Page 67 of Poolside

Chuck felt his cheeks warm, and glanced down at himself. He knew his own Speedo cupped his soft cock and stretched over his ass. “If you like this then you should see me in a jock,” he teased.

Tommy stopped paddling, his head tipping back as he let out a dramatic, tortured groan. “You have a jock?” he asked, staring at Chuck, disbelief clearly written on his face.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Um,” Tommy rubbed a hand over his mouth. “When I was, you know, figuring things out, there may have been some porn that…spoke to me.”

Chuck burst out laughing. “Were you watching locker room porn?”

“There was a hot red-head!” Tommy snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide, and Chuck watched color tinge his cheeks. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

Chuck couldn’t will the smile from his face. “Hey T?”

“What?”

“Guess what I packed?”

Tommy stared at him with his mouth open for a few seconds before he looked back over his shoulder. “Great, so let’s turn this shit around,” he called out as he started to turn his paddle board back toward the house. “I think this deserves our immediate attention.”

Chuck laughed hard and loud, the whole situation so silly and ridiculous and hot, and he was struck by the foreign sense of levity that filled him.

“No!” He managed to call out between laughs. “I’ll wear the jock for you later. Right now you need to get your ass in the water and practice.”

“Fine!” Tommy wheeled back around and, with a few powerful paddles, he was level with Chuck once again. “You’re an asshole,” he muttered, but his expression was amused.

“Psh,” Chuck waved off the insult. “I’m the best. I sucked your cock this morning.”

“What the fuck, man. You’re making me hard.” Tommy reached down to adjust himself, almost losing his balance.

They paddled on, with Chuck checking his smartwatch every few meters. “Here,” he finally said, slowing his board with his paddle. They were about 25 yards from the shoreline. “Let’s tie your board to the back of mine.”

Tommy carefully lowered himself to a seated position and took a moment to situate his goggles. He’d decided to forgo the cap since they weren’t in chlorine. Then he slipped into the water and moved to attach the lanyard on his board to the back of Chuck’s. Once that was done, he rested his forearms on the edge of the board, his face tilted up toward Chuck.

“Do you see the flagpole on the dock?”

Tommy glanced back along the relatively straight shoreline, and nodded. He could barely make out a tall, silver flagpole jutting up from the end of the dock.

“That’s your marker. Check it every three to four strokes. And if you’re tired…”

“Breaststroke or sidestroke. I know.”

Chuck looked down at Tommy’s flexed jaw and his clenched fists. Even if Tommy wasn’t saying it outright, Chuck knew he was nervous. “You’ve got this,” he said, looking earnestly at the man who was now so much more than his friend.

Tommy nodded sharply. “And you’ll stay close?”

“Right next to you.”

“Fuck.” Tommy let out a loud exhale. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

* * *

For the first five minutes, Chuck paddled slowly, keeping about five feet of space between them.

It felt indulgent to watch Tommy swim. There was a reason Chuck had first realized he was attracted to men watching his teammates move through the water as a teenager. In the years since then, his gaze had turned technical, constantly evaluating the swimmers on his teams’ technique and performance. When he was coaching, all of his focus was on potential areas of improvement.

But here, in the mid morning warmth surrounded by blue-green lake water, Chuck was reminded of just how beautiful swimming could be.

Tommy’s movements were smooth, his shoulders rocking side to side with each stroke. His legs churned the water behind him, his kicks strong and in rhythm.

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