Moving for a new job is one of the most stressful things you can do. Apparently. What the meme of a statement doesn't say is how much it screws up your exercise routine. Each morning before my shift I like to swim, it's my thing. Hitting one hundred and twenty lengths every day is how I wake up, loosen up and start to be a human being. For some it's coffee, mine too, before and after my swim. Sure swimming so much has made my body less Instagram friendly, sometimes a do look at my shoulders and think they are a bit broad for a girl or my tits are a bit flat and muscly. Yeah, maybe a get more attention from lipstick lesbians than fella's, I figure any attention is good when you work this much. It doesn't do my confidence harm when a girl flirts with me, but I do wonder if my swim-athlete form stagnates my opportunities with a nice bit of. Man flash. The hard thing when moving is finding a good pool, but luckily I found one, 10 minutes walk from work. A nice facility, decent sized pool.
The downside is the Thing or It, or whatever you want to call him. He sits in the fast lane doing crawl. Never changes stroke or style. Iv never seen him use a training aid or vary his routine. He churns out length after length at phenomenal speed. You can set your watch by him, he's like a metronome. He is in the pool before I get in, and he continues after I leave. What's worse, is how he sits behind you. The tips of his fingers occasionally brushing your toes. His face staring at your ass until you move out the way. It's oppressive, he bullies everyone out of the way. When I say everyone, I mean me. Usually there is only two of us in the fast lane. I'm the only one who dares or is brazen enough to enter the lane he has claimed. I thought I was fast, I thought I had stamina, sure I've been left for dead in the pool and sure there's always someone who puts in more lengths. But I've always been in the group who inhabit the fastest lane. At my last pool we were known as Amazons, before that Valkyries, and before that Mermaids. Guys always give a name to a group of women who destroy them in a pool. But this guy, nothing. Iv never heard him speak. He has man spread across a 50m lane, a new world record if you ask me.
As for as I can tell, he gets in as the pool opens, puts his towel in the same place each day, his phone next to it, and his fancy timing devices at each side of the pool. All I've seen of him is a blurred outline. The fuzzy water fluid image of his swim hat face and goggles, the mirage outline of his shoulders and the outboard motor that are his legs as he powers away from me.
Yesterday it got worse. I was giving it everything, I'd had a rough day at work, need I say more? The consultant surgeon I'm registrar to was being an absolute asshole, bordering on sexist fuck wit as he took great delight in dissecting my performance of an appendix removal. He wouldn't have performed the same way if Craig had done the procedure, no, absolutely not. Having tits instead of testicles paints a target on you. I was seething after a restless night, and no way in hell was I about to let another asshole push me around. I wouldn't give up my pace to let "It" past me in the pool. So he sat there right behind me. Staring at my ass. I could feel his eyes bore into my swimsuit and stare straight into my vagina. I could feel his Caucasian, privileged male brain belittling me. The mental undressing and critique of my figure, shape of my ass, size of my boobs, length of my legs, everything. It fuelled my hatred and I kicked harder, refusing to move over. No more men pushing me around this week. What a fucking pervert. Right behind me. Was he trying to get a glimpse of my labia? See if I'm hairy or shaved down there? Trying to sniff me through the water like a Hannibal Lector style sea serpent? I burned out and left the pool. Thing sped up and carried on. I felt like complaining, lodging an objection but spotted the manager on charge and it's another asshole man, and I've already overdosed on those. I left and went to work tired and bitter.
This morning, however, thing wasn't in the pool? I was a little early, but not massively. As I got into my lengths. He appeared, I could see him, hat already on, googles in position. I have to admit, seeing him out of the water, he's very easy on the eye. Muscled, toned, rippling abs and very tall. But that cock sure walk pissed me off immediately.
"Hi Seb, your late" It was the lifeguard chatting. So thing can communicate.
"Hi Cheryl, yeah. I got knocked over by someone on a bike. The dick sent my phone flying. I was scratching around on the floor for ages trying to find it until a passerby helped me."
"Oh no, are you ok. Was your phone broken?"
"Yeah I'm ok. Luckily, my phone is used to getting dropped and has a pretty hard case. You know what the dickhead shouted at me as he cycled off?"
"What?"
"Watch where you're going, you blind or something!"
"You're kidding!"
"Like a cane and black glasses aren't enough of a clue!"
As I spin turn, I see it. As he feels for the chair, he puts the towel down in the exact same place, his phone in the same place to the square centimeter. Under his towel, he folds up and places his bright white cane. The thing is blind! Everything is slotting together in my mind. He puts everything in a specific place, so he can find it. He swims next to the lane divider, so he stays straight. He keeps touching my toes because he can't see how close he is. On my next turn I see the lifeguard place what I assumed is a timer, but it's not, it's some sort of proximity device, so he knows he is approaching the end of the pool. I can feel the tell-tale churning of shame building inside my guts. All these weeks id been pounding the lane, getting more and more furious, my anger and frustrations directed at his privileged male ego behaviors. But I have judged him falsely. I deflate and the steam escapes from my engine. I leave the pool and head for the sauna, hoping it will hide my shameful red face.
Something in me has changed. It was subtle over the first few days, but now unmistakable. I've become acutely obsessed with thing, or Seb as I should say. Like how brave he must be to power down a lane when he can't see the end of the pool! If he hit the side at the speed he goes, he'd knock himself unconscious, fracture his skull, and probably drown. He must have spent months working on proximity to spin turn as he does. It also explains his metronomic pace. He can time the length and know when he needs to spin.
I have started following Seb, watching how he taps the lane divider with his elbow and keep himself pointing straight, amazing! How he keeps his cane close while he walks along the side of the pool. What I thought an arrogant swagger was him feeling the edge of the pool with his feet and flicking his cane to spot floats and swim aids.
As he powers past me, I'm gazing at his perfect form. Last week he was a slippery eel staring at my tits as he plowed past me. Now I'm ogling him. His near perfect porpoise shape riding through the pool. His legs' machine like as they power him forward. That ass is a perfect muscle I want to grasp and bite.
At night, he has been infused into my dreams. Speedo clad Seb smiles at me as I peel the sharkskin swimsuit from my body. I'm not embarrassed by my large shoulders, flat tits or massive thighs. He explores my body though his fingers and lips. My fingers are a blur over my clit as I flick my way to orgasmic bliss.
A week has passed and all I can think of is Seb, when I'm not in surgery or seeing patients, or writing notes and prescribing drugs. Ok, more accurate to say Seb fills my unoccupied thoughts. In the quiet moments, I think of those abs, those muscled thighs and rock hard ass. I fantasize of that perfect bun plowing his dick in and out of me with the same metronomic perfection as his swimming. But being a Dr, I'm always interrupted and forced to abandon my mental escapes and replace it with something for more horrific.
I have a break between shifts, a free day all to myself, and I'm here in the pool. I try to follow Seb and keep up with his aquatic tempo. All I can do is occasionally get close enough to glimpse his speedo wrapped ass and the curvature of his pouch. I need more, I need a bigger fix, it's my day off, don't I deserve it? Days of fixing and healing while I decay, shouldn't I be fixed?
