Personal Best

by Sean Michael

  “It depends. I race the 100, 200, and 400 IM, 200 and 400 freestyle, 50 and 100 breaststroke, 200 and 400 butterfly. I want to try the 800 backstroke, but Coach Samuels thinks I’m more of a sprinter.”

  Coach chuckled. “You mean you haven’t met a stroke you didn’t like. Are you actually racing all those in the same meets?”

  “Sometimes. Depends on whether other guys need the race, mostly. Sometimes on my stomach. Coach Samuels told you about my stomach, huh?” It didn’t happen all the time, but it happened enough—too much water, too much stress, add a little food and some nerves and upchuck-city.

  Coach nodded. “That’s one of the reasons for the diet. You throw pop and pizza on top of a lot of racing, and your stomach’s gonna throw it back.

  “I think nine or ten races at a single meet might be too much, but we’ll let you race them for now, see if the new training and diet help with the stomach. We’re going to set up a schedule. Up at 6:00 a.m.…. Breakfast. You start swimming at seven. Fifty laps each of your strokes followed by a break of stretches and fruit or a glass of juice. A half hour of resting. You can work on your homework or read or whatever as long as it’s resting.

  “Back in the pool for fifty more laps of each stroke, more stretching and lunch. A half hour of working the weights and then we’ll run mock trials in the afternoon. Tuesday and Thursdays will be exceptions obviously.”

  “I don’t know if I can eat and then swim, Coach. Not in the morning.” He finished his cereal, about half the juice. “But I’ll try. When are your days off?”

  Coach gave him an incredulous look. “Days off? How long have you been swimming, boy?”

  He tilted his head, confused. He hadn’t asked about his training; he’d just wanted to know when to leave the man alone. “Ten years.”

  “You ever take a day off?”

  “From the water? Nope.”

  “There you go. I won’t be taking days off either. And you can have a light breakfast if you can’t keep a decent one down. But even if you spend fifteen minutes eating, you’ve got forty-five minutes before you hit the water—and I find you in the pool before 7:00 a.m. and there will be repercussions—but if you have time, you should be fine.”

  Man, he was going to have to write all this down. Something must have shown on his face because Coach gave him a grin. “I’ll type the schedule up in the computer and print out a copy to keep on the fridge.”

  “Oh. Cool.” Mike smiled back, that smile of Coach’s infectious. “I’m not stupid, but I can lose track of time. What happens in the evenings?”

  “You’ll get used the schedule and it’ll be second nature. You have any suggestions for the evenings?”

  “I watch a lot of movies. Hang out on the computer. Swim, if I can’t settle. Normal stuff.”

  “All right, let’s leave it open for now. I don’t mean to be your warden, but if you want friends over or to go out, you have to go through me.”

  “Chen’s my one good friend. Oh, and I volunteer on Thursday afternoons with Alex.” He thought Alex was an utter babe. Totally straight, but a guy could watch.

  “Doing what exactly?”

  “I help the little kids in the low-income day care learn to swim. Or at least how not to drown. Alex’s girlfriend runs the program.”

  “Excellent. Community service is good. And the Thursday schedule is already screwed, so that works.” Jessy gave him a look. “What about you—you got a girlfriend? Because I have rules about that too, I’m afraid.”

  “Rules?” Oh, man, he so didn’t, but he didn’t want to get tossed out because he was gay. Then again, he still had his scholarship now….

  “No sex a week before meets, no late nights, if the girlfriend interferes with the swimming, you’re cut off. I need to meet her, she’s got to be a part of the team.”

  “And, uh. If I say there’s not gonna be any girls?”

  One of Coach’s eyebrows went up. “You into celibacy?”

  “Uh. No. No.” He blushed dark, stood. “But I’m not into girls.”

  “Oh. Did Samuels know?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so. It’s a problem, huh? I can go back to Jester, man. No sweat.” Hell, most of his shit would go in Bonzo’s saddlebags.

  “No, it’s not a problem, I was wondering if Samuels picked me for you because he knew it wouldn’t be a problem. You should know that I’m not into girls myself.”

  “Oh.” He blinked, found a smile. “Well, right now? No boyfriend either. So the no-sex thing? I can hang.” Jerking off wasn’t sex.

  “Excellent. And you’ll let me know if the no-boyfriend status changes.”

  “Yeah, well, me and Bonzo? Not exactly stud magnets, but I’ll let you know if it happens.”

  “Yeah, about Bonzo. No riding during swim season.”

  “No way. You’re talking fucking months!” This, he’d fight for. He’d built that little bike up from the ground.

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You haven’t even seen him.”

  “It’s a crotch rocket, right? Too dangerous. Unless you’ve added the features to turn it into a Volvo.”

  “It’s a solid bike. I did the classes. I passed the tests. I’m a safe rider.” He was already tired of the argument.

  “We’ll revisit it in a month once you’re settled into the routine. Until then it’s off-limits.” Coach’s face was closed, brooked no arguments.

  “So what? I’m on the bus until Halloween?” He sighed, nodded. He’d have to see if Chen could give him a ride back Thursday nights. Hell, maybe they could study. “It’s bullshit, but I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.” Coach leaned in. “I’m going to be your shadow, kid. Get used to it.”

  “Look. I just wanna swim. You know, up and down the pool. I’m not complicated.”

  “Then we should get along fine.” Coach checked his watch. “We’ll take this as your first rest period—you can go do a round of laps after a half hour or so.”

  “Okay.” He washed out his bowl and headed to unpack, to hang posters, to listen to his music blaring in his ears and try not to worry about whether he was doing the right thing.

  Chapter Two

  JESSY THOUGHT things were going pretty well.

  The kid was bitching about some of his rules—the no-Bonzo and no-pop ones seemed to be the hardest for Mike, but on the whole, they were getting along. Mike swam like he was born to it, pushing and pushing himself as far as Jessy would let him.

  Like tonight. Kid had been growly at supper and then asked to go out and swim, work off some excess energy. Of course, that was a couple hours ago and the kid was still out there. No fucking way he hadn’t done at least fifty laps of each stroke, which meant the kid wasn’t counting or didn’t care.

  Jessy went out to the pool and crouched down at one end, waiting for Mike to get to the wall.

  The kid looked exhausted, but full of restless energy, sliding through the water. “Hey, Coach.”

  “You’re taking your time tonight. How many have you got left?” Like he thought the kid had any idea.

  “I have the butterfly left… of this set.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Have you been counting at all?”

  “I counted the first set. Every lap.”

  “The first….” He shook his head. “All right, out.”

  “I still have the butterfly left, though.” Mike pulled himself out of the water, arms fucking shaking. Well, he couldn’t call the kid lazy.

  “Except you don’t have laps scheduled for the evening. Jesus, Mike, there’s a point you have to stop and listen to your body.”

  “I was.” God, the kid was earnest, those eyes something else.

  He reached out and held on to the slender arms. “You’re shaking, Mike.”

  “I….” Mike nodded, throat working. “I’m okay, Coach. Just been hard to sleep.”

  Jessy knew a surefire cure for that. He shook his head to clear it. Damn, wh
ere had that come from? Well, he knew where—the kid was fucking sexy and exactly his type—long and lean, not an ounce of fat, beautiful muscles.

  “Why’s that?” he asked, leading the kid toward the house.

  Mike shrugged. “New place. New situation. New everything.”

  “You need to come to me when you’ve got problems like that, kid. I can’t help you if I don’t know about it, yeah?” He nodded toward the stairs. “There’s a bed in the spare bedroom. I’ll grab some massage oil and give you a good rubdown. That should relax you.”

  “Yeah.” Mike was all nervous energy. Hell, if he could bottle that, they could light up a city.

  He grabbed the bottle of massage oil out of the cabinet in the workout room and met Mike up in the spare room. “Lose the shorts, kid, and lie on your stomach.”

  Mike nodded, sliding the tight shorts off. Completely bare except for a line of dark-dark hair right above the kid’s prick, muscled, fine—Mike was a wet dream. Jessy gave his cock a firm talking-to, warming the oil between his hands.

  He straddled the kid’s thighs and started working the slender muscles in those long arms and shoulders.

  Mike groaned, the sound low and raw. “Oh. Oh, that’s…. Oh.”

  “Good. I know. It’s one of the few perks of having Hard-Ass Turner as your coach.” He kept massaging, working carefully and testing the muscles for injuries or soreness.

  Mike melted, dissolving for him.

  He spent a long time on the arms, shoulders, and back, slowly working down, wondering idly if Mike would balk when he got to the kid’s ass. Mike didn’t, though, long thighs parting a little, muscles strong under his touch. He nodded, pleased at the trust the kid put in him, and kept working. Ass, thighs, calves. He knew that by the time he was done, the kid was going to be relaxed enough he might just fall asleep there.

  Mike was purring, the sounds arousing and sexual, uninhibited and fine. Jessy bit back his groan, his cock loving the sounds the kid was making. Damn. He wasn’t going to make it if he had the kid turn over; he wasn’t.

  He finished up with both feet and then got off the bed and pulled a sheet up over the kid’s ass. “There. You think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

  “Uh-huh….” One hand reached out, stroked his arm. “Thanks, Coach.”

  He sat on the bed next to the kid and nodded, hand patting the lean back. “Anytime. I mean it, Mike. If you’re sore or wound up? You let me know.”

  “It’s all so different, you know? Almost more different than going to the dorm from home.”

  He nodded, hand sliding on Mike’s back, trying to keep the kid loose and easy. “Yeah, but here you’ve got your coach’s full attention, yeah?” He chuckled. “Of course maybe that’s not the great thing that I think it is.”

  “Oh, it’s… it’s scary, how good it feels.”

  “This?” he asked, sliding his hand down Mike’s spine. God, was the kid really this starved for touch?

  “That. Having you watching. It’s weird, knowing you pay attention.”

  He shook his head. The kid drew the eye, in the water and out. How could folks not pay attention? “A team coach has a team to look out for. Their loss.”

  “I’m not complaining. I …. Are you having a good time?”

  “Are you kidding? I could sit and watch you swim all day long.” It was true too.

  Mike chuckled. “Unless it’s before breakfast, or too late after supper.”

  “Oh, I could watch then. It’s not good for you. And you’re what it’s all about, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid, you know. I’m almost nineteen.”

  “I’ll try to call you old man from now on, then.” He chuckled. In that the kids were all the same.

  Mike giggled. “That’s right. Old Man Gauliet.”

  “Well, old man. You about ready to get some sleep?”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” He kept touching, relaxing, watching as Mike drifted off, falling into a deep, still sleep.

  Then he laid another sheet and a blanket over the kid and went to beat off in the shower.

  “YOU WANT to come have some pizza with us, Mike? We’re going to Mangias!”

  He looked over at Alex and Jimmy, shrugging. He hadn’t had pizza in three weeks. Of course, he hadn’t been sick either. “I don’t know. Lemme see what’s on my schedule.”

  He padded over to his coach, head rolling on his shoulders. “Hey, Coach.”

  “Hey, Mike. You looked good out there. Your shoulders okay?” Coach’s big hands dropped onto his shoulders, fingers working the muscles.

  “Uh-huh.” He rolled his head again. “Slept wonky, got a crick. You wanna go get pizza at Mangias? The guys are…. Oh. Ow. That aches there. The guys are going.”

  “No pizza, Mike.” Coach’s fingers stayed where they were, working the spot Mike complained about. “And you’re supposed to let me know if you’re hurting.”

  “I just did.” He closed his eyes, groaning.

  “Mike! Come on! Practice is over! Time for a real life, now!” Alex called.

  Coach tsked. “Someone needs to teach these kids that swimming is real life.”

  Coach Samuels shook his head. “It’s not for 99 percent of them, Jessy. It’s just fun.”

  “Winning is fun, Jeff. Doing your personal best at a meet? Fucking fun.”

  Mike chuckled. “No, that rocks. Swimming is fun.”

  Coach grinned, and damn, that serious face looked good happy. “See, Jeff? And that’s why Mike’s gonna win those medals. It’s more fun than partying to him.”

  Coach Samuels tilted his head, lips twisting. “That’s why I coach a team, Jessy. I can’t breathe and sleep and eat the sport.”

  Coach shook his head. “Can you imagine that, kid? Some people don’t think swimming is the be-all and end-all.” Coach gave him a wink and squeezed his shoulders.

  He chuckled, but Coach Samuels shook his head. “Now, Jessy. There’s got to be life after the pool. Goals. Education.”

  “If you’re like me, you work to stay at the pool after your racing days are done, but I hear you. Still….” Coach shook his head and then smiled at Mike. “Come on, kid. Home.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  He didn’t feel like pizza now.

  He sort of felt… wigged.

  He fell into step with Coach, catching a look.

  “You okay, kid?” Coach asked.

  “Yeah.” He nodded, sighed, belly twisted up.

  Coach stopped him, turned him to face those blue eyes. “Talk to me.”

  “I just. I’m good. I…. It’s weird. I feel weird.”

  Coach put an arm around his shoulders, kept walking him to the locker rooms. “Weird?”

  He sighed, rubbing his belly. “It’s like, I’m a freak now, here, with guys that ought to understand.”

  “Some of them’ll understand, kid. The ones that want it as badly as you do. And they’ll be jealous. The rest of them.” Coach shrugged. “Does it matter what the rest of them think?”

  “It’s not supposed to. It’s… weird. I’m supposed to be mad and demanding pizza right now, huh?”

  Coach shrugged. “Seems like an awful lot of effort to go through when what you really want is to get home and swim your laps.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned into Coach a little. “Yeah.”

  It felt good, to have someone understand.

  Coach walked him into the locker room and then straddled the bench, waiting for him to change. “There’s an old saying, Mike. It’s lonely at the top. That’s because most people don’t have the drive, the commitment to make it. You do. And frankly, you’re not alone. I know I’m not your friends, but I’m going to be there with you—for every stroke. I’m committed to you—to getting you to the Worlds, the Olympics.”

  “You think I could make the team?” Mike pulled his trunks off, pulled the sweats on, a T-shirt.

  “Hell, yes. It’s a matter of time. Less now that you’re with me instead of with the UT team.”
/>   He could handle that. “Cool. And you sort of are my friend, yeah?”

  Coach gave him a smile and a wink. “A friend who gives orders, yeah.”

  “Eh, I’ve had bossy friends. I ignore them too.” He bebopped out the door.

  Coach caught up to him, smacking his ass. “Brat.”

  He stuck his tongue out, laughing. “Yep.”

  “You shouldn’t stick that out unless you intend to use it,” teased Coach.

  “Hell, according to the rules, I gotta ask permission to use it anyway.”

  Coach laughed, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling. “You got that right, kid.”

  “That’s old man to you.” Mike loved that look. Loved it.

  That laughter continued. “Come on, old man. You feel like some steak tonight?”

  He tilted his head, then nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great. Do I get to splurge and have a Dr Pepper too?” No harm asking.

  “Nice try, old man, but it’s not happening.”

  “No? Damn.” He looked over. “I really miss caffeine, Coach.”

  “It’s been three weeks. You should be used to it by now.” Coach didn’t look like he was going to give on this. At all.

  “Well, the unending headache from hell is gone, but….” He shrugged. “I grew up drinking sodas. I mean, that’s all I used to have to drink.”

  “Juice and milk are better for you. Not to mention water.”

  “Juice and milk don’t go with junk food.” He settled into the car, fastened his belt. He wasn’t pissed or anything, more restless and talkative.

  “You’re not supposed to be eating junk food either, though,” Coach pointed out.

  “I’m a college student, Coach. I’m supposed to live off junk food.”

  “You’re a swimmer, Mike. You’re supposed to live off what your coach tells you to.” The grin on Coach’s face told him that Coach was enjoying their banter.

  “Yeah, but man…. No Mickey D’s. No stuffed jalapenos. No greasy pizza. No sex. I’m deprived.” And chuckling.