Skinned

Skinned

         “Mr. Stevens? Are you awake Mr. Stevens?”

There was a time not long ago that I pictured myself bathing in a hot tub with three gorgeous, naked beauty queens. Instead, here I am with scabs being washed off my back with a sponge held in hands of a woman old enough to be my mother, and burly enough to be my uncle.

When I had heard that the local park district was looking for a new team of lifeguards, I felt my life change. Even now I could picture my first heroic rescue. A sexy young blonde with big, red lips and a bust to match gets a cramp in base of her petite, rose colored toe. “Help, help!” someone would scream. That would be my moment to shine.

My body would be in peak physical condition, the result of countless hours working out in the public gym. I would jump from my post high above the pool like the Olympic divers on TV, executing a perfect reverse three-and-a-half somersaults with a tuck. The chlorine burning my open eyes, I would spot the damsel in distress holding her foot, sitting on the azure pool floor. Like a torpedo through the water, I would swim and bring the twenty-something vixen to the surface where my applause awaited.

“Move aside” I would say, “She needs room!” Holding back her beautiful blonde locks, I press my lips against hers while feeling for her sternum. She needs CPR.

“One, pump, two, pump, three”, a reviving breath.

“One, pump, two, pump, three”, once more.

Then, I would have saved the day. More applause and a rewarding kiss from my rescued maiden. Finally, I would be the hero. I would be appreciated, nay, revered around town. I might even be given the key to the city. People would stop me on the street wanting to hear of the valiant rescue; passing women would ask to feel my muscles.

But now, these dreams now remain just that, dreams.

Signing up and looking at my competition, I knew I had some work to do. Though I wouldn’t say I was unhealthy, I was far from being in typical lifeguard condition. After the sign up, all who applied were called to the convention center some two weeks later. There were the buzz cut blondes with glistening six-pack abs, but there were a few others like me. Slender, petite, or lightweight they might call us in lifting competitions. They were all incredibly handsome of course. My key goal, as I saw it, was to clear up the acne on my back. At least then I would be presentable. The park district demanded physicals for everyone, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask about treating the backne.

After squeezing my balls and playing with my rectum, the doctor told me I was in fine health. He asked if I had any concerns and I just pointed to my back. It’s fairly common, he said, for some acne to persist beyond adolescence and suggested that I wait for my skin to clear up naturally. I told him I couldn’t wait five to ten years, so he prescribed a simple antibiotic pill, doxycycline. One pill a day for a month or two, he said, would help clear it up.

Looking back, I only wish I had listened the first time.

I began taking the medication immediately and returned the results of my physical to the park district office the very next day. Two weeks and a drug test later, I joined the force of the Augustine Public Pool Life Rescue Team. In the course of those same two weeks, I began to notice an improvement from the doxycycline. The red sores, pimples, scars and blemishes on my face and back had cleared up immensely.

Still, I wish I had listened to the doctor.

My first day on duty, I felt more confident and secure than I had my entire life; the second day, even better; the third, a day that would ruin the rest of my life.
I sat high above the pool in the elevated, whitewash lifeguard post in my very own orange swim trunks, Rayban sunglasses, official lifeguard whistle, and a genuine “Aquatic Patrol Officer” t-shirt. The two days prior had been rather bleak and boring. No one wants to swim when it’s overcast and 70 degrees. The day after, however, was sunny and swelteringly hot. Perfect swimming weather.

Perfect bikini weather.

The women came in clusters, all of them just waiting to be whisked away by a hunky aquatic patrol officer like myself. Today would be the day I would show off my new, zit free bod. I assumed my post as I had the days before, only this time wearing nothing but my swimming trunks. I reclined in the plastic lawn chair, biding my time, waiting for just the right moment to make my first move. Then like a gift from above, someone was drowning.

Two girls, neither older than 19, had been playing in the deep end of the pool. They both went under for a few seconds, but only one of them came back up. This was it. This was going to be my moment.

I blew my trusty whistle and rose from my chair. No one cared to notice me until I let out an ungodly scream. My back felt warm, warmer than it should ever feel. It was so warm, it was cold. My whole body tingled.

Have you ever bitten off a hangnail and taken some skin away with it? Imagine biting the skin all the way down your finger, past your palm, up your arm, and around your back until only the front of your body had any skin left.

The horror of looking behind me to see the hanging, torn flesh of my back and arms was great enough to send me into shock. At least, that’s what they told me at the hospital. At first, no one could explain what had happened. The surgeons had seen their share of nasty sunburns, but this was unlike anything they’d heard of before. I had been wearing my administered SPF 50 sunscreen, but there’s not enough SPF in world to protect me from what had actually happened.

Doxycycline is a very common antibiotic used in treating a variety of infections, but that’s not to say it is without its share of side effects. One such was labeled clearly only the bottle: you should avoid prolonged or excessive exposure to direct and/or artificial sunlight while taking this medicine. The reason being, there is a 10% risk of photosensitivity skin reactions. All those hours basking in the ultraviolet light of the sun without a shirt and I was literally baking into the plastic lawn chair. I had made myself victim to a severe case of photodermatitis; sun poisoning.

The only option is to keep me hospitalized until the skin had grown back naturally. Every day at four o’clock, the nurse comes in to sponge my back of scabs and massage me with ointment to prevent infection. Here, I will spend over a month laying flat on my stomach, waiting for my flesh to redevelop.

The good news, I finally got rid of my backne.