If your intention was to escape the roar of the crowd packed into the giant stadium, the best place to be probably wasn't the changing rooms. But this was the only place Lulu knew where she could find any degree of privacy. Of course, she wasn't the only one collapsed head-down on a wooden bench, her arms draped over her knees and hands dangling loosely down. Women from events other than hers were slumped in a similar state of post-performance blues. Unsurprisingly it was those not celebrating victory who had chosen to hide away for as long as they could from the cameras, the crowds and the all-too-apparent disappointment of the nation they represented and its media.
Even if Lulu had done better than she had, perhaps qualifying for the next and final round, she knew that at the end of it she would still feel a huge weight lift off her that would leave her with a correspondingly huge void in her life. It wasn't just winning, of course. It was also participating and she did have the honour of being one of the two representatives Kenya had entered for the event: as many as Russia, the United States and China, not to mention the more formidable competition from Tanzania, South Africa and Nigeria. In recent years, it was the African nations that had excelled at the International Cowgirl event and so expectations and standards were very high. All of which was scarce consolation to Lulu for having let down her nation so badly in the contest.
Well, not so badly that she had come last, although it was mostly competitors from the Middle East and Europe whose scores Lulu had bettered. And worse than not having qualified for the next round was that Lulu had come nowhere near her personal best. Even in the contest against her own standards, she had not excelled. She'd expected to score higher than, at the very least, Argentina and Turkey, but here she was, the first of the Kenyans to be eliminated: destined now to be only the smallest footnote in the history of the International Cowgirl.
She knew, even before the judges presented their score-boards, that she hadn't quite done it. At least the Venezuelan judge had given her a nine but the other scores were a scattering of sevens and eights. Not nearly good enough. Particularly when her fellow Kenyan, Ghatoni, had scored mostly nines and that was with the same male partner as Lulu. Chilemba couldn't be blamed for failing her, although she still felt that he'd let her down slightly when his prick slipped out of her vagina at the crucial change of posture to full reverse cowgirl: her feet placed on his knees, ankles in and toes out, and upper body supported by her hands clutching his shoulders. It was a difficult manoeuvre, but one Lulu really should have handled better. She ought to have been more sensitive to the relative size of Chilemba's penis and her vulva's grip on its glans. But it was more the cumulative effect, not just the small slip, which had lowered her tally. As her coach told her when she sat on the bench, listening to the scores, it was her apparent lack of genuine enthusiasm and sexual excitement that most told against her. She was technically proficient, he had to admit, but she was losing that unfeigned zest for sex that distinguished the very best cowgirls. Her anal had been almost mechanical and the final facial was very nearly perfunctory. The top sexual athletes don't just have the ability to demonstrate their skill, they have to show that they enjoy it as well.
Lulu knew what he meant. Ghatoni was a world-class squirter and that tiny Japanese woman who did surprisingly well for her country orgasmed, yelled and screamed more than most other contestants put together. Who ever said that oriental women hid their emotions?
She sat naked with her coach for what seemed like forever: first trembling with anticipation at what her score might be and then shivering with shame and disappointment after the announcement had boomed across the stadium. She didn't know where she should look, although her eyes were invariably drawn to that section of the terraces where the African, and most specifically the Kenyan, fans were sitting. Those huge banners with her name on them had all been in vain. Lulu had indeed fucked for Nairobi, taken pearls of semen on her face for the Swahili nation and pumped Chilemba as dry as she could. But, after all the exertion, screened live over all Africa and the world, she had failed.
At first she couldn't be certain. The score-cards shimmered and blurred in front of her sweat-strewn eyes. The scores were first announced in German as befitted the host nation of the Sex Olympics, a language Lulu didn't speak. It was only when the announcement was then made in English that Lulu could be sure. And then, with the eyes of the world on her, and her face collapsing in misery, the scores were repeated in French, Spanish, Arabic and Chinese.
She was a failure.
All that time, ten minutes in all, where she'd been fucking for the pride of her nation and more than that, the months, even years, of practise for this day, all had come to nothing. In living rooms and bars and offices throughout Nairobi and Kenya, all eyes had been on her, watching her akimbo on Chilemba's chest and knees, his penis thrusting inside, and her shaved crotch close-up and magnified as she reciprocated her partner's thrusts with her own sexual rhythm. That was to have been her moment of glory. Now it was over. And people would not now remember the skill by which she transferred the penis from vagina to anus, the way she balanced so precariously on her partner, the talent of taking all the semen into her mouth and swallowing it, and her history of winning competitions in Kenya and Africa that had culminated in these ten minutes of international exposure. No. What they would remember was that solid, unremarkable score and Lulu's crumpled expression of despair and defeat that filled the massive screens of the stadium.
And what future lay ahead of her? Would Lulu enter competitions in the future? Did she even have the courage to do so? Or would she take a career in film or television where her cowgirl skills had prepared her well, although she had no acting ability? She certainly didn't have a life of marriage, children and domesticity to retire to. Even if that was what she wanted. Up to now it had all been clear. Her ambition was to become the best cowgirl in the world. An International Cowgirl who would be spoken about for generations. Now she'd come as far as she could and there was no further to go. What could she do now?
Lulu felt a comforting arm embrace her shoulder and a cheek press against her arm. "Don't worry, Lulu," said Ducha, who was Kenya's contestant in the 300 man marathon and was still in training. "You did well just to get this far and you know it!"
Lulu looked at her friend, her closest friend during the Munich Sex Olympics, and smiled as bravely as she could. She knew Ducha had grave doubts that she'd even do as well as Lulu. Ever since the Tokyo Anal Marathon where she'd had to bow out due to exhaustion and a possible urinary infection, she had lost much of the self-confidence that kept her going onto the critical two hundredth or two hundred and fiftieth fuck. She'd probably need as much reassurance from Lulu as she was now giving her compatriot.
"I know! I know!" said Lulu, finally giving vent to tears and burying her face in the comforting cushion of Ducha's exceptional bosom. "But knowing that doesn't somehow make it any better. All those months of practise. All that careful diet and exercise in the gym. All the men who've fucked me..."
"... And not just men!" Ducha reminded Lulu with a squeeze on her shoulders.
"Well, you certainly helped when Takata let me down that time," said Lulu graciously. "And your husband, Elewa, has been helpful while we've been here..."
"I'm only grateful I could help."
"I only wish I could have helped you in the same way," Lulu said through a nose full of snot.
"There are not many sexual athletes lucky enough to have understanding husbands or partners," said Ducha. "In any case, Elewa needed to get as much exercise as he could for the Three-Way event. He said you were equal to two women at once. And he certainly knows all about that!"
"I'm glad I could have been of assistance, though there's not much cowgirl in the Three-Way. Hardly more than a minute or so. And it's strictly optional."
"Elewa has always enjoyed cowgirl, especially the anal variety," said Ducha. "You don't have to think he was only doing it for you."
Lulu nodded but she would have preferred it if some man had done it only for her. Of all the sexual partners she had, not just in the stadium but elsewhere, not one of them had ever done it just for her. For all her skill at love-making, all her enthusiasm at fucking and all her athletic prowess, she had never properly filled that emotional cavity in her love-life.
It wasn't until the following day that Lulu again had time that could be called her own. Before then, she was interviewed by newspapers, magazines, and radio and television stations from not only Kenya but from all over African. None, of course, from outside the continent and only one from North Africa. And none of these interviews, brief though they were, made her feel any better. How did she feel? How disappointed was she? What were her plans for the future? The bland answers she gave were all a shield behind which Lulu struggled to work out for herself what she really thought and what she should do.
.... There is more of this story ...