Chosen by a former Olympic swimmer to train for the 2016 Games as a pre-teen, Reed’s journey begins. Along the way, he develops feelings for two childhood friends: neighbor Cal and lifelong rival Mathias. Cal’s struggle with his sexuality brings tragedy. Mathias’s wealth makes Reed feel as if they’re from different worlds.
As Rio approaches, Mathias becomes a gay sports icon, while Reed must hide his sexuality for a lucrative endorsement deal important to his family’s future. Reed’s unresolved desires for both men remain, and so do the things that have kept them apart. Has Reed grown enough to navigate rougher waters, to find truth, pride, victory, and love?
“You got hairy,” Mathias said.
“You didn’t.” With the next race about to start, smack talk seemed like a good idea as he stood beside me stretching, and I did my best not to stare. “Don’t worry. Some boys just bloom late.”
His loud, dorky chuckle made half a dozen other swimmers look our way. “Shaved it all off to gain more speed, for your information.”
“Ah. I’m fast enough.” My big mouth might have been writing a check my backstroke couldn’t cash.
“We’ll see about that,” Mathias countered with a grin.
“Yeah, we will. If you don’t wet your pants.” I regretted the dis immediately. It definitely hit below the belt neither one of us had on.
“Swimmers, take your blocks in thirty,” some faceless gentleman instructed.
“Good luck,” Mathias said. He was so polite.
“Don’t need it.” And I was an asshole.
“Confidence is good.” He untied the string holding up his tiny red swimsuit and redid it tighter. “Good luck, anyway, Reed.”
He was a bigger man than me -- in more ways than one. That I knew even before he’d undone his briefs. If he wasn’t lying about his chest, he hadn’t bothered with the hair below the waist. His legs were covered, and I’d managed a peek at the rest of what had been fighting its way out of the top of his waistband and leg holes. I stripped off anyway, turned my back. I had a better ass, and so I showed it to him. When I snuck a peek between my legs, I might have caught him looking at it. The victory when I touched the wall before him would be all the more appealing if he was gay too.
A signal chirped. It was time to take our positions. I shook my head to clear away everything but the next thirty-some seconds, and wondered if Mathias was swimming right next to me. So much for a clear head. It felt like one of those dreams where you show up for finals even though you haven’t been to class all year, or one where you showed up to school in just your underwear! As I pulled up the tiniest bit of blue Lycra and spandex and worried about my half wood, that part felt pretty accurate.
Don’t you dare!
I wouldn’t be the first guy to pop a woody at a swim meet, but I didn’t want to give my arch-nemesis the satisfaction of doing it within six and a half inches of his seven or eight -- maybe nine, for all I knew.
The backstroke started in the water. I paced in a very small circle as we waited for the signal to get in -- paced and yanked at my crotch. Everybody else was doing the same, so there was no awkwardness about it whatsoever. Sure enough, guess who paced and yanked right beside me. I refused to look at him. And he refused to look at me, which I noticed when we looked at each other.
“Swimmers to your starting positions.”
I worked the fingers on my right hand for the perfect grasp as they wrapped around the rungs on the front of the slanted diving block up on the decking. Mathias seemed more concerned with his left.
Is he a southpaw? That’s sexy. I imagined Mathias jacking off with his left hand.
“Swimmers, take your mark.”
I’ve seen him write. Why can’t I remember? Because it was back in elementary school, you damned fool!
Mathias pressed his feet to the wall, curled himself into a ball, and then rested his chest atop his thighs. I watched his ass bob up and down a few times, until it finally dawned on me mine should be doing the same.
I held myself still, as not to risk a false-start call. I put Mathias out of mind. Then again, the fact I thought that probably meant I hadn’t.
The signal sounded -- an air horn -- and I pushed myself up and outward with all my might, using mostly my legs. My back arched. I made a mental note to watch the tape Coach always made to see how pretty Mathias probably looked flying backward in much the same way. Shit! After dolphin-kicking to start, I then stroked as hard and forcefully as I could in order to gain momentum, my arms back over my head like boat propellers. The almost forty seconds the race took felt like forever as my arms and legs started to burn almost immediately. It was practically nothing in reality, of course, and the whole thing was over just like that.
Had I touched the wall first? It felt like I had. I was far too jazzed to notice if he had touched right after, or if someone else had come in second. The scoreboard revealed all with one glance.
