“go get yourself a fucking speedo, you idiot” coach had roared at me, and my first practice on the swim team had ended before i’d even got wet. i’d turned up wearing the same shorts as i’d kicked it poolside with over the summer; i mean, i knew we had a team-colors suit for competitions and meets, but i thought regular practices would be a bit less formal, a bit less… skimpy.
coach thought different, and so i’m at the sports store. i’d assumed there’d be, like, one or two choices, a couple of sizes and that would be it, but it’s a fuckin wall of speedos in all colors and brands, and it’s boggling my mind. i feel kinda like when i’m buying new underwear, like i don’t want someone to see me and think i’m a perv looking over all these trunks, and that just ends up making me look all the more shifty like i’m hiding something.
“can i help?” he asks, and i jump, i physically start at the surprise of it. he must’ve walked around the corner and spotted me while i was hypnotized by the budgie-smugglers. he’s grinning at me, hopefully just in a friendly-sales-guy way rather than laughing at my discomfort, looks early twenties at most. a few years older than me, then, and it’s not helping me feel like standing in the shadow of the speedo wall is as regular and normal as i wish it was.
“i need some…” i trailed off, praying i wouldn’t blush. “my coach said i needed to…” he nodded, smiled again. “you’re on the swim team, right? so you need something to train in.” i nodded back, mutely. “so what size are you?”
i thought for a second. “30, 32 maybe.” he frowned, glanced down at my jeans. “you don’t look like a 30.” he chewed a little on his lip, absent-minded, and i noticed how plump and flushed red they were. “even if you wear 30 jeans, your actual waist might be smaller. unbutton your fly and lift your hoodie up for a second…”
i flinched back, surprised. he rolled his eyes at me, pulled a fabric tape measure from his pocket and dangled it out between us. “dude, i need to measure you, chill out.”
glancing around i realized we had the rear of the store to ourselves; a couple of browsers up by the racks at the front, but nobody close enough to see anything but our heads and shoulders above the aisles. i reached down and unsnapped my jeans, the heavy fabric - weighted with my wallet, keys and phone - instantly sagging down a few more inches lower, onto my hips. i pulled up the hem of my hoodie, baring the waistband of my plaid boxers.
he stepped closer, deftly passed the end of the tape around the back of my waist and, leaning his torso back so he could peer down at the numbers, cinched the measure in tightly around my narrow waist. “there, knew it - 28 dude.” he looked up at me triumphantly. “30 and it would’ve jumped off your waist when you jumped in, given them quite a show at the pool, eh?”
i grinned sheepishly, and we stood for a moment like that, him holding the tape close to my skin and me gripping the bulky rolls of my hoodie. i could feel the warmth from his fingers against my abdomen. we stayed that way, frozen for a beat, and then he swallowed hard and pulled away. “okay, so, you have a favorite color?” he asked, turning to the dozens of suits and flicking size tags between his fingers, “any favorite brand?” i frowned up at the display.
“um, whichever you recommend.” he glanced back over his shoulder, smiled at me again. “cool, we’ve got some good options this week.” he reached out and began plucking trunks down from the racks, i’d assumed he’d go for black but there were red, blue, all colors in there. stuff i’d never have picked myself.
“okay” he turned to me, “you need to try these on.” i froze, gaped at him. i’d assumed i’d just grab a pair, pay, and get out of there as soon as i could. “um… i didn’t think that was allowed” i managed, hoping he’d realize his mistake and just let me leave. instead, he looked around us conspiratorially, lips twisted into a tight smile. “usually no, but we don’t want you ending up naked in the pool, do we? gotta make sure they fit okay.”
he held out his arm, gesturing toward the changing rooms at the back of the store. i gulped, let myself be led away. it was quieter there, the piped music droning into the background, with a couple of small cubicles each with cheap curtains to close them off. he pulled back the first, dropped the speedos onto a hook on the wall, and nodded me inside.
“the blue pair are our best sellers, try ‘em first” he told me as he slapped the curtain back across its rail. i could still see a slice of the store where the fabric didn’t meet the chipboard partition, but i didn’t want to look like a prude by making a big deal of pulling it across any further. instead i toed off my vans, dropped the zip on my jeans and let them fall to my ankles, stepped out and - with a quick glance over my shoulder - pushed my boxers down to follow them. even with the curtain in place, and the mall so quiet, it felt weird to be naked in public.
“how are they?” he called out, and i realize the assistant must be right on the other side of the curtain. “oh,” i stumbled, “just finding out now.” i pulled them away from the hanger clips, bent down to step in and pulled them up my smooth thighs. the fabric was soft and slick, felt like a tight, close whisper around my ass in contrast to the loose roughness of my boxers. pulling up the front, i tucked the heft of my cock and balls into place, shaft lying off to the left. i was glad i wasn’t naturally hairy, my bush just covered by the waistband.
“so…” he echoed, and i looked up to the wall, expecting to see a mirror there. nothing. chipboard either side of me and painted cinder blocks ahead. “um, there’s no mirror” i started, and then spun on my heels as he whipped the curtain across.
“no, just one out here. let’s see how you’re doing.” he pointed at the wall, where a floor-to-ceiling mirror was screwed, but all the time he was looking down at my crotch. i stepped out, resisting the urge to hold my hands in front of my cock. “look, take your hoodie off, you can’t see anything” he told me, and i found myself automatically pulling it over my head, along with the t-shirt underneath. he took them from me, tossed them onto my jeans in the cubicle.
we both looked at my reflection, a teenage boy naked except for a bright blue pair of shimmering trunks and white sneaker socks. i had to admit, the blue looked pretty good against my summer tan. stomach not quite the six-pack i’d wanted to end the year with - though there were still a few months to work on that - but flat and firm, shoulders broad and tapering neatly into my narrow waist. i saw him glance down, realized he’d looked at my ass, felt the blush spread to my neck.
“they look good” he said, his voice thicker than before. we made eye contact in the mirror and both glanced away. “how do they feel?” i looked down at my bulge, couldn’t help but run my fingers across the glossy material. “they’re good. i mean, i think they fit okay.” he winked at me. “how about you try the red pair?”
i stepped back into the cubicle and he half-heartedly pulled the curtain behind me, leaving a six-inch gap still open. i looked up at the hangers and saw two red pairs, one a solid, deep crimson and another, brighter red, with alternating white panels at the hips. “um, which red…?” i started, and he pushed his shoulder in through the gap, reached long fingers out and deftly snapped the red and white pair from the hanger. “these, i reckon.”
he handed them to me, then turned, standing with his back against the partition and his body half in and half out of the cubicle, looking out to the store but still with his head on this side of the curtain. i turned my back, bent to push the clinging suit down my legs and then step into the new one. they were narrower cut than the first, sat a little lower on my hips. i dipped my hand into the pouch and pulled my balls up to fill it properly, pushed my cock to the side. i didn’t know if it was the sense of public nudity, the foreign grip of the suit or the feeling of being so obviously watched, but i’d started to chub up, could feel myself filling out as i angled my dick in the stretchy material.
“okay” i said, and he looked across, appraising me with a look that nearly managed to be professional. the tongue slipping across his lips gave his interest away. “let’s take a look…” he said, cupping my shoulder with his palm and guiding me out and in front of the mirror again. i felt his hands on my upper arms as he positioned me, body close enough to my back that i could feel his heat radiating.
i looked good. i mean, even i, a speedo virgin, could see it. where the blue had been nice, the red glistened wetly and caught your eye, the contrasting white panels striking against my tan. maybe it was my half-hardness, but they made me look bigger, more impressive than the first pair too. i felt his hands leave my arms and then, to my shock, at my hips, fingers tucking into the elastic where the leg holes met my thighs and dipping inside to straighten the suit slightly. i flinched, not sure whether he’d grazed the head of my cock or if it was a phantom sensation. either way, i felt myself surge, twitching in the stretchy grip.
either he didn’t notice or he was too preoccupied to comment; he turned me, hands pulling my upper thighs around, until i was craning over my shoulder to see my ass in the mirror. the red cut around my cheeks, pulling them together with a slim divot in-between, waistband low and exposing the small of my back. i looked forward, and realized our faces were close, just inches apart. he was slightly taller and i looked up, feeling his breath hot against me before his fingers eased under the fabric around my butt and pulled it into place.
“oh…” was all i could say,…
dirty anon loves writing about swimteam boyz (via dirtyanon)