Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart
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.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my mouth “Jesus, Elliot, I want your mouth on me. Now.”
He’s gasping hard, his face is flushed, his eyes dark, and I swear I’ve never seen him so eaten up and consumed by lust. And it’s me who’s done that to him, me.
Dropping to my knees, I wrench his trunks from his body, freeing his cock, long, thin and angry red. I can feel his heat just a breath away from my face. My mouth waters at the sight of him, his shaft ramrod straight emerging from his blond hair made dark by the water. I take his cock in my hand, feeling its heat and weight, and press it against my cheek. Above me he whimpers and his hands find my hair, fisting and scrunching and pulling, sending a sting racing across my scalp.
Freddie thrusts his demanding hips forward, and I smile as I massage his tight balls.
“Please…” he says, the word little more than a needy whine.
I drag my tongue all the way up his shaft, from the base to the soaking, blood-filled tip, running with precum. He shudders, and more whimpers and whines escape him, their pleading shooting a bolt of heat to my own cock. I lick, and lay a line of sucking kisses all the way along his length, not closing my eyes but watching him, taking in every moment.
With my free hand I reach down into my own trunks. Palming my erection, feeling the heat burn between my legs, I squeeze and rub, my own wetness slicking my hand as, with my other, I take the base of his cock in my grip, and suck him down. Above me, he’s gasping, his cries are gulpy as his hips ram forward, jerky and staccato. And I take him, I take him all, sucking every inch of him, my face pushed into his damp, hot, musky hair.
He tastes good, he tastes so fucking good. My name shudders on his lips. And I love that, I love to hear him moan out my name as he thrashes, as he thrusts deeper and deeper into my mouth. I can take him, I can take everything he gives me, as my name drips from his lips as his juice drips into my mouth.
I’m jacking myself as hard as I’m sucking him, as hard as the grip of his fists in my hair, pulling my face forward into his groin. His scent is intoxicating and heady, drenching all my senses. His cry’s high and feral, and fills the air around us. If anybody exists beyond this small space, I don’t care.
I don’t care because I want them to hear us.
Freddie’s already erratic rhythm grows even more crazy before he stills, suddenly, and swells in my mouth. He’s tumbling over the edge as, with a grunt and a final thrust forward, he empties his balls of their hot, salty semen into my mouth and down my throat and I suck, and I suck, and I suck, draining him of every drop.
My own climax comes on the back of his, pulsing creamy cum over my hand like a river bursting its banks.
Freddie’s hands loosen in my hair, and slip away. My head’s as heavy as a medicine ball, but somehow I lift it and gaze up at him.
His eyes are closed, and he’s panting hard, his mouth agape, damp, and swollen. Slowly, his eyes flutter open and he stares down at me. He looks debauched, undone, and sated. And then he smiles, that small smile that’s part brash and part shy and all Freddie, and which stops my heart every time.
I take his now flaccid cock in my hand, and lick my way around him, cleaning up the last of his release before I kiss the still red tip and tuck him back into his trunks. Pushing myself up to standing, I suck my hand clean of my own release, before I kiss him deep. His arms curl around me, holding me tight as we kiss, and we kiss, and we kiss, slow and leisurely, tasting each other on our tongues.
“Oh God.” He lets his head dip forward and rest against my neck. “If I knew that you having a swimming lesson would have this effect, I’d have booked you in long before now,” he says, laughing lightly he looks up at me and smiles. I kiss him again before I press my forehead to his.
“Thank you,” I say. For what, exactly, I don’t know, but whatever it is, he deserves my thanks and so much more.
Sudden loud voices, in the midst of a heated discussion, crash in upon us. The real world’s back and we’re no longer alone.
“We’ll wait for a bit,” Freddie whispers into my ear, and I nod.
Within a couple of the minutes the men are gone, their voices receding as they head to the pool. We dash to the showers, then hastily dry off and dress as others drift into the changing room before, with a shared glance and a secret smile, we head out.
