rowing

I admire sportswomen of all kinds, for their achievements and for their beauty (especially as I'm partial to a bit of muscle). Rowers are interesting: they're not overtly bulgy, but they exude a confident physical power and total commitment that I find mesmerising. In this story I wanted to twist some of that competitive essence into a good old erotic romp; although it didn't quite work out the way I expected.

Where's that line? My legs are on fire; back and arms beyond the wall and failing. My technique left the boat at fifteen hundred metres. Catch, drive through the agony, hands away, feather, dive back to front-stops, catch, pain, gasp, catch, catch, catch.

Like a machine, Linda rips through stroke after stroke ahead of me, the torque of her finishes each now needing a correction from the rudder. I can feel her frustration at me, but she won't let Molesey have this. They've been coming back at us since halfway, and my desperation is like a black tide held at bay only by her total drive.

Still no line. Surely they are level. Linda has no breath left to shout for a push, but she doesn't need to. We both know the next one stroke or two will decide this, just as we both know there's nothing left to give. With a silent scream I go through the pain.

Next second Linda is in my lap, her blade crashing loose to thump the stern. I almost lose my own trying to avoid her head with the handle, and at the same moment a klaxon blares across the water, followed immediately by another.

Linda's eyes are wide with shock as the boat skews to stroke-side around her stricken oar. It's not unknown for a blade to be caught by a wave at precisely the wrong moment, thumping the rower out of the way at the other end; but it happens more often to novices, and so at our level it carries an inevitable stigma. I want to tell her it's okay, it's not her fault, but the words won't come. I just stare at her agonised face, tears welling in my own eyes, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

The hollering of our coach Jackie in the launch eventually reaches me. I glance up to her. I look again: her face is radiant with delight and she is capering wildly, her arms flailing. My heart does a back-flip as the message hits home.

We won. 'We won!' I try to shout at Linda's defeated, prone form, but I only manage a croak. I tuck my oar handle under my elbows and cup her head in my lap. 'We won, Linda,' I say, and for a moment she does not believe. Then her eyes slowly widen. In ecstasy I lean down, intending to say it again, closer; suddenly I am nothing, and the moment is everything. In rapture I lean further, and our lips come together, slick with sweat.

I don't really know if she returned the kiss. The shouting, the loud-hailers, the small crowd of supporters, everything became a blur after that moment. We paddled to the pontoon, and when we had climbed out of the boat we hugged, jauntily, celebrating our first race win. We hugged the Molesey girls too, careful to smile warmly, and clapped as they received their silver mementos.

And now we're back in the clubhouse, and Linda is in the showers, and I can't stand it any more. So many outings, so many hours in the bar, pretending that I'm just her friend. Her pair partner. The slightly younger, slightly shorter, slightly plainer one, the one who Jackie thinks 'has potential'. Well, I almost realised that potential today, and now it's like nothing happened again.

I want her so badly. I want her to come to me, here in the quiet changing room, and tell me she liked that kiss. But she didn't when we came in; why would she now? So I sit here in my damp lycra, and I watch the dying rays of the sun play on the whitewashed wall, and I cry inside.

The door creaks open. 'Ruth,' says Jackie in greeting, then frowns as she sees right through my weak attempt at a smile. She puts her hands on her hips. 'Moping won't help.' I feign confusion and she smiles wryly. 'Don't pretend I didn't see,' she adds. Then she strides to me and takes my hand. 'There's something I think you need to know.'

She pulls me unwillingly towards the wide gap in the wall that leads to the showers, just as the rushing of the water is extinguished. Steam drifts outward, and she parks me on the threshold. I can't help seeing Linda, perfect in her nakedness, reaching for her towel. My heart sinks further as she glances, disinterested, at me, then smiles at Jackie.

They put their arms around each other and kiss, passionately.

For the second time today, my heart tries to jump from my chest. My cheeks must be burning, but I can't move. What excitement, what horror, seizes me. They are entwined in each other, uncaring of the water soaking Jackie's clothes. Linda's thigh ripples as it rises beside Jackie's legs; her arms reach for her hair, shoulders and biceps bunching exquisitely.

Why must I watch this? Am I to be tortured? But still I can't move. Oh! I can't take my eyes from her, moving like this; her strength focussed and controlled in caresses, just as I had dreamed, even if it is not me that she touches. One of her hands descends, splayed, down Jackie's back, pulling her close; then grasps her vest and begins to tug it upward.

But Jackie takes a small step back, pushing Linda's shoulders away. Her head inclines ever so slightly towards me. Suggesting. Now Linda is looking at me. Her face is a blank, but for a fire behind her eyes which burns into me. How I have ached for that look: haughty, but alive with desire; and its reality seems to consume everything.

They are coming. I am shaking. Linda's hands reach out to my waist, drawing slowly until her breasts press close onto mine. I can feel her nipples pushing into my flesh. Then her mouth hits me like a freight train, and I moan as the taste of it floods me. I try to embrace her, but Jackie has pulled the lycra from my shoulders and is tugging it down, over my arms.

Linda's mouth is wide open now, and her tongue darts forward. I feel weak in the face of her power. Like always. Jackie has undone by bra. My breasts fall onto Linda's, the feeling of skin on wet skin like a shot of pure ecstasy.

But under the passion, unexpectedly, something dark is rising. I feel it begin to overwhelm my lust, and the contradiction only makes it stronger.

Resentment. These two have controlled me on the river; now they want to control me here. I am their toy; necessary only to achieve their desires. Suddenly my hand is on Linda's chest, pressing. She resists, but I push harder and she stumbles back in surprise.

'I don't want this,' I say, and the voice does not sound like my own. I twist my hips, and the elastic of my knickers snaps out of Jackie's fingers. 'I don't want this,' I say again, louder, as she smiles with condescension. I point at Linda. 'I wanted you. Not...' I wave my hand to take in the scene. 'Not this.'

And I snatch my bra and lycra from the floor, and turn away. 'Ruth,' says Jackie, with a gentleness that sounds forced. I can feel her following me back to the benches. 'Ruth, wait.'

As I fumble with my bra she says, 'I'm sorry. It was too much for you.' I tug a t-shirt from my bag, raising an eyebrow to myself. She really does think I'm weak. Not worthy of their sex games. 'We want you. Both of us.' And her finger traces negligently over my shoulder. I pause, and look at it. I see my own muscle beneath her finger, so alike to Linda's. So strong.

It ripples a little as my arm rises to balance me; then the room whirls around, and Jackie is crumpling to the floor. Linda shrieks. I ignore them both as I pull on my clothes and shoes. When I reach the door, I turn.

'It was my stroke that won that race,' I say quietly, and leave.