[SwimTeamSpeedo]

Coach Ryan's annual team party at the lake was always a blast. After the long swim practice, the team bantered about the upcoming afternoon at the lake. Everything was discussed from what swimsuits each of them were going to wear, to what hot girl was going to be the biggest turn on. Even talk of hot guys filled the locker room. Jake took some teasing about whether Lizzie and he were going to be off in the woods frolicking in poison ivy. It was not much past 9 and the party did not start until the afternoon. Most of the guys were going to head over to the local diner for breakfast and more sometimes raunchy banter.

Stormy listened but did not participate, his wounded self esteem showing in his pity party for one. Jake and Allen glanced over a few times. Stormy just sat on the bench, still in his colorful jammer suit. Jake and Allen had not changed, either. "Hey, Stormy, " Jake opened as he walked over. Stormy looked up. "You are coming to the lake, right?"

Stormy looked back in silence for a minute. He rubbed the Lycra encased upper legs that were still reeling from the ass licking he just took. "No, I got things to do," he replied as he stood up.

"Well, it is a really good time, and a great way to meet the team," Allen chimed in. "If you change your mind..."

"I said I wasn't coming," Stormy cut them both off. With that, he walked out of the locker room, bare chested and still wearing the wet jammers.

"He's still adjusting to the change," Chris came over. Chris looked so hot in his tight fitting Turbo swimsuit, Allen started getting aroused. "That was really nice you guys tried to include him." Chris added, putting his hands on both their shoulders. "He's a good swimmer. He'll come around."

"Yeah, we'll keep trying," Jake replied as he grabbed his stuff. Allen agreed. The guys left still wearing their suits, heading for breakfast. Most of the rest of the team had already headed out, even Lizzie took off. Some in shorts, some dressed just as Jake and Allen were.

Stormy left the pool and headed west out state route 163 toward Mapleton. The Mazda Miata was a gift from his parents for making him move his Senior year, part bribe and part 18th birthday. It was the perfect day for a joy ride in a convertible as he rolled past fields of potato crop in full bloom. He was still naked but for the form fit jammer, which was getting dryer by the second. It was 6 am back home, his friends would be just starting swim practice at the awesome pool complex just east of Phoenix. Free of the humiliation he took at the pool, Stormy gained his esteem back. His left hand on the wheel, he rubbed his bulge with his right, growing aroused. Thankfully, Northern Maine is not well patrolled, as Stormy teased himself in the hot red Miata, he blew through Mapleton's center at 50, ignoring the posted 25 speed limit.

The Raceway Diner was use to the swim team guys crashing the place for breakfast, many wearing their skimpy swimsuits with shirts over, teasing the cute girls who served the home cooked food. The owners overlooked the attire because the team came in hungry, ate and spent a lot, and they were a fun group to watch and listen to. "Wholesome boys," said the owner, an older lady who called anyone under 30 as boys or girls. The only rule was no foul language, but that even slipped out in their youthful exuberance.

Lizzie sat close to Jake, her hand strategically placed on his inner leg, she could feel parts of him that turned him on. She was still in her one piece competition suit with short nylon shorts over. Many of the girls on the team were far less revealed than the guys. "So then he says he needs his own lane because there are no good swimmers on the team," Jake said as he related the story, somewhat embellished.

"What a jack ass," said Ricky, violating the language rule. Ricky was in a hot red print Tyr, two inch sides. He had the cutest bulge, which was well outlined by the soft Lycra material. He had caught the eye of one of the cute wait staff.

"I think he is just lost," Allen said insightfully. "It has to be hard...". He trailed off.

"I agree, we need to give him a break,". Jake chimed in.

"We are a team," Ricky added. Ricky had an idea, and he found Stormy pretty cute.

Lizzie gave Jake an approving rub that about made him pop out of his suit. Good he was sitting, his erection strained against the suit, a release of moisture creating a west spot between his legs.

The hot red Miata climbed the hill west of Mapleton and made a quick right into the gravel lot of Haystack Mountain. Stormy smiled when he saw no other cars, he had the place to himself. He grabbed his hiking shoes off the floor of the passenger seat and slipped them on. He slipped a cropped Lycra shirt on, one that matched a color in his jammers. He carelessly tossed his keys in the center console and set off up the single trail that would lead him to the top of the small, but mighty little mountain. More of a big hill really. His cell phone tucked in the waist of his suit and a big bottle of water in hand. He was still horny, but the hiking returned his bulge to normal. Stormy also felt so alone.

Allen left breakfast and rode the old green bike west, also along route 163 heading toward Ashland and directly through Mapleton. He swapped the t shirt he borrowed from Jake for the more brightly colored spandex top, not exactly a real cycling jersey, but close enough. At least he was highly visible. He wore his swimsuit rather than his only pair of cycling shorts. He had a thirty mile ride ahead of him. Jake, Ricky and two other swimmers passed in Jake's truck, honking and carrying on as they passed the swimsuit wearing cyclist.

"Cute shorts," Ricky yelled out. Allen gave him a teasing hand jester in return. For the next 25 miles it was Allen, the bike, and the open road.

Stormy sat atop the mountain. To the east he could see all the way to Presque Isle and beyond, actually into Canada. To the south a view of Scopan lake, formerly called Squa Pan, until the whole political correctness thing ended its original Indian name. To the west and north the town of Ashland and the abundant north Maine Woods. It was a fantastic view, but for Stormy it was a place to think. He looked at his cell phone and imagined he was back with his team, half way through practice. Arvid, called AJ, his best and closest friend would be looking all hot and sexy in his jammers, driving Stormy wild. Stormy began to massage the arousal he felt thinking about AJ. He quickly became fully hard, enjoying the feel of his expanding bulge. Stormy's tough guy shell started to melt away as he looked across the expanse of rural in all directions.

"Oh man, this just sucks," Stormy thought to himself. His mind wandered from his arousal to the conflict he was feeling. "No one here is going to accept me," Stormy thought to himself. "At least not like my team did." His eyes became wet and filled with tears. His hand stopped as his emotions poured out. He had never told his parents of his attraction to AJ or that he was sure he was gay. "And now here I am in podunkville where they would never accept me," he said to no one atop the mountain. As Stormy sat alone, he missed the sight of Allen making the tough climb on the highway below. The swimsuit clad cyclist was coated in salty sweat as he crested the top and rode right past the gravel entrance to Haystack. Allen and Stormy were so much alike, but neither knew it. In fact, across his new team, Stormy had more in common than he realized. Stormy sat alone, tears streaming down his face. When his phone chimed a text message, he brightened, sure it was AJ sending him a selfie in his swimsuit.

"Hey Stormy, please come to the team party, I can pick you up," read the text. It was from Ricky, who got Stormy's number off the team roster.

Stormy did not reply, at least not yet.