Letter from Dave Walden, "anonymous author" of Blog of a Pool Boy.

My publisher says I'm supposed to tell you:

      Everything you're about to read in this blog actually happened... EVERYTHING! Believe it, baby, it's the lusty truth. These are the true stories of sex, betrayal... and pools.

This is what my publisher does not want me to tell you:

      My name is Dave Walden, I'm 25, a recent graduate of the Master's program in Literature at Columbia University, I work with my cousin Billy at my uncle's pool-cleaning company, and I know that the content of this blog is complete shit. If you read any of the posts- please don't!- you'll see what I mean.

Every account below is trashy, over-the-top, and completely unreal. This stuff just doesn't happen! But apparently enough people get off on these types of stories, so I'm forced to write them up, in hopes that one day I can publish something "real."

I just don't care any more. So... Welcome to the Blog of a Pool Boy. (Stop reading now.)

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009
Skinny Skimming

I don't always clean pools in the nude, but Mrs. Ginsberg insists. How can I let down (one of) my hottest clients?

      So, every Thursday, around 10:31 in the a.m., I come to the Ginsberg residence and ring the bell. No answer. (There's never an answer.)

      That's my cue to remove my shirt. I hang it on the doorknob, sense Mrs. Ginsberg's watchful eye, then make my topless way to the backyard.

      At the rosebushes, I kick off my kicks, slide off my socks, and sashay over to the lagoon-like pool. That's where I'm supposed to drop trou, stretch my arms to the sky, and do a turn- in hopes of pleasing the 45-year-old voyeur. Usually, I can hear her giggling from the kitchen window, where she hides like a child behind the pure white curtains.

      Yesterday was a different story though, because when I gyrated to the kitchen window, she was nowhere to be found. Was she lost? I thought. Unable to find her way through the haze of desire I had sublimated for her?

      I ran to and fro in search of her. I leaped over her basil garden and gave her wonderful fig tree a once over.

      "Where are you, my dear?" I wailed. Now on my knees, I punched the bitter green grass below me.

      Then, all of a sudden, I heard that familiar chuckle. I looked up, and the chuckling got louder, freer...

      I followed it to the back of the shed. She stood there, her naked body pressed against the back wall of the shed. She was a former ballerina, the best Great Neck had ever produced. Yeah, I was tempted to rush her. But then...

      "My skimmer!" I said, astonished. "You're holding my skimmer!"

      And indeed she was, the stiff pole looking comfortable in her ballerina mitts.

      "I thought I'd help you clean the pool today," she said.

      "Oh, did you?" I said. "Think you can handle it?"

      "I've watched you long enough- so long it's hurt. Hurt real bad."

      I looked her over again, then gave my manhood a glance. "Well, we are wearing matching uniforms. That's a start."

      We spent the next twenty minutes skinny skimming. When the skimmer got too heavy for her arms, I helped her to raise it, guiding her strokes. She was learning quickly. By the twenty-first minute she was good at it- quite good and strong.

      "I'm sweaty," she said, cradling the skimmer.


      "I want to take a dip," she said. "But is it safe?"

      "Let me see." I filled my cupped hands with pool water and lapped at it like a parched pooch. It was that clean and delicious. I had seconds and thirds.

      "Hey, save some for me!" she said.

      "But it's all yours already," I said. "This whole body..." I took her hand and placed it over my heart. "...This whole body of water."

      She threw the skimmer aside, took my hand, and we dove to the bottom of the pool. It was there that we kissed long and hard.

      After what felt like an eternity we surfaced like porpoises, filled our porpoise lungs with air, then dove back down to the bottom, where we filled our souls with amorous tidings.

      Can't wait for next Thursday.

Blog of a Pool Boy is a new half hour sitcom pilot from Uh-Thank You Productions.

New York Television Festival
WINNER, Best Comedy
WINNER, Greg Burke, Best Actor

Los Angeles Independent Television Festival

Check out the trailer:

For more work from Uh-Thank You Productions, check out gregandlou.com.