I'm not sure who to blame for my thighs. I may not think about it much, but my mom is kind of, uh, shapely. The thing is, she is a little chubby as well, which might be my fault thanks to pregnancy, so I'm not sure if she has big thighs because she is chubby or because it's genetic.
I did inherit a lot from my mom though. I got her blonde hair and pale blue eyes, though to be fair I got my dad's face. Thankfully a female version of it, though if the genetic lottery had landed slightly differently I might have been stuck with a manly face.
My features are just a little sharp, the kind where some men might almost instinctively say 'step on me'. Having just had that thought, I take this box, put that thought in there, and banish it to the deepest and darkest pits of my mind.
I would look so good in boots like that. And leather.
Banished. Point being, everything else is my mom, so she might have inflicted her big thighs on me.
It might also be the fault of Coach though. When I poke at my thighs they aren't flabby, well, they are thighs, so they sort of have to be, but my muscles are definitely well developed.
Though not something I had thought of before I started playing badminton, jumping is very prevalent in many sports. You can sort of imagine a scale of one to ten on how obvious jumping is.
Ten you'd have something like basketball, where the ability to jump well is crucial, whether offensively or defensively.
Something on the other end of the scale is probably baseball. You can watch a baseball match and no one will really jump at all. Except you have that game every now and then where the batter steps up and hits it just the right way, it's clearly going to be a home run, and then some mad man in the outfield somehow manages to jump up just high enough to catch it as it's going out.
Badminton is probably at the middle or so?
Someone with no knowledge can probably look at a badminton game and conclude that if the players jump well they can reach the shuttle better. Someone with at least some knowledge will look at it the same and say no, because you can just let it go out.
A very obvious strategy in badminton is to lure the opponent to the net and then lob it over them. It's easy in practice, but it becomes increasingly difficult the higher a level you play at. Lobbing the shuttle is difficult because you have far less room to maneuver in than what is immediately obvious, both because if it goes out you failed, and because if your opponent reaches it you are in so much trouble.
Higher jumping power just shrinks the window for the lob even further. If you try to lob it and the other side jumps up and catches it? You will definitely lose the point, unless you get very lucky.
Coach is therefore very fond of exercises to increase jumping power. Gather all your energy and jump as high as you can. Not too difficult, right? Now do it again, again, again. He also has a certain adoration for lunges, squats, and other exercises to build explosive power in my legs. Some days I'm not sure if Coach is helping me or is just a sadist, but as practice ends that day I swear a generational vendetta and drag my battered body to the showers.
No amount of sulking in the shower will completely bring me relief though, so after almost twenty minutes I reluctantly leave the warm water, dry myself off, and get dressed. I find Noburo is waiting for me outside, which is nice.
"Hey Akane," he smiles.
I give him a quick peck on the lips, grab his hand, and we start walking.
"Hey. How was your practice?"
"Not too bad, though our coach plans to drive us harder tomorrow. Based on how you look, I guess it's not the same for you?"
I simply groan in response.
"Would it make you feel better if I took you out Saturday?"
"Can't," I shake my head, "I have an extra practice session then."
"Sunday?"
"Sorry. I'm spending time with family."
"Oh," he looks downcast.
I stop walking and let go of his hand, turning towards him as I can sense this won't be quick. He stops as well and looks into my eyes.
"What's wrong?"
"It just feels like you never have time for me."
I clamp down on the urge to give a sharp retort and take a deep breath.
"You were the one that wanted this relationship the most, and you knew we were both busy people. Of course it's going to be difficult to find time," I carefully explain.
"I know, but it just feels like we never really spend time together," his brow furrows.
"So what do you suggest we do about it?"
"I'm not sure. I just wish you'd make more time for me."
"I do make time for you, as much as I can. Are you saying I don't?" I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, cross my arms, and stare at him as he shuffles indecisively.
"No no, that's not it, I just want us to make more time for each other," he tries to redirect.
It's really difficult to keep my temper in check when he says things like that, so I take another deep breath.
"Last weekend we couldn't see each other because you had basket, but I didn't complain about it. I understand and accept that you are busy some weekends."
"The previous week you spent time with Jun instead of me," he refutes.
"Oh, so now it's about Jun?" I can't keep the heat out of my voice.
"I didn't say that," he tries.
"Sounds like it. Jun is my best friend. Of course I'm going to spend time with him separately, since unlike you I don't have my closest friends in the same club."
"I just want you to make time for me like you do for Jun."
"Oh my God. Are you jealous?" I study him carefully, "we are so not having this conversation."
"Why?" he continues to argue.
"Because it might just be the dumbest thing I've ever heard," I close my eyes and breathe for a few seconds, realizing how that may have sounded a little harsh.
When I speak again I deliberately try to soften my tone despite my annoyance.
"It's not summer anymore, so of course we'll spend less time together, that's just how it is, and there's nothing to be done about it," I look at him, and he seems resigned.
Relieved that he doesn't appear to want to argue any further I turn and start to leave.
"Coming?" I call back.
I find a decent enough storage shed that is fortunately unlocked. I make my way inside, and as expected it's stuffed with equipment for gym class. I ditch my bags and start digging around, and soon after Noburo joins me.
"Close the door," I call out as I fish a condom out of my purse, "and take off your pants."
I get the condom out of the wrapper and toss the trash into my bag, then turn around. For some reason he is still wearing underwear. With a sigh I make my way over and pull his boxers down, then start jerking him off.
"I'm frustrated. This will probably help," I explain, and despite his protests he quickly enough starts growing hard in my hand, and I wrap him in the condom.
He isn't fully erect, but it'll have to do. I find a battered stool to make up for the height difference, then place it in front of a vaulting horse. I step up on the stool, pull my thong down, and lean over the vaulting horse, using it to balance myself.
"Come on. And tell me before you finish."
I make my self as comfortable as I can, and soon enough I feel him prodding against me.
"Just put it in," I instruct him, as I don't really feel like being fingered.
The condom is lubricated, so even if I'm not fully ready it will be fine. Probably sensing I'm not in a mood to argue he flips my skirt up, and I can feel his fingers running along my folds as he guides the tip of his cock inside me.
It's not really pleasurable mentally.
Not at first.
I still feel irked, even as I feel him grab me by the hips and start moving in and out. Mentally I'm not there, but physically my body reacts, and I can feel myself get wetter as I feel him venture deeper and deeper inside me. My body is well used to his touch by now and acts appropriately.
Slowly, my frustration starts melting, as if each time he pushes inside me he also pushes my frustration out. After a few minutes I start getting fully into it as well, holding on to the vaulting horse tightly, whimpering quietly as he takes me.
I close my eyes, letting the argument fade, as I enjoy how he fills me. It was perhaps a strange way to initiate sex, but now my annoyance is gone and it just feels nice, as my insides wrap him in a warm embrace, eagerly welcoming him and conforming to his size as he thrusts inside me.
Seemingly he is getting into it as well as he increases the tempo. I can hear how his breathing becomes more and more strained as he takes me. I feel a thrum of excitement run through my body over his increasing satisfaction, and I relax my mental discipline a little, letting my moans increase in volume.
I still try to keep it a little quiet as I don't want us to be found out. The stool I'm standing on is teetering slightly, but it bravely holds on as we fuck.
"I'm getting close," he pants after going at it for a few more minutes.
I feel decently sated, so it's fine by me.
"Stop. And step back."
It still feels a little disappointing as I feel him slip out of me, leaving me achingly empty. I get down from the stool and turn around, then get in position with his erection in front of me face. I reach out and pull the condom off, then start using my hand.
"Why?" he asks.
"I don't want to carry a full condom for who knows how long," I point out the obvious problem.
Considering the conversation over I aim towards my mouth and open up wide while letting my tongue stick out. I'm not too keen on using my mouth since condom leaves a strange taste. After a few more tugs he starts shooting ropes of sticky semen into my mouth. I keep using my hand as he orgasms, and when I'm finally certain he is finished I flick upwards with my tongue, running it across his head, before I retract it and close my mouth.
I let go with my hand and swallow, and once I'm finished I pull up his underwear and pants. Satisfied he is presentable I search my nearby bag for some tissues, and after doing my best to clean myself, I pull up my thong as I stand up. I'm feeling sticky though, so I'll have to clean up once I get home.
"We'll find some time to go out next week or the week after," I look into his eyes as I speak, "for now I'm going home though. I'm beat."
I wrap the condom in the same tissue I used to wipe myself, wrap it in an extra tissue and put it in my bag. Fortunately he doesn't seem keen on reigniting the argument, and we leave the school together in slightly tense silence. After walking together for a few minutes we say our goodbyes and split apart.
With the taste of him lingering in my mouth I make my way home absentmindedly as I think over both of our schedules for the coming weeks and our argument.