Quicksilver

"Cool water is fine for racing," he said, "and warm water is so soothing. But water has its limit, what we call the 'prune zone'. It'll be time to dry off after a few more laps. Anyone with me?"

He pulled out of the pool, playfully resting hands on my and Leila's near shoulders, stood, and dove with an entry so clean, so quiet, barely leaving ripples.

"He used to be a competitive swimmer," I explained.

Leila, Mitzi, and I eased off our butts into the water and stroked to keep up with his easy crawl. He was not racing so I guess we were not, either. He looped around and wove a pattern between us; we copied that maneuver. This was fun!

I counted ten slow laps before Nate climbed the ladder from the pool and shook himself like a dog, water flying everywhere, his not-too-long dark hair a misty cloud, his bushy moustache dripping. Cool, I thought, and followed, flapping my adequate boobs around, shaking my shapely butt. Mitzi and Leila were out next and did the same. Nate surely enjoyed our displays.

Mitzi and Leila stretched in lounges under heat lamps. Nate eyed them before he and I went to our locker rooms. I stripped off my bikini and looked in the mirror. I posed a little. Not bad! I showered, dried, and dressed.

=====

Nate was at the front counter talking to Romero. Julia was not in sight; over in the gym proper, probably. They usually traded-off between the interior and the front door.

"First time here, huh fella?" Romero said. "You're pretty toned, don't look like you need to work off any fat. You usually busy at another gym?"

"No, I get paid to bike up steep hills. I'll just be here to swim with Lydia from time to time."

"Ah, a delivery guy, I bet. A pool-only membership is discounted. Interested? You live nearby?"

"Not really close but the City isn't very large. I'm in Noe Valley; I just have to watch for traffic. Will I join here? Depends on how much time Lydia and I spend together."

Nate touched my arm. I tried not to grin too much.

"Well, welcome to our humble establishment. Julia and I look forward to seeing you again."

"Thanks. Before we go, is there a phone I can use for a minute? Just a local call."

"There's a pay phone in the hall to the gym, but if it's local and short, you can use the business phone. In here." Romero opened the counter gate and pointed to the small office behind him.

Romero smiled at me while Nate phoned. "Think you've got a hot one, kid?" Romero looked only half of his fifty years, even with a shaved head and pencil-thin moustache.

"I sure hope so. I see him at work almost every day and we've had lunches. Nothing else except this swim, so far."

"Good luck to you. Hope to see you both again, and more, hey?" He waggled expressive eyebrows.

Nate emerged wearing a thin smile. "Got a message at home. Something's come up. I'll head back now. A day like this, I'll take the bus. Thanks for a great time, Lydia." He hugged me, not too long, not too hard.

I worried. "Nothing bad, is it?"

"No, just something I can't skip. See you Monday, probably." He squeezed me again and left.

"Not tonight, huh kid? Keep at him. You'll get your chance. Want to work out before closing?"

I considered an otherwise bleak evening. "Yes, I think I do. Gotta stay sleek."

"You're pretty damn sleek already, kid. Don't get too skinny. And starvation sucks. Add some protein powder to your smoothies. Eat more chicken and fish. Juice-up your muscles. You look great; stay there."

I undressed in the locker room again and slipped into the leotard I kept here. I sped-up the treadmill's pace. I worked heavier weights. I did extra crunches. I don't exercise at home because Figgy demands involvement, so I sweat my tits off here.

I visualized, and worked, and sweated. I knew my body could afford a Thai take-out tonight. I would not share with Figgy.

What did I visualize? Taut, naked flesh. Mine and Nate's.

I wore my leotard into the shower, soaped all over, stripped it off, soaped myself again, and rinsed well. It was Lycra; it would drip dry in my locker, ready for next time.

I know Nate's address but not his house phone. Should I ask so I can leave messages, too?

===== Sunday, week 1 =====

Today I nibbled fruits, drank wine, and painted bright acrylics of trees and sky visible through my northlight window and my crisp eyes. Those clouds looked like parts of Nate. Funny about that.

Figgy thought I was needy, or maybe he was; he barely left me alone when I was not beyond my closed studio door. Cats are telepathic. Sometimes they even care about the signals their cat-head antennas receive. I still do not entirely trust cats. Even Figgy.

===== Monday, week 2 =====

Nate came to the office this morning, wearing his usual shorts and Quicksilver tee and delivering a fat pack of dry legal papers. He smiled nicely.

"Morning, Miz Barnes. I can't dawdle, got some rush items. You have something to go, right?"

He skipped the coffee pot so he must really be in a hurry. He held my hand briefly when I passed him the package. "Thanks for Saturday. Gotta go now. See you soon." His taut, lovely legs carried him away all too quickly.

He was back that afternoon in the midst of another rush run. Another fast smile, and then gone.

===== Tuesday, week 2 =====

Anthea appeared this morning. "Is Nate on another route today?" I asked her.

"Yes ma'am, Jenkins set him up with a string of press runs, all with returns, so he'd better buy everyone at Quicksilver a couple rounds of beer after work. Pitchers of Anchor Steam for everyone, for sure! Except Dov; he only drinks Genesee Cream Ale, the pervo. Oh, excuse me, ma'am; I mean, the taste-challenged weakling." Her cute laugh rang softly.

The cause of Nate's rush last week, and today's press runs, hit the news late today. I thought it irrelevant to S&J LLC affairs, and to my life, so I only visualized his lovely legs.

After work I went home, made dinner, drank wine, smoked just a little hashish, watched something on PBS, and tried to not think about Nate. Might as well not think of an elephant. Stop that!

===== Wednesday, week 2 =====

Nate came in this morning just before noon, moving a bit slower. "Whew! That was a day!"

"Anthea said you were busy yesterday, probably made good bonuses, yes? Enough for new guitar strings?"

His eyes rolled. "She told you about that, huh? Yup, a non-stop day, hard but rewarding. Titanium strings. And today will be a lot easier."

"Can I entice you to lunch again? Wang's again, or somewhere else?" I was hopeful. I brushed his hand when he passed me a modest packet.

"Wang's sounds fine and I thank you so much, Miz Barnes." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "We're not supposed to be too familiar with clients in their facilities, Lydia." And then louder. "Let me call dispatch to make sure Jenkins has no surprises for me."

He spoke quietly on the phone and hung up, smiling. "All is well." He brought his bike inside and then held the door for me. "After you, m'lady."

I grabbed my sweater and purse. We casually walked side by side through the sidewalk crowds. I held his hand. He squeezed. I felt giddy.

=====

Another decent lunch. I risked a crab salad this time. Nate filled and refilled his large tray. He did not mention his Saturday night after we parted but regaled me with tales of biking.

"Sure, I got a 'reckless bicycling' ticket, and I really earned it, riding fast the wrong way down Montgomery Street. Didn't come close to hitting anyone, but still... If I'm not in such a hurry, I usually take a parallel alley. But hey, time is money!"

I expressed suitable concern. He swallowed a few more bites.

"Then there was the day I rolled by the downtown cable-car turntable. I'd finished deliveries so my basket was empty except for the canvas bags. A woman turned just as I rode near her. She was holding a baby, and she was startled, and she dropped the baby in my basket, cushioned by the bags."

"So you're a kidnapper? Of real kids? Was this one a keeper?" I joked.

"No, I'm not ready to be a dad yet. I rode on about another ten feet before I could spin around and return the baby. The looks on their faces!"

He sipped his iced tea. I blinked, wondered, and sipped mine.

"One time, I rode the elevator up in the Chronicle-Examiner building to take a press release right to an editor. A nicely-dressed old gent rode the lift down with me. He said his name was Hearst and I could take off for the rest of the day. I thanked him. Too bad I didn't work for him."

Between bites, he told of odd experiences at the graphics departments of the AAA auto club and the PG&E power company, and some 'eccentric' ad agencies, and how he loved going to the Hills Brothers Coffee headquarters.

"I must say, Hills has the best coffee in town, better than all the mailrooms and snooty offices — yours excepted, of course — but their tank is always replenished with fresh-roasted beans they ground only minutes before."

We finished, he bussed our trays, and we strolled back to the office, hand in hand again. I liked this. He fetched his bike, took a hurried package from Tracy, waved, and left.

=====

He was back in mid-afternoon, still relaxed. He phoned his dispatcher for instructions and looked alert but not harassed. He grabbed a small coffee. I decided to take a chance.

"Would you like another session in the gym pool after work?" I could display myself again.

He looked apologetic. "I'm really sorry but I'm already committed. My gaming circle is close to the end of a World War II tournament. I'll sing our theme song another time; it's not fit for here."

No, singing in the office would not be appropriate.

"Anyway, brainy designers call them 'conflict simulations' and they publish in Strategy & Tactics magazine, but these are still wargames, speculations, what-ifs. Vary some factors and estimate consequences without shedding blood. I like the 'not shedding blood' part.

"Chess is an abstracted wargame; these 'conflict simulations' are more applied. Hey, you're into chess, right? You'd be wicked at Panzerblitz! It's like chess on steroids."

I visualized a four-dimensional chessboard with artillery fire. Hmmm...

"But I wouldn't inflict those geeks on you. Many have weak social skills. Some are underground cartoonists, a filthy lot. Some learned wargaming in jail when they had nothing better to do. No, best you stay away."

I think I was relieved.

He looked brighter. "But ask me again tomorrow; I should be available. I'll pedal extra hard so I have more soreness to soak away in a heated pool." He finished his coffee. "Time to go. See you soon!" And he was gone.

=====

I went to the gym anyway; I needed a workout.

Romero quizzed me, "What, no hot guy tonight?"

"No, he's playing a wargame tournament with a gang of cartoonists and ex-jailbirds."

Romero blinked. "A complex guy, for sure. Is he tattooed?"

"Not that I've seen so far, but I haven't checked his ass yet."

"I know at least eleven dirty jokes that would relate. Best that I stay quiet."

"Whisper them to Julia and see how she reacts," I suggested.

"Who do you think told them to me?" he laughed.

"It figures. Anyway, he said he may swim with me tomorrow. You want to check him out in the locker room?"

"Not my style, and Julia wouldn't approve."

"That's okay, don't bother. I still have high hopes. He doesn't have L*O*V*E and H*A*T*E inscribed on his knuckles, so there's that."

"Maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe you'll see SFCC tattooed on his soft dick but when he has a hardon it says San Francisco City College. You could do worse."

"I guess that's not one of Julia's jokes you shouldn't tell me."

"Hey, I read it in Playboy, so it's almost clean."

"Save it, Romy! I need to go sweat now."

He gestured me away. "Sweat or suffer, kid. Or both."

Nate was going to work harder tomorrow so I worked harder tonight. Would I get lucky?

I need to say something here. I never have been a nun. Celibacy, the worst perversion, has never been my thing. Alas, neither have lasting relationships, as I had told Nate. I occasionally see a too-arrogant guy that Figgy dislikes so we only play at Stan's place. But he is clean, and he makes me cum first, so he has been almost tolerable. But I am quite ready to drop him.

===== Thursday, week 2 =====

Today was only moderately warm but Nate was already sweaty, his skin gleaming and his Quicksilver tee sticky, when he arrived in mid-morning with a half-dozen slim packets.

"Putting in some effort today?" I asked. He poured a small cup of coffee and blew in it to cool it.

"I asked Jenkins for extra runs. He thinks I just want the money but I'm looking forward to an after-work swim. I left my swimwear and a change of clothes at work so I don't have to go home first."

"Your swimwear... trunks or Speedos?" Yes, I was curious.

He laughed and drank most of the small cup. "I'll just have to keep you wondering."

I expected Speedos. Just a hunch.

Nate was back in mid-afternoon, even sweatier. He gave me the delivery, and poured and sugared another small coffee.

"We're still on for after work?" I asked hopefully. I kept my voice calm but my eyes probably gave me away.

"Looks like I'll survive that long," he said between sips, his eyes on me.

"I bus in so I can't drive you. Can we meet at the gym? Say around six-ish?"

"Six-ish it is. I'll grab a snack to tide me over till afterward."

I did not ask if he had any commitments afterward. I hoped we could... play.

He finished his coffee, took a package, and left with a tired-sounding CHEERIO!

=====

I had to work over a little so I caught a later bus. I was happily surprised to see Nate sitting near the front munching a packaged fruit tart, a heavy flannel shirt covering his sweaty work tee, a small pack in his lap. I sat alongside and took his hand. I squeezed. He smiled and swallowed.

"Fancy seeing you here! The luck of the transfers, hey Lydia? I was sure you'd be there waiting for me. I thought I could sneak into the pool."

"I worked a little late and here we are." I squeezed harder.

He squeezed back. I laid my head on his shoulder.

"Hope I don't stink too bad," he said. "I'll shower there first."

I sniffed, and again, more ostentatiously. "I like your smell."

"Pheromones strike again," he laughed. "Look what they did for Charles Atlas' followers, the straight ones, anyway. Get muscular, get sweaty, and the birds come flocking. Does that work for me? I think I saw you breathe deep whenever I walked in the office."

"Did not," I giggled. Giggled? No! I'm too old to giggle!

"Did so," he said. His hand stroked my head. I felt deep shivers.

=====

We chatted for the rest of the ride. We stayed close. I kept inhaling. Ahhh...

I asked, "How dangerous is biking around San Francisco? No bike lanes on downtown streets. Crazy cabbies. Buses and streetcars that don't stop. Can you even get insurance?"

He grunted. "Quicksilver has work-injury coverage for us but we're careful, and traffic is pretty crowded and slow downtown, and we know to avoid Muni buses and cars. The streetcar tracks and other rails embedded in the roads are about the worst danger, especially when they're wet. Got to cross those at a right angle or schwing! down you go!"

I knew about wet rails. They are a hazard just to walk across.

"I told you about catching the baby in my bike's basket. I've got to be careful when rolling through crowds of pedestrians. Got to maintain situational awareness.

"And people don't look before they act. My worst moment came when I was riding inside a line of traffic on Nob Hill, with a fieldstone wall on my right, so I'm in a channel. A passenger door opened right in front of me and I had no escape route. I stood on the brake and jammed to a stop just before a careless guy got out. A half-second more and it could have been nasty. Yes, I worry about collisions, so I anticipate trouble, and avoid it. It's like four-dimensional juggling."

He waved his hands and wiggled his fingers. Uh-oh, I giggled again!

"Still, it's no job for raw dummies or abject cowards or arrogant dorks, although a modicum of idiocy, fear, and arrogance helps. Got to stay alert and aware, and have the muscles to go uphill with a heavy load — sometimes we carry sixty pounds of paper in the basket — and the coolness not to burn out the brakes taking a heavy load downhill into heavy traffic, like down into the Financial District. Oh yeah, the brakes are fresh every day because Josie the all-night mechanic keeps our bikes ship-shape."

"Something else I wondered about. You were so GREAT making music in the Cannery. Why aren't you a star?"

He shrugged. "I've played mountain dulcimer since I was twelve and guitar since I was fifteen. I took guitar classes in high school and I was in a band the summer after I graduated. Lifeguard during the day; hot guitarist and dulcimer-plucker at night. Even before the monster hit song, we gigged constantly, but that meant playing the same sets every night. It's too boring for me and the business is hyper-competitive. So I quit, and they had their hit, and two albums, and POOF! they were gone. Could it have worked out better? Dunno. I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

I asked about the band and song. He told me. I was REALLY impressed now.

"You were in Wizardry? And you skipped out before 'Love In The Sunshine'? Well, I'm glad you're here now."

=====

The bus stopped near Julia and Romero's gym.

"Can you stand walking me to my apartment? I like to get out of office clothes before I exercise or swim." I hoped to get him to my lair more than once.

"If you want, sure. If not, no problem. Don't you want them to see how classy you look?"

So he thinks I'm classy in a pencil skirt and a severe jacket over a frilly blouse? Yay!

"Okay," I said, "straight into the pool then, but you WILL come home with me afterwards. You'll probably be hungry, right? I baked a good lasagna last night, cornmeal instead of wheat pasta, and the flavors should be married together by now. I'll be glad to wine and dine you.."

I did not not say I would drive him home afterwards. I might not need to. Or be able to.

"Deal," he said. He stroked my head again. But we had no time for more; the bus only waited until we were out the rear door. Wind took its diesel blast away from us. Whew.

Romero was at the counter when we walked in.

"Hey, you brought the big guy back. Swimming only? Y'know, we have a couples discount."

My gut fluttered, and my heart, too. Was this a make-or-break moment?

I looked at Nate. He smiled. I looked at Romero. "Put it on my account," I said. Nate did not object. Were we moving forward or was he only being cheap? Maybe a bit of both, my cynical inner voice insisted.

Romero handed Nate a locker key. "This one is yours. Don't do anything weird with it, okay?"

"Define weird," Nate said.

"Anything that requires a lawyer," Romero said.

Julia looked at me. "Would your lawyers handle a weird case?"

"Hell yes, they're attorneys. Just pay them. They'll do almost anything for money, no matter how bizarre."

Romero pondered. "Y'know kid, I knew one, and I asked him if he'd be embarrassed if I wanted him to do something freaky. He said, 'Nothing can embarrass me. I'm a lawyer.' So there it is."

I could not disagree. I could not even roll my eyes. I knew too many attorneys.

Nate smirked and asked me, "Ready for a warm swim? My muscles scream for release."

Other parts of my anatomy screamed for release, but not in front of everyone. We ducked off to the locker-and-shower rooms. I put on my sleek bikini and admired myself in the mirror. Nate came out in Speedos; we admired each other. His eyes burned my exposed flesh. Oh goody!