Effortlessly, the graceful shimmy propelled Lucy from the pool. Water from the Fastskin swimsuit plastered to her lithe body streamed onto the pale blue tiles. The artificial lights highlighted the glistening contours of her taut, athletic curves. Despite being knee to shoulder, that friction-free Olympic-style swimsuit was eye-catching beyond belief.
The School Sports Captain eased off her cap and goggles. A minimalist shake of her head had long raven hair bouncing free. She grinned with the impish self-confidence of once again breaking her own school record. Then generously hugged the other competitors who’d barely managed to finish in her wake.
Lucy sashayed down the length of the pool. A friendly wave to the fan-girl cheers from the junior school made their day. She then paused to blow an encouraging good-luck kiss towards where an open-mouthed Monique had been marshalled with the other competitors in the second semi-final of the school’s blue-ribbon event, the senior hundred meters freestyle.
It was a school tradition; the swimming carnival was compulsory. That had never been a drama for Monique. Growing up on Sydney’s northern beaches, she’d competed in Surf Life Saving carnivals from the age of six. Though in her teens, she’d come to appreciate the importance of morphing into a pseudo beach bunny. Apparently, cool kids spent the summer hanging out beside the sea, not giving a damn about saving lives, let alone the quality of their swimming stroke.
Nevertheless, Monique’s muscle memory hadn’t withered. She could still swim confidently and powerfully. Had even surprised herself with the ease with which she qualified for the senior-school semis of all four strokes the previous day.
In truth, though, that blown kiss from Lucy was a reminder of why girls like her had always intimidated Monique. Naturally excelling in all that seemed to really matter. So languidly normal in their perfection.
Not like her. Year in, year out, despite, or perhaps because of, her nerdy successes, she’d somehow forfeited the chance of an admiring word or two from any of the year group’s queen-bees.
But Lucy had always masked those anxieties with a friendly smile. She was a well-accepted member of the Bored Cynics Society—so named by Julie after they’d twiddled their thumbs through the Dead Poets Society one English class—who hung out together on the school’s bottom field every day. Yet, without a bestie to confide in, she felt emotionally becalmed; marooned on a desert island without a friendly challenge to her introspection.
The whistle calling the second semi-final to the starting blocks slammed the brakes on Monique’s maudlin musings. In a single file the swimmers walked past the still dripping Lucy, who was holding court with the school’s principal.
Lucy glanced at them and caught Monique’s eye. Smiled dazzlingly. “Swim clever.”
Monique’s heart missed a beat. She arrived at the starting block, shell-shocked that the girl she thought the coolest at school had deigned to speak to her. But quickly chided herself, Swimming smart starts with concentrating! when, “On your marks,” boomed over the Tannoy.
Lucy didn’t overcommit; she swam on the edge of discomfort for a lap. Tumble-turned with a glance. Realised she was leading, just ahead of two others, and again settled into that fluid stroke. With twenty-five meters to go, her arms and legs hit the lung-busting afterburners. No looking for the competition, just a laser-like focus on pushing past her limits.
When she touched the wall, she glanced from side to side, gasping for breath. Grinned happily. Climbing out of the pool, that winner’s smile vanished. Mortified by her nipples tenting her school-issued one-piece. She quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped herself in it. Exhaled, then accepted the less-than-fulsome congratulations from the two runners-up.
Her walk down the side of the pool only merited polite applause and not the raucous reception Lucy had received a few minutes earlier. Until, that is, she passed by her friendship group, who were sitting high in the stands, about as far away from the principal’s eyeline as it was possible to be while remaining inside the building.
They began chanting:
Monique, Monique, Monique, Oi, Oi, Oi.
Swims to attract the attention of boys,
Too sexy to play a sport wearing clothes,
Swims like a grouper; there she goes.
The verse was rough and ready, most likely penned by Julie, who’d never been one to let opportunities for innuendo go to waste. Monique shook her head, feigning disapproval. Not the most flattering rhyme ever, but deep down, she was thrilled they’d put down their iPhones and made the effort.
She sarcastically curtsied, earning herself another roar of approval. But, turning on her heel to walk to the changing rooms, she almost stepped on the foot of a smirking Lucy. “Oh my God. I’m such a klutz.”
“No way. A klutz doesn’t swim the day’s second fastest time in the free.”
“Seriously? But I’m not in the swim squad.”
“Yet. We’ll talk about that when we start preparing for the final.”
“Preparation?”
“Seems I’m going to have to take you in hand, missy. It’s good practice to think through a race before you dive into the water. I’m almost certain you don’t yet know how to swim as fast as you’re capable of swimming.”
Monique had just become gut-wrenchingly familiar with the meaning of a deer caught in the headlights. She meekly followed the coolest girl at school to a vacant corner of the changing rooms and sat on the bench next to her.
Their thighs touched; Monique squirmed.
Lucy whispered, “Exciting, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Being part of a swim team.”
Monique sighed, relieved. “Oh yeah, that. I guess. Why me? What am I signing up to if I say yes?”
“You’re an unpolished diamond who already swims fast. Keep repeating that semi-time of yours, and you’ll automatically be the school’s second pick for the individual free and the relay.”
“Seriously, wow.”
“So, I don’t have to beg?”
Monique smirked. “You don’t have to. But seeing you on your knees would sway my decision.”
“When you relax, you’re adorable. Text me your answer later tonight. Right now, let’s focus. Tell me how you’ll approach the final with me in the lane next to you.”
Monique shrugged. “Like usual, I guess.”
“With what goal, beating me, keeping up to me?”
“I don’t think I could.”
“Smart girl, so what’s your aim? And your greatest danger?”
Monique paused, her eyebrows furrowed. “Earn a podium, I guess. Being overawed and going out too fast like I did in the butterfly final.”
“Exactly. Your superpower is being super-smart. Not relying on your pretty face being enough.”
Monique felt a blush bloom on her chest. Her heart raced, leaving her speechless.
Lucy took her clammy hand. “Remember, you can’t see as much in backstroke, so with fewer distractions, you ended up third. It makes sense to just ignore me and aim for second place in the free. Success will be a faster time than you swam in the semis.”
“I get it, the backstroke felt like being in my own world.”
Lucy stood. “So, prepare without me distracting you. We’ll catch up after the race. Promise.”
When Lucy disappeared around the corner of the locker room, Monique closed her eyes and sighed. Focused on stilling her racing heart. Having finally achieved that, she followed Lucy’s instructions and mind-mapped her race.
Monique was fastest off the blocks but settled back to the edge of her comfort zone for the remainder of the first lap. Turned a body length or more after Lucy, but marginally ahead of the other finalists. Again, settled into her fluid, powerful stroke. Thirty meters out, her arms and legs hit the lung-busting afterburners hard. No looking at anyone, just that laser-like focus on driving herself through her limits. And seemed to finish faster than in her semi, if getting closer to Lucy’s heels could be taken as a guide.
When she touched the wall, she glanced from side to side, gasping for breath. She smirked and was enveloped in Lucy’s congratulatory hug. “You did it, second place and a whole second faster than your last swim.”
As Monique excitedly emerged from the pool, she noticed Lucy glance at her chest while handing her a towel. But so elated by perfectly executing her race, for once, blushing didn’t occur to her. Having just wrapped her pokies in the towel, she turned towards the principal who’d called out her name.
Much to Monique’s amazement, she was asked to stay behind with Lucy. She hadn’t even remembered that there was a swimming award for the best in year eleven, let alone imagined she would ever swim well enough to earn it.
Most of the school had headed towards the exit and were poised to make a run for home once the award ceremony was over. Not her friends, though, they had come down from high in the stands and cheered loudly as the principal presented Monique with the Year Eleven Swimming Champion award. She clutched the prize and grinned at them, more moved by the fact they had stayed and cheered than the award itself.
“Your friends really are super cool,” Lucy whispered, as the principal continued to drone on and on, cataloguing the voluminous swimming achievements of the Year Twelve Swimming Champion.
“They really are. I’m stunned they’ve stayed.”
“You shouldn’t be. I totally get why they like you.”
Monique was gobsmacked. Words failed her. But fortunately, Lucy didn’t notice as she had finally been called forward by the principal to receive her award.
By the time the two senior school swimming champions arrived in the changing rooms, the other competitors had vanished. No doubt, like the rest of the school, they too had prioritised an early start to their weekend.
Tossing their caps, googles, and towels on the bench seats, they relaxed alone in their thoughts, opposite each other. For once, Monique felt the rare balm of a companionable silence. Eventually, she ginned. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, you were a second faster in the final. That’s my reward.”
“Still not close to you, though.”
“True, but I’m Institute of Sport competition trained. And this swimsuit earns me another chunk of time.”
“Expensive?”
“Thousand bucks. Worth it aerodynamically … but wear it for a while, and the compression is a complete pain.”
With that, Lucy tugged at one shoulder and then the other. She unpeeled the swimsuit, rolling the material down to her hip bones. Her boobs sprung free; what had previously appeared to Lucy’s surreptitious glances to be b-cups emerged, uncompressed, as delightfully perky c-cups.
“Wow, um … yeah, that’s expensive.” Monique couldn’t help herself. She swallowed hard. Stared, open-mouthed, at the thick nipples pert against small dark areolas.
Suddenly, she was vaguely aware that Lucy had asked a question. “Pardon.”
“Perhaps coaching advice shouldn’t be given topless.”
Monique glanced at the mirror. Her chest and neck were smeared with vivid crimson blotches. There was nowhere for her to hide. “Sorry.”
A deep breath, then Lucy sighed. “Don’t be. I’m … um, not weirded out by you staring.”
Monique was tongue-tied. Embarrassed, yet squirming as tingles now threatened to ransack her throbbing pussy.
The silence lingered and lingered. Until Lucy broke it. “Shower time.” She grabbed her clothes and turned towards the cubicles at the back of the changing rooms.
Once again, Monique couldn’t help herself; she took one last mesmerised look to imprint those stiff nipples and pretty areolas in her mind. Then added the sway of a taut peachy bum as she watched the school’s sports captain head to the showers.
Yet when Lucy vanished into a cubicle and the sounds of falling water broke the silence, Monique felt lost. Adrift in the raging seas of inadequacy. Why, just why didn’t she say something? Anything.
Eventually, she gathered sufficient of her wits to shamefully scurry to the furthest away shower cubicle. The warm water pounded her skin. She closed her eyes. In the darkness, memories of Lucy’s luscious boobs emerged to haunt her mind.
Monique’s own nipples thickened. Her pussy tingled. She knew she shouldn’t, but Lucy’s boobs shredded that resolve. She leaned against the wall. An index finger instinctively slid through her pubes and scooped up her juices. Then, oh so slowly, she freed her clit and massaged the honey into that engorging bud.
At first, she didn’t overdo it. She patiently savoured the teases of her clit, slowly building her arousal as she recalled the day’s interactions with Lucy. Minutes passed as she allowed herself to climb to the very edge of orgasm. Only then did she permit herself to relive the best bit of her day. In slow motion, her mind replayed the moment the coolest girl in school had slid that swimsuit down her perfect body and exposed those full, luscious breasts. To her.
Her finger hit the afterburners, rubbing faster and faster around her firm nub. Her mind’s eye locked onto Lucy’s stiff nipples. She bit her other arm, knowing she was inclined to an orgasm-shriek.
Totally lost in Lucy-lust, an out-of-this-world orgasm crashed tsunami-like over her. Wave upon wave of ecstasy had her whimpering into the bite mark as little squirts of juices trickled down her thighs.
She slid down the wall and sat in the splatter of shower water, her head on the arms she’d crossed on her knees. Her mind was enveloped by a haze of incoherent bittersweet feelings. As the physical evidence of her wonderful orgasm circled around the drain, an awkward anxiety took hold as she tried to make sense of all that had happened that afternoon.
But that evening, Monique convinced herself she had nothing more to lose. She took a deep breath and texted Lucy. I’d love to join the swim team. Thank you.
Then she took an even deeper breath. Snapped a shackle from her usual risk-free approach to life. Sent a second text, a red heart emoji.
Her excited screams echoing off her bedroom walls had her mum asking if everything was okay.
“I’m fine,” she replied. But, in truth, she felt so much better than just fine.
For Lucy’s reply, two sparkling heart emojis had just appeared in her iPhone.
To be continued.
