Race III

Just sprint. Sprints are all that matter, you repeat to yourself as the next race is about to start. Just as before, there are forty-two contenders. None of you actually want to participate in the damned thing. But you are adamant on getting your orgasms.

With a series of mechanic beeps, the start of the race is signaled. The red line switching to green. You begin to sprint forward, thinking of your glorious orgasm. And you run. Run. Run. And run. Receiving a bunch of kicks on your thighs, lower legs and even your waist. But you are both fast and enduring enough to get ahead of the flock.

In a sense, you are even surprised. This race being the third one you imagined this would be the most difficult.

But then you hear something, and you are knocked on the ground. It is the same woman you encountered the last two times, you realize, your head inevitably turning towards her whilst you fall on the ground.