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“Are you Sam?”
I looked up from my cell-phone. The woman standing in front of me was smiling. Beaming actually. “Mary?”
“That’s me!” she almost shouted. She offered her hand and shook mine enthusiastically. “It’s so nice to meet you! Thanks so much for helping put this together.”
“My pleasure. I’m not sure I did much except volunteer to be your cyclist. I guess now we just need our swimmer.”
“Any word?” she asked, looking down at the cell phone I was still holding in my hand.
I shook my head. It was 6:15 am on an August Sunday morning in Toronto. We were standing on Queens Quay, near the Westin Harbour Castle hotel, preparing to catch a ferry to Toronto Island. Mary and I were two parts of a team triathlon relay, and now we needed to find our swimmer, a girl named Emily. I’d never met either of them before, but had gotten involved by answering Mary’s post on the Toronto Bike Network website saying that a cyclist was needed for this race.
“Do you know her? Know Emily?” I asked. I had agreed to do the race without really asking any details. I’d just emailed and said “Yep I’ll do it. Where should I be and when?” I didn’t find out that they were both women until Saturday, when we’d traded cell-phone numbers so that we could find each other early Sunday morning.
“Nope. A friend sent out an email on a swimming list-serv for me. Emily answered. All I know is that she’s on the swim team at York University.”
Mary took her white Saucony visor off her head, and ran a hand through her shoulder length blond hair. She spun slightly on her heel, looking around at the waves of other athletes filtering down towards the ferry docks. Mary was probably in her mid to late 40s. She wasn’t the classic “5’2 and a feisty 100 pounds” type of runner. She had some flesh to her, probably a busy mom who had discovered running and was enjoying it enough to try a race here and there. The flesh on her bones, well, it was in good places. Her face was slightly round, lit up by her eager, happy smile and slightly sparkling eyes. She was wearing one of those skort things, a kind of skirt/short for running, and a white athletic top, through which I could see the outlines of her sports bra. Over one shoulder hung a backpack that probably held her water bottles and other gear.
“So Sam, what is your story?” she asked, turning to me again and looking into my eyes. “Are you in university? Working?”
“Oh, no, I finished school a few years ago. I went to Richard Ivey at Western. Moved to Toronto about a year ago when I found a job in a bank here. Still kind of getting to know the city actually. How about you? Are you a born and raised Torontonian?”
She laughed a little, and reached out and took my forearm in a friendly way, her fingers wrapping warmly just above my Garmin sports watch. “Yes. Guilty,” she smiled. “I’m a Torontonian. Kind of a suburbs girl to be honest. I grew up in Pickering, but now live in Oakville. I went to school and now work downtown though.”
My eyes caught someone approach behind Mary. She was 20 something, healthy, almost radiant. “Are you the folks looking for a swimmer?” she asked.
Mary turned. “We are! Are you Emily?”
Emily nodded. She was maybe 5’7, an inch or two shorter than me. She had long brown hair, currently held back in a pony tail. She was wearing tan shorts, her bare fit legs stretching down to ankle socks and running shoes. Under her T-Shirt I could see the dark shadow of the bathing suit top she was wearing. Emily. Something in my throat pulsed faster for a second. A flush of warmth raced over my body.
Mary stepped into Emily and gave her a warm hug. Emily’s eyes moved to mine, and for an instant I saw the surprise in her eyes at the hug she was receiving. Mary smiled as they stepped back slightly from each other. “How are you, Emily? Thank you so much for signing up for this!”
Emily nodded, smiling. “I’m great, and well, you’re welcome,” she laughed. She turned to me, her eyes catching mine. “And you’re Sam?”
“Yes indeed.” I reached my hand to her and she took it warmly, holding my gaze. “It’s great to meet you Emily.”
I threw my backpack over my shoulders and took my bike by the stem, pushing it beside me as we walked to the entrance to the ferries. The wind coming off Lake Ontario brought a fresh open-water smell to us, to the several hundred athletes and friends and family heading out to the island for the race. I loved this pre-race feeling, loved seeing so many beautiful bicycles gathered together, the feeling of racing, spinning the pedals, hunting down the cyclists ahead of you and then leaving them behind you. And this morning, meeting Emily… I was probably beaming.
Emily dropped her large gym bag into the grass in the transition area, then looked at her watch. “20 minutes,” she said. “The start time is in 20 minutes. I should get my wet suit on and walk down to the water.”
We were standing near my bike in the team relay bike rack area. After registering together, I’d ended up holding onto the timer chip, which was attached to a Velcro strap canlı bahis and which we’d trade from one to the other as we moved from the swim, to the bike to the run. “Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll put the chip on your ankle for you.”
“Fun,” Mary said, smiling that warm smile of hers. “Emily, where do you want to change? Want to go to the port-o-poddies?”
Emily almost grimaced at that idea. “No,” she said. “No worries, I can change right here. I have my bathing suit on already.” She fiddled with the button of her shorts, and I watched as they then slid down her long smooth legs. She pulled her T-Shirt over her head, and in just a few seconds was standing before us in a blue two-piece bathing suit. She reached into her gym bag for her swimming cap, marked with our team number, 535. She bunched her hair into the cap, and pulled it tightly down over her head, and then reached into her bag and pulled out her wetsuit.
She also pulled out a bottle of baby powder, which made Mary laugh. “Is that baby powder?”
Emily nodded, and sprinkled a bit onto her feet and ankles. “Yes, it helps your legs slide down into the wetsuit. It’s tricky sometimes.” She handed her wetsuit to me. “Can you hold this for me Sam?”
I held it up at chest level, the back, with the flap and zipper, towards Emily. She undid the zipper to the waist, and then took it back from me, rolling the upper half down as though she was going to turn it inside out.
Emily lifted her right leg, and started pushing her right foot down into the wetsuit. She started to struggle immediately, muttering “fucking wetsuits” under her breath as she wobbled on her left leg. Mary, on Emily’s right side, and I, on Emily’s left, both put our arms across her lower back to help steady her. My hand, my fingertips, on Emily’s back, my forearm brushing against Mary’s.
“I’m glad it’s you and not me,” Mary joked. “I’d never fit into that thing.”
“They’re always a nuisance,” Emily said. “I always struggle with this.”
She managed to poke her toes out of the bottom of the wetsuit, and then leaned down, taking small pinches of the leg of the wetsuit in her fingertips and pulling it up her leg inch by inch.
“Do you want me to do that for you?” Mary asked.
Emily straightened up for a second, and stretched her back out. She looked down at her waist, and I noticed that Mary’s right hand had ended up resting just above Emily’s hip. “No,” Emily replied. “Thank you. You can tear these things really easily, and it’s often fingernails that do it. Your nails look fairly healthy there Mary.”
I held my hand up for Emily’s inspection, showing her my fairly well trimmed fingernails. “I don’t mind,” I said. “And I’ve worn a wetsuit or two in my time actually.”
Emily nodded and I moved from her side to kneel down at her feet. Using the pads of my fingertips, I drew small fold after small fold of wetsuit up her ankle, and up her calf. At her knee, I took another small fold, drawing it up her inner thigh, my fingers playing there softly. As Emily lifted her left leg and began pushing it down into the wetsuit, Mary held the younger woman tightly to her side, her left arm across Emily’s back, her right on her tummy, her breasts pushing into the smooth muscles of Emily’s right arm. When Emily’s toes peeked through, I again took small folds of material and drew it up her leg, fold after fold, higher and higher.
I stood up, standing in front of Emily, watching as she took the upper section of the wetsuit and rolled it up her tummy and slid her right arm, and then her left arm, inside. She still struggled slightly, and jumped a bit, trying to get the suit to fit properly. Mary’s hands were anchored on Emily’s sides as Emily reached down behind her and tried to drag the wetsuit into a more successful fit on her bum.
“I could, you know…, if you want…,” I said.
“Sure,” Emily said, “give it a try.”
“Ooo,” Mary cooed, reaching down into the bag she’d placed on the ground. She drew her phone out and tapped it a few times. “This is like the great wetsuit adventure!” she bubbled. “I’ll take a photo.”
Emily and I exchanged a glance, and then I stepped close and leaned into her. I wrapped my arms around her body, my fingers grabbing some material at the back of her left leg, and then the back of her right, pulling the seat of her wetsuit fully onto her bum. As I stepped back again, I let my palms trail across her thighs and hips. Emily looked me in the eyes as I stood up, a neutral, unreadable expression on her face. “That feels better,” she said. “Mary, since you’re there, could you pull the drawstring on the zipper up, and then tuck most of the string under the Velcro flap?”
Mary soft-tossed her phone onto her bag, and then took the drawstring and zipped up Emily’s wetsuit. She fanned her hands down Emily’s shoulders and arms, feeling the neoprene material, and Emily’s body, underneath. “This stuff feels insane,” Mary said. “What does it feel like to wear?”
“Snug!” Emily laughed. “Warm and snug.”
“It looks it,” Mary said. She reached down for her bahis siteleri phone again. “Here, pose for a photo in full battle gear.”
“Come here Sam,” Emily said, holding her arm out towards me. I stepped close and her arm went around my lower back. We smiled while Mary took our picture.
“Come here Mary,” I said. “We’ll get a selfie of the three of us.” Mary stood on Emily’s other side and lifted her phone up, taking a picture of the three of us.
“I might as well be the official photographer for the day,” Mary laughed. “I go last, I have time to kill until my run.”
“And I better go,” Emily said. “Sam, I’ll see you back here soon, and then you can get those legs of yours going crazy on your bike.”
“Sounds good. Have a good swim.”
Emily moved off and soon mingled into the flow of athletes in bathing suits and wetsuits moving towards the water. Mary and I chatted for a while at my bike in the transition zone, and then she went off to watch the swim. In the transition zone I joked and chatted a bit with the other cyclists who were doing the team-tri. I eyeballed who the real ringers might be, and which cyclists I might be able to beat. I downed an energy gel, cleaned my Oakley sunglasses, and stepped from flip-flops into cycling shoes.
It wasn’t long before the first swimmer, and then another, and then another, started running into the transition zone. The first dozen or so athletes back were doing the individual triathlon, and then the first team-triathlon swimmer ran towards our group. It was a tall lanky guy, who ran up to another tall lanky guy and transferred the timing chip from his own leg to the cyclist’s leg. The cyclist pulled his bike – a gorgeous Quintana Roo – from the rack and ran off with it, pushing it out of the transition zone to the beginning of the race course, where you are able to mount your bike for the first time.
I watched intently for Emily to appear, and finally spotted her soft-jogging with a small pack of swimmers towards the entrance to the transition zone. By the time she got to me she was the 4th team swimmer out of the water. She pulled her swim cap from her head as she got close, her hair spilling down. She knelt at my feet and undid the Velcro strap at her ankle. “How many have gone so far?” she asked, breathing heavily.
“Three,” I said. “You’re fourth out of the water. You did awesome.”
She pushed the Velcro strap to my lower calf and closed it tightly onto my leg. “Three of those fuckers beat me?” she said. “Can you catch them?” She started to stand, and as she did she trailed the fingers of her right hand up my calf to my knee.
“I think I can catch two of them,” I said, staring at Emily, her face glowing with health and excitement. “The first guy looked like an animal.”
She stood up on her tiptoes slightly and pecked me on the cheek. “Get going,” she whispered.
I tried. And I was helped somewhat by the short and confined nature of the course. The Toronto Island doesn’t offer long stretches of straight road where a cyclist on a tri bike can put his foot down and hammer out 40km an hour for an hour or more, leaving everyone else in his or her dust. It’s a flat, ‘go fast then slow down’ course where you’re sometimes cycling alongside pedestrians, and in the end I was nearly riding the wheel of the guy on the Quintana Roo as we came to the dismount area and ran our bikes back to the team tri bike rack.
All of the runners were standing at the bike rack, waiting for their respective cyclists to appear. Mary was in her skort and white top, her sunglasses and visor on, holding her phone, seemingly snapping pictures of me as I jogged towards her. She continued to cheer as I slid my bike onto the rack and then knelt at her feet. I felt her hand go to my neck and rest there, her fingers ever so slightly brushing through the sweat on my skin. I transferred the chip from my ankle to hers, cupping the strap and the chip, and her ankle, in my hands, pressing firm, making sure it was on tight.
I stood up. Mary’s bright face. Beaming. “Go get them Mary,” I said. “Have a good run.”
“What about my peck on the cheek?!” she laughed.
This took me back for a second. Peck on the cheek? I guess she’d seen Emily kiss me lightly before I left for my ride? I leaned in to Mary and touched my lips to her left cheek. Her hand went to my side briefly, and then, when the peck was finished, she trundled off. I watched her move through the transition zone, then out onto the start of the run course. I have to admit, I was attracted to Mary. She had a vibrancy that was very sexy, and I liked the softness of her, and her curves, but at the same time, the constant photo taking was a bit odd, and the peck on the cheek…
I found Emily and we hung out together, waiting for Mary to return from her 5km run. Emily had left her two piece bathing suit on, just pulling her T-Shirt on over top. Except for switching from my cycling shoes back to my flip-flops, I was still in my biking gear – spandex cycling shorts and a white, fairly tight-fitting, cycling jersey. bahis şirketleri We were standing on the side of the run route, near the finish, when Mary came back in. She saw us and we gave her a high five as she ran by. Wandering together to the finish line and finding Mary again, she wrapped each of us in big sweaty hugs. In my case I hesitated for a moment, unsure how warmly to hug her back, but when her breasts pushed heavily, and heaving, into my chest, I couldn’t resist, and pulled her tightly to me, holding on, feeling her body against mine, her arms tightening even further around me.
After another obligatory team-selfie, Mary announced that she needed a massage, and we walked together to the large tent where numerous massage tables had been set up, therapists trying to deal with the long line of athletes waiting their turn. Emily looked at the long line and the long wait we were going to have, and put her hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary, tell you what, let’s wander and find some grass somewhere, and I’ll give you a massage. This line will take forever.”
I think Mary experienced a fluttering thrill at Emily’s suggestion, and later, when we’d found some shade from the hot sun over near Hanlan’s Point, and I watched Emily kneel down in the grass beside Mary’s outstretched legs, and her hands touch Mary’s skin, I experienced a thrill myself.
The older woman lay on her tummy on a towel that Emily had had in her bag. Her legs bare, her shoes and socks removed. She was making a pillow of her hands, her arms bare in the sleeveless running top that she was wearing. Emily was kneeling by Mary’s left knee, her bum, in her swimsuit, resting sometimes on her heels, sometimes moving up and off as she leaned more heavily into Mary.
Emily started on Mary’s left leg, starting just below her skort, on Mary’s hamstrings. She dug her fingers in, making Mary moan, and quiver, and then massaged her way down to Mary’s ankles. She moved down to kneel at Mary’s feet, and gave her a foot massage, her thumbs pressing deep down into Mary’s arch. Emily moved again, kneeling on Mary’s right side, and repeated the process.
We were sitting together under some shade, trees with low branches hiding us from the walking trail that was really only several steps behind us. Instead of the beach side, facing the expanse of Lake Ontario, we’d chosen the shoreline that faced in towards the islands, the ponds and bays and coves. The water’s edge was only a few feet away, the sunlight sparkling brightly on the low waves. Mary murmured something that neither Emily or I could make out. We asked her to repeat it, and I smiled when I heard her ask for a picture of the massage.
I used my phone. Mary lay still, her eyes closed. With her fingers kneading Mary’s right hamstrings, Emily turned to me, and smiled. I took one pic, and then another. Emily hammed it up a bit, and I got a photo where she was rolling her eyes, one where she was sticking her tongue out, and another where she was winking at me. She moved her left hand up, and hovered it just barely above Mary’s skort, above Mary’s ass, as though she was going to let her hand fall and take a huge squeeze of Mary’s fleshy cheeks. She turned to me and winked again for the camera. But instead of taking the picture, I said “Go ahead, do it.”
Emily hesitated. Her eyes twinkled at the dare, but only for a second. She looked down at Mary, still adrift with her eyes closed, and then Emily let her hand rest back onto her knee. She caught my eye, and then drew her T-Shirt up and off, kneeling now in just her two piece swimsuit. “Do me,” she said.
Not bothering to lay out a towel, she lay down on her tummy in the grass beside Mary. I looked at the two of them for several moments, Mary in her runner’s top and skort, Emily in her swimsuit, her butt cheeks crying out to be licked, and nibbled, and caressed.
When I realized I was still holding my phone, I took a picture.
Mary came out of her lazy daydreams as I moved to Emily’s side. I was on Emily’s left, Mary lying on Emily’s right. Mary looked up and watched as I put my hands on Emily’s shoulders and massaged lightly, moving my hands towards her neck, pushing my thumbs deep into her flesh. I fanned my hands out along Emily’s shoulders, onto her arms, her biceps, squeezing deeply but also stroking the girl’s gorgeous skin. Mary pushed herself up onto her knees on Emily’s right side, and looked down at Emily, at my hands, and me. She ran her hands up and down her own legs, caressing her own skin.
“Put your hand here, Mary,” I whispered, pausing a moment to stroke my right hand along Emily’s lower back, tracing the line of her bikini bottom just above her ass. “Put your hand here, and stroke softly back and forth. It’ll relax her lower back. Her glutes.”
Mary’s hand replaced mine on Emily’s skin. She began stroking, caressing, back and forth. I put my two hands together at Emily’s neck, pressed my thumbs together, and dragged them down Emily’s spine, my fingertips tracing down her skin. At Emily’s lower back, my two hands met Mary’s hand, and then I stroked my hands warm up Emily’s sides, fingers softly touching the sides of her breasts, and then the thumbs at her neck again, and the long massage down her spine, Emily lying with her eyes closed, a smile playing on her lips.
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