Page 26 of Stroked Long
Well, isn’t that a kick to the clam? And here I thought I couldn’t feel any more embarrassment just as another tidal wave of heat drowns me.
“Hmm, well that’s inconvenient,” I answer. “But, this bathing suit is barely a two-piece. I can wear it as one. Watch.” Scrunching my torso down, I yank on my bottoms and pull them up as high as possible to cover the scrap of skin between my bottoms and top. It works! “See, one-piece. Guess this little fella is multi-purpose. Boy, didn’t I get a good bang for my buck? Wouldn’t you say?”
“You look like a seventy-year-old turtle trying to show off your camel toe,” Lauren points out.
And yet, another level of all-time embarrassment. This is where I want to crawl into a hole and bury my head in sand for days on end, wishing and hoping this moment is erased from my memory. And Bodi’s for that matter.
“Uh, I’m going to go rinse off and change.” Without another word, Bodi takes off toward the locker room while I’m left with Lauren, the traitor.
Once Bodi is out of sight, I slap Lauren’s arm out of pure irritation. “I can’t believe you said that in front of him? Oh my God, that was so embarrassing.”
“I can’t believe you showed him the definition of your labia. That’s what you should be embarrassed about.”
“I did not.”
With a smarmy look on her face, she points at my crotch. “You sure did. Nice flaps, Ruby.”
No way.
With a snap of my head, I look at my crotch, and sure enough, defined in all its glory is my lady parts. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” I shimmy my bottom half down as more heat rises to my cheeks. I’m surprised they haven’t disintegrated off my face. “Okay, so I gave myself a camel toe in front of one of the most decorated Olympic swimmers, that doesn’t mean you had to point it out to him.”
Lauren cups my face, sympathy directed at me. “Oh sweetie, I didn’t have to point it out, your curtains were pulled up and back for everyone to see. I just helped you realize it.”
“You so don’t understand girl code,” I huff just as kids start to filter into the pool area, guided by their parents.
Shuffling in one by one, kids are decorated in colorful bathing suits—all one-pieces, damn it—sporting floaties on their arms that range from rubber duckies to frogs. The oldest kid in the program doesn’t seem older than six, making me a good eighteen years older than the gang I will be swimming with.
My question for the day . . . are some of these kids still in diapers? Please tell me their parents made sure they went to the bathroom before hopping in the pool. Knowing my luck, I will be swimming in a lot of warm water today.
“Awe, they’re so cute,” Lauren coos. “Good thing you put away your clam before they came in. You would have terrified them with that sea monster.”
“Why did I think having you come was a good idea?”
“Because you get all nervous and sweaty around Bodi, and you need a buffer in the pool with you to make sure you don’t drown.”
“You’re full of sass today. I’m telling Eva when I get home.”
“Yeah, and what is that going to do?”
I think about it for a second. “She’s going to withhold sex, simple as that.”
“You’re cute, Ruby. My girl would do no such thing, but nice try.”
Tapping my cheek, she secures her towel under her arm and walks toward where the class is gathering. This is going to be . . . fun.
***
“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby!”
Have you ever been in a position where you think: Is this what rock bottom feels like? That’s me right about now.
Surrounding the sides of the pool are the little pool pee-ers, chanting my name, their floaties waving in the air, a prismatic compilation of parading blow-ups thrown in the air as I struggle my way through the murky chlorine-filled water.
At the end of the pool stands Lauren, bent over and holding a doughnut out, shouting to me that I can do it, I can make the trek from one end of the pool to the other by myself without touching the bottom.
Beside her, standing with his arms crossed over his decadent chest in a pair of long, navy blue swim trunks is the man of the hour, the man who’s made this swim lesson a living nightmare. Not because he’s a terrible instructor but because he challenged me—in front of the class—leaving me no other option than to sac-up and take his challenge.
Okay, he didn’t technically challenge me. It was an indirect challenge, but a challenge nonetheless. His comment I believe was, “It’s hard for beginners to swim from one end of the pool to the other.” Mind you, I’m swimming with a bunch of preschoolers, but still! I was insulted and determined to make the trek myself with my mean doggy paddle, which I now realize is a very inefficient way of swimming.
