Page 103 of Dickathlon

19

Tyler

Saint Peters was impressive. The plaza was filled with people lined up to go inside. There was no way I was going to chance trying to see the interior since I likely wouldn’t make it back to the Olympic Stadium in time. Maybe Declan would want to come back, though I knew he had his heart set on the Colosseum.

Instead, I took a few selfies in front of the giant dome of the basilica, then just wandered down the road, grabbing this rolled-up pizza cone thingy and a can of soda for lunch.

It was fun to just people-watch, but the architecture was interesting to look at too. I made my way towards a large building looming in the distance, at the opposite end of the street as Saint Peters. There were several beautiful statue-covered bridges across the river nearby. A banner above its entrance said it was the Castel Sant’Angelo. Google said it was initially a mausoleum for Hadrian and his family, then later a fortress and now a museum.

I sent a few pics to Luke, knowing he’d love this shit. I couldn’t wait until the championships were over. I knew Declan had poured months of work into it, so that release would be something. And the other revelation with the sex thing. Shit. I jacked it every day, sometimes twice. Now I was supposed to keep my hands off of him? I was half-hard thinking of tonight. He’d basically agreed to fuck me. Finally.

I don’t know what changed for Declan, but I wasn’t going to question it. I told him countless times that he didn’t need to baby me, but here we were. Together for almost ten months and I hadn’t been fucked yet.

I hoped it was so good for him that he’d never want to stop.

Luke: You bitch, you woke me up.

Luke: Also, super jealous.

Tyler: Ha! Sorry, bro. XXX

I headed back toward Saint Peters and hailed a cab to take me back to the championship. It was almost time for the afternoon session, and I didn’t want to be late.

Watching the javelin was a bit like watching frat boys play lawn darts, except none of the frat boys had beer bellies and the lawn darts traveled the length of a football field.

Declan tried to show me once how to throw a javelin and it went like fifty feet. He said it was good for my first try, but Dec threw four times that distance without breaking a sweat. But he was also an Olympic decathlete, so…not unexpected.

The events of the decathlon ran at the same time as other events the last two days of the championships, so there was a lot happening at once. The long jump finals had started and it looked like they were gearing up for the semi-finals of the 110m hurdles. Luckily, I had a program to keep it all straight. I glanced at the decathlon scoreboard. Declan was sixty-eight points behind Ferreira.

I giggled to myself at the memory of Declan trying to explain the scoring to me. It was almost a fight, but I wiggled my way onto his lap and made him forget his frustration with me. I don’t know how anyone could possibly figure it out. Also - fun fact! - It seemed to change, like, every seven years, so yeah…it wasn’t gonna happen for me.

With sixty-eight points separating him from Ferreira, it was obvious Declan had to place higher than him in the last two events to have a chance. How far ahead he had to place was above my understanding of the points system. The throwing events were some of Declan’s best, so I knew he had a good chance of coming back to win.

I pulled my binoculars out, so I could have a closer look at Declan. He was wearing his blue tracksuit today. The one that, according to the thirsty gays online, accentuated his bulge, and I had to agree with their assessment. The first time Declan caught me watching athletes in slow motion, he laughed. I asked if he wore anything underneath his singlet. When he answered no, I pointed out that it was obvious since his dick was always bouncing all over the place. When I showed him that he, and the other seemingly well-endowed runners, exhibited a significant back-and-forth shift down there, he just shrugged and said it was part of it. As a newly-anointed fan of the peen, I definitely approved of that part of it.

His peen in particular had anointed me.

Let’s just put these away.

I tucked the binoculars under my seat. Any more ogling and I’d be having a bulge issue myself. His blue suit was easily seen from across the field anyway. Declan always liked vibrant colors. He said it was to distract the other athletes, but he was kind of a peacock when it came to the decathlon. I knew part of it was to show off.

I wasn’t a statistician, but even after I pointed out the thirst over his bulge, he seemed to wear the blue singlet more frequently.

I watched him line up for his first throw. Declan told me decades ago the throwers used to spin around before throwing, but due to safety concerns, it was banned. I can understand why since the stands were well within throwing distance. I’d imagine a spectator impaled with an eight foot spear would be bad for everybody. I told him he reminded me of Hercules doing all these events, and one of these days, he’d have to do them all for me in one of those toga skirts.

He started slow and quickly moved into a sprint, repositioning the javelin for the throw. He always looked savage when he threw; his veins in his arms popped, he usually yelled. It was primal and I fucking loved it.

I could already tell it was a good throw, better than the other competitors, though not his best. Declan seemed pleased.

Two hundred twelve feet.

A few minutes later, I could tell right away Ulisses’ throw was off. He didn’t transfer his weight properly, threw off balance and the javelin barely cleared a hundred feet. But there were two more throws for everyone left.

Over the next half hour, I held my breath every time anyone threw, hoping they wouldn’t come close to Declan’s first throw. Luckily, no one did, though that included Declan. It would come down to the last throw.

I texted Declan, wishing him luck and sent a photo of my ass I had taken in the bathroom when I got back from Saint Peters. It didn’t take him long to respond.

Declan: Fuck.