Competition 9

I seem to keep writing stories by accident -- this didn't go along the nice, neat path I'd laid out, but instead ended up being a combination of a particularly memorable walk in the woods (a very GOOD memory but a little exaggerated here) and a conversation I had with a lovely lady trying to explain a kink I don't personally share ... but I think I understand a little now, at least on an intellectual level.

Usual disclaimers: all characters are willing adults, just a work of fiction, etc.

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At heart, I'm a hopeless romantic, but I'm not going to let that control me. My plan, like my mother's had been, was to wait until my career was established before committing to a partner -- CERTAINLY before having a child of my own. There are only so many opportunities in my field and I needed every advantage I could get.

That didn't mean I was going to be celibate, but because of my unfortunate tendencies, I had to be careful. I had some rules: never date just one guy at a time, and don't let anybody get TOO close. I don't mean "friends with benefits" -- friends are great, but that's different. And I do get emotionally involved -- in my own way, I fall in love easily and willingly, just not to the point that I might be tempted to follow their path instead of my own. Someday, I'll get married, get pregnant, be a working Mom... but in that order, on my own terms, and not now.

Oh, one more rule: be honest. That actually helped with the other two. Everybody I get involved with knows we aren't exclusive. This weeds out the ones who are looking for more than I'm ready to give, including the jealous types.

That still leaves me with plenty of options. Objectively, I know I'm pretty enough. I've lost most of the extra weight I had in high school, and carry the rest well. In fact, what really seems to catch their attention is that I'm a modest health nut. When I started college, I'd started eating better, and started ENJOYING my food. I'd exercised more, and found out I LIKED running. I'm never going to be thin, but by the time I graduated, I looked HEALTHY. Happier, too. That, along with being able to afford a stylist who knows just how to transform mousey brown hair into a richer chestnut, and in the past I haven't had any real problem keeping a handful of hedonistic young men willing to share my affections.

I say they were "willing," but there was at times an element of competition between them. Some were tempted to try to out-spend the others, but I shut that down. I'm not going to be the prize in a bidding war. Others tried to treat me to elaborate dream dates. I shut those down, too, but more gently. I appreciate the effort as much as the next girl, but sometimes 'Netflix-and-chill' is the perfect date. Besides, none of that was needed. Whether or not I was dating you was a binary question: if I was, you got an equal share of my time.

That was my intention, anyway. You know the saying about 'best laid plans'? The problem is that guys are guys. By coincidence, right now all three guys I spend time with are on the athletic side of the spectrum. That's unusual for me: I tend to like guys who are more "active" than gym rats. Looking back, it's probably a very good thing that one of the three was on an extended vacation.

Here's what happened, though I had to find out later. Picture two guys, running on treadmills, alternating trying to outdo each other on sprints with bragging about girls. Or rather, "girl" -- while swapping stories about the sexy brunette who just liked to have fun, somehow they figured out they were talking about the same woman. Me.

And THEN, one of them -- each blamed the other -- decided a bet would be in order. Set the speed on the treadmills a little too high, and the last guy standing (or rather, running) got to ask me out for that Saturday.

I found that out a couple drinks into that Saturday date. God help me, I thought it was cute, and weirdly flattering. I SHOULD have kicked them both to the curb: like I said, I'm not a trophy to be won. But then, the image of two hot guys fighting over a girl is as old as time, and I'm only human. I told him off, but I also went down on him in his car, which diluted the message somewhat. The next day, I told off the OTHER gym rat. He'd been sheepish, but also pretty disappointed: he'd been "looking forward to the rematch."

I can't quite explain why, but at that any residual resentment I had about being seen as a prize to be won evaporated. This might not make any sense, but I decided this was really something between THEM, even if that's not how they saw it. They were fun guys to be around -- reasonably sweet and generally open, but not the most self-aware. Remember "that scene" in the movie TOP GUN? I bet these two knuckleheads thought that was about volleyball. And besides, introspective-little-me was all too aware of my own reaction to our little situation. Against my better judgment, it was kind of a turn-on.

So we compromised. (By "we" I mean both me with the guys, and the feminist me now with the teenaged me who'd read all those trashy novels.) A couple times, I casually mention to each of them that I couldn't decide which to spend the night with. So to make it "fair"... So, yeah, I guess I did become The Prize, but on MY terms. Think of me as you will, but we're all consenting adults. And we were having FUN, dammit. I don't think adults have fun enough; we don't PLAY. Not in that way, anyway.

Anyway, the whole thing was kind of delightfully silly. It really WAS like adults playing kids' games. In fact, it was literally a city-wide game of hide-and-seek. I'd send them a photo from where I was, and the first one to find me got The Prize. For the record, there was a prize for second place, usually within a couple days, and I did my best to make sure the second prize was just as good.

Last week, one of them came up with a variation.

I can't call them "this one" and "that one," and I'm crap at making up names. Describing them physically won't help anyone reading this keep them straight: physically they were pretty similar. Both were a little taller than me, toned but not too muscled. I'll just call them Blonde and Brown -- by which I just mean one of them had bleached highlights in his brown hair. They had similar jobs, similar interests. It wasn't until you got to know them that you realized how different their personalities were, beneath the surface. Brown was almost PAINFULLY sweet, always willing to lend a hand when somebody needed help moving, called his grandmother every weekend... that kind of guy. Blonde SEEMED pretty much the same to me, at least at first, but there was a wary tenseness to him that I didn't understand until I found out about... never mind. That story isn't mine to tell. But there was a shadow behind those eyes that would make a Bronte sister's heart flutter. Mine too, if I'm honest.

It started with a text from Blonde. "Hey, instead of hide and seek... wanna play tag?"

So that weekend, there I was, sitting in the forest, texting them my location. There's a forest just outside of town, ringed by a little used jogging path. Not many people knew about it, but I grew up here. I'd actually spent quite a bit of time in this very forest in high school, running that path, working off those pounds. I put the few rules in the text: "No speeding until you park the car." And a rule for me: "I'll stay in sight of the jogging path... UNTIL ONE OF YOU SEES ME. Then all bets are off. Whoever catches me before 5 pm..."

I was sitting pretty high up on a small hill, looking down at the path below, waiting. It was about one o'clock. I guessed it would take them about 30 minutes to get to the forest, and since I'd chosen a spot near the far end of the forest from the parking lot, another 30 to reach that part of the path at a jogger's pace. Since I had at least 45 minutes to kill, I brought a book with me: a crappy paperback that, if lost, wouldn't bother me, and (I hoped) would rot down almost as fast as dead leaves from the oaks overhead.

But when I settled down to read it, I found I couldn't focus. The same word kept circling in my head. You see, with Hide and Seek, when you're It, and they find you, the game is over. I'd found that was quite a turn on: the anticipation of being found ramped up while I waited. But now... when one of them found me, that wasn't the end of the game, but the beginning. And when the game really started...

The word I kept repeating to myself, half unconsciously, was "chased." The word was doing strange things to me, to my mind, to my body. I daydreamed that I was rediscovering what female mammals had always known, but human women had largely forgotten: that weird mixture of the fear any animal knows when it's being chased by something bigger, stronger, knowing what will happen to you if you falter, and the lust that almost, ALMOST wants to be caught. I know enough about biology to know this fantasy wasn't true: there's a reason they call it "female choice" as often as "male/male competition." But the longer I sat there, the more primal that fantasy became.

My eyes were still locked on the path below, but I was seeing something else. Images kept flashing, all different, but with a similar emotional valance. One of the most clear in my memory now is of a doe running through a forest, jumping over bushes, dodging between trees, while just behind her, a huge stag ran THROUGH the bushes, knocked over the trees, to get to her; a huge spread of sharp intimidating antlers looming above and behind her, coming a little closer every time she dared to glance back. I imagined myself running the same way, through the same forest, with SOMETHING pursuing me, something that was going to catch me, and somehow consume me.

I've always been like that. I've a naturally good imagination, and I've spent a lot of my life honing it. I was a good storyteller, and I was my own best audience. Even at the time, I recognized that's all these images were: a story. That didn't change the fact that I was becoming legitimately afraid. More, I was freaking myself out. But I wasn't tempted to text back to call off the game. Honestly, I don't think that even crossed my mind. I wonder if what I was feeling is similar to what serious mountain climbers feel when they reach a precipice: a wild exhilaration as you test yourself not just against the elevation, but your own quite reasonable terror, as you force yourself forward. Was that like what I was feeling, forcing myself to stay still? A friend of mine from high school went into stock car racing. I suppose I could get in touch; we could compare notes. But what could I say? "Hey, Martin, I was wondering: when you're getting ready for a race, knowing what could happen if something goes wrong, do you get an erection? Do you ever feel like you're going to come when you see a really tight turn ahead?"

You can laugh it you want to. Maybe it sounds ridiculous. Maybe I sound like a tween who just watched their first real horror movie. But if you do, especially if you're a woman, I dare you to give this a try. Try to sit motionless under the trees, waiting, knowing that sooner or later, somebody's going to chase you, somebody you INVITED to chase you, and if they catch you, they're going to fuck you. See if YOU aren't soaking your undies, looking for an escape route but hoping their aren't any, worried anybody anywhere near you are going to catch your scent, think you're a slut, and the wrong person is going to start the chase too soon.

I could have texted. Could have called it off. Part of me wanted to. But instead, I relaced my shoes tighter, stashed my book by a tree I could find again, and got ready to give them the chase of my life. You want me? I'm going make you WORK for it. Make you prove you're worthy of me.

You'd think I'd feel a little silly, typing this now, after the fact, sitting quietly in a cafe. But honestly, I don't. The memory is still there, still potent. Too powerful to dismiss. So arousing that if I wasn't typing this fully clothed in a public place, I'd never finish.

Brown passed by on the path first, head on a swivel. I think he was assuming I'd be on or next to the path. I felt a surge of triumph when he didn't see me.

Blonde came from the other direction. He was moving a little slower, looking around more carefully. He didn't see me either... not at first. But then he stopped, and turned 360 degrees, peering into the bushes, up in the trees. Then up the hill. He saw me. Now we were both frozen. Then he started to move towards me, slowly but deliberately. He was still a distance away, so I can't really know, but I thought there was a wildness in his eyes that probably echoed the wildness I felt behind my own. I stood, just as deliberately... then ran. I heard a strange, mocking laugh, and was startled to realize it was my voice.

I wish I could describe a long and dramatic chase over streams and through clearings. But I'm just a casual runner, especially compared to either of them. Blonde caught me so quickly, we were barely out of sight of the path, even with my head start. He didn't QUITE tackle me: it was more like he grabbed me from behind until I stumbled against him.

I laughed, more out of relief than anything else. I turned towards him, and turned my face up for a kiss. "You win!"

But Blonde didn't answer. He didn't smile back, or kiss me. Instead of taking me in his arms, with one smooth motion, he pulled my t-shirt off of me. I stared at him, a little startled but willing enough. I'd assumed I'd give him his "prize" later at my place, but, well, the slight danger of coupling "al fresco" felt appropriate.

Then he did something I didn't understand at first. He took four or five steps backwards, and just stood there, holding my shirt. Waiting? Waiting for what? He must have seen it in my face when I realized what he intended. "Head start?" I barely whispered it, but he heard me anyway. A small nod. Again, I ran.

This was different. I was feeling more like my imagined doe. I wasn't trying to beat him in a straight line this time: I was dodging, trying to make the landscape work for me. I was smaller; I could fit through gaps he couldn't. When I ran over rocks in a stream, they stayed in place for me. He just ran through the water, the splashes impossibly loud.

It worked for a little while.

This time he took my bra. I hadn't imagined the wildness in his eyes -- he WANTED the chase. He wanted TO chase, to draw it out. The darkness I'd known before was more on the surface than I was used to, but there was an unusual joy to it I was glad to see, even as it frightened me. And standing there under the trees, naked from the waist up, I WAS afraid. Nervous, scared. When he took those maddening steps back again, I didn't know if I wanted to rush AT him or run away again. While trying to think, my body decided: I found I was running.

We were still in a fairly dense part of the forest, but I was slower now. I found I needed one arm across my chest to keep myself from bouncing painfully. Even with my head start, after a single misstep meant he caught me almost at once. A moment later, I was wearing nothing but my running shoes. He was again stepping back, waiting. I stared at him; he stared at me. His being fully clothed made me feel even more naked. I was unbelievably conscious of my own body. Muscles were shaking, but my skin quivered. My nipples were tight, but not because of the air. I was so fucking turned on, I wondered if he could make me come just by continuing to look at me like that. I was the prize; I was his prey.

Again, I ran. I managed to keep some distance between us this time. My heart was pounding, not just from the exercise. Blood rang in my ears; my vision seemed sharper than normal. I gave up trying to cradle my breasts: running hurt, but that gave me a little of my speed back. For a time, I felt proud that this time I was holding my own: the trees were denser, so I had more of an advantage. But then we got to an open area, where his greater strength and longer legs would inevitably win. But he didn't catch up with me. Confused, I glanced over my shoulder to find him almost smirking. He was toying with me. It was the sheer hopelessness of my situation that finally turned my legs to lead, that made me stumble to the ground, fall to my knees, gasping for breath.

Blonde never did speak. He had no need to hurry now. The prize was his to claim. He came up behind me, and gently but firmly, pushed me forward so I was on my hands as well as my knees. I didn't look back at him; my head hung down as I kept trying to slow my breathing. Besides, I knew what was coming. I was still in my fantasy, where I had no choice. I welcomed it, true, but that was secondary. His hands were on my hips. I arched by back, and spread my thighs, surrendering to him as implicitly instructed.

I know exactly where we were in the forest, by the way. It's a good-sized clearing, near the center of the forest, with a copse of white birch against the darker maples more common in this part. There was a small stream just out of sight to my left. I'd watched squirrels play here, and nearby had seen my first porcupine. It was a quiet place. Soft; beautiful. We didn't make love in that soft and beautiful place. Instead, he mounted me. My hands are shaking as a type that. I want to change that word but I'd chosen the right one. I knelt before him, surrendering, and he mounted me.

I started coming at once, almost as if that had been part of his implicit order. I don't know if you've ever heard someone scream almost silently. Or maybe you've been the one doing that almost silent scream. If not, I hope you will someday. There's nothing like it. Imagine a stone thrown in a completely still pool. Ripples extend in every direction, going on forever, it seems, until the whole pool is ripples. It's like that, but with waves instead of ripples. Huge ripples from every thrust into me traveled through my hips, up my body, through my throat. As it seemed to me, when they left my lips, some of that energy became sound. Fingers dug into the leaf mulch. I dropped to my elbows, part to keep my balance, but mostly because I simply wanted to press my sore, swinging breasts against the cool ground. Slowly, my hips fell lower as I struggled to keep my thighs locked against the onslaught. By the time he emptied himself into me, I was almost completely prone, his body holding me against the earth.

When he finally rolled off me, spent, I laughed. I was exhausted, exhilarated. I felt so wonderfully alive, as I waited until I could move again. In his only break in character, he kissed me gently on the cheek, and smiled. Then he carefully folded my clothes, leaving them on the forest floor next to me, and walked back through the trees. As I watched him, I imagined a shadow of antlers...

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I rested for a few minutes, then started to reach for my clothes.

"Not so fast." A voice was close behind me. I might have screamed, I don't know. It's hard to yell without breath, and it's hard to breathe when you're being flipped over onto your back and pinned down.

It was only then that I recognized Brown. He looked down at me, hands on either side of my head, knees keeping my thighs apart. His eyes weren't as wild as Blonde's -- more calculating, but with a hint of that same darkness. I hadn't seen that in his eyes before, but I imagine most guys -- most PEOPLE, I should say -- have that potential. I kind of liked it.

I cleared my throat. "Uhm, maybe you noticed, he already, uh..." I didn't know what words to use. I certainly wasn't going to say out loud the words in my head.

"It's only four thirty. I caught you. There's more than one way to win the game," Brown said, like he was trying to sound reasonable. "Therefore..." He waited for my consent. Was I going to follow the letter or the spirit of the game?