I pushed the locker room door open and stepped out, tugging a little at the hem of my old red swimsuit. It was… definitely tighter than I remembered, clinging a bit too closely on my ass and package.
Of course, Julien's gaze immediately went at my bulge, grinning:
“Damn,” he said, unabashed. “That thing is tight dude. You sure you can still breathe in that?”
I felt my ears heat up:
“Yeah, well… it’s old. I should probably buy a new one, this isn’t exactly practical.”
Julien laughed, eyes flicking over him without a shred of shame:
“Turn around, let me see a bit? OK well... Nah. It’s perfectly fine.” He gave an exaggerated nod. “Suits you well.”
Then, of course, the wink followed when I turned back to him.
I shook his head, half-embarrassed, half-amused, as Julien grabbed his towel and headed toward the showers, still wearing that cocky, jock confidence like it was second skin.
Once we got in the water, the switch in Julien was instant. All that teasing, laid-back energy turned into something sharp and focused. He pushed off the wall and just glided, like the pool belonged to him.
Crawl, breaststroke, backstroke... everything was clean, smooth, powerful. No wasted movement. I caught myself stopping mid-lap just to watch him slice through the water like it was nothing.
I quickly grew jealous of his moves to be honest.
“Alright, your turn,” he called out, already hanging onto the edge, barely out of breath. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I swam a few lengths, trying to keep up, my crawl feeling… decent at first. Julien swam next to me for a bit, correcting me verbally between breaths.
“Longer strokes. Don’t rush. Pull the water, don’t slap it.”
Then he pointed at the big clock on the far wall:
“Okay, 50 meters. Time yourself. Go.”
I pushed off, gave it everything I had, arms churning, legs kicking harder than I probably needed to. By the time I reached the wall, my lungs were on fire. I grabbed the edge, breathing like I’d just sprinted uphill.
Julien checked the clock. “Not bad at all,” he said honestly. “You’ve still got cardio. But yeah… technique’s holding you back.”
I laughed between breaths:
“Fuck, how do you exhale underwater?”
"Breathing is the hardest part of it all, trust me." He swam closer, still perfectly calm, water barely rippling around him. “Here. Watch my moves.”
He demonstrated the arm movement slowly, exaggerated, then looked at me.
“No... come here. Like this.”
Before I could overthink it, he gently grabbed my forearm, guiding it through the motion under the water, then did the same with the other arm. His grip was firm but casual.
“See? Elbow higher. You catch the water here,” he said, repositioning my arm again. “Then you pull. Smooth. Not frantic.”
I nodded, trying to focus on what he was saying and not on the fact that he was way too close for my comfort, or maybe too comfortable for his.
“Try again,” he added, pushing lightly against my shoulder to send me off. “You’re doing good, Steph. Just need to swim smarter, not harder.”
I took a breath, pushed off the wall, and this time, I felt it. The movement was cleaner. Still exhausting, but better.
Behind me, I heard Julien laugh:
“Yeah. Way better man.”
We kept going like that for a while. I needed longer and longer breaks, hanging onto the edge, clearing my nose, rubbing my eyes that were starting to sting. My goggles were definitely not doing their job anymore: after a few laps, water kept sneaking in, blurring everything, forcing me to stop and readjust them with clumsy fingers.
Julien, on the other hand, barely seemed affected. He floated next to me, elbows resting on the pool edge, chatting like we were at a café instead of two hours into a swim.
Sometimes I would feel one of his knee brush against mine while he was telling me about some breathing tips. I wouldn't tell I loved that proximity, but at the same time I was doing nothing to avoid it. It felt... weirdly OK to be that close to such a confident guy.
But still, the way he acted was odd. I had never questioned myself like that before.
Was he... into me?
All his long stares and the way he was touching me like that.
Maybe this was just his way of showing friendship? Maybe that was a Jus-de-lien thing, who knows.
At some point, as I was stretching my legs against the wall, I felt his hand land on my knee, firm but natural:
“Don’t underestimate the legs,” he said, tapping it lightly. “I was you don't use them enough, that’s almost half the work though. You gotta hit the water harder with them, not just drag them along, right?”
He demonstrated with a few powerful kicks, sending a splashing my face a few times.
I nodded, a bit out of breath, trying to copy him on the next lap (even though my thighs were already burning).
Time kind of blurred after that. Laps, breaks, water in my goggles, lungs on fire, Julien correcting me, encouraging me, teasing me a little when I slowed down too much. By the end of it, I was completely done. Arms heavy, legs shaking, head foggy.
Julien checked the clock again and smiled:
“Alright, champ. That’s enough for today. We’re good to head home.”
I clung to the edge, laughing weakly:
“Thank God,” I said. "I'm already sore from all this man."
He laughed, clearly still full of energy, and pushed himself out of the pool like it was nothing:
“Hey, for someone who said it’d been a while, you held up pretty well.”
I wasn’t sure if that was encouragement or just Julien being Julien, but as I dragged myself out of the water, I had to admit: exhausted or not, I was kind of glad I’d said yes to this.
The chlorine-scented air clung to my skin as Julien and I trudged out of the pool, water dripping from our swim trunks. Julien, all broad shoulders and ripped abs from endless laps, flashed his cocky grin as we hit the locker room one last time:
"Hey, follow me Steph. Gonna show you the best cubicle."
The place echoed with distant slams of metal doors and the low hum of showers running somewhere down the line. It was late enough that the crowd had thinned, just us and the faint risk of some stray jock wandering in.
He opened a large door, inviting me in a double cubicle.
I hesitated a bit, but it seemed so natural to him that I just obeyed him without question.
"Right there. I'm hungry as fuck man, not you?"
He didn't waste time. Julien peeled off his swimming suit right there, kicking them aside without a shred of hesitation.
His body gleamed under the fluorescent lights: defined pecs and thick thighs, but the most impressive part of his anatomy was his abs! I could have easily counted them even from a good distance. Each one seemed to twitch independently when he moved.
Then my eyes locked lower.
His cock hung soft between his legs, uncut and thick even flaccid, maybe five inches of meat swaying with every casual shift of his hips. Shaved balls dangled very low underneath, heavy and smooth, brushing against his inner thighs.
Why do they seem so big and full?
Fuck, what's wrong with me now?
It bounced as he bent to grab a towel, the foreskin partially retracted, revealing a glimpse of the pink head beneath.
Fuck.
It was intimidating, drawing my gaze like a magnet.
Stop looking at his fucking balls man!
I mean, I had my reasons: I'd never seen one like that up close, mine was cut, straightforward, nothing like this veiny, hooded beast.
I tried to play it cool, fumbling with my own locker, but heat crept up my neck. My heart pounded, a mix of nerves and this weird, buzzing curiosity I'd buried deep all those years, like resurfacing to mess with my brain.
"Yo... want some help Steph?" His voice cut through the steam, playful but edged with that mocking lilt.
He didn't cover up, instead, he planted his feet wider, letting his cock dangle freely, balls shifting with the motion.
I jerked my head up, face burning:
"Uh, nothing. Just... zoning out. Tired from the swim I guess." My voice cracked, lame excuse hanging in the air.
Julien chuckled, stepping closer:
"Really? Seemed like you were staring man."
Shit shit shit!
The locker room's tile floor chilled my bare feet, but sweat beaded on my back with stress.
"Nah man, just got distracted..."
He was inches away now:
"Bullshit. You were staring at my dick, weren't you?" He said, almost serious now. "Saw your eyes glued to it... like you never seen a cock before."
I'm done. Flat-sharing was over.
I would have to find another one very fast.
I swallowed hard, throat dry. My swim trunks tented slightly, betraying me.
"I... maybe. It's just different."
"How different?"
"Well... sorry but. Never' seen an uncut one up close."
Hesitation choked my words: I was clueless, a virgin to this shit, but the idea of touching it sent a thrill straight to my gut.
Why did I want to touch it? That was so very wrong. But it seemed... intriguing?
"Yeah? Curious little history nerd then?"
His grin widened, eyes sparkling with that exhibitionist gleam. He glanced toward the door, like he was daring fate for someone to walk in.
"How do you know I study..."
"Wanna touch it?" He interrupted me. "Just to feel. No big deal." He reached down, giving his soft cock a lazy shake, making it flop against his thigh.
The foreskin slid back a bit, exposing more of the head, already glistening faintly from the pool water.
What the fuck? What is happening right now?
My pulse raced, hands trembling as I dropped my towel.
"Wait... I. I don't know if it's a good idea."
"Cut the crap dude. I'm fine with you touching it. Nothing gay about that right?"
"Yeah I guess."
"Just a few secs. To feel how different it is."
"I... yeah. Okay."
Nervous as hell, but eager, that forbidden spark igniting. I stepped forward, the air between us thick. His body heat radiated, muscles flexing under smooth skin.
"Go on," he urged me.
I didn't dare to move.
Why was his cock so... facinating all of a sudden?
"Grab my junk. Feel the skin slide."
I eventually reached out, my cold fingers brushing his warm thigh first, a bit hesitant, then wrapping around the base of his cock. It was heavier than I expected, the foreskin loose and silky under my palm.
My grip tightened instinctively, and I started jerking it, clueless strokes, up and down, thumb grazing the ridge where skin met head. It twitched in my hand, thickening slightly, veins pulsing against my fingers. His balls hung there, brushing my knuckles, soft and full.
"See? Won't bite," Julien groaned, hips bucking forward a fraction. "Just like that. Slide the skin back, feel how it moves."
He didn't touch himself, just stood there, exposed and bold, cock growing in my fist.
This is so wrong but I can't stop looking. It's fascinating, really.
Pre-cum beaded at the slit as I pumped harder, the wet schlick sound echoing off the lockers. He seemed to produce a lot, like a lot more than my own (maybe that was an uncut cock thing? Seemed like his was way more wet.
My own dick was strained against my trunks, aching, but I couldn't stop, mesmerized by the way his foreskin glided, revealing the swollen head inch by inch.
He leaned even in closer, breath hot on my ear, one hand gripping the locker behind him for show, like he wanted the whole damn room to hear if anyone came by.
"You're a natural, Steph. Jerk it full length now. Come one. You'll see it grows even harder."
His dick was half-hard now, stretching my fingers, the scent of his arousal sharpening, musky, intoxicating.
I panted, heart slamming, the thrill of exposure twisting in my gut.
What if the door creaked open?
But that only made me grip tighter, jerking his thickening cock with raw need, foreskin bunching and sliding under my thumb. Julien's low moans filled the space, teasing me further, his body tensing as it swelled even more in my hand.
It grew and grew, until Julien's hand came to my neck, not pushing but there:
"Think you should go to your knees man. Would have a better angle."
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