The Swim Gala was coming up pretty soon, so the school made the pool available after hours for ex-seniors who wanted to train. Our current senior team was pretty damn good, but there was one smartass on the squad who was so damn fulla himself that he thought his shit didn't stink. I had a quiet word with the coach, and told him that I'd try to convince Kyle to compete.
"There's no way any of the old boys is gonna nail anybody on my squad."
"Yeah? We'll see about that, coach."
When it was almost time for Kyle to arrive home from work, I hopped the fence, and waited at his front gate. It was kinda cool to see him turn the corner and walk toward his house. Then he'd spot me, and gimme a big toothy grin. It was one of those grins that said a lot about my big bro... a kinda welcome sign that made me feel important. And I was important! Hey! Most of Kyle's friends were his age, or thereabouts, and I was the only grommet. Go figure.
"Hey, bro. You gonna compete in the Swim Gala? They've made the pool available after school hours so you can train. And I've told all the guys that you're the best, so you'd better get some practice."
"Yeah, right," he said as I followed him down the hall toward his room. "How could you tell them that? Ross and Mark were better swimmers."
"Yeah, but Mark's not here, so that moves you up a slot."
Kyle dumped his bag on his bed, then began to strip down to his boxers. "What are the guys like now?"
"There are some really hot guys on the senior squad now, including one real fuckwit whose ass you need to kick 'cause he thinks he's the greatest."
"How the hell am I supposed to kick his ass if he's training every day?"
"That's why we've gotta go train now!"
"I'm fucked after a long day, Wingnut."
"I don't care. Let's move it, Kyle. It's getting late."
Sometimes there was only one way to deal with my big bro... boss him around. Kinda surprised me, though. Maybe I had some kinda leadership quality or whatever. Anyway, he didn't argue.
When we got to the pool, there were three other guys training. One of them was the fuckwit I'd told Kyle about.
"I remember him from last year's squad. He was always a good swimmer."
"He's even better now."
One of the remaining two guys recognized Kyle, and shouted 'hi'.
"Hey, man... how's it going?"
"OK. So you're gonna swim for the old fogies?"
"Yeah, I guess."
Kyle undressed down to his black Speedos, which he kinda filled pretty damn well, and admitted that fuckwit and the other guy he knew had made him feel at home again. "I miss this place more than I realized."
After we'd hit the water, I took up my stroke in the lane alongside Kyle's as he began to swim laps. I kept up with him stroke for stroke for about 100 meters, but then the fucker picked up the pace, and I dropped back. Damn! Oh, well, if he was gonna kick ass, I guessed he had to work hard. But he was gonna have to work a lot harder if he was gonna cream fuckwit.
We swam for about an hour non stop, and by the time we'd finished, the other guys had gone home. Kyle's strong arms bulged as he heaved himself outa the water, then sat on the side wall.
"I'm exhausted, but it feels kinda cool... y'know? Like a good exhausted if you know what I mean. And it was just so damn good to be back in the pool swimming."
"Nah," I said as I joined him on the wall. "Fuckwit's gonna cream you, Kyle. You've lost it. You've totally lost it."
"Piss off," he laughed. "This is the first time I've swum in the pool since last year."
"Yeah, I could see that. You were my only hope."
"What is it with you and that guy, anyway?"
"He's a dickhead. Just big headed, and always fucking the juniors around. We've gotta get outa the pool when he wants to swim... or at least leave him one lane all to himself. Why can't he just wait his turn?"
"One day you might be like that."
"Nope... I'm gonna be just like you... a total wuss."
For the next several seconds, I was kicking and struggling underwater as Kyle dragged me to the bottom of the pool. I hadn't had time to get air before the asshole had grabbed me. When I finally reached the surface, I took in enough air to fill a fucking balloon. I had to laugh, though. "Fuck, you're pretty quick for an old guy."
"Yeah," he grinned, "wussy boy!"
We trained again the next evening. Kyle was complaining about the fact that the guys at work had arranged to go for a surf. "And afterwards, we all would've gone for drinks somewhere, and I would've gotten a lift home as well. Shit."
"Admit it, Kyle. You'd rather be with me."
"I promised I'd be here for you. You twisted my fucking arm... as usual. Anyway, I think the real reason you want me here is so that you'll train harder."
The next day, I was at Kyle's house again, waiting for him to arrive home from work. He took one look at me, and shook his head.
"You're going swim training whether you like it or not," I demanded. "You need it if you're gonna beat that creep."
"I'll never beat him. Did you check how fast that dude is?"
"You're losing already."
"Hey, I'm pretty chuffed just to be able to swim again."
"I'm gonna smack your head off."
Hmmm. An immediate change of tactic was called for, so gave him my best puppy-dog look. "C'mon, Kyle. Please?"
When we arrived at the school, the coach was still there, and he was pretty chuffed to see Kyle again. "But there's no way you've got a chance against this new senior squad, Kyle."
"I've seen one of the new senior guys. Pretty impressive."
"Make that very impressive."
"So how's Wingnut doing?"
"Pretty damn good... lazy shit, though. He could be the best junior if he worked harder. Powerful bugger."
"You hear that, Wingnut?"
"Yeah, yeah, I heard. Jeez."
"Hey," the coach continued, ignoring my remark, and directing his attention toward Kyle, "remember all the crap you had training him? He hasn't changed. Gives me lip all the damn time. You wanna train him for me?"
"Not sure if I've got the time, coach."
"Just asking. You were the only one who could get him to work... you and Mark."
"More Mark, I think. Used to beat him up if he didn't listen."
"Har-de-har-de-har," I pouted.
"Want me to check you?" the coach asked Kyle.
"That'd be cool."
After my bro had dove off the block, and hit the water, I walked with the coach up and down the side of the pool, tracking and timing Kyle as he swam the 200 meter butterfly. That was his best stroke and distance, and I could tell that he was pushing himself to the absolute limit. He was totally fucked when he got outa the water. His smooth, muscular chest was heaving big time, and he was gulping air through his mouth.
"Damn good, Kyle," the coach smiled. "You haven't lost it. You're gonna need two seconds to win the fly on this one."
"Two seconds? Not bad."
"Two seconds might as well be two hours. Watch."
The coach asked fuckwit and one of the other seniors to give Kyle a demo. We watched them stand on the blocks, shake their arms to loosen their muscles, then dive in. Whoa! Their streamlined bods churned up the fucking water like they had outboards attached to their butts.
"You've got no idea how hard it is to put on that kinda speed in the fly," Kyle mumbled. "Your whole bod is working overtime."
After the demo, the coach walked up to us and checked his stopwatch. "Better make that three seconds, Kyle. And I can tell you, those guys weren't pushing."
"Thanks, coach," my bro responded, looking pretty dejected. And to make it worse, fuckwit gave us one of his smartass grins as he towelled himself.
"Hey, Kyle, you wanna pace me for the 400?"
During the swim, I worked my damn ass off to keep up with Kyle, but the final 100 was getting too much for me. I'd run outa steam. Bummer.
Once again, we were the last to leave the school, and on the way home Kyle quizzed me about my performance... or lack of it.
"Have you thought that it's maybe the reefers that are stopping you from reaching your best times?"
"I don't think it's that. Anyway, it's only once in a while. You should check how many other guys on the team smoke."
"Like Fuckwit and that other guy?"
"No, not them."
"That's my point. They're hundreds fit. You heard what the coach said... you could be the best junior on the team, but you're not pushing yourself hard enough."
"He's always on my case about that."
"He's right, though. It would be so fucking stylish if you could go out there and cream the opposition. You can do it."
"Yeah, yeah... but so could you... 'cept you're a wuss."
"How's your running?"
I knew exactly what the fucker was getting at -- he was gonna beat the crap outa me -- so I took off at a million miles an hour. Eventually, though, he caught up to me.
"Hey, I hope you're hearing what I'm saying, Wingnut. You're so damn fast in the water, and you've got so much potential. I've watched you... your legs are working overtime."
"You been gawking again?"
"Shuddup and listen. Your shoulders, back, and Speedo butt are right outa the water. You've got a good swimming style, so you've obviously been working at it."
"You going clubbing tonight?"
"Nah... don't feel like it. Steph and I will probably just chill out somewhere. You?"
"My buds have got a party happening. Candy and I are gonna rock over to that."
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