A Swim With Phelps

It was a beautiful day at the Portofino Hotel in Universal Studios, Florida, and I was enjoying it immensely. I took a few lazy laps in the pool and then got out to recline on one of the many empty lounge chairs. It was mid-afternoon and most of the hotel's guests were in the park. Taking advantage of the vacancy, I spread out, placing my wet towel and cover-up on the chair next to me and laid down, pulling my sunglasses onto my face.

I'm not sure how long I lay there; I must have dozed off for a bit. It could not have been long because there was still hardly anyone around. I did, however, notice a lone swimmer in the pool. He was muscular and I enjoyed watching the sun glitter over his body as he swam. I was surprised by the way he did it. He was very smooth, very professional, but when he reached the end of the lane he stopped and stood, instead of doing a flip turn like I expected. His strokes were so perfect; it didn't make sense for him not to be doing flip turns.

It was hard to tell through his dark goggles, but I realized that he was stopping to look around. He was stopping to look at me! Well, that makes sense, I told myself. I'm the only person sitting here. Still, it was a little disquieting and I told myself that if he tried anything funny, I was going to leave.

When the swimmer reached the end of the pool nearest to my chair, he climbed out. He grabbed a towel from the stand, and his shorts and sandals from the floor, and walked over to me. He has to be a regular swimmer, I noticed. His body was just too perfect for anything else.

He kept walking toward me and then stopped at the chair on my left. "Is this seat taken?" He asked.

I should have left. I was planning to leave, but things never work out like you plan. Instead I simply said, "No," and did my best not to faint. Sitting next to me was Michael Phelps. It took everything I had not to fall down at his feet. Here was the man I had admired from afar since the day I first saw him swim in the Olympics. I watched every one of his medal ceremonies just so I could get another glimpse of his wonderful smile. I even bought his Wheaties box and yet, here he was! Sitting right next to me! What's more, he was definitely admiring my curves. Admiring my curves? My Gods, I thought. Michael Phelps thinks I'm hot. The realization caused me to nearly fall out of my chair and Michael turned to me and asked if I was all right.

"I'm okay." I said, barely managing to get the words out. I watched him, safe behind my sunglasses. He seemed unsure of himself. He kept fidgeting and fighting the desire to turn and look at me. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, he turned to me and said, "Hi. I'm Michael."

Simple words, but to me, some of the best I'd ever heard. "I know," I replied. "I recognized you from T.V. You're Michael Phelps, the swimmer." I was amazed that I'd managed to keep my voice from going all high-pitched and girly. Somehow I managed to remain calm.

"Oh. Sometimes I forget that the Olympics were televised. You don't even notice the cameras when you're in the pool."

"Really?" I asked, fascinated by anything he had to say.

He nodded and said, "Since you already know who I am, mind if I ask your name?"

I practically screamed in delight. My hero, my idol was asking my name! "It's Heather," I replied, still keeping my voice under control.

"That's pretty. I was..."

"Look," I interrupted. "I never do this sort of thing, but would you like to get something to eat with me? I mean, I understand if you don't." Of course, I wasn't expecting him to say yes, even though in hindsight I should have figured out that he had walked over to ask me out in the first place. Chalk it up to being star struck.

"Of course!" He answered enthusiastically. "I never do this kind of thing either, but something about you made me want to talk to you.

"Really?" I asked. "I wonder what that was?"

"It could have something to do with your rather low cut bathing suit."

I laughed and said, "Your Speedo doesn't leave much to the imagination either."

He laughed in return and then grabbed his shorts from his chair. He pulled them on and then slipped on a pair of flipflops. "Never got used to swimming in trunks. I always feel so slow when I wear them in the water."

"All the extra drag," I said, grabbing my cover-up from the chair next to me and sliding into my own sandals.

"Exactly," he replied. "There's a pizzeria in the hotel. Would you like to go there?"

"Sure." It wasn't the first time I'd stayed at the Portofino and I knew we'd be allowed in the pizzeria in our bathing suits. The fancier restaurants were dress-up only.

We walked out of the pool complex and up the steps toward the main entrance. I admired the beauty of the Portofino. It was built to mimic the Italian town of the same name. Having never been to Italy, I could only assume that the real place was even lovelier. I was also admiring the view of Michael, who was walking in front of me and opening the doors. Goddess, he was gorgeous! What on Earth did he want with me?

I know that I'm not the most beautiful girl in the world. Pretty, I'll give you, but beautiful, no. Lately though, I've lost a lot of weight and what once was hidden under fat has now emerged as some very well-defined curves.

Voluptuous is a good word to describe me. In my

low cut tankini, obscene was another word, but that's what cover-ups are for.

We walked into the pizzeria and sat down. A waitress walked over to us and we ordered a large cheese pie. It's a brick oven pizzeria so we knew the pies would be small, but delicious. While we waited the two of us started talking.

"So where are you from?" Michael asked me.

"New York City, Queens actually." He laughed.

"I have absolutely no idea where that is."

I laughed in return and asked him if he'd ever been to Manhattan.

"Nope. Don't travel very often."

"Outside of Athens, that is." And once again he laughed at my joke. I was fighting to keep from pinching myself. Michael Phelps thought I was funny. What was he doing with me?

We talked for a little bit longer, sticking to polite first conversation things. When the pizza came, however, I could hold it in no longer. "Look, Michael," I started.

"Mike," He said. "Call me Mike."

"Right. Look, Mike. I'm going a little crazy here. You see I've had something of a crush on you since I first watched you swim in Athens and right now I'm doing my best not to jump up and down and say things like 'golly' and 'gee whiz'. I guess what I'm trying to ask is..." I took a deep breath. "...Why me? Out of all the women staying in this hotel, why did you come over to me?"

Mike was looking at me, vaguely amused.

He grinned, one of the big beautiful grins that I had grown to love at the Olympics, and said, "I don't know." He hesitated and then continued. "Because you're not jumping up and down and saying 'gee whiz'? Because you're one of the first woman who hasn't tried to sleep with me within minutes of figuring out who I was? Because I looked up from the pool and saw you lying there and thought 'Wow, she's beautiful.' I don't know what made me come over to you, but I'm glad I did. You're interesting, Heather."

"Oh," I replied, any doubt I was feeling washed away by the sincerity of his voice. "Okay."

We sat at that table talking for four hours; until the waitress came back and told us we had to give our table to another waiting couple. If she hadn't we probably would have sat there longer.

I told him about my family, about my friends, about my school, where I was in my first year of studying to be a biology major. He told me all about his life, which revolved mostly around a pool, and that he was in Florida to shoot a commercial. He was a year older than me, nineteen to my eighteen. His mother was staying in the hotel as well, but was arriving tomorrow morning because she wanted to stop and see his grandmother first.

As we walked outside, his arm resting comfortably on my shoulder, I realized how cold it had gotten. "I'd like to walk with you a bit, but I'm freezing. Would you mind if we stopped at my room so I could throw on a shirt?"

"Not at all," he said. We walked up the stairs and down the corridor to my room. I pulled my cardkey from the pocket of my cover-up and opened the door.

The room was empty. I was expecting my best friend, Lora to be there. We'd decided to spend two weeks of our winter vacation in Florida. The first week we had gone to stay with a friend who owned a timeshare, but had moved on to the Portofino and Universal Studios yesterday.

We walked into the room and I noticed a letter on my bed from Lora. It said:

Heather,

Met a guy on a rollercoaster. We're going dancing.

He has friends, Heather!

I told you to come with me this morning!

Now you're stuck in our room by yourself.

See ya when I get in,

Lora

I opened my draw and grabbed a shirt, laughing the whole time. Mike asked me what was so funny.

"It's my friend," I said, managing to pull my tankini top off under my shirt. I slide a bra on underneath. Mike watched, but for some reason, I didn't feel uncomfortable.

"Lora?"

"Yeah. She was yelling at me this morning, telling me how I needed a man in my life. She told me I needed to go into the amusement park with her and find myself a man. That's where she is," I said, pulling on a pair of jeans over my tankini bottom. I had no graceful way to change out of that so I left it on. "Out dancing with a guy she met today."

"So what's so funny?" He asked.

"It's just that if I'd gone with her, I wouldn't have met you. I stayed home, so to speak, and I met a man anyway."

"Met a man?" His voice lowered in curiosity. I blushed realizing what I had just said.

"I didn't mean it like that, it's just that, I...well, dammit, I don't know what to say. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find you attractive. Hell, I told you I had a crush on you as soon as we met."

"Heather," he said, walking toward me. "Shut up." And then Michael Phelps put his arms around me and placed his lips against mine.

I sunk into his embrace, letting the warmth of his body engulf me. I reached up with one hand to stroke along his cheek, my lips never leaving his. My arms touched his bare skin, he was still topless from this afternoon, and he was smooth and hairless. I pulled back from the kiss and giggled. He sighed and he was close enough that I could feel his breath on my face.

"What's so funny now?" He whispered.

"Nothing," I whispered back. "I've dreamed of this, of standing this close to you, of your arms around me."

"Yeah?" He smiled.

"Yeah." I smiled back.

He stood up straight and placed a chaste kiss on my forehead. "I hope it was everything you imagined."

"And more," I said.

He laughed once again and held out his hand to me. I took it and we left my room to once again wander around the Portofino.

*****

We wandered for a good hour, enjoying each other's company and conversation. I couldn't believe how much we had in common, down to the same cheesy sense of humor. At least that explains why he laughs at my jokes, I thought.

When, for the fifth time, we walked passed the bay that was the centerpiece of the hotel, I stopped and looked back. "It must be really lovely to look down at the bay from one of those balconies. Especially on a night like tonight, with the full moon reflecting in the water."

"I wouldn't know. I only arrived this morning."

It took me a moment to process what Mike had said. "Wait a minute, you have one of the of the penthouse suites?"

"Yeah. The hotel upgraded me when they learned my name, said that I made America proud." He was grinning wildly. "Would you like to come up?"

The look in his eyes was one that I had seen before. It said quite clearly that he was thinking dirty thoughts. "Mike, I like you, but I'm not that kind of girl."

"Oh, no. I didn't mean it like that, honestly." He looked down at his feet. "Truthfully, Heather, I've had to dedicated so much of my time to swimming that I haven't had time for a girlfriend, much less anything else."

I realized the weight of what he had just told me. Michael Phelps was a virgin and I couldn't help but be happy. It meant that I could go up to his room and look down from his balcony, something I really had wanted to do in all innocence, and just enjoy being near him.

"Michael," I said. "I would love to come up."

*****

The suite was large and wonderful. It had a common room, where French doors opened to the balcony. As we walked out onto it, Mike told me that the suite also had two bedrooms and a gigantic bathroom. "I'm still not used to being treated like some kind of celebrity. I mean, I'm a swimmer, not a movie star."

I didn't reply. I was too mesmerized by the view of the bay. It truly was breathtaking. The light from the moon cascaded along the surface, dipping and swinging with the ripples of the water. Small boats bobbed up and down. In the distance, I could see the lights from the amusement park.

Mike walked up behind me and put one arm around my waist. "You were right," he said. "It is lovely up here."

"Look!" I pointed toward the bay. "You can see the ripples from the fish." I stared with childlike fascination. We sat out on the balcony talking and snacking on nuts from the mini-bar for a long time. He must have been very warm-blooded because he remained topless the whole time. The longer I we talked, the harder it was for me to meet his eyes and not stare at his wonderful physique. At around one in the morning I stood up, realizing how late it was.

"I should get going. Lora will be back soon and besides I've got to shower and get the chlorine out of my hair."

"Wait," he said, standing up and grabbing my hand. "Don't go yet." He looked around, desperate for any excuse to get me to stay. Apparently I'd made quite an impression on Mr. Phelps. To say I was pleased was an understatement of massive proportions. "You can use my shower. It's huge, with three heads. I bet you'd like it better than the little shower-tub combo in your room."

His eyes were pleading and I think he was totally unaware of the connotations of what he had just asked. I certainly wasn't.

"Okay, Mike." I said with a sly smile on my face. "I'll use your shower on one condition."

"Anything."

"You take it with me."

"What!" The shock on his face proved his innocence. What kind of man asks a girl to use his shower without thinking of her naked? This one, apparently.

I let the hunger I was feeling show in my eyes. "I want to see you naked, to feel your skin pressed against mine." I ran my hands down his chest, leaving them to caress his hips, the part of his body that had first attracted me when I watched him on television. Goddess, the seemed like ages ago. "I want to lick beads of water off your chest and feel your lips on my body."

He made a sound low in his throat and then kissed me, hard and greedily. We practically fell over each other as we made our way into the bathroom, holding hands and laughing like schoolchildren.

*****

He hadn't been kidding when he said the bathroom was gigantic. It was bigger than my entire room. The bathtub took up one whole wall and looked like it could seat ten. There was a control panel on the side with more buttons than I could hope to comprehend. The shower was against the opposite wall, with the sink sandwiched on the wall between the two. The shower was huge and he hadn't lied about the three heads. Mike was right. This was so much better than the one in my room.

I let go of his hand and stood in front of a massive mirror. My hair was a mess. I'd left it pulled back while swimming and it still hadn't dried. Nothing like having thick hair. I look at the gorgeous man standing behind me and sighed aloud. "Mike, I hate to ruin the mood, but I really do need to get the chlorine out of my hair or I'll never be able to brush it tomorrow."

He chuckled softly and kissed my neck, the barest touch of lips. "I've got shampoo for swimmer's. It'll take the chlorine right out." He left the room to get it.

I walked over to the shower, figuring I'd warm up the water. "Shit," I said under my breath. The handle was against the far side of the shower, opposite the door. I'd never be able to lean across and turn it on without getting my shirt wet. So I took off my shirt and tossed in on the counter, then I turned the water on. I walked back over to the mirror and took my hair down, doing my best to run my fingers through its thick tangles. Mike walked back in with the bottle of shampoo in his hands. He was taken aback, however, to see my in my bra.

It wasn't a pushup bra, but like I said before, I am well endowed. My breasts looked pale and smooth against the blackness of my bra, like the moonlight had on the bay.

Mike watched intensely as I walked toward him and lifted on of his hands to my lips. I kissed his palm gingerly then placed it softly on my right breast. His fingers found a life of their own and he caressed me with a firm, but sweet touch. Mike bent his neck to kiss me, one hand fondling my breast, the other reaching around my back to unhook my bra.

He fumbled for a bit and I broke from his kiss laughing. He frowned at me and I said, "Oh, don't be upset. It's a front snap. I just forgot to tell you. Didn't you notice when I was changing in my room."

"Honestly, I was much more focused on the bits of your stomach that kept popping into view." I giggled and then opened the clasp of my bra.

Whatever hurt he had felt before was gone. My breasts spilt out of my bra without hesitation. I ran one hand over them, caressing my nipples and enjoying the stunned look on his face. It was like I'd hit him between the eyes with a hammer.

Mike took my breasts in his hands and my back arched against the heat of his body. "God," he said. "You're huge. What size are you?"

"38D," I moaned as he flicked my left nipple with his tongue. He licked and sucked at my breast until my nipple was standing upright, then he moved to my right breast and did the same. All the while I made small sounds in my throat, my hands holding his shoulders.

When he was finished I did what I'd wanted to do to him since I saw him swim his first heat in the Olympics. I kissed him hard and then moved slowly down his neck to his collarbone, taking time to explore each nipple with my mouth. I crouched and licked down his chest. He sighed as I dipped my tongue into his navel. Not many people know that it's a very sensitive part of the body and it was obvious Mike was enjoying my touch.

Finally I came to the top of his shorts. I ran my tongue along the top, using my hands to lower them as far as I could without unbuttoning them. I looked up the length of his body and he met my gaze. "Off," I said, pulling on the bottom of his shorts.

"You first," he said. I stood up and unbuttoned my jeans. I wriggled out of them, putting a little extra shake into my hips, causing my breasts to bounce tantalizingly against each other. My jeans dropped to the floor and I watched as Mike grew long and hard through the fabric of his shorts.

"Nice to know you're enjoying the show," I said.

He gave me a look that wasn't at all innocent and replied, "I wish I could tell if you were."

"Oh, I am." I grabbed his hand and brought it down to my tankini bottom. The skin along the sides was sopping. He moved his hand to cup me and said, "You're wet."

"Told you I was enjoying the show." He ran his fingers along the edge of my bathing suit, being careful not to touch my throbbing clitoris, even through the suit. His touch was hell raising, enough to tease but not to please. Finally, when I thought I could take it no longer, he pulled aside my bathing suit and ran his fingers over my clit in short, sure strokes.