Page 82 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Thirty-Three
Elliot
As soon as we push through the door to the swimming complex my nose is assaulted by the smell of chlorine, taking me back to being a kid standing on the poolside. My muscles immediately tense, and as though Freddie knows that, he takes my hand in his.
“The rules are exactly the same as when we went into the sea in France. If at any time it’s too much and you want to stop then that’s fine. Jean won’t push you I promise.” He smiles at me, his eyes lock onto mine and my body relaxes a notch. Because I believe him.
We quickly change and head out to poolside. The main pool’s impressive. There are about twelve lanes, but only a couple of them are taken up with swimmers, ploughing up and down in easy strokes. But this isn’t where I’m going to be, and I follow Freddie along a tiled corridor which opens out into a much smaller space.
It’s decorated in a manner that’s clearly meant to calm. There’s none of the harsh glare of the main pool. The lights are muted, and the walls are painted a soft shade of blue. It’s warm, too, with no hint of chill. Yet despite all this my heart rate’s picking up and my hand, encased in Freddie’s, is clammy with sweat. The pool’s empty, except for a smiling woman of around my own age, her dark hair piled high on top of her head.
“I’ll leave you in Jean’s good hands,” Freddie whispers into my ear. “Erm, I think you’re supposed to let go of my hand.” A tremor of laughter runs through his words.
“No, stay. I, I don’t know if I can do this without you being here.” The words rushing from my mouth belong to that young kid from so many years before.
“No, you don’t want me here. I’ll be a distraction. Put all your trust in Jean. If I didn’t have faith in her, you wouldn’t be here now. All right?” Freddie’s deep hazel eyes stare into mine. Trust me, they say, and I do. I loosen my deathlike grip on his hand and let it slide from mine. Placing a quick peck of a kiss on my lips, a second later he’s gone.
“Mr Hendricks? Or can I call you Elliot?” Jean glides through the pool, the water of which, I notice, only comes up to just below her waist. She smiles up at me from the bottom of the steps.
The soft Devonian accent is exactly the balm I need, instantly soothing, reminding me of my great auntie, who we used to visit during the school holidays. “Come and join me. Freddie said you need a little help.” She holds out her hand, as I make my way gingerly down the steps into the warm waters of the pool.
* * *
“I think we’ll leave it there for today, you’ve done very well.” Jean smiles at me and I know this isn’t a standard line. Whatever the woman possesses, if she could bottle it and sell it she’d make a fortune.
I’d managed, just, to dip my face in the water, fighting the panic that had risen up in me, but her gentle soothing words and her strong hands had helped me quell my fear. I hadn’t made it to bobbing my head underneath the water, but I could have a go at that next time.
“Here’s young Freddie. I do wish he’d swim for the university again,” she says. “I keep trying to encourage him but he says no, that he now just wants to swim for the fun of it.”
I follow her gaze to see Freddie sitting on the side of the pool, and I wonder how long he’s been there.
“Will I see you next week, Elliot? I very much hope so because you’ve got the makings of a good swimmer.”
I laugh. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever be that. And I’m not sure if I can commit the time…” My words trail off. They’re weak and ineffectual, just an excuse. I expect her to say no, that’s nonsense, that if I want to learn to swim I have to find the time.
“That’s a great shame.”
“Well, perhaps I can… On a Saturday morning?”
Her smile widens. “Book the sessions on your way out. I’ll have you swimming lengths of the main pool before you know. I guarantee it.”
I don’t believe that but if a few lessons means I can get into a pool without floundering and making myself look an idiot, I’m prepared to give it a try. Jean glides out of the pool as Freddie slips in.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Only a couple of minutes. You did really well. I told you she was good, didn’t I?”
Freddie rakes his soaking wet hair from his brow. He looks like a swimwear model from a magazine. My cock thinks the same as it twitches in my trunks. Jewels of water cling to his skin and ripple down his chest and along the outline of his abs. I’ve never had sex in a swimming pool — obviously — but I wonder what it’d be like. He looks at me, his eyes dark and full of heat, and excitement tumbles down my backbone.
“Freddie—”
Laughter and loud chatter as a swimming instructor followed by four women emerge from the corridor.
“Come on.” He takes my hand and all but drags me away. Thank God we both brought towels because our erections are almost pressing through the flimsy Lycra of our trunks. We grab the towels up, wrapping them around our waists as we flick each other hot, knowing glances.
We make it back to the changing room. It’s empty, but there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way. Mainly communal, there are a few private cubicles dotted around, and Freddie crashes into one pulling me with him, slamming the door closed and ramming the bolt home.
The changing room’s hot but not as heated as we are. We fall upon each other. Our bodies are slick with water, our hair drenched and dripping down our skin. I push him into the wall, and kiss him hard, the pool water mixing with our saliva, and running down over our lips and our chins. I snake one hand down his body and take his heavy, engorged cock, squeezing and rubbing through the thin material, and I’m rewarded with sighs and moans and whimpers as I kiss him deeper and deeper.
