2: The Poster On the Ceiling
Morning practice wrapped up at 9. A solid three hours in the pool. It was followed by ladies water aerobics. The older ladies all smiled as the young swimmers climbed from the pool, especially the guys in their tight swimsuits. It was obvious that the display they watched was a big part of why they came to water aerobics. The pool was huge, 21 lanes of 25 yards running across the width of the eight lane 50 meter pool. One third of the pool was ready for the ladies to rock to the tunes, the rest of the pool was open swim, as it would be until the swim team returned at 4. As usual, Ryan was finishing up a training run, just as he did every day, joining me after practice.
“You know she really likes you,” Ryan said after meeting Kathy at the end of swim practice. “Look at how she looks at you!” I was more looking at him as his sweat drenched shorts clung to him. “I think she wants what is in the Speedo,” he teased.
“Yeah, maybe,” I replied. “But I am not really interested.” I fiddled with the strings of my suit, a red and black Speedo team suit. They were untied and hanging, my post swim ritual.
“You don’t need to get serious, just talk to her, maybe go out once,” Ryan added.
“We’ll see,” I replied. “Want to get food, I am starving. We can go to my house.” I smiled and waved to Kathy, as we headed to my mom’s waiting car. Me in my still wet suit, Ryan bare chested in his sweaty shorts. Mom’s breakfast was just what we both needed.
———-
I laid in bed, staring up at the poster of Mark Spitz with his gold medals, wearing his patriotic Speedo, mounted on the ceiling over my head. He was the last thing I saw at night, and the first thing I saw in the morning. My other walls were similarly covered with posters and pictures of swimmers, all guys, some cut from magazines. All in some type of swimsuit. Revealing swimsuits. All hot. I was wearing a black Arena brief that had red and blue strips of material across the front. It was a favorite suit. It had seen many days in the pool, now well weathered by the rigors of swims and the fade of chlorine. My hand gently touching my bulge as I admired the man on my ceiling. I would never be that good, but I could dream. I swelled and grew in the suit, enjoying the sensation.
Ryan’s words haunted my thoughts. “Just talk to her...” maybe he was right. Maybe I should try. Kathy had ended the afternoon practice with an open invite.
“Maybe we can do something together,” she offered.
Kathy went to school at a different one from me. Our team was a mix of swimmers from a wide swath of area. She was good, really good. She was also cute, even I knew that. She had long blonde hair, a swimmers build, and every guy on the team liked her. That she was attracted to me should be a compliment, and it really was. She was my age, but had an extra year on the top team, and college offers in the vault. She was going places, no doubt. My bulge was taking me places as my mind and hand danced erotic thoughts of the hot swimmer above, and perplexing questions of trying to be straight.
Despite all other reasons to get aroused, interested, and whatever else I was suppose to feel about a cute girl, it was the poster on the ceiling that had me hard. I gently massaged my anatomical outline as I closed my eyes for the night. The alarm would be ringing soon enough at 5am. I loved being a guy, I thought to myself.
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