“Breedlove, Breedlove, Breedlove,” moaned my boyfriend Bill, legs stretching atop lush green grass, muscles taut and quivery. “Don’t worry your sweet little heart about Breedlove. I’ll whip his ass.”

For the conference track meet finals, Bill needed more than a pep talk.

“Breedlove’s not running the 800,” I said, my forefinger inching up Bill’s leg, advancing towards the hem of his silky red running shorts. “In the dual meet you whooped him in the 800, but he came back to nip you in the sixteen. Now with him sitting out the 800, he’ll be even fresher for the sixteen, and—”

Bill snapped to his feet, leaving my hand on empty air. “So I won’t have to work as hard in the eight. My name’s gonna be on both trophies. Guaran-fucking-teed. Give me a kiss for luck.”

I gave him a kiss, and he gave my butt a squeeze, and he jogged off to join his teammates.

In the 800 when the crowd roared Bill-E, Bill-E, Bill-E, I shivered with pleasure.

An hour later as the runners took their marks for the 1600, I was sitting in the stands with my girlfriend Cindy. A cold wind had come up, and the stadium flags were whipping.

“Look at that Breedlove smirking,” Cindy said, but I kept my eyes on the ripple of Bill’s silky red running shorts.

Breedlove and Bill ran together for three laps, but on the final lap Bill began to pull away. “He’s doing it! He’s doing it!” Cindy squealed, and the crowd was chanting, “Bill-E, Billy-E, Bill-E.” I shivered, and shifted in my seat. My pussy and ass were so sore. For his reward tonight, Bill was going to have to settle for a world-class blowjob.