Aquacade

Leaning against a memorial to some long dead and totally forgotten President of the school, I worked at coming up with a plausible excuse to not attend a particularly boring class. The subject itself was interesting, the lecturer seemed almost embalmed, his delivery still leaking embalming fluid that had negatively effected his tongue. Outside there was the sound of some part of the track team doing their tour de quad, a daily event I thought done to allow them to wear almost no shorts over jocks that had been reduced to barely hold ball bearings much less balls.  Shirts? Left elsewhere exposing their manly chests save on the younger ones who should seriously have considered a T shirt with the school mascot. Frankly, I wasn't sure what the mascot was, some sort of animal that had been redrawn by a cartoonist. (Whatever it was, it had to be better than some school in California which had selected the Banana Slug to represent them.)

Idly I wondered if being run down by the track team had some sort of veracity as an excuse but abandoned that as all I would have caused was a pile up in the quad. One pair of running legs, obviously someone trying to catch up, pounded on, closer, too close to be out there. It wasn't, it was my buddy and fuck mate Phil who couldn't down shift into neutral and so took us both down causing no damage but did give me a proper excuse, all I needed to do was find the school nurse and get a slip. 

Still on the floor Phil shoved a sheaf of papers in my face saying, "Have you seen this? I took all of them so nobody else could." Some of the sheets had suffered in the dash but the headline was clear: "Wanted, Managers For Swim Team". Scrambling up, I yelled at Phil, "Why are you laying there, get up, we have jobs to apply for. Now. Come on or I'll sock you in the nuts tonight." 

People seeing us must have thought we were part of the track team but what part would have eluded them. We both had on shorts and T's but Phil had gone formal wearing an ancient dress shirt, unbuttoned, over his. Neither of us were entirely sure where the pools were from where we were but outside there was a map which we scanned as we passed it then made a hard right, passing the track team, and dashed through a hedge that was routinely used by everyone as a short cut between points A and B. 

The building itself wasn't hard to find once you noticed two pools out of doors plus diving boards of varying heights. Not stopping, Phil yelled, "Who are we looking for?" Reading flapping pages and running isn't an easily done thing but I managed to see the word "Coach" and that seemed a good place to start. Fortunately, there were open doors; Had they not been there inertia would have carried us right into a pool or maybe it was a fountain. 

We were there but...where were we? The pungent, too crisp smell of chlorine made it clear we were in the world of water ergo swimming but it was far bigger on the interior than one might have thought. After our flight with purpose we were now at a standstill, the purpose still existed but the flight was gone. 

"Over there, that door, it says 'Office', lets start there." I followed him as it appeared to be a logical destination if not the one we really needed. It also gave us the breathing room to let our lungs recover and not appear as if we were asthmatic. 

The door was open but nobody was there, or seemed not to be there. To the left was an inner office with the word "Coach" stenciled on it so we headed that way, gave the door a knock.

"Yeah, it's open." A finely built man, somewhere between 35 and forty, granny glasses on the tip of his nose and polo shirt that said, in big letters, "Coach" sat behind a standard issue Steelcase desk.
Not giving him time to think why two guys had just tumbled into his office, Phil blurted out, "We're your new managers, no, that's not right I mean we're hear to apply to be managers and there are two of us....just like you, I guess, wanted". With which he grabbed the circulars from me and dumped them on his desk. 

They had suffered somewhat in their transit, not to mention the rips where Phil had torn them from whatever they'd been attached to. Some of them were on campus, a result of our flight to the swimming pool place-properly called a natatorium-and now the remains were on the coaches desk. He looked up at both of us.
"I gotta say, you're enthusiastic but....what do you know about swimming and diving? I haven't seen you around here, not even when we have open swim for the students."
"The club. We swim at the club, they keep the pool heated all year". God Bless Phil. I didn't have an answer and whether the coach believed him, it was an answer.

"Show me your swimmer's bodies. Peel down to your skivvies." That took about ten seconds including shedding our shoes. He gave us an appraising look. "Well, wherever you're swimming or doing what ever, those are bodies we could have on the sideline looking like you were swimmers just on leave for some reason or another." He paused maybe coming up with another question. "No marks, tattoos, brands, piercings, nothing like that.

I almost pulled down what left of my clothes. "Nope, not a thing cept this mole I've got on my butt. Phil's clean too."
"No girlfriends names, no fraternity shit, nothing."
"Nothing".

"Just to be formal, what are your names." He fumbled in his desk getting out some papers. In my heart of hearts I thought we'd made it. Managers of the speedo......sorry, swim team. " I'm Phil and he's....no, that's not right, I'm Tracy and he's Phil".
The coach smiled. "Settled on that? No changing after the names are embroidered on your jackets."
"Final verdict, I'm Tracy and he's Phil." We both smiled what we hoped was a swimmers smile. 

"Why not you two? You're good looking, be decorative beside the pool.....yeup, Gentlemen you are now the managers. No one else has applied and I'll give you full credit for wanting the jobs.....you do understand that 'team manager' means doing laundry, sorting clothing, being here and working out with the team, going on trips to meets....it's not the most glamorous job on campus." We pointed out that we did our own laundry and so that was a science not new to us nor were drying, sorting and folding. (In my mind I thought, "How much time can it take to fold a Speedo?)

"Only one thing more, guys. get naked and we'll have short arm inspection." We didn't look at each other but it wasn't something we knew about until the coach grabbed each of our cocks, rolled back the foreskin and hefted our nuts. "A credit to the team both of you. Oh, and since your enthusiasm has washed the question from your minds, I'm Bill Tomlinson, head coach of everything that's wet save a sorority girls twat in the rain. In private, call me Bill, when others are around, I'm Coach or Coach Tomlinson, all the guys play it that way. And now.....follow me."

Logically the locker room adjoined his office and it was upscale compared to many I've seen. Carpeted with the sort of thing that resists water, large, wooden lockers, chairs instead of benches and the thing that sold it all, the shower room or, as Bill put it, the rain room. He pushed a button and instantly it was as if we were on the Vegas Strip watching the fountains at the Bellagio. "Walk in, it's already warm." We did and it was. Moreover, there was no urgency to get out as here and three were benches with back that let you recline. A swift switch to Winter in Iceland got us up and moving. "Some nights I come here and just flop out on a bench or drag in a chair. Anyone can so long as there's someone else in the building. No one worries about drowning in the shower."

I was reluctant to leave what was a genuine pleasure but padded along as he opened another door which lead to the gym/training room. This was for physical therapy, working out, whatever was ordered up. To compliment the shower, there were deep steel tubs of swirling water that looked oh so inviting. "Do you have to be injured to get in one of those?" Bill laughed. "No, but you'd better have someone around to get you out. Get your muscles nice and relaxed and crawling out can be a bitch. See those slings up there? When guys are really in pain, they're lowered in and taken out with those. Rest of this, you can pretty much figure out. Managers get use of this whenever you like assuming there's no conflict with some of the guys on the team, they take priority." Worked for me, hidden behind the sprays and fountains in the rain room, who would find me.....In the back of my mind grew a lascivious plan that involved Phil, a quiet moment and lots of water.

"Got to get you your uniform stuff before the team gets here, looks better if you're dressed like managers. Course you'll dump it when you hop in the pool to exercise with the guys." Phil and I looked at each other. Swimming laps or doing whatever was involved hadn't occurred to either of us; Sorting and folding sock and jocks suddenly seemed a good idea.

Somewhere a phone rang leaving us, stark naked, in a locker room. There were, however, some details to be worked out.
"Exercise with the guys? Does he mean do things like swim laps or do various strokes. You thought it up, what did we do at the 'club pool' beside pee in it."
Those guys are otters or Killer Whales, beside them......no one expects us to be like that." He seemed uncertain and turned slightly away from me. I turned him back. "Listen, Free Willie, we both know how to swim enough to not drown or swim out to a raft anchored in a lake. We should just tell him..."
"What? That we lied to him, have the 'club' disappear on Aladdins magic carpet, pool and all? Phil, you know I love you, you're my favorite, my only, fuck. You do it better than anyone but this could kill us. How many laps do you think you could swim?"
We both looked at the azurine beauty of the still waters. The length of it.....and who knew about the depth?

"That was Jacko, the diving coach, I think, Phil, I'll assign you to him. Slightly smaller group but more hands on work. That means you, Tracy, are my manager so lets get the two of you duded up to look like managers."
I couldn't let this get much further. He'd been great to us and we'd sold him a bill of goods or maybe we did. Who knew how he regarded our alleged experience in a non-existent pool.
"Bill, uh, we need to tell you something......" He looked almost amused, almost curious. He waited and I tried to oil my vocal chords.
"Uhm, Bill, we didn't do any swimming at the club 'cuz there isn't any club. We just wanted this job and so...."

He smiled and pointed out that as the swimming coach, he knew every pool, pond and standing water for miles about. He almost laughed, "I just wanted to see how far you'd push it or if you'd fess up. Fortunately, you did the latter so what you're going to get, here and now. are swats, it's what the team gets for infractions and it's what you'll get. Gentlemen, face away from me, reach over, grab your ankles and get what's coming to you". 

Bill wasn't kidding about the swats; Each of us got three, one on each butt cheek and a final slap across both.
"Lucky for you my paddle is in my office and don't worry, if the guys see your bright rosy asses in the locker room, they've all had them, know there are more in the future, just means you're part of the team. Oh, and managers have an office if you can call it that. Someone converted something and the little space that was left over, about ten foot square, is your office. If you can find it."

I'm not sure what I expected when he talked about getting us "duded up". Off the locker room was a door, locked, marked "Equipment." Bill unlocked it, turned on the lights and....it was like an ersatz Christmas, so much white with, here and there a glimpse of school color-some perversion of red somewhere between Stanford Crimson and USC Maroon. 

Bill was pulling things from shelves and stacking boxes. "Okay, from the inside out. Two jocks apiece. These aren't the ones the teams wear, these are the ones Jacko and I wear to give a guy a better bulge under his shorts. These are not to worn with anything but shorts. IF you have to go in the pool, then here are swimmers jocks, two each. Two speedos each, four T shirts each, four pair of socks, pair of flips and I'll give you a coupon to take to the bookstore where they'll give you each a pair of sneakers. What am I missing? Jacko?"

In an accent that was back woods Australia. "Might give them shorts to go over those mighty fine push up jocks. And I want mine to have some string shirts and long pants. When he's up on top holding things for guys, a pair of cargo pants is just what's wanted."

It was the most he'd said whatever it was, I was so taken with the man, the way he looked, the way he carried himself. First, and you couldn't miss it, there was not a hair on his body. Even his eyelashes and eyebrows had been removed. Hard to tell under his micro speedo but it wasn't hard to guess he was peeled there as well. If you were trying to come up with a vision of an somewhat younger Aussie male, this wouldn't be it. 

He put a friendly hand on Phil's shoulder and steered him toward the diving area. Or office or whatever he had. Bill watched them disappear, laughed, and said that when I next saw Phil, there might be some changes.  He waited while I put on my Manager's outfit then went with him to his office. Practice was in an hour and some of the guys were wandering in. A few stuck their heads in Coach's door, were introduced to me, asked some question or another and drifted into the locker room.

"Don't even try and memorize their names when they're dry, they'll be wet most of the time and that's when you'll figure out who is whom."
"Anything you want me to do until practice?"
"Yeah, come around here an' suck my cock, it's part of what a manager does and, by the way, if you're good, and I'm betting you are, I'll make it reciprocal. If there's a problem, turn and walk out the door. Jacko is giving some version of the same talk to your buddy...and he's your fuck buddy I'm guessing."
"I think I'm going to be a good manager....in one sense, I've had plenty of experience, sort of pre OJT".
His cock was not a monster but it was just the size I like I could see how in the jocks we all wore, he'd be very fine indeed.

"Want me to give it a good wash first or just go straight down. I like to deep throat."
"Oh, yeah, you're going to be one the best managers I believe I ever had."
I stuck out my tongue which was like signing a contract in spit.

Hours later I was plunked on some sort of couch we'd scrounged from Goodwill or the Salvation Army. I hadn't found any reason to put on clothes after I removed those we'd worn, and worked up a sweat in, on our race to apply. The door opened and Phil lurched in, pulled off his clothes and sat down beside me.
" This.......wasn't quite what I planned on." He had a blank look, his eyes seeing some point in the distance just beyond the horizon. "Do you know what that son of a bitch did to me? Do you?"
Well, obviously I didn't.
Phil stood up and turned around. I recognized the swat marks easily. Hadn't seen mine but there was no reason not to think that give or take the size of a hand, they were approximately the same. I stood up and shared my markings with him.

"Did you get fucked too? Not only Jacko but three of his favorite divers, all of them, one after the other."
I'd heard about double fucking and wondering if that was what he meant?
It wasn't.
"We were in his office after practice and he told me to strip and bend over his desk. Okay, that's borderline weird but.....then, and where he got it I'll never know, he packed enough grease up my shit chute to cover a turkey."
"My, my," It was all I could think to say.
"And then.....and then that rabbit Australian fucked me so deep I thought he used a broom stick. Jeez...can one have a bruised prostate?"

Clearly there things on that job description that we never noticed had we even bothered to read it. I would have asked him "then what" but felt certain I was going to be told.

"These three guys came in and tied me by my ankles and wrists so I wouldn't slip off the desk." I wondered idly if Workman's Comp covered that sort of injury, if you fell off a desk while being cluster fucked. I bet not.
"Seems these are his top divers, the ones who win medals and championships and I'm the prize they're going to get for something they just won and, no, not just one time, but as many as they wanted, Jacko finished, slapped me on my ass and said I was going to be a great manager."

There was a silence during which I debated to tell him of my rather modest initiation involving coach's cock and my ability to deep throat. It sort of paled with what he'd done so it went unmentioned.

"Then.....I take it this may not be the job for you?" He looked at me.
"Are you crazy? It's the best job I could get for us. Sorry if Bill wasn't what Jacko is. You know how I love getting drilled, you should know as you're the prime driller."
"Should I be jealous? Did anyone wear protection? Are you dating?"
"Shit, no. I just need to find our biggest dildo and practice with it against the next time." I offered my services that had already been test driven as it were.
"Now? Are you nuts? I'd be afraid to wipe back there without something for pain smeared on the tissue."

He could see the disappointment on my face, after all, I was there first.
"Aw, you know I love you, this was just a really wild day, didn't expect it."
I slid to the floor took his scrotum in my mouth and began to chew on his balls.
Apparently an idea came to him. He got us on the floor, worked his head to my crotch and started one of those long, oh so satisfying 69s. I'm good at those and I bet I can bet Jacko and his divers are not. Phil seemed to indicate he agreed. 

Months went by. I cannot honestly say our studies improved but neither had they gone down hill. Being involved with any team that traveled meant that we didn't need excuses to be absent, we just were and the assumption was we were with the team which, in one way we were.
It took a few weeks, during which both Coach and Jacko tried to teach how to swim and dive, but the guys on the team came to like us. We were one of them, always at poolside yelling encouragement and then later, in the shower, the locker room, our office-it really was tiny-on the ten meter board, in the offices of the coaches, in the pool with the light turned off, on the bus that took us to meets, at the meets......it's a fairly long list but it's just part of where we fucked, sucked, fisted, tied each other up, played pocket pool with no pockets...lots of stuff. Redefines team spirit.

At the end of the semester both of us could actually swim more than two laps as well as dive although it's best not to question our style and execution points. We'd been using the outdoor pools so, like the team, we were all nicely tanned. In fact, you couldn't tell us from the team apart from what we were wearing. Almost shaved heads, sun glasses, our flips....

There were, however, two major changes. Jacko got Phil alone and, how he did it, what promises were made, I'll never know but his body was completely peeled including his eyebrows and eyelashes. The other change, well, all things good sometimes come to an end and that's what happened to us. Phil had it bad for one of his divers and, for me, the Coach could see a future together. After we graduate we'll be hired as assistant coaches while we go to grad school. There will be a new crop of swimmers and divers to teach what we knew they needed to know and each of us went home to a man who made us happy. 

That's my story and the reason I'm telling you, well, you're holding that application to be a team manager so now you know the next part of the application is for you to get down on all fours, come around my desk and suck my dick.