Page 1 of Dear Sexy Swimmer
Maia
Dear Sexy Swimmer,
Feels like now my week begins once I get my letter from you. Until then I'm just waiting. For word from you, for updates about your week, your life. For a chance to update you about mine. What do you think that means?
How was your holiday? Quiet holidays make me wonder about families. About how different they all are. And how my own might be some day.
Desperate. I feel like my words sound desperate. Mostly because it seems Ifeeldesperate lately. With every letter sent, and every one received I grow more desperate. Every single week I decide I won’t write another letter. It’s foolish, pointless, and pathetic. And yet every single week I send my letter right on schedule.
A few months ago, tired of spending my nights with wine and Hallmark movies, I signed up for a dating service. Guess I’m a bit old-fashioned because instead of using apps to hookup or websites to post profiles, I chose to exchange letters with likely matches. Grace Graham atWhat the Heart Wantsis known for her matchmaking prowess so I thought why not?
Admittedly it was strange to sit down and write about myself to a stranger. I thought for sure it would take a few misses to truly be matched with someone I wanted to write to. Until I opened that first letter. Clearly Grace knows what she’s doing because that first letter had me hooked.
Dear Sexy Gem,
Someone who knows about matches thinks we are a perfect match.
After I got your profile, I think Grace might be right. Couldn’t wait to write to you. Something about that profile called to me. Sounds like a terrible line now that I write it, but I mean it.
I like that your pen name is Sexy Gem. Something about your profile makes me feel like I found a diamond in the rough.
Waiting for your words,
Sexy Swimmer
XOXO
For the past few months my Sexy Swimmer has done just that. At least one letter a week. Lately it's been more like two or three a week, to be honest. I crave opening my mailbox every single day. Opening that box to see my name in his handwriting shoots excitement through me like nothing else.
At first we wrote about the basics. While keeping a little mystery. I let him know I was a teacher at a university. He let me know he was a swimmer training for Olympic trials. We talked about where we were from—he was here from Colorado where his whole family still is and I told him about my move here from a tiny Montana town.
I told him I am a new teacher but not that I’ll be starting at Blackburn College. He knows I’m single but not because my high-school sweetheart eloped with my sister. Safe to say I didn’t tell him I hadn’t been home since my entire family seemed perfectly fine with their nuptials.
It was just about the only thing I had not yet admitted to him. We talk about movies and music, books, what we like to do for fun. I told him how much I enjoy making jewelry and being creative. He has told me how much he wants to be something more than a swimmer, though he’s not sure what since it’s all he’s ever worked towards.
Took us three letters to admit our names. Four more for him to convince me to send a photo. My eyes fly to the photo that’s pinned to the board above my desk. Inside my chest my heart kicks up, my thighs quiver, and my insides twist.
Smiling back at me is a Goddamn Adonis. Sun-kissed sandy blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, sharp jaw with the fairest dusting of stubble. Lean and muscular, his swimmer body is all sharp angles with dips and curves I want to lick. White teeth flash a dimpled crooked smile.
And... he is absolutely drenched. Much like my panties.
Smiling up at whoever is behind the lens, sun shines down on him as waves crash around him. In his natural habitat, I suppose. It’s a glorious image. One I seem to picture every single time I close my eyes.
“Pull back from the edge of pathetic, Maia.” I grumble as I throw my pen down and look out the window beyond my desk.
It’s a lovely fall afternoon with a crisp breeze and shining sun. I could be out in it. Could be living out there instead of pretending in here. A little whine comes from my feet and I smile, reaching down to fluff my dog Booker’s ears.
“Come on Book,” I smile as I hook his leash up, “Let’s go pretend to be normal for the neighbors, huh?” He barks once as if to agree and we head out.
Before I hit thirty, I was all about normal. I had my life figured out. Plan A: I’d be a wife, a mother, and make a home for my husband. Plan B: Maybe I’d teach someday. Instead I was forced to go with Plan B as my Plan A ran off with my sister.
Booker makes his rounds out in our courtyard before we head back inside. After pouring him dinner and warming my own in the microwave, I’m back to my letter. Wondering what a fool I’m being. Pining over a man I only know through words on paper and a photo.
Still, those words and that photo make me feel things I never knew possible.
Dear Sexy Swimmer
Monday is my first day with a new class. Never been so nervous in my life. I don’t know if I’m in over my head or not. I was never sure this was what I wanted to do. It is just what made sense to do. I don’t know if that is why I am so nervous. Because I don’t know if I want to do it.
