I coach a girls' soccer team. It started as community service. I got pulled over after too many drinks and too few years. I was only nineteen, and my state says you have to be twenty-one. But I had so much fun that I'm still coaching three years later.

I started with an eight-year-olds rec program, and now I coach the twelve-and-under town league and help out with the high school varsity. The town league has teams from all over the western part of the state, so some days we have to drive several hours to get to a game. Today was that kind of day.

We were coming back from a tournament in Whidbey. Three other teams in a round robin, so we played three games. The first two were easy wins for my girls, but the last one we just squeaked out. The girls were feeling pretty good after going undefeated, and I popped for pizza at the local Pizza Hut before we headed home. Most of the parents had driven down to catch the game, so I only had three girls for the three hour trip back: Monica, Lisa and Dawn.

Lisa really should have been in the next league. She was almost thirteen, but her birthday made the league cutoff by one day. She was tall and blond. Hair cut short and cut-offs cut shorter. It didn't take much imagination to see her as a young Kelly Bundy, except Kelly would never have gotten sweaty on an soccer field. Unless it was after the game with the lights turned off.

Monica was twelve and looked like the star athlete she was. Her copper red hair was cut short like Lisa's. Dawn was eleven, and a young eleven at that, but she held her own on the field. She idolized the older girls, especially Lisa. She was short, even for her age. Mousy brown hair, medium length, usually in a ponytail. Oh, and about three million, two hundred and six freckles.

I finally got them off the video games and into the car about eight. I wasn't surprised that we were the last ones to go. By the time I'd gotten on the highway they were talking about boys. Specifically about Lisa's boys. Lisa had about six boys that she kept on short leashes. On any given day, one would be her boyfriend and the others merely drooling followers. They rotated in no order that I could follow.

Mentally, I laughed at the six boys I'd never met. Being led around by the nose like that. The younger generation has no pride.

Then I remembered Penny Wilson from my high school. There'd been a bit of drool involved there, but that was different.

Having a boyfriend and five wannabes didn't slow Lisa down. She usually rode to and from games with me, and more than once I'd practically had to use a crowbar to pry her off some boy she'd just met when it was time to go home.

Monica didn't have a boyfriend. I knew from their conversations that she'd fooled around with a few boys at parties, but that was all. To hear her talk, Dawn had fooled around too, but I had a feeling that it was all talk to keep up with the girls. Dawn struck me as a little bit innocent.

I never censored their conversations, so they didn't bother trying to be quiet. I was close enough to their ages that I could be the 'cool' coach.

Toward the end of the ride, it had degenerated into jokes. Dirty jokes. And Lisa and Monica knew some good ones. I even told a few myself, knowing the three girls wouldn't tell anyone.

I dropped off Lisa first, then Monica. They both lived on the south end of town about a block apart. Dawn lived on the far side of town, and I had an apartment near the middle.

The girls had all been riding in the backseat, but after I dropped off Monica, Dawn moved up front. Dawn was very quiet as we drove toward her house. I usually dropped her last when she rode because she was the only one at this end of town, and usually after the other girls were gone she was a chatterbox.

Finally, after almost seven minutes of silence, "Coach?" she said timidly. Dawn wasn't usually timid.

"Yes, Pebbles?" I called her Pebbles when we were alone because the first time she'd come to practice, she'd had her ponytail on top like Pebbles Flintstone.

"Can I ask you something and you won't tell anybody?" she asked looking up at my face. I glanced down at those big brown eyes.

"You know you can," I told her.

"I mean anybody. Especially the other girls."

"Whatever you ask me or say between us, stays between us," I assured her.

She thought about it as we drove several more blocks, then finally decided that she could trust me. "I didn't get some of the jokes," she admitted.

I misunderstood and told her, "That's okay. I didn't like all of them myself. Everybody has a different sense of humor. You don't have to laugh just because Lisa thinks it's funny."

"NO! I mean I didn't get them. I didn't know what they were about."

I thought back over the jokes that Monica, Lisa and I had told. Most of them were pretty basic. Either about sex or, in Monica's case, bodily functions. "What didn't you get?" I asked, puzzled.

"Like the Helen Keller joke."

It took me several seconds to remember the joke she was asking about. "You mean, why does Helen Keller wear hot pants?"

"So people can read her lips," Dawn finished, and from the corner of my eye I could see her shrug.

It made sense to me, I didn't see what the problem was. "You know what hot pants are, don't you?"

"Duh! Really really tight shorts, like the kind that Lisa wore to practice on Thursday."

Actually, I thought, those were several categories above hot pants. Inferno pants maybe.

"Well, when girls wear hot pants, everyone can see their bodies really clearly."

"Yeah?"

Suddenly I saw the problem. "Spread your legs wider." She looked confused but opened up her knees. "What do you call that?" I asked, taking one hand off the wheel and pointing at her crotch of her shorts, my finger tip only an inch away.

She turned the most beautiful shade of red. "My crotch," she stammered.

I smiled at her. "What else?"

Her color deepened and she looked down at her toes. "My cunny," she said almost in a whisper.

Just then I hit a bump in the road and my finger brushed against the crotch of her shorts. I pulled away quickly, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Well some people talk about your cunny having lips." I waited to see if she got it.

"Lips?"

"You know, lips," I said and, taking a big chance, reached down to where I knew her pussy was and traced the shape of her lips in the fabric. She didn't pull away or look shocked, so I relaxed.

"Those aren't lips," she stated.

"Sure they are. Those are the lips of your pussy, or your cunt, or your cunny. Whatever you call it. In fact, you have two sets of lips down there, your large lips and your small lips." I thought to myself that I was sounding a lot like a sex education teacher. "Don't they have sex ed at your school?"

"Sure, we had it last year. Mostly they talked about how good it was not to have sex until you were married. And how horrible AIDS was, and how we'd get pregnant and ruin our lives."

"Sounds like a lot of fun," I said dryly.

Dawn started laughing. It was so sudden that I almost drove the car off the road.

"I get it, read her lips," she muttered between fits of laughter. Gradually the laughter petered off into giggles. "What about the guy and the shower?"

I didn't remember which joke she was talking about. "What?"

"You know, with the nearsighted girls."

"Okay, what didn't you get?

"The ending."

"Okay, a guy named Jimmy lives in a big dorm on campus, and he's going to take a shower. The dorm is co-ed, but his floor has only guys, so he comes out of his room and starts walking to the shower room wearing nothing and carrying his towel and a brand new bar of soap."

"Yeah..." she agreed. "And suddenly, the elevator door opens and three girls walk onto the floor. They're dressed in robes and look like they're going to the shower themselves. He recognizes them and knows they're all extremely nearsighted and he sees that they're not wearing their glasses. He knows that the shower on their floor is broken and figures they were going to one of the other girl's floors but pushed the wrong button. He doesn't want to embarrass them so he freezes like a statue, with his arms in the air holding his towel and soap."

"Very good," I agreed.

"I'm not stupid," she said in a patronizing tone. "There's just stuff I don't know."

"You know, realizing that you don't know everything and asking questions shows you're pretty smart."

From the corner of my eye I could see the young girl preen and push out her nonexistent chest.

I grinned and continued. "The girls walk toward him and see him in their nearsighted way. 'Look', one says, 'a new vending machine.' She reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a quarter and pushes it into Jimmy's mouth. Then she grabs his cock and pushes in on it, then pulls it out. 'Look! I got a towel, ' she tells the other two as she reaches up and grabs Jimmy's towel."

Dawn continued, "The second stepped in front of Jimmy, put a quarter in his mouth, grabbed his cock..." Dawn giggled and blushed as she said the word, "... pushed in and then pulled out. 'I got soap, ' she announced as she took it from his other hand. The third girl stepped up and put a quarter in Jimmy's mouth. She reached down and grabbed his cock..." Dawn stuttered again, "... and pushed in and pulled out, and nothing happened. She tried again, in and out, still nothing. She started jerking her hand faster and faster, saying 'What a gyp." then suddenly 'I got hand cream!' Dawn looked up at me. "Where'd the hand cream come from? He was carrying a towel and a bar of soap."

I felt my face turn a little red. "You know about boys and cocks?" I asked.

"I know boys have them," she said, then admitted, "but I've only seen them on babies."

"Have you heard of jerking off?"

"I've heard of it, but I don't know what it means," she said, her voice dropping off. I knew she didn't like admitting ignorance.

"Jerking off is when a boy rubs his cock until he cums. When he cums, he shoots a white cream that's called semen or cum. It would feel a little like hand lotion. So the third girl was rubbing his cock back and forth and Jimmy came—shot his load into her hand—and she thought it was hand lotion," I finished.

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. "That's not all that funny."

"Well, even good jokes lose something when you have to explain them," I admitted, because this was one of the jokes I had told.

"Why did you call my cunny a pussy?" she asked next.

"Well, a lot of people call it a pussy," I told her. "I guess because boys like to pet the soft fur just like a cat." I reached over and stroked the crotch of her shorts once, wondering if there was any fur under the fabric. She giggled but didn't pull away.

"Do boys jerk off a lot?"

"Some do. I suppose it depends on the boy and what you mean by a lot. I had a friend when I was growing up who jerked off about ten times a day. Most guys jerk off once or twice a day, or maybe a few times a week. There are some who don't jerk off at all. Depends on how horny they get."

"Do you think that Tyler jerks off?"

"Lisa's Tyler?"

She nodded. Tyler was one of Lisa's toys, the one that Dawn thought was cutest.

"When it's his turn to be boyfriend, probably not at all. But the rest of the time, probably a lot."

"You don't think he gets horny when he's with Lisa?" she asked breathlessly.

"No, I know he gets horny when he's with Lisa, but I imagine she takes care of him in other ways. So, he only has to jerk off when she's being somebody else's girlfriend."

I was trying to think about how to get the subject back on her pussy, so that I could touch it again, when she asked, "What about the 'mull-ig-nont' joke?" I almost laughed at her pronunciation but managed to control myself.

"After his annual physical, the hot stud was waiting in the doctor's office for the results," I repeated the earlier joke. "'Well, ' said the doctor, 'I've got good news and bad news.' 'The way I feel, I'll take the good news first, ' replied the stud. 'The good news is that your penis will grow four inches in the next three months, ' announced the doctor." I glanced down at dawn to make sure she got the word penis. I knew she knew cock, but I wasn't sure about penis.

When she didn't show a blank look, I continued. " 'Great!' the stud shouted. 'What's the bad news?' 'It's malignant, ' replied the doctor."

Now she had the blank look. "Malignant." I repeated slowly so she could hear the pronunciation. "Do you know what that means?"

She shrugged.

"It had cancer, they were going to have to whack it off."

"Ewwwww," she groaned. "They cut off his dick?"

"Gone," I agreed.

"What so funny about that?" she asked. "It's just gross."

"Well you have to know guys," I explained. "Most guys want a bigger cock. And to have the doctor tell you it's going to grow four inches would be fantastic. Then he drops the other shoe and tells you they're going to cut it off."

"Oh. Well, Lisa thought it was funny."

"Lisa's warped," I told her.

She nodded in agreement. "Could you stop here, please?" Here was an empty stretch on the country road that led to her house. We were almost there. I looked questioningly at her. "I have a couple more questions, and we're almost home."

I nodded, pulled over to the side, and put the car in park.

"What about the tattoo joke?" she asked.

I didn't remember it. "What tattoo joke?" I asked.

"A woman goes into a tattoo parlor and asks the artist to give her a Thanksgiving turkey on her left inner thigh and a Christmas goose on her right inner thigh. He nods and starts to work." Dawn looked up at me and I shrugged. I hadn't heard anybody tell this one. "After a while, he gets curious and asks her why she wants a turkey and a goose on her inner thighs," Dawn continued. "The woman answered, 'My husband is always complaining there's nothing to eat between Thanksgiving and Christmas.'"

I chuckled and Dawn looked at me searchingly. I wasn't sure if I believed that she didn't get this one, but I was very willing to explain. "Well you see," I reached down and spread her legs wide apart, "she had the tattoo guy draw a turkey here." I drew an imaginary turkey on her thigh less than an inch from her cotton-covered pussy. "And a goose here." I drew a goose on the other thigh. "And when her husband complained there was nothing good to eat between Thanksgiving turkey and Christmas goose," I reached up and squeezed her pussy, "she'd show him something good to eat." I left my hand there as I looked in her face for understanding.

"She wanted him to be a cannibal?"

Now I knew she was faking, but I went along with it. "Haven't you ever heard of eating pussy?" I asked.