Tanya Jacobs sat on her father’s couch as they watched the 2012 London Summer Olympic Games. It was their traditional Sunday afternoon lunch together, and he’d made what he called his ‘world famous…if only the world knew about it’ chili. Chili traditionalists would probably turn their noses up at it because it had—gasp—beans in it, but she loved it. It was her favorite chili. Not only was it delicious, but it had been liberally seasoned with love, which made it taste better still.

They were watching the men’s gymnastics. She tried not to miss that, or the men’s swimming events either. Not because she was that interested in the sports, but because all the men were delicious in the extreme. Even at twenty-three, she would never admit to her father she was watching only so she could see their oh-so-sexy bodies and ogle the bulges in their skin-tight suits.

She liked men who looked like men. She preferred hers tall, dark, and muscled, and if he was packing a little something extra down below, that didn’t hurt either. The gymnasts had her ideal body type: ripped and cut just like she liked. The power lifters and body builders were too bulky, but the gymnasts, and to a slightly lesser extent, the swimmers, were just right.

The problem with the gymnasts was they were short. Even though she was only 5’2” and petite herself, or ‘fun-sized’ as her dad called her, if the guy was under 5’10”, she wasn’t interested. Still, when the men were on the floor, and you couldn’t tell they were only a few inches taller than her, she could dream and drool.

Next up on the High Bar, the talking head on the television announced, is the American, Neil Gibson.

That’s right, Curt. This kid has earned his way to this event. At just over six feet tall, many considered him too tall to compete at this level, but he has done a standout job for the American team.

That’s right, Jim. He’s already won Gold on the Parallel Bars and Silver on Pommel Horse.

Right. This is his final event at these games, so you know he’ll go all out.

He certainly has the skills to take home the Gold in this event.

That’s right, Curt. He’d have won Gold in the U.S. Nationals in this event though he hadn’t stuck his dismount.

At this level, even that little step back he had was enough to cost him.

That’s where his height really affects him, by slowing his rotation just that much.

If he can score a 16.275 or better here, he’ll have another Gold. Let’s watch and see if he can do it.

Tanya watched as Neil went through his routine, the commentators praising and critiquing his performance. To her untrained eye, his routine looked like every other one she’d seen, but she was silently rooting for him, and the talking heads had little to say except praise.

Neil was the media darling, the aw-shucks kid from somewhere in Iowa, who was charming the pants off every woman in American, and most of the rest of the world, and goddamn did he look fine. When he was with his teammates, at six feet tall, he towered over them, but he had that same sleek, muscled build as they all did.

He’s setting up for his dismount.

The question is, will he go for the triple or play it safe and go to the double.

The triple is what cost him at the Nationals. He has delivered a nearly flawless routine. I’d go with the double and stick the landing rather than risk a mistake on the triple.

As Tanya watched, Neil flew from the bar, spinning and tumbling through the air like a dervish. He landed and stood, arms in air, a brilliant smile on his face, as casually as if he’d stepped off a curb.

He did it! The triple-twisting double lay-out! That was flawless, perhaps the best overall routine we’ve seen on the High Bar in these games! He should be very proud of himself.

We’ll be right back to get the scores.

“What do you think, Dad? Think he’ll win the Gold?”

David Jacobs shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I can’t tell the difference between the triple-twisting double-gainer and the quadruple backwards, forward butt thrust.”

She giggled at her dad, who was always good for a laugh. “Want another bowl?”

“Yeah, but I’ll get it. You want any more?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m good.” One bowl was plenty for her.

When the games came back from commercial, Neil was sitting in the scoring booth with another man, probably his coach. He was all smiles.

Here come the scores. Remember, he needs a 16.275 to take home the Gold.

Tanya watched as the scores came in, her heart in her throat as she pulled for him. He received a 16.5, and she felt a tingle of vicarious excitement when Neil jumped to his feet, enthusiastically punching the air over his head as he jumped for joy.

He’s done it! Neil Gibson will take home another Gold in the 2012 London Games. That brings his total medal count to three.

That’s right, Jim. He medaled in all three of his events. That’s a real accomplishment for someone many didn’t think would even make the team.

As the commentators yammered on, she watched as Neil hugged an older man and woman, probably his mother and father. A woman with a microphone pulled him aside to talk to him about his routine. For the first time in this event, the woman wasn’t taller than the competitor. She barely heard what Neil said as she took a pull on her beer.

She smiled as she set her beer aside and scooped up another spoon of chili. She wouldn’t mind if he performed a routine on her. She wouldn’t mind that at all.