Illustrations by Mat Twassel

A few days ago, Philip had sighted a real minx of a jogger in the rain as he’d run past in the opposite direction. It would have been an entirely good memory, except that she’d had one of those devil-dogs with her. She’d noticed him turn his head to her, so he thought he’d better just get on by quickly. He’d heard her name was ‘Naomi’, as some guy and a girl a moment later pulled by in a pickup truck and were calling to her.

Now he was in the nice little country town of Ripley for the annual 5 mile road race. Philip took his running very seriously, and at 35, he was in his prime and felt he might be finally able to win this one. What a perfect sunny day it was, all was well. As always at these things, there was a host of less serious girlie runners in various delicious attire, there for their fitness but very sexy. Wait, how odd - they were actually all girls this time. Oh well, all the easier to win it.

Damn, he got nervous before a race, though. And this was not helped by the fact that - oh my God - it was her! Naomi, minus the dog today; it seemed she was taking part too. She was touching her toes to stretch her hamstrings, and the tiny race-shorts she was wearing today had slipped almost clean off off her pert little butt. On top she had nothing but a small sports bra. Gone was Philip’s concentration.

Stranger still; now he spotted a blonde neighbour girl from some 15 to 20 years ago, name of Sophie, but she was not a day older! How he’d craved her back then. Now here she was, taking part and wearing denim shorts and flimsy green bra that were not suited to this type of thing. She’d be a back-runner for sure, how embarrassing if he could not beat both of these two. Then they came to speak to him.

“Hi Phil,” said Sophie.

“Hi Phil,” said Naomi. Now how did she know his name?

“We are lovers,” they chirped in unison, hands on each other’s butts.

“Oh, I see. Very good.”

“Well, good luck in the race, Phil. We’re after you!”