The Swim Team Ch. 04

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CHAPTER 4

WIKIFEET AND CHILL

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"Can you believe it? Gabrielle cleaned the bathroom before she left," Greg Sommers said to his wife.

And in fact she could not. In nineteen years of existence their daughter had never done it, not once. So Camille Sommers had to go take a look to believe the bathroom was not the usual waterpark.

"I think she's doing drugs," she said.

*****

Balls bouncing inside her boxer briefs, Gabrielle was running down the ten blocks to Lily's house, still high from her little game.

She had stopped somewhere around Fifteen when she had run out of time, but she never ran out of cum.

Her output had actually increased with each count, she was sure of it, and eventually, when she had resolved on the last load of this self-indulgent morning, she had decided to fully lose herself in the elation that numbers brought, by measuring it as precisely as possible and wear the result like an internal badge of some kind of personal honor.

Impatient and shaking with undamped lust, she rummaged through the bathroom, certain that it was the right place, until perfection appeared before her eyes: bottles of cough syrup have a measuring cap.

The one she found was graduated in tsp and ml. Not helping much. She would do the conversion later. Meanwhile she had one last masturbation to do, which, compared to every other one she had completed through her morning, turned out to be the most arousing, precisely because she had to do it as detached and alert as she could.

To do such an extraordinary, almost magical, thing as ejaculating in such a matter-of-factly manner and situation made it so delectably twisted. She realized it as the idea popped in and let out a long impromptu hum for being so twisted in the head. The kind of vocalization she then suppressed when, hunkered down and focused, her penis aimed downward while at its hardest, she filled the plastic cup she had put on the floor with twelve milliliters of semen.

At least five full seconds of ejaculation. Seven full ropes and many dribbles. And a full minute of climax.

12ml is zero point four ounces, Gabrielle read on her phone as she ran past a woman in her front yard planting roses.

I ate almost all of my loads, that makes zero point four multiplied by fifteen... She typed. Six ounces, wow.

She made a mental note to compare it later with six ounces of water in the measuring cup in her kitchen; and after all, why not also in just a regular glass. Her feet flew lighter, faster. Excited. And she waited for new people before she could think away:

I have cum in my stomach.

The man in his car drove by and drove away without as much as a glance on this girl racing the curb with a wicked smile of satisfaction.

They could never imagine.

There was some naïveté in this reasoning and Gabrielle knew it. She knew that most people, underneath their apparent normality, had secrets too, which they could proudly ponder over in the midst of casual situations. This one was 'I posted my boobs on Reddit.' while having brunch with their mom; that other one was more simply 'I had amazing sex last night.' while being miserable at the coffee machine with their manager.

Gabrielle had one last secret ready. A status actually, which she would never have believed she would reach in such a bizarre turn of existence.

She slowed down. In a driveway two women were setting up their phones and tightening their shoes before their Sunday morning jog. Fifty yards away. Mid-thirties, fake blondes, fake tan, L.A. gorgeous.

For this one, Gabrielle knew pride would not be misplaced. Not a lot of women could say what she was about to think, it wasn't even a matter of taboo.

Ten yards.

She walked by, had a quick polite look. They smiled, said hi.

I'm a swallower.

Off they went. Forward into their lives where, like most women, they thought semen was gross.

Gabrielle didn't feel any contempt or anything toward them. In fact she surprised herself turning and looking at their butts in spandex.

"I'm a swallower," she dared to whisper.

It wouldn't do in her yearbook, nor on her resume, but the word had a certain ring to it.

"Cum swa-llow-errr."

Butterflies tickled her tummy to the rhythm of her heart still beating from her little run. She imagined a boyfriend—Ryan perhaps, she couldn't tell—she imagined sucking his dick and she imagined his face at the exact moment when he would realize she would not pull away and make him ejaculate onto his stomach. She imagined his face through her resounding gulps. His pleasure cumming inside a mouth, most likely for the first time. Boasting while busting, that he had found a girl who swallows.

Heh, I've no idea what cum tastes like, maybe it is awful. And mine is nice only because I'm a Rebz.

She patted her tummy and hoped she was going to be hungry enough for her lunch with Lily. It made her chuckle.

But unfortunately, sperm could not be a medicine against anxiety for very long. An observation getting clearer as the Chervony residence, a two-story brick house suspiciously too big for a single mom, was growing closer.

Gabrielle's high receded.

She came here unprepared and overly emotional, and with secrets to reveal. Life-changing secrets. Friendship-dynamics-changing secrets.

And she knew how inside—she knew from experience—inside, her loudest thoughts would be heard.

Front porch in view.

A few steps further.

Touchdown.

She rang the bell. Still nothing that could be called a plan.

She had between three and thirty seconds left before the familiar bustle of feet.

Behind that door was the bigger part of her life. Everything else was small and short compared to the kind of time she had spent there.

Lily always made it full, bumpy, never taxing, holding her hand and her heart from entrance to exit and it was exciting—another word for scary. Gabrielle loved it, loved her, she loved what they were, how Lily was, but it was scary. Because every time she stepped out of there changed: a little more herself.

So today more than ever, it was up to her careful choice of words to decide how much would be left behind.

For the last six months, the penis situation had been a permanent battle of wits between them. A struggle between the wanton comfort to tell everything, share everything, exhaust everything, for avid ears and crafty hands, and to keep everything under control, like a storyline.

So Gabrielle would tell—she wanted to, more than anything—about her activated testicles, but would have to find a way not to be asked for a demo on the spot.

If today was excitement, she was about to face overexcitement. Fire-haired Lily slapped in their ugly faces doubt, shame, tiredness and suffering, with everything she got, demanding it like a fighter would stand up for a worthy opponent.

No turning back now. High-pitched voices. Low stomps. Lily opened the door.

Completely naked.

From head to toe.

Not at all worried to be seen from the street.

"Hey, Lily-poo," Gabrielle said, walking in casually.

"Sup, fucker," the home-nudist replied.

They improvised a silly handshake and already Lily was gone, running up the stairs back to her room, saying, "I have something to show you!"

Everything fast, everything now. If Gabrielle's chariness (and extra-modesty) had been a wall, it was eroded day in, day out by a red tornado holding the reigns of teenage chaos. Lily had no place for those who trod lightly into her home. Her speed was the speed.

But for once Gabrielle had a lingering look at her friend running like the wind.

She had a butt now. The lanky 5'6 redhead was toning up nicely. And with the spring sun, her freckles were coming back with a vengeance, it was objectively magnificent, so why not show off her body, Gabrielle admitted. All her shapes exuded energy and sensuality. From her rusty-orange mane, curlier than possible for a white girl; to her milky arms, no longer dangling about like they used to; to her breasts, perky and laughing at gravity, with nipples always hard and of a rosy pink so frank it almost screamed 'sex!' ...it was the same pink as her anus. Gabrielle knew this detail for the simple reason that she had been shown, shown-and-told when Lily had explained her grooming habits like some normal topic of conversation.

Despite her hippie upbringing, despite the nudism, Lily liked to spend her summer job money on a salon where she would get everything waxed, legs, pits, buttcrack... Except her mons. For her, a bush was a sexual accessory, like wearing high heels naked. Even more for a redhead: "It's a crime against nature for a redhead to shave her bush," she would often say. "Or a real blonde. We're going extinct, did you know that?"

"No, you're not."

"Yes, we are! Brunettes are jealous of our power!"

"I'm not jealous."

"You're not a brunette, your hair is literally black. It's like it's got a negative albedo."

"What the hell is that?"

Therefore, hers may be neatly trimmed, it was there, little pedestal for her more and more defined abs. And sometimes it stopped at her labia, sometimes it didn't, depending on her mood. Gabrielle could see they were smooth at the moment, as they were right above her nose in the stairway, sticking out from between those restless and lush legs leaping up the steps.

Gabrielle took her Chucks off without untying the laces, already sucked into the movement, red arrow and tight butt upward to the bedroom where they disappeared.

"Hey, Gabe, sweetie. Your sister's money is on the fridge."

This was the smoky voice of Isla Chervony coming from her office. Also a redhead, former flower child, and a nudist as long as any of the Sommerses weren't around.

After giving birth, Isla had left some bad habits at the door but some New Age values to pick in her home. As children do, Lily had been obediently keen on them all at first. She had lived in the nude with her mom in this year-round-70° city without question. That was until puberty had turned up with its ugly mug and the girl not only had immediately covered up her awkward, greasy and tufty form but also had started challenging the virtues of the vegan diet, the qualities of Frank Zappa's music and most of all the restrictions over smartphone use.

Now that the hormonal turmoil was mostly behind her, nudism turned out to be the only house rule that had ever drawn Lily's interest and she had gone back to it as quickly and as naturally as how she had rejected it. And like anything she did, it also meant a certain absolutism: before outside, back from outside, the moment the door shut, her clothes were on the floor. No flip-flops, no jewelry, sometimes no makeup (as if she needed any), not even a tie to contain her gingerfro. Just as naked and free as the first woman.

Gabrielle snickered every time she heard Isla praising her daughter for her found-again stance on the textile industry. She knew the real reasons.

She had figured three.

1) The weekly swimming lessons Sophia was giving to the Chervony ladies.

The muscles, the shapes, the deportment, overall the hotness it brought ("Dat ass!" "Dem legs!" Lily always said to her mirror) had got her rid of her hang-ups and of the horrors of the adolescent body.

Gabrielle made a detour into the kitchen to take the envelope stuck under a magnet on the fridge door. Undeclared cash money due for swimming lessons, exercise coaching, and resulting butts and stems.

"Hurry!" the nudist shouted from upstairs.

"What is it you want to show me anyway?"

"Something."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. It meant porn.

2) Unrestricted access to the internet.

An unexpected push for Lily's return to nudism and one of the fundamental differences between Sommers residence and Chervony residence.

Despite her lenient character, Isla never put much love into anything that ran on electricity (except maybe for cars...), and trusted even less anything that the NSA could monitor. More simply, less grandiose and more parental, she didn't like something that could provide a limitless flow of pornography and violence and who knew what else.

Thus she agreed with the Sommerses on this one and when Lily got old enough to use a computer she had asked for their advice to set up the same parental lock they used on their domestic network; one which, despite all their hacking skills and teenage perseverance, Gabrielle and Sophia had never been able to crack.

But five months ago, Lily had turned eighteen. And Isla had learned so much from the idiocy of her own parents that she wanted to be a good mother. So she let her daughter become a responsible adult and had allowed overnight all the connected devices in the house to become potentially NSFW.

And while Lily was not a porn virgin (kids are always smarter than you think), overnight the flow of pornography became limitless.

She was fascinated by it. For her, porn was not a mere masturbatory tool, it was a continent to explore. Videos, pictures, literature, forums... This strange invention, simultaneously the less surprising of civilization and the most puzzling: the representation of people fucking.

The industry itself was a subject of study. Like an even dirtier version of Hollywood. The articles on Pornhub Insights were a goldmine, as much as typing any word in their searchbar to see what happened. Anything relating to sex was good to take. In this sea of smut and acrobatics, Lily was somehow looking for answers, and learned a lot about desire, to its most absurd extremities, about pleasure, male and female, about the basic and advanced mechanics of it. She laughed too. She noped sometimes. She magnetized a moral compass. And somehow she learned about herself.

And she came. A lot. Because at the end of the day, Lily was a sexual powerhouse.

"There's this kind of community, they call themselves gooners. They've discovered that when you masturbate for a very long time without release—I'm talking hours here—you get like into this kind of euphoric trance. It's like a full-body orgasm that just goes on and on. And, like, imagination is nice and all, but when you jill it for three hours you need some visual support."

"Sounds unhealthy."

"It is. And it makes you look like a crazy person, like you're drooling, you're moaning, I would never let you see me in that state. But goddamn you cannot imagine how good it feels."

"You mean you can do it for three hours?"

"Yes! I goon! Fuck yes I goon! But no, not really. Too much homework. Stanford next year and all."

This dialog had happened a few weeks after the girls had reached a new point in their friendship.

Lily liked to share her discoveries with Gabrielle, and her uncensored internet. And Gabrielle, in a different, more embarrassed way, was fascinated by porn too. Which resulted in quirky times where they would watch some together. Especially quirky when the person you're sitting with is completely naked.

And one afternoon, not too long ago, Lily had finally gathered up the courage to ask—in a quivering voice—if it was okay if she masturbated to the video they were watching.

Gabrielle had feigned shock, but deep down she had not been surprised and had found no objection. She even admitted later that it was one of the hottest videos they ever watched. It was their first gay porn. And there was not much she could do anyway since her friend kept her vagina readily accessible at all times.

Lily had invited her friend to join in but Gabrielle had declined; something she would do everytime she was asked. She was asked often.

She had pretended not to see anything when Lily pretended not to do anything while putting a hand between her legs. Seconds passed, the video played on, the movement of her fingers became obvious, her breathing grew audible and then Lily had no other choice but to let her pleasure out.

The awkward ten seconds of it became a liberating moment. Porn was fun, masturbating was fun, they could acknowledge it whole-heartedly. And most importantly they could get over the final reason:

3) Lily was an exhibitionist.

None of the hippie crap her mother thought. For Lily, nudity wasn't a natural state. It was sexual, always. She enjoyed being naked because it was a turn-on.

So far her kink had been confined to the boundaries of her home, but only because she was too busy discovering edging. Thanks to her lack of clothes, her lack of refractory period and thanks to her sudden access to porn, her life had become a session with no end. Five minutes here, an hour there, stopping, going back, she was masturbating more than Gabrielle. Her last obstacle was actually buying toys. But the so-called 'discreet packaging' was the most obvious sign of foul play and Isla could always storm her room to search for drugs.

Former flower child. Former.

"What are you doing? Come on!" Lily said, bursting into the kitchen.

"Lou, please," Gabrielle whispered, holding a dollar bill up to the light, "I don't wanna watch some weird-ass porn, it's Sunday for chrissake."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Gabrielle sighed. Porn, definitely.

She pocketed the envelope of cash and followed the movement, climbed the stairs, already feeling a prickle of excitement in her pants.

Because she liked porn too. It turned her on most of the time. And because Gabrielle liked the sight and company of Lily being horny as hell. It made her feel more... less...

Less lonely?

She couldn't really find the right word.

Being horny as hell was Gabrielle's natural state. And ever since that day, when under warm bed covers she had shared the details of life with a fourteen inch penis, she had realized, not with a certain bewilderment, that her wild friend would not allow half-words anymore. No half-truths, no falseness or anything civilized. Gabrielle was on a journey that would inescapably be sexual and words after words, Lily had revealed her presence on that path with her, unafraid to tread side by side, or two steps ahead for protection.

The tablet on Lily's bed displayed the white and red layout of a website that had nothing to do with hamsters. She pounced at it with a stuntwoman huff. When she turned over, butt boldly in the air, Gabrielle, who was locking the door, caught a glimpse of her vagina and was surprised to see it wasn't wet.

"You have to see this," Lily said and pressed play.

One second later, the two girls were rolling over each other, laughing so hard their stomachs hurt. On the screen: Fast Forward Blow Jobs, a compilation of porn actresses giving head, sped up ten times, blasting the sound of angry Donald Ducks on helium. Lily was in tears, Gabrielle was trying to speak but couldn't. They laughed and laughed and laughed together, replaying the whole thing as soon as it was over. When they could finally catch their breath, they organized a karaoke contest over the video. They both lost.

This was their friendship encapsulated. Pure joy, unpredictable.

*****

Half past eleven.

"It's time," Lily announced.

Time to meet her mother down in the kitchen and help her prepare lunch. That was if they wanted to eat meat today. Isla refused to partake in barbarity.

They tried to look presentable, Lily finger-combing her hair, tried to suppress any new burst of 'Gluck-gluck-glorck' through their tightened lips. And then they formally marched downstairs.

Lily took a headstart and entered the kitchen first.

Gabrielle found the two women sitting next to each other at the table, waiting, their faces grave.