Don Keye: Sexual Free-For-All

Bert Ellis was daydreaming again. His gaze was softly focused on the figure of Carole van der Hoff as she jumped and gyrated at cheerleader practice. Bert couldn't hear the cheers extolling the virtues of fighting for good old Walter Williams Memorial High School, but he had a great view of the incredibly sexy girl. Her blonde hair rocketed up and gently floated down with every graceful leap; Bert imagined those Delft china-blue eyes fastened on him, lustful and wanton. Her firm, young tits barely swayed or bounced. That was good. Bert didn't like big floppy boobs.

At least, he didn't think he did. He wasn't sure what he really liked in a woman. He had lots of fantasies-Carole's seduction being the primary one in his head right now-but damn little experience. Ji pressed on the issue, Bert would have to admit to no experience at all. He was a virgin. The heartening words of some sage kept coming back to his dream-filled existence. "Virginity is a curable perversion." He wanted to be cured in the worst way. The only trouble was, he didn't know how to go about it.

He wasn't ugly or even very pimply-faced. While he wasn't the athlete his friend Cruncher Hiatt was, he was not the ninety-eight pound weakling in the "before" pictures in all the magazines. He just didn't know how to go about getting a girl to jump into bed with him.

But he had plans. There was a city-wide photo contest. The first prize wasn't much, but a national magazine would print the winning photograph. Bert was one hell of a photographer and he saw this as the solution to a lot of his problems. If he could convince Carole she should pose for him, and he won the contest, he'd be famous and she'd be famous. She would have him, Bert Ellis, to thank for the launching of a long and profitable modeling career.

And she could thank him with that gorgeous body of hers. His eyes never left Carole's dancing, twirling, trim figure. The tight crimson sweater offset the cascade of blonde hair nicely, Bert thought. And the pleated white dress that came to mid-thigh swirled and revealed those fine, slender, shapely legs and pert, tight ass so nicely. He could watch her all day, even if it made him uncomfortable.

His erection strained against his blue jeans and bulged ominously. He hoped that old battleaxe Mrs. Entwhistle didn't call on him. It would be excruciatingly embarrassing to have to stand up in front of the class with that tell-tale tenting in his pants.

Luckily, Bert escaped the class without having to be put on exhibit When the bell rang to signal the end of class, the last clang had barely died by the time Bert was outside the building and running pell-mell through the milling students over to where Carole and the other four cheerleaders practiced. He cast quick, covetous glances at the others. He had heard lots of things about them from Cruncher. Cruncher claims to have made it with all the cheerleaders except Carole.

Judy was short, brunette and had a gymnast's body. Every curve and contour was just right for the maximum turn-on. Laura was very short, at least six inches shorter than Bert's five foot eight, but she made up for her height in sheer sexiness. If there was such a thing as sex density, Laura would be one of the heaviest girls in the world. Bert would have made a play for her, except he'd have to wait in line forever. There wasn't another guy in school who wasn't drooling and panting after Laura. Red-haired Consuela was too tall for him, and that made him a bit uneasy. Of all the cheerleaders, Bert knew he'd probably have the best chance with Consuela because she earned some money doing modeling after school and on weekends. His come-on would be perfect for her. But her height…

Then there was Lynn. Straight black hair, a fairly good body and great legs. Bert could barely drag his eyes away from those milky pillars that tantalizingly disappeared up under her skirt into that mysterious land between her legs.

But Bert focused all his attentions on the blonde Carole. He thought if he even said hello to any of the others, he'd lose that momentum, that carefully nurtured nerve he had built up to ask Carole to pose for him.

He wished it could be in the nude, but he knew he had better not spring anything like that on her. He'd just ask to shoot some pictures of her in an artsy-crafty motif, possibly out in the woods. Maybe she'd be so grateful for the chance to pose for a real live photographer, he could fuck her right then and there and wouldn't even have to win the contest.

Almost out of breath, he came skidding up to a halt in front of Carole. "Gee, hi, Carole!" he blurted.

"Hello." Her voice dripped chilled water and turned to icicles in front of his very eyes.

"Uh, Carole, you know that picture contest? I'd sure like to have you pose for some pictures, and I'm sure we could win, I mean the picture would win and you'd have national publicity and I'd win the…" His voice trailed off as he saw her looking over his shoulder, not paying the least bit of attention to him, "Excuse me, Bert. Hi, Tony!" She raced over to Tony diMaria, the suave, handsome student body president. They went off together, his arm around her waist and Carole snuggling close to him.

Bert watched dejectedly as they disappeared in the direction of the A W stand. That should have been him instead of Tony going with Carole to get a couple root beers. He'd have to think of some other tactic to get her to agree. Maybe if he went over to her house later in the afternoon, he could talk to her.

That was it. She just didn't want to seem too eager in front of the other cheerleaders. Bert was positive he could talk her into posing for him if he could see her privately. With his great photographic ability and her even better figure, he couldn't lose. He was sure.

He slowly made his way to Carole's house, waiting long enough to insure that she'd be home. He wasn't quite sure what to say now that his first request had been put aside so easily by the gorgeous, flaxen-haired girl. He squared his shoulders and marched up the green bisque tile walk to the front door.

He punched the doorbell fiercely as if he could drive out all his fears this way and, in what seemed an eternity, the portal finally swung open. It was Carole's mother. Bert gulped once as he looked at the woman. He was always amazed at how much she looked like her daughter. The same platinum blonde hair, slightly taller and fuller of figure, but that only made her look more mature. To be Carole's mother, Robin van der Hoff didn't look old at all. Certainly not thirty-nine years old.

"Hello, Bert," her voice was so soft and smooth it seemed to reach out and gently caress the young photographer. He couldn't help but eye her in appreciation. She was wearing a softly flowing, diaphanous dressing gown. Her figure was totally hidden, but the draft from the open door pressed the filmy green material back against her. Robin looked like one of those models, posing for a lingerie ad, that Bert never failed to get a hard-on looking at.

"Uh, hi, Mrs. van der Hoff. Is Carole in? I'd like to talk to her."

"Come on in and I'll get her." Bert couldn't keep his eyes off her as the older woman flowed down the hallway with an elegance and easy grace that even her daughter lacked.

Bert heard Mrs. van der Hoff speaking with Carole. All of the conversation he overheard faded as one segment burned itself into his mind. Carole had said, "That creep? I'm leaving. Tell him I'm not home yet and you don't know when I'll be back."

Robin returned a few minutes later to find Bert sitting numbly in an overstuffed chair staring out into the backyard, watching crisp gold, yellow, and orange leaves fall from the deciduous trees to form a gentle, multi-hued carpet on the lawn.