Chapter 28

I opened my eyes.

The semi darkness of the room was slightly disorienting for a moment, then my brain shook all the pieces into some semblance of order.

Lying in bed I glanced over at Toby’s bed to see it empty but unmade. After a moment’s recall I remembered that his semi-final was today. I stretched, the tension in my shoulders and back practically non-existent. My session with Angela the evening before had really done wonders; both the massage and the five orgasms she’d ended up wringing out of me.

“So backed up,” she’d tutted after my third climax to her latest uncountable orgasm. “No wonder you were feeling stressed.” I had been driving deep into her tight quim from behind, with her bent over the massage table she’d first jacked me off on. With a longing groan, she had pulled her slick tunnel off my still semi-rigid cock, smirking at the voluminous load dangling in the end of the condom. “Don’t think I do this for every hot body I touch,” she said, she skinned off the used rubber and knotted the end.

“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” I said, running my hand up her smooth stomach towards her cute, puckered nipples.

“Quatsch! But you are kind for saying so,” she replied, running her hands down my abs to fondle my balls. I leaned in to kiss her. “Nein,” she said softly, her breath tickling my ear. “Then I will be gone too far for you. Let’s just enjoy each other.” She lay back and produced another foil square. “We haven’t done it this way yet,” she said, drawing her knees up and out. “And I still haven’t been the cowgirl.”

Despite her initial aversion to kissing we had ended up devouring each other hungrily while she ground her clutching cunt against my thick dick as my turgid balls filled another rubber. After we showered, she gave me one last deep kiss before I left the therapy room, grabbed some food, and crashed into bed.

Now I was awake and feeling the best I had felt in many weeks. I glanced at the clock on the table between our beds. I had about three hours before I needed to board the bus to the water sports centre for the session in which I would swim the two-hundred metre butterfly final. I sat up, swung my legs around and stood, again marvelling at the lack of tension in my shoulders. That prompted me to think again of Angela’s body and how she cooed as she climaxed, her heels digging into my lower back. Which in turn prompted me to take matters into my own hands during a lengthy warm shower.

Refreshed and relaxed, I threw together everything I needed for the aquatic centre and headed out to fuel my body before boarding the transfer bus.

The buzzer broke the deafening silence in the Wassersportzentrum. When I watched the tape later, I was struck by how perfectly the crowd noise seemed synchronised to our entry into the water. At the time I didn’t notice any of it. I was perfectly in the zone.

On my best days in the water everything came together without much conscious effort. I’d once listened to a track coach talk about how challenging it was taking on an athlete with pure natural ability; you needed to take their innate sense of physicality and intuitive grasp of form and refine it, but without breaking whatever it was that made them exceptional in their raw form. It was challenging because if you ever caused someone to second-guess their intuition without or lose it, then there was a real chance that they would end up worse off than before they came to you. Obviously, a professional death sentence for a coach, but magnitudes worse for the athlete who has had some intangible part of themselves damaged.