Chapter 5: We.Need.To.Talk.

Friday after my last class I was moving! I had cheers to learn.

From Matt!

Terrell passed me going in the opposite direction just as fast. I managed a quick wave and "Hi!" All I got back from him was "we need to talk!"

We need to talk??!!

The four worst words to ever hear, no matter who says them -- 'specially your boyfriend. Shit!

My heart turned to ice. But by the time I pirouetted he was already gone, having dropped a lump in my gut that grew spikes.

Then I got pissed. If he wanted to talk he could've stopped me, stopped for me, instead of leaving me with "we need to talk." He left me racking my brain, trying to figure out what I might have done wrong. This was the first time I'd even seen him today. What could I possibly have done!

Nothing yet that horny little voice down inside me whispered with a dirty snicker.

Okay. I had to admit I was eager to get together with Matt for reasons beyond learning cheers.

Matt and me, we had a history. When I was five my brother went off to learn to be a marine instead of babysitting me. That shook me, and it meant that every day after school it was off to the gymnastics club. It cost less than babysitters and kept me off high shelves and ceiling fans, and that's where I met Matt Kelly.

Mercifully, in spite of the three-year age gap Matt took me under his wing. He was sweet and kind, and glad to have a playmate. We became gym rats.

Bud and Natasha, the club owners and coaches kept an eye on us, sort of.

At that age gender didn't matter, 'specially since I'd always been a tomboy, probably thanks to spending so much time with Bao. Matt and me played on whatever caught our interest at the moment. That meant I played on the boys' rings and parallel bars, he risked the girls' uneven bars and balance beam. We challenged each other on each other's apparatus.

You know, like "Hey, watch this!"

That usually brought back an "Aw, I can do that!" which resulted in a "Prove it!" So we did.

How many girls you know can hold an iron cross on rings and swing up into a planche? Or a double back dismount off the parallel bars?

Okay, not today. I had a better strength to weight ratio back then, but I did it.

How many boys can do a straddle back from the high bar to a handstand on the low bar? Or a walkover into a front summy and stick it on a beam four inches wide, and four feet off the floor?

Maybe Bud and Natasha weren't watching us as close as they should've. We could've killed ourselves.

Anyway, the club was our playground. Matt was big for his age. I was small for mine. We were both active and strong, curious and creative. We even invented our own mixed-doubles routines, like that hand-stand thing, not something Le Fédération Internationale de Gymnastique, the high muck-a-mucks of world gymnastics approved of. They had rules, but we didn't need no stinking rules.

Then, after seven years together after school, Matt walked out of my life.

At least I got to say a final goodbye to him. Even so it hurt, but at least I understood. I'd had the same opportunity but turned it down.

Now he was back and I was glad. More than glad. It had been three years. Obviously we'd changed a lot, and it was a jolt -- but a good one. The gap between fifteen and eighteen felt a lot narrower than the one between twelve and fifteen had. After yesterday's "audition" I kept trying to tell myself we were just renewing our friendship, but that brother/sister feeling wasn't there.

Something else was.

I kept remembering balancing on his shoulders, looking straight down into his blue eyes, that drop of sweat off the tip of my nose hitting him in the mouth.

Had he really licked it off his lips and wiggled his tongue at me?

Stop it! I told myself. You have cheers to learn. And Terrell wants to talk!

But shit! Just the sight of Matt's bod' out in the afternoon sun was enough to make me forget everything else. That and he's got the same great smile and twinkling blue eyes and he looked real glad to see me.

And no, I don't mean he was carrying a bulge for me. We weren't up to that stage.

Yet my horny little voice whispered.

"Did you see Terrell? He was looking for you but couldn't stay."

That was like a bucket of cold water. "Did he say why?"

"Nope."

Matt really didn't sound concerned. I hadn't told him that Terrell and me were a couple, but it was common knowledge. By now he must've heard about us from someone.

On the other hand, was Terrell checking up on my cheerleading partner?

I tried to shrug it off. There was work to do and Terrell was a distraction.

Matt stripped off his T-shirt. Talk about distractions! One look at him and certain parts of myself got their own ideas about what to work on.

He tossed the shirt on a nearby bench. "Let's go. Get naked."

That was a punch in the gut. Naked in front of Matt, him naked in front of me? Before we'd been skinny kids in leotards, goofing around, even yesterday using separate showers and locker rooms. Here? Outdoors? Now? Naked? Just the two of us?

Shit!

That triggered another fleeting thought -- not the first time: Maybe Naked in School should start in kindergarten so we'd be used to it by now.

Just the sight of his chest and shoulders made my glands froth. I wasn't about to forget that after our little team-building session he'd picked me up, swung me around, and tossed me on to the mats like I was a throw pillow, never mind I'd stuck the landing.

"Well?" he asked, already down to his tightie-whiteys.

I looked down. Oh God, the legs!

On the way back up I tried not to look there but my eyes ignored me. There was a bulge. Not a big bulge, but a bulge. Boy plumbing. Flaccid. Confined.

"You mean we're doing this nuh--nuh--nuh--naked?"

I blushed? I mean, c'mon! I wasn't a virgin, after all. Like I do know what "flaccid" means. And then there was Terrell and me doing It since middle school sex ed. Jeez, get real!

But Matt was not Terrell. Something about this...

"Get used to it," Matt answered, shoving his undies down to release his equipment.

Get used to it? How long did I have?

"We'll be naked tomorrow."

Not all that long!

Then he reminded me The Program started next week. "I wonder who's going to be in it? I hear first week is always an adventure."

He heard? Hadn't he ever been in The Program? What'd he been doing the last three years?

Then I reminded myself he was eighteen. Program or not he'd probably done plenty. God knows I had. The chance he was still a virgin was vanishingly small, whether he'd been in The Program or not.

Who'd he left back in that Iowa corn patch? That gave me a pang.

I tried not to stare. After all, it wasn't like I'd never seen it -- or something like it -- before. Terrell has the same accessories.

But naturally I looked, making comparisons. Wouldn't you?

Terrell's dick was special dark chocolate, large economy size when erect, circumcised, the head even darker. Licorice -- which I loved to lick, even though it didn't taste like licorice.

When I thought of it I always thought of it hard.

Matt's was maybe French vanilla? No, peach.

And limp. That was disappointing.

I told my glands to shut up.

Matt stretched sensuously in the afternoon sun and I sucked wind.

Testosterone was at work. The muscles!

Estrogen responded.

Look! Look! That is not a muscle!

Of course I looked.

He was still drooping, uncircumcised. Maybe that'd change when I got naked. The droop, that is, not the uncircumcised.

Trying not to stare I stripped, my hands shaking. Did I want him -- uh -- interested? Why would I want him interested -- uh -- that way? After all, what'd he have that Terrell didn't?

Well, for one thing he's here and Terrell isn't, that certain part of my brain told me.

I told my inner voice to shut the fuck up. Shedding my panties I shivered a sexy shiver, and matched Matt's stretch. I had to admit it felt good to get outta my clothes, down to nothing but sneakers out here in the open. I was suddenly super sensitive. The warm afternoon breeze was touching me alllll OVER! I smelled the fresh-cut grass underfoot, felt the sun on my naked shoulders, my bare tits and tummy, my naked pussy. The sound of traffic in the distance, some sort of game going on on another field, made me feel even more exposed.

Matt wasn't even trying not to look, and he was visibly getting a rise out of it. The eye of his dick was peeking out from the foreskin, winking at me. What I could see of the head was more plum than his foreskin's peach, the dusky plum balls below, all growing out of a thick, black bush.

Yum!

Meanwhile my female parts were responding. Drooling, you might say.

Looking to find something distracting to do I gave in to the urge to do a naked cartwheel.

Oh was I in trouble.

Think Terrell. Think Terrell! Think Terrell! I sternly reminded myself.

But that was no good. That just got me to "We.Need.To.Talk."

What's to talk about? We'd already agreed not to swear fidelity when what we had was over.

But it wasn't over yet. It couldn't be. We'd agreed we'd enjoy what we had while we had it, at least until he graduated. I wasn't ready for WHEN to suddenly become NOW. Terrell was my rock. My đen cây to, my Ebony Giant and I was his Kim-Ly, his Golden Lion. My conscience was telling me not to be interested in anyone else -- especially Matt -- especially THAT WAY.

But the sight of Matt's body, his muscles and growing woody, his blue eyes and his dangerously wicked smile, had my glands saying why the hell NOT? How about a little variety? Maybe Matt's cock would feel different. Taste different. How about a size comparison? A fitting? Chances like this don't come along every day.

Just a taste! my glands whispered. Just a taste won't hurt. Terrell will never know.

It'd serve Terrell right!

"You okay?"

How long had I been standing here like a doofus? "Yuh -- yeah. Let's do it."

I reached for the notebook Waldorf had given me. I'd gone over and over it in bed last night, visualizing where I could. I put my lust on lock-down, reminding myself it was rah rah rah sis boom bah, giving my all for the Home Team.

Matt was looking around. "Shit! I forgot the pompoms!"

"Uh, do we really need 'em?"

"Yeah, you need something to wave. Here!" He picked up his underpants and tee shirt and tossed them to me.

"I'll use these." He picked up my underpants and tee. Giving my thong a surprised look, he whirled it around on one finger, grinned, then smelled the crotch of it!

"Hey!" I protested.

"Wanna switch?" he asked with wide eyed innocence.

Deciding to get even I put his jockeys my face and inhaled his warm musky scent.

Big mistake!

He grinned. "Work before play," he ordered.

Work before play. He'd said before play. My pussy did a happy dance, so it took me another moment to focus. Then we started to work and things got complicated enough to get my mind back on track.

I'd done my best to memorize the words and, working from the stick figures, the moves. It had made for a late night. By the time I dozed off I thought I had it all down pat. But when I tried to put 'em together here on the field with him everything fell apart. I could remember the words or I could remember the moves, but I couldn't do both at the same time. This was worse than trying to rub my -- uh -- stomach and pat my head at the same time. Finally, Matt took me in hand. Literally.

Standing in front of me, holding my hands we recited the first cheer together while he moved my arms and stepped out the footwork. I felt like a marionette. I was watching, trying to move in the reverse of him, like a beginners' dance class, but his bobbing hardon was distracting. When he stepped forward with his right foot I was s'posed to step back with my left. The first time I went forward instead of back and we stepped on each other's toes and bumped bumpers. First contact was cock to tummy and his dick drooled on me. Exciting but not productive.

I felt like a jerk, but he didn't let me get away. Instead he took advantage of the contact by wiping his dick off on me before moving back so we could start over. After a few more tries I started to get the hang of it and things went better. We got it down to three reps of each short cheer and I pretty much had them.

At least I thought so, until I got them confused. The moves were simple compared to, say, a gymnastics floor exercise. Mostly it was a bunch of bouncing steps and jumps and kicks and arm waving with simple repetitive chants.

"Don't worry so much about the words. Just keep smiling and keep moving your feet, your arms, your body. Throw in a handspring, walkover or a cartwheel at the end to leave a good impression.

"And let me tell you, doing a facing-the-audience walkover or cartwheel naked certainly makes an impression!" he added with a wink.

Oh yeah!

He found more excuses for more hands-on as we refined things. His grip was strong and sure and warm when he adjusted an arm move here, a leg kick there.

I was getting hotter and hotter.

"Don't forget to shake your bootie!" he ordered, giving my naked ass a slap.

That did it! I retaliated and since he was facing me it wasn't his butt that I connected with -- oops! -- fortunately not hard -- and that turned into naked tag scampering all over the field. When I finally stumbled -- sure footed me -- he "accidentally" tripped over me. We landed on the fifty yard line in a laughing, panting heap, just like old times.

Only not quite. We were outdoors, eye-to-eye, sweaty intimate skin to sweaty intimate skin, and three years older. A moment longer and we might have done it right there on the Central High logo -- where I'm sure it's been done before by others -- but something stopped us.

Instead he got up and reached down to help me up, his cock swinging heavily, a sparkling pre-come drop spinning a thin thread off in the sun.

I didn't know if I should be disappointed or relieved. Shit!

After some pulls on our water bottles, it was back to work, this time practicing the longer routines used during timeouts, and the big halftime dance number. That involved kick lines.

Need I remind you we were naked?

Didn't think so. I tried to get back to "brother-sister" mode. The first kick line had us spread out arms length apart, holding hands. Next it was arms braided at shoulder level. The third was tighter yet, arms around waists, hip to hip. That meant we were bumping and rubbing against each other. His hand had a habit of wandering down to my ass, and mine to his.

He had a very hard ass. I couldn't help noticing how jolly his roger danced and swung. Maybe a jock strap would be a good idea. At least I didn't have the problems with bounce the more buxom girls did, but my nipples were throbbing for attention.

Trying to stay focused, I figured that the long routines would be my time to fly, so when we stopped for a breather I suggested moving from the dance to a simple lift.

Okay, I wanted his hands on me.

"No," he answered flatly.

"But..."

"Absolutely not. Not yet. A football field is not tumbling mats, and we need spotters."

"Just a simple lift to a Liberty."

That'd be me standing on one foot, my other knee bent, toes pointed, both arms raised in a high vee with my poms pomming, or maybe empty-handed with two fingers spread in a vee for victory. Compared to the handstand it was a piece of cake.

I was bouncing on my toes, eager to fly. I could already feel his grip as he let me gently down. My legs would be weak and I'd somehow bring him down with me and...

He grabbed my shoulders to anchor me. "No."

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. Not that he squeezed me hard or anything, but his intensity! His hands were calloused and strong, and he grounded me. It was all I could do to keep my fingers off his chest. His hard-on was aimed at my gut. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms, wrap his cock up inside me, but he kept me at arms' length, deadly serious.

"Remember when gymnastics classes started?"

I nodded numbly, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"What'd they tell us at orientation, us and our parents. Remember?"

Having heard it twice a year for almost a decade I remembered well enough to quote it: "Gymnastics accounts for more emergency room visits by young athletes than football. While it is most often bruises, pulled muscles, sprains, it is sometimes worse; concussions, torn ligaments, dislocations, even fractures. That is why we carry insurance, and 911 is on speed-dial."

Me and Cha hadn't been happy to hear that, but after my adventures at home they decided that the club had good coaches, lots of mats and they carried insurance.

"That goes for cheerleading, too," Matt responded, a gentle shake holding my attention.

"Stunts -- flying -- adds the risk of falling."

Letting go of my shoulders he took a breath and gripped my hands. I was lost in his blue eyes, but I was listening.

"I've talked with people who were there when Dee hit the board."

That froze me. I'd been there. I'd gone in the pool after her. Once we got her out I'd clamped her head between my knees to stabilize her neck until the ambulance got there. I knew how lucky Dee was not to be in a wheelchair the rest of her life, or worse.

I nodded numbly.

"She was coming down from what? Maybe six, eight feet before she hit that diving board? How long was she in that brace?"

Months, I thought, not having counted.

"A diving board bends It has some give. Gym floors don't." He stamped his foot on the grass, jostling his deflated appendage. "At least out here we got grass, but it's still hard. At a basketball game we can't drag out maybe more than a single mat, and under that is hard wood. Usually maple. Understand?"

He was so intense I nodded. He'd made his point. But what was really getting to me was the look in his eyes, how hard he was squeezing my hands. He cared, and I wasn't the only one fighting to keep our distance.

"So, no flying. Not here. Not now. While you're learning you'll work with Ms. Waldorf or Donna -- and yeah she's a coach, too, a damn good one -- on multiple mats and with spotters, lots of spotters."

Oh, those serious blue eyes! I couldn't look away.

Not that I wanted to.

"You listen to them. Waldorf'll give you the same safety lecture I just did. If she has to she'll even show film clips to show how bad wrong things can go, to make sure you get the point. You'll fly when she says you can, and not before. Thanks to your gymnastics you should be ready for some simple stuff in a week. But tomorrow you won't get any higher than your ass on my shoulders, if that. Even then there'll be a spotter behind you."

I was trying to think of what to say when we were suddenly engulfed, jostled and bumped by a stampede of giants in helmets and pads, the football team coming out of the locker room. Fresh from the coach's pep talk they were a roaring, growling tidal wave of testosterone and spit and sweat, their cleats kicking up gobs of turf.

At least they weren't naked like us. Matt wrapped me up, protecting me.

And then they were past us, out on the field warming up. The combination of a stampede of armored warriors and skin to skin contact with Matt raised me from a simmer toward a boil.

The coach gave us a curious look as he strolled past. The players kept shooting looks at me. Some of 'em looked at Matt.

Matt unwrapped himself from around me. "We're done here, let's get outta their way."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

"And that's another lesson," Matt pointed out as we picked our clothes and stuff up off the bench. "When the game is on, don't lose track of what's happening on the field. It happens fast. A receiver out for a pass isn't watching where he's going. Defenders are just as bad when they're in hot pursuit. The sidelines get crowded, making it hard to get out of the away.

"Basketball is even worse. Courts have hard bleachers and walls all around and some gyms are really cramped. Side lines and end lines are only a suggestion. They won't stop anyone.

"You okay?" he asked after taking a breath.

That depended on his definition of "okay." I nodded my head.

Other parts of me whirling. Adrenalin junky that I am I wasn't scared. But I was very much aware of forty horny jocks l thinking "fresh meat" as they watched is go to the locker room.

Matt's arm was warm around me, his cock optimistically leading the way. I leaned against him, enjoying his strength and caring. "I need a shower."

And if that wasn't a hint I don't know what is. The Program had been going for long enough the showers and locker rooms at Central High were gender blenders, no more boys over here, girls over there. Shower sharing had become foreplay, but I wasn't sure he'd take the hint.

His arm tightened. "So do I."

He did!

Which left me wondering. Where were we going with this? Where was I going with him? Did I want to shower with him? Did he want to shower with me?

Well, I suppose those were givens, me being a very horny female, him being male and all that.

Did I want that?

You bet your ass I did.

Did Matt?

His cock sure did.

Terrell's ominous "we need to talk" was barely a whisper in a back corner of my mind, and I wasn't listening. My lust was saying "screw him."

Or, rather, "Screw Matt." We were in full mating mode, and to hell with the consequences.

Leaving our clothes on the benches, our sneakers on the cold tile floor, we walked hand in hand into the shower. The thought of a shower cap never crossed my mind. Warm water poured down on us and we came together, body to body, wet skin to wet skin. We didn't even reach for the soap. To go mouth to mouth with Matt I didn't have to climb him like I did Terrell.

We were lubricated by lust, our mouths, teeth, tongues clashed and wrestled, legs tangled, arms wrapped. I was filled with his breath, him with mine. There was a musky smell to our mingled breaths, and from other parts of us, a sweet mouth taste, the touch of skin and tongues, blood roaring in our ears along with the rush of water.

We tried to make the two of us into one, arms and legs and bodies squishing against each other. When he grabbed my ass and lifted me I spread my legs, wrapped them around him. He jammed me back against the cold shower wall. I love a strong man. I welcomed his thrust.

Don't try this at home. Shower floors can be real slippery. We're experienced athletes, fucking on a closed course.

My weight came down on his cock, cramming it up inside me. I was drilled. Stuffed! Being ground against the wall. We were so tight all he could do was rock his pelvis, his dick barely moving inside me.

But that was enough. My little kitty's nose was being crushed between us and my innards were getting stirred by his paddle. Close to an hour of naked cheering and pom-pomming and touching and teasing and tag in the great outdoors had us balanced on the edge of ecstasy, so in no time we tumbled off it. Through my own blazing coming I felt his cock pulsing, his jizz spurting inside me -- hot jets that only added to the flames, my cunt rippling and milking him.

It was pure pleasure. Nothing else existed for the longest time. I was vaguely aware of a water boy, manager, whatever watching from the doorway, and didn't care. It only made it feel better to have a witness.

Finally Matt eased me back down on my feet, his drained dick slithering out of me, followed by a wave of warm semen. We supported each other while the shower washed our smelly tell-tale juices down the drain. My ear was on his chest just below his chin. I heard the slowing lub-dub-dubbing of his heart as I nestled in his embrace. As long as I didn't move I didn't have to think. Bathed in the afterglow I felt warm and safe.

Finally we reached for the soap and washed each other, after-play rather than foreplay. We were done, at least for now, for this time. Feelings that we hadn't really understood so long ago suddenly made sense. Our childish friendship had morphed into something vastly different, an explosive mix of emotion and lust.

I wasn't ready to call it love. If felt different than I felt toward Terrell. But I knew this was a beginning, not an ending, and with that came a shit-load of guilt. Without a word we dried each other off, the touches conveying feelings we were afraid to admit were there. I twisted my pigtail in a towel to wring it out. Matt and I needed to talk, but now wasn't the time and we both knew it. I didn't know if he had a girlfriend, but if my long-standing relationship with Terrell wasn't already on the rocks it soon would be.

I didn't want to hurt Terrell, but it seemed inevitable. He'd seen me through so much. We'd both taken a lot of crap. The big black musician porking the little chink gymnast -- to be as bigoted and crude as certain people were. We were the stuff of legend. I wished I could figure out a way of shutting those dorks up! Freedom of speech my ass.

Terrell and me, we sure needed to talk!. But not right now. I was too confused. What had I been thinking?

But that, of course, was the problem. I hadn't been thinking.

After we dressed Matt and I parted ways and I wandered the halls, my pigtail getting the back of my shirt wet in spite of my best efforts. I wasn't sure whether I was looking for Terrell or trying to avoid him. If I didn't find him we wouldn't have to talk, but I'd have to walk home alone again.

Finding myself outside Ms. Andrews's office, on an impulse I tapped gently on the closed door, not sure she was there, or if she was counseling someone.

Then I got shy and turned away, just as the door opened.

"Judy!" Hadiya's incredible bronze eye caught me. Of course she'd be getting counseling, after all she'd been through.

I apologized for interrupting.

"No, please, come in. It is good you are here." Taking my hand she drew me in. In spite of what had just happened in the showers her touch stirred my juices, and somehow settled me at the same time. I let her lead me to the couch to sit down, my right hand in her left. She wouldn't let go of me and I didn't try to get away. Her grip was strong, anchoring me.

"Are you okay, Judy? You look confused. Worried about something?" Ms. Andrews was very sensitive to moods.

"Uh yeah, just a little distracted. Me and Matt were ... Matt Kelly ... was teaching me cheers. We just got done." I tried to focus.

She knew me well enough to know there had been more to it, but saved that for a private session. "Hadiya and I were discussing The Program."

Hadiya's grip on me tightened. "It seems I am to be walking the halls without my clothes next week, starting on Monday."

That jolted me out of my daze. "What?"

"Hadiya's asked me to put her in The Program," Ms. Andrews explained. "I told you, Hadiya, you don't have to do it. You have any number of reasons to be excused. Your religion, your injuries. It's the first week of your first year here. It can wait. There's no reason..."

"I feel very much that I must do it, and on that very first day, right at the start. It is as if Allah wills it."

Hadiya was in full attack mode.

"The sooner the better," she went on. "Because of -- maybe in spite of my religion and my injuries I must do it. It will be a good thing that I do, both for me and for the school, for those who see me. I must become used to people seeing me as I am, scars and all. People must get to know me for what I am. I am a girl damaged by violence and bigotry. By getting to know me, seeing me, perhaps they will learn to accept and respect me and anyone else who is different.

"You know that my parents have given their consent."

This girl's guts were unlimited. I wasn't so sure of her good sense.

"However, we were discussing that I should have a partner, and I am shy about it being a boy," Hadiya went on, looking at me.

Stalling, my brain slowly pulling itself together, I asked, "But doesn't it have to be a boy?"

Ms. Andrews cocked her head at me. "Under normal circumstances yes, but you know darn well these are not normal circumstances, Judy. Didn't we already have this conversation? In fact I believe you brought it up."

I hadn't forgotten. I was just -- well, after what already happened in the shower -- confused was an understatement.

Giving me time to sort this out, Andrews went on talking to Hadiya. "Just so you understand, Hadiya, the whole Naked in School chain of command has been broken for years, the office in Washington supposedly in charge has even been defunded.