The Swimmer

How I became an avid swimmer. A chance meeting led to daily swimming lessons.

The Swimmer

It throbbed.
I swear I could smell it.
Primitive.
Beastial.
Feral.
I could not take my eyes off it.

My lips licked themselves uncontrollably
My mind raced of things dreamed of.
My heart, pounded like a war drum.
My field of vision narrowed.
My hands trembled.
My heart longed.

He knew.
He teased.
Tormented me.
He walked past me.
No towel covering himself.
It hung there like a king.

And I just stared.

He walked up to me.
Placed it inches from my lips.
Asked me my name.
I couldn't talk.
I wanted to touch it.
Engulf it.

Time became meaningless.
Nothing else mattered,
He was perhaps – old.
Very old.
And I – well that doesn't matter.
He was a God.
And I, his willing servant.

He told me to get undressed.
Without thought I did.
He pulled my hands away.
He smiled approvingly.
It was growing.
Larger than I had seen before.

And I too was excited.
So excited.
I spent myself on it.
He joyfully laughed.
Told me to clean up my mess.
And I did.

It was heaven.
It tasted like lust.
A flavor I knew well.
It slid into my mouth.
It was huge.
But I wanted all of it.

He pulled me off.
Spun me around.
And entered me.
Bliss.
Pain.
Heaven.

Another was watching.
And then another.
Soon a half dozen.
Watching us.
Then that was not enough
And one came near.

I grabbed him.
He thrusted.
I accepted.
Others approached.
Spent themselves on me.
Soon my mouth overfilled.

And my new friend.
Thrusted one final time.
Emptying himself in me.
I became dizzy.
Couldn't stand.
He carried me to a stool.

His name was Mark.
He was retired.
Lived alone.
Swam every day at the Y.
And I became and avid.
Swimmer.

All summer long.
Every day I swam.
Every day I was the youngest.
The men swam nude.
Encouraged me to also.
And my image of self improved.

I told my family.
I wanted to go to camp.
Mark met them.
They loved him.
Not as much as me.
I was allowed to go to camp.

Camp was Mark's home.
And camping was a euphemism.
For pitching tent in his bed.
For a week I had him.
It was perfect.
Then he told me.

I cried.
Stage three cancer.
It was only time.
It was unfair.
I raged at God.
He hugged me.

He died on a Wednesday.
Two weeks before Thanksgiving
The next year.
But I made sure he was happy.
My family attended the funeral.
They never knew what we shared.

But that swimmer changed my life.