Chapter 1

The sun was shining low in the west, the late summer air was warm, the pool a clear, cool blue. The lane ropes were dancing on the waves from the just finished race, and the air was ripe with the scent of chlorine. The temporary grandstands on one side of the pool were crowded with chattering friends, parents, siblings, and fans from all over the county.

On the other side of the pool was a patchwork of swim teams in their skin tight racing suits, most wrapped in their towels, a few trying for a tan. The deck at the shallow end was the organized chaos of judges and timers and other officials, the last swimmers from the 12-and-under boys' medley relay wending their way back to their teams.

Meanwhile, the four of us were huddled up in our own little corner of the deck, heads together, arms around each other's shoulders.

"What're we gonna do?" I asked softly, bending my knees, bouncing gently, getting us all bouncing in sync.

"Win!" Gail, Meredith, and Cynthia answered together.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

"What're we gonna do?" I asked, louder.

Bounce, Bounce, Bounce -- higher, stronger.

"WIN!" they responded, louder, bouncing harder, faster.

"What're we gonna do??" I asked, still louder, bouncing harder.

Bounce! Bounce! Bounce!

"WINN!!" the answered, louder yet!

BOUNCE. BOUNCE. BOUNCE. Rising on our toes now.

"What're we gonna do???!!!" I yelled.

"WIINNN!!!!!" they shouted.

JUMPING! JUMPING! JUMPING!

"CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA! CHUFA!!" in time with the jumping, finishing with "WOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO!"

We broke our huddle, reaching for our suits and caps on the ground in front of us.

Oh, did I forget to mention we were naked?

Well, we were.

We slipped back into our racing suits like snakes putting our skins back on, tugged our white racing caps down on our heads like gladiators donning our helmets, tucking stray locks out of sight, and turned to march to the starting block at lane 3, our game faces on, the mantra bubbling through our minds, "WIN! WIN! WIN! WIN!"

Okay, sounds corny, but had it worked for us all summer and we weren't about to change it now. We'd even beaten a couple of boys' teams in match races. Granted, maybe the distraction created by our bare-ass bump-ups had something to do with that, but a win is a win.

Anyway, the only time we'd lost was at the dual meet at the camp run by the Restored Temple of the Holy Redeemer Reformed Evangelical One True Church. To avoid offence, Coach hadn't let us do our ritual naked there, which we assumed offended OUR god. That day it had felt like our feet were nailed to the blocks.

Other than that, it's been a good summer, a good year, in fact. It's hard to realize that in a three weeks I'll be starting high school, and soon after that turning 14! Where has the last year gone? After all the sex ed hoo-hah, and my birthday party, my last year in middle school went pretty smoothly.

The only bad thing about it was that I didn't get to spend much time with Greg, since he was at Northside MS. Until school ended for the summer I saw him at swimming practice in the high school pool, a few times at the library, but otherwise our schedules clashed, and over the summer the opportunity just hadn't presented itself.

Forced celibacy sucks, I tell you. Plus I didn't see Drindy at all, and she's such a cute little bug.

But this fall Greg and I'd both be in the same high school together! Maybe even sharing some classes, and definitely sharing lunches, and swimming practices, and walks home together -- well, maybe not that, since he'll probably have to ride the bus because he lives on the wrong side of town, or the right side if you put me on the wrong side. You get what I mean.

But back to the matter at hand. We reached the starting block just as the starter called for swimmers in the water -- perfect timing.

Gail, our backstroker, took her usual hop with a half twist to slip into the water, feet first, barely a ripple. The rest of us knelt down and scooped water over ourselves to get used to the temperature.

This was it, the big enchilada, the whole bag of marbles, the last race (for us) of the last meet of the summer. Not a dual meet this time, but six teams competing for the county championships in individual and team events. It was all on the line.

I'm too modest to crow, but I did okay in my individual events. Well, maybe a little better than just "okay."

Anyway, this race was the girls' 4x50 meter medley relay championship, and the points for that would determine the overall county girls' team champion. It was that close. We four girls were the last to swim for the Town Turtles (our mascot), and it was up to us to bring home the medley relay trophy and with it the points needed to take the team trophy away from the perennial powerhouse, the Country Club Carps, which nickname we, of course converted to something less fishy but just as fragrant, and they may think theirs doesn't stink, but we've shared a locker room with them and know better.

Win the race we win the meet, the whole magilla, sweep the table. It was all in, go strong or go home -- empty handed.

Not an option!

The three of us clustered around the starting block, encouraging Gail, while dealing with our nerves in our own way. I was working the odds in my mind as she slipped over in front of the starting block and curled her fingers around the bar, taking a deep breath and puffing it out, taking another deep breath.

"On your mark!" the starter called.

We fell back in line behind the starting block, Meredith, then me, then Cynthia, while Gail braced her feet against the end of the pool.

She wasn't the fastest backstroker in the race...

"Set!"

She coiled herself into a ball, arms drawing her up tight.

... but the team that had the fastest backstroker had the slowest breaststroker and butterflyer...

"CRACK!"

She exploded off the block, arching backward, arrowing into the water, immediately starting her stroke and kick, her arms flipping glittering arcs of spray in the air, feet churning as she pulled hard.

... it was the Carps we had to work hardest to beat. They were the best balanced team. In the next leg Meredith could top anyone but the Carp breaststroker, who was a phenom. I could whip the 'flyer of any team. I'd already proved that. Cynthia was a strong freestyler. I'd beaten the Carps' 'flyer in the 50 meter sprint by half a length, creamed her in the 200 meter IM, but they were strong in the other three strokes.

We'd have to really rip to win, with perfect starts every time. I'd have to do just as well or better than I did in the individual 'fly for us to pull this off.

Oh, yeah. I also set new 14 and under county records in both the 'fly and IM, but I don't like to brag. If you can do it it isn't bragging, is it? Besides, I only got silver in freestyle, bronze in back stroke and finished off the podium in breast stroke and diving, darn it.

The screaming was intense. Meredith, our breaststroker, was up on the block, trying to shake the nerves out of her arms and shoulders. I was swinging my arms back and forth like wings, then windmilling them, stretching my pecs, traps, and delts (Beth had shown me what those were). I could see Greg with the rest of the team, his face red as he cheered Gail on. He should be saving his energy. His medley relay came next, last race of the meet, and it would determine the boys' team champion.

In the bleachers was my cheering section; Mom and Dr. Smathers, Carl and Beth and Beth's parents, my troubled buddy John with his steadying squeeze Alice, of course, and Kathy and Stephanie, and the lunchroom gang, and even Missy. Gee I got a lot of friends! Greg's parents and his sister Drindy were there for him, along with a gang from his school.

I felt a pang, knowing that Carl and Beth were headed off to college, and Steph was headed for the Curtis Institute, all in just the next few days. I was gonna miss them SO much!

I yanked my mind back to the matter at hand. Gail was on her way back, trailing the Carp backstroker by half a length, another girl by even more, but gaining. Both the other girl and the Carp girl had gone out too fast and were tiring. Our breaststroker, Meredith, had her toes over the edge of the starting block, coiling herself for the start of the breaststroke leg, and I prayed she wouldn't jump the start and get us disqualified.

WHACK-SPLASH Gail hit the wall and Meredith hit the water a fraction of a second later. She took one strong underwater breast stroke and frog kick, all she was allowed under the stupid rules, and popped up to begin her bobbing plod, shoulders breaking the surface, arms below it for the recovery, as the rules demanded, shoving a wave ahead, breathing with every dorky stroke.

I mean, it looks ridiculous! Even frogs swim better, their webbed feet are designed for pushing, and they stay submerged! I'd heard that at one time you could swim the whole race underwater, which is so cool, and a lot faster, but The Powers That Be decided that was too dangerous and made a rule we had to breathe with every stroke. They said it was because if you suppress the breathing reflex for too long you might black out and drown. I think it was 'cause it made it hard for the judges to spot an illegal kick.

You better frog kick! One hint of a scissor or flutter kick and you were disqualified. Breast stroke had the most fussy little rules!

The judge by our starting block stepped back, so it was a good start, good stroke and kick.

Mercifully, Meredith, who was barely 13, had less drag for the breast stroke than I do -- smaller tits, believe it or not -- I'm up to an A cup now! -- but she was still falling back to the country club's breaststroker. That girl was built like a torpedo, and had the strongest frog kick I'd ever seen. The first time she got her long legs around a boyfriend she'd pinch him in two -- or crush his skull, depending.

I got up on the starting blocks, fidgeting nervously, taking deep, deep breaths, blowing them out, steadying myself and pumping up my body with oxygen. Adjusting my suit, tugging down on the butt, up on the straps. It was the second new suit in the past year and it's already too small -- I'm still growing, up as well as out. I glanced over at Greg, he was gathering with his relay team, but spared me a moment to shoot me a thumbs-up. No way could I hear him above the crowd, but I read his lips -- "Go get 'em!"

My toes gripped the block as I told myself to focus, focus, focus. I was going to have to make up a full length, and more. I had to give Cynthia as much of a lead as possible. Meredith was chugging in on the return leg, working her tight little ass off, but a length behind the Carp girl and dropping back. Shit this was going to be tight.

The Carps' 'flyer took off as I was leaning, leaning, leaning -- if I lost my balance it would be all over. Meredith's arms came forward on her last stroke and I started to uncoil and I could only pray I hadn't jumped the start as I went in the water, my legs, my whole body whipping in a series of three underwater dolphin kicks before I broke the surface for my first butterfly stroke.

My arms and shoulders broke the surface of course, every stroke, so instead of fighting the water I flowed over it. I didn't breathe that whole first lap. No rule said I had to. Keeping my head down, I was flying, flying, flying, my whole body one sleek swimming machine. I was a porpoise. With every stroke a wave of power swept down the whole length of my body to whip my legs, my feet thrusting. God I loved it! I was a dolphin, the water was my world, my friend, my ally.

I was gaining on the Carp 'flyer with every stroke! I hit the turn only a half a length behind and kicked off like a rocket. Now it was breathe every third stroke -- chuff-chuff-chuff -- breathe -- chuff-chuff-chuff -- breathe -- chuff, chuff, chuff -- breathe -- gaining, gaining, gaining.

Half-way back I drew even, and she knew it, and I saw her try to hold me off but she couldn't do it! She couldn't 'fly the way I could 'fly.

I knew what she was feeling. She was tiring, her arms were like lead, her shoulders burning. She was breathing every stroke, heaving up, gasping for air. I remembered those desperate times when I dug down for more and there wasn't anything there. Not for the first time I thanked Coach for the endless, exhausting wind sprints. My muscles were burning, but when I asked for more they gave it. I dug deeper, pulled harder. I was powerful, unbeatable. I was on a total high.

I hit the wall like a runaway train. Cynthia was off on the anchor leg, her feet passing over my head as I popped up, sucking air, suddenly aware of the screaming crowd. The Carp freestyler in the next lane took off, their 'flyer next to me, clutching at the backstroker's bar, coughing and choking while I was already catching my breath, turning around to look down the pool.

I'd given Cynthia a good lead, her arms were like windmills, her feet churning the water like a speedboat, the country club anchor struggling behind. The other teams, the also-rans, were sending off their freestylers to pick up the scraps we left 'em. I'd done all I could.

Once the last of the other teams were off on their anchor leg I joined the parade of 'flyers ducking under lane ropes, slogging through the water to the ladder at the side of the pool. I dragged myself up it, muscles suddenly like rubber. This was my fifth race of the afternoon, my hardest, and it all added up. I wobbled over for my towel, stripping off my cap, before tottering back to cheer Cynthia in to the finish. She was holding on to the lead I'd given her, and came steaming down to the finish, her head whipping as she breathed, first to the left, then to the right so she could track the opposition, only it was all behind her.

The Carp girl was gamely trying to catch up, but it was too little and too late. Cynthia came charging in and touched the wall a quarter length ahead and the three of us on the deck went crazy, screaming and bouncing and hugging and kissing, warm, slick, wet girl flesh and skimpy racing suit against warm, slick, wet girl flesh and skimpy suit, then reaching down to slap hands with Cynthia, who was still in the water, trying to catch her breath. I felt my pussy melting. God I loved these girls in ways they'd never understand!

The last racers came floundering in, and Gail and I reached down and lifted Cynthia out of the pool and we went into high fiving and group hugging.

Then I got an idea. "Come on, guys!"

"What's up?" Meredith asked as I led the way toward Greg and his teammates.

"We're gonna bring the boys some of our mojo," I answered. The boys' medley relay team had had a rough season. All together they were a good team, but they'd either been late off the blocks on the exchanges or, worst of all, early and disqualified. All they needed to do was get it together.

"Suits off," I reminded the girls. I saw Coach heading over to give his usual pep-talk, but when he saw where we were headed, stripping off our suits, he pulled up.

"Come on, guys, ditch the suits, jock straps, too. We're gonna give you our mojo," I told the boys.

For some reason they listened to me, and in moments all eight of us were naked, forming a circle, boy-girl-boy-girl, all the way around, arms around shoulders, Greg on my right. It was like I choreographed it.

"What're we gonna do?" I asked softly, getting it started, bending my knees, bouncing gently, getting us all bouncing.

"Win!" Gail, Meredith, and Cynthia answered, followed by a ragged chorus from the boys.

Chapter 2 »