“Dasha!” I protested again, but I was feeling great. I didn’t move this time. I just let her touch me however she wanted. “Just don’t touch the tattoo,” I continued. “It’s still kinda stingy.”
“Yeah?” she said. I felt Dasha’s finger move lightly over my skin until it reached my tattoo. My flesh felt even warmer by the touch of her finger and when she touched it, I winced slightly and shifted my hips. After this quick little tease, Dasha approached my lips for another sweet kiss, then another, and then another.
“I really like this,” I cooed, threading my hands around her waist, the two of us casually lingering there in the bathroom together.
“Me too,” she said. “I was worried at first, but I’m really happy this is working out for us.”
“Mm hmm,” I agreed, gingerly kissing her, the two of us connecting through our lips with those familiar soft smacking sounds.
“Maybe we should take that tattoo artist’s advice,” hummed Dasha against my mouth.
“What advice is that?”
Dasha moved her hands to the band of my shorts and slid them down further than they already were, taking my panties along for the ride. She moved the material over the hump of my rear and down my thighs, letting my clothing hang there mid-thigh all while exposing my middle completely.
“She said you should just let it all air out when you got home,” said Dasha, offering another kiss. I felt exposed, obviously, but so intimate. I felt a slight coolness between my legs and the subtle moistness that appears when you really begin feeling heated inside.
“We should definitely follow orders,” I said, amused, giving Dasha yet another kiss. Soon, I felt Dasha’s hand slip between my thighs and begin massaging me, her palm moving back and forth against my fur, fingers gliding over my increasingly wet pleat. I felt my head start to spin. It was wonderful. I took a deep breath, emitted a sigh, and rested my forehead on Dasha’s shoulder.
“Oh,” said Dasha with mock surprise. “You’re becoming quite wet down here.”
“Mm hmm,” I agreed, kissing her shoulder through the fabric of her shirt. “That feels nice.”
Dasha moved her fingers with greater intensity and I could feel my flesh part with the insistence of a single digit. She caressed me with ease and it made me feel seriously loved, more so than any other partner had made me feel prior. There was just something unique about Dasha’s love, something true and virtuous. I felt my body begin to relax, go slack, as I braced myself against her and widened my stance just a little bit to give her that much more access to my underside.
“Oh God,” I moaned, emotions beginning to stew in my head. Just a little storm of untextured desire, something nebulous, uncertain but appreciated, all of it most definitely punctuated by the greed for more. Dasha’s movements felt so good and those wonderful feelings grew tenfold when I felt her slip her finger inside of me, draw it out while making sure to rub it over my bud, only to slip it back in to satisfy me further.
I forgot all about the tenderness of my tattoo. I couldn’t even feel it anymore. Instead, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing on end as Dasha adoringly pleasured me, shorts around my knees, the fur between my legs becoming matted down with humidity. I felt transported to another world. At times I just wanted to collapse, my legs wobbly and feeling as though they could turn to jelly, but I held myself up with help of the bathroom wall as Dasha continued ushering me further down that joyous path of sensual delight.
Then: interruption. I opened my eyes as I felt Dasha’s hand move away from my blossom. At first I felt disappointed surprise, loving her adroit pleasuring so much, but then my arousal and anticipation redoubled as I watched Dasha lower herself down in front of me. Sitting on her knees, Dasha took hold of my shorts and bunched panties and pulled them down my legs, taking them off each foot, and setting them down on the floor. Her eyes flicked up to me giving a look of wanton desire and I instinctively leaned back against the wall, widened my feet, and offered myself to her.
“You are so beautiful,” mused Dasha, her hand once again rubbing my mound. I felt at that moment like I could just about burst. I was so fulfilled. So happy. So wanted.
And then there was wet warmth. Dasha’s tongue lashed out and lapped at me with vigor, that moist muscle parting my lips and offering me a petting intensity on my inner pinkness. I couldn’t help but offer moans of approval. God, I was in love. So in love. The whole thing was magical, it made me feel like I could conquer the world. I felt cherished and adored. Nothing else mattered then, none of my silly problems, no stresses over achievement or competition. It was just Dasha and me. I was dripping with devotion.
Resting a hand atop Dasha’s head, I felt my breath quicken, my belly tightening on my inhale, protruding on my exhale. My mouth was agape with a little bit of spittle dripping down my lip. I just wanted to burst. Oh, I was so close. It felt like that split second when you’ve dove off the block and you’re just about to hit the water. Or rather, the water was just about to hit you. It was coming. The water was coming and I knew that any second I would feel impossibly wet.
“Oh!” I squealed, my teeth gritting, my body tightening. I moved my hips from side to side but Dasha remained focused, her mouth continuing its attentive work. I felt those familiar convulsions of climax, clenching and loosening, muscles squeezing and then relaxing. Every little nerve ending in my body stood up and vibrated, my entire being abuzz with that fulfilling euphoric apogee.
After a few moments of shivering and quivering and appeased groans, I slowly opened my eyes and looked down at Dasha. She was smiling up at me, her mouth glimmering with moisture, her hands placed carefully on my thighs and giving me soothing rubs. I inhaled and then released a huge exhale.
“Thank you,” I said gratefully, still reverberating, my love for this wonderful woman completely overtaking me. “Oh my God,” I intoned, lowering my hand to my belly and giving myself a tender circular stroke.
“I enjoy making you happy,” said Dasha. She planted one final kiss on my fur softly before easing herself up of the ground. When she joined me standing, we embraced and returned to our affectionate kissing. I felt a coolness between my legs, evaporating sweat, as I melted into Dasha and gorged myself in her love.
Life was perfect.
I felt amazing the next day. My tattoo was healing nicely, I had spent the night over at Dasha’s, very much active with her between the sheets, and at swim practice I had a breakthrough, hitting a personal best for my own 400 meter freestyle. We were getting so close to Rio that the excitement was palpable. Everybody was in a good mood, even Amber, and it appeared that the team was really beginning to gel. It was exactly what I had anticipated being on Team USA would be like. Camaraderie, acceptance, and a dedication to hard work.
While practice continued on inside of the natatorium for some of the other team members, I sat outside in the beautiful summer sun, leaning back into a wrought-iron bench, biting into an apple, relaxing as I waited for Dasha to finish up. I had large black sunglasses over my eyes, slightly damp hair tied up in a bun, a small duffel bag sitting between my flip-flop adorned feet. The warm rays of the sun felt great on my bare legs and arms. It was a glorious afternoon and I was excited to again spend the rest of my evening with Dasha and our flourishing love.
It was in this state of near bliss that Amber waltzed up to me with a smug look on her face. Her hair was down, sunglasses pushed up into it, her duffel slung over her shoulder. She pursed her lips as she approached, eyes narrowing, looking a bit like a snake.
“Hey Marie,” she said, tightening her hold on her bag as she looked down to me. “Nice time today. You’re really kicking ass.”
“Thanks,” I said cautiously. I just couldn’t trust her. She looked like she was up to something and I was determined to keep my guard up.
“I want to apologize for our fight,” she said. Still didn’t believe her. “I was out of line. A lot of emotions all fired up, you know?”
“Right,
” I said, trying to convey a relaxed demeanor as I sat on the bench. “Um, thank you for the apology.”
“Do you forgive me?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” I said.
“That doesn’t sound sincere,” said Amber.
“Fine, yes,” I said. “Amber, I forgive you.”
“Great,” she said. “Now look. We’re on even terms and I want to make a deal with you.” I felt my stomach sink a little bit. I was sick of dealing with her. I really just wanted her to go away.
“I don’t know what I have to offer you,” I said with an annoyed shrug.
“I think you know,” she said. “You’re doing so well, Marie, and you know how badly I want to win Gold in the 400 meter.” Amber brought a finger to her lips like she was innocently thinking. “Maybe you could, I don’t know, just let me win.”
“Why the heck would I do that?” I asked. “C’mon, what are you trying to pull here?”
“Well,” began Amber, looking away with a dramatic pause before returning her eyes to me and continuing on. “I just want you to know that I saw, with my own two little eyes, you and a certain Team USA coach getting a little… um, closer than would be expected of people in your positions.”
“What?” I said, not really believing what Amber was spewing. “What are you even talking about?”
“I was on my way to Coach Dasha’s office the other day,” said Amber, again feigning innocence. “When I was stopped in my tracks. Coach Dasha’s door was halfway open and I just so happened to see the two of you in a bit of an embrace.” Amber looked at me with an evil grin. “Kissing.”
I knew exactly what she was talking about. That had certainly happened. Dasha and I were getting romantic, though nothing wildly inappropriate, just a little innocent kissing, while in her office and after I left I had passed Amber in the hall. I couldn’t believe she caught us. I was livid. But I couldn’t let it show. I had to make her think she was crazy.
“You’re nuts,” I said. “You’re just seeing things. You’re so blinded with jealousy that your brain is just making crap up.”
“If you say so,” she said with a snarky laugh. “All I’m saying is this, Marie: I’ll happily keep what I saw to myself if you do me a favor in Rio and help me win. Everything will be fine. You can even come in second if you want. That would be great for the team. But I want the Gold, simple as that. Nobody has to know about this. Mitch doesn’t have to know.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” I asked. My body wanted to shake in anger but I maintained my frame. I couldn’t let her know that she was right. No physical ticks. I just had to keep calm.
“Oh no!” she said. “I would never do that. I’m just trying to make a little deal, that’s all.”
“Get out of here, Amber,” I said. “I’m done talking to you. You’re pissing me off.”
“Fine,” she said curtly. “Think about what I said.” Amber smiled at me, turned, and then shuffled off. I wanted to stand up and throw something at her. My flip-flop, my bag, whatever, just something. But she had me. There was really nothing I could do. She knew that if I valued the relationship I was forming with Dasha, I would have to bend to her will. If she told Mitch about what was going on, it would most likely be Dasha’s head on a chopping block. Dasha wasn’t competing and thus could be replaced. I represented possible wins for the team so my place was set. If Amber informed the coaches at the top, it could be the end of Dasha’s career as a coach for the organization.
I simply couldn’t do that to Dasha. I felt like I was really falling hard for her. I felt like this was something real, something that could be, you know, forever. I didn’t want to jeopardize that. I didn’t want to be the cause of a career shakeup for her. It all made me feel really sick to my stomach. Such a hard proposition to deal with.
I watched as Amber sauntered off, so smug, so happy with herself. I could see it in her hips, bouncing back and forth across the pavement. What was I going to do? I knew I had to talk to Dasha about it. But I also knew that I didn’t want to give Dasha up. Although winning a Gold Medal at the Olympics had been my dream for about as long as I could remember, it was a dream that didn’t supersede my dream of falling in love. Could I give up the Gold in order to keep Dasha? Could I really throw my event and let Amber win, bowing to her stupid extortive demand? I knew I had a lot to think about.
At that moment, I really wished my mother was still around. She always had the best advice for situations like this. I had to channel her, piece together her advice from the past, and try to suss out what she might have told me. I knew what she would have said, if I’m being honest. I just wasn’t sure that I could follow that advice this time around.
I could feel my eyes begin to water underneath my sunglasses. I just wanted to go hide. This kind of competition wasn’t something I signed up for.
I felt all twisted up inside. After Amber laid her blackmail out to me, I decided to take a walk and try to figure some things out. I just couldn’t reconcile it all in my mind. I knew that I shouldn’t give in to her threats, but at the same time I really felt like I had no choice.
Despite the beautiful summer weather, a gentle wind rustling through the trees as I ambled away from the natatorium, up State Street, and through the U of M campus, I really felt like someone had punched me in the gut. The University campus was quiet, the bulk of students having left the city the for the summer, but there were still plenty of people wandering about. It reminded me of my days at college. Simpler days, really, days in which I had very few cares. I studied, I swam, I smiled. But the last couple of years had turned out to be pretty dark.
Sometimes it’s difficult to recognize the darkness when you’re in the thick of it. I mean, you’re just living your life because that’s all you really can do. Inertia pushes you along and you just do your thing. But now that I’ve seen some light — you know, the Olympics, Dasha — I could really see the funk I’d been living in the last handful of years. I could see it because it felt like Amber was pulling me back down into it. I felt helpless because of her threat and that’s exactly how I felt when my parents died.
It was all such a mess, a mess I felt that I was just an innocent bystander to. Nothing I did caused my parents to die and nothing I did, aside from being a talented swimmer, caused Amber to blackmail me. It was like the world was conspiring against me. It was almost as if Dasha was the carrot dangled in front me, and chance or fortune or karma or whatever was saying, “you can have your dream come true or you can find love, but you can only choose one.” What kind of choice is that? How many sick jokes can one woman handle?
Despite my emotions, my bad feelings, my depression, the death of my parents taught me to give up some control. That’s hard to do. We like to be in control of everything. Maybe you’re the same way. Maybe you’re the same way and you just don’t know it yet. Do you ever feel frazzled when something doesn’t go quite to plan? I mean, even something little. Like you’re driving to meet someone and there’s some sort of roadblock. A stalled car, a semi-truck that’s trying to park, whatever, just something that slows you down from your destination. And maybe you always pride yourself on being on-time, yet this obstacle is going to make you ten or fifteen minutes late.
It bugs me so much. It makes me feel weirdly out of control. I hate it. I’m that person who prides herself on being on-time and when I’m not on-time, through no fault of my own, it really needles at me. But what I’m learning is that I’m just obsessed with control. And the more I try to control, the less I’ll actually be able to control. Life is funny that way. It’s like some silly cosmic joke. It’s like whatever omnipotent being you believe in, or just the chaos of the universe, is saying, “Nope, sorry Marie, it’s just not going to work like you thought it would.”
But, to my credit, at least I can recognize this. At least I’m learning.
If you don’t make concrete decisions, someone else is going to make those decisions for you. And here, I had to decide whether to salvage my Ol
ympic dreams of trying to win a Gold Medal or my romantic dreams of falling in love with the perfect woman. That’s a tall order. That’s a hard choice to make. But, as I trudged down State Street, turning on Huron to make my way to Main, I resigned to the fact that I would have to give in to Amber’s demands. I could still work my butt off and try for a Silver. But if I was going to be able to really give myself into my growing love for Dasha, I would have to meet the demands of my enemy.
I pushed my sunglasses up to wipe a small tear from my eye and as I did this a car pulled up next to me and honked. I didn’t recognize the car but the speed at which it suddenly pulled over made me feel like the driver knew me. The window rolled down and I stopped in my tracks, looking over at the car to see what they wanted.
“Marie!” I heard a female voice squeal from inside. I gingerly approached the rolled down passenger window and looked in.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed. “Efrat!” I smiled into the car at her. Efrat was an old friend of mine from college, also on the swim team but not a swimmer at my level. She was darker complected with dark hair, originally from Israel but she had moved to Ann Arbor to go to U of M. I thought maybe she’d returned home but apparently she was still around.
“Holy crap,” she said. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you, Marie. Where are you going? Can I drive you somewhere?”
“I’m not going anywhere in particular,” I said evenly.
“Well, do you want to get in?” Efrat was grinning wide at me. The joy on my face made me feel guilty for not staying in touch with her.
“Sure!” I said. I reached for the passenger door and opened it up. “I don’t have any place I’m trying to be,” I said. “But we should ride around and catch up.”
After a tight hug and kisses on the cheek, Efrat and I took off in her car, windows down, sunroof open. My mood had lightened with the addition of Efrat, as she always seemed to bring a nice levity to a situation.
Freestyle Flirting: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 8