I have a dream. A recurring dream. And whenever I have it, I wake up shuddering, soaked in sweat. I’m not talking about the kind of sweat from Miami summer humidity. I’m talking about that golden sweat that only comes from orgasms so strong I feel like I have to peel myself off the ceiling. You know the kind. If you don’t, you should. You haven’t lived until you do. I can happily say I’ve left that kind sweat on ceilings across the world.
My recurring dream goes like this. I’m entered into a major world championship triathlon event. It’s taking place in a stadium that seats a hundred thousand and every seat is full. But the crowds don’t intimidate me. In fact, they turn me on. (I’ve always liked being watched.) Now … with this many people … I’m ready to put on a show. I’m focused. So focused that I don’t even think about the crowd. I’m pre-visualizing every move I will make … in the water, on my bike and on the track. My entire body is pulsating with desire – to win.
I’m world ranked but not a bit nervous. At the startling line, I look around at my competition: all incredibly toned women, at least a few of whom I would enjoy fucking as much as beating in the race. Looking at their muscular bodies gets my blood boiling … in all the right ways. At least “right” in my book.
I am absolutely confident I will win. Why? Because of one man standing at the side of the starting line: my coach, Jeffrey. When I decided to take competing in world triathlon events seriously, I knew he was the best coach in the world. So I traveled to his training camp. As son as I met him for the first time, I could feel the wetness between my thighs. He was not only the best triathlon trainer in the world. He had one of the tightest, toned bodies in the world. But he wouldn’t accept me as one of his chosen few. I’d entered this level of competition later than most. I was in my late twenties. And he didn’t want to waste his time with me. But there was no way I was going to take no for an answer.
I asked him before he made his final decision to just watch me run, to time me in the mile on a track just outside his office. I knew I could compete on a track, which I’d done successfully back in high school and college. The swimming and biking were the events I needed him for the training.
But I wanted him to see me run for another reason. It would give me reason to strip down to my running shorts and sports bra so he could see what he could REALLY be working with. I knew I had two of the hottest legs on earth, attached to a body that most men would want to fuck in a heartbeat. Yes, within ten minutes of meeting Jeffrey, I not only wanted him to train me but but fuck me like I’d never been fucked before.
I have no idea what it is psychologically that relates athletic performance to sex. But the adrenaline from one just naturally leads to the other. So many athletes I’ve met over the years feel the same way. It’s like we need to somehow get all the energy bottled up in ourselves out in some way or another. It can be pumping iron, or, well, humping iron. You get the idea.
Jeffrey agreed to take five minutes of his time on the track. But that was all. Five minutes, he said. When we got to the starting line, I slowly peeled down my track pants to reveal what I know had to be the hottest ass and legs he’d ever seen on a woman. None of his younger trainees had anything on me in that regard. Maybe he’d seen some great legs, but add that to firm 36 DD’s? I was in a class by myself and I knew it. (Have you ever noticed how most women track stars are flat chested? )
Was I checking for a lump in his pants? You bet your ass (or mine) I was. Then I stripped off my sweatshirt down to my sports bra and watched his erection grow so fast, it was like a rubber hose when the water gets turned on. I knew I was about to become one of his “chosen few” regardless of how fast I could run. But I wanted to really impress him as a great athlete first. The fucking could come later. I tore through that mile in 4:55, just 40 seconds off the world record. “Fuck!” he said (RIGHT REACTION!) as I crossed the finish line and he punched his stop watch. “Maybe you do have what it takes.” So I “picked up” Jeffrey as a trainer. I’d take my time picking him up as a fuck buddy.
For the next six months, I worked with Jeffrey nearly every day, and he really did turn me from a great runner into a great swimmer and biker as well. I started winning competitions … a LOT of them. First state, then regional, then national. And after a year of intense training, I was competing internationally.
Now you’d think I’d have fucked Jeffrey a hundred times within that year. But here’s the surprise. NOT ONCE! It turns out he was married, with kids. And even though I did everything humanly possible to seduce him, he resisted. He was a “good man”, and I respected that. But I could have made him a GREAT man. You get my drift.
There was one afternoon when he and I were the only ones in the training center. I’d cramped up a bit during a run, and his trainer was out for the day. So he took me back in the workout room, laid me out on the table and began to rub my calves and thighs. THIS, I thought, was IT. The perfect moment. If it wasn’t going to happen now, it NEVER would. I laid down with just a towel over my ass, topless but with my face down, while he worked my muscles. I knew I HAD to be turning him on.
I snuck a peak at his shorts and HOLY SHIT! There was an anaconda trying to break out of its cage. But DAMN he was professional. He never made an improper move and just talked “shop” (probably like some guys try to recall baseball stats to avoid premature ejaculation.) So I decided to take things into my own hands, so to speak.
Without any warning whatsoever, I flipped over, my bare 36DD’s staring him right in the face, and my shaved pussy inches away from that snake cage. He was, needless to say, shocked. Immediately I asked him, trying to be “professional” but with a double entendre, “Jeffrey, do you think we can REALLY work together as a team? Do you think I can make you proud of me? “ He was awkwardly speechless, so I went in for the kill. “Jeffrey, will you fuck me, right now, right here?”
Now I ask you, could you EVER imagine a hot-blooded man looking down at a SUPER GIRL like me and saying no? Well, he did. He very politely laughed, re-arranged the towel over my topside and went back to massaging my legs. UNFUCKING BELIEVABLE. I didn’t know if I should feel like a failure, a fool or just plain embarrassed. Then, he explained himself (with the anaconda still making its presence known I might add.) “Don’t take my NO as rejection. Take it as a compliment. Do I want to fuck you? Of course I do. But I know if I do, things will never be the same for us. I want you to win national championships. And I know that if I travel with you around the globe to these events, we’d be fucking every single night if not more. And THAT would hurt your chances to win. I’m serious. All this energy you’re feeling right now, it needs to be put into your events, NOT into me.”
I laid there quietly. I could not believe my ears. I didn’t want to marry him. I just wanted to FUCK him! But DAMN IT, what he said made sense. How could I win a triathlon event which takes every ounce of energy in my body if he and I rolled in the sheets all night just hours before a race?
DAMN IT! Jeffrey was right. He knew it. I knew it. And it killed me to tell him, “Thank you. I understand. And I appreciate your putting me first, before your own “obvious” (looking at his crotch) needs.” He laughed again, slapped me on the ass and said,, “Get out of here. You’ve got an even tougher workout tomorrow.”
PHEW. I went back to my apartment that night and masturbated like there was no tomorrow. I just imagined fucking Jeffrey in every way possible, all the time rubbing my clit with a passion I’d never used to “solo” before. My screams were probably heard down the hall. Other athletes in training were probably wondering WHO was in the room with me. Well, there were three of us. Me, myself and I.
SO …. all that stuff with my attraction with Jeffrey is true … now, are you ready for my recurring dream?
Like I started out, I’m at the starting line, just waiting for the signal to go. I look over at Jeffrey who throws me a smile and a huge “thumbs up”. The starter pistol goes off, and away I go. I’ve never swum, biked and run faster in my life. I am so far ahead of the field, no one can believe it … even me. And after hours of this full-blast adrenaline rush, I see the finish line ahead and cross it to the roar of the crowd.
Normally after such a race, I would collapse right then and there out of sheer exhaustion. But in my dream, Jeffrey immediately runs out and throws his arms around me, kisses me passionately, and we fall to the ground, tearing each others’ clothes off. And yes, then right there, in front of a hundred thousand people, we FUCK like there’s no tomorrow. I don’t even hear a shocked reaction from the crowd. I’m just absolutely lost in the wildest orgasm I can ever imagine. AND THEN … I wake up … soaked in that glorious sweat.
Damn … I get sweaty again just writing this down for the first time. Jeffrey, if you’re out there reading this, just know that I STILL want to fuck you for real. It probably won’t be in a stadium. A nice hotel room will be fine. But I just want you to know that I’m coming after you.
THE END
Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!