Page 2 of The Champion
We were both fantasizing about someone else.
I had learned a long time ago that all my sex partners wanted me to act as the person they knew from the media. They wanted sex with the genius, the champion, and France’s most famous person. Who I was beneath all that didn’t matter to them. No one took the time to dig that deep anyway.
She came before I did, her fantasy of sex with Victor Xavier fulfilled.
I kept moving in and out a bit longer, chasing the fantasy of making my foreigner scream in ecstasy. When I reached my release, the deep groan from my throat hid the name I muttered out through my teeth.
As always, the minutes that followed brought an awkwardness that I detested. Lella offered me a tissue to clean myself. We were quiet while dressing until she asked the question I hated so much.
“When can I see you again?”
There was no nice way to tell someone that you didn’t want to see them again. For years I had tried out different variations, but the disappointment of my sex partners was always the same.
“I have a one-time rule.”
“Why? Legally, we’re allowed three times. Didn’t you like it?”
I wasn’t cruel enough to tell her that whether I had sex with her or someone else was irrelevant. She was a stranger to me. What had happened between us was a mechanical transaction between two people with physical needs.
She took my silence for an answer. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“But…” One of her hands came to her neck and I noticed that each of her nails had a different color. Her disappointment filled the small apartment and made me speed up my movements.
“It’s just that I heard you’re an amazing lover and tonight was…”
I waited for it, my mind guessing what words she would use to describe our encounter.Quick. Disappointing. Meaningless.
“I mean it felt amazing and you’re extremely sexy, but I just thought it would be…”
Again, she didn’t finish her sentence. There was no need. She didn’t have to put the obvious into words.
I gave her a half-hearted smile and turned to open the door.
“Wait, Victor.”
My body tensed as I waited in the door opening. “What is it?”
Her blue eyes had a pleading expression in them when she asked, “I was just wondering… would you ever make an exception to your one-time rule?”
“No.” My answer was short and to the point. I didn’t stay around to clarify or wrap it in a soft rejection.
Walking away from her apartment, I thought about her question. I used to follow the standard rule of three times when I was younger.When did that stop?
Would I ever make an exception?
I sped up, taking longer strides. As if I could escape the unwanted answer in my mind. Yes, there was one woman I wouldn’t mind sleeping with multiple times. A woman with an abundance of beauty, wit, and intelligence.
Here I was, adored and loved by a whole nation with women throwing themselves at my feet, and yet I tortured myself with fantasies about the most unattainable woman in the world.
Freya Aurelius lived in the Northlands, a place where men controlled and dominated women. As the daughter of the ruler, she had a prominent role in the public and was one of the five delegation members who represented her country at a yearly summit.
The Northlands was a rich and beautiful country with lots of forest and wild nature. The people there were strong and tall but tragically stuck in the past. Instead of enjoying a variety of sexual partners they chose one to marry and grow old with.
We French people were the opposite. We didn’t attach ourselves to anyone and were legally prohibited from having sex with the same person more than three times. It prevented troublesome emotions such as jealousy and possessiveness that the Northlanders dealt with all the time.
In my part of the world, we were rational and pragmatic people who understood sex to be a physical need no different from exercise.
