The Hot Mom's Lap Time vs. Mine

Author's note: This is part of the special 750 Word Project 2022. All entries are limited to exactly 750 words, which is (intentionally) very short. Read them all, and remember that all the authors appreciate your time, your vote, and your comments. Enjoy!

-

"Fastest lap-time, huh?" Heather said from the next swim-lane. Heather was a gorgeous 36-year-old mother of two with a lithe swimmer's body that screamed 'I'm fast'.

"Fast? Me?" I smiled, trying to sound modest. I knew I didn't look fast, but I'd been swimming my whole life. I grew up with a pool in the backyard and parents who were competitive swimmers and swim coaches. All that training and nearly perfect form meant I was often faster than more naturally athletic people, Heather included. I was new to this small training group of middle-class suburbanites' feeding our mid-life crises through triathlons, but once I regained my conditioning, I was easily the fastest. The fastest swimmer, anyway. Running and cycling, not so much.

The group met at the pool at five and six A.M. on Saturdays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, staggered into two time slots so there'd be swim lanes for everyone. Being in the second time slot, I was usually arriving just as Heather was leaving, almost always having showered and already changed into her day-outfit of a casual but sexy sundress. Today, she waited for me. We hadn't been in the pool at the same time before.

Heather was known for two things. Her super-competitiveness, and for a while, the black thongs underneath her sundress that she didn't realize were visible on days she wore light-colored sundresses. I imagined the stir she also caused at her PTA meetings. Unfortunately, "Leering Larry", the group's resident jerk, said something, and suddenly, we never saw the black thong again. Larry ruined everything.

"One lap," she said, nodding to the starting line. I had seen her swim, so I knew I was faster. As we raced, I matched her pace, always staying just half a body length ahead of her. She was surprisingly fast for someone who didn't keep her head down properly.

She wasn't happy about losing. "I already swam for an hour today. We do this again Tuesday."

Next Tuesday, she did indeed swim faster. Again, I chose to just barely win. It was funny to see how much she hated losing. I dropped a subtle hint about her head being too high, but she didn't acknowledge it. As I left though, I saw her getting someone to film her swimming.

On Thursday, she almost smiled. "You were right about keeping my head down. I shaved two seconds off my lap time!" Her eyes were on fire for another race. But she had me at "shaved."

This time, I paced myself to swim at exactly the same speed as her, but I intentionally missed my reach for the wall. She touched first and won. She was even prettier when she smiled.

Saturday, I let her win again. "I'm the fastest again," she grinned. Was it my imagination or was she being nicer to me?

Next Tuesday, the weather was awful, and we were the only ones there. "Rematch?" I asked.

"Sure. Care to make it interesting?" she smiled confidently.

"OK, fine. If I win, I'll make a custom T-Shirt that says, 'Jack's faster.' And you have to wear it at the breakfast social next week.

"If I win, you wear MY yellow sundress to the social. And sit next to Larry." Her laugh was sincerely friendly, less guarded. I chuckled.

She'd clearly been doing some extra training, but I won.

"I started badly. Double or nothing," she said. It was true, she did have a bad start. "If I win, you wear a black thong under the sundress," she laughed warmly, with eye contact!

"All right. But first, I have to play fair. Now that you're keeping your head down, your hand entry is too far inside," I said. This was risky advice. If she got any faster, she might really win.

"You play fair, 'coach'. I like that about you," she smiled. I almost fainted. A compliment!

We raced. I won, but barely.

I waited outside after we finished, still dark, still no-one else around. She came out in a short white denim skirt that I hadn't seen before. I love short white denim skirts.

"You licked me again, dammit," she said, straight-faced. "But we didn't agree on what you'd win."

"You did mention black thongs..." I trailed off.

She pulled her skirt up, revealing nothing. No thong. No hair. "But I'm not wearing a thong," she apologized jokingly. She looked at her watch, then at her mini-van with tinted windows, then at me. "You've got twelve-and-a-half minutes. Lick me again."

-

Closing author's note:Thanks for reading. Take a moment to read all the other 750 word short stories too, vote, and write a comment. Thanks.