One sunny January day my senior year of college, I stepped out in my flip flops, blue swimsuit, and swim cap onto the warm concrete surrounding a Southern California pool.
“Intermediate swimming?” I asked a group of my similarly clad classmates.
“Yup,” a girl in a purple swimsuit replied.
“Great.” I needed one phys ed credit to finish my degree and I had always been a water baby. This should be a cinch.
“I hear the teacher’s a real hardass,” Purple Suit ventured.
“I hear he’s hot as fuck,” another added.
I spotted a man walking towards us with a clipboard.
“You bunch look like you’re ready to fine-tune your swimming techniques,” he announced. “Good morning. My name is Scott*, and I’ll be teaching you intermediate swimming. Two of you per lane, please.”
I quietly sized him up. Sure, he had the body of Glen Powell (as far as I could tell under his polar fleece jacket), a nice square jawline, and blonde waves peeking out from underneath his ball cap—but that didn’t seem like anything to write home about. He didn’t seem to smile, and a pair of those big, soulless, mirrored sunglasses that authority figures always seem to favor hid his eyes. Still, I found myself wondering what he really looked like under there.
But he didn’t give me much time to ponder. Instead, he gave us laps. And more laps. And even more laps. My lungs were on fire, and this was just the first day!
I quickly learned four things over the next few weeks:
- I wasn’t so much a natural swimmer as a natural poolside margarita-sipper.
- My breaststroke was “piddling,” according to Scott.
- No, I couldn’t drop or transfer the class now—I had to suck it up in order to get my fucking degree.
- It was entirely possible to be deeply attracted to a man whose eyes I’ve never seen and also hate him with the passion of a thousand suns.
But as much as I hated to admit it, for all of Scott’s no-nonsense discipline, I was getting faster, stronger, and better at swimming. Did my improvement catch his eye? Of course not. But did I occasionally catch him cracking a small, approving smile? Also no, not once. Realizing I was never going to impress this mysterious hottie, I decided to accept the consolation prize of self-improvement.
By the end of May, we all passed our requisite lane tests and were excused for the last week of classes. I felt good—a little tan, a lot relieved to be out from under Scott’s thumb, and really ready to get my drink on at Lacey’s* house party.
I wasn’t much for big parties, but after four years of hard work, I was ready to let loose in a loud, sticky-floored setting while clinging to a red Solo cup like a boozy lifesaver. I threw on a white pleated skirt, heels, and a blue halter top that showed off my newly-toned shoulders.
Wading my way through the crowd, I couldn’t find Lacey or hear any conversation over the whump-whump of the base, so I made my way to the downstairs bathtub keg.
Refill accomplished, I turned around and ran straight into the broad chest of a tall blonde.
“Sorry,” I muttered as I stepped aside.
“No problem.”
Wait. I know that voice. I peered at him as he pumped out his beer. “I’m sorry—do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar.”
His bright green eyes glinted in the fluorescent light. “Maybe. What’s your major?”
“English lit.”
“Oh, I’m in kinesiology. Postgrad. I do help run some phys ed classes, though. You take any of those?”
My eyes narrowed. “Is…is your name Scott?”
He drew to his full height. Yup, I’d know that square jawline anywhere. “Yeah?”
“Emma. Intermediate swimming.”
After four months, he finally broke into a dazzling smile. “Oh, yeah! Blue swimsuit!”
“I didn’t recognize you out of your polar fleece.”
He looked down at his black button-up and laughed. “Yeah, I only really wear that stuff poolside.”
I huffed. “Well, thanks for the passing grade, but you kind of made my life hell and stole my love of swimming from me. Enjoy the party.”
And like a boss-ass bitch, I disappeared into the crowd.
…For about ten seconds, anyway, before Scott caught up.
“Hey! Can we talk outside?” he near-yelled into my ear over the house music. “Just for a minute?"
I looked up at him, then at my surroundings. Retreating to a space where I wasn’t cheek-to-jowl with drunk strangers didn’t sound like worst idea. “Fine.”
The patchy backyard was considerably less crowded. I leaned on a fence under some cheap lights. “Well?”
I tried not to observe the beautiful, lean shape of Scott as he sighed, leaning a shoulder onto the fence as well. “Look. I’m sorry. I know I’m a real hard-ass in class. It’s nothing personal. I’m just…still trying to find my style, is all.”
“Try something that doesn’t alienate your entire class.”
“See, that’s the thing.” He blinked down at me. “If I let up too much, then people start falling off and making excuses. I did that during fall semester and I got heat for it from my department. But…I guess I overcorrected.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to take a passion away from anyone. I love the water. It’s great for training and puts zero pressure on the joints, so it’s one of the most accessible exercises for sports medicine.”
I felt the hot ball of spite in my chest start to cool off. Scott really was passionate about his work, and seemed genuinely apologetic about being a magnificent dillhole.
I took a swig from my cup. “You probably didn’t even notice I improved my breaststroke this semester. Just laps, laps, laps.”
“Of course I did.” For a second there, I could’ve sworn he was blushing as he set his cup down on the grass. “But…well, it’s better if I showed you. Pretend to do a stroke.”
Curious, I obliged. He got behind me and enveloped me in his toned arms, his hands on top of mine.
“Now, see how your hands aren’t fully flush? Push them together more and you’ll cut through the water better.”
I tried to ignore how good his warm breath felt on my neck.
One of his hands came back to my shoulder and gently eased it back two inches. “But try not to also overextend your shoulders. You do that, and you’re golden.”
I turned around, our faces inches away from each other. He seemed…nervous. It was oddly endearing.
“I put that in my notes for your grade. You’ll—erm, you’ll see them next week.”
Fuck it—I decided to throw him a line. “Are you trying to put a move on me, Teacher?”
He looked down at my lips. “Well, I’m not technically your teacher anymore. But, um … yeah, kind of, I guess. Did it wor—”
I stopped his mouth with mine. A tender kiss encircled by stubble, it was soft, then harder as he gently pushed me back against the wooden fence.
His voice was low and a little husky now. He glanced around. “Hey, would you wanna get out of here? Um, my place is down the block. It’s quieter.”
I stepped back and took him in—hot and vulnerable and offering himself up. Seemed like a great way to cap off my college education to me.
“Okay.”
We laced our fingers together as we walked back to his place. There was real heat here. Maybe it was fueled by my initial hatred or by the chemistry that crackled in that kiss. Either way, I was aching to explore it…but only on my terms.
After another beer and some hot-and-heavy making out in his tiny apartment, I straddled him and pushed him back onto the couch.
“If we’re gonna do this,” I said as I slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “Then there are gonna be some ground rules.”
He shifted his hips under me. “All right. Lay ‘em on me.”
I spread open his shirt. He was even more toned than I’d imagined. “You bossed me around for months. I think it’s time I returned the favor.” I slid a finger down his lightly hairy chest. "I want you to do whatever…I…say.”
Without warning, he grabbed my ass and stood up, lifting me like I weighed next to nothing. I wrapped my legs around his torso and he kissed me hard before breaking it off with a devilish grin. “Whatever you say.”
He walked us over into his bedroom, grazing my neck as he tenderly placed me on the bed.
I pulled his face up to meet mine. “You’re the student now. So go down there,” I let my eyes drop down my body. “And earn yourself an A.” I cupped his face. “Drown if you have to.”
A flash of surprise crossed his face, followed by an expression of cheeky determination.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Scott’s fingers drifted up my thighs and pulled down my panties. As he got onto his knees, he yanked my body toward him so he could have a better angle. Then, with one last boyish grin, his head disappeared under my skirt.
I had every intention of teasing him, of joking that his form was “piddling” and telling him to do extra laps to make up for bad technique. But as he went to town on my pussy, my every last human instinct slipped away, replaced with roiling sounds and moans of primitive pleasure. I didn’t know I could sound like that. I screamed and sweated and writhed as the build came on, hard and fast until I came so hard my legs shook like someone ran a current through them.
Scott came up for air, panting, grinning and damp, and kissed the soft part of my inner thigh. “Good. Now, extra credit.”
Before I could stop him, he dove back beneath the pleats of my skirt. He somehow knew, like some mythical pussy master, how to get my oversensitive clit to rise and respond. That feeling built again and again until, before I even had a chance to catch my breath, I came even harder than before.
I panted as I floated back down to the earthly plane. Did Scott just do that? No man had ever been able to make me cum multiple times in a row—that was between me and my vibrator. I looked up at him in awe as my heartbeat returned to normal.
Scott stood up, removing his shirt to reveal that magnificent chest, now glowing with sweat. His hard-on looked about ready to burst through his pants. “Satisfied?”
I nodded. “Full marks.”
“Good.” He wandered over to his nightstand, pulling a fresh condom from the drawer. “Now I wanna fuck you. Can I fuck you now, Emma?”
I nodded again.
“Good. Because I’m hard as a fucking rock for you.”
He undid his pants and slid everything off in one go, naked and more sculpted than Michelangelo’s David as he rolled on his condom. Good God, I’m glad I took swimming this year.
He nestled himself between my legs, his tip nudging to come in. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
He slid in like he was made for me, a groan escaping his lips, whispers of how wet I was filling my ear. Scott felt incredible inside of me. My hands flowed down the smooth river of his back as he thrusted, cupping his muscular ass as he gently bit into my neck. I slapped a cheek, which earned me some groans and faster thrusts. I groped and slapped him a few more times until he seized, his body taut as an arrow notched in a bow, and he collapsed on me in a warm, grateful heap.
After some standard pillow talk and caressing, we parted ways. We both knew this was a one-time thing, but damn, did we make it count.
He gave me one final kiss at his front door and I walked away into my future, confident in the knowledge that while I may have never nailed the perfect breaststroke, I sure as hell nailed the teacher.
*Name has been changed.
