Normally the well-built blonde with the ponytail had a jogging partner as she pounded around the park on the outskirts of Salzburg. I had seen her a dozen times, although not up close, as she powered along the path looking determined.

I was doing an altogether feebler bit of keeping fit, passing the time doing something constructive while I waited for some business to be done here in the Austrian city. I had to be there but I couldn’t do anything to speed things along, so I got some exercise in the mornings and did a lot of reading and eating and drinking the rest of the time. Life could have been worse, but it was boring.

The other thing about the blonde girl was that she never stopped. She ran into the park, ran around it several times and ran out again, heading for who-knows-where.

She was slim but muscular, as her tight training gear showed. I fantasised, as one does, about the sweat that must be cascading tightly down her body. I could see her mop her brow and if only she would slow down or grind to a halt like a normal human being I could maybe see the glistening sheen on her back.

But she was Ms Perpetual Motion and the only way to introduce myself seemed to be to run alongside her, if I could keep up.

As she came around for the fifth time I put on a bit of a spurt and we ran shoulder to shoulder for a few paces as I attempted to enter her orbit. She didn’t even glance at me, just gave me a couple of seconds before stepping up a gear and easing away.

I sat down on the next bench and decided to relax and watch. There were other people around, but none as interesting as the runner.

As she came around again a small, yappy dog chased her and somehow got between her ankles. There was growling and cursing and then suddenly she crashed to the ground. The dog’s owner, an elderly woman who had been shouting and whistling ineffectually finally got the animal’s attention and they both disappeared out onto the road.

I dashed over to the girl, who was sitting on the tarmac path, rubbing her left calf and knee.

“You okay?” I said.

“Goddam dogs,” she said in a Germanic accent that made the letter d sound like t. “These people haf no control.”

“Nothing broken?” I asked.

“Nah, tweaked a muscle. It’s nothing.”

She had a slightly prominent, sharp nose and her skin was very pale where it wasn’t pink from exercise. Small breasts made their points through the stretchy black vest and her chest glistened with that sweat I had daydreamed about.

The most striking thing, though, was she was very muscular. Biceps like avocados, neck muscles that were unnecessarily pronounced. I tried to stop myself looking at her crotch, but she was absorbed in her potential injuries, so I had a second to check out that crucial fork in the road. And her legs were like shapely logs. This girl took her training seriously.

I helped her over to the bench and took a bottle of water from the little backpack I wore on these runs. There was a tube of arnica cream I had forgotten about, so I passed it to her and she grunted her thanks. I’m not sure if it was the right thing to put on a pulled muscle, but arnica is supposed to some kind of wonder herb, and anyway, it helped psychologically to put something on the place where you’re hurt, like your Mum used to. I fancied I could see such a thought flicker across the girl’s face too.

“I’m Vic,” I said, offering my hand.

“Irina,” she said, shaking it firmly.

“You Austrian?” I asked.

“German,” she said. “Training here for a month, just to get out of Berlin.”

We exchanged some chit chat for a minute or two while I wondered if she would think I was prying.

“What are you training for?” I asked eventually.

“A fight,” she said reluctantly. “I’m a boxer.”

“Wow,” I said involuntarily.

“Wow what?” she threw back.

“I don’t know… never met a boxer before. You do that for a living?”

“Sure,” she said, in that generic American accent that foreigners think is standard English.

“Listen,” she said, standing up. “I should go before my muscles seize up. Thank you for…”

I interrupted her.

“How about dinner tonight?”

She looked at me with surprise and suspicion mingled with a trace of gratitude.

“Okay,” she said. “Sure, why not? But I have to eat early and sleep early.”

“Italian place over there,” I said, gesturing. “Six o’clock.”

“Cool.”

I spent the rest of the day thinking about Irina. Of course she wasn’t scared of accepting a dinner invitation. I like to think I come across as a nice guy, I know for a fact I’m not a danger to women and this one could punch holes in me anyway.

I Googled her and there she was: regional super-middleweight champion. Soon to be fighting for the national title.

Most of the pictures were in fighting gear, with ugly, voluminous male-style shorts and short halter-neck tops, but there were some in feminine attire, slinky dresses, and her face, as I already knew, didn’t look like it had been knocked around.

Somehow I couldn’t shake off the idea that it wasn’t really her.

The other thing I couldn’t shake was the feeling that a sizeable proportion of top sportswomen are lesbians. And boxing is not a dainty sport. That’s not being judgmental, just realistic. And so what if she was, anyway? Irina was a good-looking girl and I felt comfortable with her - comfortable enough to have asked her out on the spur of the moment. I could just enjoy her company without thinking I might get lucky later.

But of course I was hoping to go to bed with her later. Maybe not that night but soon. I don’t think I’m breaking any new ground if I admit I would like to have sex with any girl I ask out. It’s natural.

I got to the restaurant five minutes early and she was five minutes late. We had a nice table in the window, so we could watch the world go by. Irina drank only white wine, and this restaurant had some good ones. We shared a bottle of Orvieto.

She was from a working-class background. Her father was a bus driver and her mother a nursing assistant. Boxing was a way out of her small town, an opportunity to make some money once she had discovered she could handle herself in the school playground. It wasn’t a big deal to her. She had been doing it for nearly five years.

I steered clear of the stuff I had been thinking about and we talked about sport, films, food, families – all the normal stuff.

At nine o’clock she said she had to go and I wondered if it was too soon to suggest she came to my hotel.

“I’ll walk you home,” I said.

“A chentleman,” she said. “It’s chust around the corner.”

In fact, her hotel was in the same street as mine, and when I went to shake her hand and say goodnight she held onto me and said, "You can come up if you like. My manager and his wife had to go back today. So I’ll be home and out of harm’s way. Won’t I?”

I smiled, putting just a touch of enigmatic into the openness.

Up in her room, she put some music on her iPod through a little Bose speaker and we sat together on the settee, drinking water.

She was wearing a little blue off-the-shoulder dress that showed off her sexy shoulders – you could say powerful shoulders, but she was still a woman and I was still concentrating on that.

At one point it went quiet and she was looking into my eyes. I put my arm around her, leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She kissed me back and soon we were in a big embrace. I slid my hand into her neckline and found she wasn’t wearing a bra. I pulled the dress down a little and kissed her nipples. She pulled it down further to give me full access.

Her breasts were small but shapely and firm and she loved having them sucked. As I adored them with my lips and tongue her hand strayed to my trousers and she squeezed my cock and balls, then rearranged herself and me so she could unzip my trousers.

Having pulled my very aroused cock out, she leaned down and gave it a little kiss before standing up and pulling her dress over her head. All that remained was a black thong as she placed her crotch in front of my face and rubbed her pubic bone against my face. Then she turned around and did the same with her arse.

I kissed her buttocks and she leaned forward. I took the string between my teeth and pulled the thong out of her crack before using my hands to slide it down and off over her high heels.

She skillfully undid the buttons of my shirt and kissed my chest, then motioned for me to stand up, and removed my trousers and underpants.

I stood tall while she knelt in front of me and gave me a serious blowjob, licking my shaft, sucking my balls and engulfing the head in her highly skilled mouth.

Then she took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom, where she lay face down on the bed and offered me her arse.

“I like to be rimmed,” she said politely.

She had the firmest, most shapely buttocks I had ever seen or felt and soon I was between them, licking her arse.

“Oh God yes,” she said, trembling. “I like that very much. Do you like it?”

“I love it. And I like you very much, Irina,” I said between licks.

“I know,” she replied. “And you’re not scared of me. I like that. Most guys, they might want to fuck this extremely fit girl but they feel threatened. You couldn’t give a fuck. Do you want to get inside me now?”

She didn’t change position, so I mounted her doggie style and plunged into her wonderful, welcoming depths. She wriggled a little and reached around to hold my balls.

“I want you to cum in my mouth,” she instructed. “So save it for me, huh?”

Being balls deep in the wonderful cunt of a very sexy woman, I couldn’t guarantee anything, so I grunted noncommittally. But when I thought about it, she wasn’t placing any killjoy restriction on our activities. She was offering what you have to beg for most of the time.

Maybe it was my imagination, but even her hole seemed to be fitter than any other it had ever been my pleasure to visit. Her vaginal walls were sucking and caressing my cock like muscular, lubricated, warm electric velvet.

We slid back and forth in a deeply sensuous rhythm as I fought the urge to cum.

She was sensitive to it, though, and when she perhaps felt me losing a little bit of control, she said, “Okay,” and pulled me on top of her as she slipped deftly onto her back. She kind of lifted me up her body until she could reach my cock with her mouth, then raised her head and took it in.

With a couple of quick, firm pumps she took me over the edge and I found myself cumming in the mouth of a wonderful woman who happened to be a successful European female boxer.

Afterwards, she lay in my arms, soft and feminine and trusting, and we made love again twice before falling asleep, only to wake at three in the morning for round four.

Irina stayed in Salzburg another week and when her manager and his wife returned I was introduced in German, so I couldn’t tell what she described me as, but they all laughed. I didn’t try to compete with her in the park, but we met each evening and as long as she was in bed by nine, the team didn’t seem to mind that I was in bed with her.

And boy, I was fitter when she left than when I had arrived. A bit sore, a bit ragged around the edges but in a dreamy, blissful state as Irina milked me every night and loved me every day.