Natural Endurance

This one's for you. You'll know why.

---

So I shagged my coach's wife on my first night in America. And his daughter the next morning. Not my finest moment, but definitely top five.

I'm Dan. 21. Just finished at Cambridge reading History. Got a 2:1, which means I'm neither thick nor brilliant. Perfectly average at everything except running.

That's the one thing I'm actually good at.

Been running since I was thirteen. PE teacher said I had natural endurance and should stop being a lazy git. Turned out he was right. County champion at sixteen. National youth team at seventeen. By Cambridge I was running 5Ks in fourteen and a half minutes.

Fast enough to catch the attention of Coach Steve Morrison at Ridgemont University in North Carolina. Offered me a summer scholarship. Train with his cross-country team. Maybe a full ride for a Masters if I impressed him.

"You'll love it here," he'd said over Zoom. American accent all warm. "Great programme, fantastic facilities. My wife makes the best sweet tea in the state."

No idea what sweet tea was. Said yes anyway.

Cambridge was done. Emma had dumped me for a law student with better prospects. Needed somewhere that wasn't my mum's house in Huntingdon.

Got on a plane to Charlotte in early June. Three months of training. No distractions.

That lasted about four hours.

---

Thirteen hours on BA with a hangover and the world's most uncomfortable stiffy. Stewardess Helen had legs wrapped in sheer tights that made me want to follow her to the loo. Kept dreaming about shagging her in the toilet. Woke up with a tent you could camp under. Embarrassing as fuck.

Landed sweating like a nonce at a nursery. 35 degrees and humid as balls.

Coach Steve picked me up himself. Running shorts, Ridgemont Athletics polo. Lean, weathered, American tan. Grabbed my bag, pumped my hand.

"Welcome to North Carolina, Dan! How was the flight buddy?"

"Er yeah, decent. Bloke next to me snored for six hours."

He laughed loud like all Americans do. Filled the drive with training plans and team stories. I tried to pay attention but jet lag was kicking in hard and the heat was mental.

Ridgemont was one of those American towns that looks designed for a film. Tree-lined streets, proper houses with porches and picket fences. Pretty in a very American way.

Steve's house was on the edge of town. Sprawling, big garden, porch with rocking chairs. Felt like an episode of Dawson's Creek...

"I don't want to wait for our lives to be over...doo doo doo doo do doo do."

"What's that you're singing Dan, buddy?"

"Er, nah nothing Steve, some old sea shanty from blighty..."

So that's the thing with Americans, they have never seen the nonsense Yank TV series we get to watch here in England. That and 'The Big Bang Theory'..utter fucking geek nonsense! Although Kaley Cuoco looked well fit as that flight attendant, fucking the dead guy in Thailand. Up there with Carrie Fisher and Pizza the Hut monster man.

"Here we are. Home sweet home."

Oh fuck, that's when I saw her.

Megan Morrison. Watering plants on the porch. Denim shorts, faded Duke t-shirt, barefoot, red painted toenails. Dark blonde hair. Early forties but fit. Proper rower's legs.

She looked up and smiled.

"You must be Dan. Welcome! How was your flight?"

"Yeah, good. Thanks for having me."

She hugged me. Very American. Smelled like peaches. "Steve's been talking about you for weeks."

Followed them inside trying not to stare at her arse. Failed spectacularly.

They showed me my room. Big bed, air con, en-suite.

"Dinner at six," Megan said from the doorway. "Nothing fancy, just burgers."

Had a shower. Ended up having a wank thinking about Meg's legs. Felt wrong doing it in the coach's house while thinking about his wife. But needs must, Dad always said I lacked impulse control. Cunt.

---

Dinner was amazing. Steve at a massive grill, Meg with seventeen different side dishes. I ate two burgers and enough sides to feed a rugby team.

"He's a growing handsome boy," Meg observed.

I blushed. Handsome? Moi, what the fuck!

"Distance runner. Burns through about four thousand calories a day..."

"Well, you've come to the right place then."

Sun set. Temperature dropped from unbearable to merely uncomfortable. Steve was easy company. She was funny and sharp, European heritage, humble, charming, drop dead gorgeous without really realising it.

What is it about some women, they marry young and put up with lazy cunts who drink too much and control who they get to speak to. Why would you marry someone so beautiful and perfect and not want her to thrive. Bizarre.

"Our daughter Katie's coming home tomorrow," Meg mentioned. "Master's at Cornell University."

"Oh wow, smart girl. Looking forward to meeting her."

That night I lay in bed too wired to sleep. Jet lag's a bastard.

Around midnight I gave up. Went looking for water in just my Union Jack boxers and a white t-shirt.

Found Meg at the kitchen island in the dark. Wearing Steve's old t-shirt and not much else from what I could see. Laptop open.

"Can't sleep either?" She closed it. "Jet lag handsome?"

"Er, yeah. Brain thinks it's morning."

We talked. Books, teaching, running. Normal conversation except she was sitting there barely dressed and I was sporting a semi that was becoming less semi by the second.

Then she stood up. Got water from the fridge. The t-shirt barely covered her arse.

"Steve's gone to campus early tomorrow," she said, not looking at me. "Some meeting that can't wait." She turned round. "Which means you and I will have the house to ourselves."

The way she said it made my cock stand to attention.

"Um, okay cool..."

"Mm-hmm." She moved closer. "Steve mentioned you're very... dedicated. To your training."

Her hand traced down my arm.

"I try to be."

"Good." Her fingers lingered. "I appreciate dedication."

Fuck me. Was my new coach's wife actually propositioning me?

"Steve's study," she said quietly. "Down the hall. Give me five minutes."

Then she was gone.

Oh fuck! Steve gave me this opportunity, welcomed me into his home, trusted me.

I waited exactly five minutes, then walked to the study.

Meg was sitting on Steve's desk, still in that t-shirt, legs crossed.

"Close the door," she said.

I did.

"Lock it."

I did that too.

She uncrossed her legs. No knickers underneath. T-shirt rode up showing her thighs.

"Come here, Dan."

I crossed the room, standing between her legs. My hands went to her waist. Could feel how warm she was through the thin fabric.

"This is properly wrong," I said, even as my cock disagreed.

"I know." Her fingers threaded through my hair. "My husband is in our bed sleeping, trusting both of us. And here we are."

"Jesus Why me? Why now?"

"Because you're here. Because you're young and fit and British and I've been thinking about this since Steve showed me your photo." Her hand slid to my chest. "Because I'm forty-two and I've been faithful for twenty years and I'm bored out of my fucking mind... with a lazy jerk of a husband."

She kissed me, wet and hungry. I kissed back, stopped thinking.

My hands slid under the t-shirt. No bra. Her nipples hardened under my palms.

"Fuck," she breathed. "How long since you've had sex?"

"Three months. Since my ex Emma dumped me."

"Poor baby." Her hand felt my cock through my boxers. "Let's fix that."

She pulled off my t-shirt, then hers. Christ, she was gorgeous. Fit like rowers are. Gorgeous tits with dark nipples.

"Your turn," she said, nodding at my boxers.

I pulled them down. My cock rock hard.

Her eyes widened. "Well, that's going to feel good."

She stroked me slowly. I groaned, hips bucking.

"Condoms in the desk drawer," she said. "Steve keeps them there for the team. Ironic, really."

Rolled one on. About to fuck my coach's wife. In his study. While he slept twenty feet away.

Emma always said I was self-destructive. She wasn't wrong.

Meg scooted to the edge of the desk, legs spread. Already wet.. really wet. That would make a good nickname for her.

I positioned myself between them.

"Don't be a cock tease," she said. "Just fuck me Dan."

Pushed inside her in one go and she's so wet I just slide in, no resistance, just heat and tightness gripping my cock and oh fuck oh Christ I can't think, brain just whites out except for how good this feels, how she's wrapped round me.

Her legs pull me deeper. Start moving without meaning to, body taking over, hips rocking into her. Three months without sex and my cock's making decisions for me now, just need and instinct and more.

"That's it," she breathes against my mouth. "Don't stop don't stop."

Wasn't planning to, couldn't stop if I wanted to, just fucking her now while the desk creaks underneath us. Papers sliding to the floor. Should care. Steve's upstairs. He could wake up and come down and catch me balls-deep in his wife. The thought makes me harder, makes me grip her arse and pull her closer to the edge of the desk, better angle, deeper.

I look down at her feet, the painted red toe nails. Makes my cock throb. I love a woman who looks after her feet, always have before I knew what sex was.

Kiss her throat. Bite it. Want to mark her, want everyone to see what I've done even though that's insane. She scratches my back, nails digging in, and the pain just makes me fuck her harder.

"God you feel good," just comes out of my mouth, didn't plan it, just words pouring out. "So tight, fuck, you're so tight."

"You too," she gasps. "Bigger than Steve, fuck, you're filling me up."

Shouldn't like hearing that. Do anyway. Fuck her harder and she bites her lip, getting louder, too loud. Cover her mouth with my hand and she moans against it, eyes locked on mine, and I can see how much she's loving this, how she wants more.

She licks my palm. Actually licks it. Then bites down and I nearly lose it right there.

"Want you on your knees." Don't know where that comes from. Just need to see her bent over, need to fuck her from behind.

Pull out and she slides off the desk, turns round, bends over it. Arse in the air, looking back at me over her shoulder. Can see how obscenely wet she is, how ready. Push back inside her and it's different, deeper somehow.

Start fucking her properly now. Harder than before. Rougher. Gripping her hips so tight I know she'll bruise but don't care, can't care, just need to be deeper inside her. The desk's moving with each thrust, definitely making noise now, and all I can think is good, let Steve hear, let him know someone's fucking his wife properly.

My hand slides up her back into her hair. Pull gently and she arches into it, pushes back against me.

"Fuck yes just like that don't stop."

Pull harder. Fuck her deeper. Can see us in the window reflection and it's so wrong, her bent over the desk, me behind her, but that just makes it better.

"Touch yourself." Words just tumbling out now. "Want to feel you come on my cock, want to feel how tight you get."

She does. Hand between her legs. Can feel her fingers brushing my cock as I thrust into her and it's too much, too good. Start talking without thinking, just letting it pour out: "So fucking beautiful like this, taking my cock so well, you're so wet for me, God I want to fill you up, want to fuck you all summer."

She's getting tighter. Close. Breathing faster.

"Right there don't stop I'm going to come, I'm going to--"

Goes tight around me, face pressed against the desk, trying to stay quiet and failing. The feeling of her pulsing round my cock pushes me over. Fuck into her hard, once, twice, then I'm spunking, emptying myself inside her.

Pull out slowly. The condom's a mess. Everything's a mess. I'm standing naked and I can't quite believe what I've done.

"Fuck," I manage. Yep I know, my vocabulary has always been shit.

She laughs, pulls her t-shirt on. "That was worth the wait."

"This is mental. Absolutely mental."

"I know." She kisses me. "But you're going to do it again, aren't you?"

My cock's already thinking about next time.

Yeah. Definitely going to do it again.

She didn't rush to cover up. She sat on the edge of the desk, hair a mess, looking at the room not as Steve's sanctuary, but as a place she'd just reclaimed.

"Steve can't know," I said, my voice finally returning.

"Steve doesn't know anything," she said, and there was a new edge to her voice, sharp, like a blade. "That's his gift. He's spent twenty years looking right at me and seeing a reflection of himself. He doesn't see a woman. He sees a support system."

She looked at the scattered papers on the floor. Recruiting forms, training logs, Steve's 'legacy.'

"I spent my twenties making him feel like a giant so he wouldn't notice he was standing on my shoulders," she continued, her eyes locking onto mine. "And the moment I stopped crouching, the moment I started having my own thoughts, my own life, he started calling me 'difficult.' Like having a soul is a personality flaw."

I moved closer, putting my hand on her knee. "You're not difficult, Meg. You're fucking brilliant. He's just too thick to keep up."

She laughed, a real, throat-deep sound. "Brilliant. Is that what they teach you at Cambridge?"

"That, and how to spot when someone's being wasted." I leaned in, speaking lower. "He thinks he's the coach, but he's the one losing, Meg. He's had all this, every day, and he let himself get bored? He's a fucking idiot."

Meg leaned forward, her forehead resting against mine. The air between us was still charged, but it was different now. It wasn't just heat. It was an alliance.

"He tried to gaslight me into thinking I was the one who changed," she whispered. "But I didn't change. I just woke up."

She kissed me. Not the hungry, desperate kiss from before, but something steadier. A promise.

"Go to bed, Dan. You've got a long run in the morning." She smiled, a bit of that 'too much' spark in her eyes. "And I've got a lot of lost time to make up for."

---

Happy New Year.

I know a place

It's somewhere I go when I need to remember your face.

Don't let go.