I had joined the community center by my new apartment, supposedly, to "socialize" myself with my new neighbors and make friends—this was what I told my mother on the phone last night, and I thought it sounded convincing enough. I had just moved to this town the previous month to start a new job, one I was very excited about. However, my mother worried constantly about me, as I was one of those people who always received "needs improvement" checkmarks in the "socializing with others" box on my elementary school report cards. Never mind that I socialized just fine once I got to know people—I was just one of those people who had always been slow to warm up to others. However, this, to my mother, translated into being antisocial. So, I was joining the community center to make friends.
In reality, I was joining it because it had a pool.
I haven't always loved to swim. In fact, I was terrified of drowning in water over my head until I was about eleven. That year, however, I decided to try swim lessons again, and once I got over the embarrassment of being the oldest kid in a class full of six-year-olds, I discovered I loved the water. I joined swim team the following year, and continued swimming throughout high school. I was never very competitive, was never one of the kids cheered on dramatically at meets because I was in a dead heat for first place, or even second—but I loved it. The way my body would glide weightlessly through the water when I pushed off from the wall, my powerful frog-kick that never went lopsided or broke the surface during a breast stroke race, my best event. I wasn't very fast, but I had good form.
I pulled into the parking lot of the center after work one Tuesday evening, navigating through a light early fall drizzle as I maneuvered into a space. The pool was open late on Tuesdays for free swim, and there was no need to compete with the swim lessons, water aerobics, and "Get Baby Acquainted with the Water" classes that often took place in the other lanes. Plus, it was a rainy weeknight, which might not have meant much at a larger place, like the Y, but here, it meant that the pool was probably going to be dead.
I changed into my bathing suit in the (as predicted) mostly empty locker room, actually feeling brave enough to strip out of my street clothes by the lockers, instead of in a changing stall like I usually did. My suit was a blue one-piece that I'd had for several years—broken in, but not terribly worn-looking. I noticed as I pulled it over my hips that it was a little tighter than I remembered, probably because I hadn't worn it for several months.
I pulled the suit carefully the rest of the way up, slowly easing it over my breasts, and tugging the shoulder straps into place. The suit did indeed fit rather tightly, and I could see in the half-mirror over the sink that my nipples were quite visible through the stretchy blue fabric. I reached down between my legs, almost absent-mindedly, to adjust the crotch of the suit, in order to avoid a potential wedgie, and felt a sudden rush of blood fill me with heat. Just how long has it been since I've gotten laid? I thought. If I was getting horny from the mere act of putting on a slightly ill-fitting swimsuit, I was in trouble. I checked the mirror once more before I left the locker room, noting that my cheeks were slightly flushed (the humidity in here, I told myself). My nipples still strained against my suit, so I decided to wrap my beach towel under my armpits. There. Much better. It wasn't like there was going to be anybody out there anyway. I didn't know what I was worried about.
I pushed through the heavy swinging door, and the sharp, clean smell of chlorine stung my nose. The air was even thicker and more humid than it had been in the locker room, and a slight haze hung over the water. I surveyed the pool briefly, noting an elderly woman wearing a swim cap doing a lazy side stroke in the far lane, and a young man in the middle lane teaching a little boy how to hold onto the wall and practice flutter-kicking. Save for them and you, the room was empty. I slipped off my flip-flops, depositing them underneath the first chair I encountered. Then I quickly unwrapped my towel and hung it over its plastic back. Your lifeguard chair was situated right next to me, and I briefly debated walking behind it so you would take less notice of me. Shaking my head in disgust, I pushed the thought out of my head and squared my shoulders. I couldn't believe how self-conscious I was all of the sudden. As I walked in front of the chair, something inside me warmed ever so slightly, and I turned my head and craned my neck to look up and at least acknowledge you. I didn't want to seem rude, after all.
The first thing I registered about you was that you were wearing a shirt with your community center-regulation swim trunks—a detail I found a tad odd for a lifeguard. Every other male lifeguard I'd ever seen had seemed painfully eager to show off their abs, their muscled chests, and firm biceps. Also, from a more practical standpoint, it was probably easier to save a drowning person's life when you weren't weighed down by a waterlogged T-shirt.
The second thing I noticed was your very dark hair and pale skin, another striking contrast to the other lifeguards I'd seen here—even though this was an indoor pool, the other lifeguards appeared perpetually blond and tan, to the extent that I had wondered my first few times here whether this was a job requirement.
I looked up and met your eyes the best I could, given the odd angle of my neck. "Hi." My voice came out way too loudly, echoing off the green and gray tiles. "Kinda dead here tonight, huh?"
You looked down at me and grinned. "Yeah. That's why I brought a book. Don't tell my boss, she kind of frowns on it if we're not watching the pool all the time."
I smiled back. Your voice was intriguing, silky and playful. "I won't tell, don't worry." Your eyes had done something interesting when you grinned, crinkling in the corners and dancing mischievously. I wasn't close enough to make out the title of the book you were reading, but when you shifted in your seat, it brought the lettering on your T-shirt into focus: "Always a Browncoat." I smiled slightly.
"I'm just going to swim a few laps. I promise not to make you dive in after me. Enjoy your book." I started padding away from the lifeguard chair, but couldn't resist: I turned to look back at you, wanting to see what you looked like in profile. My heart lurched and began racing when I realized that your eyes had been following me as I walked away. Quickly, you diverted your gaze back to the paperback in your hands. I turned back around, feeling the flush in my cheeks and neck. Fuck, you were cute. I felt my crotch swell slightly again, and looked down to find that once again, my nipples were at full attention. Dammit. I needed to get in the water immediately, if for no other reason than to hide my sudden, confusing arousal under its camouflaging ripples.
