Post
by tester » Fri Oct 11, 2013 1:11 am
Well, maybe not just PTown :) I laid out in the back yard in a speedo a couple times too.
So, an update: I did eventually wear the speedo to water polo after about four months, the second to last time I went. Walking out on to deck I had the same feeling as the handful of other times I had worn a speedo, which was a surreal "I can't believe I'm finally doing this." One group had already started practice, and the coach, in the pool and across a ways, said something like "Hi are you here for polo?" clearly not recognizing me in the speedo (a small, black club swim with blue stripes on the side.) It took her a moment, but then she recognized me and invited me to hop in by name. It was superlative; swimming it it felt clean and free. One of the substitute coaches, a devastatingly handsome 20-something former college swimmer and water polo player, seemed to pay special attention to giving me tips during shooting practice, as if I had crossed a threshold from recreational hanger-on to someone more seriously committed to the sport. And during scrimmage, it was great to feel a cute college-age guy in a slightly baggy blue square cut position his hips against my crotch as we jostled for space in the water. Though, in truth, I felt a little bit too exposed by this particular speedo, the top of which had a habit of revealing my crack. I also felt like I was so jazzed and distracted that I almost acted a little bit strange :)
After that, and one more practice where I went back to trunks (because of the crack issue), I stopped going for a bit and then I moved so I no longer had access to water polo, or the underwater hockey I went to once or twice (that's a story for another time)! However, I did join a master's swim team about nearly a year ago and it has been fantastic. While most of it is not overtly erotic, I figure you guys may enjoy the story since it is true. I'll tell it in installment, since it has played out over the past 10 months.
For New Year's I decided I was going to learn to swim better. I was partly inspired by a friend who was a former synchronized swimmer and encouraged me, even as a newbie, to check out Master's swimming. I never swam as a kid, so despite a reasonable level of baseline fitness I struggled to do more than 25 meters without getting gassed. My strategy in water polo had been a series of very fast judo chops at the water, which worked okay over about 10meters but poorly beyond that.
So, after a night of drinking with coworkers early February, I end up passed out early (like 10am) and wake up at 5:30am and decide that today is finally the day I'll make it to Master's swim. I drive over for the 6am practice on a cold February morning in the predawn, wearing my board shorts and a winter jacket :). Struggling to figure out parking and how to get in, I end up late and am already feeling sheepish when I walk through the gate to the outdoor pool. In the 25m, a dozen swimmers go back and forth as steam billows off into the predawn. I catch a glimpse of at least a handful of guys wearing speedos, but I'm too intimidated to be (consciously) aroused-- these swimmers are like cap- and goggle-wearing aliens, all silent except for the splash of paddles slicing through water and flip turns. Thoroughly intimidated, I introduce myself to the girl on deck, a college student. She's accompanied by a silent lifeguard, bundled against the cold. The coach turns out to be a total sweetheart. She tells me to hop in, then proceeds to spend the entire workout reeducating me.
"When's the last time you swam?" she asks after seeing my initial struggle to do 50m.
"Nearly a year ago," I reply.
"Ah, that explains it. You look tense in the water. Go ahead and relax."
And, over the next couple of months, returning sporadically on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, I do relax. Under that coaches' kind tutelage, I improve so that I'm able to keep up with the 65-year-old ladies in the 2:00/ 100m lane (some of whom swim 6 days a week.) And I also start to relax in the lockerroom, where at first I keep my head firmly down. After all, it's early, I'm not feeling too talkative, and I'm clearly out of place amongst these fish. I continue to wear my trunks as a protective shield, the sort which subtly say "I'm still learning, don't judge me!" But in the showers, which are lined up 3 to a side right as you enter the locker room, I start to take frank, appraising, thirsty looks at the well-toned swimmers in speedos. Mostly it is an older group, but at least in winter, nearly ever man wears some variant of a black speedo. In lucky moments, hot water cascades over their firm pecs and well-packaged bulges as they throw there heads back to rinse out anti-chlorine shampoo...
More to come...
Just started playing water polo a short while ago. Haven't yet worked up to wearing a speedo (although I've had 3 people tell me I should) because I want to demonstrate the expected modesty and reluctance expected of an American male, at least until I'm good enough at the sport that it won't seem out of place. But between the hot guys in their speedos and the prospect of getting to wear one, I'm sure incentivized to "earn my speedo!" Perhaps the funniest part about the whole situation: I'm forced to change with a towel around my waste to avoid revealing me speedo tan, stubbornly left over from my Provincetown gaycation 8 months ago.
