Date: Tue, 8 Feb 2011 21:36:53 +0000
From: Anton Eckhoff <anton.eckhoff@googlemail.com>
Subject: SYNCHRONISED DIVING

This story involves `adult' subject matter between two lads in their late
teens ... so I guess that means you're not supposed to read this if you're
under 18; but really if you are younger than that, I can't stop you. Just
Don't Get Caught!

Send me your thoughts and comments: Anton.Eckhoff@googlemail.com I would
really love to hear from you.

Just so you know up front, the sex does not come until later in this story;
but I promise you that it's there and that you will like it. Well, I guess
I can't promise that you will like it; but I promise that I like it and
think it is worth the read. I'll leave you to make up your own mind.


Before we begin I think it's important to make one thing clear: I have
always assumed I was straight. I just thought: 'I like having sex with
women, I like how they feel, I like how they smell; how could I be gay?' At
the same time, I have always been acutely aware of how attractive guys are.
I see guys and I think 'wow, look at how confidently he walks, look at his
bulging muscles, when he smiles it looks like his face is glowing.' But I
never really thought that meant I was gay. If anything, I just thought
maybe I was more open-minded than most people and could appreciate beauty
in any form.

It is with this mindset that I knew that Haydn was beautiful. I've known
him for almost as long as I can remember. His family lives next to my aunt
and uncle in California and we have gone to stay with them almost every
summer. Our aunt and uncle don't have their own kids and, consequently, we
are always welcome and nearly always spoiled rotten when we visit. Haydn is
an only child and always wanted siblings, so it has worked out well. Erik,
my twin, and I go out to California for a few weeks in the summer and the 3
of us, Haydn, Erik and myself, spend the whole time together like brothers.
Haydn has taught us to surf and play volleyball and do everything else,
quintessentially, Californian. The three of us have really grown up
together, and it is special to have someone who has known you your whole
life. Haydn and myself, however, have an additional bond: diving. There are
not exactly loads of divers out there and it is always special when you
find someone who shares your love for what is a relatively esoteric sport.

We both started diving around age 10 and were about equally good. Haydn has
the perfect build for the sport: he is 1.68m tall and weighs 60kg. His
shoulders are impossibly broad but his waist is slender. His torso tapers
perfectly from his broad shoulders to his middle and extends slightly over
his hips. He is like an equilateral triangle and watching him slip
seamlessly into the water after a dive is beautiful. I am not as lucky as
he is and must rely on a greater technical proficiency to score the points
that Haydn gets naturally. At 1.75m tall and 75kg, I am obviously taller
and bigger than Haydn and consequently can't get the kind of speed of
rotation that he is able to manage in the air. Because I have had to really
focus on technical perfection, I have become a good coach for kids learning
to dive, and that is what brought me to California this past summer: I was
offered a position as a dive coach at a local club.

I should point out that I use the word 'coach' quite loosely. Only being
18-years-old myself, I wasn't exactly up to the task of training future
Olympians, so by 'coach' what I mean is that I was teaching kids how to
throw themselves off springboards. Along the way, I would teach them good
techniques and basic skills; but at the end of the day, I was a glorified
child-minder -- which was alright by me. I had the chance to spend my
entire summer in California hanging out at a pool teaching kids. It
couldn't have been a better situation for me. My brother, Erik, would still
come out for a few weeks towards the end of August -- but I would be
living with my aunt and uncle for the whole summer and I was absolutely
over the moon about the arrangement.

Haydn was happy as well. He and I write emails back and forth and
occasionally talk on Skype; but the time difference can be a bit trying and
we usually just exchange emails about once a fortnight. I was really
excited to spend the entire summer with someone who has been one of my
oldest and dearest friends. Better still, Haydn would be coaching swimming
at the same pool as myself. At the time, I thought it was a bit queer that
he was not also teaching diving; but I was just excited to have such a
great opportunity that I didn't really think of much it.

Haydn, along with my aunt and uncle, met me at LAX on a Saturday Afternoon
in June. We arrived at my aunt and uncle's house at about 18.45 and my aunt
set about preparing tea. Haydn would be eating with us as his parents were
gone for the weekend and he jumped at the chance to have someone cook him
tea rather than having to whack a frozen pizza into the oven, which was
what he had planned to do.

After we ate, Haydn asked if I wanted to go to his to play playstation and,
being an 18-year-old boy, I naturally said yes. We played for about an hour
before Haydn said he was bored and wanted to do something else.

'Hey, we just got a jacuzzi last winter. You want to get a few beers and go
in?' Haydn said nonchalantly.

'Yeah, sounds ace,' I said, 'can I borrow a cozzie?'

'Seriously, Anton,' Haydn said in an indignant tone, 'how many times have I
seen you wearing a speedo, I don't think anything you have will come as a
surprise.'

I looked at him questioningly and he changed tactics.

'Besides,' he said returning to his previous nonchalant tone,' it's not
like either of us are gay and it's not like we will be able to see anything
under the bubbles anyway. Besides, it is so much more comfortable then
having your board-shorts fill with water from the jets'

I shrugged acquiescing. I wasn't really bothered. He was right, we had seen
the other wearing Speedos before and had been friends since we were little
kids - what did I care if I got in a jacuzzi naked with Haydn? And like he
said, it wasn't as if either of us were gay. I took the two bottles of beer
he offered and followed him into the backyard.

The jacuzzi was under an awning, but moon's dull glow illumined the area. I
watched as Haydn, partly in the shadows, took off his top and undid his
trousers. Effortlessly, he stepped out of them and in a deliberately slow
motion, he lowered his pants to the ground. I watched as he folded up the
clothes into a neat pile and placed them on the table. I had never really
looked at my childhood friend in a sexual way, and even then I didn't
consciously acknowledge how I pined for him.

His body was nothing but muscle covered in a taught tanned skin. Looking at
his stomach, I could not see a 6-pack per se.  I couldn't have counted
individual muscles; but what I saw was raw strength - a core that was solid
and pecs that dominated his chest. His narrow waist was more prevalent when
he was nude and I could see the deep crevasses that ran from the outside of
his hips towards his groining. His pubic hair had been trimmed and seemed
to be the only hair on his body. It was the same dark brown as the hair on
his head and his cock and balls hung below it. Since this is a true story,
I am not going to say that Haydn had a massive 8-inch cock. Haydn is a
short guy and his flaccid penis was probably about 3 inches long and I
remember thinking, at the time, that it would be about 5.5 or 6 inches when
fully erect.

'Are you just going to stand there ogling me or what, faggot?' Haydn said
jocularly.

'I'm just surprised,' I said in retort,'I didn't think your prick could
have been more than half-an-inch long.'

Haydn laughed and pressed play on the CD player and got into the jacuzzi. I
couldn't help but marvel at his muscular legs as he ascended the steps and
hoped into the water. Haydn couldn't have been more than 8% body fat and
with each step, his muscles rippled as they bore his weight. His muscular
thighs led to an arse that was pert and stuck out slightly from the rest of
his body. I started to undress, taking off my top and unbuttoning my
trousers. And then I noticed the music.

'Nat King Cole,' I said laughing, 'are you trying to seduce me, Haydn?'

Haydn was staring at me as I undressed, his keen eyes boring into me; but I
didn't think much of it. I had done the same when he undressed.

'No, I started listening to jazz and blues once you got me into it last
summer,' he said without taking his eyes off me.

'Right,' I replied, 'sure, that's likely story.'

'Fine, you've got me,' Haydn said laughing, 'this is all an elaborate
charade for me to get you into my jacuzzi so I can have my way with you.'

'I always knew you were bent as a bottle of chips,' I said as I took off my
pants, got into the water and sat across from Haydn.

I am not sure why, but all of this talk made the whole thing seem less
gay. I began to drink my beer and Haydn turned on the jets, which felt
amazing as they caressed my knackered muscles. I felt waves of relaxation
sweep over my body as the warm water churned around me.

'But seriously, I really have gotten into jazz since last summer. Nat King
Cole is my favourite,' Haydn said.

'He's my favourite too,' I said.

'I know.'

As we talked, I found myself staring across the steam which rose from the
hot water and looking into Haydn's honey-coloured eyes.  I had never really
noticed the symmetry of his face before, but the angles of his jawline the
edges made for a striking look. He had small ears which stood out ever so
slightly from the side of his face. His eyes had a strange angularity to
them. I came to realise that there were no curves on his face at all,
everything was ridged and straight. It made him look strong and dignified,
as if his face had been made by a chiseller's hand. I suppose his only flaw
was then when he smiled, there was a cute gap between his front teeth.
There was once an ideal in art that all paintings and sculptures had to
have some flaw, something that kept them from perfection, because only God
created perfect things. That fact just floated into my mind as I gazed into
his face. I had never really thought much about it before, but Haydn was
really beautiful and his beauty dwarfed that of all the sculptures I had
seen of Greek Gods carved into marble. Haydn had the kind of look that
inspired artist to create; he was something special.

'Hey,' Haydn said, 'let me take a look at your wrist. I forgot to ask
earlier.'

About 7 months ago had a bad dive off the springboard and my right wrist
had slammed into the edge of the board. Somehow I managed to get just the
wrong angle and the metal cut clear through to my bone, slicing a tendon. I
had had surgery, which left me with a scar that looked like a large 'L' on
the top of my wrist right behind the spot were my ulna sticks up. I was
really gutted when it happened, I don't really like scars -- they usually
remind me of the stupid things I do.

Haydn moved next to me in the jacuzzi and I became acutely aware that our
naked legs were touching. Involuntarily, my heart seemed to beat faster. I
extended my arm and he gently traced the 'L' with his wet finger. His
smooth touch felt strange and I couldn't explain it. The meaningless
gesture somehow felt intimate, like a lover running his fingers through his
partner's hair. But this shouldn't have felt like that. It was just a
friend moving his finger over a line on my wrist. But my arm went limp and
a prickling feeling radiated from his gentle touch and travelled from my
wrist, over my forearm, around my elbow, up my arm and into my heart.

'That's a pretty nasty cut,' he said as he continued to stroke the line
with his wet finger, 'but I'm surprised the scar is so faint.'

'Yeah, I am really lucky,' I said, 'I've used this stuff called Crème de la
Mer. It's quite dear; but I think it really made a huge difference.'

Haydn stopped stroking the long scar and moved my wrist closer to his face
so he could see it clearer. My heart began to flutter when I was overtaken
with the desire to have him kiss my injury like you would do with a child.

'That's cool,' he said releasing my arm.

We sat there with our legs touching and the jets rubbing our backs for a
few minutes without speaking.

'Hey you want to try something really cool?' Haydn asked.

'Yeah, sure.'

'Turn around and hold the underside of your dick against the jet.'

'No way.'

'No, try it. Trust me it feels awesome.'

Haydn turned around and whist I couldn't see through the bubbles in the
water, I could tell from the way he held his shoulders and the position of
his arm that he was holding his cock up against the jet of water. I did the
same.

'Wow, that's brilliant,' I said.

'I know, right?' Haydn said smiling.

The feeling was overpowering, it was the most intense pleasure I had ever
felt. I've had sex before; but this was such a different sensation. It was
an intense, focused and mechanised pleasure -- the likes of which I had
never even imagined. As I was bombarded by the water, feelings of sexual
gratification swept over me, almost too rapidly for me to register them.

'This is amazing,' I said, 'but I need to stop or I am going to cum in your
effing jacuzzi.'

'It's cool, you don't need to stop half-way through,' Haydn said placing
his strong hand in the small of my back.

He held me firmly against the resistance of the water. I could feel my eyes
practically rolling back in their sockets as the thralls of an orgasm swept
over my body. If I had not already been on my knees, I might have fallen
over. I had never had a mechanically induced orgasm before and the powerful
feeling left me woozy.

'Fuck,' I said contentedly.

Only then did I fully realise that Haydn had been touching me the whole
time. I had actually had physical contact with him when I came. The feeling
was confusing, but somehow made it all the more erotic. I realised that he
had cum as well and the two of us returned to our seated position as the
jets mixed and churned our cum around us in the hot water.

'What did I tell you,' Haydn said.

* * *

The next few weeks were marvellous.  I loved my job, coaching the kids, and
I got to spend loads of time with Haydn. We spent nearly every night
together going out with Haydn's mates and the other lads who were coaches
at the summer camp. The nights we didn't go out we stayed at each other's
houses. We never went nude in the jacuzzi again, somehow it lost its
intimacy once Haydn's parents were back on the house, but we had great
conversations.  It was amazing, Haydn and I could talk all night about
nothing and it was so much fun. I had never had that kind of bond with
anyone (besides my brother) before. It was something really special.

After I had dismissed my class after a long day's training I found myself
waiting for Haydn to finish with his kids. He was a really gifted coach who
inspired his kids to push themselves. It was amazing to see them
continually setting personal bests and developing new strokes. It was a
real credit to Haydn that he was able to get so much out of them. Finally I
heard a chorus of 'thank you, Coach Jones' and 'see you on Monday'. The
kids all walked off to meet their parents and Haydn walked over to me and
sat down next to me on the bench.

'I can't believe you make them call you "Coach Jones,"' I said.

'It's about respect, you have to have them respecting you.'

'No, you just have to act all superior because it gives you an ego trip,' I
retorted.

'Well, that too. But you can't argue with success.'

'My kids have been developing well and they actually like me.'

'Just because the kids like you doesn't mean you are a good coach,' he said
glibly.

'Yeah, I guess you are right.'

'But you are.'

'Huh?'

'You are are good coach, Anton. The kids worship you and they do well. In
fact, I think they push themselves because they want to impress you and
make you proud of them. You're amazing like that.'

'Thanks,' I said, 'that means a lot to me.'

We sat in the bench and watched as the kids left. We were both knackered.
It had been a long week and it was physically tiring work. My arms were
sore from hoisting kids up on the rigging for the dry-land training and
Haydn had swam countless metres showing the kids how to do perfect
strokes. I don't know any other coaches who spend as much time in the water
as he does. I takes a real passion and dedication.

'Haydn,' I said, 'you know, I never asked you: why aren't you coaching
diving? I mean you are a brilliant swim coach; but you're a world-class
diver -- surely you would have preferred to have my job.'

I had some trepidation broaching the subject of our employment. For all I
knew, he had wanted to coach diving; but had lost out when they offered the
position to me. I hadn't planed on asking him; but the curiosity was
killing me.

'I applied to coach swimming instead,' he said.

'Yeah, I reckoned; but why?'

Haydn's honey-coloured eyes drifted up to the 10m board and then,
shrugging, said: 'I havn't dived in 6 months.'

'What?' I said, 'you're having a laugh.'

But, instantly, I knew it to be true. As part of the coaching staff, we
were allowed to train at the pool before and after the kids arrived. I came
4 day's a week before the kids for my own training sessions. In fact, part
of my remuneration package included training with one of the senior coaches
one day a week (which is why Haydn was paid more money than I was). My
coach back home would have been furious if I took off to California for the
summer and completely neglected my training. But Haydn never trained. I
reckoned that he was just too tired for swimming with the kids and I didn't
think his training was really any of my business so I never inquired.

'Yeah,' he said, looking at the ground, 'I had a really bad dive off the10
and haven't gone up there again. I just freeze. You don't understand. It
was the worst pain I have ever been in and I am, well, I am just scared it
will happen again.'

I didn't know what to say. Obviously this had been brewing up inside of
Haydn for sometime and he was ashamed to tell me; but I could tell it must
have been a relief for him to finally get it off his chest. He looked close
to tears. I don't think he would have admitted to anyone else that he was
scared.

It was a common enough story. I had a friend who went blind for 3 days
after a botched dive from the 10. You have to understand that diving from
10 metres in the air is like jumping from a 3 storey building -- when
something goes wrong it really goes wrong. And whist I have dived from that
height, I specialise in the springboard and Haydn was right: I didn't know
what it was like. I had certainly had my share of injuries; but nothing
like what he had experienced.

I didn't know what to say, so for a while I didn't say anything. It was
easy enough to understand where he was coming from. Like me, he was
18-years-old and right on the cusp of real sporting success; but unlikely
to cross the threshold. We had both competed in international competitions
and all; but neither of us were going to make an Olympic squad. Sure, we
represented our respective countries all over the world; but there is a big
step between international athlete and Olympian. It was easy to stop where
he was. I could understand. To be honest, I could understand my quitting
under those circumstances; but I couldn't see him quitting. Haydn is not a
person who is easily defeated; and it was strange to see him giving up.

'I understand,' I finally said.

I wrapped me arm around his shoulders. By now all of the kids had gone home
and we were alone in the pool area.

'It has happened to loads of people I know,' I said. 'Both Tom Daley and
Leon Taylor were out of commission for almost a year after they duffed
dives. Tom almost quit diving all together when he was like 11 or 12. And
Tom's younger brother, Ben, did quit. People think Ben might have been ever
better than Tom if he had stuck with it. But he stopped for the same reason
you have.'

'I know what you are trying to say. But trust me; I've thought about it and
I think I am just over it.'

'Oh,' I said, 'well, that's bullshit.'

'What?'

'Before you told me you were scared. I believe that. But when you say that
"you are over it" I know you are either lying to me, or you are lying to
yourself.'

'Well, I'm 18, I think I would rather just go to uni and have diving be
something I used to do. I've got great memories; but I am just going to
grow up. It's not exactly a sport you can do forever anyway. You don't see
pensioners jumping from three storey buildings.'

'Well, sometimes they do, the sad ones at least,' I said.

'Oh, good, a suicide joke. That's tasteful, Anton,' Haydn teased.

'You know, it's only 1.7 seconds that you are actually falling. It isn't
that bad.'

'That's not really a very comforting thought,' Haydn said.

'Yeah. I don't think you should give up though.'

'I haven't given up, I am quitting a sport that is for people younger than
me.'

'No, that's where you're wrong. Quitting means you wouldn't compete any
more. Giving up means you wouldn't dive any more. You are quitting and
you're giving up. It makes sense if you want to quit; but, for what it's
worth, I don't think you should give up diving.'

'Maybe you're right.'

'If you want, I'll help you get back up there.'

Haydn looked at me. His honey-coloured eyes staring into me. He saw my
sincerity and I think, on some level, he saw how deeply I cared for him.

'Besides,' I said, 'you're the one who thinks I'm an awesome coach.'

* * *

(If this were a film, this is where the training montage would go; but
since it isn't you're just going to have to use your imagination. )

* * *

We trained everyday after work for a fortnight. It wasn't easy getting over
Haydn's mental block. Incrementally we built up, first from the 1 then the
7.5 and finally he was jumping off the 10 metre board. But there is a big
difference between jumping off a platform and diving. Anyone can jump from
a great height; but Haydn is a diver -- and that is different.

The day finally came when we thought that Haydn was ready to take the leap.
We had decided that he would do a 203C -- a back one-and-a-half
somersaults with tuck. It is a simple dive; but if Haydn could do it we
knew that it would be a huge step for him. Before he would do it, he wanted
to watch me one more time. Watching someone else helps a diver to visualise
what they will be done, so I ascended the stairs whist Haydn looked on from
the pool deck below.

I looked down from over the side of the platform and could see Haydn, a
small speck 10 metres below me. From this height you can't see any details,
and frankly it is a bit terrifying; you really have to be a bit mad to jump
from that high. As I said, Haydn would be doing a 203C. The 2 meant that
the dive began by turning your back to the water. I decided this would be
better because it meant Haydn wouldn't have to look down. I pivoted on the
balls of my feet and extended my arms making myself look like a lower-case
't'. With my back to the water, and my eyes focused on the wall in front of
me, I prepared for the dive.

I took a deep breath and slowly counted to three. The motion comes from
your hips as much as anything else. The strong muscles of my lower body
tightened and contracted. My thighs tensed, then my calves and finally
through my feet I pushed off and could feel the air embrace my lithe body
as I committed myself to the dive. It's all so fast, the world just blurs
around you as you fall to the water.

The 3 in the dive number signifies the number of half somersaults and the
world spun around me as I did a full somersault and a half, and finally
pulled my body into a tight ball -- my arms wrapping around my shins in a
perfect tuck. The tuck is the simplest position.

Finally, I broke from the spinning, opened up my body, extended my arms and
cut through the water -- first my hands breaking the surface, then my
head and shoulders and finally my lean body until I sank into the dark
depths of the pool. Underwater, I swam to the side and pushed myself out.
My muscles tensed and water cascaded down my body, finding the groves and
crevasses of my muscles to rush down. I shook my head and the water leapt
from my dark blonde hair. I turned and smiled at Haydn as if to say: 'see,
it's not that hard'.

It wasn't hard. The dive is often preformed on a springboard. It was the
perfect thing to break Haydn's phobia and I knew he could do it. Haydn knew
he could do it too; but fear still held a paralysing grip on him.

When I walked over to him, his face was oddly expressionless. His usual
charismatic smile was absent from his lips and his normally tanned skin
seemed to be of a strange and sickly pallor. He was scared; but I didn't
know what else I could do for him. I had done all that I could think of,
this was the next and only remaining step. I was afraid that if Haydn
didn't dive today, he never would.

He was only wearing his speedo. But despite the cloud of fear which
shrouded him, Haydn was still striking. He shoulders were broad and his
arms defined: his biceps bulged out and his triceps formed a deep chasms in
his arms. His hand laid open on his muscular leg with his palm facing up
and his forearm rested on the deeply defined thighs. I didn't say anything
when I sat down and, following his line of vision, I could see he was
starring up at the platform that rose 10 metres above the pool.

I don't know what compelled me to do it; but I slowly began to trace the
veins of his forearm with my finger. I started at his wrist and followed
the first with a wet finger up to his elbow. Then I went to the next and
following it down to his wrist. His skin felt hard and firm under my
finger. Finally he looked at me and I continued to trace the veins.

'You can do this,' I said gazing into his fierce brown eyes.

'Can I?'

'I know you can,' I said and stopped tracing. I was looking back into his
eyes; but somehow I felt like he was looking into me. It was like he was
seeing past the tissue of my eyes, through my blood and into my mind. It
felt odd and foreign to have him in my head like that, but I couldn't look
away. Thankfully, he did breaking the spell and returning his gaze to the
platform.

'Why do you swim underwater after your dives?'

'What,' I asked confused by his question.

'Everyone else I know surfaces after they dive and then swims on-top of the
water and to the side of the pool. You don't -- you stay underwater and
come up at the side. Why do you do that?'

'Oh,' I said laughing, 'that's because I can't swim with my head above
water.'

'What, you're taking the micky.'

'No, really,' I said, 'I can't and never have been able to. I think my head
is oddly buoyant.'

'That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.'

'No dumber than a high-diver who teaches swimming.'

'Touché'

'I can't even do a flip turn,' I said, afraid that my last jib might have
been a bit too cruel and tried to turn the attention back to my own
ineptitude.

'I can teach you that,' Haydn said, 'you can't be that useless'.

'Okay,' I said laughing, 'I'll let you teach me how to do a flip turn if
you dive today.'

Haydn thought about it. I could tell from the way he crinkled his brow that
he too realised that if he didn't do it today, he wouldn't ever do it. I
had never seen him engulfed in such rapturous concentration and thought.

'Want to try in synco?' he asked, seeming to suggest a compromise.

A synchronised dive is when two divers execute the same dive at the same
time.

'You know I will always be there for you, Haydn,' I said hitting him on the
back.

He looked at the board, took a deep breath and said: 'let's do it.'

During the long climb up the stairs Haydn's confidence didn't seem to
weaver, even when we reached the top. He smiled nervously as we walked out
to the end of the platform and put our backs to the water. He had a
determination in his eyes that I hadn't seen for a long time. He was ready,
and he knew it now.

'I'll count it off,' I said.

Haydn nodded giving his silent consent.

'3, 2, 1 -- go' and we did.

We both jumped into the air, did our somersaults, went into our tucks and
cut into the water at the exact same moment. It was brilliant. We met at
the side of the pool, the two us us beaming in triumph. It was over in
seconds; Haydn had done it, he had overcome his fear. I was elated and I
don't know if I have ever seen Haydn looking happier than he did in that
moment.

I was taken totally by surprise when he wrapped his muscular arms around my
shoulders and pressed his lips to mine passionately kissing me at the side
of the pool. My head spun more in that moment then it had when I was
flipping through the air. I was overcome with feelings, but I wasn't able
to register them. I let go of the pool's edge and felt myself sinking.
Because Haydn's arms were holding me in a tight embrace, he too sank into
the warm water.

Before I knew it, we were completely submerged -- but our lips were still
sealed together.  Even the powerful force of the water could not break our
connection and we continued to kiss as we sank deeper and deeper. Oxygen
wasn't necessary as our breath passed from one of us to the other.

I had never kissed a guy, and had certainly never kissed anyone underwater
before. I was so confused, I didn't know what to do with my feelings -- I
didn't know what they meant. All I knew was that this was the most
passionate moment of my life, and I didn't think I could ever feel as
connected to another person as I did then in that pool. We continued to
sink and Haydn ran his fingers through my wet hair. It was a magical moment
there, underwater, where no one could see us or judge us. It was as if, for
those few brief moments, Haydn and I were the only people on earth.

As a single unit we both began to kick so that we could return to the world
above. When we broke the water, Haydn still had has strong arms around my
torso. I looked deep into his honey-brown eyes and was utterly speechless.

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I don't know why I did that. I'm just so happy.'

'It's okay I said,' the spell broken, 'if it happens underwater it isn't
gay. Everyone knows that.'

It seemed like a logical rule and, frankly, I didn't know what to say and
was lucky my words formed a coherent sentence. I didn't know how I felt. It
was clear that in a moment of passion -- Haydn had been overcome. At
least that's what I convinced; but looking back on it now, I know that was
the moment I fell for him. I had no idea at the time that I had just forged
the most significant bond I would have have. It was in that fleeting moment
that everything changed; but I didn't even know it.

'I can't thank you enough for helping me. I never could have done it
without you.'

'Well, that's true' I said pushing my body out of the water, 'now you need
to do it on your own. Go up there, and I'll watch from here. I know you can
do it.'

He smiled and in one smooth motion pushed his muscular torso out of the
water and, without breaking his stride, walked to the stairs and climbed to
the highest board. I watched him as he went. My mind of writhed in
confusion. What had just happened? I was so distracted that I didn't even
realise that Haydn had dove until I heard the splash of the water. I looked
over and saw him clamouring out of the pool. He sat next to me beaming.

'I reckon I could do it a million more times,' he said.

'I know,' I said, full of pride.

'Well, now all that is left is to teach you a flip turn.'

'Well, let's do it tomorrow night, okay? I think we have had enough
excitement for one day.'

'As you wish, coach,' Haydn said, 'let's get our stuff. We're going out for
Mexican.'

Mexican was my favourite food and I knew this was my reward for helping
him, but Haydn's kiss still lingered on my lips and even the promise of
chips and salsa could not distract me from the conflicting feels that began
to simmer and bubble inside of me. In my imagination, I could still feel he
ran his fingers through my hair. I tried to suppress the feelings as we
left -- but I just couldn't shake it. Somewhere, part of my mind had
become cognisant of my burgeoning feeling; even if they had yet to truly
manifest.

* * *

After all of the kids and other coaches had gone home for the day, Haydn
and I found ourselves in the pool practising flip turns -- which are the
quick turns swimmers make when doing laps in the pool. I was really just
humouring Haydn as I had no interest at all in learning this skill. I hate
swimming and never do it, so for me, perfecting the flip turn ranks down
with learning to preform oral surgery on your own teeth; but I wanted to be
a good friend so I went along with it.

We started by practising the turns from a standing position. The water came
up to my waist and Haydn had me bend down so that my back was level with
the water and my chin was tucked into my chest. Then he moved his strong
hands over my back and pushed down, guiding me in the underwater flip. We
did that a few times and finally went to the wall to practise kicking
off. He told me to put my hands flat on the deck on the pool, like I was
going to push myself out of the water and he stood behind me.

He placed his hands on my shoulders and then slowly moved them down,
feeling the deep contours of my biceps and forearms. I continued to look
forward and I could feel his breath on the back on my neck which was warm
and moist when it tickled my skin.

'I'll stop if you ask me to,' he said in a hushed whisper, 'but no one will
ever have to know.'

I didn't really understand what he meant until I felt his hands caressing
my chest. With his fingers he explored my pecs and pressed the palms of his
hands against my muscles and then squeezed my nipples between his fingers.
I inhaled quickly when he pulled at the sensitive skin responding to his
touch. I couldn't speak as his wet fingers moved down my torso and slipped
underwater. I could feel him exploring my abs, moving his hands up and down
them -- feeling every groove, every contour, every hard ridge of my body.

No one had ever touched me like this before and the pleasure was palpable.
He pulled me closer to him and I could feel his throbbing shaft through the
thin material of our Speedos. The slow sensation of his gentle caress of my
stomach sent feelings of immense pleasure through my body. I lifted my head
back in ecstasy and Haydn put his teeth into the tender flesh of my
earlobe, which he began to suck and flick with his big, wet tongue.

His hands were slowly moving all over my torso. They started from my abs
and slowly moved up to my chest, lingering on my pecks, nipples and
collarbone. One of his hands gently wrapped around my throat and the
strange sensation of his touch on my neck was indescribable. His nimble
fingers moved up to my jawline until they found my other earlobe. He
squeezed the lose skin of my ear between his fingers without stopping his
sucking the other earlobe.

His free hand moved down my body from my collarbone, over my erect nipples
and passed my protuberant abs until his fingers found the mass that
throbbed and pulled against the tight fabric of my Speedo. Holding his palm
flat against my groin he moved his hand further down my leg and over my
shaft -- stroking it through the tight material. His fingers curved
inwards to grasp my bollocks as he continued to stimulate me through the
wet cozzie.

'I swear I won't tell anyone,' he whispered into my ear, 'please don't make
me stop.'

I couldn't say anything and Haydn took my silence as acquiescing and slowly
slipped his hand inside of my Speedo. With his fingers in my cozzie, he
began to stroke my shaft. He started from the base and began to explore me,
millimetre by millimetre all-the-while I felt his hot breath against the
side of my face.

Whist he stroked my cock, he slowly brought his other hand down and over my
body, which now quivered at his gentle touch. With both hands at my waist,
he pulled down the Speedo and I felt the warm water freely envelop my
cock. His body was no longer pressed up against mine and I found a strange
freedom standing totally exposed in the pool with the water flowing around
me.

He stroked my shaft at an agonisingly show pace. I longed for a release and
closed my eyes as I felt one of Haydn's hands around my bollocks and play
with each testicle. Then he let go of my balls and I could feel his hand,
underneath the water, as it moved across my thigh and around to my bum. His
fingers played with my cheeks and whist his other hand slid up and down my
shaft, I felt him push a finger inside of me. I inhaled deeply, surprised
to be digitally penetrated, and my muscles tightened around the finger
which, instead of being pushed in and pulled out of me, moved in an ever
expending circle sending feelings of elation all over my body. My head was
spinning. The rhythmic stroking of my prick coupled with the circular
motions of his finger was the most intense feeling I had ever had. I felt
my own panting breath rise in my throat and I could hear my moans echo in
my ears.

Haydn pulled out his finger and I felt his hand return to my stomach. He
kissed my neck with his moist lips and he tenderly sucked and bit at my
skin. I could feel his body pressed up against mine as he took his hand off
my tight abs. Then I felt a tremendous pressure, like water against a dam
before it cracks. And then he entered me, his penis passing inside of me as
my muscles fought to repel him. But with constant pressure he continued to
go deeper and deeper until I could feel his hips against my bum.

He took his hand off of my hard pan handle and wrapped both his arms around
my torso as he began to thrust in and out of me. I could feel the pressure
of his strong arms clinging to me, squeezing me as if he was trying to
force us to share the same space -- to make our bodies merge into a
single being. He stopped sucking on my neck and placed his head on my
shoulder. I felt the side of his face pressed up against mine and his
panting reverberated in my ears. His breath became the metronome for his
thrusts and pulls. Exhale -- push. Inhale -- pull. Exhale -- push.
Inhale -- pull. Exhale -- push. Inhale -- pull. Exhale -- push.
Inhale -- pull. Over and over. His forcefulness cut through me.  The
feeling rocked my spine. My core seemed to shake lose and I was nothing but
putty held upright by his strong arms.

The water eased his entry. He slid inside of me and pulled out slowly at
first but built up faster and faster. His moans rang in my ears as he
pushed his entire manhood inside of me. When passion overtook me, I felt my
body go stiff and every muscle tensed as my orgasm swept through me like
the warm water that lapped against us. My hands were still grasping the
pool deck and with Haydn's arms wrapped around my torso my penis freely
twitched and spasmed as it released jet after jet of cum into the pool. I
screamed in unmitigated pleasure and joy and I felt Haydn's body go hard
behind me while his cock pulsated from within me.

Haydn fell forward and I was unable to support his weight. I felt the cold
pool deck as it made contact with my chest knocking the wind out of me. I
looked to see blood emerging in a thin line under Haydn's right eye. His
face had hit the side of the concrete pool deck.

'Fuck, you're bleeding,' I said.

Haydn didn't say anything -- he just looked back at me.

'Tilt your head back,' I said.

I turned Haydn so that his back was against the side of the pool and his
head rested on-top of the pool deck. I stood in front of him and pulled up
my Speedo as I looked at the gash.

'You're going to need sutures, mate', I said.

'Shit.'

'Wait here,' I said as I pushed myself out of the pool and went to my bag
to get a towel.

I returned and pushed the towel against the wound. Haydn got out of the
water and sat on the side of the pool with his legs dangling. He had
obviously pulled up his cozzie whist I was rummaging through my bag.

'Come on, I'll drive you to hospital, you git,' I said.

* * *

I was looking at the white walls of the A&E whist Haydn, with his head
tilted backwards, held the towel to his face. I am sure we were quite a
sight. Because of all the bleeding Haydn hadn't bothered to put his shirt
on so he sat there topless, looking like a wounded bear.

I took the mickey because he hit the pool deck with his face and he tried
to come up with clever retorts. It was clearly just as he had promised: no
one would ever know. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. I guess the abrupt
and unexpected end had eliminated any awkwardness. But it felt strange.
Haydn and I had been friends for so long, and while we had become very
close over the last month, if was difficult for me to try to redefine our
relationship. I wasn't even sure what our relationship had become or if it
was, in fact, exactly the same.

I'm an organised person. If you looked at my room, you would see that there
is a place for everything and everything is in its place. I want everything
to be easily sorted. Up until now, I had never really had a problem
understanding and categorising my feelings. I knew that physically I was
attracted to Haydn, but that was honestly the extent of it. I never really
thought about actually being being with him and I didn't think he felt
differently. As far as I knew, or thought, Haydn was straight and if today
proved anything; it was that Haydn's a horny 18-year-old guy. I found it
exceptionally difficult to understand my feelings towards him.

We continued to talk about nothing at all while we waited for Haydn's name
to be called.

'You know, it probably won't be until after half-seven that we get out of
here,' I said, 'I'm thinking In and Out Burger for dinner, what do you
think?'

'Yeah, that would be good,' Haydn said without giving it much thought.
Looking back on it, I didn't really think he had been listening to be at
all for the last hour.

'Cool,' I said.

'You know, this didn't exactly go to plan,' he said, probably more to
himself than to me.

'What, you mean the sex bit or the hitting your face bit?' I asked
jocularly.

Haydn didn't reply, he just just looked away but didn't seem see anything
in front of him. In that instant it all became clear as the pieces all fell
into place and I confronted my own naivety. I realised what an idiot I
was. I had been so focused on my own feelings that I never thought to think
about this from Haydn's point-of-view. To me, Haydn had been an unchanging
entity from my life. He was like an annual visit to your favourite coastal
village: you know it well, you know where the shops are, you know the best
places to eat and where you like to go on a Saturday night; but summer
after summer, year after year, the place is always the same. No matter how
many times you visit it, it remains and even though you grow and change
every year, the village is the same. Haydn was my summer village and I
never thought to think about him being a person who, just like me, changed
with time.

This hadn't been the random act of a horny teenager, Haydn planed
this. Haydn wanted me and I didn't realise it until that moment.

I could see it all happing in my head as I sat there in the A&E imagining
it. An image crystallised my my mind and I saw Haydn planning it all;
thinking about how it might work. I could vividly imagine Haydn lying in
his bed at night. There is a picture of the two of us at the FINA World
Championships in Rome on his night-stand. We have our arms over each
other's shoulders and the hot Italian sun makes our wet bodies
glisten. Haydn's eyes fall on the photo and he looks at it, smiling as we
remembers the time we have spent together. Still looking at the photo, he
pushes down the duvet to reveal his hard and lean torso. Slowly he moves
his fingers across his chest exploring his own skin. He breathes in sharply
as he pinches and pulls at his erect nipples.

In Haydn's mind, he sees images of me floating across the vast recesses of
his imagination. He is imagining what it would be like to be with me, to
hold me and have me as his own. He smilies as he grabs me by the hand,
pulling me over to him in a much practised motion. I come to him and he
presses his lips to mine, his tongue slipping into my warm mouth. He licks
my lips, my gums, runs his wet tongue over my teeth and presses it against
my tongue which tries to wrap around his. His fingers move through my hair
pulling gently as his nails massage my scalp.

I pictured Haydn having pulled down his pants and caressing his bollocks
with both of his strong hands. He spreads his legs and slowly inserts his
middle finger into his arse. He can feel the muscles tighten around the
probing digit and the heat of his insides. It is so hot and moist inside
himself. He pushes his finger deeper, up to the knuckle, and begins to
slowly pull at his bell-end. He makes his hand into a fist and moves it
over the very tip of his cock sending shots of electricity down his rod,
through his body and out his feet, which covered by the warm duvet. He
keeps pulling and tugging at his head whist his finger moves in slow
circles inside his arse.

As the waves of pleasure wash over him, he tries to construct a plan in his
mind. A plan that will turn his dreams into a reality -- a way for him to
get the person he has lusted after; the boy who has cast a spell over him
and controls his dreams. The boy who lives in his heart.

Haydn sees the pool in his head. He pictures me standing in front of him,
my arms braced against the pool deck and my legs splayed. As he runs his
hands up and down my toned chest and presses his lips to my throat, he can
feel my heartbeat and he kisses my neck. He has longed for this intimacy
-- it has become his favourite fantasy and is almost an obsession. His
greatest fear is that I will rebuff his advances and he whispers
reassurances into my ear.

Back in his room he wonders if I can be so easily pacified and my worries
so simply assuaged. Haydn is reassured, thinking about how I watched him
undress that first night in his jacuzzi.

'He at least seemed interested,' Haydn thought as he retrieved the xy gel
from his night stand.

Haydn had no real reason to think I was gay, or even attracted to him, but
he held onto the hope that I might be -- or that at least I might want to
be with him. That thin shred of hope has provided fodder for his fantasies
for the last two years. After he finally admitted to himself that he was
gay and lusted for the Scottish boy who had been his friend for as long as
he could remember, these dreams about how it could all come together
bombarded his thoughts. He had dismissed various plans and ideas -- but
prayed that this one might work.

I pictured him squeezing the lube onto his hard cock and then gliding his
hand up and down the shaft filling the room with the wet sounds of his
wanking. He turned his palm so that it faced him and squeezed up the length
of his hard prick. He cupped his fist as it passed over the purple ridge
and over the head of his penis. Then he turned his hand so his fingers
faced him as he pulled down on the shaft reached the base where he turned
his grip and repeated the process. He closed his eyes and imagined what it
would be like to push his hard cock inside of me.

Haydn imagined that it would be easier because of the water; but that as he
slipped in and out of my arse he could still feel the heat that radiated
from within me. He pictured what it would be like to thrust in and out of
me. Waves rose in the pool and rebounded off the pool's edge 50 metres
away. The tight muscles of my virginal hole cling and hold his throbbing
member as he pulls it in and out of me filling us both with overwhelming
pleasure.

Back in Haydn's bedroom, I imagine him feeling the onslaught of his
orgasm. He felt the muscles of his thighs tighten and lifts his midsection
off the bed. His toes curl and jet after jet of warm cum lands on his
chest, one shooting with such velocity that falls on his chin. When the
pleasure subsides he lies on the bed, still and motionless, listening to
the sounds of his breathless panting. With one hand he rubs his cum over
his chest, massaging it into his skin. He pulls it off of his chin and
continues to lie in bed, starring up at the dark ceiling. He decides that
he has to give it a try, otherwise, he will never know and, as scared as he
is, not knowing is even worse than trying and failing.

Sitting in the A&E, I saw the whole scene play out in my mind. He planned
this all, and yeah, he's right: it obviously didn't go exactly to plan. But
now I felt like it was my turn. What was I going to do? Haydn was sitting
with his head tilted back to inhibit the bleeding and, without thinking, I
positioned his head so that it rested on my shoulder. I felt his hair
against my cheek. I did it without thinking, it was an action lead by my
heart and not my mind, and while I supported him I found my voice.

'Yeah, not quite to plan,' I said.

Haydn didn't say anything, but I saw as a slight smile of cognition grew
across his lips.

'I'll give you some of that Crème de la Mar stuff that I used for my wrist.
You probably won't be able to see the scar in a few months.'

'That's okay,' he said, 'I won't mind seeing it when I look in the mirror
and think about how I came to have it.'

'Well, even though it didn't go quite to plan; I think it still worked out
in the end.'

'I'm really glad to hear that,' he said and brazenly took my hand in his
and interlaced our fingers.