Anyway, as a result my swim shorts were a little too short, and a little too tight, frankly.Nothing obscene - more discrete, certainly, than a Speedo might be - but still enough to leave me somewhat self-conscious.That mood lingered until I followed the signs to the poolside, and realized I had the whole thing to myself.
It wasn’t huge; smaller, even, than the public pool back home.Maybe four lanes wide, mosaic tiles shimmering through the blue-tinted water.It almost felt wrong to lower myself in, and upset the soft ripples which sashayed with a dreamy rhythm from one end to the other.
The temperature was just right.
I pushed off with my feet, relying on muscle memory to take over.Arms sweeping in front of me, a lazy breaststroke.Tracking my progress by the dimming, then brightening, then dimming again of the warm overhead lights.
Not a particularly graceful turn at the opposite end, but enough to send me slicing back down the way I’d just come.Focus slipping in, now, as the patterns returned to me.Like an engine long unused, gradually figuring out the order of its motions.
I did eight laps that way, then switched to front crawl.Relishing the feeling of my arms arching up, then scything down to cut into the water.Still not fast, but maybe more graceful, I decided.An improvement, anyway, even if I’d been good enough at 15 to catch the attention of our high school coach and offered a spot on the swim team.
I’d turned it down, of course.The thought of more opportunities to inconveniently bone up, surrounded by barely-dressed guys, outweighed his “it’ll look great on college applications” argument.
I clung to the pool’s edge, still bobbing as the water ebbed from my disturbances, and thought about how things might’ve been different had college been on my roadmap.My grades had been sufficient, just about, and my parents not averse to the idea.Somewhere in state, of course, given the financial situation: they’d made noises about helping out, but I knew the “college fund” amounted to moral support and the old pickup that, by that point, I was already driving.
In the end it was apathy that made the choice for me.Or, perhaps more accurately, simply not knowing what I’d do when I got there.Unwilling to gamble on a sense of direction manifesting by the end of a still-expensive first year.
I couldn’t say, with hindsight, that it was the wrong decision.Even if I wasn’t sure that someone like Flynn would necessarily agree.
My arms were aching as I pulled myself out of the water.Muscles forced to work in unfamiliar ways; the sort of foreboding protest that suggested tomorrow morning might be an uncomfortable one, when the exertions caught up with me.I rubbed myself down with the towel I’d left poolside, as I walked back to the locker room.Only to find that I no longer had the place to myself.
Early thirties, perhaps; taller than me, and broader across the shoulders.Dark hair buzzed short.He gestured with his chin as I padded through, still barefoot; I nodded back, my eyes lingering only as long on his bare chest as was acceptable for strangers.
“Been swimming?”His voice was deeper than I expected, very nearly a whole register lower.Then he chuckled.“That was a stupid question, wasn’t it.”
I raised my eyebrows, flashing him a grin.“I could just be really, really sweaty when I work out.”
He laughed again.“I’m no doctor, but...”
“I should probably have that checked out,” I finished for him.
He winked, as he pushed down his sweatpants.
I turned away, suddenly self-conscious.Wondering if, for all I’d thought it restrained, he’d noticed the way I’d checked out his torso.Whether even a casual glance over, as he stood there in his underwear, would be sufficient to reveal me as the sort of pervert who ogled guys in locker rooms.
Blushing, and angry at myself, I shoved my swimsuit down.
“In town for anything fun?”
Looking over felt dangerous, like it was a trap with clear bait attached.I shook my head.“Just a weekend break, really.”
He chuckled.“Plenty to keep you occupied, I’m sure.”A pause.“For a good looking guy like yourself.”
I froze, towel mid-rub.“Uh, thanks.”
He was humming to himself, a tuneless sort of noise that nonetheless seemed happy.Grudgingly, against my better instinct, I peeked behind me.
His smirk was less “caught you,” and more “I was wondering when you’d look.”Or maybe he always had that expression, when he was standing naked in front of a stranger.
I forced my eyes to stay on his face, as though my life depended on it.“How about you?”
Clearly he had fewer qualms about being seen staring.Gaze tracking down, across my bare ass, and then back up again.The smile was wider when he reached my face.
“Just passing through, really.Though I’m always open to...distractions.”
I nodded, slowly.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t been cruised before.Even so, that moment of inversion - the fear of revealing yourself, clicking around to the thrill of being seen - was still enough to send shivers through my stomach.Turning back to the locker meant I could hide my grin.
