The Olympian Lover

The time of champions came and went in a flash, as it always does. It never lasts as long as I’d like. I’ve always been enamored by the Olympics, since I was only a few years old. I was mesmerised by the grandeur of the ceremonies, captivated by the spectacle of the competition and overwhelmed by the subrogated feelings of triumph. Then I inevitably grew up and, while my childish fascination with the games continued, I started to develop a deeper, more mature, very different appreciation for the brave souls that took part on the contest.

I have a confession to make, a vice to share with the world. I’m in love with the Olympians. I lust after their perfect bodies. No matter their gender, country or race, I would gladly give myself entirely to any and all of them. No matter how strong, lithe, agile, though, fast, deliberate, light or heavy, I can only admire their hard-earned physical prowess and unwavering wills. Winners or losers, each and everyone of them a paragon of virtue, an exemplar of dedication, all shining beacons of unbound human potential.

I daydream, often with onanistic purposes, of being a devoted servant for those Olympian demi-gods. In these fantasies I’m a willing slave, bathing and massaging their statuesque figures to help them relieve from the stress of their exhaustive training. I’d love nothing more than surrendering to their most secret whims and satisfying their most primal impulses. I’d gladly offer my body for them to sensually assault with animal abandon, letting them satiate their primal lusts. And just as merrily I would actively use the full extent of my humble erotic skills to vicariously bring bliss to their blessed bodies, enjoying each minute opportunity to personally experience their magnificence.

These, I know, are naught but impossible imaginings. Mere delusions, chimeras and fabrications. Because these wingless angels, these bringers of wonders, exist in a completely different realm, far away from my reach, well past the clouds of my potential, high in a paradise reserved only for those that can earn their place amongst on the Olympic pantheon with blood, sweat and tears. I’m only a simple human, another member of the mass. An anonymous witness, an admirer, a fan.

Nevertheless, I know in my heart that I will always carry this fiery fervor, burning forever like the Olympic torch. For most of my life I hide my obsession, my prized private passion, but when the time comes for the champions to compete again I know I won’t be able to keep the farce. My flustered face and trembling body cannot help but betray my devotion. So, I invite you to join me next time to revel together and experience this divine spectacle as if we were one, making love to each other in lieu of our idols, lost to the lust of the Olympian ardour.