Sex in Sochi

Sprint

   Roman gave a shake of the head and a small chuckle. His fan mail had arrived, separated into big plastic bags by interns based on if they were letters or presents. The presents had been sorted further. One marked “panties” was dumped down onto a chair. Roman opened this bag first as the interns left.

   “Such an awful word. Panties,” he said slowly. “But I love what that word represents.” These were a common gift from his fans. He took them out one by one, his back to the door. Roman didn’t notice Mindy opening it slightly. He’d started throwing the panties around the room so he could be reminded of the adoring public no matter which way he looked. Mindy didn’t disturb him. She just let Roman make his frilly wonderland, all the while wishing she’d brought a camera. Eventually he turned, saw her and put a hand to the back of head, a grimacing smile on his face.

   “No, no,” Mindy said, trying not to sound too entertained. “Don’t worry I did the same thing.”

   “You wanted something?” Roman asked. Mindy had to give him credit for not going red.

   “We’re on in fifteen minutes,” she replied. “That’s if you want to leave your Pantie Palace?”

   When she was gone Roman fixed his tie and composed himself. It was difficult to be calm these days, though. He was someone who thrived off of success and in the past few weeks he’d been having enough to burst. It was tiring as well, constantly having to take part in interviews and photoshoots. Yesterday before preparing the show Roman zipped across Los Angeles filming adverts. The panties represented his triumph. He was adored.

   Roman stood, flicked the collars of his suit as he always did, and left his dressing room, taking one last look at his Pantie Palace before leaving the dressing room and joining Mindy. She’d improved recently, become warmer to him as her confidence in front of the camera grew. Roman was pleased as she certainly had presence and it would’ve been a shame to see her eaten up by the pressure. He tried not to acknowledge her smirk and only nodded seriously. They were covering a main event; the sprint.

   “It’s really warm today,” Mindy said quietly as he sat, eyes focused on her notes.

   Roman nodded. “Warmest day of the year, so the news said.”

   “I feel for you,” Mindy replied playfully.

   “Why is that?” he enquired, sipping his coffee.

   “If those panties are as used as I think they are your room is going to spell awfully musty when you get back to it,” Mindy pointed out, obviously trying not to look too pleased.

   Roman didn’t reply. Instead he just tried to focus on his coffee. But after a moment he growled lowly in frustration and beckoned an intern over. “Have the air conditioning turned on in my dressing room, please.” Roman refused to look at his co-host but still had to put up with her sniggering.

   “Welcome!” Mindy said, perfectly poised, “to Sex in Sochi!”

   “We’re here to bring you in-depth coverage of the Sochi Sex Olympics,” Roman piped in.

   “Before we get onto the main topic of the night, a quick update,” Mindy continued briskly.

   “Yes, yes,” Roman took over, “these Games usually have long lasting events but usually they aren’t so worrying as the Canadian and Costa Rican teams turned their bows on each other during the archery event this afternoon.”

   Mindy sighed. “Three athletes were shot, thankfully none of them fatally, but it just adds to the tensions that have been building since before the Games began and there will be discussions tonight, perhaps happening as we speak, as to what will be done to ensure an event like this doesn’t happen again.”

   “Now on with proceedings,” Roman said in a more lighthearted tone. “The sprint.”

   “Yes,” Mindy added with a smile. “We will cover both the male and female events tonight…

   “... with the male one first,” Roman said, taking over and walking to the big screen. “The rules of this event are simple. The athletes must masterbate with no aid and the first one to ejaculate wins. And by no aid I mean magazines, videos. They aren’t even allowed to look at anything remotely sexual for an hour before hand and cannot be accompanied by their partners during that time.”

   A video of six naked men with the flags of their countries painted across their chests came up. Across from them sat six women of epic proportions, They looked like dragons and their fat spilled out of the chairs they were in. The athletes were obviously trying not to look at these obstacles… all but one. The video was played, shafts were grafting and soon wrists were at work. One athlete had to pull out with friction burns. The rest continued pumping away. Twenty seconds later an athlete ejaculated and jumped to his feet to celebrate his victory. It was the one that hadn’t looked away. It took another ten second for the next one.

   “A clear victory!” Roman said passionately, a sly smile on his face. “Wait until you find out why!”

   Another video played showing the victor, wearing shorts now, with a reporter. “I’m Abel Cannoway, here with Mauro Mufasa of Nigeria. Mauro, how do you explain what was such a dominant victory?”

   Mauro gave a cheeky laugh. “I like a fat girl. The organisers were cruel, thinking that those lovely ladies would be a hindrance. Instead they secured my victory.” The woman were gathered around him. Mauro put his arms around the shoulders of two of them. “Come on ladies.” And they all followed him down into the changing rooms.