The Water Girl

Rose Alliger entered the gymnasium, beaming with a newfound sense of pride. For the first time in her life, she was sexy. Jacopine Mogg had said so.

"Damn, girl. Look at those muscles," Jacopine had said, watching Rose heft the two three-gallon coolers of Gatorade. "Those workouts are paying off. Y'all getting strong and sexy."

Jacopine was the only open lesbian at Oil City Baptist College. She'd had her way with all the prettiest closeted Christian girls, so her pronouncement had an air of authority.

Rose wasn't gay. Nonetheless, she blushed.

All her life, Rose had been the chubby girl, the mousy girl, the "little porker," as Chad Spackler had called her—not to her face, but to a friend. She'd overheard.

That very evening, she'd started tracking calories and working out. She'd kept at it—four months now.

Jacopine was the first to compliment her progress. Being noticed felt good.

Usually, Rose wheeled the Gatorade on a cart. But, tonight, a wheel was broken, so she had to carry the coolers by hand. They were heavy, but she was strong.

It was minutes till tipoff. The bleachers were nearly full. Basketball was big in Oil City. There wasn't much other entertainment in town.

The visiting Slabtown Friars were warming up on the near side of the gym. Rose cut diagonally through them, taking the straightest path to the Big Green bench. Six gallons of inertia rendered her helpless to dodge caroming balls, but she shuffled through unscathed.

At center court, the Big Green cheerleaders were doing backflips, flashing their spankies to the godly crowd.

Autumn Ayr shot Rose a dirty look and backflipped directly into her path.

Rose stopped short. She stumbled and nearly lost her buckets, but she managed to hold on and avoid any spillage. She stiffened with alarm, though, as her pants slipped into a precarious position.

She'd been twenty pounds heavier when she'd bought her Big Green joggers. Now they were loose—the downside to weight loss—and missing their drawcord, which had come unstrung in the laundry.

Rose stood frozen at center court. Silently, she blessed that stubborn, squat-resistant cellulite in her bottom, for, if she'd been even a hair slimmer, her joggers would now be slumped on the hardwood. They were hanging by the friction of her peach fuzz, tag tickling halfway down her crack. The slightest movement could send them tumbling, for all the crowd to see. Worse, she was panty-free—a naughty little habit she'd lately developed. Luckily, her T-shirt was as baggy as her pants, so, for now, she was covered. But she had only millimeters to spare.

Autumn stood cross-armed, head cocked. "What are you looking at?" she asked Rose in her snottiest voice.

Rose flashed to that image, burned into her brain, of Autumn atop Rocky the strength coach atop the treatment table, her tight, tiny ass bouncing on his thick, veiny, monumental cock, somehow—almost impossibly—taking all of him inside her, making rodenty "eep" sounds, with that same insufferable enthusiasm with which she bounced around on the sidelines leading cheers.

"A two-timing fake-Christian harlot," Rose answered.

"At least I had Chad Spackler. Something you'll never have," said Autumn, with a flip of her curly brown hair. "He doesn't like chubby piglets. Especially ones who tattle on their friends."

"I'm not chubby anymore." Rose glanced over at the home team bench, where Chad sat in his street clothes, cast on his foot, frowning back at her and Autumn. "And Chad missed his chance. I'm not interested in your sloppy seconds." She added, after a pause, "Oh, and you were never my friend."

Whistles blew. The sound of squeaking sneakers and bouncing balls died away. Players bustled back their benches. The game was about to begin.

Autumn wrinkled her nose, let out a final "hmmph," and bounded off with the other cheerleaders to the sideline.

The crowd had gone quiet. The house lights went dim. The spotlights came on. The announcer was announcing. Rose was alone at center court.

She could gingerly set down the coolers, make a quick grab, and yank up her pants. But a strange daredevil spirit overcame her.

She pressed ahead. One step and ... foomph! Down went her pants. Down to her ankles. She was pantsless in the spotlight. Full pussy. Full ass. Two thousand Baptists gasped. And a few dozen Catholics.

Slowly, she set down her coolers, bent forward, and showed Chad, Autumn, and all those good Christians what she thought of them.