Chapter 12

The girls didn't sleep long. When Monica woke, the others soon followed. The chatter between them did not include, interestingly enough, what they'd done before they took their nap. Apparently it was one thing to do that in front of each other, and something else again to talk about it.

Judith went to her father and asked if he would pay for the girls to get their hair done at the hotel salon. After what had happened, it's no suprise he was amenable, and said, "Of course."

By the time they emerged from the salon, their energy levels were appropriately high. They'd gotten the whole works, which meant, basically, a glamour makeover. Everybody who saw them now thought they were a group of twenty-something girlfriends, on a girls' day out.

The excitement only built as they got dressed for the banquet. Interestingly, this was when Francine's intuition failed. The slinky, sexy underwear had, in fact, been fun to wear, but at this point there were different thought patterns going on than what she had anticipated.

"I wonder how this would look if I didn't wear a bra with it," mused Monica, holding the dress up against her body.

Of course once she slipped her dress on sans bra, and was critically examined by both her own eyes in the mirror, and the eyes of others directly, the owners of those other eyes had to try it too.

Astonishingly, it was sweet, innocent Tiffany who ran her finger along the panty line visible on the back of Judith's dress, and who said, "Too bad that shows so well."

"That's not a problem at all," said Janice, grinning. She promptly raised the skirt of her dress and shimmied out of her panties. "See?" she crowed, whirling.

Within a minute, all of that sexy underwear lay ignored on the floor.

And it was at this time that the sexual energy began building too.

That they weren't acting "normal" isn't really that hard to understand. In this situation, "normal" had a completely different definition than it had back at school and, to be honest, what it would be again, when they got back to their more familiar surroundings. No, this was more like a dream, where anything was possible. What had already happened proved that, so it wasn't odd that their imaginations ran a little wild as they prepared to see what the night would bring.

Sister Francine finally made an appearance, carrying a bag with her own banquet clothing in it. Nobody else was aware she'd decided to get dressed somewhere other than Brady's room because she was afraid she'd never get dressed at all if she stayed there. She was flushed and her hair was disheveled. She looked, to the girls, to have slept hard. To Bob she looked well fucked.

Bob was right, of course.

She hopped in the shower and, as was her habit, simply tied up her wet hair in a bun, high on her head. She just left it that way as she got into her own dress ... with bra and panties, of course.

She was so late getting started, and so busy with trying to do herself what professionals had done to the girls, that she failed to notice the excited points of nipples pushing through little black dresses.

At least until they all gathered to go downstairs with Bob.

He whistled, and six faces turned toward him, pleased.

"No man deserves to go to dinner with this many beautiful women on his arms," he sighed, his eyes ranging over the svelte forms of the black-clad women. "You're all beautiful."

"Thank you," said his daughter, beaming. "It's your money that helped make us beautiful. Thank you for that too."

It was then that Francine noticed Tiffany's excitement through her dress. Her eyes darted to the others. The excitement was plain through the thin black cloth of every dress in the room except hers.

"Haven't we forgotten something?" she asked, in her best nun voice.

"What?" came five innocent voices.

She cupped her breasts and gave them a little bounce upward, completely forgetting that Bob was there.

His gasp reminded her and she flushed bright red in embarrassment.

"We have to go!" said Janice, surging past everyone else for the door. "We'll be late, and then everybody will stare at us when we go in."

Francine wanted to stop them, and demand that they correct their wicked ways. But she was already embarrassed by what Bob had seen. And, as it turned out, Brady was waiting in the hall. The look on his face made her want to pull him into the room and tell the rest to go on. Once again, she wondered if she had some kind of psychosexual disease. Was she a nymphomaniac? But then she remembered that it only happened with Brady. By the time she took his arm, the girls had skipped on ahead.

They weren't late, but everyone stared at them anyway. Dressed alike, and all dolled up, everyone wondered who they were and why they were all with Bob Tanner. Then it turned out that the tables had to be rearranged, because the word hadn't gotten to the banquet staff that the head coach was going to have guests. All the people who had been slated to sit at his table had to be moved to other tables, and that created a quiet furor among the staff. In the end, an extra table was brought in and set next to his, so that at least the other VIPs were in the middle of the room with him, if not at his table.

Dinner was sumptuous and decadent, which has a way of creating sexual energy in the revelers. It has been that way for centuries, though few people think of a good meal as creating the desire to later mate. That may be because the members of modern society, at least in America, tend to overeat, which has the opposite effect. If you eat too much, all you want to do after that is lie down and sleep.

But this was a catered event, so the portions were modest. The fact of the matter was that eighty percent of the team would go somewhere after the banquet to get something else to eat.

But that left twenty percent to do what a good meal often sets folks up to do.

And the dancing after dinner finished it off, for lots of them ... including the girls.

Some of the dancers and a good number of Snooky's girls had hung around, specifically because they intended to make the money they'd been denied when the after game party failed to go down as advertised. In some cases, those girls had been invited to stay at the hotel, some staying in only one room, and others moving from one to another.

But those women had banked on their willingness to engage in bedroom sports to get them their invitations. They hadn't gone to the expense of creating an image, like the girls had.

So there was a steady stream of big, strong football players coming to Coach Tanner's table, asking for the honor of a dance with a pretty young girl.

And, because Bob still believed "What could happen?" was in force ... he let them have their fun.

The result was that BD Washington saw the same girl he'd fucked senseless in the showers. She was all dolled up this time, but he recognized her. And it was obvious she was at least twenty-one. In a fit of testosterone, went up to her and asked her to dance.

He was still huge, and still black as the ace of spades, but he wasn't so scary in an ill fitting suit. Not to mention he spoke gently and wasn't a raving maniac any more. And as excited as Janice was, when he appeared and she remembered that indescribable, wild ride - quite literally - that she'd had on this man's jutting cock, what should have warned her to say "No" hid in a corner of her mind and she stood up, smiling.

As he led her away, "Jo Jo" Nichols, a running back who came from Ohio State, came up to the table and fixed his eyes on Monica. Jo Jo was a corn fed Iowa boy, born and bred, and he somehow recognized in Monica the fact that she was from a rural area too, even gussied up as she was. Monica hadn't been raised on a farm, like Jo Jo was, but she recognized the type just from the way he talked. It was like a breath of air from home, and she stood up gladly to dance with him.

There was a lull then, until Randy Nakimura approached the table.

"I know you," said Judith, smiling at him. "You helped us in the locker room."

"Yeah," he said, smiling shyly. He looked at Kendi then and said, "Would you dance with me?"

Kendi looked at his oriental features, deciding he was cute, and said, "Will you behave yourself if I do?" He bowed. That simple, traditional bow would later get him laid.

Janice felt like a Barbie Doll in BD's embrace as they started dancing slowly to the languid music coming from the band.

"I owe you an apology," he said, softly to the top of her head.

"I agree," she said, looking up at his wide, thick-lipped face.

"I got a little carried away," he said.

"A little?" She giggled.

"I hope you're okay," he said.

"Well I'm no longer a virgin, if that's what you mean."

He stopped, frozen, and started down at her. "Seriously?" he gasped.

"No, you big lug," she laughed. "You might notice I didn't scream my head off."

"Actually, you screamed a lot," he said.

"That's because I was so happy," she said.

"Seriously?" he gawked again.

"Uh huh," she said, pushing her braless breasts against the front of his suit.

"Any chance you feel like being that happy again tonight?" he asked her carefully.

She looked up and, as she bumped her loins against him, said "Maaaybe."

She saw a sausage appear at his shoulder. It tapped him and she realized it was a finger. They turned sideways to find another huge black man standing there. He was perfectly bald and looked twice as wide as BD.

"This is Tank," said BD. "He and I are homies. Wha'chou want, Tank?"

"Can I dance with her too?" asked the huge man with the voice of a ten year old girl.

BD looked at Janice. "Tank and me share everything. He won't hurt you. You want to dance with him?"

Janice grinned. This wasn't scary at all, and she was having a lot of fun. "Sure," she said.

Tank, as it turned out, was not only gentle with his grip on Janice, but light on his feet too.

"So it's Tank, huh?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Theodore, actually," he said in that strange high pitched voice. "Theodore Busby. I'm a lineman. I knock people down. That's why they call me Tank."

"Why do they call him BD?" she asked.

"Cause he gots a big dick," said Tank, guilelessly. Tank thought he was dancing with a woman in her early twenties, which was the same age he was.

She giggled. "Really?"

"He'll show it to you if you want," said Tank. "But then he'll prolly want to fuck you."

Tank was used to talking to the usual type of girl BD hung out with. But to be honest, even if he'd have known exactly who Janice was, and how old she was, the only change in his comment might have been that he'd replace "fuck you" with "do it with you."

All this was affecting Janice's judgment which, of course, was already pretty seriously flawed.

"Do you have a big dick too, Tank?" she asked, teasing.

"Not as big as BD's," he said honestly.

Kendi whirled in Randy's arms. She'd already learned that, like her, he was third generation Japanese American, and that his family had come from the Osaka region. He was also from California, and had surfed, but was more into beach volleyball than the water. She accused him of being more into looking at girls in bikinis, and he smiled, but said nothing. The music swelled and he whirled her three times in a row. She'd never danced with anyone who danced like him.