More than just a massage at the tennis club

After entering the room for my post-game session with the physio, I stripped down and walked to the massage table buck naked, with my towel on my left shoulder. Marek, the physio, had already seen my dick yesterday and the day before. He had seen it soft. He had seen it hard. He had felt it in his hand. And he had milked it dry, making me shoot my most intimate nectar several feet off the massage table. I felt there was no point in hiding my manhood from him, especially since my body was craving for another full-service massage.

I laid on the massage table, on my stomach, with my soft dick and balls lodged in-between my legs, in plain view of Marek.

‘Any particular area you want me to focus on?’ Marek asked.

‘Pretty much everywhere’ I responded. ‘But maybe more my shoulders and pecs’.

I had asked Marek to skip my pecs yesterday, because I was afraid his hands brushing my sensitive nipples would get me hard. It turned out to be a futile endeavor. I got hard regardless. So, no need to be cute today. I was going to get hard again. There was no point trying to fight it. Besides, all the hammering on my opponent’s backhand during today’s match had taken a toll on my right arm and shoulder, which carried over to my pecs.

Accepting the reality that I was going to get hard at one point or another during the massage allowed me to fully relax and not funnel my energy trying to fight a nascent hardon. Marek’s strong hands on my aching shoulders felt amazing. He was digging deep into my tissues. It created a burning sensation while doing it, but the pain evacuated all the tension out of my overworked muscles and the feeling of absolute serenity afterwards was out of this world.

Marek continued down my back and my legs, like he had done before. By the time he asked me to flip over, I had managed to remain soft. Since I was trying to not think about anything and left my brain completely idle, I had no reason to have any sexual thought of any kind.

But things quickly changed once I laid on my back, with my dick in full view. From my vantage point, my pubes were sticking out like a hedge in an English countryside. The expression ‘bush’ had never been more appropriate than right now. When Marek pulled my arms behind my head, exposing my hairy arm pits in addition to my pubes, I felt like my manliness was on full display, even if it was just him and me in the room. Even though I had showered after the game, my exposed armpits still released a sweaty musk that traveled to my nostrils and seemed to fill up the entire room. Having massaged players all day, Marek was pretty ripe himself, testosterone evaporating from his masculine body and adding to my own funk. It kind of turned me on. Two guys, smelling like guys, and about to do the manliest thing that exists: discharging the liquid proof of their manliness. And my dick started swelling. Within a minute, I was rock-hard again, my dick throbbing over my treasure trail.

As much as I felt utterly embarrassed by my accidental erection on the first day, and to some extent yesterday, today, I couldn’t care less. There’s only so much embarrassment to go around. And me getting hard under the touch of Marek’s magic fingers had kind of become the norm.

When Marek started working on my pecs, accidentally brushing my nipples along the way, the temperature in my cock rose by a thousand degrees and my shaft felt like hot iron coming out of a forge. And I started leaking precum. I would be at his mercy the minute his fingers made their way to my manhood.

Although I had my eyes closed most of the time, savoring the sensation of Marek’s magic touch on my tissues, I did open my eyes a couple of times. While Marek was standing behind me, his head was hovering just a foot over mine, upside down from me, as his hands were moving up and down my chest. I could see his brown eyes focused on my muscles and his thick dark beard, so much thicker and darker than mine. He was wearing a loose V-shaped shirt, which was hanging several inches below his torso and allowed me to peak inside. It gave me a plain view of his hairy chest, which continued way below his pecs and what felt like all the way down to his belly button. Fuck! He was so masculine, with all his body hair while he was rubbing my smooth chest. Although I wasn’t sexually attracted to him, having this alpha male massage my twinky body felt surprisingly erotic. And my dick double downed on its throbbing.

Once he was done massaging my pecs, Marek went straight to grabbing my hard dick with his right hand and started jerking me off. He didn’t even ask. He just went for it. Since he had jerked me to completion both yesterday and the day before and had even stuck his finger up my ass, I guess we were passed the chivalry stage and asking for permission.

I didn’t stop him either.

After stroking my dick for a minute or two, to get me in the mood, not that my dick needed it, Marek brought the bottle of massage oil and lubed up both his fingers and my backdoor. And he inserted his middle finger inside me, just like he had done yesterday. Although my hole was no longer pristine, my ring still tried to stop the invasion, clamping on Marek’s finger as he forced his way in. A guy just can’t let another guy stick his finger up his ass without fighting back. But once Marek had broken through my first line of defense, the feeling of his finger inside my chute was just as amazing as it was last night.

And then he hit my G-spot.

I closed my eyes while I was savoring the sensations. But suddenly, I felt something different on my dick, some wet flesh enveloping my cock and applying a new type of pressure that felt incredible. I opened my eyes and saw that Marek had swallowed my cock and was now blowing me. I couldn’t believe my eyes. But he indeed had his lips on my shaft, and it felt amazing. His lips were just as skilled as his fingers and were providing a new type of stimulation I wasn’t used to.

Even though I was 21, it was only my second proper blow job ever. The first and only one before that was early on when I started going out with Stella. After me begging for it for several weeks, she reluctantly accepted to suck my dick. Since I didn’t know any better at the time, it felt incredible. But once I was about to blow, I let her know I was getting close, like she had asked me to. And even though she pulled out just in time, I ended up shooting so hard that my first rope hit her in the face. She abruptly let go of my dick and jumped off the bed, leaving my cock unattended right at the most crucial moment. Although my cock shot a second rope, my wings got clipped right during take-off.

And my orgasm crashed and burned.

By blowing in her face, I had signed both the birth certificate and the death certificate of my blow job receiving career with Stella. After that, she was fine putting my dick in her mouth in order to get me hard. But at the first trace of precum, she would pull out and have her hand take over from her lips.

But that wasn’t the case with Marek. My cock had already been leaking precum way before he even started blowing me. And the flow only intensified after that. But Marek didn’t seem to care. Not only was he way more talented than Stella at sucking dick, but the grinding of his stubble against my skin added to the oral stimulation. His thick beard cut through my pubes like butter and the sharp ending of his hairs was grinding the sensitive skin underneath my pubes like sandpaper. Although it hurt a bit, it was a good hurt and sent electric shocks throughout my body.

‘Vas-y, suce-moi la bite!’ I let out.

I was surprised that I would even say something like that, ordering another dude to suck my dick. But I was like in a trance from all the nerve endings that were set on fire by Marek’s lips around my dickhead and his fingers at the base of my shaft, not to mention the finger of his other hand hammering my G-spot. And his tongue was playing with my foreskin. In no time, my dick was on the verge of exploding.

‘Oh putain, j’vais jouir!’ I told Marek, following the guy’s code, a gentleman agreement of some sort, letting the one sucking my dick know that I was about to blow and there was still time to pull out before I flooded his mouth with my swimmers.

But Marek continued to suck my dick. And his finger continued to tickle my G-spot. Since I had been yelling ‘Oh putain, j’vais jouir!’ just before shooting for the past two days, I just assumed Marek knew what that meant by now, even if he didn’t speak any French. But maybe I had overestimated his language skills. Or maybe his brain was so focused on sucking my dick that he couldn’t multi-task and process what I just said.

‘I’m gonna cum’ I then said, as I was getting closer to the point of no return, hoping he’d understand better if I said it in English. I had no clue how to say ‘I’m gonna cum’ in Czech.

But Marek continued servicing my dick. And I started to panic when I realized I wouldn’t be able to contain my excitement before my protein flooded his mouth.

‘I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum, I’M GONNA CCCUUUUUAAARRRRGGHGHHHH!’ I screamed, as a tsunami of spunk forced its way through my shaft at 200mph, devastating everything in its path. But Marek kept pumping on. And instead of trying to dodge the upcoming tornado of jizz, he even accelerated his lip movement, all that while his finger kept hammering my G-spot inside me. A double stimulation that sent my brain and my whole body into overdrive.

A rocket shot out of my dick and hammered the back of Marek’s throat. Marek let out a little moan when my rocket hit him. I wasn’t sure if he was caught by surprised or if he got overwhelmed by the amount of jizz gushing out of my piss slit or if the sheer strength of my squirt scraped the roof of his mouth. But I didn’t get much time to wonder as a second rope shot out of my cock, not as strong as the first one but just as pleasurable.

The intensity of my orgasm fried my motherboard. I couldn’t control myself. Without even realizing it, my hands grabbed the back of Marek’s head and pressed his face against my pubes, making sure he continued to suck my dick while I was blowing, although Marek showed no sign of trying to pull out.

I thought my orgasms yesterday and the day before had been amazing. But this one was beyond anything I had ever experienced. My whole body started spasming as all my circuits were blowing up, like a computer letting out sparks during an alien attack in a Sci-Fi movie. And I wasn’t moaning or whimpering anymore. I was plain grunting as the fire in my cock was consuming my entire body. And the massage table was squeaking underneath me.

My cock eventually stopped shooting as there was no more jizz to extract from my Belgian balls. My first full-on blow job had just been the most incredible experience of my life. I have no clue how much I blew, since it all ended up in Marek’s mouth rather than out in the open. But it felt like a gallon. My nuts inside my ball sack probably looked like an old dry sponge that baked in the sun for too long.

Marek stood up and ran toward the trash can where he regurgitated the mix of spunk and spit out of his mouth. I felt bad for Marek, that he had to endure such a distasteful feeding in order to give me the most wonderful gift I could ever ask for: allowing me to cum in his mouth and continuing to stimulate my cock with his lips all through my orgasm. I had tasted my own cum a couple of times and I didn’t care for it. It tasted salty and almost rancid. The fact Marek was forced to taste several squirts of it felt disgusting. And I couldn’t believe he had just done that for me.

I was still laying on the massage table, panting heavily, trying to regain my senses after having been in a parallel universe for the past minute or so. Marek took a sip of water, gurgled, and spit it out in the trash can, still trying to wash out my salty fluid out of his mouth.

‘Thanks Marek’ I just said, not quite sure what more to add. ‘It was incredible!’

‘You’re welcome’ he just responded.

I couldn’t tell if he was upset at me for shooting in his mouth. Short of having learned all the dirty talk in Czech, I’m not quite sure what more I could have done to let him know I was about to blow my load. He had to know it was coming (no pun intended). He probably just did it out of obligation, even if he didn’t care for the taste of my baby batter. But he had gone way beyond the call of duty as a physio.

‘Marek, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me over the last three days’ I went on to say. ‘I really meant it when I said that I owe you part of my wins. I have felt so relaxed every time I’ve walked out of this room. I’ve been having the best sleep of my life. And I’m in tip top shape every morning when I wake up.’

He just smiled at me without saying a word.

‘I really feel like I’m indebted to you now’ I continued. ‘Let me return the favor.’

‘You don’t owe me anything’ Marek objected. ‘I’m here to do my job’.

‘What you’ve done for me was not part of your job description’ I joked. ‘You went above and beyond your job to help me relax’ I insisted.

‘Please, let me return the favor somehow’ I added. ‘I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror tonight if I walk out of here like a thief’.

Marek looked unaltered by my plea.

‘My mom always taught me it was wrong to take without giving back’ I continued.

‘I don’t believe your mom ever told you to do what you want to do to me’ Marek joked, looking very proud of his comeback.

I kneeled and pleaded to Marek: ‘Please, please, please! Let me return the favor’ I said. ‘I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I walk out of here without repaying you. Please!’ I added, with sad puppy eyes. ‘Just a wank.’

Marek looked at me for a few seconds, and eventually said: ‘Just a wank?’

‘Just a wank’ I confirmed.

He went on to take his shirt off. As I suspected, his stomach was covered in dark hair. His hair went from one shoulder to the other, covering his entire chest. It was even thicker in-between his pecs, to the point you couldn’t even see his skin. His whole belly was covered in hair too, not just a thin treasure trail like me. He didn’t really have a full 6-pack. I’m sure he used to when he was my age. But being in his late 30’s, as far as I could tell, a little bit of padding had started to hide his muscles. But he still had a flat stomach and I’m sure many guys his age wished they still looked like him. His arms were probably the size of my thighs and the hair on his forearms continued on to his triceps, although not as dense as on his forearms.

He then went on to remove his shoes and socks and unbuttoned his pants. He was wearing white briefs that weren’t particularly sexy. He probably didn’t expect anybody else to see them tonight. He walked to the corner of the room to grab a towel and dropped his briefs off, showing me his hairy butt, which was also covered in dark fuzz that thickened into his crack. He wrapped the towel around his waist and laid on the massage table on his back.

Meanwhile, I had put my boxer briefs back on. I felt me being fully naked would make the situation even more awkward than it already was. But I was still shirtless. My smooth stomach formed a huge contrast compared to Marek’s hairy stomach.

I opened the towel he had just wrapped ten seconds ago, revealing his package. I had never witnessed a dick grow from soft to full hardness before. So, I couldn’t really estimate how big his dick would get, once fully erect. But while soft, his dick was thicker than my soft dick. His balls were hairy too, just like the rest of his body and looked a little bit bigger than mine, although not by much. And his inner thighs were just as hairy as his stomach, kind of like a direct continuation of his pubes.

I went on to grab Marek’s soft dick. I had never touched another guy’s dick before and it felt weird. It also felt wrong. But that was the least I could do after everything Marek had done for me these last three days. Not quite sure what else to do, I just formed a circle with my fingers and moved them up and down his soft shaft.

‘Am I doing OK?’ I asked candidly.

‘You’re doing good’ Marek responded.

And apparently, what I was doing couldn’t have been all bad as I felt Marek’s manhood grow under my fingers. His dick went from soft to partially aroused to progressively harder, until it stopped growing, having apparently reached its maximum size.

I was only half right about Marek’s cock. Given how strong and masculine he was, I had assumed he had the monster schlong of a porn star. It turns out it was only partially true. Marek’s cock wasn’t any longer than my 6-incher. However, his cock was a lot thicker than mine. I bet if he had stuck this thing up my ass instead of his finger, I would have bled to death.

I had never manhandled any other dick besides my own. It just felt strange to feel Marek’s thick sausage. It was not as easy to wrap my fingers around it. In addition to being thick, his cock also felt heavier than mine. This was probably because, when I’m hard, my cock is so rigid that it kind of stands on its own. Marek’s cock on the opposite didn’t self-support, even though it was hard. His cock was resting on his thick pubic bush and needed to be lifted by my fingers to be jerked. And even though it was hard, you could still make it swing, kind of like a raw bratwurst coming out of the fridge.

Since Marek had given me three incredible orgasms over the last three days, I really wanted to pleasure him. But truth be told, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I figured out that just shaking his pole up and down would probably do the trick, even if that was a pretty basic technique. I tried to offset my lack of experience with enthusiasm. And I have to say that manhandling a tool of that size felt a lot more interesting than one the size of mine, although a longer pole would probably have been even more interesting.

‘How does it feel?’ I asked Marek, both to give him some attention and to double-check that I wasn’t completely off-base.

‘You’re doing great!’ he kindly answered.

Since I had one free hand, I ended up playing with Marek’s right nipple, the same way I like my nipples to be played with when I’m jerking off. I just assumed that what worked for me would also work for him. It felt weird to have to fight off his chest hair to even be able to locate his nipple. At one point, I also rubbed my hands through the forest on his chest, just to know what it felt like. But I quickly went back to playing with his nipple.

Whatever I was doing must have been passable because Marek closed his eyes and started breathing more heavily, as if his juice was starting to boil inside his heavy balls. His breathing became louder and he started making faces as he was approaching the finish line.

‘Budu cum’ Marek eventually yelled, as the first rope of white cream shot out of his fat cock. Shooting might not be the right word as his spunk landed just a couple of inches from his piss slit, right in his belly button. Nothing like my shots that splashed all over the fucking room. I hope it wasn’t a sign that my hand job was lousy. But Marek seemed to enjoy it as he was moaning, and his cock kept pumping more Czech juice out of his hairy balls.

His white cream felt thicker than mine. Marek clearly didn’t produce as much precum as me and his cream wasn’t as diluted as mine. It was 100% pure Czech love fluid. The white of his cream contrasted against the dark hair on his body, while my own spunk is usually more translucid and blends in with my pale skin, unless I just spent a week at the beach and had a nice tan.

After four or five ropes, Marek’s colt stopped shooting. I let go of his cock, which ended up resting on his pubes, his dickhead soaking in his own spunk. I went on to grab a towel to sponge out his mess.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. So, I just said: ‘I hope it was OK’.

‘Yes, thanks’ Marek just responded.

And I went to put my clothes back on as Marek did the same. I shook his hands before leaving the room and he wished me good luck for tomorrow’s quarterfinals.

I ended up jerking off again in my hotel bathroom before going to bed. I had way too much pent-up sexual energy to be able to sleep without an additional release. While jerking off, I ended wondering what it would be like to have Marek’s girth. I dreamed I was fucking Stella with Marek’s fat schlong, her cunt wrapping around my girth the same way Marek’s mouth had earlier. And talking dirty to her:

‘You like my big cock, bitch?’

‘Oh yeah, you’re so big!’

I would never talk to a girl like that in real life. But the feeling of Marek’s fat cock inside my fist was still fresh in my mind.

And my dick exploded in the bathroom sink. Just a couple of ropes that my balls managed to produce, having been milked dry an hour ago. But I was still amazed it was more than just a droplet. Testicles are just a marvel of nature I just thought to myself. And I went to bed right after that and had another amazing night’s sleep, the way Marek had manufactured them over the past three days. I felt great when I made my way to the tennis club for the quarterfinals the next morning.

All four quarterfinal matches were scheduled on the center court. Until now, my matches had all been played on outside courts that didn’t even have stands. The stands of the center court could hold 800 spectators and the stadium was probably half full for my match. A crowd of that size was somewhat new to me. I’m more used to playing on anonymous courts during the qualifying rounds where the line judges and ball boys outnumber the spectators. Having so many people cheering, just for us entering the court, was an incredible feeling. This is what champions in Grand Slam tournaments must feel like every match.

My opponent was a 25-year-old Russian player. He was in the top 200 and was also seeded. But he had briefly been ranked in the top 100 before and had already played in grand slam tournaments. He was a much bigger deal than me. Because of the bad blood between Russia and all the Eastern European countries, the crowd ended up rooting for me and against him. It was great to have a crowd of 400 people chanting my name before game points. Whoever doesn’t understand the notion of momentum in sport has never played competitively. Having the crowd on my side definitely helped me in key points.

I ended up winning the match. And this time, I won in straight sets, although both sets were a struggle. I missed three match points because I was so nervous. When I finally won the match, I fell on my knees. I didn’t want to overdo it and pretend I had just won Wimbledon or something. But it was my first time reaching the semifinal of a Challenger tournament. My first time beating a player who had been in the top 100. And with that win, I would shoot up 50 spots in Monday’s ranking, regardless of what happened next. It felt amazing to hear the crowd cheer when the announcer said my name on the speaker system. Kids were bunched up close to the exit and asked for my autograph as I walked off the court.

My win in the quarterfinal blew up my phone. I received more voicemails and text messages than ever before. Both my mom and dad congratulated me. So did my sister. Even Stella sent me a nice text. But the one that touched me the most was my 16-year-old brother. He’s always been my little brother and I know he’s super proud of me. But he’s not very expressive. I could hear him tearing up when I talked to him on the phone, and it brought tears to my eyes as well.

The $3,700 check I’d be getting, even if I lost in the semifinal, was the biggest check of my career. It kind of validated that it was worth all the effort and sacrifices. When you’re struggling in small tournaments, not able to make ends meet without financial support from mom and dad, you can’t help but wonder whether you made the right decision by turning pro, instead of just going to college like everybody else. If I had gone to college, I’d be graduating in less than a year and would soon be starting a real job and becoming a banker like my dad or an HR executive like my mom. But there is no way a 9-to-5 job could bring the thrills of professional sport, even at my second-tier level.

In between phone calls with my family and friends, I also had to make time for journalists. This media attention was all new to me. The local Czech newspaper that was covering the tournament wanted to interview me after my win. I even got interviewed by the local TV station. That was a first for me as well. The newspaper photographer showed me some of the shots he had taken during the match, and I asked him if he could send me some of the ones he wouldn’t use, for me to post on my Instagram.

After the biggest win of my career, I was looking forward to my massage with Marek and my post-victory reward. But when I got to the locker room, I was informed that Marek had already left for the week. It turns out he wasn’t from here and was just an extra this week. He had finished his last shift at 5pm in order to catch the last train back to his hometown. The only physio who was still available was the blond chick I had so wanted to get earlier in the week. But that ship had sailed, and I no longer really wanted her. I wanted Marek and I wanted him to bring me the pleasure he had brought me over the last three days.

The physio was called Martina. She was a petite blond woman. And the size of her rack in comparison to her slim body was the first thing I had noticed when I first saw her earlier in the week. I wasn’t the only one to notice and I’m sure she knew it too. Martina stretched my aching muscles just fine. But even though I asked her to dig as deep as possible, she just wasn’t as strong as Marek. And once the massage was over… it was over.

I ended up having to jerk off in my hotel room before going to sleep, laying on my bed, and pretending I was on the massage table. And while I was manhandling my cock, I was trying to revive the sensations of when Marek was doing it. I even tried to stick a finger into my asshole, but it just didn’t feel the same. The contortion I had to go through was uncomfortable too. And while my left hand was busy fingering my hole, my nipples weren’t being played with.

I ended up getting a mediocre orgasm, barely better than a ruined orgasm, shooting just a couple of volleys that pathetically dropped in my belly button. Nothing like the missiles my cock would shoot all over my stomach when Marek was bringing me to the Nirvana that had allowed me to sleep so well over the last three nights.

I had a hard time falling asleep that night, tossing and turning in my bed until 2am. The pressure of the biggest match of my life got me all worked up. I only managed to sleep for three or four hours until a horrible dream woke me up. I dreamed that my alarm clock didn’t go off, that I slept through my match time, and that my opponent won the match as a walkover. I woke up in a state of panic. I took a look at my alarm clock, and it was flashing 6:05am. I wasn’t able to go back to sleep after that.

I ended up scrolling through my Instagram messages. I had gained 100 followers since yesterday. I showered and looked at myself in the mirror. Even though I looked like shit and had huge bags under my eyes, I liked the look of my 7-day blond stubble, which was now a full-on beard. I hadn’t grown a beard like that since last summer when I was on vacation. And last summer, I was only 20 and couldn’t even grow a full beard the way I now can. I smiled at myself in the mirror.

I made my way to the tennis club still feeling like shit. I had to do a phone interview with a newspaper back home in Belgium. My newfound semi-glory was still new to me and I was so happy to finally get some media coverage that I didn’t want to say no when they reached out to me, even though I would have preferred to prepare for the big match by listening to my music on my headsets.

During the interview, I came up with some random thoughts on how proper nutrition and good sleep hygiene had helped me in my professional career. I left out the part where my bedtime routine included the physio sticking a finger up my ass to make my cock gush like a fire hydrant. But I did talk about relaxing, without expanding any further on how.

My semifinal was against the tournament’s top seed, a Spanish player in the top 100. It kind of sucked to face the top seed in the semi-final. But I had had a relatively easy draw until now. So, I couldn’t really complain. I ended up getting destroyed: 6-2, 6-1, bringing a pathetic end to what had been the best week of my career until now. Losing in less than an hour is about as bad as it gets. My only small win was that I managed to avoid the donut (i.e. a slang expression for losing a set 6-0). I could only realize how the gap between me and a top 100 player wasn’t just a gap but a fucking canyon. In order to even compete with a guy at that level, I would have had to step up my game. And I just hadn’t been able to do that today. It’s not even that he played a great game. I just sucked, plain and simple! Only 60% on my first serve, 8 double faults, 21 unforced errors for only 5 winning shots. Aarrgghhh!!! I just embarrassed myself in front of a capacity crowd.

After the game, I packed up my stuff and walked straight back to the hotel. I texted my dad telling him I didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t ready for his laundry list of things I could have done better. I already knew what was on the list: Pretty much everything. I still scrolled through all the texts and Instagram messages of fans reminding me that I had an incredible week and that I’d rebound next week.

This might sound crazy, but I couldn’t help but wonder if the outcome of today’s match would have been different had Marek been available to milk me dry last night.

The next day, I took the train to my next tournament, which was another Challenger in another Czech town. With my ranking, I didn’t make the cut for the main draw and normally would have had to go through the qualifying rounds. But because I was tied up in the semi-final of my previous tournament, I earned the ‘Special Exempt’ status because I had no physical way to make it to the tournament on time for the qualifying rounds. So, I was automatically qualified for the main draw and wouldn’t have to play my first-round match until Monday afternoon.

When I got to the tennis club, I could sense people were looking at me differently. A lot of the players at this tournament were the same guys who played last week’s tournament. Having reached the semi-finals put me on a higher shelf, I guess. Several guys came to congratulate me, and others looked at me with some sort of deference. The one guy who didn’t congratulate me was Hans. I ran into him in the hallway, and he was livid.

When I went to sign up at registration, the director of the tournament came out of his office to personally greet me. That had never happened to me before. I also saw spectators whisper to each other as I made my way through the alleys and a couple even stopped me for a selfie.

I went to enquire about how physio appointments worked, and that’s when I saw him. Marek was here. And I froze in my tracks. It turns out he was just an extra for last week’s tournament. But he was actually from this town and would be the main physio here. I waved at him from a distance. He waved back and smiled.

This might turn out to be another good tournament for me.