Authors: Todd Young

Jumbo (23 page)

“Show me.”

Mitchell handed Tadd the phone and Tadd frowned, half-smiling at the same time.

“You should put that on XTube,” Tadd said.

“I thought you didn’t like it.”

“No — it’s just ....”

“You can’t stop looking at it.”

“Kind of — but no, you should delete it.”

“Give me the phone, Tadd,” Mitchell said, as Tadd started to move. “I didn’t go through all of that for nothing.”

Tadd handed the phone to Mitchell.

“Well, just remember how much it hurt, Mitch. Remember what you feel like now.”

Mitchell nodded. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through the meet.

Mitchell let himself into the house quietly and climbed the stairs to his room. He sorted his clothes out, making sure he had a clean pair of speedos and a towel, before pacing the room nervously, beginning to feel the beginnings of the jitters he felt when he had to race.

He put on some clean clothes, and figured he could eat breakfast now, though when he went down to the kitchen, he was surprised to find Jake there, standing by the sink.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Mitchell said.

“I heard you come in. Big race today?”

Mitchell nodded.

“I figured you could use a decent breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah. But I’d like to, Mitchell. Bacon and eggs?”

“If you say so.”

Jake stepped forward suddenly and wrapped his arms around Mitchell. “You’re so nice,” he said, and then, after hugging him, he let him go. “Just sit down and I’ll fix it for you. You want cereal first? Muesli?”

“Sure.” It was what Mitchell always ate.

Jake placed a bowl and spoon in front of him, followed by the milk and cereal, and let Mitchell help himself. Mitchell felt a little awkward. Things were strained between them, but Mitchell could see Jake was making an effort.

“It’s great bacon — free range. Free range eggs too.”

Mitchell nodded, his mouth full. He watched Jake as he turned toward the stove, watched his confident, practiced movements as he fried up the bacon and eggs.

“Here, then,” Jake said, taking the cereal bowl and setting down a plate of bacon and eggs along with toast. As usual, the food was unbelievably good, and Mitchell forgot his jitters as he ate.

Jake took a seat at the table, though he didn’t eat himself, simply watching Mitchell. When Mitchell had finished, he said, “I’ve bought you something.”

Mitchell raised his eyebrows.

Jake pulled a present out from under the table, from off of one of the chairs. A large, soft packet wrapped in blue paper; the pattern looked like water.

“I couldn’t get swimming paper — couldn’t find it anywhere. But I figure that’s close enough.”

Hell, was Mitchell supposed to appreciate the paper? “It looks good, Jake,” he said. He squeezed the package a little. It was soft, but there was a card.
Sorry for the misunderstandings
, it said,
I hope we can get on better in the future. Love, Jake.

Mitchell tried to undo the ribbon.

“Here, you can cut it,” Jake said, getting up and handing him the kitchen scissors.

Mitchell cut the ribbon and turned the package over. It came apart easily, and beneath it there was terry cloth. Mitchell stood up and shook it out.

“It’s a robe. I figured you might want to wear it in the mornings.”

Mitchell nodded. He hadn’t had a robe since he was a kid. He threaded his arms into it and did it up over his clothes. And then he turned around to show Jake. He patted the pockets, put his hands in them, and then looked up at Jake and smiled. It was a nice robe. It must have cost a bit. Jake lunged forward and put his arms around Mitchell.

“Are we friends again?”

“Sure.”

They parted, and stood looking uneasily at each other. Mitchell smiled, and Jake smiled too.

“Thanks, Jake,” Mitchell said. And after they had stood uncertainly in the kitchen for a little longer, he took the robe upstairs and laid it on the bed. He set the card up on his shelves, figuring that Jake ought to see it, and then he began to worry in earnest about the meet today.

By 9.00am the other teams had arrived and the school pavilion was packed. Mitchell sat with the senior team on the bleachers closest to the blocks. The guys had been rowdy in the locker rooms, but now that they were out by the pool, they had settled into silence. The pavilion was freezing. The heating, which was usually too hot, had chosen today of all days to break down, and Mitchell had forgotten his tracksuit. He sat on the bench in his speedos, wearing the cotton button down shirt he had worn to school, though it offered virtually no warmth whatsoever.

Marley had been on the PA system, welcoming the other schools, though as he came back down to join his team, and let Mr Mullens take over, he saw Mitchell and asked him what he thought he was wearing.

“You’ll have to take it off, Jumbo,” Marley said. “Can’t have you sitting there in that.”

Mitchell stood up and took the shirt off. He folded it and sat on it, jiggling his legs in an attempt to keep warm. He put his towel on his lap, trying to hide the fact that his cock was shriveling. At least it would be warm in the water, he thought.

The day would start with the freestyle events, followed by butterfly, breaststroke and backstroke. The medley race, which would normally have been swum first, Marley had put last onto the program, figuring, Mitchell supposed, that they had a good chance of winning it, and would end the day in glory.

Due to the way the program had been set, Mitchell wouldn’t be swimming until after lunch, though when Tadd got up to swim the eight hundred freestyle event, he threw Mitchell his tracksuit and told him to put it on.

The day started badly. Ben lost his two hundred freestyle. No one had expected him to win it, but he came in last, trailing the field. Then Mason lost the one hundred, coming in fifth, followed by Tadd in the eight hundred, who narrowly missed out on third place. By lunchtime, Marley was red in the face, glaring at them, apparently unable to speak.

Mitchell was too cold to care. When one of the guys got up to race, they followed Tadd’s lead and threw Mitchell their tracksuit, but it was a few minutes of warmth at best, and having to peel the tracksuit off again at the end of the race was almost worse than not having had it at all.

By the time the one hundred breaststroke came around, all Mitchell could think about was getting in the pool, where at least the water would be warm. Luke lent Mitchell his tracksuit fifteen minutes before the race, to give him a chance to warm up, but it was hopeless. As soon as Mitchell left the blocks he knew he didn’t have a hope of winning, and he came in last.

As he climbed out of the pool, he caught Marley glaring at him, and Mitchell found himself staring back at Marley, who walked toward Mitchell and put a hand on his chest. Marley spoke in a low voice, berating Mitchell, telling him that this was what came of his attitude, that this was what Marley had expected of him. He thumped his finger into Mitchell’s chest time after time and kept him standing until Mitchell’s teeth were chattering. He hadn’t even had a chance to get to his towel.

When Marley finally let him go, Mitchell’s cock and balls were tucked so tightly into his body that it hurt. He glanced down as he headed for his towel, and saw his groin — a smooth little mound — the way a girl might look in a pair of speedos. He glanced up at the crowd and saw someone point, and then he caught the eyes of a few people, locked onto his groin and wondering (most likely) if he had a cock and balls at all.

Even after he’d dried himself, and wrapped his towel around his waist, Mitchell couldn’t get his balls down out of his groin. He pressed his thumbs against them a couple of times and tried to move them, but it was hopeless. He sat stony-faced, getting angrier and angrier, replaying what Marley had said to him, and thinking of things he’d like to say to Marley, thinking of how he could report him for the day he had made Mitchell swim naked.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that it was only as the guys all turned to him, calling his name and breaking him out of his thoughts, that Mitchell realized it was time for the one hundred backstroke, which would be followed by the two hundred, both of which events he was expected to win. He drew his towel off, not caring about his groin, though he saw Luke glance at it and swallow as he jerked his head back, as though he had gotten a surprise. He turned his face up to Mitchell and tried to smile reassuringly.

A guy from Valley false started in the one hundred, and Mitchell figured later that that was what gave him a chance of winning. He had a moment to warm himself in the water, and swim back toward the blocks. And then everything seemed to happen as though he was living in a dream. He came first in the one hundred, first in the two hundred, and then it was time for the medley.

Mitchell slipped into the water again and gripped the bars. He had barely registered the fact that this was the medley when the starter sounded. He broke away so fast, and came home so strongly, that the other teams didn’t have a chance. Tadd left the blocks, and managed to improve Mitchell’s lead a little. Tyler took off; he seemed to lose ground. And then Mason was in the water, perhaps not gaining any ground, but not losing any either. And then Mason was coming home and they were very clearly first. The crowd in the pavilion roared.

Mitchell found himself in a loose group hug with Tyler and Tadd and Mason. They wandered away from the blocks together and sat down, Mitchell feeling quietly elated. He forgot about the cold, and forgot about how tightly his cock and balls were tucked into his groin. He got up in his speedos to accept his awards, and didn’t stop to worry about the cameras flashing.

The day finished and the team drifted apart, the other guys disappearing into the crowd to talk to family or friends. No one had come to watch Mitchell today. His father had had to work, and Mitchell had told Pete and Jake not to come. He wrapped his towel around his shoulders, shivering and feeling miserable, despite the fact that he had won. All he wanted was to get into the showers, to get warm again, though the other teams had the use of the locker room first, and the West River High team had to wait.

By the time he heard Marley on the PA, telling them that they could use the locker room, Mitchell was bent forward, shivering uncontrollably. He got up and glanced around, surprised to find that he was alone in the pavilion. He stumbled toward the locker room, wondering what had happened to the rest of the guys, though as he neared the door, he realized they were in there already, making more noise than usual.

Mitchell stopped by his locker and dumped his towel on the bench. He drew his speedos over his shuddering thighs and picked up his towel again, glancing at his groin, and thinking that he couldn’t get into the showers like that. He would go and sit on the bench. He would wait for a shower. He couldn’t show the guys his groin like that. His cock and balls had disappeared, and his groin was shaved.

He wrapped his towel around his waist and rounded the corner, stepping into the billowing steam. The guys were whooping and cavorting, running from one shower to another and slapping each other on the back, their bodies pink from steam. Mitchell managed to make it to the bench without anyone seeing him. He sat down and leaned back against the tiles, stretching his feet toward the warmth of the showers.

“Mitch!” Luke called.

“Hey, Mitchell!” Robby Michaels said.

All of them seemed to stop and turn to face him.

“Come and jump in here, Mitch,” Tyler said, stepping aside and waving him forward with a hand.

Silence. The sound of showers running.

Uncertainly, Mitchell stood up. He put a hand on his towel, but hesitated.

Tadd was wiping water from his face. He stepped forward and said in a loud voice, turning to the team and announcing it, “Our star’s got a problem. Someone — some people who will remain nameless — have shaved his groin.”

“Show us, Mitchell” Casey called. And then, as though at some signal, he stepped forward and grabbed one of Mitchell’s arms. Ben did the same, and Mitchell twisted and turned between them, making a half-hearted show of fighting them, though he knew it was inevitable.

Tadd stepped forward and hesitated, making a show of it. He gripped a corner of Mitchell’s towel and tugged on it a little, before tugging again, teasingly. He smiled at Mitchell and snapped the towel away, leaving Mitchell naked.

Silence. They were staring at him. All of them dumbstruck.

“Shit, Mitch, you look like a girl,” Luke said, as though it was something he’d never thought of before, but now, seeing Mitchell like that, something he found strangely attractive.

“He’s got nothing!” someone said.

“Hell, he’s freezing,” Casey said, moving his hands up Mitchell’s arm.

“He’s practically blue,” Tyler said, who had now stepped forward also. He put a hand on Mitchell’s back.

And then somehow, suddenly, they were all over him. He was being hugged from in front, from behind; he was being dragged toward the showers. He felt hands sliding down his back, a hand on his thigh. Someone’s arms were wrapped tightly around him, and they were calling to him.

“Way to go, Mitchell.”

“You really showed them today, Mitch.”

He felt a hand in his groin, and he knew it wasn’t Tadd’s, someone feeling blindly. A hand on his ass, sliding into his crack. They were all over him, feeling his body, sliding against him and hugging him tightly. He lifted his head and caught a glimpse of Tadd, standing at the edge of the huddle and smiling back at him in amusement, a glint in his eye.

And then suddenly, somehow, a chant started up: “Mitchell! Mitchell!”

His name.

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