If I see one more naked ass in the mirror while I’m brushing my teeth, I swear to god I’m going to throw up my breakfast.
I’m all for women’s empowerment and being confident in one’s skin, but walking around butt ass naked in a common area full of strangers is a bit much for me.
Now don’t get me wrong, they’re nice asses. Firm. Muscular. A bit pale, but that’s what you’ll get with a bunch of athletes who play winter sports. Not much time to tan the behind. But put some underwear on for fuck’s sake.
We’ve been in Sweden a few days now and I’m already over the ‘accommodations’ at the Olympic Village.
Privacy? What’s that?
Not only am I sharing a bathroom with over ten women, half of whom I don’t even know, but the walls are paper thin. And if you’ve heard anything about the Village, you know these athletes are all horned up. Our first night here and I got to hear one of my competitors on an entirely different level than I’d like. She and some dude named Sebastian got to know each otherverywell in the wee hours of the morning.
Not that I would’ve gotten much sleep anyway. The sleeping quarters are absolute shit. I think I’d be morecomfortable on the ground with a sleeping bag than on the bed that practically falls apart as soon as you lie down.
We’re world class athletes. You’d think we’d get beds with actual mattresses, not some flimsy padding. Or at the very least, beds long enough to fit anyone taller than five-foot-eight. I can’t even stretch my legs out without my feet hanging off the end of the bed. I wonder if the men's quarters are this bad? I’m five-foot-eleven and I can’t imagine some of the men sleeping in these beds. There’s no way.
I spit my toothpaste out and shield my eyes as an impressive set of tits bounces into the shared bathroom.
“Morning,” I mumble as I keep my head down and beeline it to my room.
As soon as I’m in the safety of my own room, I slam the door shut and slump back against it in relief. Closing my eyes, I take some steadying breaths and try to remind myself that this is the dream.
You’re at the Olympics, Charlotte. You can handle a little nudity. It will all be worth it.
“How was your morning show?” My roommate, and best friend’s voice breaks through my affirmations. I turn my head to find her sitting on the ground, attempting to straighten her hair in a tiny makeup mirror she must’ve brought from home.
“Oh, justlovely. Did you know that one of Finland’s defense has a tattoo of a peach on her ass?”
Liv snorts and looks up at me. “No I didn’t. But I’ll be sure to ask her about it after I dangle around her and score later.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She shrugs her shoulders and turns her attention back to the mirror to finish her hair.
My best friend and linemate is a shit-talker. It’s one of the things I love most about her. She’s exactly like me on the ice. We don’t mind chirping the other team and getting under their skin.
I met Liv my freshman year at the University of Wisconsin.She was my assigned roommate in the dorms and we’ve been inseparable ever since. It’s why we’re so dangerous on the same line. We can read each other better than anyone else, anticipating where we’re going to be on the ice.
This is both of our first times at the Olympics. We’ve played in the Canada/USA rival series, but this is different.
This is the Olympics.
It’s what I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little girl playing in an all-boys hockey league. We’re lucky enough to have the PWHL now, and I’m extremely grateful to be playing for the Frost, but this was always the dream—wearing the red, white, and blue and representing my country on the biggest stage.
Our room is smaller than our dorm was at school, so when I sit down on my “bed,” I’m able to stretch my legs and rest them on Liv’s. God, this place sucks.
“You almost ready? I want to stop at one of the grab and go stations to see if they have any gummy bears.”
Liv finishes straightening her last strand, her auburn hair falling down to the middle of her back, looking shiny as ever. She unplugs her straightener from her outlet adapter and pops up off the ground.
“I can’t believe customs confiscated your gummy bears. Do you even know how to play hockey without them?”
I reach down next to me and hurl a shoe at her. “Shut up! You know how superstitious I am. If I don’t have some before the game and in between periods, it won’t be good.”
Liv dodges my attack at the last second and the shoe bangs against the wall beside her.
“What the fuck?” a voice yells from the room next to us. The walls are thin enough that I know for a fact that was our goalie, Jonesy, sounding all disgruntled and pissed.
“Sorry, Jonesy!”
