“Allison?” says Beaumont, waking me from my little day nightmare.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. I was just thinking. Why did you call him my friend?”
“Well, you may have noticed I can’t pay attention to sports very well. But I can pay attention to how people around me react. And I couldn’t help noticing that you seemed very interest in how this Anchor character, the captain, was doing, and what was happening to him. It’s not my first time around the block, Allison, even though I just might seem like an old out of touch professor.”
“I don’t think…” I start to say, but Beaumont cuts me off.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Allison. I’ve been on this campus longer than you have, and I’ve been to school myself. I’ve seen how the jocks are, and I never like to see my students get hurt. I just don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations for this relationship. After all, he doesn’t seem very responsible—drunk on a Monday morning.”
This is not what I need to hear right now. Is Beaumont just trying to confirm all my self-doubting thoughts about Anchor?
“How do you know we’re in a relationship?” I say, trying to contain the annoyance and anger in my voice.
“Allison, come on, I know what I know. You don’t have to admit it to me, but he’s your inside source, isn’t he? And you’ve fallen for him. I mean, hell, it happens to the best of us. Back when I was working for the paper, and I was down in Mexico, there was this woman…I was supposed to be investigating her… Well, I shouldn’t go into details but…” Beaumont’s voice fades as he gets a distant look of longing in his eyes.
I’ve never asked him, but as far as I know Beaumont’s not married. Was this Mexican woman the one who got away? I suddenly realize, despite my anger, that I barely know anything about Beaumont’s personal life. I know all about his past as a reporter, but nothing about what he does now when he’s not at campus.
“I mean,” says Beaumont. “Is this just this a fling, or something more serious? No, I’m not asking for an answer. But I think you really need to figure that out for yourself. If it’s something more serious, you need to start changing yourself a little. When two people are so different from one another, like you and this Anchor are, there are going to be things in your personality that are holding you back, things that you have been holding on to for a long time. You see, when we fall in love, or commit to another person, we need to leave behind parts of ourselves that we thought were very important, but in reality, they aren’t at all.”
This is the first time I’ve talked to Beaumont about anything remotely like this. Honestly, I’m blown away by his insights. I know that in a way he’s right, but I’m not going to admit that to him right now. He may not know anything about sports, but he really is a very intelligent guy, and in more ways than I’d realized before.
“Thanks, Professor Beaumont,” I say. “I think I’d better get going.”
“Good luck,” says Beaumont, as I leave the office.
I wonder briefly why he didn’t ask me about the article at all.
His words are ringing in my head as I walk through the campus. The sun is shining down. It’s already spring, and the leaves on the trees are flourishing. The air is warm, and there’s that special spring feeling in the air.
What did Beaumont mean exactly when he said we have to leave behind a part of ourselves? What would that be for me? What am I holding onto? Maybe it has something to do with how I think I’m so much smarter than Anchor. I realize here and now, all of a sudden, that even though I love Anchor, I still feel like he’s not quite good enough for me. Maybe in my weird mind, he’s good enough for a hot fuck in the locker room between events, because that’s what I expect of a guy like that. But I’m not really valuing his own skills. After all, there are plenty of things he can do that I can’t. I don’t have that type of charisma, for instance.
I’ve got to find him.
I walk towards the river, quickening my pace. Who knows where he and Dave are now, but that’s the last place they were heading.
It’s been raining a little more than usual this spring, but I’m still surprised to see the river having swollen, rising against its banks. The water is flowing quickly, swirling around the boulders in the middle of the river.
I haven’t been down here since my freshman year, but it’s beautiful. There are trees that are hanging over the river, with pink flowers blooming.
“Anchor?” I call out, but there’s no answer.
It was stupid of me to think I would find him here. He’s probably off doing God only knows what at this point. Who knows what he and Dave are capable of getting into when they’re drunk on a Monday.
It’s nice here, so I decide to walk alone, hoping that maybe being a little closer to nature will improve my mood. Instead of helping my mood, Beaumont’s little speech has only succeeded in increasing my melancholy.
Down this way, heading South, away from campus, the river is deeper and the water is moving faster. I’m surprised at myself that I forget where the river leads to, but I’m pretty sure it feeds into the lake, collecting all the rain from the area.
There are some wet boulders along the river’s edge, and I gingerly walk along them, relishing the sense of physical danger that’s been foreign to me for so long. I keep my arms extended, trying to keep my balance.
I’m trying my best to keep ‘out of my head,’ and in the present moment, to the point of actually putting my self in danger.
But I can’t do it. I’m just too intellectual. That’s what everyone’s been telling me for all these years, and it’s completely true. I’m always stuck in my head. Right now, I’m still thinking about Anchor, and about what I’ll say to him when I finally find him.
Suddenly, I slip.
It happens so fast I barely even notice it, but before I notice it, I’ve fallen, banging my side against the boulder, and falling right into the water.
The water is flowing much faster than I’d thought. It’s much stronger. I put my feet down, but I can’t feel the bottom. It could be really deep. I’m not a bad swimmer, and I manage to get over to the edge of the river by moving my arms and legs furiously in something approximating freestyle. I don’t have time right now though to worry about my form, or whether I’m executing the stroke correctly.
The situation is getting serious fast.
I grab onto the side of the boulder, but it’s wet and slippery. I can’t get a grip, and I can’t pull myself up.
The strong current pulls me away from the boulder after just thirty seconds.
I’m losing strength, trying to fight against the current. I’m trying my best not to be swept away.
My heart is pounding in my chest like it never has before. Inside, I’m panicking, but above the recessed river, the calm blue sky and beautiful trees that gently way in the wind are a strange juxtaposition to my own situation.
“Help!” I cry, finally realizing I’m not going to make it out of this by myself. “Help! Someone help me! I’m drowning. I’m being swept away.” I yell as loud as I can, but I’m sure there’s no one around.
The situation doesn’t seem real. The danger feels surreal.
I’m being pulled down the river.
There’s a blur somewhere in my field of vision, but I can’t see what it is.
“Help,” I scream again. I’m losing all my strength trying to fight against being pulled down stream. This isn’t good. I’m losing my strength that I need to stay afloat, and I’m being pulled under.
But there’s someone. Someone on the edge of the river.
Someone strong and muscular, with a perfect body. It’s Anchor! He’s running towards the river as fast as he can, moving his body like I’ve never seem him move it, even faster than during his races.
He dives in without even taking his shirt off, without pausing at all.
I go under.
The current is swirling around me. I’m not at the
bottom yet, but I bash into a big boulder underneath the water.
Suddenly, strong arms are around me. Just when I think I’m completely lost, when I’m almost out of breath, Anchor grabs me.
He starts pulling me towards the edge of the river, bringing me up to the surface.
I’m gasping for breath, completely drenched, looking around wildly, still not completely sure what’s happening.
I go back under the water for a moment, but Anchor pulls me up again. He’s somehow treading water while completely supporting me. His body feels hard and strong against mine. He feels tough and hard, and so strong he could never sink, no matter how strong the river is.
He’s pulled me to the edge, but the boulders on the edge are so high, he can’t get a grip to pull us up to the bank.
“Dave,” he cries out.
“Hmpph,” I say, trying to speak, but I’m still choking on water and merely sputtering some gibberish.
Looking up, I can just make out another figure on the edge of the water. It’s Dave, and he’s lowering one of his crutches down.
Anchor grabs onto it, and Dave starts pulling, planting his feet deep into the ground, and trying his best to pull us up. But he isn’t strong enough.
“Can you hold on to me yourself?” says Anchor.
I’m not sure that I can. I feel weak, completely drained, as if the last bit of energy has left me, but I nod my head anyway. I grab Anchor as hard as I can around the waist, locking my hands together.
Anchor uses both hands and starts climbing up Dave’s crutch, pulling us up out of the river.
We’re almost all the way up when my strength leaves me, and my arms start to slip.
Anchor releases one of his arms from the crutch and grabs me just in time, gripping my wrist with a strength I’ve never felt before.
I start losing track of what’s happening. I don’t know why, but the terror is overtaking me, the terror if being completely swept away by the river. But maybe it is actually a fear of something greater, of being alone, of being swept away by life and ending up all by myself in a great lonely lake, trying my best to keep afloat. But how long can I really last by myself?
The next thing I know, Anchor’s pulled me onto the grass by the side of the river. I collapse into a heap and Anchor’s beside me. Dave’s here, standing over us, leaning on his crutches.
“You OK, Allison?” says Anchor.
“I’m fine,” I manage to say, some water bubbling up out of my mouth as I speak.
The feeling is strange—the sun is shining and I rejoice in its warmth, even though I’m still soaking wet. The grass feels cool and comforting.
“Could you give us a minute, Dave?” says Anchor, looking up at Dave.
“Sure, of course,” says Dave, who seems a little unsteady on his feet. I’ve forgotten for a moment that they’d been drinking heavily since the early morning.
Dave ambles away on his crutches towards a large willow tree.
“Aren’t you drunk?” I say.
“I was, but I have a high metabolism,” says Anchor, giving me a wink. “What the hell happened? Dave and I heard someone crying out for help, and I didn’t even realize it was you until I grabbed you.”
“You mean you weren’t just trying to save me?”
“Well, if it was someone else, would you have wanted them to drown?”
“I guess not,” I say. “I’m glad you saved me.” It seems like a stupid thing to say, but right now I don’t have the energy to say the things I want to say. It’s amazing to me how quickly the tension between us has dissipated. There’s still a little…something, but I wouldn’t call it tension.
“What were you two doing down by the river?”
“Well, we were pretty buzzed, and I somehow convinced Dave that we should steal a bunch of old rail road tracks and sell them for scrap metal. Just a stupid drunk plan.”
“Sure sounds like it. Are there even any tracks left?”
“Yeah, we got one almost completely up from the ground. But it’s probably good you interrupted us, because it had all these official warnings on it about stealing railroad tracks. I guess it’s a federal offense or something.”
“It is,” I say. “Hey, could you take me back to my dorm room?”
“What? You don’t want to come back to the swim house?” Anchor obviously thinks this is one of the funniest things he’s ever said, since he can barely contain his laughter.
“You know as well as I do it’s a disgusting filthy place, full of animals. It’s not a place to recover in.”
“I guess it’s not,” says Anchor, feigning a serious air.
He helps me to my feet, and I put my arm around his shoulder. He puts his muscular arm around me, grabbing me on the side. His strength makes me feel secure and safe, even though there’s no reason to fear falling into the river now. Maybe the incident really did mean something more to me—now that I’m with Anchor, the fears of being alone are swirling away into nothingness.
“What about Dave?” I say.
“He’ll be fine on his own,” says Anchor, lifting up his other hand to give Dave a wave.
Dave waves back with his crutch, still somewhat unsteady on his feet.
“Poor bastard can’t really handle drinking in the morning,” says Anchor.
We get back to my dorm room, and Anchor strips me naked and puts me in bed, putting my big comforter up around me.
“Do you need some tea or something?” he says.
“I just need you to come cuddle with me,” I say.
“Of course,” says Anchor, pretending that he’s tipping an imaginary hat to me. “Would the lady prefer the gentleman clothed or unclothed?”
“I think you’re still a little drunk,” I say.
“If there’s anything that could completely sober me up it’s rescuing you from a rushing river. I still can’t believe that happened. How the hell did you fall in?”
“I guess it just happened,” I say. “But to answer your question, I think you should take off your clothes too. You’re soaking wet.”
“I’d completely forgotten,” says Anchor, taking a look at his own clothes. He’s dripping water onto the cheap corrugated carpet.
He pulls off his shirt over his head, and I take a peek at his abdominal muscles and the way they move together, supporting the rest of his massive musculature. His shoulders are broad and strong. I’ve certainly noticed his muscles before, but never exactly in this way. I feel even more connected to his body now that he’s used it to rescue me, even more than when we were having sex.
He undoes his belt, and pulls down some old jeans he’s wearing.
He runs towards the bed, pretending he’s diving into the water, and jumps onto the mattress, landing right beside me. The old campus mattress springs make a horrendous creaking noise with the addition of his weight.
“I’ve never understood these old mattresses,” says Anchor. “Why do they make them so fucking long? Have you ever noticed they’re about three feet longer than regular mattresses?”
“You really know how to charm a damsel in distress after rescuing her,” I say.
“But haven’t you noticed it?” says Anchor, acting as if it’s the most important thing in the world right now.
“I think it’s because they know the students are going to be fucking like rabbits all the time, and they need the extra space for whatever extravagant positions and postures the students want to try. It’s an experimentation phase, you know, or at least that’s what the college administration probably thinks.”
“Interesting analysis,” says Anchor, running his hand slowly and gently all along my body, from my neck all the way down to my thigh. He starts running his hand up again, towards my neck, and this time he takes a detour around my belly and my chest, just barely avoiding my naked breasts, which his wrist just happens to briefly contact.
Now we’re kissing all of a sudden, and his mouth feels hot as it c
onnects with mine. It’s a comforting warmth.
I can tell something’s different this time. Right now this isn’t about just fucking. It’s about something more. It’s about really connecting.
“Were you serious when you said you loved me?” I say, pulling my mouth away from his for a moment, and opening my eyes to look into his deep blue eyes, which are already open.
“Of course,” he says. “I love you. Were you serious?”
“Yes,” I say. “And I still love you.” But inside, I know this isn’t quite true, but I can’t bring myself to say it. What I mean to say is that I know I love Anchor right now, but I’m not so sure now that I did actually love him when I first said it to him. It’s just that right now, my feelings for Anchor are so much more intense than they were before, that I don’t know if I can call what I felt before real love. But how was I to know, having, at that point, never felt anything stronger?
21
Anchor
I’ve never felt anything like this. It feels like real love, true love, whatever you want to call it.
Our bodies are pressed together, completely naked.
Normally, I’ve never been a big fan of foreplay. I always considered it just a chore that I (sometimes) need to do in order to get the chick hot and ready to fuck. It was just something to get her wet enough for my cock.
But this time with Allison it’s completely different. And I mean completely!
It’s like our souls are merging. I can’t believe I’m even thinking these words to myself, but that’s exactly what it feels like. There isn’t a better feeling in the world, and as the foreplay continues, I don’t feel any need to cut it short and simply stab her with my cock.
But eventually it does get to the point where we’re both feeling the aching too strongly, and we need to simply fuck.
Deep End: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 12
