Going for Gold

The water stung as his body slipped in. The cold pulled all the heat and energy stored up for this moment. Kyle kicked, gliding through the lane with ease. He knew the other swimmers were beside him, but he couldn’t see. He could feel the churn of the water behind him and hear the roar of the crowd just above the surface. His lungs ached as he pulled up. The surface broke, and he took a gasp of air as the clear cheers of the onlookers met his ears. People packed in to the small swimming arena, but it could have as easily been empty for all the swimmers cared. Parents, friends, and coaches all cheered, but as soon as his head dipped back below the water, they all vanished from thought.

Kyle pressed on. Each arm cut into the water, propelling him forward. His head turned in time with his stroke, giving him a short look at his competition. Lane five kept pace, shoulder to shoulder with him. Lane seven lagged somewhere behind. He didn’t need to see to know the wall was coming up. Any swimmer knew the length of the pool by heart, as much as they knew the walk from their bed to the bathroom. Blind and deaf, he could have made the same lengths of the pool with identical precision.

He flipped over in the water, his legs hit the wall, and he rocketed back towards the starting end. The sting in his lungs came faster this time, and his body started to ache. He wasn’t breathing enough. It was something his coach had warned him about. Kyle found it remarkable how finely tuned a human body could become. If he missed one breath, it would cost him seconds off his time. As he surfaced, he expected to be in the middle of the sloshing strokes of lane five, but his competitor had not broke the water yet. A full two seconds passed by before lane five erupted from below, plowing forward at remarkable speed, his legs creating a massive wake that Kyle struggled to put behind him.

The length back to the start seemed twice as long. His muscles burned, and his pace slowed. Lane five slowed as well, but lane seven made huge gains. Kyle knew they would out pace him, and began to worry about the lanes out of his line of sight. The cheers grew louder. Kyle summoned up any energy he had left and pushed. The water dragged against him like molasses, but he could see the wall up ahead. Judges leaned over the lanes, whistles in the mouths, waiting to signal the end. Kyle stretched his body, pushing his fingers as hard as he could. They touched the panel, and a whistle sounded above him.

Kyle bobbed in the water. The crowd could be heard easily. The times flashed on the screen. Lane seven, lane five, and Kyle in lane six. Third? How’d I get third?! He hid his disbelief as he congratulated the two young men celebrating beside him. Fractions of a second separated first from third and even less from second. A few other qualifiers remained for the national championship, but they had much more difficult fields to face. Kyle lifted himself from the pool with ease. One of the event staff handed him a towel. Water dripped from him as he walked into the locker room, leaving the celebrating crowd behind.

The other swimmers filed in behind him muttering words of encouragement to one another. “Good race” or “Well done.” Kyle bitterly wondered why so many of them tried, knowing how hard it was to be in the top three. Many of them were younger. They had years left to swim, but Kyle didn’t. He could go one more year, maybe, but he doubted he could improve any more. Eager to be away from the higher spirits, he went to the shower. The warm water washed away the chemicals of the pool and returned some vitality to his depleted muscles. He nodded silently to the other swimmers as they filed in. As quickly as possible, he finished in the locker room and got dressed. He spent a moment talking with the judges and his coach to make sure his official time was recorded before heading out to the parking lot. Unsurprisingly, his only fan waited on the hood of his car.

“Tough break,” Nick said. “That number seven came out of nowhere. How does he store up that last burst like that?”

Kyle didn’t answer. He gave Nick a blank look as he threw his bag into the car. “Get off the hood, Nick.”

“Hey man, you did good. That’s one bad loss, don’t let it shake you.” Nick’s tact softened. “Here, I’ll drive. I know your arms feel like rubber.”

Kyle acquiesced, climbing into the passenger’s side as he tossed the keys to Nick. The two met in high school at swim meets. They specialized in different strokes and lengths so they never competed outside of practice. Kyle knew Nick was a better swimmer by a wide margin, but managed to subdue his resentment of his friend’s achievements. In any way other than their skill in the pool, Nick and Kyle were quite similar. Neither had the extensive family and support structure as other swimmers. Their coaches looked after them for the most part. Though both swimmers would be hesitant to admit it, neither excelled at making friends. They even looked similar, though Kyle attributed that to the swimmer’s physique and grooming practices. It was hard to look different when you wore a swimming cap, goggles, and a swimsuit. After years of training and swimming, their bodies had formed into the familiar V shape of swimmers. Their shoulders were wide, with smoothly muscled chests and strong arms which tapered quickly into a narrow waist and strong legs. Neither of the swimmers thought much on their appearance, other than the aggravating difficulty of finding clothes that fit correctly.

“Go on then, let it out,” Nick encouraged as they pulled onto the highway.

Kyle sullen mood could hardly be ignored. “When’s the last time you lost a meet, Nick?”

“Hmm, junior year of high school I think. Stayed up all night before for some damn reason. Coach was pissed about that.”

“So you didn’t even lose because someone was better than you. You lost because of your own stupidity.”

“Pretty much. Story of my life.”

“I’ve lost plenty.”

“Third isn’t losing. Third gets you a medal.”

“Third doesn’t get me nationals.”

They went quiet for a while. Kyle didn’t think on any one thing. His mind wandered into blankness, occasionally returning to a center of anger. Anger at himself, at the other swimmers, at his coach, at his parents for not being there. Nick interrupted the spiral of thought, “So what’s your next move?”

Kyle sighed. “Train for two more weeks. Head up to Chicago for the next qualifier.”

“Chicago? Kerrick and Will are swimming in that one. You’re a good swimmer, don’t get me wrong, but those guys have had Olympics tattooed on their ass since they were born. They’re probably three seconds ahead of you. Not to mention the rest of the field. With your time tonight, you’d be swimming in lane two at best.”

“Still gotta try.”

Nick shrugged. “Come on, man. I know you have the dream of getting on those pedestals. We all do, but you gotta be realistic. You’re not gonna make it this year.”

Kyle knew his friend was right. He could live in the pool for the next two weeks and still not put on enough strength to out swim anyone at the Chicago meet. “You knew Carlo, right?”

Nick didn’t answer. He shook his head silently for a moment. “You don’t want to go down that road, man. It’s not worth it. Once you start, you can’t stop.”

“Half the guys out there are doing it. They cut it off a month before pissing in a cup and no one bats an eye. In five years, there will be some new scandal and everyone will be in an uproar about doping again, but it fades. Each time, the public cares a little less. Why should we put ourselves on the cross for nothing? I know Kerrick dopes.”

“Can you prove it?”

“No, but we know he does. You’ve seen him put the fucking needle in his ass.”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“I didn’t ask if you’d seen anything. I asked if you knew Carlo.” Nick didn’t reply. Kyle continued to press. “Look, I’ve got two swims left in me at best. I know I can do it, but I need more time. This keeps me in the game. I get to the national meet and still have to get through the heats before I win anything. I use for two weeks, enough to get me in the top two, and that’s it. Shit, it’s not like I can afford the stuff longer than that.”

Nick looked over and sighed. “Alright. We can go see him tomorrow.”

“How about now? It’s early.”

“Shit, man. Don’t let him see how fucking eager you are, or he’ll charge you double.” Nick clicked the blinker and turned the car off the highway.

The two swimmers didn’t talk much as they drove through the night. Carlo hung out in a gym on the east side of the city. A quick text let them know he was open for business. The gym’s windows gave off a faint glow on the dark street. Neither of the swimmers came to this side of the town very often, and they immediately knew why. The whole area looked like an abandoned war zone. Closed businesses left and right, piles of garbage on the streets, and vaguely menacing shadows in the alleyways. The gym seemed to be driving back the encroaching darkness by using as much electricity as possible.

Inside the gym, a few dour faces glared at the two swimmers. Kyle walked with a frenzied determination, and Nick managed to exude his usual arrogance even in the dingy gym. Neither of them had spent time in a place like Carlo’s. They did all their training in high end places with pristine equipment. Any one of the machines in Carlo’s could have broken down in a moment, likely at great risk to whomever was using it at the time. The room clanged as the machines moved and weights slammed the ground. Business continued even as dozens of eyes followed them across the room.

“Skinny little birds come to my house? Why little birds?” Carlo sat on a bench, his form bloated with muscle. He could barely move his neck from the cords of steroid infused tissue. Kyle didn’t know if he spoke with an accent or if his tongue had grown thick from the drugs. “I know this one. Nick, my friend.” Carlo stood up, a mountain of muscle, and pulled Nick into an unwanted hug. “And this one? A new friend.”

“Kyle,” he said, flatly. He didn’t offer a handshake, and Carlo eyed him suspiciously.

“You are a swimmer as well. These swimmers, like toothpicks. And us like the meatballs! What can Carlo do for you?”

Nick answered, “My friend here is swimming in two weeks. He wants something to keep him in the match.”

“Two weeks? Two weeks is not enough. Heart would explode in two weeks.”

Kyle spoke resolutely, “My heart can take it.”

Carlo laughed. His eyes widened, pushing back the rolls of skin to peer directly at Kyle. “Not a matter of courage, little toothpick. This juice would pop your eyes out before doing you any good in a pool. Do not misunderstand. Happy to sell. Don’t sell pointless product. Is waste.”

Nick shifted uncomfortably. “Come on, Carlo, you gotta have some kind of booster or something. He’s swimming two seconds under the next guy. You gotta have something that can shave off two seconds.”

Carlo rubbed his bald head thoughtfully. “Costa! Bring my box.” A slightly smaller, muscled man disappeared through a door and returned a few moments later carrying a gray lock box. Carlo’s thick fingers struggled to put in the combination, but finally it clicked open. The two swimmers looked inside at the variety of little vials. Carlo thumbed through until he pulled one marked with the number 34. “This is….what’s word….experiment. New cocktail. Should give you the boost you need.”

“Is it safe?” Nick asked.

“Is safe. Does no good to sell to dead men. Product is safe. Reaction may vary. Some toothpicks snap easy.”

Kyle took the small vial into his palm. He held it up to the light. The number 34 had been etched on carefully. The amber liquid behind it shimmered in the bright fluorescent lights. “How much?”

“Five thousand.”

Nick laughed incredulously. Kyle simply reached for his wallet. “I have a credit card.”

“Is OK. We have Square Reader.” Carlo took the credit card and handed it over to his lackey. “Now for nasty part.” He pulled out his phone and hobbled over to Kyle, wrapping his arm around the younger man’s shoulder. He raised the phone up in front of them and fumbled to press the camera button. “Smile, is selfie.” Carlo grinned dumbly next to Kyle’s anxious face as the flash went off. “Now then, we have understanding. You get jammed up, no blaming Carlo. We never met, unless we were best friends.” The man returned with the credit card and an tablet. “Ah, good. Sign here. Will be billed as gym donation.” Kyle did as he was told. He found it particularly silly Carlo handed him a receipt. “For tax write off. Charity donation.”

“How much do I take?”

“Oh, of course. How could forget? Any juice comes with complementary straw.” He fished in the box and pulled out a sterile sealed package of needles. “You fill straw to this mark. No more. Any less, won’t work. Understand? Start tonight.”

Kyle took the package. “I’ve got it.”

“Excellent! Now then, old friend and new friend, scurry on. You need more, you come see Carlo.”

Nick didn’t say much as they drove away from the gym. Kyle held the vial tightly in his jacket pocket as they wound their way through the city toward his apartment. A small feeling of guilt nagged at him. He knew other swimmers who doped, but he also knew many that didn’t. He remembered being a kid when the baseball scandals broke. The big home run competition that drove everyone to watch game after game like some kind of social phenomenon. People knew what was happening. They kept quiet. The ratings were good, ticket sales were up, and no one felt the need to ask questions until years after it was all over. That’s how the world works. He could win the qualifier, knock out some other kid who had plenty of years left, and get his last swim on the national level. After that he’d fade back into obscurity, no one would ask questions, and no one would find out about Carlo.

They pulled up to the apartment building. It was a small complex filled with other people their age, some of whom sat on the steps. Nick said hello to them. Neither party cared much for the other, but they were polite. Kyle pressed past them, determined to finish what he started before losing his nerve. He took the steps two at a time until reaching his floor. Nick hurried to catch up, “Hey! Kyle, man, you can still not do it, you know. Carlo will take the stuff back at half.”

Kyle put the key in his door, “I’m doing it, Nick. Two weeks and that’s that.” He stepped into his apartment, and Nick slipped in behind. “What are you doing?”

“Ever tried to put a needle in your own ass? It’s fucking difficult.”

He followed Kyle back into the bedroom. Kyle took out the needle and handed it to Nick. “You’ve done this before?”

“Not to myself. Back in high school, I had some friends who doped pretty regularly. Football types. I helped them out once or twice. Gets harder for them the bulkier they get. Some of that shit is crazy. This mark right?” Nick pushed the needle into the vial and pulled the plunger. The amber liquid swirled into the needle. “Looks like you’ve got about eight doses. Turn around, pull down your shorts. Right cheek. Hang on, you got any alcohol and cotton balls?”

Kyle pointed to the bathroom. After some clattering, Nick returned still carrying the needle and holding a wet cotton ball. The alcohol made Kyle’s skin suddenly and drastically cold. He didn’t feel the needle go in, but when the plunger went down, it felt like lightning being shoved into his body. He drew in a sharp breath and cursed. Nick pulled out the needle and pushed the dry end of the cotton ball against the puncture for a moment. Kyle took it from him and went to sit down on the bed. “Now…what? Am I supposed to feel something?”

“In a while, you’re going to get really fucking hungry. Something greasy and heavy in protein. You’ll probably stay that way all week. You won’t get tired as easily. You should have a lot more energy. Watch out for aggression, that kind of thing.” Nick dropped the needle on a dresser beside the vial.

Kyle barely heard him. A strange feeling crept over his body. It did not feel unpleasant, but, had he not just injected something into himself, he would have been very concerned. Sweat beaded on his forehead and shoulders. His heart thumped in his chest. Nick kept talking, but Kyle only heard a garbled, droning noise, like trying to hear someone talking under water. Kyle tried to speak, but his tongue felt thick and numb. A prickling feeling spread across his skin. He jerked away when Nick’s hand touched his shoulder.

“You alright man? You don’t look good? Can you talk?” Nick’s questions went unanswered and unheard as he watched Kyle start to rock back and forth, holding his stomach and keeping his head down. “Should I call somebody?”

Before Nick could get his phone out, Kyle leaned back. In a mad rush, he started tearing at his clothes. The jacket went first, followed by sweat drenched t-shirt. He looked down at his chest, expecting to see new muscle. Instead, his chest had softened and new fatty tissue bulged forth. “What the fuck?” he managed to say. Nick watched wide eyed as his friend’s small male nipples grew in step with the expanding flesh around them. Kyle’s hand came up to touch the soft tissue, and he shuddered in pleasure at the feeling of his own hand. He looked at Nick, “Do something!”

Nick didn’t move. He couldn’t think. His friend was rapidly changing in a way that had to be impossible. Kyle’s shoulders narrowed, and his hips grew wider. Nick knew enough about the human form to see it wasn’t only a change in the tissue, but in bone underneath. Kyle’s face softened as the jaw became less pronounced and his hair grew longer and fuller. The bizarre growth on his chest could no longer be called anything but breasts. In moments, they had become the largest Nick had ever seen. Kyle moaned unintentionally each time he touched the soft flesh. Nick found himself wanting to touch them as well and realized that his cock strained against his boxers.

Angry and confused as to why Nick remained unmoved, Kyle tried to stand up. He immediately fell back to the bed and rolled to his side. His legs felt like jelly, as if he’d done a hundred laps in the pool. His mind struggled to stay clear. Bubbly thoughts pushed their way into his mind, things he had never thought before. What do my tits look like? What would a boy’s hand on them feel like? Will my ass look too big or not big enough? How does Nick’s cock taste? Kyle shook his head violently as if he could dislodge the intruding thoughts through physical force. His boxers grew tight. The elastic was meant for narrow hips, not the flared female type. Nor was it meant to support a thick, round ass. The realization hit with a dull thud. I’m turning into a woman.

Shocked at the realization, he pulled off his shorts and ripped away the boxers. His hand dove immediately for the familiar feeling of his dick, but found the space empty. His hand drifted slightly lower. He gasped as his fingers touched wet lips. The light touch felt heavenly, and he wanted more. Kyle’s fingers slid along his new slit, teasing out more and more of his lubrication until he pushed his fingers into his brand new pussy. Kyle cried out as the feeling of having something inside of him drove him wild. I need more. I need to be full. Full of cock, full of cum. Full until I scream for more. Kylie. The new name fit. Almost as if she had always been Kylie. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw the lithe specimen of Nick, stuck to the spot as if someone had frozen him in time.

Nick couldn’t believe any of it. His friend had turned into a woman while he watched. He’d seen flesh grow and shape into the body of a porn star in the span of five minutes. All the while, Kylie moaned and writhed in pleasure. “Kyle? Hey man, can you hear me?”

“Nick…Nick, fuck me please,” the gorgeous woman whimpered. “Please, I need it so bad.”

Nick knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should call 911 immediately. Whatever Carlo was dealing, it wasn’t steroids. But he’d never seen a woman so gorgeous or so perfect with a pussy that was brand new, a virgin. He started to take off his clothes, and Kylie urged him to hurry.

In moments, he was between her legs. Her body radiated heat as her hands went all over his body. She guided him to touch her breasts, her ass. He obliged by squeezing each in turn. Nick couldn’t touch her enough. Each time his hand drifted to another part of her, she ached for it to return. His cock wedged in the outer folds of her pussy throbbing against her naked sex. Reaching down between them, Kylie guided the erect rod into her, groaning in satisfaction as Nick pushed inside. She wanted him to cum, to splash his seed deep in her. Kylie wanted to suck him until he was hard again so he could bend her over and fuck her like the animal she was. A distant voice in her mind cried out, but she ignored it, concentrating on the building pleasure in her core.

Nick had never experienced a woman like her. She pulled him with every fiber of her being. Her fingers clawed at his back, her legs wrapped around his hips, and her pussy pulled at his cock. He knew he wouldn’t last long. His mouth lowered and kissed her breast. His tongue licked and twirled around her engorged nipples. She whispered into his ear and sucked on his earlobe, driving him wild. The moment possessed them with only one maddened purpose. Nick erupted inside of her. Kylie wailed in pleasure as her body rocked in orgasm. Each spurt of cum sent her to a higher crest of intensity. His arms wrapped around her as her whole body shook. They collapsed into a heap of limps and sweat.

Moments passed. The two listened to rapid thumping of each other’s hearts. Nick didn’t know what to say. The world was different now. He’d fucked the female body of one of his oldest friends. As she rose from the bed, leaving him lying on his front, he blurted, “Well, maybe you can compete in the women’s?”

Kylie smiled at his suggestion. She picked up the vial from the dresser and murmured to herself, “Maybe we can swim doubles.”