If I didn't get a good fuck in before tomorrow evening, Tonya and I would be out of the medals for sure. We'd come to the Paris Grand Prix with good hopes of standing on the platform, but my timing was all off in the twists and throws we'd attempted in our practice session tonight, and I knew it was because I was so jittery from not getting my rocks off since we'd been at Skate Canada a couple of weeks ago. I'd hunted all over the skating rink yesterday and today, but none of my usual fuck buddies were here, and I had no idea where to cruise for a quickie in Paris.

I sent Tonya off the ice before our practice time was up, telling her I was just off this evening and there was no use taking a chance on her getting hurt during a botched throw. I told her I'd continue practicing jumps on my own, trying to get rid of the jitters so I'd be straightened out before our short program competition tomorrow night. That's what I needed to be, straightened out and then drained of cum before tomorrow night. But I couldn't tell Tonya that. She knew I swung that way, of course, but she didn't know how much I depended on sex to keep my strength and timing up.

So, Tonya skated off to the locker rooms, and I continued practicing all alone in the gloomy practice rink. I had no idea who had the practice time following mine, but I could have shouted for joy when I saw the French silver medal holder, Andre Larreau, skate out onto the ice and start his warm-ups. A sweet little piece of blond ass, Andre had turned eighteen a few weeks ago, which now made him free game. My fuck buddies and I had even speculated on who was going to get the first crack at him, and now here he was, gliding his tight little butt cheeks around on the ice in this deserted practice ice rink and batting his long eyelashes at me in invitation, and me in a bad way for sex, the very definition of the lighted match meeting the can of petrol.

Wasting no time, I stripped off my practice T and skated back into the center of the ice. I was in great shape and my skin-tight practice leotard basket showed off not only my great length and thickness but also my immediate need, so I knew if Andre was at all serious underneath that teasing that had driven several of us crazy for the two years he'd been skating professionally, he'd take the bait.

And take the bait he did. We started out pretending at least to be into our individual practice regimes, but our eyes were glued to each other in an undeniable mating dance. Andre skated over to the boards and stripped off his practice T, feigning that the heat was getting to him, but we both knew that I and my magnificent body and obvious need were getting to him. When he glided back onto the ice, our routines came into synch and drew together into ever tighter circles, until, in a cloud of ice shavings, we both stopped dead, facing each other, very close. Both of our chests were heaving from the intensity of the syncopated ice dance. I leaned my head down to the much shorter, more compact singles skater, and he tilted his head up, meeting my lips with his. Our tongues entwined, and