Captain Zim
Copyright© 2025 by Gina Marie Wylie
Chapter 16
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 16 - David Zimmerman is your average high school junior, a bookish sort with average everything — except athletic ability. He can't throw or hit, swims like a turtle and has wimpy muscles. He was chosen last for every sport in elementary school — when he was chosen at all. His life changed when he kicked a field goal squarely between the uprights, then it changed again the next time he was in a ball game
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Consensual Fiction
Diane and I were walking back towards the volleyball net when Ginny and Toni appeared in front of me.
“Gonna fuck you!” Toni said, angry. “Gonna fuck you twice!” She continued, “Then shit in your face!”
Ginny simply wound up, hurled a punch at my stomach. I stepped back, pushing her hand aside. She burrowed in, trying another punch. I caught it, spun her around, reached up and pushed with my foot on her back side, sending her sprawling face first in the sand.
“Need another crutch?” I asked bitterly.
Diane laughed. “Zim, since when did you take up beating on teenie, tiny, teeny-boppers?”
Toni went for her, and I got in her way, stopping her.
It was another cosmic event. I’d forgotten it; something I didn’t want to remember; I’d been ashamed at the time.
Ginny had fallen, I’d caught her, taking off her suit top neatly, cupping her breast. I’d looked down, saw the mole on the upper right quadrant of her left breast. And here was Toni, coming at me again. With a mole in the same spot as Ginny had had the other day.
I pushed her away, less gently than the first time. I brushed past her, reached down to Ginny, who was getting up. “Sorry, let me help you up.” I looked down her suit top; no mole. I had a clear view; no mole on either side.
I looked her in the eye. “Wanna fuck?”
‘Ginny’ swung a punch at me, ‘Toni’ came at me from the side, ramming into me. “I fuck! But not you!” ‘Toni’ said, raging. “Never you!”
I reached out, grabbed her by the waist, carried her a few feet, dumped her in the ocean. ‘Ginny’ came at me, trying to lever me down.
It was impossible not to speak. Her ear was an inch from my mouth, so I whispered, “Stop this! Both of you stop this! Or I’ll tell Ian that yesterday you were Toni!”
I pushed her away, deliberately tripping her, dumping her into the surf. I continued on towards the game, ignoring them.
“Friends?” Diane said after a second.
“CC, you and Sean are friends!” I said, “Those two ... something else!”
“I guess I missed a lot yesterday, didn’t I?” Diane said quietly. “I really am sorry, Zim.”
“And I said, it’s over and done with. This is today, that was yesterday. At least you didn’t freak out over Gin and Tonic.”
“Gin and Tonic?” Diane asked, curious.
“Virginia and Antoinette Clarke. Their dad is a movie producer. Ginny and Toni Clarke. Gin and Toni-C.” I spelled it out for her.
“Oh!” Diane laughed, “Groupies! You got to love them!”
I laughed too as we walked. “Diane, Sean, others have said that groupies can be fun. Those two are a pain in the butt. Nothing to like, much less love.”
She glanced at me, nodded.
We fetched up at the nets and Diane was quite simply domineering. “Stretches!” We worked through a series of stretches, about twenty people in unison. Then Phil and Kristie arranged teams. The man Kristie had called Duke was more than memorable. He was about twenty-five, blonde hair, huge. Tall. Yet he moved like a lithe tiger, not going out of his zone, but charged the ball nonetheless.
“You all know Zim.” Kristie said at the end of the stretching. “Except Duke.” She laughed, “Time, Zim, to meet the Duke. Scrimmage!”
I found myself at serve, facing half of the team, both sides augmented by a lot of people who were, I was sure, hoping someone broke a leg.
It was, I thought, a plot. The Duke was on the net, right where I liked to serve first. He was back, but obviously loose and ready for anything. I looked right at him, served to Phil, at the net, but on the other side.
Phil was playing back, didn’t have a shot at the ball, went after it anyway, crashing and burning on the sand.
The third point I served looking at Duke, but I hit it towards Phil, with every bit of English I could put on the ball.
It was, I thought, amazing. The ball went up, headed towards Phil, got up just short of the net, started to turn, then turned faster and faster, curved back and plunked down in front of Duke. He looked at the ball, looked at me.
“Mother fucker!” he shook his fist at me, but he was laughing.
I hit the ball a little harder, it went even closer to Phil, who extended for it, missing, because the ball curved again, this time coming down behind Duke. Duke moved ... forward, towards the net, obviously aware he had no shot; the girl behind him only belatedly moved and came up way short.
“They tell you I’m a carpenter?” Duke shouted across the net. “Do that again, and I’m going to come over there and show you how I use a nail gun!”
I decided he was joshing, but I also figured that Phil wasn’t ready. I served it again, soft, and no English. He stood there, only at the last second did he realize there was no curve; Phil did some sort of Karate chop at the ball, sending it flying backwards, off the back of the court.
Next thing I learned was never give a sucker an even break; and never ever do it to a good player. I stared at Duke, soft served it ... right to him, intending it to be just past the net.
It was perfectly placed, except Duke leaped up and forward, his hand a mighty club, slamming it back towards us. I managed to get down, got my hand on it, but it went spinning off into the water.
Well, we had a six-zip lead, we finished twenty-one to eighteen. Much closer fought than I would have thought. Simple fact, I realized. You can’t duff off on a player like Duke; he was too good.
And after the game, Duke came up, stuck out his hand. “Gonna have to start playing again, if they’ve got players like you, Zim! You know how to make it interesting!”
“I never hit it anywhere close to you after that once,” I told him.
“Yeah, but like, I got eleven compadres out there. Not all of them, Phil.” He laughed at his own humor. “That man, he needs to learn to chill!”
I nodded. In truth, after the first couple of balls, I’d not served it close to Phil either, and didn’t defend back close to him. He was on a tear, obviously enraged. At least, he was keeping to his own position, which was a plus.
Sean went back to work, Diane and I wandered back to his chair, got our surfboards and did that for a while.
“You should get something to eat,” Diane said mildly a little before one.
Me? I was suddenly feeling clammy and sick. Tasha had told me that she and her friends were going to come and play. What if they didn’t come? What if I’d screwed up, telling people? My guts were twisted, I was feeling seriously ill.
CC suddenly appeared. “You had a call, David.”
I looked at her. “A girl named Tasha. Said thanks very much, she and her friends will be here around one thirty. Next time, she doesn’t want to see a challenge game advertised on the news.”
I looked at Diane, who blushed. “I guess, maybe a few people are excited,” Diane said, embarrassed. She met my eye. “You’re in good luck, Zim, I kid you not. People want it to rub off on them. And don’t mind having the media here to see it.”
I shook my head. Media? The news? Why in the world would they be interested in a volleyball game? Made no sense to me. Realized that for the first time in my life I was thinking of myself, when I should be thinking of others. The media weren’t coming to see me: they were coming to see the US Olympic Team.
The clock ticked and ticked, finally it was nearly time. We went down the beach, Sean, Diane, CC and me. I couldn’t believe it, looking towards the net. The sand was black with people, swarming everywhere. I looked at Sean and he sighed. “A little out of hand.”
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