Swimmerboy Pt 05

My swimming at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs didn't suffer. Sex with mom's Third Best made it better. The coaches, sports physiologists and trainers were world-class, some of them ex-swimmers themselves. Under their direction I got better, faster and stronger. Faster than many university swimmers, I was singled out as a top prospect for the Summer Olympics two years away. Before I knew it I was competing with the elite Division One swimmers. They all knew each other. It's a small fraternity at the top and though I was a newcomer they had all read about me on-line and in Swimmer's World. I knew all their names and records as well, though this was my first chance to meet them in person and train with them daily. They pushed me to excel and I them.

Success made me popular. Back in January the Phoenix paper featured me as the "virtuoso swimmer" on the Sunday sports page in their preview of the high school swim season. In the article there were two large pictures of me, one in a tux playing piano at a church wedding, the other a close-up of me in the pool rising to a butterfly stroke, goggles over my eyes, mouth open sucking air, fierce look of determination on my face, every muscle of my arms and shoulders straining, my arms fully spread. In case anyone hadn't seen this already, someone pinned the page up on the bulletin board in the training room and I became the recipient of lots of good natured ribbing.

So when a reporter from a major sports magazine doing a story on the status of Olympic prospects saw the clipping, she asked me to sit with her at the old Spinet in the OTC auditorium and bash out a few tunes while she interviewed me. She had no favorites. Once again I did Linus & Lucy, which everyone knows and loves. I had been playing there lunchtimes and the piano needed tuning, but still her face melted in a smile. When classical piano didn't impress her I returned to jazz while answering her questions. After she put her notebook away I watched her write on the back of a business card which she handed to me saying I should call her if I ever needed advice on dealing with the media. I said thanks and stuck it in the pocket of my warm ups.

Dressing after practice I pulled her card out and read it, then flipped it over to see what she wrote.

I want to see you, it said.

I rang her cell as I walked out to the car.

"Can I see you tonight?" she asked.

Talk about up front.

"It has to be now," I said. "I have curfew."

She gave me directions to her hotel and the room number. I drove straight over and went up to her room. It took her less than a minute to remove my baggy shorts, sleeveless tee and boxers. It took her longer to get out of heels, dress and bra. Twenty-eight and an ex-swimmer who had gone to university on a full scholarship she was a fox who had kept her swimmer's body. Platinum blonde who wore too much mascara over big blue eyes, she rolled to her back on the bed, lifted her butt and legs and giggled as I pulled her panties off. Mmm. She was a real blonde.

"I saw the hard-on in your warm-ups at the piano," she said, pulling at my arms.

"Couldn't help it," I said. I couldn't. A skin-tight dress showed ever contour of her medium breasts, her flat tummy, narrow waist and sharply curved swimmer's butt.

"Mmm. Nice to know I still have it."

"Are you kidding?" I whispered. "You are foxy."

She giggled. I pulled condoms and lube from shorts pocket. Her eyes went big.

"God you're huge," she said, her eyes inspecting my cock while her hands held it.

We rolled around her bed for a half hour. She finished on top and dropped panting next to me. True to form, she was an athletic lover.

"How long are you in town?" I asked as we dressed.

"I leave early in the morning."

"Too bad," I sighed.

"Maybe next time," she smiled.

"Definitely."

Over supper I told Third Best about being interviewed for the article, but didn't mention my tryst with Foxy the journalist. I was just about finished eating when my cell buzzed. Excusing myself from the table I pulled it from my pocket and took the call.

It was Foxy. She had booked an extra day at the hotel so we could have more time together.

"Let me ask," I said, then covered the phone. "They want us back for more interviews tonight. Is it okay if I go?"

"Sure," Third Best said. "Like you even have to ask."

"Yeah," I said into the phone. "Yes... when? Now? No, that's okay. Okay... yep... yep... yes... alright. I'm on my way."

Closing my flip phone, I sat back down, shoveled the rest of the food from the plate into my mouth and chewed furiously.

"Shouldn't you go?" Third Best said.

"I need calories."

"Priorities, priorities," she teased.

"Do I have time for a shower?" I said, getting up. "Should I wear something more formal?"

"I don't know," Third Best replied, rising. "Is it formal? What'd they say?"

"Come as you are."

"There you go."

"I feel rank. Do I smell rank?"

Third stood close and sniffed, then grabbed me and stuck her nose in my chest. It was everything I could do to keep from taking her in my hands and kissing her.

"Maybe you should," she said, wrinkling her nose.

I hurried to my room, raced through the shower in two minutes, climbed into clean shorts and shirt and headed for the door.

"I'll call if I'm not back by ten."

"Will it take that long?"

"They might take us out for dessert," I said.

"Okay," she said.

"I'll let you know, k?"

"Fine. Go," she said, pushing me out the door. "Have fun. But hey! No drinking."

"You know me," I said, without looking back.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It screws up your body."

I looked over my shoulder and flashed my best boyish grin at her. When she smiled back I thought I'd die.

When I knocked on Foxy's hotel room door a guy answered the door. I recognized him immediately as one of the Division One college swimmers. Before I could open my mouth to ask what was going on he grabbed my arm, pulled me inside and shut and locked the door. Foxy lay nude on the bed, her breasts rocking and her legs spread while another college swimmer fucked her.

"Glad you could make it," she gasped at me through a smile then looked back to the guy on top of her, holding his waist while he nailed her.

"You want in on this action?" said the swimmer who had let me in the door as he stripped naked next to the bed and stroked his hard cock in anticipation.

"Hell yes," I said, pulling off my shirt.

Out of the bathroom stepped another swimmer I recognized, his dick half limp. He smiled and pumped his hips a few times, his junk bouncing. He tied a knot in a used condom and tossed it in the toilet. I realized he had already had her.

"Hope you brought condoms, dude," he said.

I pulled the strip of magnums from my pocket and the tube of lube, kicked off sandals and lost my shorts.

So there were four of us. I would be last to go. No sooner had I thought it than the guy fucking her yelled out and came. He climbed off her. The one who had opened the door and undressed next to me rolled on a condom, knelt between her legs and pushed into her, pounding Foxy wildly.

"Who invited him?" said the one who just got off her as he stripped off his condom. "He's in high school."

"I did," Foxy said. "He's legal."

"You're eighteen, right?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Wouldn't matter if he wasn't," said the one by the bathroom. "Look how big his fucking dick is."

"You're the piano kid from Phoenix who beat us all today," said the one who questioned me, contempt in his voice. He stepped into the bathroom and flushed his condom.

I rolled on a magnum just in time for the third guy to finish and climb off her.

"You're up, piano man," he said.

"You need lube?" I said kneeling between her legs.

"Yes, please," Foxy sighed.

She looked like she was in the process of melting into the mattress. I squirted some inside her, spread a bunch on my cock and pushed into her.

"She won't be able to take all his shit," someone said.

"Yeah I will/Yes she will," Foxy and I said in unison, dissolving in laughter.

"He's already been fucking her!" another guy said.

"Have you?" another demanded.

"Yes," Foxy and I answered together again.

"Damn," someone said.

"Fuck you're big," she said, lifting her legs and crossing them behind my back.

Her smile faded, her mouth opened and her face creased in passion while I railed her. Propped on my arms, a fire burned in my lower back, a huge load built at the base of my cock and blasted into the magnum but not before she squealed an orgasm.

"Here comes round two," said the first guy as he began his second turn.

Foxy sighed contently when he pushed into her and she didn't resist when he flipped her, fucking her from behind, pulling her up into doggie.

All four of us fucked her three times each, rolling her around the bed into any position we wanted. She submitted, letting us have her, use her and plow her for three hours, taking breaks when she needed. The rest of us watched sports night, drank soft drinks from the minibar, munched the pizza we ordered and circled the bed watching her being fucked. She was so comfortable and casual it was obvious she had done this before and would do it again. No one said anything but there seemed to be unspoken rules: no oral, no anal, no kissing, no hitting, no peeing, no cum outside a condom and one guy at a time. Earlier that afternoon her tongue had been so deep in my mouth I thought it'd touch my tonsils. That had been love-making. This was a straight up fucking gang bang. Twelve condoms were flushed. I don't know how many orgasms she had. I wondered how many times she had been ganged by swim teams in the past.

It was after nine when I got back to Third Best's house. She had already gone to bed so I showered in my guest room bath and dove into bed. In the middle of the night I woke to find her snuggled next to me. I felt her body heat next to me and the scent of her body filled my nostrils.

"Is it okay?" she said feeling my hard on.

"Sure," I said. My fingers fingered her until I felt her warm thighs straddle me and her wet sex surround my cock as she pushed down pushing herself open. She romped, came and rolled off.

"Do you want a turn?" she said.

"I'm okay," I replied.

"Okay," she sighed, kissing my shoulder.

Satisfied by our quickie she fell fast asleep.

The next day Foxy the sports reporter found me playing piano in the OTC auditorium at lunchtime. As often happened, a small crowd of athletes and staff had gathered to listen while they ate, drifting away as lunch hour drew to a close, leaving the two of us alone. When a coach came looking for me, Foxy asked for a few minutes alone to finish our interview.

"Are we okay?" she asked, sitting next to me on the bench again, notebook open, pen poised.

"Yes," I replied.

"I like what we did yesterday," she said, writing.

"Which time?" I said.

"Both," she smiled.

I looked at the page. She was making a to do list for her trip home, pretending to interview me.

"I was surprised when I got there," I said.

"Were you expecting to be alone with me?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry," she said. "I should have warned you."

"It's okay. I had fun."

"So you're not mad at me?" she said.

"Are you kidding me? You are totally hot. I like you a lot. I love your work. Your article on the inside of the Tour de France was awesome. I read everything you write."

"Thanks," she smiled, then tilted her head. "You're not like the others."

"How so?"

"You're not cocky and arrogant. You are self confident, though."

"Want to know my secret?"

"What?" she said, her eyes growing.

"Flip back to our interview and take this down," I said. "It's the total scoop on me. I've never told anyone before. It's your exclusive if you want it."

"Is it okay if I record this?" she said pulling a digital recorder out of her purse and turning it on.

"Yes," I said. "Ready?"

"Ready. What's your secret?"

"I don't care if I ever win another race."

"Really?" she said her eyes searching mine. "How does that work?"

"Write that part down," I pointed to her notebook.

She scribbled furiously. I continued.

"When I swim, I'm all alone in the pool. No one else is there. Just me. The lanes are empty. The stands are empty. The building is empty. It's not a race. I'm not competing with anyone, not even myself. I'm just trying to swim as fast as I possibly can. To unleash my body I must be absolutely fearless. Swimming's like playing the piano. I'm not a prodigy. I play because I enjoy it. After tons of theory and practice the only way I can perform a piece perfectly is to get out of the way of myself. To get out of my own way I must have absolutely no self-awareness. Only then can I let go. Whether it's fingers over the keyboard or slashing through the water I must be absolutely fearless. Swimming and piano are a state of mind. I fear no mistake. I fear no loss. There is no consequence. There is no loss. There is no victory. I don't care if I ever win another race."

"This is great," she said turning off the recorder. "Can I use this?"

"Yes. That's on the record."

"You make love the same way," she whispered, reviewing her notes.

"That's off the record," I quipped.

She smiled and looked up at me, then looked away. "Mmmm... I wish it had been just you last night," she whispered.

I nodded, not knowing what to say. She turned the recorder back on.

"Some think you're going to stand on the podium at the Olympics with gold medals around your neck someday," she said. "Do you think they're right?"

I gave a small shrug. "Maybe."

"Maybe? You're eighteen and already you've swum one-one hundredth off the Olympic record in two events. You were in a far lane both times. The worst possible hydrodynamics and you blew everyone away."

"Lanes don't matter."

"Can I print that?"

"Makes me sound arrogant doesn't it? I don't want to sound arrogant."

"Not in this context," she said.

"Everyone knows lanes matter. I just had a good day with those times."

"Okay. Next question. You're rapidly improving in all other events as well. Your coaches are whispering you have the potential to be the next Mark Phelps. Do you think it's possible?"

"I don't know. I'm only eighteen. I just finished high school. I have four years of college ahead, plus more training here. My body's still growing and changing."

"Oh my God," she interrupted, touching her lips with fingers. She turned off the recorder again.

"What?" I said.

"I just realized how young you are."

She blushed so violently I was glad we were alone.

"Don't worry about it," I whispered. "Really. You were wonderful. I don't share my private life with anyone. I won't tell anyone."

This didn't seem to help.

"You're beautiful," I whispered. "Drop dead gorgeous. So sexy. So desirable. Such a turn-on. I had a great time, I don't regret it and neither should you. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, moving fingers off her mouth. "I did, too, by the way."

"Good. Just say it's too soon to tell and I don't know. On the Mark Phelps question. And that I will continue to work hard to improve in all events."

"Perfect," she said.

She spent the rest of the interview giving me advice on how to handle the blitz of media attention headed my way, what to say, what not to say, common mistakes neophytes make, how to keep my private life private, and most importantly how to develop a persona, a mystique. We had media training at OTC, but it was lame by comparison. Foxy gave me the low-down, the inside scoop. She even taught to me recognize the warning signs of media manipulation. I could not thank her enough. When we shook hands goodbye she said she'd do her best to further the nice-guy, piano-playing mystique already begun in the January newspaper article.

When I got home I couldn't find Third Best anywhere in the house or outside so I sneaked up to the master suite. She wasn't in bed but I could hear the shower running from the bath. I stripped out of clothes, invaded the shower stall and pinned her against the wall.

"No! No! NO!" she cried, struggling against me.

"Shut up, bitch!" I hissed, my huge paws around her wrists controlling her arms, my legs pushing hers apart from behind, my big hard cock pressing against her back.

"Ow, ow, ow! Stop! You're hurting me! Please stop! Please don't do this to me..." she begged.

I ignored her. The more she tried to wiggle out of my grasp the harder I pressed her against the cold Italian marble. Slippery when wet it took some time to pin her to the point where I could get my cock a couple inches into her. She squirmed hips to one side popping me out of her but I pinned her powerfully and penetrated her savagely.

She screamed in pain as my long thick cock pushed her open with powerful thrusts.

"Shut the fuck up!" I growled, holding both her wrists together in one big paw while my other wrapped around her throat and tightened.

"Please, please please don't," she whimpered. "Ow! You're hurting me! No! Please... have mercy on me. You're a nice guy. You don't want to do this."

"I will squeeze the life out of you if you don't shut up slut!" I hissed in her ear.

"Okay, okay," she moaned. "Just don't hurt me."

She stopped struggling, acquiescing. She arched her back pushing her butt back at me. I held her tight and thrusted mercilessly. Her open mouth uttered passionate guttural squeals. I yelled when I came, my pulsing cock flooding her sex with hot white come.

I let go of her. She crumpled to the floor of the shower panting, water pouring over her. I stepped out of the stall, wrapped a towel around me and left.

A half hour later she came downstairs and stood behind me while I sat at her baby grand playing. I felt her hands on my shoulders squeezing, massaging.

"You hungry?" she said, kneading. "Like I need to ask."

"Yes."

"I have steaks thawing," she said.

"Sounds awesome," I said.

"That was awesome," she whispered in my ear. "You're getting good at it."

She was speaking of our agreement that I could take her any time I wanted, stopped only by our safe word. Broccoli. So I had been fulfilling her fantasies of being raped by a handsome young stud. It had become a daily occurrence. I had taken her bent over the couch in the media room, in the laundry, on the stairs, while she was talking on the phone with a friend, bent over the billiards table and while she did yoga. Once I caught her in the garage, bound her wrists with rope, pulled her arms over her head with rope over a beam, lifted her skirt and ravaged her.

Most often I climbed the stairs to the master suite on the third floor in the middle of the night and raped her in her bed. A few times she used the safe word right away but kept me there for gentler love-making. On other nights she slipped into my bed and gave herself to me.

One afternoon my last week there I walked into the kitchen. The sweet aroma of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven filled the air.

"You're home early," Third Best said, putting a sheet of cookies in the oven with a mitt.

"They let us go early today," I said.

"Good practice?" she asked.

"Samo samo," I said standing next to her.

"Good. You're just in time for cookies and milk."

"May I have one?" I said, hovering over a cooling rack of tollhouse on the countertop, the aroma driving me mad.

"'May I?' God. You are so polite. It's like you're from another planet or something."

I shrugged and blamed it on mom: "Mom's orders. I'm not to be a bother to you in any way."

She giggled at the irony of that. We had fucked so much we were raw and it had been three days since we had had sex.

As I sat at the breakfast bar dunking tollhouse cookies in whole milk she slipped onto the stool next to me and began dunking, too. I felt like a kid again, remembering how she baked cookies when she babysat me and how we dunked and ate them together.