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From: an146810@anon.penet.fi
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Date: Tue, 23 Apr 1996 01:39:25 UTC
Subject: In The Swim by Studs Manly [M/F]
Lines: 189
Xref: news.primenet.com alt.sex.stories:147772



(C) 1992 by Studs Manly

                           In The Swim

     Last fall, when I started my freshman year at a Midwestern
college, I was lucky to get a job maintaining the pool, oops, the
"natatorium."  With the combined cost of tuition, a dorm room, 
the dining hall, and loads of books (I'm majoring in Drama), I
needed the extra income.  Besides that, the work had benefits
that I didn't realize until this summer.
     I was always careful that the locker and shower rooms were
clear of people before I went in to wash them down.  Sometimes my
warning was answered by a giggle and a friendly "Just a minute,"
but I never risked my job by being pushy.  The girls had plenty
of time to slip out of their suits, shower, towel off, and get
dressed.  The guys were no problem at all; they changed quicker,
and often seemed to be hurrying out for another hot date.  I
didn't mind being a rookie in the college dating pool; there were
enough pressures in my life.
  You might think that I never noticed the skimpiness of racing
swimsuits, since I was surrounded by wet, athletic, powerful
bodies every day.  My working uniform was a pair of gym shorts
and a tank top, so I didn't have to wear a "wienie-hugger" like
the guys on the team.  I did notice the variety of male appendag-
es (nothing there to threaten my own masculinity), but I was much
more curious and amazed at the various shapes that a female
breast could develop into.  Sometimes I just sat in the bleach-
ers, watching the divers enter the water and climb out of the
pool, with their bodies outlined in shimmering translucent
fabric.  My favorite pose is the crouch before the racing start,
when breasts and balls hang lower and suits strain to keep
private parts concealed.  It's not anything like a perversion, is
it, to enjoy the sight of fit bodies achieving what the rest of
us can only imitate?
     I will admit, though, that often those fit, shimmering
female bodies made my shorts tighter and I'd seek out a secluded
closet or corner to relieve the pressure in my balls.
     Tricia was a junior that year.  She was also my first
cousin, though, since she was a couple of years older than me, we
didn't pal around or anything.  With almost three years of
college behind her, she was a regular competitor on the swim
team.  She had graduated from high school in our home town back
in Virginia with some experience in gymnastics and swimming,
though I didn't recognize her the first time I saw her at the
pool.  Hey, I didn't say more than a dozen words to her during
the couple of years we were in high school together.  She didn't
have knockout cheerleader good looks, but she was pleasant to
watch, coming and going, and her eyes seemed bright when she
smiled.
     Even if it went beyond my job, I saw all the meets and too
many practices þ maybe I should train to be a swimmer, myself.  I
followed Tricia's performances through the swimming season
without seeing her much away from the pool.Her mother was my
dad's sister, but they weren't all that close, y'know?  I was
surprised and delighted when she offered me a ride home in June.
     With my experience in the college natatorium, it was easy to
snag the same job at the town pool when I got home.  I didn't get
a guard spot, since the training would take too much time, but
there was an unadvertised benefit to managing the facility.
Tricia trained at the pool, three times a week.  She often came a
little before dusk, after the family crowd had moved on to their
patios and suppers, to do her two-hour-long workout.  She usually
wore a pale yellow swimsuit that fit like a glove, though it
seemed a bit smaller than a glove when she wasn't wearing it.  On
the days that I didn't open up, I had to stay till closing time
to lock the gates.  I would watch her while I circled the pool,
rearranging the chairs, turning down the umbrellas, and gathering
the trash.  A couple times, we went to the diner for a cup of
coffee before saying good night and going home.
     I was surprised to find myself caught up in the anticipation
of two weeks of Olympic Games.  Maybe it was overheard conversa-
tions around the club that got to me, or watching Tricia work
out, or the realization that she liked to talk about the USA swim
team and the swimming events.  Someone brought a TV for the lobby
to catch the morning broadcast of the Games during breaks from
lessons, and I was hooked.  I started closing up while Tricia was
swimming, and was planted in front of the set when she went to
the locker room to change.
     The lobby of the swim club held a few straight-back chairs
and an old couch that was probably a castoff from the living room
of one of the members.  I was wearing my usual blue Izod t-shirt
(the club logo was on the left side) with my work shorts.  Tricia
had changed to comfortable summer clothes: a white tube top under
a loose blue tank shirt, with cut-off jeans that were frayed and
ripped from lots of wear.
  The swimming and diving events claimed our total attention. 
The womens' gymnastics were dramatic, but the little girls didn't
interest me the way Tricia did.  I noticed a faint, clean pool
smell on her skin.  During the news break, I locked the gates and
checked the grounds, while Tricia had a piece of the pizza I'd
ordered for my supper.  We settled back for the second round of
the broadcast, which soon focused on wrestling and boxing.
     Tricia made a curious remark about the wrestling uniforms,
and I got cute by demonstrating a leg hold that pinned her knees
between my crossed legs.  In the half-pretend, just beginning to
be exciting struggle to get free, I managed to wrap my arm around
her head, forcing her face into my side, just below my armpit. I
know, it's a great move toward a pin, but I slipped into it
without thinking that Tricia wasn't just a guy in my gym class. 
I think we noticed at the same time that our clinch was a bit
awkward.  I started to move away, but she slid her face up my
chest and met my lips with hers.  After a wonderful moment,
gravity overcame my ability to hold her up, and we tumbled onto
the floor with several thumps. 
     We climbed back up to the couch, sitting a bit closer this
time. I tried to recover my cool.  "Heh, heh, that was not the
way I practiced...uh...the hold, I mean."
     "How did you practice kissing?"
     "Like this."  I put my hand on the back of her neck as she
leaned toward me, and her hand found my other hand, squeezing
lightly as we kissed again.  This time we didn't fall.  I suppose
the earth was moving and the room got blurry but all I noticed
was Tricia's face.  And her lips.  Sweet, panting breath.  And
our noses, finding room to be close without getting in the way.
     For a while, certainly from one TV ad cycle to the next, we
tried different ways of putting our lips together.  Sometimes my
lips wandered around her face.  Kissing is really interesting,
even without much practice.  I was thinking about the rest of
Tricia's body when she lifted my hand and placed it on the under-
side of her breast.  Just when I felt like melting, she lowered
her head and began licking my neck.  She dropped my hand to reach
for my shirt, but I continued to hold her with my thumb circling
an erect nipple that I could feel through both cloth layers.  It
didn't take any struggle at all for her to lift my shirt over my
head, and I put my hand back, under her shirt this time.  Her
ribbed tube had a fascinating texture over firm, round breasts. 
I was exploring the contours of both breasts by this time, my
other hand still on the back of her neck, when I got a double
jolt.
     I guess I had been making quiet, appreciative noises, but I
let out an explosive gasp when Tricia nipped my chest and slid
her hand into my pants at the same time.
     "No, yes, no, it doesn't hurt, yes, I want you to touch me!"
I babbled.  Tricia turned her head for a grin, then leaned
against me steadily.  I got the idea to lie back, without any
other hints.  As my neck settled low into the couch, she pushed
my shorts down to my thighs.  Elastic waistbands are great! 
Gently, carefully, bringing a gasp from me whenever her nails
traced a vein, Tricia began to stroke my pink, hard cock.  I
couldn't think of anything to say, but I could hear her making a
rumbling, purring sound.  It was very pleasant.
    I trusted her, she seemed to know what she was doing, so I
concentrated on watching her, waiting for the next move.  There
was room on the couch for Tricia to move over me, placing her
knees on either side of my head.  Since my arms weren't pinned, I
pulled the tube top down around her waist (odd, that was up
toward me).  I moved her breasts so the nipples brushed against
mine.  My fingers went in slow circles fully around those wonder-
ful, pendulous breasts, now pressing down on my belly.  I could
clearly see the line where her tanned ribs became white globes
held in taut skin.  For a moment I was awed by the intimacy of
seeing hidden places, touching with fingers that had never been
so alive, and smelling what could only be her sex.  Then Tricia
took the purplish head of my cock in her mouth, and the universe
shrank around me.  It really did.
     After the first shock, something like falling off a rope
swing into a cool river on a hot day, I knew what I had to do.  I
tugged at the snap, pulled the zipper, and slid Tricia's shorts
down (up?) her legs, over her ankles, and onto the floor.  With
my hands pressing on her back and butt, I let her relax her
breasts onto my chest and position her wet cunt over my searching
tongue.  Her tongue was washing my quivering cock between nips
and sucks.  She tasted fresh and warm as I probed for sensitive
spots.  With the joy and luck and abandon of young lovers who
have just learned more about each other than they never imagined
they could ever know, we came together, grunting and moaning and
slurping and hugging through the wild spasms that shook us both. 
There was a moment of quiet panting, then Tricia, up on elbows
and knees, switched her position.  She gave me a short, fragrant
kiss, then walked away, with a glance back to see that I was
following.  We slipped into the pool in the shallow end, and swam
to the diving end.  Tricia floated on her back, breasts and bush
wet and shiny, waiting for me to come close.  I tread water
easily, my head near hers.
     "Thank you, Tricia."  She turned her head a little so I
could see her smile.
     "You're not a rookie any more, are you?"  I grinned and she
pushed my head under water.  I liked the view from there, too.
Tricia began a long, lazy stroke that took her along the length
of the pool.  I was just able to keep up with her comfortably. 
That night that I decided to train for the swim team.  And we've
been working out every day.
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