Ron Taylor: High school hot pants

"Yeah," I agreed. "You know, Rocky, I was thinking about trying out for the girls' varsity team myself. I figure that, as tall as I am, it's just going to waste and I might as well do something with it. You know?"

The syntax was pretty garbled, but he seemed to understand. "Basketball's a great sport," he told me. "You'll like it. There aren't many girls in school as tall as you are, so they oughta be glad to have you on the team."

At least with Rocky I didn't have to stoop and hunch my shoulders to appear shorter than I was. He had been six-one at the start of eighth grade, when the junior high coach discovered him, and now, almost two years later, he had a head start on seven feet. "Hey," I said, looking up, "how about letting me try my stuff with you, huh? You can tell me where I need to improve. Okay?"

He didn't have a chance to say no, because I'd already opened up the gate and was coming onto the court with him. Rocky just shrugged and grinned and tossed me the ball. I stood holding it, trying to remember how in the hell you go about dribbling the thing in the first place. I'd only played the game in gym class, and most of my effort consisted of running around, blocking shots, and yelling a hell of a lot. The teacher thought it was great team spirit and gave me B-pluses every six weeks.

My dribbling was pretty rotten but I managed to get within a fair distance of the hoop, and I dodged him as I made my shot. Not good, but not that bad. Almost sank it. Rocky caught the ball as it bounced back, and he started showing off for me, circling round and round as he dribbled and faked. I pretended to be eagerly looking for an advantage, and the pretense worked well enough. Besides, guys like to strut for girls and hear the kind of admiring oohs and ahhs I was dishing out for his benefit.

"Wow, you're good!" I gushed, reaching futilely to steal the ball from him. "I better forget about trying out for the team."

He leaped high, swishing the ball through the basket, and this time he wasn't fast enough. When it fell through I was waiting, and I got that motherfucker, and I bounced it on the floor three or four times, watching him like a snake and mentally weighing my chances of sinking one.

Rocky paced around me as I turned this way and that, seeking a free spot to shoot, and he said, "Get you on a holding foul."

"Sure," I laughed back, jumping high into the air and aiming that ball at the hoop with all my might. Rocky jumped with me, hoping to block the shot, but he was a fraction of a second too late and instead of retrieving the ball, his hands landed on me.

It was only an accident that he grabbed me by the tit. His hands should have lit on my shoulders, but I moved back just as he touched me, and his fingers slid downward, until my boobs proved that nothing is unstoppable. My eyes met his as he clung with sudden interest to my titties, and I saw clearly that he enjoyed feeling me. The ball swished through the hoop and bounced onto the floor behind him, but he didn't move to catch it and carry on with the game. Instead, the two of us stood there, staring at one another, both of us kinda racking on our soles, and he rubbed his palms across the swells of my tits. He had to know they weren't basketballs, especially when my nipples sprang up hard and hot to punch through the fabric of my T-shirt and tickle his hands.

"Get you with a holding foul," I said, trying to sound chirpy and flirty, but my throat was suddenly very dry and my boobs felt very hard, like heavy weights on my chest. My heart was pumping faster and faster, and I know how red my face must have been. "Mmm," I said, leaning toward him, pressing so that my tits thrust insistently at his caressing hands, "if you're gonna feel me up, you might as well kiss me, too."

When our lips met I pound my loins against him. His crotch touched me just above my own, and the more I rubbed myself on Rocky, the better I felt about the way today was turning out. Life flowed into his cock in discernible spurts and shudders, and I clung to him as I felt that life become a raging hard-on. Well, I thought, Jill wasn't the only girl around who had her shit together. I seemed capable of doing it, too.

"Gee, Rocky," I said finally, "you don't know how long I've wanted to do that."

"Yeah, Didi," he sighed, his lips still wet from the hungry caress of mine, "and, uh, say – are you dating anybody now?"

I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged his chest. "No," I purred, "not really." I looked up, starry-eyed. "Is that en invitation, maybe?"

"What a swell day it's been, what a swell mood I'm in," I sang as I fluttered around the bedroom getting ready. I'd showered, and I'd reshaved my legs and underarms just in case and I'd sprinkled talcum powder at the juncture of my thighs to keep me from sweating too much. At the moment all I had on were my panties, the lime green ones, with white lace trimming. They're not cute, as cute goes – not like the white ones with the big cherry on the crotch or the yellow pair adorned with smile faces – but I thought they would be more suitable for this evening. And what an evening it was going to be! Maybe Rocky Graham wasn't the guy I'd have chosen to bust me, if I'd had a full field to pick from, but he was handy when I made the decision to be busted and I knew he was gonna work out just fine for me. I could still feel the hot throbbing life force shooting through his cock as we hugged and rubbed bellies on the basketball court, and I knew that tonight would bring me a lot more than hugging and belly rubbing.

"Didi," Mom called from, outside my room, "Rocky's here."

"Okay," I said. "Tell him I'll be down in just a minute." It was time to get dressed. But which outfit should I don for this night of all nights? A pantsuit seemed a little too cumbersome. An ankle-length granny might discourage him from trying anything. It should be the mini, definitely.

Minis are out now, or so all the faggot designers tell us. Thank God Albany is a smallish town! Nobody worries much about, styles and trends here, so you can wear what you want. Besides, I have pretty good legs, and they look nice in a miniskirt. If I was short and dumpy, I'd probably hate them like all shod, dumpy women. So I picked up the mini and went to my mirror.

Oh, you look great, Didi! I told myself, blowing a kiss at the girl I reflected. Like I said, I'm not a raving beauty. Photographers aren't breaking down my door, you know, but I'm not bad. Tall, like I said, with very long legs that curve in all the right places and look sexy even without stockings. Or so Jill says. My face is a little chubby, mostly in the cheeks, so I keep my hair cut in a shag which frames me like a raven-dark helmet. My eyes are large and my mouth is wide. Someday I'll probably have a double chin, and maybe sooner than I want it. But my neck is longish, and that helps.

I did a couple of turns before I dressed, eyeing myself from front, side and rear. Oh, the tits were fine. Rocky hadn't had any complaints when he was holding them this afternoon. They seemed to fit his hands perfectly. My bra size is 34-B, which isn't really big in view of my height, and I hope the nipples always tilt up at the same perky angle. I rubbed the nips then, using a thumb and finger to squeeze and fondle each of them so that they'd be up good and hard the first time Rocky pulled me against him for a hot, soul-exploring kiss. MMM! Just right! My nips are a pastel shade which fluctuates between pinkish and very light lavender depending on how excitement-flushed my titties are, and right now they were about as lavender as they ever get. A very good sign.

I rubbed my tummy, too, proud of how flat it was, and I let my hand slide down across the crotch of my lime panties. Definitely a quiver of response from inside. Yep, my pussy had punched in. All systems were go. I stroked the cheeks of my ass through the nylon panties, too, and I did a special profile shot so I could appreciate and get confidence from the delicious way my butt sticks out. Just like a tautly-drawn bow, I thought, but it should be so much more rewarding. Rocky wouldn't have any reason to kick himself in the ass for dating me, I told myself, and neither should I. This was gonna be a night to remember.