This is a much different session, though. I’ve sure fucked a lot of women in my time, but I realize now I’ve never made love. And this is what we’re doing: making love.
Our mutual anger has long dropped away. I was starting to feel differently anyway, before rescuing Allison from the river. I was starting to realize, while fooling around drunk with Dave on those railroad tracks, that there really wasn’t anything to be angry about. It wasn’t Allison’s fault that I got benched. It’s my own fault. I mean, what could I have expected, behaving the way I have all these years? I’ve always looked at Coach as my enemy, rather than someone who I need to do my best to please, someone I need to work with, to make myself into the best swimmer possible.
Even though swimming has always been my life, I’ve never really taken it seriously. But I guess I never realized that viscerally until I saved Allison from the river.
My cock is inside her. I slipped the condom on only moments ago.
She’s moaning underneath me, and I’m rocking back and forth on top of her, thrusting slowly and meaningfully. These aren’t the vicious, powerful thrusts I usually use. Somehow, they seem imbued with all the feelings I can’t convey with words.
She bites my ear just slightly, as she arches her back. This movement changes the pressure around my cock and it feels wonderful.
I’m caressing her as I’ve never caressed anyone. I’ve always been somewhat proud of my technique, but I have to admit that I’m just realizing I’ve never really done that much with my hands. I’ve always thought everything was all cock and thrusting, and, it’s true, I did get a lot of girls off like that. But now, my hands feel like they are being magnetically drawn to her body, gently touching her all over.
It feels like I’ve entered a new phase of sexual understanding, the way my hands are moving around her breasts, rubbing her nipples together simultaneously, and pushing her breasts together as I cup one in each hand. In reality, it’s the connection that we have that’s pushing me to new levels of technique.
We both last about twenty minutes. This is longer than I’ve ever lasted without coming, even when edging during masturbation, trying intently hard not to come. It’s not that the sex isn’t hot. No, it’s the opposite. It’s beyond hot. It’s a new level of sex, something I’ve never felt before. But the urgent desire to simply blow my load isn’t there, and I guess it’s not there for Allison either.
“I’m coming,” she finally says, beginning to moan and squeal.
She’s going to let everyone in the dorm know that we’re making love, but I don’t care in the least bit. After all, everyone on the team already knows that I’m hooking up with her.
As I’m coming, I suddenly have a thought: if everyone on the team knows, then surely Allison’s’ professor mentor is going to know too, and isn’t she supposed to be staying away from me?
Shit. But I can’t worry about it now. I’m coming, like I’ve never come before. The pleasure isn’t just in my cock like it normally is, but coming up through my chest. There’s an intensely warm feeling around my solar plexus, and it feels like it’s radiating not just up, but out in front of me, connecting with Allison in a way that I can’t with just words.
We lie here together in her bed, completely naked, cuddling. I surreptitiously take the condom off, tie it up, and throw it in the trash.
“I’ve never felt so close to anyone before,” says Allison, barely above a whisper. She’s so close to me she barely needs to speak at all for me to hear her.
“You stole the words right out of my mouth,” I say.
“Yeah?” she says. The sarcasm and joking are completely gone. There’s nothing left underneath but beautiful sincerity.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say. “You know that, don’t you?”
She pushes her hair back around her ear. “Tell me that again,” she says. But it’s not the joking tone she used to use.
“You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, seen, or slept with, let alone fallen in love with.”
“You’ve fallen in love a lot?” I can hear a hint of worry in her voice.
“Just once,” I say.
“Oh?” she says, already sounding hurt. “With who?”
“With you!” I say, moving even closer to her, and cupping her breast with my hand, then running my other hand gently across her silky smooth skin that feels so perfect and beautiful.
“How’d you learn to be so sweet?” she says.
“I couldn’t do it before. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve always had a little bit of… well, I’ve always been a bit of a cocky asshole.”
“No!” she says. There’s that sarcasm coming back, but it’s gentler this time, and nicer.
“I think you taught me how to open myself up a little,” I say. “You know, there’s always been something more underneath this mask I wear, this emotional armor. And you’ve pulled it out of me. Only you could do it. I don’t think anyone else… no one else in the world could do what you’ve done.”
“Oh, Anchor,” she says, cupping the side of my face gently with her hand and leaning in slowly and kissing me in the lightest but sweetest kiss I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving.
We spend the rest of the day in bed together, making love twice more. Although the third session, I have to admit, is more of a “let’s get our rocks off,” session. But we both agree that it’s good to have both kinds of sex: making love, and also just plain fucking for the fun of it. Although I have the feeling we’re going to be doing a lot of pure love making the next few weeks.
“Aren’t you worried about people seeing us together?” I say. “Your mentor is bound to find out. And, I mean, I don’t want to worry you, but now that the whole thing happened with me and the swim team, I’m pretty sure that everyone on the team knows about us, and they’re not exactly prone to keeping their mouths shut, no matter what the circumstances. And, honestly, most of them are pretty pissed at me for not racing, especially the guys on the relay team, so I doubt they have any reason to protect you or me right now. They can be real assholes when they want to.”
“Don’t worry,” says Allison. Her reaction surprises me. She doesn’t seem concerned in the least bit. “Beaumont already knows.”
“Who’s Beaumont?”
“Professor Beaumont. He’s my… well, I was about to say best friend, but I think you’ve occupied that role on campus now.”
“You’re so sweet,” I say. This new way of behaving and talking still surprises me sometimes. After all, I’m still the tough swim champ, even if I’m not currently racing. I’m still on the team, after all. But it’s amazing what the right woman can do to a man like me.
“He already knows. He’s not as inept as he looks, I guess. I wouldn’t say he’s OK with it, but at least he’s still going to write my recommendation and I’ll still be working for The Journal next year. Fingers crossed, I mean. It’s certainly not a sure thing yet.”
“I really hope you get it,” I say. “It’s what you really want to do, right? It’s the only thing that matters in the world to you. It’s just like swimming is for me, being on the Olympic team, I mean.”
“Yeah!” she says, growing visibly excited. “No one has ever really understood that, Anchor. I mean, Beaumont’s understood in a way, but I think he’s too jaded at this point to really understand the enthusiasm of a student. But I guess that happens to reporters after a while. It’s a tough job and all…” She’s talking a mile a minute, completely excited that I’ve understood something so important about her. But she catches herself mid sentence and pauses. “Oh, Anchor, I’m so sorry about what’s happened to you with the team. I know how much the Olympics means to you. You do think you still have a chance, don’t you? I think you do. Maybe they’ll just look at it as a minor indiscretion or a particular problem with one coach. Doesn’t that kind of stuff happen all the time with athletes, even a the highest levels?”
“Anchor!” she says in an admonishing tone, giving me a playful little hit with her fist on my side. I can tell she likes me talking about her like this, though.
“Don’t you think he should see it from my side? I’m not such a bad guy after all. At least some people would say that.”
“You’re a great guy, Anchor,” she says. “The best guy I’ve ever met.”
“Even better than Professor Beaumont?”
She laughs. “Of course,” she says. “But, listen, Anchor. I understand what you’re saying about having the coach see the whole thing from your point of view. And it makes sense in a way. But… have you ever thought about simply apologizing to him and basically begging for forgiveness. He sure is a grumpy tough bastard, but I can’t see him turning something like that down.”
“Come on,” I say. “That’s not going to work. Besides, I have my reputation to think of. I’ve never apologized to the coach or any professor. That’s part of my thing, you know? I do my own thing, and if other people don’t like it, then they can go to hell.”
“Including me?” she says, her voice sounding halfway between playful and serious.
“You’re the one exception,” I say, in a serious voice, looking her right in her beautiful eyes.
“Well,” she says. “Think about what I said. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Since I’m a reporter, I’m not bad at reading people, and I think I have a pretty good read on the coach. I’m pretty sure it would work.”
“You didn’t have a good read on me when we met, did you?”
“I guess not,” she says. “I didn’t realize how stubborn you were.” She knows I’m joking, and referring to how she thought I was just another idiotic jock that she could never be with, but she’s too quick for me, and she’s able to make a joke out of anything.
“I should have known not to get involved with such a clever woman,” I say, leaning in and kissing her.
We’re standing up in her room, finally getting dressed to go to the dining hall. We both haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and my meal was just a bunch of cheap beers that had been sitting on my floor.
But we embrace, and fall again on the bed, half clothed, in a tight embrace.
22
Allison
Why is Anchor so stubborn? I know he could get back on the team if he would just admit he’s too full of pride… admit that he made a mistake. How hard would that be?
But as he’s embracing me, kissing me, caressing me, making me feel completely wonderful all over, I realize this is one of the things I love about him. But, if only he could just be a little better. Why can’t I just tweak him a little, to make him absolutely perfect? Not that he’s not perfect now. Perfect in bed, at least.
Soon he’s on top of me, with his cock inching its way inside me.
It’s so large that it hurts, as it always does when it’s first entering me, but the pleasure soon overwhelms the pain. For a moment, pleasure and pain exist together for me, but now the pain begins to fade away as he thrusts into me. I love watching his body move as he fucks me.
“I want to be on top,” I say.
“Just give me another minute like this,” he says, panting.
How many times have we had sex today? I’ve lost count already. And I think we both can’t figure out whether this is going to be a super steamy quickie, or a long lasting love making session.
Well, why can’t it be both? Why can’t we try something a little new?
It’s not that I haven’t been on top before, but we’ve just done that position for a couple minutes, before Anchor wanted to try doggy style. So far, though, we’ve mostly done missionary and nothing else, since we both find it’s the absolute closest we can get to each other.
But right now I’m just thinking Anchor can’t really get any closer to me if he’s already inside me. Right?
Finally, I get on top of him. We’re still close. We roll over so that he’s still deep inside of me during the transition, his cock never coming out of me even for a moment.
It actually feels better to have more control with the sex. I can do all the thrusting and rocking and riding I want, at whatever speed I feel like.
“That feels really good,” says Anchor, his breath getting heavy.
“You going to come?”
“Not yet,” he says, a look of complete concentration creeping over his face.
He reaches up and begins massaging my breasts, in just the same way he was before, paying special attention to my nipples.
Finally, we’re both ready to come.
I ride him harder and faster, increasing the pace.
We come together, almost completely simultaneously. I let out a series of moans that I couldn’t control even if I wanted to.
Anchor lets out a couple very manly groans and grunts, as he comes, filling the condom inside of me.
Just as we’re untangling ourselves from each other, and Anchor is dealing with the used condom, his cell phone rings.
“Probably more bad news,” he says. “It can only get worse with the team at this point, right?”
“You never know,” I say. “That’s what my Mom always said. She said if it’s good news, you’re going to want to know what it is, and if it’s bad news, you’re also going to want to know. It’s better just to pick it up.”
“I guess you’re right,” says Anchor, fishing his phone out of his jean’s pocket.
“How does that thing work after spending all that time in the river?” I say.
“Some special model for swimmers and water people like me,” he says. “Rubberized, gaskets, totally waterproof.”
He pulls it out of his pocket, and it looks like a real brick of a phone. It looks more like a military walkie-talkie, something the coast guard might use.
He opens it up and answers it.
“Hello?” he says. Apparently the phone doesn’t have caller id.
“Who is it?” I mouth, but Anchor puts his finger up for me to hold on.
He looks like he’s concentrating hard on the words being spoken, but his expression is unreadable.
Meanwhile, I fish my own phone out of my wet pants. It’s completely broken, completely water logged. The screen’s also broken, just showing a black broken digital static. It’s a cheap phone anyway, although I don’t have any money left over to buy a new one right now. The end of a semester is always a financial crunch for me, and I’ve been banking on getting a real salary soon after graduation.
“Thanks so much for letting me know,” says Anchor, his voice grave and serious. He hangs up the phone.
“Who was it?” I say, my voice riddled with anxiety.
I can’t help but thinking it’s probably bad news. After all, I don’t see how the Olympics could want Anchor after he’s been kicked off the team. Yeah, I know what I said to Anchor, but I was just trying to make him feel better. I didn’t really believe what I was saying, unfortunately.
“It was the Olympic coach,” he says.
“The scout, you mean?”
“No,” he says, a smile starting to brighten his face. “It was the actual coach. The head coach. He wanted to let me know that he’d heard about what happened, but that he’s also seen the video of the race, and that he’d never seen such a promising swimmer in all his years as coach.”
“Wow,” I say, breaking out in a big grin myself. “That’s amazing, Anchor! So you’re on the team, or what?”
“Not quite,” he says. “They still need to make their final decision. But he wanted to let me know that while I’m not yet a sure thing, I can be pretty confident that I’m going to be on the Olympic team next year. He
said not to pack my bags just yet, though. I mean, he had to make it sound like he wasn’t giving me an official offer and all that.”
“Wow,” I say, running towards him and giving him a huge hug.
This is amazing news, and we decide to celebrate tonight by getting off campus a bit tonight for a nice dinner, Anchor’s treat.
I can’t help it though—I have this little nagging doubt in the back of my head. I’m sure Anchor’s telling me what he believes to be true, but he does…well, he does have quite a big ego when it comes to swimming. Could it be that he’s misinterpreted the coach’s words somewhat? Maybe the coach was just calling to express his sympathies about what happened, and say that, if things had gone differently, he would have liked to have Anchor on the team, given that he is an outstanding swimmer—I wouldn’t put it completely past Anchor to take all this in the best light possible, to the point of completely misinterpreting the message.
But I don’t share my feelings. How could I, when we’ve never felt closer?
We take the bus from campus to the city, and we enjoy immensely walking around somewhere that isn’t the campus, or the river.
“The lights look so beautiful,” I say.
“I know,” says Anchor, looking at me, instead. “But not as beautiful as you.”
“You’re so sweet,” I say, as Anchor leans into kiss me, right underneath one of the streets light that’s emitting its soft yellow glow. The lights here look so much better than the stark florescent lights on the campus. Maybe this is a sign that my life will be better once I finally get off campus and graduate. Maybe I’m more suitable to the outside world. Maybe it’s going to be a better fit for me.
But what about Anchor?
I’ve never felt closer to anyone in my life, and I’m almost positive he feels exactly the same way. It’s like we’re connected in a kind of spiritual way. But what about when we graduate? If Anchor makes the Olympic team, I don’t see how my career is going to coincide at all with his. And if he doesn’t? What’s he going to be doing, working at a gas station? From what I can tell, he’s never been a very serious student.
Deep End: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 13
