The Master Swim Team Vol. 02

The following takes place immediately after the end of Volume I of The Master Swim Team. If it's been awhile since you've read that or you came into this story with the most recent chapter, it might be a good idea to go back and read that chapter first.

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The Master Swim Team, Volume II

Chapter Two: The Sacrifices We Make

Two Weeks Ago . . .

Bill stared back at John, his eyes narrowing and his mouth parting. He must've misheard the other man. He couldn't possibly have said what he thought he had said. But, as he replayed the words in his head over and over for what felt like an eternity, there was nothing else it could possibly have been. "What do you mean you're in love with my son?"

For a moment, John couldn't believe it either. The feeling had been building in him for so long, but he had done his best to suppress it. After all, loving anyone in the years since his wife had died had not been the easiest thing for him. Even getting close to another human being—male or female—had taken more effort on his part than he was comfortable admitting. Some part of him had always held onto the love he felt for Bill, but that had all happened before Jane had left him. Getting to this point with Dennis was never something he thought possible.

But it was, and he did. Love Dennis that is. As the words echoed around his own head, the voice inside him sounded more and more sure of itself with each utterance. "I love him," John admitted, a feeling of relief at having said it aloud came over him. "I love your son."

All of the patience and understanding Bill had had about the weird sex triangle he had found himself in with John and his son disappeared. His face twisted and the anger he felt the first time he had seen John and Dennis together—naked and fucking each other in the locker room—returned. "No," Bill said defiantly. "That's not possible. He's only twenty-one years old, and you . . . you're—"

"Sixty-three," John finished. "I know. Believe me, Bill, this—"

"Isn't right," Bill said, shaking his head, his voice growing louder. "Whatever you think you're feeling for my son, it isn't love. It's, it's—"

Heads were starting to turn on the train platform, and John was painfully aware of the roaming eyes. He raised his hands and stepped toward Bill who, without thinking, took a step away from his friend. Whispering, John said, "Can we not do this here?"

For the first time, Bill noticed the wandering eyes. It was awkward enough thinking others were listening in about his son and this older man, but he knew the conversation wouldn't end without Bill's own role in the situation coming up. As much as he hated to admit it, John was right about this. Without saying another word, he turned and walked back up the ramp and headed for the car.

John found him stewing in the car, his hands gripping the steering wheel firmly even though the gear was shifted to park and the engine wasn't yet running. He slid into the passenger seat and sat in silence, not wanting to force the idea of his love for Dennis on him again before he was ready.

After some period of time—how long, John didn't know—Bill spoke up. "It can't be. It just can't be," he said softly.

"And why is that?" John asked.

"Because he's only twenty-one years old," he reiterated. "The boy has his whole life ahead of him. He's supposed to go to school, find himself a wife, get married, have kids . . . not end up with some old man."

John nodded, thinking he knew what was causing this. "Is this really about Dennis?"

"Of course, it is," Bill snapped.

"Really? Because I think there's more to this outburst."

"It's not an out—"

"Let me finish," John said. "I think you're regretting your own path in life and mistaking the route you took for something you want for your son." He paused for a second, wondering how he might word the next part. "I'm not sure Dennis knows what he wants yet. He might say he does, but I know him. He may still go down that route you want for him, but don't punish him for doing something you couldn't."

"It's not that," Bill protested.

"It is," John assured him. "Believe me, we've both been there. When we were growing up, things were a bit different than they are now. It's why I married Jane, and it's why you married Mary."

Mary, Bill thought. His wife. What was she going to think when she found out the man who had charmed his way into their family was in love with her baby boy? Would she welcome him with open arms, or would she reject the very nature of it?

"Even if you're right," Bill said, "and I'm not saying you are, where does that leave us?"

John considered this. "No different than we are now."

"I'd just be one of your regulars, a member of your sex group, if you will."

"You're more than that. You know you are."

"How can I be? You're in love."

"And so are you," John retorted. "You have a wife. You're a happily married man, or did you forget that? All of the members of our little group are married or were at one point. Except Bob, but that's just one."

"I don't know," Bill said. He never had considered himself to be someone who just had casual sex, especially with more than one partner. Though, apart from his affair with John and the one indiscretion on the boat, he hadn't made a habit of having sex with people outside of his wife. She had been his one and only for decades. "I'm just not sure I'm that type of person. I need something more than just meaningless sex."

"First off," John said, adjusting himself properly so that he was looking directly at Bill. "It is not meaningless sex. We are friends enjoying one another's company. For some, it's all we have. Secondly, you're the one who told me this was never going to be, remember?"

Bill did remember. He remembered everything that had happened between them the night they had reconnected. The fight, the sex, the conversation they'd had . . . and his own later that night with Dennis. He had warned Dennis about things getting too serious with John. He had been hurt before, and he didn't want the same to happen to his son.

But now, it was too late. Things had gotten serious. And if he went the route he had last time, insisting John and Dennis end what they were doing, the only pain his son would feel would be a direct result of his father's actions.

"You're right," Bill conceded. "I am married. As much as I wish I could change the way things turned out between you and I, I realize I might be holding on to something that's never going to be." He looked at John, staring into the man's gentle eyes and thinking about all those times he had stared at them as they lay in bed next to one another. "That doesn't mean I approve fully of your relationship with my son on any long-term basis. It isn't you personally, it's just that I want what's best for him, and you're—"

"Too old, I know."

"That's not what I was going to say," Bill protested.

"Look, you may doubt it, but I want what's best for him, too," John said. "Whether that's me in the long run or not, only time will tell. But since it really isn't our place to decide what's best for him, why don't we table that for another day, okay?"

"Fine," Bill said, happy to end the conversation.

John clapped his hands against his thighs, glad he had been able to talk Bill off the ledge . . . again. "I know that was a little heavy, but you're welcome to come by the house still, if you want. I've got meat in the fridge for the grill."

Bill nodded while letting out a big sigh. "Yes. Mary isn't expecting me back for a bit, and I could use a distraction right now."

"Excellent. You want to trade spots then? This is my car."

Bill glanced over at John, who was holding up the keys. He hadn't realized he had gotten in the wrong side of the car. Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, he stepped out and they swapped spots.

* * * * *

As much as he wanted to forget about the conversation with John, Bill couldn't help but dwell on the notion that his son was in love—or, at the very least, someone was in love with his son. It didn't help matters that that someone had also at one point been in love with him.

Once again, he was being left behind.

Is this what married life gets me? he wondered. A constant rollercoaster of emotions that left him time after time in a state of rejection. It all wouldn't seem so bad if things were going well with he and Mary, but things had been stale for some time. Maybe that was why they both got so flustered around John. He was new and exciting, not the same old-same old person they'd each been with for decades.

He glanced over at John as the man drove through town. He had that look in his eye, the one from the night they had met all those years ago at the municipal theatre. He was older now—they both were—but there was a youthful charm to him that was still there. Even through a dying wife and a failed affair, the man still found ways to keep on chugging along. And at this point in his life, Dennis was the next big thing that kept him going.

Bill sighed. He was steeped in internal conflict, and he couldn't for the life of him see a way out.

"Everything all right?" John asked as they walked into the front door.

Bill shook him off. "Yes, fine."

"You just seem a little distracted. You didn't say a word the whole ride back."

"I've just got some things on my mind. Nothing a stiff drink and a good fuck won't cure."

John smiled. "I'll see what I can do. Why don't you put some music on and I'll go start the grill."

Bill remained in the living room. He glanced around at the perfectly manicured space. It was the same as it had been when Jane was still alive . . . the same as it had been on that night only a couple months ago when he had come over to apologize for his behavior at the pool. The summer had brought a lot of change—some welcome, some not so much. It was nice to know some things stayed the same.

There was a record cabinet under the window. It was a dark wood, standing about three feet tall and six feet wide, and the speakers in front were that yellowed beige that many antiques picked up over time.

He walked over to it, running his hand along the smooth surface. Examining his hand, he was surprised to see there wasn't a speck of dust on it. It seemed John kept up on his housework. Bill lifted the top and poked through the records in the bin. There were several cast recordings of Broadway shows and movies, such as the soundtrack to Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, The Sound of Music, and Singing in the Rain, as well as the iconic whip cream covered woman of Herb Alpert's Whipped Cream and Other Delights. In the back was an all-red cover with a pair of legs extending from the upper left corner. It said Music to Strip by: Party Fun Songs - - Golden Age of Burlesque.

Bill lifted that record out of the bin and held it up. When John returned, he held it out in front of him. "Music to Strip by?" he said.

"It was one of Jane's favorites. In the evenings, if I'd had a particularly bad day at work, she'd put that on and do a little jig, sometimes delicately removing her clothes like she was on stage to a house full of old perverts like me; other times, she'd have her clothes off in ten seconds flat, the song only having just begun. It would cheer me up every time. Then we'd make love on the couch . . ." he said, trailing off.

Both men's eyes lingered on the couch, the very place they'd fucked the last time Bill had been over. Bill couldn't help but wonder if John had fucked Dennis on that same couch at some point over the summer. He felt immediately replaceable, as if our moments with one another are not permanent; rather, they're merely fleeting instances of borrowed time that can and will be replaced by another as soon as the moment is done.

"Must have been nice," Bill said with a hint of melancholy.

"Are you all right?" John asked again.

"Yes," Bill replied.

"Are you lying?"

"Yes," Bill admitted.

"I always could tell when you were," John said. He motioned Bill toward the couch. "Come here. Tell me about it."

Bill felt silly being directed to a couch to talk about his feelings, as if he was in a shrink's office, but John had asked him about it twice now, so unless he left right then and there—which he wasn't going to do—he might as well just do what John wanted or the old man would never shut up.

He sat down on the couch and looked at John. "You tell these wonderful stories about Jane, or you bring Dennis back here after we've all been out together, you fall in love, and I just . . . I can't help feeling like some kind of outsider, like I'm left in the wings while everyone else gets to live their lives and be happy."

"What do you mean? What about Mary?"

"What about her?" Bill said firmly.

"I mean, I get that it might not be easy for you when Dennis and I go off together—and really, that's on me for not seeing what that might do to you sooner—but you're supposed to be enjoying your time with your wife."

"I do . . . sometimes. It's not all bad, but things haven't been great between Mary and I for some time. We don't have sex anymore—"

"You don't?" John asked. For someone with an active sex life such as his, it never really crossed his mind that other couples might not engage in it as frequently. That was just one of those things he'd heard about and never fully believed.

"Not really. To be honest, I think we both spend most of our sexual energy lusting after you."

"I've noticed that," John said with a slight chuckle. "I'm quite the hit with your family. Even your daughter—"

"What about Maddie?"

John remembered how Dennis had told him that his entire family thought Maddie was some golden child, even though she was really just some nymphomaniac that would fuck anything that moved. Maybe now wasn't the time to point that little fact out to Bill.

"Nothing," he said. "When was the last time you had sex?"

Bill didn't even have to think about it. "The day we went on the boat."

John's jaw dropped. "That was nearly two months ago!"

"You're telling me."

"You could have called me up."

"I know, I know," Bill said. "I just didn't want to get in the way of you and Dennis. I didn't think it was fair of me to do that."

"He knows about us," John insisted. "You could have called. But why won't Mary put out?"

"Beats me. She isn't really in the mood like she used to be." A smile crossed his face as he thought back to when they met. "When we were younger, in college, she was quite the nasty little girl. She was really into fucking in public places. I think it was the thrill of being caught. One time, we went hiking in a state park. We climbed up onto a ridge that overlooked the trees and trails below. Before I even knew what she was doing, she had my belt undone, and she was pushing me back onto a log. She blew two loads out of me before we heard others coming. Nowadays, you'd think that same cock was roadkill; she won't even touch it. But boy did she enjoy seeing you in that speedo."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, before laughing and saying, "It does seem as if I'm ruining your life in every way imaginable."

"It's not your fault," Bill protested, though he half agreed with the sentiment. "Her mind is just elsewhere. It happens. Though, it is kind of strange to know my son his getting more action than his old man."

"We can work on that." With that, John leaned in and gave Bill a kiss. "I've got to get the brats on the grill. Can we continue this conversation after we eat?"

"Of course."

John got up to leave.

"Hey, what about that drink?"

"Right. I forgot. Come fix yourself whatever while I deal with the meat."

Bill followed John into the kitchen and made his way into the corner where the little liquor table stood. He opened the inside and chose a bottle of bourbon from the seven or eight bottles of various alcohols. After pouring two glasses, he stepped out the back door and walked over to where John was at the grill next to the pool.

"We could swim a bit later, if you want. I've got an extra suit."

"You wear suits here?"

"No," John admitted, "but the thought of you squeezing into a speedo again was too much to pass up."

"That was terrible," Bill said, remembering the experience. "Nobody wants to see that again."

"For our group, you fit right in. Maybe one day you'll realize that."

This last comment sat with Bill as they ate their brats and sipped their bourbon. He had never really been one to "fit in" with any group. The bulk of his friends over the years had really just been Mary's; he was just along for the ride any time they did something social. And maybe that was why he felt so isolated most of the time. His experiences with the members of the master swim team breathed new life into him and, at the end of the day, when everyone had gone their separate ways, he was left hollow inside.

He couldn't help but wonder if this was why losing John all those years ago stung the way it had. For once, he had a friend of his own. For once, he could go out with or without Mary tagging along, and he knew he'd have a good time. Of course, the added benefit of having surreptitious sex with John, knowing someone actually wanted him inside him, only made the experience that much better. But suddenly, just as it had started, it had ended.

Then, years later, as if by some miracle, John re-entered his life. But along with that came the twisted entanglement of his son and his old lover's affair, preventing he and John from ever truly rekindling their relationship in a way that the death of Jane should have allowed. It wasn't Dennis's fault, per se, but his son's involvement complicated things in a way they hadn't been before. And if John truly loved Dennis, what kind of father would Bill be to stand in the way of his own son's happiness?

It was then that he realized that John was right. Bill was jealous of his son. He was jealous of the way Dennis got to live his life the way Bill had always been too scared to live his own. He glanced over at John, and he wished that the roles were reversed: that he was the young, fit, apple of John's eye, and Dennis was the fat, old reject. It was a terrible thought for a father to have, and he hated himself for it, but just this once he wished it were true.

"That was delicious, as always," Bill said, pushing his plate away from him.

John reached for the plate and set it on his own, standing up to head inside. "Well, you know I like a good sausage. You ready to go have some fun? What am I asking? Of course, you are."

"Yes, I am," Bill replied, still thinking of Dennis. A crazy idea struck him. He took one last swig of his bourbon and downed the rest of it. "What would you say if we mixed it up a bit this time?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"I want you to fuck me."

John stopped in the doorway, eyes wide, and stared at Bill. "Now I know something is up. That's never been your thing."

Bill nodded. "I know. I just . . . I . . . I guess I just want to know what it's like between you two."

"Dennis?"

"Yes. I want you to have your way with me, like you have your way with my son."

John smiled. "That's not something you hear every day."

Bill laughed, embarrassed. "I know. I felt weird even thinking it, let alone saying it out loud."

"Well, if you're sure . . ."

John led Bill back to the bedroom, bits of clothing littering the hallway as they went. By the time they reached the bed, they were stark naked. John sat on the edge, placing his hands on Bill's flabby hips and pulling him close. John's head met the middle of Bill's belly. He leaned forward and lay his head on it, right smack in the middle of the forest of hair. Breathing in, he smelled Bill's scent. It was one he had missed dearly over the years, and smelling it now brought back such fond memories of their time together. Tilting his head back up, he kissed the gut and looked up at Bill, who was staring down at him.