Track & Field
Marianne began her approach. She grunted as she planted her pole and launched into the air. Every muscle in her petite body flexed as she threw her legs up, arched her back, and twisted her body. The scattered crowd broke into applause as she cleared the bar. With a deflating thwomp, she fell onto the foam landing mat. At that moment, my body broke out in goosebumps of arousal. I was sitting on the grass, watching the vaulters as I rested after my race. I put my legs together to try to hide my erection.
I had seen Marianne vault hundreds of times at practice and prior meets, but her beauty never struck me until that away meet. Her form was incredible, always. She was the best vaulter on the team among both the men and women. We both attended a small Division II school. Coach scouted her from high school, and she got a full ride—no scholarship or scouting for me. I’ve just always been a decent runner, but never the fastest. I ran competed in the 800 Meter race. I’d place occasionally, but Marianne had gotten Gold at every meet since the season began.
Two years into the team, I’d seen plenty of attractive men and women in tight-fitting athletic clothing. At times, it seemed like everyone was hooking up with someone on the team except me. It was the same way in the Drama Club in high school. When you spend so much time together practicing, giving it your all, special bonds start to form. I’m a loner, always have been, always will be. Marianne, she kept to herself and hadn’t found her clique. She was friendly enough with the other vaulters, but I mostly saw her by herself when leaving practice and meets.
Her short hair pulled back, barely long enough to make a ponytail, she squirted water into her mouth as she walked to cool down. “Nice vault, Marianne,” I said as she passed by. “Incredible, as always.”
She looked down at me on the grass, and her face reddened. “Thanks,” she said. Her voice was a notch lower than most women’s, but not in an unattractive way. It made her unique. I could tell she was self-conscious of it because she always spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.
I watched her stretched, in awe of her perfect body.
We did okay at that meet. We didn’t win overall, but spirits were still high in the locker room after. Win some, lose some, as long as you gave it your all, that’s all that mattered. I changed into my casual clothes and went out to the bus.
Marianne walked down the center aisle of the bus, looking for a seat. She was wearing an oversized sweater, a baseball cap, sneakers, and loose-fitting jeans, carrying her duffle bag. Most people had a bus buddy, so not many seats were open. She saw the open seat next to me, and she glanced over at me. Our eyes met. She looked away immediately but still approached.
“Mind if I sit here?” she asked.
“Not at all.”
She slid her back under the seat and sat down. She had wireless earbuds in.
“I saw your vault today. Seriously, it was amazing.”
She took out her earbud that was closest to me.
“Thanks,” she said. She talked so softly that I had to lean in to hear her. “I saw your event too. You did well.”
I scratched the back of my head and smiled. She must have just been being nice because I didn’t even finish in the top five. I then realized I had never really talked to Marianne before. Butterflies filled my stomach, and I wasn’t sure what to say. I thought of some questions to ask her, and she, to my surprise, was happy to chat. I learned that she majored in Economics, her roommate was obsessed with watching anime late into the night, she grew up in a suburb of Boston, and she was enjoying her time at college so far.
The bus was pulling into campus, and I didn’t want our conversation to end. “Do you use Snapchat?” I asked.
“Of course.” She told me her username, and I requested her as a friend. She added me back, and then we unloaded off the bus.
That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I was at the dining hall, eating dessert with some friends. I sent her a Snap of cookies and ice cream next to each other and a caption of “One must disappear for the other to exist. Which do you keep, cookies or ice cream?”
She responded immediately with a cookie emoji and a long message about how ice cream melts too quickly and isn’t enjoyable in the winter, but cookies are delicious all year around.
That was the start of what we called Either-Or. Pens or pencils? Indiana Jones or Star Wars? Adele or Taylor Swift? We went back and forth, on and on. I was glued to my phone, my cheeks hurt from laughing.
I put my phone down for a bit and got ready for bed. When I got back, I saw a Snap from Marianne. It was a selfie of Marianne with a large-eyed filter over her face with her roommate huddled in a blanket watching anime on her laptop at her desk.
“What’s she watching?”
“She said, ‘You wouldn’t know it.’”
I replied with a picture of Goku from Dragon Ball Z, and then I didn’t hear back from Marianne for a bit. Finally, she replied with a selfie. The caption said, “I like you…”
I replied with a selfie and the same exact caption.
“Want to hang out tonight?” she asked.
“Isn’t it late?”
“No practice tomorrow.”
“You’re right… Want to come over?”
I got lucky in my sophomore year and had a single dorm room, no roommate. Marianne came over, still in her casual clothes from after the meet. I was in lounge pants and a t-shirt.
It was awkward at first. But we sat on my bed, and I set my laptop on my desk. We watched Indiana Jones, the one with Shia Labeouf. “There’s not a single Star Wars as bad as this, not even Episode One.”
“You just don’t get it,” she said. “Indiana Jones is a far bigger hunk than Han Solo. And that settles it.” She leaned into me. I put my arm around her.
We stayed focused on the movie at first, but we both lost interest quickly. It wasn’t the movie’s fault. We were just drawn together. We looked at each other in the eyes. I took off her baseball cap. I ran my hands through her short hair. She pulled me closer toward her, her strong hands pleasant. Our lips met. And then our tongues intertwined.
Marianne pulled off my shirt; I slipped off her sweater. She was wearing no bra. Her body was incredibly toned, her abdomen well-defined. Her chest was pale compared to the tan that covered her upper body, her small breasts blocked from the sun by her sports bra during sunny practice days. I loved the contrast.
I ran my hand along her side and then caressed her right nipple. The Indiana Jones score swelled. She ran her hands along my upper body, exploring every inch of it.
I planted kisses down from her ear lobe to her nipple, then I nibbled it with my teeth, ever so gently. Her nipple hardened, and I began to encircle it with my tongue.
She ran a hand along my thigh and moved it to my crotch. Marianne tugged at my cock through my lounge pants. She slipped them off too, and there was no barrier between my penis and her hand. Her grip was firm and confident. She stroked it while she kissed me, starting slowly and then finding a rhythm.
I was about to come. “Could we take a break and focus on you?” I asked. I unbuttoned her jeans and slide off her pants. I kissed her thighs. I pulled her panties aside and kissed around her vulva before running my tongue between her lips. The panties were in the way, so I slipped them off. She put her hand on the top of my head while I worked her clit with my tongue. I came up for air and kissed her, my face covered with her wetness.
She grabbed me by the shoulders, pushed me onto my back, and got on top of me. She was so agile, not a single wasted motion. She led me inside of her, and she began to bounce up and down on my cock. I played with her nipples. She rubbed her clit.
We were both panting, sweating, fully nude, together as one.
Not long after, she moaned, I groaned, and we came together.
I slid out of her, she collapsed onto me, and we fell asleep cuddling.
In the days and weeks that followed, Marianne and I hung out before, during, and after practice. We became bus buddies for away meets. She slept over my dorm regularly. We were inseparable.
Marianne and I decided to get married a few years after each of us graduated, and we’ve been together ever since. When I think back on the day our relationship began, I see her mid-air, arched, clearing the bar, and my heart races.