Secret Agents

At the neighborhood swim club, we used pens to “open channel D” and interface with one another. Acting out the “Man from U.N.C.L.E” TV series, Sandy was the dark-haired Napoleon Solo to my towheaded Illya Kuryakin.
In the chlorinated water, we employed another espionage device, the swim mask. Inconspicuously, we swam near teenage girls, studied their breasts, and then regrouped in the shallow end to exchange findings.
When a voluptuous girl walked toward the locker room, we shadowed her. Catlike, we waited in the changing stall next to her shower stall. When she ran the water, we peered over and soaked up as much as our spying eyes could absorb.