The story of Al becoming Alistaire was such a big hit, I decided to go ahead and write a sequel series with all the ideas I had but never used in the original. These tales will be a little more disjointed, and jumbled up chronologically. Please understand that a few things in the early parts of each entry in this second series may overlap each other, the endings are arranged chronologically.
I'd like to make a special shout out to the readers and commenters who responded so wonderfully to Alistaire's first cycle. His further adventures are dedicated to you.
This entry is a little different, but hey, you have to have one of these in a hung nerd harem series, right?
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THE ONE WITH POPPY'S MOM
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As the final week of Track practices and meets ran along, I found myself dropping by the tennis courts almost every day on the way up to the track. I was very much wanting to see Poppy in her tennis outfits, and wanting to be seen by her as I cheered her. By the end of the week, she had definitely noticed that I was around an awful lot all of a sudden, and mostly around her. This resulted in us meeting and talking in the halls a good bit too.
We had even met up and I had sat with her in the Tuck one night, just the two of us. That had been going well until my boys Ben, Tres, and Alex all rolled in and sat down with us, driving Poppy away. On the plus side, she was happy to talk to me, but not them...
But there was definitely a problem. She wasn't... I mean... Look, I'll just say it. Poppy seemed disinclined to just fall on my penis as soon as she realized that I was interested in her.
Yeah.
I have become a very, very, spoiled little boy. It is ridiculous, I know.
Grumpy as I sound, the news was not all bad. I had known Poppy since freshman year. We had been in a shitload of classes together, especially English. I had had to endure reading a ton of her essays that were often... let's just say they were better than mine, okay? She had never looked right through me like most girls, but she did mostly treat me as a fixture on the wall. The good news was that this Spring, after a couple of weeks paying as much attention to her as I could randomly achieve, she did appear to at least be dimly aware that I was in fact a human. I think she even surmised that I was the kind of human most likely to have a penis.
But she showed no signs of succumbing to that dude Alistaire's intense gaze or anything. I was beginning to worry whether I had time enough left in the year to manage to be with this gorgeous creature, with her long black ponytail that she always had up hanging over the back of a tennis visor.
But I wasn't going to give up. It was fun, and Poppy was fun to both listen to and look at.
So I kept putting in appearances at the tennis courts. Almost every day, I would find time to swing by on the way up to run—usually for not more than ten minutes, sometimes less, sometimes a little more. And I tried not to watch just her. I like to encourage anyone who is being competitive. Moreover, I thought it was important to not seem like I was overtly stalking her. And it wasn't like there were not other cute girls on the team...
When Poppy's mom was not feeding balls for practice, I'd usually chat with her. She almost always had her eye on Poppy, of course. And frankly, when I was there and couldn't see Poppy at the moment, her mother was a pretty damned gratifying substitute.
The problem with that was that it was a lot more problematic. When we were talking, she was right next to me. That made it hard to hide that I was staring at her, though I tried. It was a unique opportunity to use the skills I had perfected before this spring, such as checking out girls without being caught. But that was much more difficult since the last two months of events had kicked off—my body had begun to train itself to be anything other than restrained when staring at a beautiful girl or, in this case, beautiful woman.
Beth called it 'eye-fucking her', and it usually resulted, with her and with other girls I was interested in, in my actually fucking her. So eye-fucking Poppy's mom seemed just a bit fraught. Worse, while eye-fucking Poppy didn't seem to creep her out, neither did it make her want to jump my bones.
It all made my bone very frustrated.
All this led to me being pretty sure I was busted on the mom-ogling front. Poppy's mom had shown up in a new tennis outfit that she must have just bought. She usually sported these really hot little outfits with tight, short-sleeved tops that she wore with the collar popped up, and short skirts that were pleated and flared. It was pretty much the same style of outfit that Poppy herself wore for practices, and in them, each was lucky to look as good as the other.
But this new tennis dress was... It was the super form-fitting type you see on the professional tennis tour these days, usually being worn by a Russian with more curves than talent, and it fit her body like a glove. It was the kind of outfit that has a low, scooped neckline that both shows some cleavage and lets you get a good look at the underlying sports bra, in its coordinating color. The skirt was tight and flat against her thighs, and short enough that all she had to do was bend her knees to feed a ball and everybody could glimpse panties in that same, coordinating color as the bra. When I saw it, I immediately looked for Poppy. I'd have killed to see her in that dress. Alas, she had just a usual, run of the mill, super hot outfit on. It was a downer.
It also meant that even with Poppy right in front of me, I was sneaking way too many glances at her mother. At one point, I was tracing her curves with my eyes as she stood beside me, and as I went upward, I found her eyes looking back at me, instead of the court.
I swear, she just turned her shoulders right and then left, drawing my eyes right back down, involuntarily to her tits. Like I said—probably busted.
"Well, I gotta go," I said hastily. "Time for practice, and I think I see some friends going up now," I added, pointing past her as if that was where I had been looking. I caught Poppy's eye and waved, then jogged away up the hill hastily. I could hear Poppy's mom laugh as I ran off.
Probably busted... right?
*
And then, something unexpected happened.
I saw Carla walking in the hall ahead of me after the last of the only two classes I had that day. After the AP tests, the classes preparing for them were dismissed for the reminder of the year. This really was the home stretch for those of us Seniors who took mostly AP courses. I ran and caught up with her.
"Well, hello there," I said, in my best Joey Tribbiani. "How you doin'?"
Carla laughed, like she usually does, but not as long as she usually does. And definitely not as lasciviously as she normally does when I say that. I was pretty much asking if she wanted to sneak off somewhere and horse around a little.
"Hey, Alistaire," Carla said. "Um, can we talk?"
I was, of course, aware of the meme that 'can we talk' is never good news. But, since I had never had the phrase directed at
me
before, my antennae did not shoot up like they ought to have.
"Sure, what's up?" I asked, casually sauntering along, waving back at a girl who waved at me. Jeez, what was she, a Sophomore? Yikes.
"Hey, I don't know if you know, but Ron Brookwood asked me out."
"Cool. He passes the chill test," I said. Ron actually was more than just chill in my book. He wasn't a friend, but his behavior toward me the last three years had him in my good graces. I immediately hoped he and Carla would hit it off.
"Yeah..." Carla said, trailing off uncertainly.
"Not sure where it is going?" I asked, interested and utterly oblivious.
"Um, I'm not sure where it is going, or how far, or when..." Carla said, a little tartly.
"Well, we all scatter to the four winds in a couple of weeks," I observed, though it was a subject we all tended to avoid. This was all going to end soon. I don't mean just my sex-drenched Spring with all sorts of girls, but my four years at this amazing, I begrudgingly admitted, school. "You might want to get on that while you can."
