"Off you go then, dear - make sure she gets this right away."
After picking up the drink, I make my way back to the gym, now empty of students. Coach is waiting for me at her office door.
"Took you long enough," she carps, snatching the drink and envelope with one hand and thrusting a bundle of loose sheets at me with the other.
"Get these stats in the database and if anybody's looking for me I'm not here, right?"
"Right, coach. On it," I answer as she goes through the office door without hearing me and kicks it closed.
I go to the small desk just outside her window and boot up the old desktop I get to use. As I wait, I lean to the window and peer in where the closed blinds don't quite reach the edge. I can see coach as she drops the envelope on her desk, takes a long pull of soda, then sets it down, too. Her back to me, she pulls her polo top off, muscles rippling with her motion. She turns back and stares down at the envelope. She plays her fingers across her flat stomach just above her running shorts, then drags them up over her sharp abs to her breasts, small like mine, and plucks at her tight nipples, twisting and pulling. She stops abruptly and picks up the envelope, rips it open, then pauses to peer inside. Her mouth curves up in a smile, as she dips in a hand and slowly draws out a crumpled pair of lacy pale blue panties. Dropping the envelope, she brings the silks to her nose with both hands and I can see her chest swell as she inhales deeply. Still holding them to her face, she goes into her private shower room at the back of the office and elbows the door closed.
I know I have twenty minutes or more to myself now. I dig in my bag and pull out the lanyard and key hidden in a small pocket. It is a master key to all the lockers. Only coach is supposed to have it, so she can check for contraband twice a month, but that would be a pain in her ass, so she leaves it to me instead. Jumping up, I cross the room to Varsity Corner, where the team stars have their own over-sized lockers and more private showers than in the big bay where the mere mortals bathe after gym.
I move down the aisle to the sixth in, labeled 'Jill Jacobs' in bold caps. Captain of the hockey team and cheer squad, Jill Jacobs. Sure to be Prom Queen, Jill Jacobs. Girlfriend of our all state star quarterback, Jill Jacobs. Girl with a big secret, Jill Jacobs.
I slide in the key and open the door. There are sweats neatly folded on the bottom shelf. The top is crowded with fancy soaps and deodorants and the rest of her daily ordeal. Her everyday workout clothes are hanging from hooks along the back wall. I reach in and take down her top. Like the coach, I bring it to my nose and breathe in the rich, intoxicating mixture of sweat and scent and perfume. But that is not my query and I hang it back up. I turn to the door where a large picture of Troy Kelly, resplendent in his football gear, is taped. He looks like every other grinning, moneyed, blond athlete looks: handsome, arrogant, and vapid. But he is not the object of my desire, either. I flick at the bottom edge of the picture and lift it up, carefully tucking a corner into the vent slot to hold it out of the way, revealing what is taped beneath. This is what I am here to see, to feast on.
It is a color picture, a very good print of a cell phone snap. It shows a girl, filling the frame, who is lying nude on a bed, propped up by frilly pillows. Looking at the girl, it is obvious this is not her bed. She is sharp and tough, with tats and piercings and a demi-dyke haircut dyed bright magenta at the tips. I know her. Everyone at school knows her. She is Billy Bad. At least that is what she insists we call her and she is quite willing to emphasize the demand with her fists. Her real name is Williamina Balch and she grew up a few doors down from me. I stare at the picture and press my cunny through my thin shorts.
This is not the girl I used to play dolls with. She is staring out with lust-filled, half closed eyes, her tongue licking her top lip. Between her full breasts there is a tattoo of a rose the same color as her dark red nipples, fat with arousal. There is a small jagged scar on her flat belly, a reminder of her breakup with the seriously crazy Kat James. Below, her legs are wantonly spread, her hands framing her cunt. Her fingers are pulling back the jet black curls that edge her fat lips, opened wide to expose her wet, engorged inner folds. Her thumbs have unhooded her large, thick clit, its glistening pearl head resting like a jewel above the coral pink.
My hand is on my cunt now and I can feel my moisture flowing. I slide a finger down, spreading my lips, and hook it in, thinking it is her hand stroking in and out. I draw it back and bathe my clit with my wetness and feel her tongue instead, swirling over its tender face. I feel her hands in my hair, drawing me down.
"Taste me, Kis, lick me. Suck my clit, baby, fuck me with your tongue. Make me cum, Kis, make me. . ."
"Well, someone's having fun. . ."
