Cheryl has explained that the accident wasn't her fault. She was quite insistent on it, as a matter of fact and, to be honest, she had a point. She also had a delectable little bottom, which was the cause of the immediate problem.
We had all been boarding the buses, heading off to Lawndale for the big match, a match that we were red hot favourites to win. Cheryl was boarding the bus and it seems that Chris, our star quarterback, found that delectable little bottom too much of a temptation. He goosed her.
Cheryl screamed and slapped at the hand poking at her anatomy. She should have used that hand to hold the handrail while she got on. She slipped and fell backwards. Ever the hero (or possibly hoping for a free feel), Chris tried to catch her.
I guess you could say that he broke her fall, after a fashion. He slipped and went down as well, holding onto Cheryl. She landed on him and no harm done. To her. Chris had a broken wrist.
Our star quarterback was out of the game and our reserve quarterback was not nearly as good. What should have been an easy win now looked as though it would be a tough match, although still one that we should win.
The odd thing about the incident was that Chris seemed to find the whole affair amusing.
"Just what is so funny, Chris?" one of the guys asked him.
"Oh, it's just that I have a bet riding on this game and I'm probably going to lose it."
"You're not allowed to bet on the games and what's so funny about losing your money."
"Who said anything about money?" said Chris. "Let's just say that this was a non-monetary stake. More of a dare, really. Not that I'll be in a condition to collect even if we do win."
Apart from that Chris wouldn't discuss the bet, turning the conversation back to the game and the strategy the team would use, especially as it would have to be modified due to Chris not playing.
After a while the team and supporters were all on board the buses, bar Chris, who had been carted away to get his wrist plastered. One of the teachers volunteered to stay with Chris and drive him to the game afterwards, Chris being insistent that he not miss it. The team headed off to Lawndale, checked in at the motel and went out for dinner. Everything was normal.
The game went ahead and Carlos, our reserve quarterback, starred.
For the first quarter.
The second quarter he was tired. The third quarter he was missing in action, a totally useless prick. For the last quarter the coach swung in an emergency to quarterback and he did a reasonable job.
Quite frankly, the writing was on the wall at half time. We were leading but not by much. Chris, who had managed to make it to the game, said something rude about wannabe's who can't, complained that his wrist was worse than he thought, and went back to the motel to rest. Oddly enough he still seemed amused at the fact that we were going to lose.
We lost and quite badly at the end. Cheryl copped some stick but, as she said, it wasn't her fault. We were rather a despondent group when we went back to the motel.
Back at the motel the manager was waiting for us with a message of the good news/bad news type. He was extremely apologetic but, not to put too fine a point on it, he'd stuffed up. He was double booked. He was terribly sorry and all that, but some of us had to change quarters.
We asked why the newcomers couldn't take the rooms he wanted to stuff us in and he explained. The only room left was their deluxe suite. It could sleep four of us with no problems, but it would have to be four people from a group. Not two couples who didn't know each other. The deluxe suite would be ours at no additional cost.
There promptly arose a debate as to who should get the luxury suite, but the manager hushed us up. It seems that a certain gentleman by the name of Chris had been there when he found out the problem. He had promptly offered to help and had picked four young ladies to take the deluxe suite. These four ladies turned out to be Cheryl, Marie, Simone and myself. (I'm Wendy by the way.) Our things had already been moved in.
Rather high-handed of Chris was the general attitude, but the four of us didn't mind. He was just doing his best to help out in an awkward situation. We happily retired to our luxury suite. Once there, it seemed only fair and reasonable that we relax in the spa bath. A fitting end to a trying day.
After the spa we put on our nightwear and the telly. Checking out the fridge revealed a nice little assortment of goodies which we promptly raided. We sat around nattering, watching the telly and nibbling on the goodies, in no particular hurry to go to bed.
It was reasonably late, and we were thinking of retiring, when the door to the suite opened and four men trooped in, locking the door behind them. We were all excited squeals and protests and the guy in the front held up his hands to quieten us down.
"Listen," he said, "and I'll explain. About a month ago a young man who you may know was visiting our fair city. We were having a friendly drink in a hotel when he came waltzing in, spotted us and joined us. Uninvited, I might add. He mentioned that today's game was coming up, boasting about how his team was going to beat us. He was the greatest he told us, a natural born raider and pillager. When he came to town he was going to fuck us on the field and, after that, he was going to chase down our cheerleaders and fuck them, too, not wanting them to miss out on all the fucking he was going to do.
Now you understand how it is. We couldn't take that sort of challenge lying down. We flatly told us to put his money where his mouth was. He just laughed at us and said we couldn't afford to lose the money he'd take from us but, fortunately for us, his coach strictly forbade gambling on the results of matches.
I suggested a non-cash wager. Would he be interested in something like that?
Could be, he told us, and asked what we had in mind.
Well, I said, you seem to be the horny type. If you win, you and some of your mates can screw out cheerleaders. We'd even help line them up for him. If you lose, we get a free go at your cheerleaders. You can line some up for us.
We agreed on four girls being served up and here you are."
"Did it occur to you that the cheerleaders may not be agreeable?" asked Simone. You could hear the sarcasm dripping off her voice.
"Well, we did consider that, but your boy said who cares. We're all raiders. The girls are just girls and natural targets for us. Willing or un, they get fucked. Gambling debts must be paid.
