Author's notes: In high school, I was a geek. I didn't have many friends and spent a lot of time alone. This isn't a true story but it was one that I fantasized about back in my school days. It very well could have happened and if it did, I might have been there as I spent my free time high up in the bleachers doing my homework and watching the boys play basketball.
Warning: This story sexualizes bullying. In real life, I despise bullies and don't condone this behavior by anyone. There is no place for it in schools, the workplace, or anywhere else. It should live only in the fantasy world.
For the sake of this story, everyone here is a high school senior over 18 years old.
The story is told by Alice, a smart but nerdy high school senior.
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A pack of hyenas surrounded the zebra. Some stayed back to ensure he didn't run to the safety of the rocks while others moved in from the left and the right, leaving the poor creature nowhere to run. As they closed in on him, they made what sounded like a mocking laugh. They continued to close in on the zebra until their laughter was replaced with the sounds of crunching bone and squeals of pain from the dying animal.
It was an example of the strong and fast winning out over the small and slow. I had been on an African Safari with my parents several years before and that attack has remained in my memory. I often wondered how the zebra must have felt as he saw the hyenas circling and laughing at him. He must have known that the end was near and he wasn't going to live through the attack. Did he also feel weak? Perhaps he wished he was a hyena with fast legs and sharp teeth.
It was a Wednesday when I was reminded of my African adventure. I know that because I didn't have any after-school activities on Wednesdays in my senior year. Other days were filled with Math Club, Yearbook, or other events that, looking back, may have been a waste of time. Or maybe not. It was the only time that I interacted with others so it probably was good for me.
Anyway, that Wednesday I was in the gym doing my math worksheets and watching the boys play basketball on the gym floor. The worksheets were easy and I could keep an eye on the boys and still get my work done. I'm good at multitasking. My usual seat for those afternoons was up high in the bleachers where I could hide behind the pillars. I wanted to watch the boys but I certainly didn't want them to see me watching them.
Basketball practice had ended. The coaches left but the boys stayed on to play more. I loved it when they played without the coaches because they were rougher with each other and it was a more intense game. They also played shirts vs. skins in these pick-up games which I loved because I could see their hard bodies and watch their muscles grunting as they ran after the ball and each other. I have had plenty of fantasies about some of the boys on the team and they always involve me pressing my naked breasts against those hard pecs.
On this particular Wednesday, I saw Ricky Pulman out on the floor. Had he joined the team? I couldn't believe it because he was as nerdy as me. Besides to the best of my knowledge, Ricky was not into sports.
Ricky Pulman lived four houses down from me. Our parents were friends and the two of us were thrown together often when we were kids. Ricky was my friend through elementary school but we went different ways when we reached middle school.
Ricky had a hard time with my breasts. When I started to change he somehow couldn't talk to me. Every time we got together he got all nervous and couldn't form a sentence. Looking back, I find his awkwardness hilarious. He was so enthralled with my boobs that he lost control of his verbal functions. It was Ricky who taught me that my newly formed boobs gave me a certain amount of control over boys. I really should thank him for that.
So, there was Ricky out on the court with the basketball players. Even though he was smaller and much slower than the others, they were nice enough to let him play.
As I watched more closely I noticed that the players weren't passing to him. Instead, they were throwing the ball over his head and making him jump for it. It had turned into a game of monkey in the middle and little Ricky was the monkey. Then when Ricky wasn't looking one of the guys threw the ball hard hitting Ricky in the chest, and knocking him to the floor. Ricky got up only to be hit again and thrown back to the floor.
When he got up the second time I could see that he was trying to laugh it off but I could tell he was upset. One of the players yelled something that I couldn't make out. Suddenly Ricky Pulman looked panicked. He started to run with the entire basketball team after him. He tried to head for the hall leading to the locker room but a couple of the boys were a step ahead of him and blocked the door. He turned toward another door but only got a few steps before being grabbed around the chest and pulled to the ground.
In seconds the laughing hyenas had him up in the air and were carrying him by his arms and legs to the bleachers just below where I was hiding.
I grabbed my backpack and pressed my body close to the pillar hoping not to get caught but kept peeking out to see what was going on just ten rows down.
Two of the boys had Ricky flat on his back on the first row of the bleachers; one holding his wrists and the other sitting on his ankles. While the rest, some still stripped to the waist, stood around him laughing. Ricky was struggling, trying unsuccessfully to free himself.
The laughter from the boys suddenly turned to chants. "Shirt! Shirt! Shirt!" They chanted in unison.
It was at that moment I understood what was happening to poor little Ricky. I wanted to get up and run but was too afraid to move. What would happen if they saw me? I had been bullied enough in school to know to keep my head down and stay quiet. So I did just that. I was taught during the safari to stay still and quiet if a beast got too close to you. It seemed like good advice for this moment as well.
I watched from my perch high in the bleachers as the hyenas attacked little Ricky. His screams had turned to pleas, begging them not to do this. Both he and I were pretty sure of what was to happen next.
And it did. The boy who had his arms, let go and quickly grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up so that it covered his head and kept his arms locked in the air. Ricky's chest wasn't as impressive as the bigger boys but he had certainly changed since I last saw him at a pool party in our younger days.
Ricky's pleas intensified as another boy went for his gym pants. He tried to reach for the hem of his pants but his arms wouldn't go there. Instead, the pants came down to his ankles at the same time his shirt was completely removed.
