curious4fun2's blog post - First Site

As I pulled and kicked my way to my final lap of practice, my body was numb with fatigue. I had developed a good endurance to it, however, so I was just eager to be done. Often, when practice seemed like it stretched on forever, I would dream of just sitting on the couch, watching TV, and eating a bag of Doritos! But, as I glided in to the wall, my head popped up and I finally could breath easily again. Boys swam in one lane, while girls swam in the lane next to us. Now that we were older, though, getting out of the pool made me a little more conscious. I mean, the swimsuit for practice was smaller and tighter than even the underwear I wore normally, and now I had to be laid bare for everyone to judge my body.
There was a bigger girl. I'm sure her parents signed her up in hopes it would help get her in shape, but she was slow due to her inexperience. I had been swimming competitively since 5 years old, so I tried not to judge others harshly. But this girl, Stephanie, had a crush on me, I knew. So, as I climbed out the water, she was right there smiling. She chatted with me as the sun dried the water droplets off my body. Sometimes it was awkward having small talk with someone while practically naked, and there was nothing to do with your hands. I would fiddle with the goggles, cross my arms, but this time, unconsciously, I latched my thumbs onto the drawstring waistband as though they were pockets. Over her shoulder, my eyes were involuntarily drawn to someone.
Maybe it was the gleam off of his golden brown hair. It wasn't long, but it was straight and stayed in disheveled perfection; the kind I could only achieve with lots of time and hair gel. Maybe it was his skin. While everyone was a little brown from the swimming, his was a beautiful, natural brown. The brown tapered paler ever-so-slightly as my eyes went up his long legs. He wore a deep red speedo that hugged his body with ease. As he stood smiling, showing his pearly white teeth, he chuckled. His abs flexed with his laugh; each little muscle making itself known to the world since there was not a pinch of fat on his body. I love girls, and I'm definitely more into them. However, he was just the most beautiful person I had ever seen. He was everything I wished I looked like; I mean EVERYthing. I knew who he was. His name was Randy, and I'll refrain from saying his last name here, as this is a real person.
Meanwhile, I vaguely noticed the sound of a voice continuing on flirtatiously in front of me. Stephanie had been talking, and I really don't know for how long my mind had traveled from this planet. I had also allowed my arms to relax a little too much considering my thumbs were tucked under the waistband. Without realizing it, I had been pulling my speedo down in front of Stephanie! It was like she read my mind. She looked down, her face flushed at the site, and then she gave me this devouring look. I think she thought I had meant something by it!

I spied Randy gathering his bag. He bent over to pick it up from the concrete patio. While I got to witness it, I was too far away to imprint the every detail I wanted. He was walking into the lockerrom.

I hurriedly concluded my absent-minded conversation with Stephanie and, without running, sped towards the lockerroom. Once inside, I saw Randy standing next to the bench digging through his open bag; still in his red speedo. I did my very best to press the reccord button on the camera inside my mind; this footage, I knew, would be priceless. I positioned myself so that I could watch discretely his every fascinating move. His hair waved with each movement; it was like gold woven from silk. He looked up and saw me. Instantly I was feverish.
"What's up," Randy asked with a smooth, boyish sound.
"Not much. Glad practice is over," I said unconciously.
"True that. Embarrassing wearing this suit, too," he said with a smirk. Did he know?
"I know, right? But not really for you, though," I responded. I had no idea if I had the right tactic here, or if I was going to get into a situation that would destroy my reputation for the rest of my young adulthood.
"What does that mean," Randy said. His blue eyes pierced mine like a laser. I had to look away without being obvious.
"Well, its easy for you, cause you pull it off."
He stopped what he was doing. He was sort of at a loss for words. "What do you mean?"
"Really, you don't know what I mean," I rhetorically asked. I tried to remain matter-of-fact and not flirtatious in case his reaction was bad.
"No, what?"
"Well, I mean, like, all the girls like seeing you in it. People actually want you to wear it," I busied myself with getting my things aligned in my bag.
"You think so?"
Finally I looked him in the eye. I squinted and tilted my head as though I was trying to see if he was telling the truth or not. After a beat, when it seemed like I really was trying to judge his tone, I said, "oh, yeah, absolutely."
"What makes you say that? How do you know?"
I could've been braver here, I suppose, but instead made up a lie, "I've heard some girls looking at you and whispering. I could totally tell."
"really" he asked; more to himself. I could see this was a little of a realization for him.
"Dude, if I were you, I'd be loving it."
A toothy grin slowly rose and a twinkle in his eye. He understood now; I admire him. I'm sure he didn't know that I literally thought he was God's perfection or that he could have me wrapped around his finger. But instead of him saying anything, he simply thought to himself aloud, "hmm."
I tried to quickly change the subject. "I'm Matt, by the way."
"Randy."
"Yeah, I know who you are."
"Cool," is all he said.

There was slight awkward silence after that. I could no longer risk staring too much, but the corner of my eye saw as he wiggled the tiny, wet, lucky-ass red speedo off and to the floor. I wanted so bad to take it, but I knew that was a little too perv for me. He pulled on some black boxer-briefs, and put on some jeans. The last glimpse I had was of his belly button as his T-shirt fell over it.
"See you next time," he said.
"For sure."
"Have a good weekend."
"You too."

I smelled the air as he walked past me and out of the locker room. I relived and replayed those moments through my head maybe a thousand times over the weekend. I went from feelings of ecstasy, to worries of terror. What if he got with his friends and told them about the things I said?! What if I get labeled a "fag," and have to change schools or something?

A week went by before I got my answer.