Used by the Olympic Gymnast

I can’t believe this is happening.

Long shadows creep across the pavement as I step toward the security checkpoint. The sun is barely beginning to rise, but the atmosphere here is anything but sleepy. Hushed, excited chatter swirls through the air. Volunteers stand as far as the eye can see, waiting to enter the Olympic Park.

This moment is the result of a lifelong passion. Back in high school, I was a competitive gymnast. It eventually became clear I didn’t have what it takes to reach the elite level though. I still wanted to stay involved, so I began volunteering at competitions. I’m now one of many college students selected to help at the Olympics. I might not be competing, but being in this environment is still an incredible opportunity. It’s electrifying.

“Thanks again for volunteering, Michael.” The man at the security desk hands me my access badge. “You’ll be at the gymnastics stadium. If you follow the signs, you’ll be able to find it.”

“Great, thank you!” I place the lanyard around my neck and pass through the gates.

A wave of excitement crashes over me.

The park is a cluster of sporting venues specifically built for the Summer Olympics. Located adjacent to the village where the athletes stay, these facilities are state-of-the-art monuments to modern engineering. Chrome beams stretch into the air, forming sleek, towering structures. The aquatics center, the tennis stadium, the gymnastics arena…this is heaven for a fan like me.

Lining the walkways, banners of different colors billow in the wind, bearing the names of nations from around the world. I stroll past, taking in the energy as I follow signs to the gymnastics venue. The scent of flowers wafts through the air, filling my lungs with a light perfume. It’s so early that only volunteers seem to be around—though occasionally an athlete runs past on an early-morning jog. Their chiseled bodies gleam with sweat in the gentle light. As I listen to their plodding footsteps, I can’t help but wonder what sport they’re competing in.

At last, I arrive. The arena is breathtaking. A glass exterior running up to a domed roof, the soaring structure seems to defy the laws of physics. A shot of adrenaline enters my bloodstream. If I’m lucky, I might even get to meet some of the gymnasts I idolize. This is akin to a music fan volunteering backstage for their favorite band. The athletes here are celebrities in the world of elite athletics.

“Alright, after orientation this morning, you’ll all begin your assignments.” A short, middle-aged man calls out as I’m herded inside with the rest of the volunteers.

My eyes glaze over while he launches into a speech about scheduling, emergency procedures, and the volunteer code of conduct. As the morning wears on, we’re finally assigned roles.

“Hey, you!” He points at me. “You’ll be on the Athlete Services Team.”

“Sounds great!” I give a playful salute.

He hands me a sheet of paper outlining my responsibilities.

Stationed at the entrance, I’ll welcome the gymnasts and lead them to the warm-up areas. During the events, I’ll usher them to and from the competition floor, ensuring they arrive on time for their routines.

I’ll also be responsible for providing general assistance to the gymnasts, such as fetching water and towels. It’s definitely not the most glamorous job, but it means I’ll get direct contact with my idols. This is exactly what I was hoping for.

“Oh, and one more thing.” The volunteer coordinator grabs my shoulder. “You’ll be on condom duty today.”

“C-condom duty?!” My eyes widen as he thrusts a huge plastic bag into my arms.

I look inside to find hundreds of tiny condom packets.

“Yep. You know what goes on in the Olympic Village, right? It’s a fucking orgy. Your job is to make sure none of these athletes ruin their career. Encourage them to wrap it up.”

“I…I guess that’s an important job.”

“Exactly. Not all heroes wear capes.” He smacks me on the ass. “Now get to work.”

My palms sweating, I head toward the entrance and await the gymnasts. Today will just be a warm-up since the competition doesn’t start until tomorrow. I’m excited to see them train, but as I stand here, my mind begins to wander…

Could it be true that the athletes are having loads of sex here? I guess it makes sense. Most of these guys spend virtually all their time training. Once their events are over, I’m sure they like to let loose. They’re at the peak of their careers…they have incredible, sculpted bodies…

I look down at my arms. I’m still fit from my gymnastics days, but I’m nothing compared to the guys here. I wouldn’t be able to get girls the way they do. Hell, I haven’t had a girlfriend in years. I haven’t even had sex. The only thing I fuck these days is my fist…

“Yoooo! Is this where we enter?” A deep, gruff voice jolts me from my thoughts.

“Y-yeah!” My eyes widen as I see who’s standing before me.

It’s my country’s gymnastics team…my idols.

The young men all wear shorts and tank tops that hug their ripped, sinewy frames. The lines of their abs are visible through the tight fabric, and I find myself powerless to look away. This is a level of musculature that you don’t encounter in everyday life. Your typical gym bro just lifts weights to look good, but this is something else entirely. This is functional strength—every muscle has a purpose. These young men are tanks. They’re finely tuned machines of war.

And the guy speaking at the front of the pack is the most intimidating of them all.