Chapter 31 Olympic Skiing
Olympic Skiing
As the Russian girl, Oscar, and I walk down the hallway, trying not to bump into anything, Oscar asks her, “Yo, what’s Olympic skiing?”
“Don’t you like surprises?” she asks.
Oscar shrugs. “I guess.”
The girl leads us into a nearly pitch-black office. We can only see each other’s silhouettes.
The girl sits down on a couch, in the center, and she pats the seats on both sides of her.
Oscar immediately sits down on her right. Still disoriented, I take a seat on her left.
She puts each of her hands on top of my thigh and Oscar’s thigh. Both Oscar and I keep our eyes forward.
She asks, “Is this okay?”
Oscar says, “I consent!”
She twists her arms and runs her palms up our stomachs, over our chests, and she then glides her hands back down to our crotches. Her touch feels warm.
Oscar turns to the girl and holds one of his palms in front of one of her breasts. He looks her in the eyes. She nods in approval. He proceeds to feel her up, and she starts to rub his dick through his pants. She begins working on mine too.
“So,” the girl says, “Olympic skiing?”
“I don’t know what that is,” Oscar says.
“It’s a good time,” she says, as she rubs our balls.
Oscar looks like he’s on the verge of orgasm.
She asks, “Do you want Olympic skiing or not?”
He says, “Hell yeah!”
My mental fog gets thicker. What’s going on? What is this place? Why am I here?
The girl moves her hands up a bit, and she miraculously is able to unbuckle Oscar’s belt and my belt at the same time. Then, with one hand on each of us, she’s able to unbutton our jeans and zip them open. It’s almost like a choreographed dance.
Oscar shifts uncomfortably. “Yo, girl, that’s my bro over there, and this is seeming kinda gay.”
The girl reaches into Oscar’s underwear and tugs. He shudders and releases a breath. His eyes flutter closed.
“You are with Svetlana. There is no straight or not straight. There is no gay or not gay. There is only pleasure.”
Oscar leans his head back, his mouth open, his eyes shut tight. He says to me, his voice filled with concern, “You okay with this, bro? This is kind of gay, bro.”
I don’t manage to form any words.
Svetlana manipulates Oscar’s underwear down until his hard penis shoots out and up.
She says, “Oh, you’re a big boy.”
She is able to stroke him without any kind of lubrication because of his foreskin.
He keeps licking his lips and expelling quick breaths.
While working on Oscar, Svetlana pushes my underwear down and takes my flaccid penis into her hand.
She strokes it. She can tell I’m cut. She reaches into her bra and pulls out a container of lube.
She tears it open with her teeth and squeezes a bit of the gel onto her palm. She resumes stroking me.
Even though it’s pretty dark, I can make out enough of Svetlana jerking off Oscar and the ecstasy he’s feeling that I start to grow in Svetlana’s hand.
“Good boy,” she says to me.
In unison, she pumps her hands up and down, holding onto us firmly, jerking us off like a pro.
All of a sudden, I get what she means by “Olympic skiing.” She’s a metaphorical skier, and our cocks are the ski poles.
At one point, Oscar opens his eyes and turns his head towards me, as Svetlana continues to work her magic hands.
Oscar and I lock eyes. I watch as he keeps running his tongue over his lips and breathing heavily.
He does not blink. He does not look away.
He just stares at me. And then: his mouth forms a faint smile.
And just as this strange eye contact is about to get unbearably intense, Oscar shuts his eyes again. I keep watching him and Svetlana.
Then, a gray-haired woman in a mask pokes her head into the office.
She says, “Svetlana, Alexander is looking for you.”
“I am in the middle of something,” says Svetlana.
“Now, Svetlana.“ The woman is insistent. “You must not keep Alexander waiting.”
“Sorry, boys,” says Svetlana.
She removes her hands from us and gets up. And just like that, she’s gone.
Not a second passes before I hear a voice coming from somewhere in front of me. The music is so loud, so I can barely make out the words, but I do hear: “Don’t worry, guys, I’ll take over for her.”
I turn my head towards the voice and realize that somebody has been standing in the corner this whole time, observing. A figure steps out of the shadows. When the person reaches the couch, I can see that it’s a guy, but I can’t make out any other characteristics.
The guy sits down where Svetlana just was. He reaches for Oscar’s dick and mine, but:
“What the fuck?!” Oscar yells.
The guy withdraws his hands and holds his palms up.
“Nah, bro, nah.” Oscar jumps up, pulls up his pants, and runs out of the room.
I start to get up too, but plop back down onto the couch.
“You okay?” the guy asks.
I immediately think about how not okay I am.
But then, by some miracle, the effects of the alcohol suddenly start to fade, and I am slammed with the realization of what the hell I’m supposed to be doing here at Perpetual Sunset.
I should be investigating. I just witnessed a murder yesterday.
I’m going to get framed for it. I have to get my head back in the game.
I stand up in a panic.
“What’s wrong?” the guy yells over the music.
I pull up my underwear and pants.
Two figures appear in the doorway. Because they’re standing in the hall, when the light pulses on, it catches their faces. It’s Twyla and Fatima.
They look at me and say, simultaneously, “Hey, Nash.”
At the exact same time, I, along with the guy on the couch, look at the two girls and say, “‘Sup?”