I was late getting back to the change-room after cheerleader practice. It was Brad's fault. Ever since I turned eighteen he's been leaning on me to go to bed with him. He can't seem to get it through his thick skull that when I say no I mean no, I'm not going to fucking sleep with you.
He's all, but you're my girlfriend (which is just his opinion) and I'm of age (I know that. It was my birthday that marked the date) and he's such a manly hunk that I should be flattered that he wants to fuck me. Give me a break. From what I've seen every male over the age of puberty wants to get into a girl's pants. Are all girls supposed to be supremely flattered because a satyr thinks they're fuckable? I don't think so.
Anyway, he bailed me up after practice, trying to talk me into going out with him. He's got access to his father's car, he assured me. An excellent reason not to go out with him, in my opinion. He drives like a maniac, and I suspect that his driving would be the least of my worries.
I managed to cool him off but boy, he's pushing the limit. One of these days I'm going to stop being nice and give it to him between the eyes. Probably with a baseball bat, as I suspect that will be the only way to get his attention higher than his groin.
When I finally got to the change-rooms they were empty, everyone having already showered and gone. That meant I could take my time under the shower, anyway, not having to rush to let the next girl in. Strolling down to my locker I stopped at one of the columns in the room.
At some stage the school lashed out and put full length mirrors on the columns in our change-room. A good thing, too, as trying to check your appearance on a small mirror tacked to the wall doesn't do much good. I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to see why the boys went all ga-ga and lusty.
I'm of medium height, athletic, and reasonable looking, which is pretty much true for all of the cheerleaders. You have to be to make the team. I have nice blonde hair. An ash-blonde, not platinum-blonde, which I'd prefer, but I'm satisfied. It's only shoulder length, but that's because of the cheerleading. Really long hair would get in the way when you're doing some of our routines.
My bust was respectable. Not oversize, like the udders on a cow like some people I could name, but nice C cups. No sag to them, either. Feeling irritated I hauled my top and bra up over them, letting them stand free. OK, so I thought they looked good but not that marvellous that boys would want to grab hold of them all the time. That was my opinion. In my experience, boys thought otherwise. Real hand magnets those things and a girl had to step lively at times.
Fuck it, I thought. There's no-one around and if I'm looking at myself I might as well look. I dropped my modesty shorts and panties and lifted my skirt, looking at myself and wondering what the attraction was to men. I was clean-shaven, but that was a matter of hygiene and personal preference, not because some boy preferred me that way. Why men always look there is beyond me. If they want to see what a vagina looks like just go on the internet. Vaginas galore over there. But no, they want to see one up close and personal. Fine, as long as it's not mine.
"Damned if I can see what the fuss is about," I grumbled, running my eyes up and down my figure.
"That's because you're looking with the wrong sort of eyes," a deep voice said, giving me an instant heart attack.
I just froze in place, unable to credit that there was a man in the room. He moved up behind me, a big man in a security uniform. He was also running his eyes over my figure and from the look on his face he very much appreciated what he was seeing. I gave a horrified squeak and dropped the hem of my skirt, hand flying up to cover my breasts.
"I was under the impression that all the cheerleaders had gone," the security man told me. "I was just doing my rounds and thought I heard a noise."
"Go away," I managed to say, and he laughed.
"In a moment. My name's A. A. Connor. Everyone calls me Connor."
"Ah, why not by your first name?" Stupid question. I didn't care why not. I just wanted him to be gone.
"My middle name is Aloysius," he said. "My first name is worse, so Connor it is."
"Fine. Please go away, Connor."
"First things first. Allow me to alleviate your curiosity. Here, hold this again."
