Swimming Lessons

Victoria barely made it to the bedroom. The door clicked shut. Her jumpsuit was half-open; her butt was on fire, and between her legs throbbed that lingering sensation from the ruler and Noah’s hand. She didn’t actually make it to the bed. His hand was already under the fabric—two fingers, firm, clumsy, without foreplay, just pressure on the exact spot that had been begging for release for ten strokes. She came quickly and silently, her face buried in the pillow, her knees drawn up, and she hated how good it felt. Afterward, she lay there for a minute, wet, red, empty, and yet still restless.

Then she got dressed again.

She hadn’t known if there were any requirements for the swimsuit. Damn. She needed a book like that, too. One of her own. Until then, she wanted to play it safe. She bought a swimsuit like the ones people would have worn in the seventies: high-necked, wide straps, modest leg cutout, fabric that wouldn’t become see-through. Along with it, a swim cap, goggles, flip-flops, and a towel big enough to get lost in. Everything in a bag that smelled of caution.

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The next morning was just like any other. Today she ran into the students in the parking lot. Victoria was wearing the long skirt, the blouse, and the open bag with her swim gear.

Noah came running up. His face was red. He was out of breath. He bumped into her as he rounded a corner. Shoulder to shoulder, bag against her ribs.

“Noah, please watch where you’re going!” They both fell to the ground. Victoria landed on her sensitive bottom and knew immediately why: a sharp, nasty burning sensation that took her breath away. The bag tipped over. Towel, cap, swimsuit, a pen...

“I’m sorry,” Noah gasped. “But I don’t want to be late.” He helped her pack everything up. His fingers too close to her towel. His face red not just from running. Then they started running again. Five minutes early. Noah quickly took his place at his desk, still out of breath, and stood up when she stepped through the door five seconds later. She’d been running, too.

“Good morning, Ms. Chapell.”

They both laughed easily because it was so funny: her out of breath, him following the rules, the greeting like a ritual that didn’t undo the fall on the gravel, but made it bearable. The class was relaxed and fun. Today’s topic was politics. Separation of powers, concise sentences, who’s allowed to do what. Then swimming. Then politics again. A crash course every day. Tomorrow it was biology’s turn.

At ten to ten, Victoria closed her book.

“Go change. Don’t dawdle. Anyone who’s late knows the consequences,” she added jokingly. She wouldn’t enforce the rule.

She recognized the locker rooms immediately—and yet didn’t. A shower area. Two entrances, women and men separated; behind them, the swimming pool—chlorine, echoes, bright light reflecting off the blue water. She changed in the women’s section. They were almost done. Swimsuits, towels, wet hair under caps. Victoria was already standing there naked.

Her own swimsuit should be in the side pocket. She’d seen it that morning. It wasn’t there. Maya fastened the last strap. “Everything okay? We have to go, or we’ll be late. And you know what happens then.”

A glance at Victoria’s butt. Still red. No longer the sharp line from the ruler, but the warmth beneath it, reminiscent of blows. “I can’t find it,” Victoria said. Her voice remained flat. “My swimsuit.”

And there was Maya again, the smart aleck who already had the rulebook in her hand, as if she’d been waiting for it in her bag. Victoria started herself, because she thought she knew the line.

“Anyone who forgets or loses their swim gear has to participate in underwear and do everything twice…”

She trailed off. Maya turned the page. “No. Not quite. Anyone who forgets their swim gear has to participate naked for hygiene reasons. And do everything twice.” Victoria stared at the page. The letters were old. The idea behind them was new.

“That can’t be right. I’m not doing that.”

“And no,” Maya said before the wish had even been spoken, “we don’t want a wish. We’re alone in the pool. The under-eighteen rule doesn’t apply here. Besides, we already saw you yesterday anyway. You’d better hurry. Two minutes left. Otherwise you’ll be late.”

Victoria came out. Naked. She’d shaved because she didn’t want any hair peeking out from under her swimsuit. A smooth, naked slit, unprotected, her labia visible, the skin there pale and sensitive. Now that slit had no fabric and no hair. Just air. Just stares.

A swim cap on her head. Nothing else. The lack of a top made her body look longer: her breasts bare, heavy, her nipples instantly hard in the cold of the pool hall. Her stomach bare. Below that, her smooth pubic area. Her still-red buttocks. Her bare legs on the wet tile floor. Maya looked at her from the side. “Nice hairstyle.”

It looked humiliating. The guys got hard right away.

Levi sat down on the bench at the edge of the pool, legs closed, but it didn’t help: his swim trunks were taut, his cock clearly visible as a thick bulge. Noah stayed standing, hands in front of his waistband, the fabric still forming an unmistakable bulge. Others turned toward the water and couldn’t look away from the sight: their teacher naked on the wet tiles, her shaved labia visible by a hair’s breadth with every step.

Victoria wanted to act cool. She held the rulebook in front of her stomach, then lower, until she realized the book was too small. Her breasts remained exposed. Her pubic area peeked out on either side of the cover.

“First,” she read hoarsely, “dives from the one-meter board. Two run-up dives, then a candle dive. Then the three-meter board. Two running jumps, then a dive. After that, swimming laps. Ten laps. Breaststroke and backstroke.”

Noah cleared his throat. “Double everything for you.”

They agreed that Victoria would do the dives twice and then swim until the end. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be enough time. The class only had to do it once.

“Ms. Chapell first,” said Maya. “Rules. Show them how it’s done.”

Victoria handed over the book. No sign. No fabric. The cap was too tight. She climbed the ladder to the one-meter board. Each rung spread her legs wider. From below, the boys saw her smooth pubic mound, her damp slit, her still-sensitive bottom, the hanging weight of her breasts when she lifted her head.

First run-up jump.

Three steps. Takeoff. Her body stretched out. For a second, she hung naked over the blue, her breasts thrust upward, her legs closed too late. The water crashed against her. When she surfaced, her hair was plastered to the cap, her nipples even harder, water running between her labia.

Second run-up jump.

This time Levi saw the moment she spread her legs very clearly. Noah’s flat nose was dark at the front from the pre-splash.

Candle dive.

Victoria jumped, pulled her knees in, rolled—butt first—her pubic area turned toward the pool edge like an indecent flag. Splash. Applause that no one called applause.

Then the ladder to the three-meter board. Higher. Colder. The class below, small and far too close. Two runs. Her body a naked arc. On the headfirst dive, her hands broke the water first, then her head, then her breasts, tightly compressed by the speed, then her hips, then the smooth cleft—a flash of skin—before the water swallowed her.

She had to do it all over again.

On the second candle dive, she slipped on the board. Her legs spread wider than planned. Someone below groaned, very quietly. Victoria hit the water at an angle, surfaced, coughed, and Maya simply said:

“That doesn’t count. Do the three-meter again. Then the laps. You’ll swim until we stop.”

Victoria Chapell nodded, naked, her hair in a cap, her pubic area unprotected, and climbed back up the ladder while twenty adult students watched from the edge of the pool and the boys could no longer hide their hard cocks.