Off The Deep End
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Teenagers, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, White Male, Oriental Female, First, Slow, School,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - I was one of the top swimmers in our squad, until a new student named Nao beat me. Ordinarily I wouldn't have minded if someone else on the same team was better than me, but Nao was a girl. Sex comes in later chapters.
I was a member of the swimming club when I was in junior and senior high school. I had been training and competing as a swimmer since I was in elementary school, so I thought I was pretty fast. When I entered junior high school, I found out that I was one the top swimmers in my age group, until Nao beat me one day. Ordinarily I wouldn't have minded if someone on the same team was better than me, but Nao was a girl.
Our school was a little different to some others; it was attached to a private university, and it combined junior and senior high schools together. That meant that in our swimming club there were students from all six grades of the school, and unlike the other schools my friends from elementary school attended, at our school the girls and boys swim teams practiced at the same time.
Since the boys swim team practiced right next the girls in the same pool, the female body held little mystery for us. As randy teenage boys, we certainly appreciated the opportunity to spend hours in close proximity to swimsuit clad teenage girls. And as I found out later, the girls swim team didn't mind satisfying their curiosity about the male form either - competitive swimming costumes leave little to the imagination. Especially the swimming costumes of teenage boys who can't control their natural physical response to the firm form of a teenage girl in a swimming costume.
Girls who swim have quite a low body fat percentage with firm posteriors, and despite being an asset in almost every other circumstance, floatation devices tend to slow one down, so top swimmers' breasts tended to be on the small side. But due to the development of their pectoral muscles from training for hours each day, their perky boobs sat high and proud.
Our head coach was a man - how he managed to avoid being caught ogling the fine female specimens surrounding him on a daily basis, I'll never know. He was a great coach, and he took his job seriously, but that must have taken a supreme amount of self-control. One of the the older boys suggested once that he might be gay, but then we saw him holding hands with a woman who we later found out was his wife. Actually, now that I think about it, she had a swimmer's physique too. I guess he had a way to release all that tension in a way that wouldn't find land him in prison or on a sex-offender's registry.
We trained hard for three hours a day, five days a week. On weekends we either hosted swim meets at our heated indoor school pool or travelled to other schools to compete. Because we had one of the nicer pools in the region with proper locker facilities, we hosted more meets than we had to travel to, which was pretty good. Some of those other schools didn't have change rooms or proper showers. Have you ever been on a bus full of exhausted swimmers who haven't been able to wash the chlorine of their overheated bodies? The bus windows would steam up opaque, which meant that we had to open the windows - a really fun prospect at 100 km/h with wet hair in December.
Still, we didn't mind the long hours of training or the weekends lost to competitions. We all got on pretty well with each other, and as I've explained, there were plenty of fringe benefits. For me, a big benefit was Nao. I first met Nao when I was in ninth grade. She'd previously lived in a different state, so or schools had never competed. She'd moved because of her father's work. And the first time I saw her was on the starting blocks.
We used to start our practices with a few challenge sprints after warm up stretches. Coach would call out for us to marshal, and we'd gather in no particular order and line up behind the blocks. Then we'd face off against whoever ended up on the same starting line up. Some people would jockey to compete with each other, bets and dares made during lunch breaks, but usually you'd just take whoever came up. The day I met Nao, the whistle had sounded and I'd stood up on the block.
"Your thing is hanging out."
"What?" I stared at this girl I didn't know.
"Your thing. It's hanging out of your suit leg."
I looked down and saw that the drawstring of my speedo was hanging out through the leg hole. I tucked it back in, feeling embarrassed. I looked back at her, but she was focused on the finish line, her eyes shielded with dark-tinted goggles. I tried to think of what to say, and had almost decided on "Thanks," when the assistant coach called out.
"Take your marks." The horn sounded.
I dove in the water, elongating my body. I shimmied through the water until I saw the first of the five dark-blue tile lines marking the ten-metre marks, then I kicked up and broke the surface. Counting in my head I tried to hit my pace, keeping track of the markers. I hit the wall and turned, trying to keep my tumbling form compact as the coaching staff had been drilling us. Then I headed back up the pool. As I turned my head to breathe, I risked trying to grab a glimpse back at the competition. It looked like I was at least half a length ahead of everybody else. Still, I kept up the pace and as I passed the final marker I put on an extra burst of effort.
I hit the wall timer plate and popped up out of the water, breathing heavily. I quickly turned around to see how far ahead of the other swimmers I was when I saw that girl. She was floating up to her shoulders in the water, with her goggles pushed up onto her forehead, revealing almond-shaped eyes beneath fine-lined arched brows.
"Are you alright? Did you cramp up or something?" I asked her.
I saw the last of the other swimmers slap the wall.
"The race, did you bail because you got a cramp?"
"I didn't bail."
"But you didn't—" I stopped talking as I looked up at the time board. She hadn't bailed - she'd beaten me by almost two seconds. I was the best swimmer in my group AND I was a guy. I felt my face go warm. I turned back to her but she was already ducking the lane ropes on her way to the ladder.
"Clear the pool," came the call.
I headed towards the ladder too. She climbed out the pool. She had a perfect swimmer's body, but her bottom still had that feminine compound-curve where her thighs met her buttocks. Her flawless skin was a tanned very light coffee colour, which made it obvious that her costume had ridden up exposing half of one pale cheek. It was right at my eye level. In spite of my embarrassment, I felt myself growing hard. As she reached the top of the ladder, I caught a glimpse of the juncture of her thighs, and of a dark space visible for a split-second as her leg stretched her swimsuit and created a tiny cavity between thigh and crotch. She stepped out of the pool and un-self consciously adjusted her swimsuit with a hooked finger, concealing paradise from my view.
I was at full mast. I lagged back, pretending to untangle my goggles' strap as I let other swimmers climb out before me, trying to buy enough name for my throbbing erection to subside enough for me to leave the pool without giving the rest of the team an eyeful. Finally there was nobody left and I had to exit the pool.
"Holy shit, dude" Derek, one of my teammates. "You just got smoked by a girl. A smoking hot girl."
"Shut up. It's just a warm-up sprint."
I shoved him in the shoulder. He overbalanced and fell backwards into the pool, surfacing gasping and heaving,
"Derek!" shouted one of the coaches, striding over to the pool.
"He pushed me,"spluttered Derek, pointing at me as he splashed over the lip. The coach looked at me. I shrugged.
"He asked for it."
"And you just asked for fifty. On a five count. Drop, now."
The staff had zero tolerance for horsing around the pool. 'Safety first' and all that jazz. Behind the coach's back Derek finished climbing out of the pool and gave me the finger. I shot Derek a filthy look as I got down onto my hands to start fifty pushups, holding each for five seconds.