Chapter 44: Oops, She Did It Again...

Lydia

For the first time since the games had begun, I actually sat in the stands, instead of providing the entertainment. That should have been Meri and Femke’s job for the day as – for the first – time they weren’t working together, but riding against each other.

During the preliminaries in the points races this upcoming confrontation pretty much evaporated right away though. They were drawn into different heats and while Meri won hers, Femke never managed to get a lap, mainly because she had the misfortune of having two German girls in her race. They kept the pace so high that gaining a lap was pretty much out of the question. That meant her day was effectively over after a hundred laps.

Despite her early exit, Femke was in good spirits, knowing that the points race had been a long shot for her anyway. She could score the odd good result in a winter event, where the competition wasn’t as stiff as it was here, but with the entire world’s elite present, she hadn’t had much of a shot at winning anyway. She soon joined us in the stands.

Now, Meri was an entirely different matter. She was on fire. Femke claimed credit for it as she had relinquished first dibs on a good-luck boink with Mark to Meri the previous day. Needless to say that with the individual pursuit coming up the next day, she wouldn’t be quite as generous in the evening.

Femke

Although the good-luck tryst with Mark was more of an in-joke and a convenient excuse to get our hands on that well-built hunk, it seemed to work for Meri. Mark had shagged her every which way the night before, supported by her sweetheart Regina, and she was putting down some massive sprints.

After comfortably winning her preliminary round, she also cleaned the fridge in the semi-final, even beating two of the German favorites. The top favorite from France won the second semi-final. It was clear that Meri had a genuine shot at some shiny metal.

With the break between the semi-final and the final race being taken up by the men’s preliminaries, Mark had disappeared to check out the catering, which in his case most likely meant finding some beer supply. One could only hope he would find something other than what passed for beer in America.

“Do you know something I don’t?” I asked Lydia when she grinned at me as if she had heard my inner thoughts.

“You’re wondering whether he’ll come back with a plastic cup full of piss, aren’t you?”

“Am I that transparent?” I asked back.

“No, but I know how thirsty I am after a race, especially one that didn’t go my way,” Lydia said with a giggle. “Don’t worry. When Fred and Jack collected Jonjo in Pasadena, they also bagged a crate of finest Bavarian brew from the Bachlmayers.”

“How did he smuggle it in here,” I said in a hushed voice to avoid any unwanted eavesdroppers.

“They pat down the visitors, but not the athletes,” Lydia answered with a wicked grin.

Mark

Femke gave me a knowing grin when I came back with two large cups of what for the bystander looked like the local piss, but in reality was finest Paulaner from Germanyland.

Lydia didn’t like beer, let alone in competitive phases, so I had brought her a plastic bottle of mineral water. The bottle of Bavarian goodness that Meri had smuggled in had gone into two cups for Femke and me.

“You sure you won’t get into trouble with your officials?” I asked Femke, when handing her a cup. After all she could possibly be seen drinking beer on the TV feed.

Femke laughed. “I could sit here naked, smoking shit and our officials wouldn’t give a rats end. I’m Dutch.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” Lydia warned her with a giggle.

That was of course a bit of an exaggeration. Yes, the Netherlands were more liberal than most other countries, but Femke claiming ever more outrageous things she could do because she was Dutch had become a running gag among us.

By the time we had finished our beer, the men’s preliminaries were over and it was time to watch Meri in the final.

Lydia

Meri and Femke were excellent cyclists, but when it came to track cycling they had put the cart before the horse, so to speak. It was not uncommon for track cyclists to switch to road cycling during their career, but our two friends had gone the opposite direction.

That gave them a massive advantage, the higher stamina they had developed for long road races, but also a major disadvantage in bike handling skills, which were much more important on the crowded track than on the wide open road.

Thankfully Meri had the stamina to drill it at the front of the pack. That cost more energy than was strictly necessary, but she had that additional oomph to keep herself out of trouble and prevent others from boxing her in.

It became obvious early on that the fight would be between Meri, the French favorite for the title and an Australian girl who nobody had had on their short list. The three of them traded the three top spots in the first five sprints with the French girl pulling out a narrow lead over the Australian and Meri, who were tied on points.

Sprints six and seven went to a German lady who launched a desperate Hail Mary attack to gain a lap, but never got away more than a quarter of a lap before being reeled in again.

The last three sprints went the same way the first five had gone. The French girl cemented her lead, but Meri managed to eke out a slender advantage of two points over the Australian to collect a well deserved Silver, which clearly animated the masses in the stands.

Meri was now technically the most successful Olympian in our group, but Femke and I had still one and two chances respectively to change that.

Regina

It was amazing how quickly one gets used to luxury. Instead of accompanying Lydia and Mark to the Stone Mountain Park Velodrome, I had stayed behind and watched my sweetheart bag another medal while sitting in the jacuzzi. To be honest, I didn’t like going out too much. America was somehow a bit too loud and garish for me. For someone like me, who had grown up in a country where almost literally everything had been gray, the shrieking colors and sounds of the States felt a bit overwhelming.

I wouldn’t be staying alone for long though as about ninety minutes after the medal ceremony the whole gang came barreling in, clothes went flying, and the whirlpool was suddenly very crowded.

Not that I minded the company, as Meri was almost instantly all over me.

Lydia

Sometimes I felt like the odd woman out. Okay, age-wise I was, being more than ten years older than anyone else, but right now some people would probably have felt left out.

Meri and Regina were quite busy, and Femke was making noises one would expect at a cattle farm while Mark gave her a jolly good pounding. It was a good thing that I had a solid voyeuristic streak in me, so just watching the pandemonium was more than enough to excite me. And I had two healthy hands, so my nether regions and my tits were well catered for.

Uncharacteristically, Femke was the first to climax, and she grunted something in Dutch that I didn’t understand. Seeing that Mark doubled over, hysterically laughing, it must have been of a ripe variety. Always good for a surprise, Mark pulled out of her, stroked his rock-hard organ a few times and shamelessly nutted all over Femke’s face and tits. Now that would have been a picture for a Belgian newspaper.

Meri and Regina had probably noticed absolutely none of that. When those two were at it, they forgot everything around them. I was still busy watching them, diddling myself furiously, when I felt a finger enter my backdoor. The sudden sensation pushed me over the edge and I came rather noisily. When I regained my wits, I saw Femke grin at me, Mark’s spunk still lazily running down her face, and her finger still buried in my bottom. We both laughed at the hilarity of that moment.

Mark

After what amounted to a fairly normal evening in our closely knit group of friends, we all spent the night sleeping in the hotel. Being away from the Olympic village for a night wouldn’t spook officials much, since athletes going on day trips elsewhere wasn’t that unusual.

The other girls had insisted that Lydia and I occupy the bedroom, while they used the two large beds in the main chamber. Not that I needed to be told that. Never mind how much I loved each and all of them, but nothing came close to holding the love of my life in my arms all night.

We all had a nice breakfast, which would have looked like a normal breakfast among friends, if it wasn’t for the fact that two of us were stark naked – Lydia and Regina of course.

But the mood soon turned sour, and both of them got dressed in a hurry, when the news came on. A pipe bomb had had gone off on Centennial Olympic Park, killing two and injuring over 100 people.

Lydia, Femke and Meri all rushed to the phone to let the officials of their teams know that they were safe and sound. Only then it sunk in that this could spell the end of the Olympic Games, which would be especially tragic for Lydia, who had already lost the chances to be at the ‘84 and ‘88 games.

“They didn’t cancel Munich in 1972,” Regina said in attempt to give them some hope. “If they canceled the games, they would give those terrorists exactly what they’re trying to achieve.”

Our three athletes rushed back to the Olympic village to find out what was going on, leaving me and Regina behind in a state of shock. We spent most of the morning sitting on the sofa, holding on to each other for dear life, watching the news.

Femke

The Games have to go on, was the message sent by the organizers, but the jolly mood was gone. All three of us put our foot down and let our respective officials know that we would leave the Olympic village and retreat to the hotel. Thankfully both the American and Dutch delegations reacted with understanding, probably happy enough that we didn’t leave the Games altogether, like some other athletes.

And among all this turmoil I had races to run. Under heavy guard we were bussed to the velodrome for the individual pursuit races. I felt sad, as this meant I wouldn’t have the moral support of my friends sitting in the stands. I still remembered the shock on Mark’s and Regina’s faces when we had left the hotel. It took something awful to make Regina and Lydia to prefer wearing clothes. I was in no doubt that Mark and Regina would not on their life set foot outside the hotel room.

I was utterly distracted and I nearly crashed out in the preliminary rounds again, winning my second round race by a mere half second against an opponent who would normally not see the light against me. I was properly distressed.

Getting a massage from our team’s physio, I could hear commotion at the gate of our cordoned off area in the infield, and I could easily hear that Mark was part of it. When he spoke Dutch he was hard to miss. Although he didn’t have much of an accent, he still had a slight one, and most peculiarly it wasn’t an American, but a German one, which must have to do with is partner. After all, Lydia was born in Germany.

I also heard the voice of our cycling team’s DS, who urged the security types to let Mark through. Apparently I had been wrong that he was staying in the hotel. Suddenly the noise died down and I heard the entrance to the tent being opened.

“I’m taking over here,” I heard Mark say sternly and our physio made no attempt at arguing. The tent was closed again, which could only mean he had left.

“We are all here, love,” he whispered and I relaxed when I felt his reassuring hands kneading my muscles. Not that he had much to knead into shape. I had ridden so badly up to now, I had barely put any strain on them.

“Thank you,” I said, and I felt a few tears running down my face. Just knowing I wasn’t alone in this damn velodrome threatened to overwhelm me. Mark went about his business and realizing I hadn’t really tortured my muscles yet, he went for a relaxation massage.