AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've messed up my titles so this isn't posted as a series. It stands on its own, but you can also check out Julie Covington McGill, Chap. 4, Like Mother, Like Daughter, and the other Lynches entries for background info on the characters. Enjoy!
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The Lynches: March Madness
One look in the family room in the Lynch household and a calendar wouldn't be necessary to know the month of the year. The 50-inch plasma was tuned to CBS and John Lynch was sitting in his leather recliner decked out in his orange Derrick Coleman #44 jersey. In her usual spot on the couch was his daughter Michelle, who wore her orange Carmelo Anthony #15 jersey, complete with the NCAA National Championship patch. They were in pretty much the same positions back in 2003 when Syracuse won it all. Michelle was almost eight at the time, and that's pretty much when her love of basketball began.
The 2019 edition of the Syracuse Orange was no threat to win another National Championship, but they were a scrappy bunch and drew the better seed in the dreaded 8- versus 9-seed game, a notorious bracket-buster.
Michelle loved watching sports with her father and suffered through countless NFL seasons rooting with him for the Bills, or as John called them, the only true New York football team. Thankfully, their shared love of the Yankees brought them much more to cheer about than the Bills and the Orange.
Ironically, Sarah was the only one of the three to actually have attended Syracuse University, but she had little interest in televised sports. In a gesture of solidarity, while tending to the household chores, she proudly wore her navy blue sweatshirt with the big orange S on the chest. "There are my bookends," joked Sarah Lynch as she carried the hamper into the laundry room, "how are we doing?"
"Not good," replied John and Michelle, almost in unison. Syracuse was down by 9 with a little more than a minute left in the game.
Sarah moved the clothes from the washer to the dryer and had started on the next load, when she heard the collective groans of her daughter and husband in the next room, along with the plaintive drone of the final buzzer. "Hey you two," she called from the adjacent room, "if the game's over, I could use a hand folding."
"We'd love to, hun," replied John, while he silently motioned to his daughter, "but I promised Mitchie we'd play HORSE after the game."
Sarah giggled to herself at her husband's uncanny ability to avoid household chores at any cost, usually dragging Michelle along with him. Through the years, the two 'partners in crime' always seemed to be working on some critical sports technique which would always get them out laundry, dishes or the like.
John and Michelle both gave Sarah a quick peck on the cheek as the passed through the laundry room on the way to the backyard, where John had a half-court paved shortly after Michelle was born.
Sarah moved to the kitchen and watched the two through the window above the sink, as she rinsed the dishes from breakfast and loaded them in the dishwasher. A smile came over her face when she thought about how many times she stood at the sink and watched them either shooting baskets, playing catch or kicking around a soccer ball. It was no secret that John had hoped for a son, he instilled a love of sports in his daughter, which created a close bond between them over the years. Sarah's mind then drifted to that summer before Michelle's freshman year of high school, when the pair almost became too close.
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Michelle's small body started to develop that summer. Just a whisper over 5-foot, the gradual rounding of her ass and swelling of her breasts were noticeable on her small frame. And along with the maturation of her body came an air of sexuality, and her father became the primary target of her affections.
Her clothes became tighter in all the right places, something that did not escape her father's watchful eye. And his increased attention was like pouring gas on a flame. Michelle began flitting around the house dressed only in long tee shirts and panties, and she took every opportunity to sit on her father's lap.
Of course, Sarah noticed this new development in their relationship, but she loved and trusted her husband implicitly, even as he spotted him adjusting the tell-tale signs of an erection. Every girl goes through a daddy phase, Sarah thought to herself, then shivered at the memories of her experiences with her own father.
That summer Michelle was hell-bent on making the girl's freshman basketball team. She knew that with her limited height she'd have to work on her ball-handling ability and outside shooting. John and Michelle would be in the back yard when Sarah would get home from work, and return to the court immediately after dinner, often shooting until it got too dark to see the rim.
It was a hot, late-August Saturday, and Sarah was at the sink washing the lettuce for a salad when she did a double-take at the action on the court. John had already removed his shirt, and the afternoon sun glistened off his sweat covered chest. Sweat dripped off Michelle's loose ponytail and there was a large oval wet spot on the back of her tee shirt. Her father dribbled twice, gave a jab-step, and then hit a foul-line jumper as Michelle continued to back-peddle with the fake.
"You have to watch my midsection then step in and contest that shot," instructed John, as the two walked back to the top of the key.
"It's kind of hard with you having nearly a foot on me," complained Michelle, ever the competitor.
"You're going to have to learn how to guard a bigger and stronger player if you want to make the team, Mitchie."
"10-12," Michelle replied tersely and firmly bounced the ball to her father to check. "Time out," she said, and grabbed the hem of her tee shirt and lifted it over her head, leaving her in just her sweat soaked tan sports bra.
Sarah saw Michelle peel off her green tee shirt, and initially thought she was topless, the tan sports bra blending in with her natural skin tone. She turned off the faucet and watched the backyard game of one-on-one more closely.
"12-10," correct John, teasing her that she was behind by two, as he bounced the ball back and took his defensive stance.
Michelle held the ball back on her right hip and bent at the waist, eyeing her father's midsection, deciding whether to go left or right. The sports bra smushed her developing breasts to her chest.
John's eyes dropped down momentarily to admire the small domes from the tips of her nipples evident through the wet material. Michelle took a step to her right, crossed over between her legs, and drove to the basket, leaving her father in her wake and executing the perfect left-handed layup.
"12-all old man," Michelle taunted.
"Don't forget this old man taught you how to use your left hand like that," John responded, as the diminutive Michelle took her defensive stance.
"Hey, you two," Sarah called from the kitchen window, "it's almost time for dinner."
"We'll be right in, mom," replied Michelle. She turned to her father and said, "next basket wins," as she checked the ball in and prepared to guard him.
John attempted the same dribble-jab-step move, but this time Michelle closed out and contended his shot. She immediately spun around and boxed him out, just like he taught her. His shot clanged off the rim, and Michelle kept her butt pushed back against him as she easily corralled the rebound.
John tightened his defense as Michelle dribbled back to the top of the key. Competitiveness was definitely a family trait, and he knew his daughter couldn't shoot over him with tight coverage. John swiped at the ball and tried to steal it, so Michelle turned around and backed him down to the basket. Her butt pressed into his upper thigh as he attempted to hold his ground, while she continued to back him down to the low block.
Michelle faked to her left and John fell for it and went for the block. She spun quickly back to her right, stepped back, and sunk the soft bank shot.
"That's game!" she said triumphantly.
"Lucky shot," John teased, as they picked up their stuff and headed to the house.
Sarah watched them walk across the yard. Her shirtless husband nearly a foot taller than her teenage daughter, both with their tee shirts slung over their shoulders. Michelle carried the basketball on her right hip, and John had his right arm over her shoulder, his hand hanging precariously close to her sports bra encased breasts. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she knew they were trash talking, by the way, each was laughing at the other's comments.
"P! U!" Sarah mocked and waved her hand in front of her nose, "go get cleaned up and come to the table." As Michelle trotted up the stairs, Sarah grabbed John by the arm and pulled him back toward her. She whispered in his ear, "don't forget to save this for me," as she rubbed her hand over the noticeable bulge in his nylon gym shorts and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
The Lynch family rule was whoever cooked dinner did not have to do the dishes, so John and Michelle cleaned the kitchen while they continued to talk trash about the game. When they finished, the went to the family room to watch some TV, and Sarah went up to her room to read.
After a few shows, Michelle announced that she was going to take a quick shower and go to bed. She kissed her father on the cheek and thanked him for all his help with basketball, and then headed up the stairs to her room. John watched the bounce of her tight ass as she ascended the stairs, and subconsciously adjusted himself in his shorts.
He watched the news until he heard the shower stop upstairs, and then headed up to bed himself. When he walked into the master bedroom, Sarah was already fast asleep on her side of the bed. 'But I saved it for you,' he laughed to himself, as he went into the en suite to shower before bed. After his shower, he threw on a pair of clean boxers and was about to get into bed, when he realized he never said 'good night' to Michelle. He quietly shut the door behind him and walked down the dark hall to the adjacent bedroom.
