In the Long Run
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 75: Final Decisions
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 75: Final Decisions - Mark and Lydia hit a lot of bumps during the cold war and fate eventually brings them to the other side of the globe, but even there the challenges don't end. This is the founding story of my planned "It's always the Germans" universe, which will be created when this story reaches the year 1998.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Sports Incest Mother Son Light Bond Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Massage Oral Sex Pegging Petting Nudism
Lydia
I was proud of my first ever podium, but it still rubbed me raw to be beaten by two full minutes. That was simply too unrealistic to be true, considering I had beaten that woman twice this season already, and we were only half-way into it. I would have understood if I had messed up the wax selection or the legs wouldn’t just have been there that day. These things can happen. But I had improved my own personal best over the distance by fifteen seconds, so one could hardly call this an off-day.
Apparently I wasn’t alone with those thoughts as I was just on the massage bench, with Mark kneading the knots out my tortured muscles, when the telephone rang. Regina answered the call.
“It was the reception,” she explained after ending the rather short call. “German TV has left a number in all big hotels, because receptionists are not allowed to tell them if we’re guests with them or not.”
“I’ll get it in the morning,” I said, breathing heavily. Mark had just started the non-therapeutic part of the massage.
Femke
It was off to training again the next morning. Lydia and Nadja had had some fun in the evening, getting one of Mark’s trademark massages with orgasm-inducing extras. Since I had sat out the 30 kilometer race, my legs didn’t need working on, and I had decided to go easy on my body after the hefty double pounding I had asked for after my sprint win.
We still had the relay race to run. The first two legs were done in classic style and the other two legs in freestyle, which meant we had to shake up the starting order. It was decided to have Nadja do the start. The five kilometers were a bit on the short side for her, but unlike Lydia she had a better capability for pace changes, which was vital for the frenzy at the start. Lydia would go next, hopefully consolidating or even improving whatever position we would be in. Stella was planned for the third leg and I would do the final one, just in case we would be involved in a final sprint.
Training went well, and I wasn’t sore anymore. That was a good thing, because I would have hated to go into a race without a ‘good luck boink’ the night before.
Regina
Boredom was rarely a visitor to whatever chambers we happened to inhabit. Lydia had called the number left at the reception desk and I had my doubts about whether or not it was a good idea to call them back. It didn’t need a fortune teller to know what the call was about.
Lydia had been pestered the whole day being asked by journalists how she had felt being beaten by two minutes, but also – and that was grinding her gears the most – she also got asked by some of them how she could suddenly have done such a big step forward at the age of nearly forty. It was the media’s way of taunting her: ‘Come on, you’re doing it yourself’
To say she was pissed off was an understatement.
Meri took the receiver from her and put it down again, just as she started to dial the number.
“Before you go off half-cocked, let’s calm down and decide how we deal with it,” she said. “We all know that neither of us has ever done any drugs, but that is pointless capital. It’s like trying to prove that you never shop-lifted. How are you going to do that?”
“And what am I supposed to do?” Lydia asked hotly. “I’ve been training my ass off for years, and now I should just accept that I’m tarred with the same brush as a bunch of fucking cheaters?”
“Just tell them how hard you train your ass off,” Mario suggested. “I’ve seen some documentaries about the Tour de France. They showed that people eat huge bowls of pasta every morning. You do it completely differently. Meri watches like a hawk what you can eat and what you can’t. Heck I’ve nearly lost it when she cut a piece off Nadja’s breakfast egg because it was a few grams too heavy.”
“We’d be giving away our training and energy management methods,” Mark pointed out. “They are the only reason why the girls can keep up with the dopers, at least some of the time.”
“That’s the point,” Mario insisted. “The only way you can prove, or at least make it plausible, how you beat known or suspected dopers while competing clean, is to explain the difference. You don’t have to give them all your folders full of research material, but give them enough clues. In fact, if anything, you might motivate some others to get off the drugs and use better training methods instead.”
“Yep, he’s definitely wise beyond his years,” Lydia said with honest appreciation. “The trouble is, unlike me, Nadja and Femke still have a few good years in them. We would hand all our hard work to our opponents. They won’t catch up in a year, and I’m retiring in less than three years, but Femke and Nadja won’t.”
“I can’t speak for Nadja, but I’ll retire after the 2002 games too,” Femke said. “I’ll be only thirty-one, but I don’t want to work myself to shreds, just to keep up. You and Nadja are long-distance specialists. You peak in your thirties. I’ll decline, and quite rapidly at that.”
“Not in the looks department,” Mario blurted out, causing laughs all around. Femke rewarded the unexpected compliment with a kiss.
“I have already started preparing for a new career in cars,” Nadja agreed. “Let’s all retire in 2002. By then Jenny will almost be old enough to switch to cars. I don’t think I’ll run out of options to compete. That way we could really leave a legacy by showing them how it is done properly and without messing up your body.”
“Then it’s just a question of how to do it,” Mark said. “If Lydia, Meri, I and perhaps one of the clever people of Nadja’s team sit down for an interview and overload the audience with technobabble, we’ll bore them stiff.”
“I have an idea,” Mario said.
“My, my, he really has a way of working hard for a date, hasn’t he?” Regina said with a giggle.
Lydia
The relay race was somewhat anti-climactic. Nadja did a good start and finished her stint in second place – unsurprisingly – far behind the Russians. I stayed exactly there, although I could put some additional distance between us and the Italians in third place. That turned out to be a good idea, because Stella had lost a bit too much energy over the last few days and she lost quite some of that advantage. Leave it to our favorite Dutch she-devil to restore most of it. She made absolutely no progress in trying to reduce the gap to the Russians, but she kept us well clear of the Italians.
That led to two conclusions: First there was no way to beat the Russians so shortly after they had presumably topped up on their drugs, and second, we were by no means slow. All we could hope for now was that the anti-doping agencies would find a functioning test for EPO over the next two years.
Actually, there was a third discovery as well. Femke’s ‘good luck boink’ seemed to work just as well with Mario as a partner.
Mark was busy in the evening, giving massages to Femke, Nadja and me, and making us howl in the process, while Mario busied himself catering to the needs of Regina, Ilka and Meri.
Alas, our time in the most decadently luxurious suite we had ever stayed in, came to an end the next morning. We had to deliver Mario and Ilka home, so she could have her yearly striptease stand-off. Granted, Doreen would probably win again, but that was almost exclusively down to the fact that she was half the age of Ilka. There was nothing wrong with the physique of that woman.
For us New Year’s Eve was a rather quiet affair. Now that we also competed over the winter, we couldn’t afford to be extravagant with the meals. In fact they were rather bland, courtesy of Meri watching over our nutritional intake like a hawk. We should never have allowed her to study this, and she was only half-way into her second semester.
John
It was now nearly two years since my best friend Bill O’Connor had died, but seeing that his son Ian was so successful in his business gave me some solace. Funnily enough I had more business dealings with him than I ever had with his father. Ian was operating the plane that Mark, Lydia and I co-owned and he also flew them around Europe a lot in his own planes.
The details had all been a bit sketchy, but I knew that German media had contacted Lydia with an interview request, and in that regard I was a burnt kid. Interviews with Lydia had a history of making a bit of a splash. That’s why I had asked Rhonda to join me, if nothing else, for emotional support.
The venue was Innsbruck in Austria. I knew that because Ian had flown them there. It was the third competition of a ski-jumping tournament called the “Four Hills Tournament”, and I could only hope that Lydia hadn’t decided to hurl herself off a massive ramp, topless. That was Rhonda’s line by the way.
This time we actually got proper subtitles. It was a German broadcast, but a small station in the states had bought into that feed and broadcasted it with a delay and subtitles. I could only guess this was done to build up an American audience for the Salt Lake City games in 2002.
A somewhat familiar face appeared on screen. It took me a few moments, but then I recognized a German commentator who had done an interview with Lydia before.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, while we wait for the second round of jumps to commence, we have a special guest today. Before I reveal who it is, she asked me to tell her manager back home in the United States that he need not worry. She has not taken up ski jumping.”
Rhonda doubled over, laughing. “She knows us too well.”
“Our guest today is none other than Marathon runner Lydia Karass, who has scored her first podium in cross-country skiing just a week ago. Welcome, Lydia.”
“Hello, Waldi,” she returned.
“Lydia, we had an interview last year. You were quite vocal about the ulcer on the sport that is doping. When we contacted you for a follow-up interview you declined, why?”
“We’re having an interview right now, don’t we?” she asked back with a smile. “What your station had in mind was sitting us down in a studio and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know how that would have went. At some point you would have mentioned that I was beaten by two minutes last week, and you would have asked if I thought the winner was doped. And at some point you would inevitably have to point out how a forty year old woman in only her second skiing season was keeping up while claiming she has never done any PEDs. We would have gone round in circles endlessly.”
“And saying nothing is a better idea?” the interviewer asked.
“Absolutely not. In fact we’ll say a lot. But not in a studio, boring the raw stuffing out of the audience. A good friend of ours has made a brilliant suggestion. We will team up with your station to produce a documentary. We will give away a lot of our so far confidential training methods, instead of trying to convince the world that we don’t do PEDs, which is pointless. How do you prove you’ve never shoplifted? You can’t. We want to show instead how you can be competitive without messing up your health.”
“At this point I have to admit, I did of course know that,” the interviewer said. “But I wanted to give Lydia the opportunity to explain her motivation herself. What made you decide to potentially give vital trade secrets to the competition?”
“What we do isn’t a magic process,” Lydia explained. “Results will take months or years to materialize. So by the time some other athletes have hopefully adopted and even improved our methods, we will already be in retirement. And even if some manage to beat us by using our own methods – so be it. I have no problem coming second when I know the winner has achieved that result by legal means.”
“Do you already have a time frame for the production?”
“The schedule is pretty much dictated by the season,” she explained. “It’s an Olympic year and this will be my last Summer Olympics. I still want to win a third gold in the marathon, which leaves only two months to get most of it done, because by early March we’ll all disappear to altitude camps. Of course we will be filming some segments there too, but most of it will be done by late March. Depending on when your station wants to broadcast it, viewers can expect the result by April.”
“Thank you Lydia. It will be an interesting work to look forward to, and hopefully it will have a positive impact on various sports,” the interviewer said.
I let out the breath I hadn’t noticed I’d been holding. This was by far the most normal interview she had ever given.
“Let Mark know we need the American broadcasting rights for this documentary,” I told Rhonda, but my better half only rolled her eyes.
“Did you hire a dummy?” she asked me with a good dose of sarcasm. “He already secured the rights for the States, Iceland and the Netherlands, all the countries his girls come from or compete for.”
“Silly me,” I accepted her reply with a chuckle.
Regina
I had to admit, the sudden flurry of activity in our home was not making me very comfortable, especially since Feli and Jenny were now back home and our usual routines were disrupted. For starters, I had to wear clothes in my own home for an entire week.
Okay, outside it was too cold anyway, but even inside I had to be fully clothed, because there was production personnel everywhere.
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