Coaching the Neighborhood

Men of Rugged Heights, Volume 8

Jaylen Florian

Published by Jaylen Florian, 2020.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

COACHING THE NEIGHBORHOOD

First edition. January 18, 2020.

Copyright © 2020 Jaylen Florian.

Written by Jaylen Florian.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Books by Jaylen Florian

Description

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Author's Note

Books by Jaylen Florian

––––––––

ANTONIO'S MASK

Arousing Euphoria: Rugby Team Bundle

Baseball Star's Gift

Cobra De Capello

Covet

Daring the Neighborhood

Garage

Ghost Town

Guarding His Fortunes

Guarding His Jewels

Hollywood Tease

Lured

Macho

Patrolling the Neighborhood

Prowling the Neighborhood

Scorching the Neighborhood

Serving the Neighborhood

Straight Taste: Gay Book Bundle

Tempting the Neighborhood

Thirst

Uncovering Machismo

Untame

Uplifting Sports Romance: College Gay Bundle

Welcoming the Neighborhood

#

Description

––––––––

THEIR FIRST TOUCH IS destined to change everything...

Toby, brand new in town, isn't expecting to become mesmerized by any handsome men quite yet.  He just wants to earn a spot on the adult league swim team and make some fun-loving friends who share his passion for the sport.

Lucas, the aquatic center coach, is Toby's polar opposite in many ways.  Intense and brooding, with a fiery spirit rumbling under an unflappable exterior, the coach isn't the type Toby has ever been attracted to before.

Raw magnetic power, beyond Toby's understanding, seems to pull them closer together.  But differences in personality and age aren't the only things keeping them apart.  Lucas isn't about to compromise his responsibilities as a coach to play favorites with any of the swimmers, no matter how charming or gorgeous Toby may be.

Read now to discover if these men can overcome their challenges and open themselves up to one another.

#

Chapter 1

Every glance I took landed on something titillating.  Bulging mounds of flesh under stretched vinyl.  Perky butts barely stuffed inside tiny racing suits.  Sleek, wet, and slender bodies.  Large, arched feet and muscular legs.  Broad shoulders and V-shaped backs. 

These were confident men stretching and warming up, parading around the aquatic center to prepare their bodies for a robust workout as they tried to earn a spot on the Rugged Heights Dolphins swim team.

Nervously strutting into the center for the first time I was struck by how remarkably fit and competitive the other guys were.  A sense of tension, as detectable as the scent of chlorine in the air, filled the vast indoor pool and deck area, as men from their early twenties to their mid sixties prepped themselves for their best possible performances.  Some were hunky, others sinewy and lanky, but all had the powerful physiques I associated with athletes successful at propelling their bodies through the water.

Mistakenly, I had assumed that an adult swim league would be a rather sorry group of former athletes, like myself, trying to hang on to their glory days from competitive swimming in high school or college.  A part of me knew that's probably exactly what I was doing—trying to relive glory days.  I hadn't been near a pool in several years, since my sophomore year in college, when I'd abruptly moved on from the university's varsity team to focus on my sagging grades so I could complete my architecture degree.  This pleasant surprise, regarding the potential of my new competitors, immediately reminded me of countless swim meets during my youth, in cities and states across the country, where I always had to challenge the best from myself in order to vanquish rivals and strangers in order to achieve ever more medals, trophies, and advanced swimming qualifications.

For a brief moment, while emerging onto the deck in a Speedo way too tight, not knowing a single soul, I felt some insecurity as every pair of eyes aimed right at me.  But this was a friendly bunch.  One by one, they approached me with a handshake or a smile, introduced themselves, and welcomed me with respect.  There were more than two dozen guys there and, despite trying, I didn't catch, at that moment, a single name, but I appreciated the camaraderie and warmth.  I knew right then that I had made the right decision to try out for the Dolphins team.  These men loved swimming.  Like me, passion for the sport was in their blood.  They were acknowledging me as being very much like each one of them.

Many of the guys probably didn't regard me as a threat.  The team would be chosen by the end of the month and, apparently, the rest of these lads had numerous weeks of training ahead of me.  I wasn't regarding them as threats, either.  All of the handsome faces, deep voices, firm handshakes, and glistening eyes captivated me as I wondered which of them might become friends or lovers in the months and years ahead.  Several of the guys were so stunning they took my breath away, and meeting them filled me with great hope and expectation.

I wanted to impress these new people, but I was also aware of my limits, at least at first.  I'd stayed active and in shape with jogging, tennis, and racquetball through the years after I left the college swim team.  However, swimming skills must be constantly tended to, or they fade.  No matter how athletic I'd been in the recent past, I had to recondition my body for the water.  So I chose one of the middle of the ten lanes, one that had only two swimmers instead of the typical three or four per lane.  Generally, with every team I'd ever been on, the fastest lanes were on the far left and the slowest performers took the lanes on the far right.  As much as I was tempted to bravely choose a lane on the left, I decided it was best to start in the middle and try to build my way to the faster lanes from there.

This was only the warm-up.  Each man prepared himself with a few laps as he pleased.  The coach, who I had never seen before, had not shown up yet.  When I asked one of the guys in my lane about this he assured me the coach would be precisely on time, at the top of the hour, just a few minutes away.

On my first lap I tested my body.  Yes, the movements came back to me, a little sloppy, but my overall gliding abilities were intact.  This was quite a relief and lifted my spirits even higher.  On my second lap I couldn't help but check out the men around me.  I wanted to know their speed, their grace, their skill levels, and, of course, I wanted to see more of their bodies.  The desire was mutual.  I caught most of them, clad in their eye goggles, staring back at me as they made their way down the pool's lanes.  You see, while in college I'd repeatedly been told that I bore a resemblance to Paul Bissonnette, the former Canadian professional hockey player.  It was a comparison I could aspire to, but never live up to, as Bissonnette was sexy due to his terrific self-assurance and comfort in his own skin.  Nevertheless, some of the ravenous cruising by my fellow swimmers that night made me feel, at times, on a pedestal. 

As men in each lane began huddling at the pool wall in the shallow end, closest to the main deck, it was clear that it was time for the real workout to begin.  I was one of the last to drift to the wall, stand up, and await instructions.  There were two men standing before us, each clad in nice business suits, which I understood meant that they'd just arrived at the aquatic center from their day jobs.  The taller of the two, obviously the head coach, evidenced by the other man standing several feet back, in deference to their roles, reset a large digital clock display that rose four feet off the ground at his side, so our times could be tracked with each lap.  The head coach had dark features, creamy light bronze skin, and authoritative poise.  I instantly viewed him as handsome and dignified, perhaps of Middle Eastern or southern European descent, and at ease with being in command.  But he didn't strike me as being half as gorgeous as numerous other men near me in the water.  The second man, who seemed to be his assistant, had curly hair, a long waist and lengthy arms.  Neither of these two men noticed me.

The coach launched us right into a hardcore drill, ordering eight sets of "hundreds"—one hundred meters each, equaling two lengths of the long course pool—with minimal rest in between.  I started out fine, then faded by the third set, struggled as I slowed, then rebounded on the final lap.  Trying to hide my panting as we waited at the wall for further instructions, the assistant coach signaled me with a finger gesture to climb out of the pool while the head coach gave directives to the others.

I leaped out of the water and followed the assistant coach to the edge of the deck, out of hearing range from the others.  "Toby, is that right?" he asked, shaking my hand as I nodded.  "Welcome to the tryouts for the Dolphins.  I'm Justin, second in command around here.  Don't hesitate to ask me for help."

"Thank you," I said.  "I'm glad to be here."

"You're new in town?"

"Yes, I just moved to Rugged Heights to start a new job."

"Toby, I read your online application and I remember you were a collegiate athlete, but I forgot your dominant stroke."

"Backstroke," I replied.  "That's always been my strongest swim."

"Lucas—the head coach—wants to take a look at your swimming style, so let's head to the diving well and wait for him.  Lucas will join us once he has the others on their next drill." 

As we walked toward the deep rectangular pool flanked by a diving board and two diving towers, the tallest one soaring up ten meters, Justin turned toward me and the light illuminated his green eyes. 

"You'll get the hang of how things work around here easy enough," Justin said.  "Lucas is the consummate professional.  He won't put up with any horseplay.  Just work your heart out and you'll have a chance to make the team, even though you're coming in at the eleventh hour, so to speak, compared to the other guys."

"How is the team chosen?"

"Lucas picks the final twenty-six.  Twenty-four on the team, outright, plus two alternates."

"It's a subjective process then?"

Justin shrugged.  "Yes, I suppose so.  But no one's ever had reason to doubt Lucas's judgment on this.  You might know he's undefeated as a head coach."

"I didn't know that.  I admit I'm entering this process without knowing too much."

Justin answered his phone.  I could tell the call was from Lucas because I saw him on his phone, too, on the pool deck.  "Hop in the diving well here and stretch out with some simple gliding.  Lucas and I are going to change out of our suits before your evaluation."

"No problem," I replied.  "But there is something else I want to ask you.  Do the Dolphins only compete against other gay teams around the state?"

"You really didn't do much homework on us before coming tonight, did you?"  Justin was grinning, but there was a sneer in his voice.

"Frankly, I was just excited to get back in the water and be considered for the team."

"The Dolphins are a gay-friendly team, but not exclusively a gay team.  Everyone's welcome here.  The same goes for the women's team.  Everybody belongs, though we have to limit the teams to twenty-four swimmers each, for the purposes of funding and relays and all that."

"So the Dolphins compete against straight and gay teams?"

"In this adult league, there's no such labeling.  The teams are all combinations of gay and straight athletes.  There's no discrimination, and anyone's sexual orientation or preferences have nothing to do with how they compete at the swim meets and tournaments.  Okay?"

"I got it," I answered.  "Sounds good to me."

Justin went to the locker room and I ascended the highest diving tower, chastising myself a little bit for not knowing more about the team before my arrival.  Would my questions to Justin be shared with Lucas and held against me when it was time to choose the members of the team?

I stood at the edge of the tower, inhaled a deep breath, and performed a somersault dive, in the pike position, into the diving well.  Rusty with my acrobatics, I slammed into the water at an inverted angle and felt the cord at my waist snap apart.  The force of the water yanked my swim suit to my knees.

#

Chapter 2

I heaved my suit back over my hips before surfacing, holding it up with one hand as I maneuvered against the diving well wall.  Quickly looking about to see if anyone had seen my wardrobe malfunction, I was relieved to have no one gazing in my direction. 

My waist cord had broken just to the side of the center knot.  I fiddled with the remaining cord, stretching it out as far as I could, to try to fasten it into a temporary knot capable of keeping my swim suit secure.  There was barely enough to tie together, even when I sucked in my abdomen and stomach, and my efforts became frantic as Lucas and Justin approached the diving well from the locker room.  Lucas had changed into snug Wrangler blue jeans and a black short sleeve athletic shirt, while Justin wore sweat pants and a t-shirt with a swimming logo emblazoned on the front.

In better circumstances I would have crawled out of the pool to meet Lucas face to face on the deck, but I just succeeded in tying my knot as he approached.  He stood near the edge of the well, folding his arms across his chest and looking down at me, and nodded without smiling.  I think he was misreading my demeanor as being standoffish, resulting in him discarding any pleasantries and immediately getting down to business.

"Start with freestyle, then butterfly, backstroke, and breaststroke," Lucas said.  "Take it easy as you swim away from me, concentrating only on form, then crank it up and show me some speed after you turn on the opposite wall and head back toward me.  Do this with each of the four strokes.  Form first, then speed."

I submerged underwater and pushed off the diving wall well, my arms stretched over my head in the shape of an aerodynamic missile, propelling me forward with the least possible resistance.  Right as I reached the water's surface and began to kick, the knot broke open and my trunks slid to the top of my legs, my bare ass on full display.  I immediately stopped and tried to cover myself.

"Sorry," I called out to Lucas.  Returning to the wall I saw that Justin was trying to muffle a smile, but Lucas was nonplussed.  "That was completely an accident," I added.  "I broke my suit when I jumped off the diving tower."

"Thirty-two?" Lucas asked.

"Pardon me?"

"Are you size thirty-two?"

"Oh, yeah, I am."

Lucas directed Justin to find me a swim suit and goggles, then knelt down toward me.  The ends of his wide shoes cantilevered over the well's edge, above my face.

"What are your goals, Toby?  Why are you here?"

The directness of his question flustered me for a moment.  "I miss swimming and want to get involved in competition again.  I've never been on an adult league before, so I don't know what to expect.  It'd be great if I could meet some friends, too.  I'm new in town.  I hardly know a soul."

"What's more important, the social aspects of this or making the team?"

"I don't know how to rank those things," I said.  "I guess you could say both things are important to me."

Lucas lifted one corner of his mouth, not into a smile but something else—maybe an exhibit of disappointment.  "You can swim here and meet people, regardless of what happens.  You don't have to make the competitive team in order to participate in the league and swim leisurely as you choose."

I thought this was a test and tried to answer appropriately.  I said, "I hope to make the team.  I'd really like to swim competitively again and see how much I can improve."

Justin returned and tossed me a slim pair of goggles and a racing suit, emphasizing that he had just removed the suit from a package and nobody had ever worn it before.  I thanked him and Lucas stood, turned away to give me privacy, and sent Justin off with coaching instructions for the rest of the swimmers. 

Fixed up, I swam to show Lucas my strokes.  I was battling nerves, intimidated by the intensity of the coach's countenance, and feeling defensive that he might've viewed me as just someone seeking hookups and friends more than devoting myself to my sport.  I did better on the sprint portion of the laps and ended on what I thought was a good note, finishing the breaststroke with confidence.

"Fine," Lucas said, signaling me out of the water.  I watched his dark brown eyes as I joined him to sit on the low diving board, but he didn't scan my body or sneak any glances.  Instead, he checked his watch and loosened the laces on one of his shoes. 

"I'm not usually so choppy," I said, apologizing for my performance before even hearing his comments. 

He paused before responding, studying my face with an expression suggesting he could he see past my face and delve into my thoughts.  "Overall, Toby, the key is that you have quite a bit of grace.  And it's evident in all of your strokes, not just the backstroke.  You have undeniable talent."

I blushed, then felt a wave of shame for appearing to be so needy for his approval.

"On the other hand," Lucas continued, "you're going to have to act very fast to have a chance at making the team.  I could give you a very long list of changes to make right now.  But what good would that do?  You'd be discouraged and you wouldn't remember all I said.  So, this is going to be gradual, but within a tight timeframe, and I'll narrow my initial feedback to you so you won't be overwhelmed.  Do you understand so far?"

"Yes."

"Join the other guys here for the rest of the workout this evening and focus strictly on this.  You're thinking about your form too much.  My guess is that you were over-coached in the past, pushed into body movements that he or she believed were best for you at the time.  I want you to keep your mind on what feels right to you in the water.  Follow your natural instincts, zero in on speed and grace, embrace rhythmic movements and efficient breathing."

"Good, I can do that.  Anything else, coach?"

"You have the upper body strength, so it's your kicking and timing that need more work.  I'll have Justin draw up some kicking exercises for you.  You'll need to work on these apart from the general workouts with the others."

"I appreciate your help."

"I trust I don't have to tell you about eating right, getting enough sleep, not getting impaired with drink or drugs or smoking, and all the rest of it.  Am I right?"

"I have a healthy lifestyle."

"Then you've got a chance, Toby.  Work hard, set big goals, and surprise yourself with all you can accomplish."

#

Chapter 3

My first workout at the aquatic center concluded with soreness creeping through my muscles.  But my lungs were invigorated and I rode the high from adrenaline or hormones, whichever is responsible for the temporary sense of euphoria after completing strenuous exercise.  I followed the other men into the locker room and prepared to shower off the chlorine until I realized that curiosity had grabbed the others.  Though my body was barely covered in the swim suit, they were still waiting for more.  I felt like I was in the spotlight, with shifty eyes lurking for the moment I peeled the suit down off my ankles.

It was too much.  Even though I didn't consider myself very shy, I didn't want to be on parade any more than I already had been that evening.  I retreated back to an empty row of lockers with my belongings, dried off with my beach towel, and decided to skip the shower.  I took my time getting dressed, except for when I put on my t-shirt.  In bold, block-style letters, in a font typically associated with football teams, my shirt read "POWER BOTTOM" in all capital letters.  I'd picked it up the previous summer when celebrating gay pride in Los Angeles with a friend from college.  Learning earlier that evening from Justin that the swim league wasn't exclusively gay, my t-shirt no longer seemed worth a chuckle and I regretted wearing it to the aquatic center.  I whipped on my windbreaker jacket to cover it up just as a middle aged hipster-like guy with salt and pepper hair, a goatee, a couple of silver rings, and ice blue eyes rounded the corner.

"There you are, Toby," he said, patting my shoulder.  "Join us for pizza tonight."

He reminded me that his name was Zane and I told him to be patient with me, in that I usually had to hear a person's name three or four times before committing it to memory.  "It sounds fun," I added, "but I left my wallet at home and I think I'm just going to collapse on my couch with some hot tea."

"I'll spot you this time," Zane said.  "You should come and get to know the gang.  Pizza night is every Thursday, it's kind of a tradition around here."

"How many are going?"

"Usually a dozen of us, sometimes more, show up.  The joint is just a quarter mile from here, an easy walk, no matter how tired you might be from the workout."

I checked with Zane again to make sure it wasn't a problem for him to cover my share of the bill, then agreed to go.  I counted fifteen of the other guys walking with us as we left the aquatic center and zipped up our jackets to protect ourselves from the chilly night breeze.  The men each told me their names again and I answered their questions, telling them how I worked for an architecture firm, mostly on residential projects, and how I'd just arrived in Rugged Heights from the Maryland suburbs of the District of Columbia, where I'd completed a fellowship after earning my architectural degree.

Being part of the casual pack of guys felt good, like I really did belong with them, and we arrived at the pizzeria in no time.  It had an informal atmosphere that included an open floor plan, booths along the walls, slate flooring, and a hearty salad and food bar in the center.  Our group was led to the back of the restaurant where long, rectangular tables were flanked with bench seating.  Pitchers of beer were immediately ordered, along with bread sticks and several different types of pizzas.  A modern jukebox, masked with a vintage exterior, belted out hit songs from the '80s and '90s.  As will happen with large groups like that, numerous subsets of conversations erupted amongst us, from topics ranging from football and baseball to the latest movies being released and the newest art exhibitions at the city's galleries. 

I was seated near the end of the bench between Zane and Ben, a ginger-haired man about my age, in his mid-twenties, with light freckles that cascaded down his forehead and cheeks in pleasant patterns.  Zane proved to not have much of a social filter, telling Ben and me how his wife was trying to get him to cut back on the weed and stop staying up late at night to immerse himself in online porn.  Though his problems weren't my own, they were relatable in that he told us about them with such good humor.  Ben was mostly upbeat, too, name-dropping a little bit as he told some stories about working for the mayor.  Ben liked his beer, downing it faster than he was consuming slices of pizza, and I finally decided to join in with everyone else and also have a mug.

The alcohol wasn't harmless, though.  Even though I nursed it slowly, being a lightweight when it comes to booze and brew of any kind, I was tipsy in mere minutes.  Rosy cheeks and a dimpled grin were planted on my face the rest of the night.  Then I started sweating.  Ben urged me to take off my jacket and make myself comfortable.  I resisted, because of my t-shirt, until I was down to my final swig in the glass and my brow was drenched.  What the hell, I thought, I'm more uncomfortable hiding my shirt than I'd be just taking the damn jacket off.

"Power bottom," Zane said, speaking the words he read as I slipped out of my jacket.  "What's on the back?"

"Nothing's on the back," I answered, aware that all of the guys were staring at me, many of them smiling or whooping it up, presumably without judgment.

Ben gave me a high five, and said, "Same here, my friend."

Zane was disturbed that he didn't understand.  "Is this a cultural reference or a joke?"

Ben punched Zane in the arm.  "Don't even tell me you've never heard of a power bottom before.  Come on now."

"I thought at first it was about sex," Zane said, "then second-guessed myself.  Toby, you're gay?"

I nodded.  "Ninety nine percent."

"And you like being the guy on the bottom?" Zane asked.

"Yep, ninety nine percent of the time . . .  At least."

"Gotcha.  I don't judge anybody their pleasures."

Ben interjected, loudly, overpowering all of the other conversations at the table.  "You've gotta be one hundred percent bottom to be a power bottom, Toby."

A military officer named Diego, with a crew cut and aviator jacket, stood up on the opposite side of the table and reached his arm toward me.  "I've got a seat for you over here.  Please.  Right now."

"Do it," Ben said, trying to lift me from the bench.  "Go on or you'll regret not getting a shot."

The lads cheered until I finally chuckled, rose to my feet, and bumped fists with Diego.  I went around the table, took the empty seat at his side, and let him put his arm around my shoulders.  It was all pretty stupid—and he grunted like an ape, and flexed his other arm while the others laughed and whistled—but enormous fun. 

When the fanfare died down, Diego bent toward my ear and whispered.  "Buddy, I've got to walk you home tonight."

#

Chapter 4

Diego and I playfully messed around while munching down a couple more slices of pizza.  It was nothing scandalous, just some thigh grabbing and mild teasing while seated beside one another.  During this time a couple other of the tops—the guys who preferred to pitch during sex—winked my way or flashed mischievous grins.  I couldn't but help making mental notes of all of them and my ego was swelling from influx of newfound attention.

Like Ben, Diego was drinking too much.  He repeatedly excused himself to hit the men's room to relieve his bladder.  It was during one of these breaks that I left my spot on the bench and returned to the seat between Zane and Ben.

"Diego is in rare form," Zane said.  "I've never seen him like this.  He looks like he's going to devour you whole, right here at the pizzeria."

"Maybe some day," I said, grinning.  "He's a stunning man."

"Not tonight?"

"No."

"I thought you two were getting along.  Did he say something wrong?"

I paused to choose my words carefully.  "Impairment is a turnoff.  I like being with other guys and having fun, I won't deny that at all."

Zane laughed, and said, "Your shirt now makes that perfectly clear, doesn't it?"

I proceeded ahead without answering.  "But there's no fooling about, at least with me, if there's lots of drinking or drugs involved."

Ben joined in and leaned toward us.  "Toby, you might be a little old-fashioned like that, no?"

"The way I see it, it's just common sense.  But to each their own."

"Don't go breaking hearts your first night with us," Zane said.

Ben tried to joke, though it was only partially funny because of his delivery.  "Diego's heart is not the particular organ in play here with Toby."

Things went on a bit longer along that line, until I regretted having told Zane and Ben so much.  I took Diego aside, for a private moment in the back corner of the restaurant, and told him directly that I was heading for home—alone.

"I'll leave right now if you want me to," Diego said, slurring his last three words together.

"You and I can have a different night," I replied.  "I'm looking forward to it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep.  Unless you need help walking home."

"I'm good.  I'm not drunk.  I live just a few blocks away."

I gave Diego an embrace, stopped at the table just long enough to thank Zane for inviting me out for pizza with the gang, then exited in a flash.  The temperature had dropped several degrees and the wet air from the nearby Bluestone River sent a shiver up the back of my neck.  I tucked my chin down toward my windbreaker and briskly headed for home.  Several times I thought about turning around and going back to Diego, but steeled myself into doing the right thing and not rushing into anything.

As soon as I got home—the converted pool house I rented from a married couple—I plunged into my bath tub, in the hottest water I could tolerate, and soaked my body until I was ready to shuffle into bed.

#

Chapter 5

The lightning bolt, figuratively speaking, struck me to my core two days later.

It happened on Saturday morning, right before the workout at the aquatic center was about to begin.  League training with Lucas, our coach, was scheduled for Tuesday and Thursday evenings and Saturday mornings each week.  Each swimmer was also expected to train on his own, without coaching, whenever possible on the other days of the week.  Eager to get back in the water and see my new friends again, I was barefoot and clad only in a new Speedo when I bounded out of the locker room and slipped on a small puddle that had formed on the tile floor. 

It was a total wipeout.  Rather than simply falling down, my legs violently shot out from under me and instantly I was down on the tiles.  It happened so suddenly I was frozen in shock and unable to breathe. 

Coach Lucas was the only person within twenty feet of me at the time.  He rushed to me and gently cradled my head against the floor with outstretched fingers.

"Take it easy," Lucas said, watching me struggle to catch my breath.  "There you go, Toby.  Inhale deeper, as much as you can."

A small crowd started to gather around us, but Lucas effectively waved them away.

"Did you know if you hit your head?" Lucas asked me.

"I don't know."

"What hurts right now?"

"Um, I really don't know."

Lucas looked over his shoulder and calmly told Justin to call 9-1-1.  "Tell them he's probably going into shock and we're not sure yet about injuries."

I squirmed my way upright, eventually getting into a sitting position.

"Stay calm, Toby.  If you want to move, I'm not going to stop you.  But you might have some fractures."

I managed to ask him what part of me was fractured.

"Do you want me to feel for broken bones?" Lucas asked.

"Yes, please."

"I'll just check your arms, ribs, and legs.  Is that okay?"

"Do it.  Nothing seems to hurt.  I hope I'm okay."

Lucas's fingers gently probed and I had to stifle wet eyes, not from any pain, but from the tenderness of his touch.  Even then, I was completely aware that it wasn't sensual touching, nevertheless it impacted my emotions with ferocity.  I visualized connections between the two of us, with slender reeds flowing through his fingers and reaching into my body with electrical pulses.  It crossed my mind, even then, that it was, in actuality, an uncontrollable surge of hormones, though I understood nothing of why or how it could happen, especially in a situation like this.

"Lucas."  My voice must've reflected the potent feelings pounding through me at that second, but he seemed oblivious to my emotional state.

"I'm almost done.  Nothing feels broken."

"Don't let go of me."

"We'll wait right here.  Don't worry."

Lucas stayed with me until the paramedics arrived.  I don't recall much detail from what happened next.  But after checking my vital signs and seeing that I could stand and walk without assistance, the lead paramedic reluctantly accepted my refusal to be taken to the hospital.  Lucas directed Justin, the assistant coach, to drive me home.  There's little from the car ride I remember, but I was able to give Justin good enough directions to get me to the curb outside the gate that led to my private entrance to the pool house.

Justin followed me inside and asked if I was okay to be alone.

"I definitely think so.  I'm feeling more alert every minute.  The paramedic doesn't think my head hit the floor, or this would be a whole different scenario."

"Should I stay, Toby?  To err on the safe side?"

"Thanks, but I'm good now.  I'm great at taking care of myself."

Justin wrote his cell number on a piece of paper for me and tucked it under my phone.  "Call me the second anything changes.  Don't suffer in silence."

I shook my head, and said, "What an embarrassment I was this morning.  The new guy takes a tumble and freaks everyone out.  Frightful!"

"Who cares?" Justin asked, apparently surprised my thoughts even drifted to humiliation.

"Well, my chances for making the team just plunged off a cliff."

"Toby, surely you know there are far more important things than whether or not you win a spot on a swim team."

I didn't say anything, but yes, I did know that.  I thanked Justin again for his help and watched him leave. 

My thoughts the rest of the day centered on what had occurred with Lucas.  What in the hell was that?  I was overwhelmed by something—something that far exceeded reassuring touches—yet he seemed to feel nothing back to me.  How was that possible?

By the time the sun descended on the ridges west of Rugged Heights, my movements were completely back to normal.  I decided that the connectivity experienced with Lucas was illusory only.  Triggered by the trauma of my violent fall, it had been the product of my imagination, ignited in ways beyond explanation from science or rationality. 

So I settled on dismissing my experience as a complex illusion.  That perspective, however, failed to stop me from thinking constantly about Lucas.

Did Lucas really feel nothing of it?  Nothing at all?

#

Chapter 6

I swam at the aquatic center on my own on Sunday and Monday.  I had no ill effects from the Saturday trauma.  Taking Lucas's initial advice, which had included changing my perspective and focusing on more natural movements, I discerned some progress each day while devising my own workouts.

During these two days of swimming I also ran into many of the other guys competing for spots on the Dolphins team.  Zane, Ben, and most of the others I'd joined at the pizzeria the previous Thursday were all happy to see me and asked for reassurances that I was stable and unharmed.  One of the men even asked if it was possible I'd had a seizure of some kind, to which I responded that it was possible, but that hadn't been mentioned at any time by the paramedics and I didn't recall losing consciousness.

I saw Diego at the aquatic center, too.  It was on Monday night and we crossed paths in the locker room showers.  He gave me a warm hug and bantered some flirtatious comments.  I was very friendly in return, but surprised to find that I no longer had the interest in pursuing him for anything romantic, intimate, or sexual.

When I showed up Tuesday night for the coached workouts at the center, both Lucas and Justin checked in with me and asked how I was feeling.  I tried to linger with Lucas and detect if there was anything new in his manner toward me.  I locked my eyes on him as we talked and I was disappointed that he refused to hold my gaze.  There were no sparks coming from Lucas.  There was no hostility, either, but the coolness of his response to me was unsettling and more disappointing that I'd dare admit to myself.

I also got no special favors or attention from Lucas while I was in the pool, even when I knew that I was making progress worthy of his recognition, if only he'd been watching me closely enough.  I was just one of the crew, however.  One among many.  He was probably right not to bestow me with praise.  Nevertheless, it hurt.

After the workout I skipped showering so I could quickly dress and catch him on the pool deck before he left the aquatic center for the night.  I found Lucas on one of the risers facing the diving well.  He was engrossed in his notebook, which included diagrams and listings of swimmers, but closed it quickly when he realized I had approached him.

"Coach, can I please have a word with you?" I asked.

He gestured for me to take a seat.  "What's on your mind?"

I held out a small gift bag.  Lucas hesitated and shook his head, refusing to take it.

"It's important to me to express my thanks to you for what you did for me after my accident on Saturday morning," I said.

"Toby, I cannot accept this.  Kindness needs no rewards."

"I don't understand, coach."

"No, I think you do."

"You won't even look inside before deciding on whether you want it?"

Lucas slightly tilted his head and leaned back, away from me.  "That's not the point."

I so desperately wanted to break through his icy exterior.  I had a sense he was holding back, concealing something from me, and I had to know if there was absolutely no reciprocation in any types of feelings, or interest in me.  "Coach . . ."  I smiled.  "Don't make me feel strange for wanting to show you gratitude."

Lucas stood up and looked down at me.  "If you want to make the team, Toby, it'll be because of what you do in the water.  Nothing else matters, as far as I'm concerned."

He left me sitting there, verbally kicked to the chest, stunned and embarrassed.  My coach had assumed the worst and misinterpreted my actions as being manipulative.  I remained on the risers for a long while, trying to put myself in his shoes, before tucking the package under my arm and slogging home.

The pathway to my pool house from the aquatic center, via pedestrian walkways, went through two parks connected by a landscaped corridor that was well lit with golden street lamps.  The air was balmier than usual, the crickets were louder, and I reminded myself that I didn't need to immediately decide whether to quit my efforts to join the Dolphins team.  By the time I reached the end of the corridor I resolved to take the next two days to ponder my options before making a choice.

I would do what was best for me.  I promised myself that Lucas wouldn't factor in the equation at all.

#

Chapter 7

I woke the next morning with clarity.

One of the benefits of great sleep, at least for me, was that it sometimes helped my subconscious work through tough problems.  As I yawned and stretched before leaping out of bed, I knew quitting the swim league was out of the question.  I didn't know I was so certain about this, nor did I worry another second about thinking it through.  I was not going to give up, period, and that was good enough understanding for me.

That evening, during the Wednesday workout without coaching supervision, I bumped into Ben, the ginger-haired man my age who had applauded my "power bottom" t-shirt at the pizzeria.  While we were getting dressed in the locker room he agreed to let me buy him a drink at the tea brewhouse across from the aquatic center.  "Not a date," I'd said to him then, but "just a chat."

The brewhouse had a minimalist design with mobile tables and chairs that could be easily moved to accommodate any social gathering.  European-style electronica and New Age tunes piped through the sound system.  Plants and flowers lined the base of the windows.  A narrow stairway with ornate iron railings led to a small loft at the back.  Ben and I ordered boba tea drinks, carried them up to the loft, and sat at a small table that overlooked the service bar.

Ben flashed me a sly look, and said, "I know exactly why you invited me here."

"Who said I had an agenda?" I asked, maintaining a lighthearted tone.

"You want the skinny on all the stud tops, like Diego, who are ripe for the picking at the pool."

I chuckled.  "Sure, I wouldn't mind discovering all of that."

"Of course you wouldn't!  And us bottoms can look out for each other.  There's plenty to go around, my friend.  We don't have to claw each other's eyes out just to get our fill of dick in this town."

"Believe it or not, there's something else on my mind," I said.  "Let's save a discussion about the hottest and most available tops until next time."

"But what could possibly be more important than that?"  Ben, with raised eyebrows, genuinely looked completely flummoxed.

"I'd like to ask you about our coach."

"Justin's straight, like Zane.  If he's the somewhat straight-but-curious type, that would be news to me.  You can try for him, but don't get your hopes up."

"It's not Justin," I said.  "I'm trying to get a read on Lucas, our head coach.  What's his story?"

Ben whistled.  "Everything we say to each other tonight is confidential, agreed?"

"Of course."

"Lucas is like a knight in shining armor.  Completely hot, and you can think of him as eye candy, like Lancelot in that old Excalibur movie.  But don't mislead yourself for even a minute into thinking you can tear down his walls, Toby.  Plenty of guys have tried, there's no question about that, and not a single one of them ever even got a wink out of him."

"So Lucas never lets his guard down?"

"A guard, yeah, that's the better analogy," Ben said.  "Think of one of those Queen's Guards at Buckingham Palace.  They don't even blink, no matter how funny the joke or how crazy you act in their presence.  Right there, that's Lucas."

"Is he so reserved because someone badly hurt him?  An ex wife or life partner?"

"I heard he was gay, but I've never seen Lucas cruise anybody.  There was talk that he had a bad breakup a few years ago, but that was just gossip and chatter, and likely gibberish.  I chalk up his demeanor to it just being the way he is.  Lucas is dedicated to being a professional.  He works for one of the largest technology companies in town, in the human resources department, and manages the company's charitable giving and volunteer service programs.  He's a do-gooder.  He's oriented toward helping others."

"I think that's incredibly admirable," I said.

"Yeah, but boring!"

I laughed, then added, "So you're more comfortable around guys with obvious vices, Ben?"

"Absolutely!"

"I understand.  The bad boy thing is real.  I've found myself attracted to the rebellious types, too.  I can't remember ever being mesmerized by someone like Lucas before."

"Mesmerized, huh?"  Ben shot me a sympathetic expression.  "Don't punish yourself, Toby."

"What do you mean?"

"Diego's got a big dick and a fun-loving spirit.  He's already in your pocket and all you have to do is lift one finger to get him in your bedroom.  So, choose Diego.  Don't focus another second on Lucas.  Lucas will never give you what you really need."

#

Chapter 8

I completed the Thursday evening swimming workout without once making eye contact with Lucas.  I offered no insubordination and I didn't strike any attitudes.  I just opted to not look directly at him as he coached us through all the sets and drills.  I hadn't planned on this behavior in advance.  Upon arriving, though, I still felt the shame of him rejecting my gift on Tuesday night and assuming that I was trying to manipulate him for a slot on the team.

Heaving myself out of the water to head to the locker room, I was elated.  Some long forgotten swimming skills from my college days had resurfaced, my overall conditioning was advancing better than expected, and I believed my techniques were improving as I let myself adjust to more natural movements.  I gingerly approached the locker room entrance—the exact spot where I'd crashed to the tile floor on Saturday morning—and turned around when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

It was Justin, our assistant coach.  "Toby, please return to the pool deck after you get dressed.  Coach Lucas and I need a word with you."

I intended to ask if everything was okay, but Justin turned and left before the words left my mouth.

I got dressed at a remote locker, away from some of the wandering eyes of the other guys, and leisurely slid on my clothes, absorbed in speculation on why the coaches had singled me out for a meeting.  It was too early to get selected from the team, so were they kicking me out of the league for some reason?  I couldn't figure it out.

Before returning to the pool deck, I found Zane putting on his socks and shoes at a locker one row away.  "Take this," I said, handing him thirty dollars in cash.  "This should cover what you spent to help me out at the pizzeria last week."

Zane slipped the bills in his pocket, and said, "Aren't you joining us for pizza tonight?"

"I hope to, but the coaches want to meet with me first.  I have no idea how long it will take."

"Make it as speedy as you can or I won't be able to save a seat for you."

"Don't worry about saving a seat.  But let em ask you something.  Are meetings with individual swimmers like this common?"

Zane shook his head.  "Did you argue with somebody or cause some trouble?"

"No, not that I can recall."

"Then it's probably nothing.  I'll see you at the restaurant."

Out on the deck, Lucas and Justin stood near three chairs arranged tightly together in a pyramid shape.  Lucas pointed at the chair for me to sit in and then both coaches sat down, too.  Lucas ran his hand through his thick dark hair and leaned toward me, with his elbows on his knees.  Justin was bolt upright, just watching.

Lucas said, "I owe you an apology, Toby, for my abrupt and cynical behavior after swim practice here on Tuesday.  I'm sorry and I ask for your forgiveness."

Shocked by this turn of events, and the utter earnestness of his voice and manner, I bit my lip for a moment.  "Coach, you didn't cross any lines.  You don't need to apologize to me."

"I believe I do.  I was harsher than I should've been."

"My opinion is, everyone has good days and bad days," I said.  "Thank you for saying this to me.  Your apology is accepted, of course."

Lucas nodded.  "You're free to go."

When I didn't immediately get up to leave, Justin rose to his feet to further signal the brief meeting was over.

I returned to the locker room to grab my gym bag and happened to exit the aquatic center just a few paces behind Lucas.  I sped up to him.

"Coach, can I walk with you?"

He looked around before answering.  "I suppose so."

"Are you going to the pizzeria?"

"Definitely not."

"Should us swimmers not be going there?"

"It's fine for all of you," Lucas said.  "But I can't be socializing and drinking with the guys trying out for team."

"Is there some sort of ban for this in your employment contract?"

"I'm a volunteer coach, Toby.  I don't have an employment contract with the aquatic center or the Dolphins team."

"I had no idea."

"Boundaries are important for good leadership, regardless of whether a leader is paid or fulfilling volunteer service."

After a period of silence, letting his statement soak in, Lucas encouraged me to go to the pizzeria with the other guys.  I told him I'd rather walk toward home with him and learned that he, too, lived in Rugged Heights, in a subdivision adjacent to mine.

"I just have to clarify something from Tuesday," I said, as we reached a neighborhood park and stopped by the swing set.  "At no point then was I ever trying to gain your favor to get an advantage for the selection of the swim team."

"What about now?" Lucas asked.  "Tonight?"

"No.  Why do you think the worst about me?"

"It was just a question, Toby."

"I'm not seeking any advantage.  It's impossible for me to prove this to you, so why can't you just take me for my word for it?"

"You're right," Lucas said.  "My skepticism must be annoying."

We began strolling again and I commented on the narrow corridor that linked the two parks.  Lucas agreed that it was also his favorite spot in the extensive trail and walkway system that meandered throughout Rugged Heights.

"It would mean a lot to me if you accepted the gift I tried to give you earlier this week," I said, changing the subject.  "If you don't want it, fine.  Just donate it to a good cause.  All right?"

"Hmm."

"That's got to be a yes, coach."

Lucas grinned and shrugged his broad shoulders.  "Maybe."

"Awesome!  My place is just up ahead."

#

Chapter 9

Lucas seemed in no hurry to remove his jacket, upon entering my rental, until he began studying the architectural drawings, photographs, and paintings that lined the walls of the "great room"—a modest space that united the living room, dining room, and kitchen.  He slowly unzipped and removed his jacket while he wandered the room.  I prepared cups of hot tea for us and answered his questions about the structures depicted in the images.

"Give it a minute or two to cool so you don't burn you tongue," I warned him, handing him a cup of tea on a saucer.

"Tell me about this place," Lucas said.  "I love the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the terrace and kidney-shaped pool.  Why is the it drained?"

"The couple I'm renting this from are elderly and battling health problems.  They didn't want to maintain a pool they didn't use.  They emptied the pool and converted this pool house into a junior one bedroom apartment by adding a kitchenette and making a few other changes.  I thought it was perfect for me the first time I saw it."

"Yeah, I think it's a lot of fun.  These tall windows face what direction?"

"North."

"Perfect," Lucas said.  "You get ample daylight without being pummeled by the rising sun or the late afternoon sun rays."

We sat beside each other on the couch, which was the only seating area I could fit into the space.  I had the gift for him in my bedroom, but I was in no hurry to bring it out.  I feared Lucas might just take it and leave.  Lucas didn't ask for the gift and seemed to be relaxing.  He asked me about architecture and the residential projects I told him I was working on for low income housing throughout the city.  Lucas was interested in the details and themes of the plans, wanting to know how the designs helped improve people's lives.  We got lost in the conversation and I invited Lucas to take off his shoes during one of the times I refilled his cup with more hot tea.  Eventually, we were both leaning back on the couch, our legs stretched up on my coffee table, our socked feet just a few inches apart.

"The last time I was in New York City I couldn't believe the brand new sliver-like towers emerging south of Central Park," Lucas said.  "I meant to look into what was going on with that but never got around to it."

"That's so-called Billionaire's Row," I said.  "I agree with you that they are the most dramatic change to New York's midtown skyline in many decades."

"That one to the west, the white one, is even taller than the Empire State Building."

"Yes, that's 432 Park Avenue.  Hang on, let me show you a video about how state-of-the-art it is."  I fetched my computer tablet from my bedroom and rejoined Lucas on my couch, sitting closer to him so we could both see the screen.

At some point while we discussed trends in city skylines and publics works projects, which included me showing him a few more videos, I inadvertently brushed my leg against Lucas's knee and he didn't pull away.

"You're a pretty interesting guy, Toby."

I chuckled, and said, "You sound surprised."

"I had just heard, mistakenly, that you were in real estate.  And there's nothing wrong with being in real estate, but I find an architect—especially one devoted to the betterment of the human condition—exceedingly more interesting."

"So you hear gossip, huh?"

"Not much, but some.  I think of gossip like the plague, in that it can have disastrous consequences."

"Yep, that rings true to me," I said.  "So, please tell me what else you've heard about me."

"Oh hell, don't go there."

"It's that bad, coach?"

Lucas folded his hands over his flat stomach and interlocked his fingers.  "I heard about your t-shirt."

I blushed and looked down, then decided I had nothing to be ashamed of and smiled instead.

"Power bottom," Lucas said.  "You certainly made a statement."

"You disapprove?"

"No, it has nothing to do with your performance in the pool."

"I don't plan on wearing it out to pizza again, at least not anytime soon."

"Labels have their place, I imagine," Lucas said.  "However, I don't think along those lines when bonding with someone.  I mean, you can like tattoos or beards or blue eyes or whatever, but the person you'll have magic with may not possess anything matching your template.  Limiting ourselves to cookie cutter characteristics risks missing out on the person you're supposed to be with, in my opinion."

He was opening up to me now and I only wanted more.  I was authentically interested in his viewpoints and tried to push ahead without going too far.  "Labels, especially among gay men, may be resulting in unnecessary loneliness?"

Lucas nodded.  "I think so.  You're a so-called bottom and your expectation is that only a top will be a great fit for you.  I'm what you would call a top, but the person who eventually steals my heart again may not be a top.  He may very well be just as much of a top as I am.  If the magic is there, then I think guys can work it out.  There are many ways to explore sensuality and sexuality.  If there's a will, there's a way.  People have to be willing to work it out and put some effort into continual bonding."

"Well said."  But contrary to his point, I was downright thrilled to hear Lucas was a top.  I glanced down at his wide, powerful feet and felt a stirring in my crotch.  "So there are individuals each of us are meant to be with?"

"I don't know that for sure, but I tend to think so.  I admit, too, that it's what I want to believe.  That's the world I want to live in.  Does any of this make sense to you, Toby?"

I pressed my leg further against him, and said, "I like hearing everything you're saying."

Lucas lifted one eyebrow.  "Is this the part when you try to seduce the coach?"

I shifted on the couch, turning directly toward him with bright eyes.  "I have something to tell you.  It's about what you referred to, earlier, as magic, Lucas."

"Explain."

"Something unexplainable, perhaps metaphysical, happened to me while you held me after my accident on Saturday morning . . ."

#

Chapter 10

Lucas listened to me without interrupting.  I held nothing back.  I didn't cushion my words or apologize for the feelings I had.  As described earlier, I tried to paint the picture for him of what I felt, and visualized, during those moments.  When I was done sharing, there was a period of complete silence.

Lucas cupped his hand over my forearm.  "Nothing I'm about to say, I hope, will be interpreted as belittling your experience.  I think I have an obligation to point out that there's probably a reasonable, scientific explanation for what happened to you."

I held his gaze and shook my head.  "I don't want to hear that."

"I also believe it's incredibly courageous of you to tell me all of this."

"Well, here's more truth, Lucas.  Since the incident, I can hardly stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try to redirect my mind onto something else."

He gently patted my arm during another stretch of silence.

"Your reaction confirms that this was one-sided," I added.  "You didn't feel a single spark of electricity?"

"I didn't, Toby.  My thoughts were on helping you and trying to prevent you from going into a state of shock."

"I'm still not convinced.  It just doesn't seem possible, or fair, that one man can be so thoroughly rocked, while the other is not moved by even a slight tremor."

"What do you want me to say?" Lucas asked.

"Let me experiment, right now, and we'll be done with this mystery, one way or the other."

"How?"

I stroked the tender side of his forearm and inner elbows with the tips of my fingers.  My other hand massaged his lower thigh.  Lucas was about to speak, but instead tilted his head back.  A few seconds later, he closed his eyes. 

I explored the feel of his arms and shoulders, his calf muscles and knees.  By the time I reached his chest, Lucas was making a light groaning and cooing sounds.  The fly of his jeans bulged very noticeably as he hardened. 

"See?" I said, as softly as I could.  "There's something between us."

Lucas, his eyes still closed, said, "I haven't been touched by another man—in two years."

He squirmed as I zeroed in on his nipples, squirming and taking shorter breaths.  I unbuttoned his shirt and slid my hand under the fabric.  Lucas flinched as my fingers reached his bare skin.  The enormous mound under his jeans twitched every time I pressed his nipples between my thumb and forefinger.  His arms fell to his sides, fully surrendering his body to me.  As I bent down and kissed the crevice in his chin, I slowly unzipped his jeans to give him relief from the straining denim fabric.  He was rocketed upward under his boxers, at just a slight angle.  I reached through the gap in the fly, tickled his balls, and watched a wet spot grow ever larger where the tip of his manhood stretched the fabric.

When I pulled my hands away to adjust my body into a more comfortable position on the couch, Lucas opened his eyes.

"I don't want you to stop, Toby."

"I'm just getting started."

"Kiss me first."

Lucas's lips, warm and fleshy, like pillows, moved sensually on my mouth.  His tongue tasted sweet, with traces of tea, and the scent from the skin above his lips elicited a strong, clean musk.  I reclined at his side so we could merge our faces together. 

Lucas's rod, with impressive girth, and darker bronze in color than the rest of his skin, quivered in my grasp.  I finally broke away from his lips to tease the tip of his crown with my tongue.  Lucas slipped easily into my mouth, due to his salty oozing, and he stroked the spots behind my ears as I lowered him toward my throat.  He had a very manly taste and I detected a cinnamon-like accent to his pre-ejaculate essence.  After several minutes, edging him to the brink of orgasm, Lucas pulled out of my mouth and said, "Not yet."

We completed undressing each other when we reached my bedroom.  Lucas had me lie on my back so he could raise and part my legs, then probe my hole with his fingertip.  I ached for him to be inside me, but Lucas didn't rush it.  He flicked his tongue on my balls until I was so stiff I could burst at any moment.  We kissed again, after he crawled on top of me, and I spread my legs around his waist.  He taunted my hole with the head of his prick until I begged him to plunge inside.  Handing him a condom and bottle of gel from my bedside table drawer, I sniffed under Lucas's arm as he prepared for our bodies to join together. 

"Whoa, slow down, tiger!" I said, as he pushed in and immediately filled me to the brink.

Lucas's thrusts gradually extended as my body adjusted to his size and shape.  I held onto his back and got lost in our hypnotic kissing, crying out at times from the power of his thrusts.  Lucas paid close attention to my body and discovered that the slowest and deepest thrusting turned me on the most.  He adjusted his pace and watched the pleasure expressed in waves of euphoria across my face.  Enraptured by my ecstasy, I didn't realize I was on the cliff until it was too late.  One particularly fervent thrust pushed me past the point of control and my body began quaking underneath him.  Lucas expertly rode my orgasm, synchronizing his movements with my contractions, until he, too, had sailed past the point of no return.  He hollered and then kissed me until both of our bodies stopped pulsing.

Lucas lifted his head a few inches so we could gaze at each other.  We both smiled. 

"I don't want to get up," Lucas said, his eyes flickering.

"Then stay just like this."  I reached down and squeezed his muscular buttocks.  "Remain inside me as long as you can."

"You're inviting me to stay over?"

"Please."

"Fair warning.  I'm gonna be all over you, Toby—all night long."

#

Chapter 11

Instantly, our connection proved to be certainly magical, as I'd suspected.  There was none of the awkwardness the morning after our first night together.  Lucas and I didn't play games with one another.  We told each other how we felt, texted throughout the following day, which was a Friday, then spent all of Friday night together, including a pasta dinner and numerous hours in bed.

But as inseparable as we'd become right away, I had no inkling of what Lucas was going to do on Saturday morning.  Instead of immediately beginning the coached workouts, as usual, he had every swimmer sit on the pool deck to announce changes he was making with the team, effectively immediately.  It was a brilliant stroke, eliminating any risk that he could be accused of favoritism with me or any other athlete.

Lucas recounted his decision by saying, "So, the heart of the matter is instead of me choosing who makes the Dolphins team, it will be based on your time trials, two weeks from now.  The four competitors with the best times in the backstroke, breaststroke, butterfly, individual medley, sprint freestyle, and long distance freestyle will make the team, plus two alternates, who will be chosen by their sprint times for the relay races."

The consensus among the swimmers in the locker room was that the move was fair and transparent.

Lucas took me to lunch at a nearby Greek restaurant after the workout and he was all smiles.  "I feel so much relief, Toby."

"Because you know it was the right thing to do?" I asked.

"Because now there is nothing stopping me from taking this with you—let's even use the scary word 'relationship'—as far as it can go."

"That word, at least with you, doesn't scare me one bit, coach."

#

Chapter 12

Ten weeks later

Lucas and I had stopped concealing our relationship.  Everyone on the team knew because Lucas had even disclosed it during one of our swim team meetings.  We were riding in his SUV, on the drive to our first swim meet of the season, where I was about to compete in two races—the individual medley and the backstroke leg of the medley relay.  The swim meet was in Northbury, about two hours away.

"How are we doing on time?" Lucas asked from the driver's seat, squinting to check the GPS display on his dashboard.

"We'll get there early," I said, "in plenty of time for a light lunch."

"Can I hit you with something hard during this trip?"  Lucas had a grin on his face, but he was shooting glances at me to get a read on my reaction.  "Or do I have to save it for the ride home late this afternoon?"

"Hmm.  Let me walk through this.  You're grinning, which is encouraging.  And I have no doubt whatsoever that no other two people could be getting along as well as you and me—or having as much great sex—so I'd be crazy to have any doubts about our relationship."

"So you're game to get a little heavy?"

"Sure."

"I don't care who thinks we might be jumping the gun to commit to monogamy.  But I'm ready, Toby.  My feelings for you are so intense.  I don't want anybody else.  It would destroy me to even think of another guy being inside you and making you as happy as I'm trying to make you."

I leaned over and kissed the side of Lucas's neck.  "I'm way ahead of you, coach."

"How so?"

"On my own, I committed myself to being exclusively with you the first time we spent the night together."

"You never said a word about this to me."

"I didn't think I'd have to.  I still don't.  We're meant to be together—and we both know it."

"So it's as simple as that?  I don't need to spend the next two hours convincing you of the benefits of monogamy?"

I dismissively slapped my hands together twice, a gesture evoking a baker or chef shaking off flour from his palms.  "Consider it completely done."

Lucas was beaming.  "Wow, that was easier than expected."

"It won't all be this easy.  There'll be rough patches, you know."

"Maybe not."

"Now I'm the one who sounds like a coach," I said.  "Just promise me there'll be no abrupt quitting.  No decisions made in anger.  Respect and kindness will rule every single day."

"Granted—and you can take that to the bank."

I reach behind his back and tickled the hairs at the base of his neck.  "Now I'll tell you what happened to my Power Bottom t-shirt."

"You threw it away?"

"No, a couple of weeks ago I took it to your house one night while you were making us dinner.  I snuck it into one of your drawers, tucked neatly under your boxers shorts and socks.  I didn't want it to vanish forever.  I just wanted it to be yours, symbolically.  Hidden away, you see, but all for you."

#

Author's Note

Thank you for reading "Coaching the Neighborhood."  If you enjoyed it please leave a review and consider my other books.

This is the eighth story in the Men of Rugged Heights series, featuring a range of recurring characters exploring and developing their intimacy and sexuality.  Additional books in the series include the following:

Serving the Neighborhood.  Mike, the good-looking straight guy next door, does not expect to have his desires challenged.  A successful business owner, but lonely and widowed at thirty, Mike occupies his time playing sports, drinking bourbon, reading spy novels, and watching classic movies.  Colton, a mysterious stranger, is capturing the sexual fascination of Mike's friends.  New to the suburban neighborhood, Colton is taking a break from modeling and tempting other men with exploits, no strings attached.  On the prowl, Colton makes it clear his sights are targeted on Mike.  When Mike discovers the opportunity to test his boundaries, how far will he yield to another man's touch?

Patrolling the Neighborhood.  Vance, a confident young police officer, naturally commands respect.  He is comfortable being in control of all aspects of his life.  But Vance's love life has suffered from repeated crash endings.  He now challenges himself to explore new impulses, including his sometimes intense attractions to other virile men. 

Daring the Neighborhood.  Neighborhood men getting together for a game of night basketball expect just another friendly competition.  Nude modeling is the furthest thing from their minds.  But amidst all of the bravado and trash talking, one player proposes raising the stakes.  His dare is simple.  The winning team splits a cooler full of beer, while the losing teammates pose in the buff for his "Masculinity and Tenderness" fine art painting series.

Prowling the Neighborhood.  A mystery man is anonymously hooking up with the neighborhood's hot new security guard while he's on duty.  Vance, a young cop, is lured by a friend to help discover the secret man's identity.  But all the spying, prowling, and hiding could lead to trouble.  Or it could lead to a unique opportunity for Vance to further explore his own avid desires.

Welcoming the Neighborhood.  Who will be the last hunk to leave the housewarming party?  Darryl, enjoying success in his career, just purchased a magnificent home in Rugged Heights. But he's new to town and eager for companionship.  Darryl has casually begun playing night basketball with some guys in his neighborhood. He is captivated by these stunning men and desperately wants to get to know them better.  Acting on a tip from a lonely hearts article on a gay web site, Darryl decides to host a housewarming party and invite his neighbors. Though worried no one will show up, he's advised to stay positive and take particular note of the last guy to leave his party.  That's the one, as the adage goes, who holds the promise to a new beginning.

Scorching the Neighborhood.  Who's writing and posting the uninhibited thirst letters about the fire captain?  Julian, the captain, is only days away from the auction block.  He's agreed to headline a bachelor auction to raise money for charity at the annual Rugged Heights neighborhood fundraiser.  Consumed by his prestigious firefighting leadership position, Julian is oblivious that anyone passionately yearns for him until the first note—a secret crush letter—is anonymously posted on a park clubhouse bulletin board.  Shocked by the public expressions of frenzied infatuation, he digs deeper.  Is this a joke?  An old flame making a new play for him?  Or is it just someone's clever attempt to intensify a bidding war for him at the charity benefit? 

Tempting the Neighborhood.  It was only supposed to happen once... The rumor going around the neighborhood is that a certain brawny handyman fixes more than just leaky pipes and broken windows. Close friends Eddie and Hercules, attractive twenty-somethings on the prowl for some fun, flirt with the idea of requesting a special house call. Neither had dreamed of hiring someone for a good time, but curiosity gets the best of Eddie. He decides to give the handyman a shot, just once, to see what all the fuss is really about.

For updates on new releases and book specials, please join my mailing list at JaylenFlorian.com.

Best wishes, and I appreciate your support,

Jay

––––––––

MORE NOVELLAS, NOVELS, short stories, and bundles by Jaylen Florian include:

Antonio's Mask

Arousing Euphoria: Rugby Team Bundle

Baseball Star's Gift

Cobra De Capello

Covet

Garage

Ghost Town

Guarding His Fortunes

Guarding His Jewels

Hollywood Tease

Lured

Macho

Straight Taste: Gay Book Bundle

Thirst

Uncovering Machismo

Untame

Uplifting Sports Romance: College Gay Bundle