Chapter 2

Though not superstar famous, Ben Thornton’s exemplary talent had been mentioned on the news often as he blew away the competition at every national and international event leading up to the big one. Prior to London, he popped up on Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood, Conan O’ Brien,The David Letterman Show, all four hours of Today, andThe View,to discuss his wins, his goals, and his naked body. Before even proving himself on the biggest sports stage in the world, he was invited to pose for the infamous nude athlete’s edition of the second most popular sports magazine in publication.

Ben’s boyish good looks and muscular body garnered as much attention as his skills on parallel bars, rings, floor, pommel horse, high bar, and vault. Because of his shaggy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, one teen website dubbed the twenty-one-year-old athlete The Flying Justin Bieber. Ben hated that. Gay men’s blog The Bulge Report focused on his lower half, writing, “The roundness that fills out his footie pommel horse pants front and back is nothing short of drool-worthy.” That same site featured the magazine shots of Ben out of those pants. It was their most widely viewed post for the month, their number one click for six solid weeks straight, in fact.

The tasteful, artistic, two-page shadowy side views on glossy paper titillated but also disappointed. “Every woman I know,” said Kat, “held it to the light, hoping to catch something close to full or at least partial frontal.”

One of Ben’s teammates, Vijra Daha, said every guy he knew was taken by the full rear-al.

A lifetime of dedication and work had made Ben’s body look good, but would it now pay off in ways more important? That was the hope.

“I recognized your potential from day one,” Coach Strong told Ben moments after the US men’s Olympic gymnastics team roster was made official. “This was your destiny, Thornton. Our goal. There’s no hiding talent like that. And here we are.”

There was something Ben Thornton was hiding, though, and he was rapidly tiring of doing so. If not from day one, he’d definitely recognized it in himself over a period of time while living with the Stoker boys, shy Richie, and exhibitionist Adam. The Olympic Games might be the worst possible place to come out publicly, Ben figured, but privately, that was another story. His best friends in the whole world were around to support him, and the athletes’ village was purportedly hookup central.

“What happens in the village stays in the village,” Vij Daha swore. Vij was bi. He was open about it, at least with his teammates, if not with their coaches, the Olympic hierarchy, and sports fans.

Is a nice, private, quiet hookup or two in the cards? A new acquaintance? Maybe someone I already know?Ben scruffed Richie’s hair to get his other best friend to look up at him and smile. Richie had a nice smile, and Ben smiled back.

Ben Thornton had one main goal in London—at least four medals, at least two gold—but a secondary one might be within reach, too. Either way, he knew the next sixteen days were going to be amazing. 2

Somewhere in the Olympic Village later that night

He brought out his guitar as he listened to Great Britain’s famed frequent rain pinging outside his window. He had the TV on the “gay channel.” Some average-looking, completely doable dude who’d turned himself into a big-haired, gold-laméd disco queen for RuPaul was lip-synching a tune about men falling from storm clouds. Altering the lyrics to fit Ben and his feelings for him, the viewer strummed a tribute to a downpour of nude little tumblers, starting with the chorus, typing the words onto his laptop as they came to him.

I’ve never been

With a guy—No clue how to fuck men

I’d like to try it, to figure out where stuff goes

Would my dick fit in one of those?

God bless Se-an Cody

Otherwise I’d never kno-ow

All about the anal

Then we would only get to blow

Eat

Ass

Fing-er-ing

I might want to try ev-ry-thing….

He shook his head at his own lameness. “Yeah, that’ll impress a guy like Ben.”

After backspacing several hundred letters he tried “I Will Survive.”

Please stick your head

Between my thighs….

The second attempt at writing lyrics was godawful, too. 3

Naked bodies intertwined in official 2012 Olympic sheets, and kisses turned passionate, as lips and hands explored flesh imagination had envisioned touching a very long time.

“Talk dirty to me,” came a breathy request from Kat.

Ekaterina Mischen was born to Ukrainian parents in the United States. Her mother, Irina, won two consecutive World Figure Skating Championships in pairs in the late 80s. Papa Oleg had a gymnastics floor exercise move named after him. Much of America had already fallen in love with Kat, because of a Super Bowl Sunday soft drink ad. Doing backflips and splits, Kat managed to dodge evil alien laser guns, all without spilling a single drop from the blue and red can. If Kat added an Olympic gold medal to what she’d already accomplished, “her people” figured she could go from “that girl in the soda commercial” to a household name.