids in tow. (I think the only reason we haven't been chucked out yet is because I help so much and I still pay them!)

Anyway, we had a new recruit, an Italian bloke called Franco. Late twenties....tall, dark, big muscles, tiny speedo's........

Franco needed quite a lot of attention because he is new and his strokes needed to be revised slightly. (What? It's true!)

My kids were, as usual, being right little whatsits, arguing and fighting, so I was trying to sort those two out, when I get a tap on my shoulder. Its Franco, out of the pool, and holding his leg.

Franco: Mya lega....it hurta.

Me: What?

Franco: Mya lega...I hava dia crampa.

Me (a bit flummoxed): Well, look, put your foot up against the wall and push into it. Also walk around a bit.

Franco: I thiink ita needa massage...

He was holding his thigh muscle and trying to massage it himself and looking at me expectantly.

I looked down at this very muscly hairy leg and thought....I cant go there. Really, I just cant. Too much temptation.

Luckily for me, the decision was swiftly taken out of my hands...the kids exploded into a full blown screaming argument, so I hurried over to them. In the meantime, one of our regulars, a European woman of about 75 - who can still give you a good run for your money in the looks department as well as the swimming department - got out and gave Franco his much needed massage.

She obviously moves fast this one, on land as well as in water!

I was pleased because I just couldn't do it. (Wimp, I hear you cry and you'd be right!).

However, I went to the pool today for a little swim.

My legs and other bits could have done with a wax but I really just couldn't be bothered - its mainly just retired people there, so no-one gives a toss what you look like, besides they cant actually see what you look like either.

So I went into the pool area complete with purple swimming hat that made my head look like a squashed peanut and pervy looking swimming goggles. I was just climbing in when I bumped straight into Franco!

I was mortified. I wanted to rip that hat straight off.

We got talking for a bit, and after a while I actually realised he was a bit thick! Plenty downstairs, but not enough upstairs! No mental stimulation there, you see. I like a man who stimulates your brain as well as other parts...

Eventually, I smiled and said I hoped to see him again at the next session and swam off.

Whilst I was swimming away, I thought: You know what? If I'd been mid-twenties I would have shagged you, but then I would have dumped you too. Then I would have had to have given up swimming in case of bumping into you again.

But luckily, although I still think like a twenty-something, I no longer act like a twenty-something. I must be growing up.

The Italian Stallion