Chapter 11

Saturday Afternoon

I felt incredibly naked as I stood just beyond the end-zone. I'm still not sure whether that was because of the gaudy coat of body paint that only drew more attention to what was beneath it, because I was about to face a stadium full of football fans with nothing between me and them but a thin coat of gold and scarlet paint, or because I was right next to a very tall, very handsome U. S. Marine in full dress uniform, who either had a bayonet in his pocket or was very glad to see me.

He made my nipples crinkle.

I nervously adjusted strap of the flag support harness - you know, one of those straps with a socket to hold the butt of a flag staff? - I wonder what it's really called? - around my neck. That was the only thing I was wearing, aside from my little gold cross and my glasses, of course. Then I took the staff carrying the school flag, surprised at how heavy it was, and slipped its butt end into the socket that supported it.

My first duty as Miss School Spirit was as part of the color guard, carrying in the school banner for the national anthem, right alongside the Marine carrying the stars and stripes. On the other side of him was another Marine, a woman, carrying the state flag.

The band tootled a fanfare and we marched out on to the field, the two Marines in their uniforms and I in my coat of scarlet and gold paint, in step with the rum-tum-tumming of the drums.

Even though we'd had only one quick practice, everything went perfectly. At the fifty yard line we wheeled around in a line and came to a halt right on the hash marks, facing the home bench, the football team and the crowd, the band behind us, the flags fluttering in the gentle breeze.

I was naked on the football field, in front of the whole crowd! Worse, the butt end of the flag staff was pressing right into my crotch. It had rubbed me with every step and I had been made so horny I had an almost unbearable urge to hump my pussy against it!

Then the band struck up "The Star Spangled Banner" and a wave of patriotism swept over me, making me stand just a little straighter, a little taller. Without even thinking about it I began to sing the national anthem myself.

And I got all misty eyed, too, I admit.

When we finished the crowd cheered, the drums rum-tummed, we wheeled smartly around and marched back to the end zone where I was relieved of the flag, right on the verge of orgasming thanks to the way it had rubbed me.

"Here, let me take that," the Marine offered, helping lift the harness off my neck without mussing my hair. His companion Marine was studying me with a raised eyebrow, I noticed. Maybe she was glad to see me, too, I thought.

"Thank you!" I told him, glad to be relieved of the scratchy strap.

Wow! He was soooooo handsome! And he was looking at all of me!

"You sang beautifully, by the way," he complimented me. "Are you in the glee club?"

I blushed, surprised he'd even noticed. "Me? No! The only showering I ever do is in the sing - I mean, the only singing I do is in the shower!"

He laughed. "You could have fooled me! Anyway, nice singing, and nice job with the flag, too!"

"Thanks!" I watched him march away, my heart doing flip-flops, and then suddenly realized I was supposed to be with the football team for their pre-game huzzah, or whatever it was.

They were already forming a big huddle by the time I got there and I had to push my way through them, big, and hulking in all their pads and everything, until I finally emerged in the center of the crowd.

"'bout time you got here, Finchy," Freschetti growled.

"Are you going to waste energy trying to get my goat, or are you going to use it to beat Eastern, Freschy?" I countered. At least The Powers That Be let him wear full pads, protective gear and his uniform for the game! "Let's get this show on the road!"

I almost wish I hadn't said that as about thirty or forty hands reached out, trying to find some place to touch me, the living symbol of School Sprit! Freschetti claimed a tit, wouldn't you know it! They all hunched around me, pawing me, chuffing like - like - oh, I don't know, locomotives, or maybe buffalo in rutting season or something.

But it was catching! I found myself pumping up and down in time with them, chuffing right along with them. Mass hysteria is the only way I can explain it, but I suddenly felt that I was part of something bigger than myself.

With a final powerful bellow the formation broke and they scattered, leaving me shaking and excited - not aroused, excited, like I was ready to go out and take on Eastern myself!

Then the whistle blew, the game began, and the sky fell on us.

I won't go into a play-by-play, but let's just say the first half was a disaster. Eastern took the opening kick-off, marched down the field and scored. We got the ball back on the kick-off from them and Freschetti promptly fumbled the ball away on the first play.

By the end of the first quarter we were down ten points to zero. Our defense, at least, had stiffened, but our offense was impotent, and I use that word advisedly. During the short break between quarters the coach gave them a pep talk, but it didn't seem to take, because the second quarter was just more of the same.

When the whistle sounded ending the first half we were behind twenty four to nothing. The team looked like whipped dogs as they trotted off the field to the locker room.

I was torn. I wanted to follow them and kick their lazy, careless butts, especially Freschetti's, but I had to take part in the half-time show. I opted for the latter, of course, hoping to have time when it was over to somehow stimulate the football team to greater efforts.

The half-time show was - was - well, how would you take having to stand on a little stage, stark naked in front of who knows how many thousand spectators? I was feted by the band, of course, and joined the cheerleaders in leading a cheer. I could see Carl watching me, sense his pride and love for me as I displayed myself, all of myself, to the crowd without shame or fear - NOT.

Then the show was over and I made a break for the locker room in an effort to lend my encouragement to the team. I mean, how would I look if I, their chosen Miss School Spirit, let them lose this game?! I'd be mortified!

I banged through the doors into a sweaty, stinking fog of raging masculine hormones and defeatism.

"All right, you guys, are you going to let me down? Or are you going to kick some butt out there?" I challenged.

They all looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.

"What's the matter with you pussies?" I asked. "Are you going to let those wimps walk all over you in the second half, too? How about it? I want to hear from you. Are you?"

"No," a few of them mumbled.

"What's that? I can't hear you?" I cupped my hand behind my ear. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the coach grinning at me.

"No!" they said a bit louder.

"What's that?" All the time I was scanning them, looking for Freschetti.

"NO!" they said louder, more together.

"Come on, you can do better than that. Are you gonna let them piss all over you for thirty more minutes?" I asked.

"NO!!" they yelled.

"WHAT???" I asked. Where the heck was Freschetti?

"NO!!!" they bellowed.

"WHAT????"

"NO!!!!!!!!" This time their yell practically broke my eardrums.

"That's more like it. Now, where's Freschetti?" I asked.

"I think he's taking a piss," someone answered, gesturing.

"'scuse me," I apologized, pushing through them toward the pissoire or whatever the heck that room was called. I banged through the door and found myself in a room with sinks along one wall, urinals along another and the expected bunch of toilets at the far end, but not a partition in the joint. Must get real social in here at times, I thought.

Freschetti was at a sink, doing something. I reached him just as his hand was going to his mouth, and I knocked it down, spilling a bunch of pills in the sink. "What the hell are you doing, Freschetti?"

He looked stunned to see me there, and scrambled for the pills, but I twisted the faucet on, swirling them down the drain. "What's this, better living through chemistry?" I asked him sarcastically.

"What do you know about it?" he shot back, reaching for a pill bottle.

I knocked it out of his hand, sending it flying, the pills scattering into the sink to follow their brethren to do whatever it is they did to all the bacteria in the sewage treatment plant. The poor microbes probably either have muscles like Sylvester Stalone or are still high.

"You don't need that crap," I told him. I turned him to face me and punched him in the chest.

Jeez he was big! It was like punching a wall.

"What you need is in here," I said, punching his chest again. "And here." I thumped his forehead. "And maybe down here!" I grabbed his crotch, bruising my fingers on his protective cup for my troubles.

He was rocked back on his heels. Here he was, in full football armor, being accosted by a naked, painted girl half his size. I tried to think of some way to motivate him. Then I thought of one.

"You want me, Freschetti?" I asked, standing back, hands on my naked hips, feet spread so he could see all of me in my naked, painted glory. "You really want me? Come on, you've been after me to get your rocks off all week. You want me?"

He stood there and I swear he started to drool.

"Well you'll never get me by bullying or intimidation. You'll have to earn me, Freschetti," I told him, quailing inside even as I said it.

"How?" he growled.

I pushed close to him, into his personal space. I smelled his sweat, my naked-but-for-paint tits practically brushing his grass-stained jersey. It gave me a crick in my neck to look up at him.

"You win this game, Freschetti, and you can have me. I'll fuck you, Freschetti. I'll suck you and fuck you, but you've got to win the game for that to happen, Freschetti. Got that? Got that?" I asked, poking him. "I mean it! You know I don't say things I don't mean. Do you think you're man enough to go out there and whip their butts, Freschetti?"

I could see a fire kindle in his eyes, could see the life coming back into him. It was almost scary!

Then I reached for his crotch again, not that it did much good to feel nothing but a steel cup. "You win the game, you'll be able to put this thing in me, Freschetti. Lose and you get nothing. Now drag your sorry ass out there, protect the goddam ball, and win the goddam game!"

I turned him toward the door and gave him a push and a kick. He crashed through to the locker room like a bull on a mixture of steroids and amphetamines - which, for all I know he may have been - and I heard the team greet him with a feral roar and stampede out of the locker room, their cleats on the concrete floor sounding like the final scenes of a Schwartzenegger movie.

Then I turned and looked at myself in the mirror, a scared, naked figure all in crimson and scarlet paint and makeup.

I couldn't help noticing, too, that that damn flag holder had rubbed the paint off my pussy, so I had this patch of pink right in the middle of all that scarlet and gold. It looked like the bulls-eye of a target!

Ohmygod, I thought, what have I just done!

Then I thought, we're down by twenty four points and have been playing like turkeys. No chance they'd win the game, I told myself. No chance.

Besides, with the steroids he'd been taking the chances were Freschetti couldn't get it up anyway.

Gathering myself up, I trudged out, the tile cold and gritty with crud from the football field under my bare feet.

Back on the field I joined the cheerleaders just as the second half kickoff sailed down the field and our return man gathered it in. He cut to the right and headed down the our sideline like an express train, thundering past me only a few feet away. A wall of blockers in front of him took down Eastern's defenders like ducks in a shooting gallery, and suddenly the field was open but for one last defender - the kicker, who promptly became road-kill, and suddenly the score was 24 to 6.

The return man was Freschetti.

The crowd, of course, went wild, and I felt a chill even as I bounced up and down right along with all the other Central rooters.

What had I done? I asked myself as they kicked the extra point, making it 24 to 7.

After that the game settled down, some. We held them, they held us, until we managed a field goal in the last seconds of the third quarter, making it 24 to 10.

Eastern came out strong in the last quarter, driving down the field until they turned the ball over on an interception on our ten yard line. We drove back the other way, and I was cheering them on with one eye on the clock, one eye on the score and one on the field, while my heart hammered.

We scored and got the point after, making the score 24 to 17.

In the first half our passing game had been erratic at best, so we didn't use one passing play on that drive. It was Freschetti to the left, Freschetti to the right, Freschetti up the middle.

Freschetti was playing like he was on fire. Isn't it amazing what testosterone can do?

The kickoff gave Eastern the ball back, of course, and they fought back. Finally our defense stopped them on the thirty yard line - our thirty yard line - and the field goal try was short, the Eastern kicker still wobbly from when Freschetti had run him down, so we got the ball back with about two minutes remaining in the game, seventy yards to go, and one time out left.

But our offense was tired, even I could see that. We ran two plays and the blocking just wasn't there - on first down Freschetti got two yards on a run, and then on the next play the quarterback got sacked and gave that and about five more yards back.

The coach called our last time out, and I saw him waving me over as the team gathered around, sucking down Gatorade and spitting it out. One guy drank too much too fast and turned away to spew just as I was getting there. He almost barfed on me, a fountain of Gatorade erupting from him.

The coach took me aside. "I don't know what you said to Freschetti, but it sure as hell motivated him."

What could I do but gulp, and nod.

"Well he's still hot, but we need some blocking if we're gonna win this game. How about it? Can you get the team up for this last drive?"

I wondered exactly what he meant by "get the team up," but didn't ask for a clarification. Suddenly it was all on my shoulders. Or, rather, on some other portion of my anatomy, you might say.

I couldn't help but look over to where the band sat, my gaze finding Carl. He gave me a big smile, and a thumbs up signal.

Oh, if only he knew, I thought. But I also remembered that I had warned him it was going to be a rough week. I'd just had no idea exactly how rough.

"Just tell 'em what you told Freschetti," the coach pleaded.

I told myself he had no idea what he was asking. I agonized for a few seconds, then nodded tensely. "Okay, but you - well, believe me, you're better off not knowing."

He looked surprised, but stood back as I walked over to where the team was gathered, feeling the seconds of the timeout ticking away. I waved the water boys and assistants and whatever away, and knelt in the center of a loose huddle, the whole team around me. I was one naked girl in the middle of thirty some football players.

"Here's the deal," I began, my mouth dry, my cunt anything but. "I'll tell you what I told Freschetti. If you win this game, I'm the trophy. It's that simple."

"You mean... ," someone said.

"Let's go, Red team," the referee said, ending the time out.

"If you're not sure, ask Freschetti. The same offer I made him is good for you. Now get your sorry asses out there and kick butt," I said. "Now! Hands on me! Now! One! Two! Three!"

They pawed me. They erupted with a roar and the first string charged back on the field with blood in their eye and fire in their loins, you might say.

I turned away, afraid to watch. Only I couldn't NOT watch either, as I joined the cheerleaders in rousing the crowd.

Once again it was Freschetti to the left, Freschetti to the right, but not too much Freschetti up the middle, since he had to stop the clock by running out of bounds.

Tick - tick - tick. The clock ran down - one minute left, forty five seconds, thirty seconds, twenty seconds. With ten seconds left Freschetti broke left down the sideline and was hammered out of bounds just inside the ten, a hit so hard you could hear it in Topeka.

For a second I was afraid he wasn't going to get up, but he did, shaking it off, trotting back to the huddle. It was first and goal, five seconds were left on the clock, and we were out of time outs.

I jittered around on the sideline at about the thirty yard line, and then broke into a run, sprinting down the sideline, rounding the end line to stand at the end of the field, directly under the goal posts amidst a throng of photographers and who knows who else.

For some reason they all backed away from me, leaving me standing there, alone. I was aware of cameras clicking as they snapped my picture. The sweat had made my paint run. My hair was in ruins, a tangle of gold and scarlet locks. I was naked as a jaybird. If I hadn't already been beside myself with excitement even I wouldn't have wanted to be beside me! I must have looked totally crazed.

I must have BEEN totally crazed!

The offense broke their huddle and came up to the line, and I could see them suddenly stiffen at the sight of me - and I'm not sure I'm talking only about their morale or their spines when I say "stiffen," either.

There I was, just beyond the end line - what they were fighting for. The trophy. The Game Ball, so to speak. Pun intended.

The linemen stood for a moment, the quarterback came up behind the center, looked at me as I stood there, naked but for runny paint, arms akimbo, feet shoulder width apart, then he turned to call some numbers, first to one side, then the other - what was he doing? Changing the play?