It was Carla's idea, I swear it.

"Let's go by the Pentagon and see what's going on."

"Why, for God's sake?"

That was Monica, always the practical one.

"Because I'm horny, that's why."

I knew what she meant, even though I didn't want to admit it. We were always horny after a game. Somebody once said that exercise is foreplay, and she was right. I say "she," because it was probably a cheerleader who said that.

You've read those stories about football studs screwing the cheerleaders after the big game, right? Yep, that's what I'm talking about. Tonight somehow it didn't work out with the guys, so we were, well, cruising, for lack of a better word.

It was late, but we weren't about to call it a night, even after two hours on the road each way to Madison County High School. Madison, in case you're not up on your Virginia geography, is over halfway to Charlottesville in central Virginia. When you're a small school you play other small schools, and it doesn't seem to matter how far away from you they are.

Still, I wasn't quite ready to go along with this stupid plan.

"And?"

"Because everyone knows that the guys on night duty are bored and horny. The girls, too. You know you want it, Lisa, don't kid me."

That's me, Lisa.

Carla liked boys and girls equally. I have to admit that I was sometimes tempted both ways, too, but mostly I liked guys. I liked it hard, I liked it fast, and I especially liked it when the guy pulled out and came all over me. Do you wonder why guys like me?

My dad once told me he and Mom considered me the boy they never had. I knew what he meant. Tomboy, that's my middle name. I can't remember a time when I didn't push myself as hard as I could in sports and later on in sex, or in whatever I was doing.

Don't take that tomboy stuff too seriously, though. I'm all girl, and in fact Mom and Dad knew exactly what I liked and how I liked it, but that's a story for another time.

"OK."

I turned to Monica and put my hand on her bare thigh.

"How about you, sweetie?"

Monica looked a little dubious for a moment, then kind of shrugged.

"Sure."

No doubt where Carla stood.

"Yeah!"

I don't know how familiar you are with cheerleader uniforms, but all those stories about bouncing boobs are pretty much not true. There's a stiff front to the uniform, I guess you might even call it a sort of breastplate, that reduces the bounce. It's called a shell or a vest.

For us smaller types it doesn't really matter either way, but for the girls who are more than a handful it's a godsend. Otherwise they'd be bouncing around all over the place. Fun for the audience, maybe, but a little tough on the girl. Unfortunately, that stiff front also makes it pretty hard for someone to get his or her hands on your boobs. Very frustrating for both of you.

The underwear situation is a little unusual, too. You've got two layers: first is the outer one that coordinates with the uniform and that all you guys are watching very closely when she does a cartwheel or a split. They're called bloomers or spankies or any number of other things, depending on where you're from. And, yes, most girls wear panties under their bloomers. That's the second layer.

You can probably guess why my dad takes a pair of binoculars to the cheerleading competition finals. We made it to State a couple of times. Imagine a huge gym filled with 400 or 500 cheerleaders. Awesome.

Anyway, we cruised up around the river side of the Pentagon. Monica's dad worked there and she was driving his car, so the sticker and some fast talk about saying hello to dear old dad lonely in his office at night, plus the standard megawatt cheerleader smiles, got us past the first checkpoint. Showing a little thigh helped, too.

Granted, we were in the outer parking lot and probably wouldn't be able to get any closer, but we figured it wouldn't be too long before someone took an interest in us. We used the time to unzip a little.

Yes, we were sluts and we were stripping for action. You got a problem with that?

I didn't think so.

Well, it didn't take long before a vehicle pulled up behind us, red lights flashing.

"License and registration, please."

He was tall and slim and kind of cute. Monica handed him the documents.

"Miss, do you know this is a restricted area? What are you doing here?"

"My dad works here, officer. We're back from a game earlier this evening and we were just going to say 'hi' to him, but I called him on my cell just now and he didn't answer, so maybe he's in a meeting or something."

Monica was using her best nice-little-high-school-girl voice, but she also had her skirt pulled almost all the way up her thigh. Officer whoever-he-was seemed to like the view.

"I'll have to check your license out. Please stay in your vehicle, all of you."

He walked back to his cruiser. I turned to look out the rear window and I could see him typing, it looked like, then talking into his shoulder mike.

"Unzip me the rest of the way, will you?"

That was Carla, chief slut, from the back seat. She scrunched around and I could barely reach her to pull her zipper all the way down. She quickly pulled her uniform top and shell off and down. Then she took her bra off. In the light from the cruiser, I could see her nipples were erect.

Don't let anyone tell you those Pentagon security boys aren't quick to respond. In a couple of minutes a second vehicle pulled up behind the first one. I couldn't believe it when I saw two figures get out: a guy and a slim blonde woman, both in uniform. We hit the jackpot, I was thinking.

They consulted with "our" guy for a moment, then all three approached our car from both sides.

The blonde opened the back door. I thought I saw her tense when she saw Carla, boobs and all. Then she smiled.

"OK, miss, please step out of the vehicle."

Carla slid to the door and stepped out. The blonde officer didn't move more than a half-step back, so they were inches from each other. Carla was smiling. Blondie looked like she was trying not to laugh.

"What's your name, miss?"

"Carla, officer."

"I'm Officer Jones. Sylvia Jones."

Jones put her hands on Carla's shoulders, then ran them down her arms to Carla's hips. Then back up Carla's flanks. Carla trembled a little.

"Problem, miss?"

I knew what Carla's trembling meant and let me tell you, it wasn't fear. Carla's nipples were even harder than they had been before, if that's possible, and my only worry was that Carla would jump Sylvia and startle her. You never want to startle a cop.

Carla shook her head, still smiling a little. Officer Sylvia moved her hands to Carla's breasts, and Carla's smile got bigger. No dummy, Carla. She was smart enough not to make the first move on a cop, but she moved a little closer to Sylvia anyway and presented herself for a kiss.

That was the right move. Without taking her hands off of Carla's boobs, Sylvia kissed her. Lightly at first, then harder.

At that moment, I lost track of them because cute-tall-officer was beside my open door asking me to step out. His colleague was doing the same with Monica on the other side of the car.