Olympic Conditioning

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I wrote this just after the Winter Olympics one year. It is an unfinished tale, and probably always will be. Some will complain it ends just as the sauna starts steaming. But after Tara gives in, it just doesn’t give me that itch anymore. Without the itch, my mind doesn’t play and my fingers just won’t frigg the keyboard any longer.

*****

Tara’s leg quaked as she came down on it, hard. Ice rasped. She wobbled as she shot across its surface. She twisted, trying to correct the direction of her momentum. Tara whipped her other leg around and sprang; forcing her body into a flying spinning twist.

A double lux, a missed landing and Tara was sliding across the ice on her rump.

“No, no, no, no!” Herbert Von Glotcha cried, walking across the ice to Tara. “Leg too straight! Relax, flex, fly!”

“Yah,” Tara sighed, climbing to her feet. “Relax, fly.” She rubbed her bruised posterior. “Great!”

“You no fly, you no win.”

Her stomach lurched. A sick fluttering feeling churned within, deepening, just as it had every day since she’d arrived at the Olympics.

“Try again!”

“Relax,” Tara muttered, fluttering her hands as though she was trying to shake water from them. She pushed off around the rink in a slow elegant backwards slide that gathered speed quickly. Her hair whipped about her face. Her skating skirt rippled in her wake, riding up and flashing her ass. She gathered herself and leapt.

Tara spun through the air, a miniature cyclone of grace and beauty. She came down. Her blade sliced into the ice. Her knee buckled. Her rump protested its second unforgiving landing and the subsequent ice burn as she spun across the rink.

“Eek!” she yelped. Her cry was immediately followed by a solid whump. Frustrated, she kicked the offending wall.

“Relax! I told you relax!” Herbert bellowed, striding over to the tangled mess of arms and legs.

“I tried,” she whined.

“You no so nervous at nationals?”

“That was nationals,” she said, clambering gracelessly back to her feet. Despite her skill, she wobbled a little. Her posterior burned. “Nationals were never my dream, just a, a, a stepping stone. This! This is the Olympics!”

“Oh, so you get here and then break down. Just like a soloshtovic! A, a, Ugo.” He frowned, thinking a moment. “This no good. No point. Just get hurt.” He wagged a gnarled finger at her. “You go shower. Get a massage. Get a drink. Get shloppy. Get relaxed! Be back tomorrow. Be better!”

Tara sighed and kicked off for the lockers.

She sighed again. This time a much longer, drawn out and almost contented groan as a few minutes later hot water sluiced off tired battered muscles. Her face tilted into the waterfall of wet heat washing over her.

She arched her back and ran her fingers through her long mahogany hair. Her hands trailed down her backside to come to a rest upon her rump. She massaged her cheeks working bruises and tension from her flesh.

Her thoughts drifted to that last night in Boston. She and Jason had come so close. He’d climbed in the shower with her. He’d touched her. He’d massaged her. She’d almost let him. Just thinking of that made her toes curl. She sobbed her longing.

“That looks good. You thinkin’ about a Jason?”

“Sarah!” Tara cried. “Ouch” She rubbed her head where it’d banged the showerhead when she’d jumped. A deep red blush surged across her skin.

“You were! Weren’t you!” Sarah laughed.

“Nooo,” Tara said, slamming off the shower and reaching for her towel. It did no good. Her blush crawled up her neck and across her cheeks.

“Yes, yes you were,” Sarah chided, stepping aside. Tara hurried for her locker and cloths.

“Okay, so I was,” Tara said, sticking out her tongue. “What of it.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should have brought him. It might have been fuuun.”

“We’re saving ourselves for after the wedding. He’s Catholic.”

“OOOhhh, like you’re not a virgin too.”

“Yah so, what of it? At least I don’t throw myself at every cute boy that looks my way!”

“Hey, why so touchy? Afraid of what you might be missing?”

“Nooo!”

“Yeeeesss!”

“This is childish,” Tara groused, wrestling herself into a pair of jeans.

Sarah stuck out her tongue and then strutted away, wiggling her ass like a street walker.

“Hey, Tara,” she called from the locker room door. “The girls and I are going over to that disco bar tonight, you know, the one with the unpronounceable name. You ought to come, might pick you up a Russian stud.”

Tara opened her mouth to respond but Sarah had already ducked out of the room. She grimaced, tugged her bra over her rather small breasts and slid into a slip. She shrugged into sweater, grappled her bag into the locker and shouldered it shut.

After leaving the locker-room Tara wandered the Olympic complex for a time. There were more than a few little booths and shops hawking souvenirs.

Tara ended up buying a Sochi Olympic hockey puck she thought Jason might like and then headed back to the barracks; as the belugabahis giriş American Team tended to call the athlete’s hotel. She veered off, just before arriving and went to her parent’s rental instead.

Her coach, and some cute boy she’d never seen before, was in the little house’s living room when she arrived.

“Come, come in,” Tara’s father said, meeting her at the door and giving her a hug. “It’s good to see you. Herbert’s here.”

“Yah, I can see that,” she said, slipping past her dad and throwing her coat over the back of a chair. “Who’s the new guy?”

“Who, him,” her father almost stuttered. He wrung his hands and took a hurried seat across from her. Tara couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him so nervous. “Elroy, its Elroy, right?” He looked questionably at the young man.

Elroy stood.

“Hi, you must be Tara, he said, “Pleased to meet you.” His English was fluid, and only slightly accented. Tara liked the way his muscles moved under his shirt as he stood. She stared, and felt a little weak kneed. He was blond and blue eyed. He looked perfect.

In fact, she thought he looked a little like Captain Kirk from Jason’s favorite movie; Star Trek into Darkness, or something like that. Only when she felt the warmth of his hand taking hers in a firm, but by no means painful, handshake was she able to tear her eyes away from his biceps and chest.

Her gaze met his. She blushed. He smiled. It was a warm, gorgeous, completely delightful curve of the lips. Tara felt a little rush.

“Hi, yeah, Tara, that’s me,” she said, rather lamely.

“Herb and I have been talkin’,” her father interrupted, still wringing his hands. Elroy and Tara sat. “We think, we think …”

“You need to relax,” her coach interjected. “You want win Olympics. You relax. Elroy relax you.”

“Elroy’s a …” her father tried to say.

“A sensual masseuses,” Elroy supplied.

“Yeah, that,” her father said.

Tara’s mouth fell open. A hot red flush crawled across her skin.

“You? He? You want me? Us?”

“Darling,” her dad said, taking a huge breath. “You’ve wanted the Olympics since almost before you could walk. We’ve, you’ve sacrificed so much! And you’re here, but you’re falling apart, everyone can see that. You need something to take your mind off the games.”

“And this is you solution?” she nearly screamed. She was completely out of her seat, her fists clenched and her entire body trembling. She couldn’t believe her ears. She was engaged. She was a virgin. Her wedding was less than six weeks away and her dad wanted her to, to, to rut with some stranger? “What does mom think?”

“Mom thinks you need to relax.”

“You mean she knows! Why isn’t she here?” “She’s out shopping.”

“You mean she’s avoiding me! She’s avoiding this! I can’t believe you and she want me to, to have,” she couldn’t bring herself to say sex. “To be with this man.”

“You want to win,” her father said.

“You no like? There are other men,” her coach said right over the top of her father’s lame words.

“What does sex have to do with winning?” she screamed, finally managing the offensive word.

“Sex good. Sex relax you. Sex make you better athlete.”

“What!”

“Honey, Darling, Deer,” her dad said. “It’s a well-documented phenomenon that people who have sex the night before a competition perform better.”

“Uurrruuggg!” Tara growled. She stomped her foot and tore her coat from the back of the chair.

However, even as she stormed towards the door she couldn’t help but notice that Elroy hadn’t said a word. In fact, he’d kind of distanced himself from the whole conversation. He’d observed but invested nothing to its outcome.

Most boys she’d known would have leapt at any chance to sleep anything with the proper hole. She couldn’t help but wonder if he perhaps didn’t find her all that attractive.

“Wait! Darling,” her father said, leaping to her side. He thrust an arm up over her shoulder and stopped the door before she could slip out. “I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean to … I don’t know. It’s just that you’ve wanted to win so bad and now, and now things are so hard for you.”

Tara turned her face up towards her father. Raw emotions raged across her face. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t say anything.

“I know you don’t want to have sex with him. You don’t have too. Just let him relax you. He really is a masseuse.” He thrust a card into her hand. “Remember how much you want to win. You’ve sacrificed so much to get here. Just,” he said, “think about it.” He let go of the door.

Tara stormed out. She crushed the card in a fist as she stormed down the rental’s steps. She nearly threw it in the gutter as she stomped outside.

She cocked her arm to throw it when she came to a sudden stop. She thought of his smile, the firm warmth of his handshake, the play of his muscles. She crushed the crinkled card in her purse instead.

Those thoughts, the warmth of his smile, the look in his eyes, her father’s indecent proposal chased her around belugabahis güvenilirmi town all afternoon, from bar to disco to the Olympic plaza at twighlight. But she didn’t want to drink, she didn’t want to dance and she most certainly didn’t know what to do at the plaza so, frustrated, she returned to the barracks.

Tara was still hot with anger when she entered her bare little room. She was hot with something else too. She couldn’t get Elroy out of her mind. He was becoming an itch, a bad itch, that against all odds and logic she’d been given permission to scratch.

A cold shower didn’t help. She couldn’t get to sleep. Her oversized tee-shirt pajamas scratched at her nipples. Twice she found her and hand in her white cotton bikini briefs like some wanna be jock watching football.

She looked at the clock. It was 8:00. Then it was 8:15. Then, after the thirtieth timed she’d flopped over in bed, the third time she’d caught herself fumbling around with her hand in her pants and the tenth time she’d check the clock it still wasn’t even ten.

“Urrrg!” she growled, sitting up. Grumpy, and not quite believing she was doing it, she stomped over to her purse and rooted out the smashed card.

She called, and hung up twice, before she finally held the line long enough for him to answer.

“Hello?” There was a long pause. He didn’t sound sleepy at all. Tara could hear another voice, a feminine voice, in the background, asking who it was.

“Hello?” Elroy said again. “Tara, is that you?”

Tara squeaked and hung up. She flung the phone across the room. Fortunately it bounced of the bed before it clattered to the floor and no real damage was done. It started ringing.

She raced up to it and kicked it under the bed. There was a muffled bang when it collided with the wall. It shut up, but then after a moment, it started ringing again.

“Arrr!” she screamed, and flung herself face down on the bed. She jammed her pillow over her head and screamed into the coverlet. Little kicks drove her toes into the mattress again and again and again.

There was a loud banging on the wall followed by shouting.

“Shut up! I’ve got practice a 4:00 AM!”

Tara stopped her kicking mid scream. Fortunately, by then the phone had stopped ringing and she was able to stop smashing the pillow into her ears. Emotionally exhausted, she lay there.

She might have slept. She didn’t know. But when the knock on the door sounded she shot bolt upright.

“Tara,” someone called, quietly. “Tara, are you in there?”

“Oh God!” Tara thought, “It’s Elroy. He’s here.” A familiar queasy feeling churned in her stomach only this time her chest tightened too. It felt electric. It kind of hurt. She didn’t know what to do.

“Tara?”

“Yes,” she said, before she could stop herself. Gods, why had she done that? Now he knew she was here. Still, unable to help herself she crept to the door.

“Can I come in?”

“So you can …”

“No,” he chuckled. “So we can talk. You know, this was not my idea. I’m a massage therapist. A sports therapist. Not some sort of French gigolo.”

Tara reached for the door and then pulled back. She reached for it again but didn’t open it. Her hand shook and the handle giggled a little. Oh gods her knees felt weak.

“Tara?”

“Okay,” she squeaked, around the tightness in her breast. She thought again of his blue eyes, rippling muscles and warm hands. The queasy feeling abated only to be replaced by a nervous charge in her chest that was sinking towards her hips. She opened the door.

And there he stood, all seventy three inches of muscle bound cuteness. He wore a white tee-shirt and jeans and had a farm boy Greek god look about him. That nervous charge Tara had been feeling took on a little heat and sank lower.

Elroy’s warm smile twitched, just slightly, when he saw her. His eyes flicked down. Her eyes followed his gaze.

“Oh my god!” she squeaked, flushing scarlet. She leapt back from the door, tore the coverlet from her bed and wrapped it about her waist.

Elroy chuckled as he stepped into the room. He dropped a small duffle and shut the door.

“Hi,” he said, stepping a little further.

“Hi,” Tara said, biting her lip. “Soooo, you wanted to talk.”

“Well, yah,” he said, finding himself a chair. “First off Tara, there’s no need to be embarrassed. It’s not like I haven’t seen more at the beach.”

“You haven’t seen more of me at the beach.”

“True, but I’m sure someone has. Likely many someones. Your dad did show me pictures. That beach at Savannah looks real nice.”

“He showed you pictures,” Tara choked out, while blushing again. She’d been wearing a string bikini, a very small string bikini, last spring on that beach.

“So,” he said. “You called; three times. Why did you call?”

If Tara had been blushing before, she was positively on fire now. She thought she might melt. She wanted to melt, or maybe hide under the bed. Seconds ticked by.

“Let me guess,” he said, when she didn’t belugabahis yeni giriş answer. “Your dad’s proposal? It’s been on your mind?”

“Yah,” Tara breathed. She twisted a foot about, grinding a toe into the floor. She ducked her head even lower while refusing to meet his gaze.

“I suppose it would surprise you to know that such proposals are not really all that uncommon. At this level, coaches, uh, encourage their athletes all the time. True, it’s the first time I’ve seen a father in on it, but coaches, yah, they do that.”

“You’re kidding? Right?” Tara said, surprised into looking him in the eyes. They were all blue, all warm and oh so gorgeous. Her voice caught and for a second her mouth worked but nothing came out.

“Wait, how would you know?” she finally sputtered.

“Hmph! This is not my first Olympics; or World Championship for that matter.”

“You’re an athlete?” she said, surprised. He was fit, very fit, but he hadn’t the look, that special something, that invisible mantel, that all Olympians wore.

He chuckled. “Uh, no. Nothing like that. But I do follow the sports circuit. It’s where I get most my work.”

“Your work?”

“Yah, sports therapist, remember?”

“Oh yah, right. I was thinkin’ …,” she said, and then paused. “Nevermind.”

Elroy smiled.

“You really are uptight, aren’t you? Your father said you were but I wasn’t sure I believed him.”

“Hey!”

“I meant nervous, about the Olympics.”

“Oh, yah, I guess I am,” Tara said. Her voice quavered.

Trying to appear casual, she unwrapped the coverlet and threw it on the bed. After all, as he said, bikini briefs and a tee- shirt really weren’t the most revealing outfit she owned. Still, she sat on the edge of the mattress and crossed her legs.

“Tara, I am a sports massage therapist. Some even call me a relaxation coach. I’m really, really good at it. At least I like to think I am. The coaches, your coach, may think differently but my true job is to work out your jitters. That’s what matters. It doesn’t have to involve sex and I am not here to seduce you. Will you let me try?”

Tara sucked in a heavy breath. Her breast rose and then, slowly fell. A certain amount of tension, and fear, fled with it. She felt a twinge of disappointment too.

“Okay,” Tara said.

He smiled, and then turned all business like.

“Lay down, face down,” he said. He jumped up and grabbed his bag. The bed was low and he was tall so he grabbed a chair and scooted it over for a seat. “Now don’t panic. I’m going to remover your shirt before we get started. I’m just going to pull it over your head while you lay there. With you lying like that I won’t see anything. You okay with that?”

Tara gulped, and nodded. She flinched when he first touched her. She had to lift her arms as he pulled the shirt’s hem up over her head. The collar caught on her nose. She turned her head towards the wall and it popped off leaving the barest hint of a rug burn on the tip of her nose. She laughed and then sneezed.

She heard her shirt drop onto the floor. Her breath caught and that electric excitedly terrified feeling in her breast returned. Another, warmer one, began to tickle her below.

He handed her a white towel.

“You can use that to cover yourself when I role you over later.”

Tara took an unsteady breath.

“Now, let us begin,” he said. “I’m going to touch your shoulders now.”

And he did. Strong warm hands were rested upon her shoulders. Slowly he eased his thumbs into the spine of her neck. He dug. Her muscles parted and tension began to bleed free. Tara could almost imagine her muscles groaning with relief.

His warm, oh so strong, hands worked her neck, her shoulders, her ribs, and her spine all the way to her tailbone. Each touch released strain from her muscles and worry from her mind. Occasionally she’d mew as a particularly tight knot parted before his steady assault.

Then he was massaging her feet. She yelped and nearly jerked them from his hands as the first jolt from his thumbs ran up her legs into her thighs. He stopped, let her relax, and then dug in a second time.

The released tension bolted up her legs, coiled about her hips and added to the warm relaxing glow that was starting to envelop her. And slowly, luxuriantly she began to stretch. Even her toes spread with the heady glow that began to fill her.

“That’s more like it,” Elroy murmured, as she settled into her bed deeper. She let out a heavy sigh and closed her eyes.

Elroy began up the back of her legs, slowly kneading the powerful muscles that had won her so many competitions. He worked his way up higher. He slowly spread her legs, giving himself room for his hands. An almost liquid sense of relaxation spread from his every touch.

Tara’s mind drifted. Thoughts of simple sunshine and flowers were chased away by dreams of Jason. Then even that went away. She simply allowed the warmth Elroy induced to engulf her. When a knuckle on his hand just barely flicked the delicate side of her rump, she didn’t jump, she merely drifted away on an avalanche of coiling calming warmth.

When Tara opened her eyes, she was on her back, the towel lazily spread over her breasts by one hand, her other arm languidly draped up over her head. Elroy was massaging her legs again.

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