Going for Gold
Authors: Ivy Smoak
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Saturday
Alina
My team USA tank top clung to my skin as Kristen and I pushed
through the hot, sticky air on our way to the practice arena. We had been
blessed with unseasonably cool weather for the first week of the games, but
today we were finally getting a taste of the infamous Brazilian humidity.
"So how many do you think we'll see today?" asked
Kristen.
"I'm guessing three," I said.
"Less than yesterday? Even though more people are
finished their events?"
"Yeah. It's too hot to be doing that outside. What's
your guess?"
"I'll say four."
"You're on."
"Well, I think I already see one." Kristen pointed
up to the third floor balcony of one of the skyscrapers that had been built
specifically to house all of the athletes for the games. A girl was leaning
over the railing. Anywhere else it would have just looked like she was enjoying
the view, but in the athletes' village, we had to suspect that something else
might be occurring.
We took a few steps away from the building to try to get a
better view.
"I dunno, I'm not sure if..." I started. Just then,
someone from behind the girl reached around and grabbed her breasts over her
shirt. She opened her mouth in a way that could only mean one thing was
happening. "Okay, yup. They're having sex."
"That's one," said Kristen.
"How is that girl okay with that? It's so awkward.
Anyone walking by can see them."
"Oh come on. Don't pretend like you wouldn't enjoy
that."
"Um, no. I'm actually kind of glad that our final game
is on the second to last day. Otherwise I'm pretty sure Chris would have tried
to make me do something like that."
"Better not let Coach Hammond hear you talking that
way."
"I don't think it's any of her business if Chris is into
public sex!"
Kristen laughed. "I meant the part about our final
game."
"Oh, right. Well what are the odds that we don't make it
that far?" Everything was setup perfectly for us to make it to the final.
The volleyball portion of the International Tournament of Athletes consisted of
two groups of six teams each. For each group, every team would play every other
team one time, and at the end of those games, the four teams with the best
records in each group would move on to the quarterfinals. We had played four
out of our five group games and won all of them, meaning we were guaranteed to
finish in the top four and advance to the quarterfinals. Brazil, on the other
hand, who had been considered favorites to win gold, had lost three out of four
of their games. Their fifth and final group game was against us, and if we beat
them, they'd be eliminated. From there it would be a cake-walk to the gold
medal podium.
"I actually think Coach is right on this. We shouldn't
get too cocky." Kristen stopped and pointed to a girl kneeling in front of
a muscular guy in an alleyway between two dorms. "Speaking of getting
cocky..."
"Ew, gross pun."
"That's two. And we're not even halfway there. Looks
like I'm going to win."
"Good thing we forgot to specify what the loser's
punishment would be today." The first few days we had played we had just
been counting for fun, but yesterday we kicked it up a notch by saying the
loser had to post a picture on their Instagram of the winner's choosing. My Instagram
account now featured a selfie of me making a platypus face. Thanks, Kristen.
"Any ideas?" asked Kristen.
I looked around to try to come up with a punishment that
wouldn't be too horrible. A group of beautiful, shirtless men were walking
towards us with bags of McDonald's. "Maybe the loser should have to buy
dinner."
"All the food here is free."
"I know." It was the perfect punishment since I was
almost certainly going to lose the bet.
"Nice try. But I think we should have higher stakes.
What if the loser has to participate in the very activity we're betting
on?"
"Have sex in public?" I asked.
"Yeah."
Of course Kristen would suggest that.
"Hmmm..."
"Wait, are you actually considering that?"
"No, of course not," I said, laughing it off.
Shit,
am I really considering it?
"Oh my God, you totally are." Kristen's face lit up
in a way I knew all too well. I saw the same face every time I had come back to
our dorm room after a long night out with Chris. Even though she hated him and
wanted me to date someone else, she still loved making me dish on all the juicy
details of our dates. She was not a strong proponent of the old saying that a
lady never kisses and tells.
"Well we haven't been allowed to have sex for four
freaking weeks! God, I'm so tired of Coach's stupid sex ban. It's like these
games are designed to make people crazy horny. They take the most physically
fit people in the world, put them all in coed dorms, and then all the coaches
tell us we can't have sex until we're done competing. Not to mention there's an
unlimited supply of free condoms available."
"You don't have to tell me. I can't wait for our
competition to be over so I can have some fun. The guys here are all so
hot."
"But it's so awkward to do that in public!"
"Yeah, but it's not really in public. It's more like doing
it in the middle of a frat party that only accepts the best looking guys in the
world who aren't total douches."
"So not like a frat party at all?" I asked.
"Okay, fine," said Kristen. "That's kind of a
bad comparison. But you get the point."
"So if you lost the bet, you really wouldn't mind having
sex out in the open?"
Would I? The idea is kind of enticing... God,
what is this sex ban doing to my brain? Get a grip, Alina!
Kristen shook her head. "Nope. So it's settled then? The
loser has to have sex in public after our final game."
"Whoa! I never said I agreed to it, I was just saying
that I understand why they're doing it."
"It sure sounded a lot like a yes to me."
"It wasn't."
I need to change the topic
immediately.
I looked around for something to distract her. The only thing
I found was some tan brunette in a thong bikini lying out on a beach towel
surrounded by three guys. "If we hang around for a few minutes, that will
probably be number three. And maybe number four and five as well. Actually, we
probably should discuss the rules on group sex. Does it count as one per group?
Or one per pair of guy and girl? Or the total number of people in the orgy
divided by two?"
"Wait, isn't that Gabriela Santos?" asked Kristen,
ignoring what I thought was a very valid point that needed discussing,
especially if the stakes were going to be so high.
Please don't be Gabriela Santos.
I had been dreading
seeing her ever since I stepped foot in Brazil.
When we got a little closer, I realized Kristen was right. It
was indeed Gabriela Santos, the star of the Brazilian volleyball team. She was
good, but she wasn't as amazing as the media made her out to be. They just had
a hard-on for her because she was gorgeous and had huge breasts. And based on
her current outfit, she wasn't afraid to flaunt them.
She also happened to be my arch nemesis. I thought I was
finally getting over what she did to me, but I was wrong. The sight of her
still made my blood boil.
"Yeah, that's definitely her," I said through a
clenched jaw. I took a deep breath to try to get rid of the lump that had
formed in my throat and that uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"No wonder the Brazilians have sucked so bad this year. They're more
concerned with their tans than with practicing."
"Fine with me."
I felt my phone buzzing in my sports bra. I reached in and
pulled it out. It had gotten disgustingly sweaty in my cleavage. I made a
mental note to find a better way of carrying it. Perhaps I needed to invest in
a super stylish fanny pack.
"What's up?" asked Kristen.
I looked at the screen and read the message from my
boyfriend, Chris: "Hey babe, you watching?"
"Shit, Chris' race is in five minutes." I typed out
a response to let him know I was watching.
"What's the big deal?" asked Kristen. "Just
watch it on your phone while we walk."
I shook my head. "This stupid phone won't stream video
unless I'm connected to wifi. I'm just gonna run the rest of the way to the
arena. See ya there!"
Before Kristen could respond, I stuck my phone back in my
sweaty cleavage and took off. I wanted to make sure to catch Chris' race, but I
also didn't want to have to see Gabriela for one more second. I hated how just
seeing her took me right back.
Screw her.
On the way, I passed three more couples having sex.
Oh
well. I'll tell Kristen that I didn't see any.
I certainly wasn't going to
admit that I lost the bet and get forced into having sex in public.
When I finally got to the arena, I sat down on a bench
outside the locker rooms, connected to the arena wifi, and pulled up the
broadcast on my phone.
The familiar face of Owen Harris popped up on my screen. It
was the summer before my freshman year of high school eight years ago when Owen
Harris landed the job of being the anchor for the broadcast of the
International Tournament of Athletes. My friends and I all had the biggest
crush on him with his dimples and deep brown eyes. My parents had no idea why I
got so interested in sports that summer, but as a result, I signed up for the
volleyball team at my high school. I had been playing since I was a kid, but
had never taken it that seriously. It turned out that once I focused hard I was
pretty good at it, and now here I was representing the US at the ITAs.
I refocused my attention back on the broadcast. Owen Harris
was in the studio relaxing in a comfy looking armchair talking about the day's
events so far.
Shit, did I miss it already?
"Before we head out to the aquatic stadium, let's take a
look at the updated medal count."
I let out a sigh of relief. Or maybe I was just panting from
running in the ridiculous humidity or from seeing Gabriela Santos. Either way,
I was glad I made it on time to see Chris' race.
The screen switched to a graphic showing a list of countries
and how many medals they had earned. The United States was first with 14 gold,
9 silver, and 13 bronze, followed closely by Brazil who had an identical count,
except for 2 fewer gold.
"The US is ahead in the count," said Owen.
"But the real story here is Brazil. Bob, what do you make of all
this?"
Owen had been joined in the studio by Bob Stimpson, a former
four-time gold medalist at the International Tournament of Athletes.
"What Brazil has done here has been extraordinary,"
said Bob. "Before the tournament started, they were targeting 30 medals
total, and now here they are with that many medals and we're only halfway
through the games."
"And it's not like the tournament was front loaded with
sports that they're traditionally strong in," added Owen.
Bob nodded and shuffled a stack of papers. "That's a
great point. In fact, they've been struggling in many of the events that you'd
expect them to win. Their men's soccer team has looked okay, but they certainly
aren't firing on all cylinders, and their number one ranked women's volleyball
team has really failed to impress. They're actually in danger of not even
making it out of the group stage if they can't beat the US tomorrow."
No way they'll beat us. Especially if Gabriela has a
foursome with those guys.
"Looking at the schedule here," said Owen,
"how many more medals do you think Brazil can expect to win?"
"Before the games began, I would have said maybe 10 or
15 more, but we seem to have grossly underestimated their home field advantage.
At this point I wouldn't bet against them finishing in the top three."
"Alright, we'll have more on this later, but first let's
take it out to the aquatic stadium and see if Brazil can continue to rack up
the medals or if Chris Hamilton can bring home a gold for the US after his
dominant performance in the heats yesterday. Over to you, Jim."
"Thanks, Owen," said another announcer as the
camera switched to a view of my insanely sexy boyfriend stretching next to the
pool.
The races were fun to watch, but watching his abs while he
stretched was even better. The bulge in his swim suit wasn't bad, either. After
dating Chris for two years, I realized that a good standard to measure men by
was whether or not they could look hot in a swim cap and shaved legs. Chris
certainly passed that test. I still couldn't believe how lucky I was. When I
met Chris in college he was the ultimate player. But he gave up that lifestyle
for me. Sure, girls still stared at him and tried to make passes at him, but he
denied them every time. I was enough for him. My eyes and probably millions of
girls back home rooting for him to win were glued to Chris on the screen. And I
couldn't help but smile at the fact that I was the one that he wanted. Owen
Harris may have been my first major crush, but Chris was my first everything
else.
"So here's the lineup for the final of the men's 100
meter butterfly." A list of swimmers and their times in the heats popped
up on the screen. Claude Beaumont was his biggest competition for the gold, and
he was in the lane right next to him. According to the list, Claude had only
been half a second behind Chris in the heats.
Come on, baby, you can do this.
The swimmers were finishing their stretches when Kristen
walked into the building.
"Did he win?" she asked.
I glanced up for a second. "Should start any
minute."
"Oh. Well, you should probably bring that in the locker
room so you're not late."
She was right. Coach Hammond had a rule that we had to be in
the locker room five minutes before practice started or we were considered
late. And being late meant being benched for the next game.