Warm Electric Velvet

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Big Dicks

Normally the well-built blonde with the ponytail had a jogging partner as she pounded around the park on the outskirts of Salzburg. I had seen her a dozen times, although not up close, as she powered along the path looking determined.I was doing an altogether feebler bit of keeping fit, passing the time doing something constructive while I waited for some business to be done here in the Austrian city. I had to be there but I couldn’t do anything to speed things along, so I got some exercise in the mornings and did a lot of reading and eating and drinking the rest of the time. Life could have been worse, but it was boring.The other thing about the blonde girl was that she never stopped. She ran into the park, ran around it several times and ran out again, heading for who-knows-where.She was slim but muscular, as her tight training gear showed. I fantasised, as one does, about the sweat that must be cascading tightly down her body. I could see her mop her brow and if only she would slow down or grind to a halt like a normal human being I could maybe see the glistening sheen on her back.But she was Ms Perpetual Motion and the only way to introduce myself seemed to be to run alongside her, if I could keep up.As she came around for the fifth time I put on a bit of a spurt and we ran shoulder to shoulder for a few paces as I attempted to enter her orbit. She didn’t even glance Escort Anadolu yakası at me, just gave me a couple of seconds before stepping up a gear and easing away.I sat down on the next bench and decided to relax and watch. There were other people around, but none as interesting as the runner.As she came around again a small, yappy dog chased her and somehow got between her ankles. There was growling and cursing and then suddenly she crashed to the ground. The dog’s owner, an elderly woman who had been shouting and whistling ineffectually finally got the animal’s attention and they both disappeared out onto the road.I dashed over to the girl, who was sitting on the tarmac path, rubbing her left calf and knee.“You okay?” I said.“Goddam dogs,” she said in a Germanic accent that made the letter d sound like t. “These people haf no control.”“Nothing broken?” I asked.“Nah, tweaked a muscle. It’s nothing.”She had a slightly prominent, sharp nose and her skin was very pale where it wasn’t pink from exercise. Small breasts made their points through the stretchy black vest and her chest glistened with that sweat I had daydreamed about.The most striking thing, though, was she was very muscular. Biceps like avocados, neck muscles that were unnecessarily pronounced. I tried to stop myself looking at her crotch, but she was absorbed Kurtköy escort in her potential injuries, so I had a second to check out that crucial fork in the road. And her legs were like shapely logs. This girl took her training seriously.I helped her over to the bench and took a bottle of water from the little backpack I wore on these runs. There was a tube of arnica cream I had forgotten about, so I passed it to her and she grunted her thanks. I’m not sure if it was the right thing to put on a pulled muscle, but arnica is supposed to some kind of wonder herb, and anyway, it helped psychologically to put something on the place where you’re hurt, like your Mum used to. I fancied I could see such a thought flicker across the girl’s face too.“I’m Vic,” I said, offering my hand.“Irina,” she said, shaking it firmly.“You Austrian?” I asked.“German,” she said. “Training here for a month, just to get out of Berlin.”We exchanged some chit chat for a minute or two while I wondered if she would think I was prying.“What are you training for?” I asked eventually.“A fight,” she said reluctantly. “I’m a boxer.”“Wow,” I said involuntarily.“Wow what?” she threw back.“I don’t know… never met a boxer before. You do that for a living?”“Sure,” she said, in that generic American accent that foreigners think is standard English.“Listen,” she said, standing Maltepe escort bayan up. “I should go before my muscles seize up. Thank you for…”I interrupted her.“How about dinner tonight?”She looked at me with surprise and suspicion mingled with a trace of gratitude.“Okay,” she said. “Sure, why not? But I have to eat early and sleep early.”“Italian place over there,” I said, gesturing. “Six o’clock.”“Cool.” I spent the rest of the day thinking about Irina. Of course she wasn’t scared of accepting a dinner invitation. I like to think I come across as a nice guy, I know for a fact I’m not a danger to women and this one could punch holes in me anyway.I Googled her and there she was: regional super-middleweight champion. Soon to be fighting for the national title.Most of the pictures were in fighting gear, with ugly, voluminous male-style shorts and short halter-neck tops, but there were some in feminine attire, slinky dresses, and her face, as I already knew, didn’t look like it had been knocked around.Somehow I couldn’t shake off the idea that it wasn’t really her.The other thing I couldn’t shake was the feeling that a sizeable proportion of top sportswomen are lesbians. And boxing is not a dainty sport. That’s not being judgmental, just realistic. And so what if she was, anyway? Irina was a good-looking girl and I felt comfortable with her – comfortable enough to have asked her out on the spur of the moment. I could just enjoy her company without thinking I might get lucky later.But of course I was hoping to go to bed with her later. Maybe not that night but soon. I don’t think I’m breaking any new ground if I admit I would like to have sex with any girl I ask out. It’s natural.

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