Kimmie and The Bat,
an erotic tale by AchtungNight

Celebs: Kimmie Meissner.
Codes: Mf, oral, cons, rom, viol
Disclaimer: This story contains graphic sexual situations and
adult themes and is therefore not suitable for those under age 18
or the close-minded. It may be illegal in some areas too. :(
Please also note that it is not a true story, instead merely a
fantasy. Real events may be referenced and real names,
likenesses, and other personal details of celebrities and other
real people may be part of the story- however they are used in a
fictional manner styled to the author's liking that may be
satirical at times. The author has never met any of the
celebrities used herein, so he has no way of knowing if they
really act the way they do in the story, and is confident that
they probably don't. One hopes that these facts do not keep you,
the reader, from enjoying the story.

Acknowledgements: Thanks as usual to all who have aided in the
creation of this story, even those who have done so without
knowing it. Thanks also to those who maintain sites for stories
like this, and to all those who write for them, read them, and
otherwise keep them alive. Thanks especially go out to those who
have sent this author feedback. If after reading this story you
desire to do the same, please email feedback to me at the address
in my profile. All feedback, with the exception of flames and
spam, will be answered and appreciated. I hope you like this
story. If not, please tell me why you didn't so I may learn of my
mistakes.

Copyright: This story is my creation. All other stories which are
referenced or otherwise paid homage herein belong to their
respective creators. This story may be posted anywhere on the
Internet that is free to access and has my permission- please
email me for such. The inclusion of this disclaimer and proper
credit will be all that I ask.

Notes: If you like Kimmie Meissner, the Austin Ice Bats, Catcher
in the Rye, V for Vendetta, ice skating, hockey, and/or music in
general, you should like this one. :) Note- like all my stories,
this takes place in a heavily fictionalized version of the real
world. This was done so that the story could work better. Yes, I
know the Ice Bats had their first game in the new arena in 2006,
not 2007. Yes, I know there has not been a devestating hurricane
named Sarah, I pray there never will be. But this is my ficverse,
not the real world. Everyone got that? :)

That said, on with the show!
***********************************************************
Kimmie and The Bat.
October 2007. Austin, Texas, Earth.

My name is Fang. I am a slave.

Not a real slave, that's illegal. Rather I am a slave to a need.
I am addicted to attention. Every day I must feel the joy of
crowds, their roars of approval, their eyes on me. It's been this
way all my life, from my schoolboy days as a class clown to the
present. What am I in said present? Well, I'm still a clown. I
just get paid for it now.

I am the mascot of the Austin Ice Bats, a minor league hockey
team based out of the capitol city of the great state of Texas. I
am perhaps the only member of the team who is widely known
outside the field. Not only do I perform at every game, harassing
opponents and entertaining at intermissions, but I can also
frequently be seen at charity events. Especially for Blue Santa
and of course animal rights. Kiddie events too, I love children.
I also love all things to do with bats. My favorite cereal is
Count Chocula. My favorite novels are Dracula and Jeff Rovin's
Vespers. My favorite comic books, movies, and TV shows are all
Batman. Years ago I graduated from Bat State University. When I'm
not rooming with the team, I live with thousands of other bats
under Austin's Congress Avenue Bridge.

Wait, that's my mask's persona. The real me is somewhat
different. I'm not really a 6'2" humanoid bat with a big furry
gray head and a wingspan almost as wide as I am tall. Under this
mask I'm someone else. I'm a dancer, a biker, an artist. A
college graduate, a chess player, a citizen of the world. But of
course I can't talk much about that persona of mine. Compared to
Fang it is unremarkable. I'm not much to look at, neither
handsome nor suave. Just another gangly blonde guy with too many
freckles who can't even comb his hair right.

I'm not even from Austin, though like many immigrants to the
place I utterly adore it. I originally hail from the great city
of Santa Monica, California. It was there that I gained my skills
at dancing and clowning, not to mention my love of music, movies,
biking, and charity. My first jobs in high school were at the
carnivals on the Santa Monica Pier, selling cotton candy and
cleaning up trash. Then I graduated to hawking the stuffed
animals at the game booths, and from there to operating some of
the rides. All my life, though, I yearned for more. I wanted to
use my hobby of dancing as a skill, as a way of getting a job I
would truly enjoy. I tried skateboarding, I tried surfing, but
until I tried cheerleading, nothing seemed to fit. At the tryouts
I did well. I had the strength for the job, and the cleverness.
Then, unfortunately, I found myself subject to ridicule- even
more than before. The other boys picked on me, saying I was
different from them and should be outcast because of my activity.
And the popular girls were even worse- yes, I got very close to
many of them being a cheerleader, but only on the field. Off the
field, they shunned me, giggled, and laughed, staring at me in
the halls but avoiding me nonetheless. Rare was the person who
actually seemed proud to even talk to me. Still, though,
attention of this sort was better than none. Thus I continued to
do what I enjoyed.

And thus I continued to be alienated from my peers, so much so
that by the time I reached my senior year Santa Monica was no
longer home to me. Neither was California. I sought a different
college than Berkley, Stanford, or UCLA. I wanted a place far
from home, and yet close to California in terms of free spirit,
general weirdness, and sense of self. After much consideration, I
settled on Austin. I came here in the summer of 1996, and soon
after that I saw my first hockey game. People back home weren't
big on hockey, but I loved it instantly. The joy of the masses,
the swish and swoosh of skates on ice, the raw anger of both fans
and players. It all just had a certain appeal to me. And when I
learned the team was looking for a new mascot, well, I just had
to try out. Jake Farrell, one of my oldest friends, had moved
here a while back and become a Zamboni driver. He helped me get
the job.

And now, nine years later, I am still enjoying it immensly. I
have to train and work out a lot to keep in shape and practice,
rare is my time my own, but it is all worth it. I have the chance
to dance, the chance to perform, to give and receive hugs and
praise constantly. No more ridicule, not now. No longer am I
Holden Hamilton, the poor alienated male cheerleader and carny.

I am Fang. I am a man in a mask!

***

Today is a glorious day for me. A day when the attention I get
will be immense, the chance to perform high, my success a sure
thing. My nerves are giddy, for though I have been thinking much
about this day for a long time I have not had much chance at all
to practice for it. And what practice I did do could be
meaningless. Which sucks, because this day is important. You see,
today is a very momentous occasion. It is the day of the Ice
Bats' first game in their new arena, the Chapparal Ice Center. It
is also the first team charity event sponsored by many of our
newest backers. Many celebrities are going to be in attendance,
along with the usual thousands of fans. All their eyes will be on
the team, and on me especially. My every move will be watched,
whether I know it or not. Some of them could be evaluating the
team based on me, some of them could be evaluating me too. I have
to ignore this, though. I have to put all my fears aside and get
out there and dance, rage across the ice, have fun!

"You okay, Fang?" Boris Rokossivsky, one of our newer players, is
asking me now as we suit up in the locker room before the game. I
insist the players and team staff all call me by my mascot name
on game days rather than my real name, even though they all know
my real name. It helps me stay in character.

"Fine," I grin at him, laughing as I down another cup of purple
Gatorade. My costume is going to be hot and cramped, but from
experience I am prepared for this. I have been drinking water and
Gatorade steadily for the past hour, and eating lots of potato
chips, wheat thins, power bars, and bananas. I am ready for the
costume. It's the performance I'm not sure about.

"Relax," Boris tells me, giving me an encouraging smile and clap
on the shoulder. "You always do great out there. This won't be
any different. You know the field."

"Yeah," I nod, thinking back on the many times I have skated at
Chapparal Ice before now. I have skated here in costume at games,
charity events, and birthday parties. I have skated here out of
costume too- I find it relaxing even though I don't get nearly as
much notice. Chapparal Ice is Austin's premier ice event hall,
and now it is fully my second home. I know it, I love it. The
event I am doing today will be similar to many I have done in the
past. And yet at the same time it will be different from all of
them. As usual, I only found that out last week.

***
Last Week

The team owner, a brash and portly businessman from the Rio
Grande Valley named Felipe Ruiz, called me into his office and
told me all about it. "It will be a very special game," he said.
"You do your usual antics, roam the crowd, lead the team out in
pregame and work with the Bat Girls, Jake, the referees. At
second intermission, though, you do something different,
something very special. I have lined up a professional figure
skater to perform with you. It will be a grand event, a
spectacle!"

"A professional figure skater?" I had asked, blinking. Unlike
many hockey players and fans, I greatly appreciate the sport of
figure skating. It is every bit a dance, an art that requires
grace, strength, and skill. Its practitioners must hone their
craft from an early age and work at it every day with intense
devotion. The fact that so many figure skaters are young
beautiful women helps me enjoy it too. I am a huge fan of figure
skating, I follow it almost as religiously as I follow hockey. I
was still surprised though- not to mention angered. Felipe has
gotten big skaters to perform at our games before, and just about
every time they've ended up overshadowing the team, getting more
attention, angering the hardcore fans. I like watching the
skaters, but I don't like the things their presence brings along.


"Yes, a professional figure skater," Felipe went on, waving his
hands in extravagant gestures. "An Olympian, a winner of gold at
the World Championships. She will draw big crowds, amazing ticket
sales. You have probably heard of her. Kimberly Meissner."

"Kimmie Meissner," I mused, nodding. "Yeah." Of course I'd heard
of her. The world knows her. In 2003 and 2004 she won novice and
junior national figure skating titles in consecutive years,
becoming the second American woman to do that, period. In 2005
she won the bronze medal at the US Figure Skating Championship.
This year she won the gold medal at the World Championships, the
first woman to win at her first appearance in that event since
Oksana Baiul back in 1993. And of course she also competed in the
Torino Olympics back in Feburary, placing fifth in the short
program and sixth overall.

"She is the biggest star I have ever gotten here," Felipe told
me, laughing and gesturing. With one meaty hand he took off his
sunglasses and pointed them at me, emphasizing his words. "I have
spent over nine hours negotiating with her agent, Bob Sugar. You
know Bob."

"Yes," I nodded again. The man is a well-known sports
representative and a huge jerk.

"I think we have planned an event the fans will really like."
Felipe's hands moved in circles as he continued talking. "The Ice
Bats will have their first game in this new arena, defeat the
Scorpions, and our second intermission show will feature the
world's most popular figure skater. It is a great program. First
she moves for the crowd to amazing music, and then you join her
and dance. Peter recommended the music. You know Peter."

I nodded. "I know Peter." He was speaking of course of the
director of the Austin Symphony, Peter Bay.

"Holden, what is the problem?" Felipe leaned close to me and
asked, noting the pained look on my face. "This will be a great
event. Already it has attracted thousands of fans, and much money
for our charities. It will be wonderful!"

"It's nothing, boss," I insisted. Then I paused at his frown. As
usual, Felipe knew when it wasn't nothing. "I..." I stopped,
knowing I would have to frame my next words carefully. This event
was probably important- Felipe has had big skaters perform for us
many times, and every time it means big money. The fact that he
was having this one dance with me on the ice meant he thought she
would bring in lots of money, for charity and for the team. I had
no problem with that, I was glad for it. I was still antsy about
this, though, because of past experience. Whenever a big pro
skater has come to perform with our team in the past, they have
wanted to stay away from the players as much as possible. The
players in their mind of course include me. Yes, I've danced with
professional skaters on the ice, but they have all been as cold
to me as any cheerleader was back at Santa Monica High. Oh, they
smile and twirl for the crowd, hugging me close and moving their
bodies in time with mine, but all the while I can feel their
embarrassment streaming off them. Their desire to be somewhere
else, to be alone on the ice instead of with some idiot in a
costume. To be performing for smiling fans and judges rather than
a jeering mob of hostile drunks more eager to see people bashing
each other over a little black puck. I suppose I can understand
it, I know the gulf between celebrity and normal person. I am
both, after all. Why famous girls can never seem to remember they
are both too, I don't know. I've never yet met one who has
managed it.

"What?" Felipe asked again, drawing me back to reality. "What's
the problem?"

"You know me, boss," I shrug, recovering quickly. "New season.
We're starting with a bang, aren't we?"

"I know, I know," Felipe chuckled. "I am sorry, Holden. But we
have to do this. LiveStrong, the United Way, the Hurricane Sarah
Relief Fund, they are all depending on it. The worst part is,
Kimberly Meissner has a very busy schedule. She will not be able
to practice with you for this event. You will have to improv,
work on the fly. Do not worry, you will do fine, I know you
will." He pointed a finger at me and grinned.

"Great," I sighed at his words. Work on the fly. Improv. I hate
improv. So much easier when you have a routine practiced and
ready to go. I do understand busy schedules, though. Mine is
frequently busy, too busy to do a lot of the things I like.
Sometimes it's easier to forgo practice and improv. Of course,
that's when mistakes happen. That's why I've studied many of the
great physical comedians like Jim Carrey, Laurel and Hardy, and
the Three Stooges. I know how to turn a mistake into an amazing
moment, make it look funny and meant to be part of the show. I
use such moments quite frequently, and every time I do it gets
great applause. I still hate having to do it though. I hate it a
lot. It's even worse when you don't know your partner- I have
worked with lots of people in my time. I know the value of
teamwork. And to not be given time to develop it...

"Holden," Felipe said, and I looked back at him. "Do not worry,
my friend," he reassured me. "I have prepared a lot of research
material for you. Videos, interviews, a full biography. By the
time you get done looking it over, you will know Kimberly
Meissner better than her mother."

I sighed and looked away. "Yeah, whatever."

He grinned and chuckled. "No, really!" I shook my head again.
Staring at my expression, he grimaced and leaned closer to me.
"Let us change the subject, okay? How are things with that
girlfriend of yours?"

Damn it, I thought. You just had to bring her up. "Sharon and I
broke up last month," I informed Felipe.

"Oh," he sighed, looking away for a moment. "My sympathies,
Holden."

"Thanks," I said, not feeling it.

Felipe nodded at my expression, then reached into his desk and
pulled out a large burlap folder. "And now you have a new girl to
concentrate on," he reminded me.

"You're right, boss," I grimaced, taking the file. "You're
absolutely right."

***

Now, a week later, I have practiced for this event, but only by
myself. I know I am not ready for it. I am shaking in my costume,
and the Gatorade is not helping. Yes, I have already visited the
restroom. I may very well do so again at each of my breaks. I am
not worried about that. I will not stain my duds. Still, though,
I am so worried I feel loose and wet inside. Can I do this? Can I
really do this? Yes, I've done it before a thousand times, but
can I do it again?

"Look at Elena," Boris suggests to me as I shake my head and
grimace. "Seeing her always calms me down." Elena is Felipe
Ruiz's beautiful young daughter and the main reason Boris is on
the team. He has been pursuing her since they met at a nightclub
on 6th Street where he works the door when he's not playing
hockey. She likes to come there and dance. Yes, Felipe knows
they're dating. He doesn't particularly care. Neither do I.

"You forget, Bore," I sigh at the defenceman. "I don't have
anyone like her in my life. Not anymore."

"Oh right," he sighs, remembering Sharon. Then he shrugs and
chuckles. "Okay, then. Look at Kimmie Meissner. I know you have a
crush on the girl."

I blush and roll my eyes. Yes, I have a crush, but it's just a
little one. It's perfectly natural- we're both people whose
professional life is built around dancing on ice skates. She's
also been very popular all throughout this year, winning big at
both the World Championship and the Olympics. I like her, I like
watching her. I've been reading about and watching videos of her
performances all this past week, trying to learn her routines,
get her moves down in my mind. It's only natural that I've
developed a fixation on her. It's more to do with eagerness to
get this event over with than it is attraction, though. I have no
romantic interest in the girl whatsoever. I know she will be as
cold and distant to me as any other professional ice skater has
always been out there. I'm not getting my hopes up- I know they
won't bear any fruit.

The buzzer sounds outside just then, and the crowd roars in
anticipation. "Game time!" shouts our coach, and the players leap
up, slipping on their masks and tightening the straps on their
protective gear. Boris again tells me to relax and claps me on
the shoulder, then heads into formation with the others. I don my
mask and follow, cracking my knuckles and trying to get in the
zone. The players all give me nods and thumbs-ups, some reaching
out to pat me on the back and others raising their sticks in
salutes. I grin and give Nixon's double Vs in response as I take
my place at the front of the team.

We head out of the locker room on the prepared walkway, our
skates swishing and slashing beneath us. My fellow team
cheerleaders, the Bat Girls, are already on the ice ahead of us,
warming up the crowd. They're beautiful girls, high school age
mostly, all skilled at their craft. I love working with them, at
times I've even contemplated dating one or two. But I never
follow through on such urges. We work together after all, and I'm
from the old school. I don't date girls from work.

"The Bat Girls, folks!" our announcer proclaims as the whistle
blows again and they move on the ice in leaps and twirls, then
form up in two rows on either side of our locker room entry. "And
now here they are, the Austin Ice Bats!"

"Yeah!" the crowd cheers. "Go Bats!" "Win It!" I grin and wave,
leading the team onto the field. The opening act is the same as
always. My walk is an angry prowl, stomping my feet and raging
fluidly. Then I break into a smile as the crowd welcomes me with
their shouts, weaving all around the ice, raising my hands and
giving exgaggerated bows. Every move I make is exgaggerated- it
has to be. The costume hides so much.

"And opposing the Bats today," the announcer continues, his voice
deepening into a snarl, "in their first game in Chapparal Ice,
the second game of their new comeback season, the New Mexico
Scorpions!"

"Boo!!!" several fans yell as our opponents come onto the field
from their locker room. Others cheer them, but the vast majority
of the crowd is against them. Only natural, I guess- this is
Austin, not Albuqerque. The Scorpions are a pretty low-ranked
team too. They've been defunct the past year, only recently
getting back into the league. They have a history of doing well,
but then failing when it comes to the big games. I try to show
some respect for them, though, shivering as they come out onto
the field. Their mascot, Stanley, is absent. I've met him a few
times. I was kinda hoping to work with him today. Adversary
moments are some of my best routines, and his too. Oh well, he's
probably worried about all the fans of our team here today. I
worry about such things too every time I go on the road.

The teams give the usual opening glowers at each other as they
rank off on the field, the referees interposing themselves
strategically. The crowd cheers loudly for us and I turn to them
and give a deep bow of respect, then jump up and down
enthusiastically, trying to put evidence to the announcer's words
as he talks about the game ahead. I look over the crowd as I do
so, and smile at the size of it. The stands are packed today,
filled almost to capacity. There are all the usual fans in
attendance- school kids, college students, parents, friends and
family of the players, and many more kinds of people. Large
numbers of Hispanics from East Austin, next to affluents from the
West Side and middle class people from Round Rock, Buda, and the
other suburbs. Many with painted faces, many more wearing our
black and white team jerseys.

Many resident Austin celebrities are here too, eager to help us
ring in our new season and christen the arena. Lance Armstrong is
here, holding hands with his recently reconciled lover Sheryl
Crow. Michael and Susan Dell are here. Sandra Bullock's here,
sitting with Willie Nelson and Richard Linklater. The Mayor is
here, with most of the City Council and several other prominent
members of the city government, like our City Manager and Chief
of Police. Soon-to-be-Judge Terry Keel is here, with former
Governor Richards and the county sheriff. And there's the usual
crowd of eccentrics too- beatniks, goths, guys in frock coats and
fedoras. There's even a certain very dirty hairy homeless person
sitting in the front row cross-dressed in ladies' formal wear.
Not many seats near Ms. Cochran are occupied, but nobody is
daring to ask "her" to leave.

For a moment one face in the crowd catches my eye. A chubby
blonde-bearded guy in a red shirt and blue coat sitting near the
top of center field, a book in his hand. I have often seen him at
our games, always with the same pretty redhaired girl in jeans
and black leather jacket. He reads during our games most of the
time, only looking up during the highlights, usually when that
girl who always sits next to him nudges him on the shoulder.
She's a big hockey fan- few people who watch our games cheer as
enthusiastically as she does. I hop backwards across the ice and
wave at her as she looks down and flaps her fingers in a dove
shape, a beaming smile on her ethereal face. Ah, that smile. How
many times have I wondered about the girl behind it? Who she is,
what she does, what that guy ever did to deserve her. Then the
whistle blows and I have to turn my eyes away.

"Okay, guys," the head referee is telling our team captain and
the Scorpions', "I want a good clean game today. Keep the contact
to a minimum, also the penalties. Got it?" They both nod, and so
do all the players, but like all the fans here today, I know that
their promises will probably not be kept.

I retreat to the team dugout as the game starts up, still full of
anticipation for the second intermission. Usually I come out
before the game and do a pregame show, and originally today was
going to be no different. I talked to Felipe, though, and we
agreed that it was better to conserve my energy for the big show
at second intermission. I still will perform at first
intermission, and I just led the team onto the field, but there
will be no movement in the stands, nothing off the ice, and a lot
less flair in everything but the big show. That's okay- it works
for me, and the Bat Girls are more than capable of picking up the
slack. They'll keep the audience interested.

The game's first period doesn't last too long. We score a couple
goals, and the Scorpions score one. Three of our players are put
in the penalty box, and four of theirs. The referees get in a few
arguments with the coaches and the players, and I am once again
glad for the heavy paned glass between these arguments and the
fans who try to join in them. I am also glad for the security
guards maneuvering to deter the worst of said fans. I barely
notice it all though- my mind is on something else. It's weird,
usually I watch the game more avidly than most of the fans do. I
have to, I need to pace my routines around how the team's doing.
It's entertaining to me too- when it comes to attention, I like
to share and share alike. Today, though, my mind is not on the
game.

Where is she? I wonder, looking back and forth in the stands.
She's not in our dugout, nor in theirs. I do see her agent with
the Scorpions, though. I think he represents a couple of them.
Earlier today he was in the locker room, trying to recruit some
of my team members. It was pretty unsuccessful. Boyd-Maguire
represents most of the Ice Bats, and we're pretty loyal. We also,
like our agents, don't care for Bob Sugar much at all.

"Where is she?" I wonder aloud, looking through the VIP seating
area. Nope, she's not there either. She's probably not even
watching the game. So few skaters do. The Bat Girls aren't even
watching- they went straight back to their practice room after
the game started. They're working on their routines and talking
in there, not watching the game, even though I have seen a couple
of them peeking out the door at the ice now and then. Those are
the few hockey fans among them. Most of the girls are in this for
the dancing and gymnastics they do, not the hockey the players
do. They talk about the players a lot, but most of them don't
seem to care for the game. Kimmie Meissner's probably the same
way.

"Maybe she's not here yet," Boris shrugs from where he stands
waiting to be switched out with another defenseman. As usual, he
can easily guess what people are thinking about- even people
whose faces he can't see under their masks.

"Maybe," I nod, then raise an eyebrow as I see a strange face
peeking around the corner of the Bat Girls' dressing room entry.
A young grinning face, pale skin, long brown hair. Nubile body,
but it's in shadow- I can't see much of it. Pretty typical of the
Bat Girls. But this face is not any of them, I know all their
faces. No, this face is fresher, its deep brown eyes a little
more welcoming. I recognize it instantly- I've been watching its
owner the past week on videos preparing for our dance together.
Kimmie Meissner. So that's where she is. I grin at her and throw
an exgaggerated wave, trying to look as happy as possible. She
returns my smile and wave, though she stays back and mostly out
of sight of the audience. Nice of her, I think. Staying in the
shadows, trying to keep the crowd's attention on us. Did Bob
Sugar tell her to do that?

"Cute girl," remarks Marco Rossi, our relief goalkeeper and
resident Lothario. "She new?"

"She's not a Bat Girl," I turn and inform him as he gives her a
wolfish smile. Kimmie doesn't even seem to notice, her deep brown
eyes on the players swishing back and forth along the ice. A
hockey fan, I think. Interesting. "Don't you recognize her?"

"No," he replies, his tone and grimace deepening as the skater
ducks back into the dressing room. He turns to me and frowns.
"You know her?"

"Kimmie Meissner," I insist, giving him a two-fingered poke in
the helmet.

Marco shrugs, giving one of the refs the finger as he sends one
of our forwards to the penalty box for slashing. "Sorry, pal.
Don't know her from Lillith."

I have to laugh. A beautiful celebrity woman has escaped Marco's
attention. Incredible. "Don't worry, buddy," I make reference to
his expression. "I'm sure she regularly shaves her legs." Marco
laughs along, easily getting the joke.

The whistle blows a few minutes later, and the teams head off the
field. The Bat Girls skate out as the players leave, and I get up
and skate onto the ice to join them. For a moment I see Kimmie
again, watching as the Bat Girls form up on me and get into
position. I wonder if she'll come out onto the ice and join us.
Part of me hopes she will, part of me really wants to see her up
close. But no, she stays where she is. We get the crowd's
attention. Good, I think. No, wait, bad. Oh well.

I am distracted as the whistle blows and the first intermission
officially begins. The Batgirls start their show, jumping and
weaving around me to the theme music from American Idol. Once
again I am impressed with their abilities. I have watched and
worked with many cheerleaders in my time. I know theirs is not an
easy task. Dancing and gymnastics are hard enough to do in a
normal environment, but on ice skates they are even tougher.
These girls show off their skill though, executing every move
with characteristic aplomb and poise. I move back and forth among
them, conducting with my arms, trying to lead the crowd's gasps
and cheers with my emotions. It works pretty well, as always. The
Bat Girls and I practice together quite a bit. Tonight it once
again shows.

Much of the crowd is very appreciative of the routine, the
bookworm guy in particular. He always watches the Bat Girls more
than the players whenever he comes to a game. His girlfriend
watches both pretty much evenly. The Mayor is also clapping and
cheering on the Bat Girls, particularly the two who are his
nieces. Lance's applause is heavy, and so is Sandra's and Anne
Richards's. A lot of the fans aren't watching though. They're
instead using intermission for its intended purpose, making trips
to the restroom or getting more snacks and beer. Oh well, their
loss. Can't please everyone. At least most of their eyes are on
me.

No, wait, that's wrong. Most of them are watching the girls. The
vast majority of hockey fans are virile young men after all, and
naturally their eyes are drawn to the ladies in skimpy outfits
over the guy in the bat costume. They're also moving around and
jumping a lot more than I am right now, grabbing the attention of
everyone. Oh well, that's necessary. I need to save my energy for
the next show, and even though I have toe picks on my skates I
can't move like them anyway. Not with this big heavy costume on.

I suddenly feel another pair of eyes on me and have to turn to
meet them. Kimmie, I realize. She's watching us, and smiling.
Good. Maybe she can come out of the locker room and join in. No,
I instantly discard the idea, dropping the arm I almost raise to
beckon her. Gotta keep the crowd's attention on us. This is our
moment. She'll get enough of a chance to shine when the time for
her show comes.

The performance goes well overall, the American Idol music soon
replaced by the latest hit from pop group Cold Play. We do
another varied routine to that song, again me conducting and the
girls dancing. Lots of claps and cheers come from the crowd,
especially as some of the more experienced Bat Girls do tumbles
and leaps, expertly somersaulting in the air and landing back on
their skates. I gesture in surprise at these, then laugh and clap
along with the audience. Kimmie is laughing and clapping too, a
beautiful sound. The Cold Play song is loud, and the costume is
blocking off much of my hearing, but I have no trouble
interpreting her expression. She likes what she sees here today,
and is looking forward to what comes later. Not what I was
expecting, I muse. Oh well, maybe she's acting. I've seen lots of
people do that on the ice.

The routine ends and I hear Jake blowing his horn at the Bat
Girls as they head back to the dressing room. I skate up to his
Zamboni as he moves it out onto the ice, starting in on a routine
we have staged many times at games. We both enjoy it, and so do
the fans. Our accompanying music starts up from the speakers- the
timeless Baby Elephant Walk by Henry Mancini. I gesture wildly at
Jake in accompaniment with it, making motions with my hands and
trying to express that I want to drive the Zamboni. Jake groans
and rolls his eyes, then angrily complains that he doesn't have
time for this, he has to clean the field. Most of the fans laugh
as I pout, turning away and sulking in disappointment. I catch
sight of Kimmie as I do so and feel my heart leap. She is
laughing, giving me a thumbs-up and grinning widely. I grin back
and return her gesture, letting the crowd wonder at the mystery
of this move. Several of them cheer at it and give me thumbs-ups
as well. Good, I tell myself. Maybe they'll think the gesture's
for them. Kimmie is meanwhile still smiling.

Jake honks his horn at me to get out of his way, but I stamp my
foot and refuse to move, giving him my best pout and angry glare.
Pretty much all the audience has their eyes on us by now. Some
are yelling along with Jake for me to get off the ice, let the
Zamboni get on with things so we can get back to the game. Others
are laughing and rooting for me. This includes Kimmie, I am happy
to note.

One of the refs skates out and gets between us, making
extravagant gestures and yelling at both me and Jake. As usual,
this was planned, the ref carefully selected before the game and
having rehearsed with us. Most of the fans don't know this, so
their applause increases at the surprising development. Meanwhile
in the Scorpions' dugout Bob Sugar is rolling his eyes and making
a wrap-it-up gesture. Several of the fans are encouraging this
too. Good timing, guys, I silently praise them, turning to the
ref and trying to explain my case with wide gestures and looks of
begging. The zebra grimaces and looks at Jake, who throws up his
hands and explains his case with angry words.

Half the crowd boos, the other half cheers, and the ref waves his
hands and blows his whistle for silence. "Look!" he shouts after
the crowd has quieted down. "I don't care who smooths out the ice
as long as it gets smoothed out! He wants to drive the Zamboni,
let him do it! Just watch and make sure he doesn't get too crazy,
okay?"

Jake protests loudly. I walk up to him and make shooing motions,
laughing and pumping my fists in triumph. He glares and shakes
his fist at me, then hops off the machine and storms to the side
of his pen in a huff. Just before he exits the ice, though, he
turns and winks at me. I remind him with a wave not to give the
routine away. I then climb up onto the Zamboni, raising my arms
and posing for the crowd. The ref waves at me impatiently. I sigh
and sit down, then honk the horn and start smoothing out the ice.
The appropriate Gear Daddies music comes on as I do so, and much
of the audience sings along, grinning and laughing as I continue
the act. I move the Zamboni in exgaggerated circles, frequently
weaving and stopping in fits and starts, posing for the crowd
again and again. The ref seems to get more and more agitated, and
Jake storms back out to yell at me along with him. Both complain
about my obvious lack of skill, that I'm hurting the ice and the
machine. I counter with another deep pout, insisting with every
wave and gesture that I must be allowed to drive the Zamboni. The
music is helping get my words across. The crowd loves it,
laughing and smiling. Kimmie in particular, I notice, is eating
it up.

Finally the ref turns to the crowd and throws up his hands. "What
do you think, folks?" he asks. "Let him keep going or get him
off?"

There is a pause, then several fans start yelling to let me keep
going. I grin and gesture happily at them, waving my hands and
blowing the horn. Then their shouts are drowned out by the more
numerous rabid hockey fans in the crowd, those who want the game
to start up again. The New Mexico fans are particularly vocal.
The ref nods and waves at Jake, who points at me and orders me to
get off the machine. I sigh as the music ends and step down,
skating dejectedly away as Jake takes his seat, toots his horn,
and then starts his far more professional ice smoothing to more
dramatic classical music. His task is seemingly not an easy one.
The fans clap and cheer as I get in his way several times,
stamping my feet and pouting. Jake groans and moves around me
every time, seeming to grow more and more angry. Not every fan
notices, but this emotion is faked. Just like my apparent efforts
to stop Jake's duties. We both care about the game more than
anything, and thus we want the crowd and the players to enjoy it.
That's why I'm only appearing to stop Jake from doing his job.
Every spot I stop him from hitting is a spot he's already
smoothed.

After several minutes, he stops just before smoothing out the
last long strip. He grins and asks me if I want to take this
final bit now that I know how it's done. I look surprised, then
nod enthusiastically. I climb back on the Zamboni, and Jake makes
room for me. Together we smooth out the last bit of ice, many in
the crowd clapping at our obvious pleasure in working together.
We park the Zamboni, get off, and shake hands, both grinning. I
nod at the ref, then return to the team dugout. Kimmie gives me a
smile and two thumbs up from where she stands in the locker room
doorway. Glad you liked it, I reply to her silently. That one was
for you.

The whistle blows, and the players return to the field. The next
period passes a bit more slowly, but still I don't notice much
about it. The Scorpions score two goals, then we score one. Marco
and Boris are both on the ice, and Steven, one of our forwards,
gets a penalty shot he misses. Two more players on our side are
sent to the penalty box, and three more on theirs. Our most
combative player, a guy named Jim Murdoch who everyone calls
Jammer, collides with a deeply tanned Scorpion forward. They both
leap up and accuse the other of deliberately hitting them. The
refs have to break up the fight that almost begins. I watch all
this with only passing interest. My eyes are on Kimmie. She
remains at her post in the locker room doorway, watching the
action, brown eyes intent on the game.

A hockey fan, I think, sipping Gatorade through a straw stuck
between my mask's lips. She ice skates and she likes hockey. Who
would have thought? Part of me still thinks this is an act, but
it's becoming smaller by the second. Kimmie Meissner likes
hockey, I muse, nodding at her smile as we score the tying goal.
Good. Wow. Excellent. Oh wait, she can still be cold to me at the
next intermission. Can't forget that.

The period ends with the score tied, and again Jake enters,
smoothing the ice as the players exit. Several fans make gestures
of encouragement, imploring me with loud cries to go out and
mount the Zamboni again. I shake my head at them and make a
gesture of overt fatigue. It's faked- mostly. I'm tired, but not
that tired. Mostly I'm trying to conserve my energy and build up
for what I know is coming. That, and the Zamboni routine usually
only works once per game.

Jake goes back to his pen, and then the arena lights dim
suddenly. I put down my empty bottle of Gatorade. This is it. I
know what's coming. "Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer
proclaims. "Boys and Girls. We have a very special treat for you
this evening. Brought to you by Alamo Drafthouse, AMD, HEB, Bank
of America, and the Austin-American Statesman; in support of
United Way, LiveStrong, and the Hurricane Sarah Relief Fund; the
pride of American Ladies' Figure Skating has come here today!
Miss Kimmie Meissner!!!"

Loud claps and cheers echo throughout the arena as colored
spotlights start to flash on the ice and classical music starts
playing. I recognize the strings and oboes. Swan Lake, Odette's
entry scene. Ah, Tchaikovsky, I think to myself with a smile.
Next to Mancini, he's the mascot's best friend.

Kimmie skates out of the dressing room as the music starts, the
most attractive nervous smile on her face as she waves to the
audience. I feel my mouth falling open inside my mask as I see
her outfit. It's that same amazing red dress she wore at the 2006
World Championships, its sequined material accenting her nubile
body. Its see-through abdomen reveals every inch of her beautiful
abs and stomach, framing and tantalizing. Her legs stretch below
the short skirt, the light shining off them. Her breasts fill the
dress nicely- not too small, just big enough to attract notice.
Her hair flashes as the light catches it, bound back into a
French twist and whipping as she moves. She bows as the music
reaches a heavy crescendo, then stands posed feet apart as it
ends. The crowd claps and cheers, then quiets as Kimmie gestures
to them with a deep concentrated grin. Then she bows and starts
in on her introductory performance.

The music is starting again, I notice as she starts dancing. And
the horns, the violas, the chants, I recognize them. I love this
tune, it is my favorite by Tchaikovsky. It has been used well in
many concerts and dramatic movies, particularly those depicting
explosion and war. I have never heard of any skater performing to
it though. The 1812 Overture, I think. Risky. But this is Kimmie
Meissner. She does risk well.

I applaud Kimmie loudly as she begins with an S movement across
the ice, her efforts showing deep natural grace. The S becomes a
figure 8, then a series of bracket turns as the opening Russian
dance theme echoes and diminishes. This is followed by a leap and
a triple jump as the music starts in on its signature crescendo.
The cannons sound, and Kimmie leaps and spins in movement with
their chorus. Her skirt flies above her waist as she does so, her
bare thighs catching the light as she moves. Half loops, half
flips, Choctaws, twizzles, bracket turns, lutzes in the air as
the bass drums crash. All are executed with a speed and beauty
that defies the imagination, Kimmie's legs and arms shaking and
shining in the spotlights. A sit spin, then a crossfoot spin at
the crescendo, then a Waltz jump and a 360 degree spin as the
music slows down, then starts up again.

Kimmie skates back and forth as its violas and horns echo,
stepping and turning about constantly. Her left leg comes up in a
spiral, stretching tight and high above her head. I gasp along
with the crowd at her depth and control. Kimmie draws another
figure 8 on the ice as she does this move, the Russian chants
echoing as she drops her foot down. Then the cannons start up
again, and she returns to jumping and weaving, her heels clicking
together as she leaps and spins. The applause builds along with
the music, Kimmie's smile remaining on her face as she moves, her
eyes growing more intense and concentrated as she deepens her
routine. I gasp along with the crowd as she does a triple axel at
the loudest cannon, repeating a rare signature move from many of
her competitions. My gosh, I think. She's been practicing.

And the performance is great, I applaud as the music goes on.
Kimmie falls into a layback spin, her arms extended artistically
over her head and her chest puffing out noticeably. This turns
into a camel spin with the next cannon blast, then Kimmie grabs
her extended left leg and turns the camel into a donut. The crowd
gasps and claps anew as she turns this into a leap, spinning
about in the air and then clashing back down to the ice with a
deep bow as the music ends.

Flawless, I think, standing up and whooping. She's been working
on this quite a bit, I realize, and it's astonishing. Too bad
there are no Olympic judges here- no way anyone could top that.
Not Slutskaya, not Arakawa, certainly not the pretty but
overrated Sasha Cohen. If she'd done this routine back in
Feburary, Kimmie would surely have brought home the Gold. She
bows again, then turns to face the dugout and smiles. Oh shit, I
think. Here it comes.

"Kimmie Meissner, ladies and gentlemen!" proclaims the announcer.
"And now, joining Kimmie on the ice, our very own Ice Bats
mascot, Fang!"

I feel my heart fall into my stomach as Kimmie turns the full
force of her dimpled smile on me, beckoning with that look and a
waggle of her elegant fingers. Damn her, I think to myself. She's
ready for this. She got to practice, choreograph, and pull off a
routine I could never equal even with over ten years of
cheerleading experience. Damn her! I only had a week to prepare
for this, she probably had far more time than I did. I am staring
at her and I know I am not ready. I have been agonizing over this
all week, watching her videos and speculating. What to do? I
wonder again, looking at her and shaking my head. What to do?
I've been worrying she'd be cold, shun me, be like all the other
figure skaters I've performed with who aren't Bat Girls. But now
I know she's not like them, most definitely not one of them. That
performance convinced me, even more than the way she's looking at
me now.

"Fang!" the announcer repeats, drawing out the syllable and
urging me forward. The crowd takes up the chant, and I can hear
many varied voices in the mix from all corners of the stadium.
"Fang!" "Fang!" "Fang!" The team is waving and cheering at me
from the locker room, Marco and Boris especially. The Scorpions
are grinning too, several of them looking very jealous. "Fang,
get out here!" commands the announcer. In the opposing dugout,
Bob Sugar gives me a smile and thumbs-up.

Fuck you, I glare at him, regretting my inability to add an
obscene gesture. I then skate forward from the dugout, doing my
best to look embarrassed and put-out. Kimmie catches the improv
and skates up to me, her hands stretching out in welcome. I try
to channel King Kong as I look down at her- it's easy, she's
amazingly beautiful and I'm almost a whole foot taller than she
is. I try to communicate awe at being in her presence,
trepidation at just being near her. It's hard to do this with an
unexpressive mask, but her hand on my elbow and the look in her
eye tell me I am pulling it off. Thank God for body language!

Swan Lake starts playing again as Kimmie takes my hand and we
start dancing. Act 1 of the ballet this time. Movement 1, Allegro
guisto. Great, I think to myself. The ballet's very dramatic
opening movement. Why didn't Felipe tell me this was going to be
the music? Why didn't I ask him? Why did I have to concentrate on
learning about the girl instead?

The harps and trumpets start up, and I try to get my mind off my
lack of practice. This isn't right, I think, I'm not that great a
ballet dancer. Felipe knows this, why did he pick this tune? I
try to let Kimmie lead, looking sad and frightened, then
gradually more confident as the music picks up and she begins to
move with my steps. Our toe picks keep clashing at first, then
our knees, then our toes again. Then she looks up into my eyes,
trying to communicate with me via silence. I keep my eyes on her
face, trying to think about the dance and nothing else. There's
no room for anything else now- we have to get this right. The
audience is counting on us to entertain them. She knows ballet, I
tell myself, I know ballroom. Surely we can combine those styles
somehow, use the skating we both know, make this work for us. I
make a few gestures to her in time with the music, trying to get
this across to her. I could add words, I suppose, but they're not
coming to me for some reason. Thankfully she nods, and seems to
get what my hands and body say.

The oboes blow a deep note, and we start waltzing, our feet and
hands moving in time. It's awkward- we've never danced together
before and I'm taller than she is. Not that much, but I'm still
feeling every inch. My costume is bulkier too, and for some
reason I'm really feeling the sweat in it right now. I push these
thoughts aside and stare into Kimmie's eyes, enjoying the deep
look she is giving me back as the music continues. We dance
close, her soft fleshy cheek against the felt of my jersey.
Several dance steps back and forth, I spin her a couple times,
then the theme ends. Phew, I sigh to myself as the movement
finishes. That was it. Now it's over.

No, wait, I groan as suddenly the music picks up again, deeper
and more stringent. Act 1, Movement 5, Pas de Deux. Even worse
than Allegro Guisto. Damn you, Felipe. Why do I put up with this?
Then my interior complaints are forgotten as Kimmie takes my hand
and we start moving again, more coordinated this time, the dance
still awkward but now a bit more fluid. I feel her hand in my
glove and her other hand on my elbow, both suprisingly warm and
soft even through the fabric. The smell of her drifts through my
mask's holes, the lemony new fragrance by hot new fashion
designer Katie Reeve mixed with the sweat from her performance.
Her smile widens as the music builds, and I feel myself smiling
too, glad to be there with her. This is completely different from
my other skating dances, I'm not getting any hostile or
embarrassed vibes this time at all. I'm not the only one who sees
and appreciates it either. I can feel the fans cheering as they
watch us, even though they're remaining respectfully silent for
the music. I want to turn my eyes to them, check their reactions,
but I don't. I can not take my eyes off Kimmie Meissner.

She grins at me suddenly, and as the music increases in tempo I
gasp, feeling her hands pull at me. I am taller than her, bigger
and stronger, but she has taken control of our dance, helped by
the music. Before I know it we are moving in a pair spin, then
she is moving away from me, letting go, doing several of her
signature bracket turns and Choctaws. I look and feel dejected as
her hands slip from mine, then laugh as the music suddenly
changes and she comes back toward me, grabbing my hands again and
putting them about her waist. She makes an upward motion with her
hands, and I nod, knowing what she wants. I have done this
movement many times with the Bat Girls. As the music hits a
crescendo I lift Kimmie Meissner and throw her into the air. She
spins around as she leaps, turning around and then sailing back
towards the ice as the audience gasps. For an instant I am
shocked, amazed that this move is working so easily with someone
with whom I've never practiced it. Then I sense the reality of
the situation and quickly move to catch her, only barely saving
her from hitting the ice butt-first. Kimmie gasps and beams at
me, lying in my arms and smiling as the music crashes, then ends.


"Bravo!" someone yells, and I look to see that it's the bookworm.
He and his girlfriend are on their feet, giving us a standing
ovation. Lance, Sheryl, and the Dells immediately join them,
followed by Willie, Cochran, Sandra, Richards, Linklater, and
then the city and county officials. Pretty soon most of the crowd
is standing alongside, cheering and raising their drinks in
salute. I set Kimmie down and nod at her. She nods back, then
takes my hand and moves to my left side. The applause deepens as
we both bow. Ah, attention, I smile beneath my mask as its volume
increases. Sweet sweet attention.

"Fang and Kimmie Meissner, folks!" says the announcer. "Wasn't
that great?"

Yeah, I think to myself with a smile, turning to Kimmie and
bowing to her. She drops my hand, steps back, and returns the
gesture with a curtsy, then grins and skates away. What a
beautiful girl, I think to myself. Barely eighteen and so warm,
so skilled, so daring. Man, I'm glad I got to meet her. I can
almost forgive Felipe for only telling me I would at the last
minute. Almost, I repeat to myself as I watch her go back into
the locker room and Jake comes riding out to another Zamboni
song. Almost.

***

The third period passes in a blur. We start out tied, and as the
Ice Bats and Scorpions again take the field the cheering is
particularly boisterous. Jammer immediately goes after the tanned
Scorpion forward, and the refs catch on and eject him. "Damn it!"
Boris rages beside me. "There goes our best scorer!" I nod my
head, staring at Kimmie, who has resumed her position at the Bat
Girls dressing room entrance. Her eyes are on the game, but
frequently look straight at our dugout. She's probably looking at
Boris and Marco, I think. Or who knows, maybe at me. Maybe she
liked our dance, maybe she wants to tell her agent about it and
suggest us working together again. Yeah, sure, keep thinking
that.

We play out the rest of the period with our usual vim and vigor,
but the Scorpions are tough and very pumped to get back into the
competition. They score the next goal, and time expires before we
can tie it. "Damn!" Boris sighs as the teams leave the field.
"Our first game in the new arena, and we lose. Not a good sign,
Holden."

I nod in agreement, silently okaying his use of my real name.
Ratso, I sigh as I watch our captains clap each other on the back
and shake hands, agreeing it was a good game despite the other
side's victory. Ratso fatso tinky tinky smatso.

"Come back next weeks, folks," the announcer tells the crowd.
"The Austin Ice Bats take on the Laredo Bucks. Same Bat-cave,
same Bat-time one week later." Yeah, I tell myself, and hopefully
not the same Bat-result.

The Bat Girls come back onto the field for the postgame show. I
don't go out there with them, I'm too dejected. Instead I shake
hands with the team and then head out to the stands. When I'm
feeling like this, there's only one thing to do. Visit the fans,
mix and mingle. Only their attention can ease my pain.

"Great job, Holden!" Felipe shouts at me as I pass him in the
hall talking to Peter Bay and Bob Sugar. "Magnificent!" I shrug
and give him a nonchalant wave of my hand, then walk on. Thank
God my skates are off now, I think, ducking as I exit the locker
room. Most of the fans have left by now, but some are still in
their seats watching the Bat Girls. Others are grouped in the
foyer, talking amongst themselves and waiting to greet me.

I move among this crowd of fans, shaking hands with many and
hugging a few. I give autographs to children and their parents,
feeling disappointed yet glad none ask me for a lift. Many tell
me I was wonderful out there, praise my improvised dancing and my
signature Zamboni performance. Lance in particular thanks me,
tells me Kimmie and I raised over a hundred thousand dollars for
his charity. Great, I think, bowing and shaking my head at his
smile. Too bad it didn't help us win.

"Hey Fang!" a voice calls. I turn and gasp beneath my mask. It's
her- Kimmie Meissner. Still in the dress she wore at our
performance, minus the skates and plus a University of Texas
Longhorns cap some fan probably gave her. Same nubile body, still
flushed from her dancing. Same smile on her face, still open and
wide. "Good to see you again," she says.

"Hi Kimmie," I bow to her, feeling all of a sudden safe to talk.
I wasn't expecting to see her again, and now here she is. Wow.
She's here. Smiling, skin shining, beautiful. Remembering my
manners, I turn to the man beside me. "This is Lance Armstrong."

"Hey!" she grins, taking his hand and pumping it
enthusiastically. "I've wanted to meet you forever! You're so
amazing!"

"Thanks," Lance nods and smiles back. "You're pretty amazing
yourself. Thanks for helping me today. Scuse me, I gotta go say
hi to my children." He releases her hand, then nods to me and
walks off. Kimmie stares after him for an instant, then turns
back to me.

"You were great out there," she says. "You're an incredible
dancer."

"Uh, thanks," I blush under my mask, trying hard not to stare at
her. "You too."

"And the Zamboni bit was hilarious," Kimmie adds, clapping me on
the elbow and waving her other arm over her shoulder at Jake, who
is standing in a nearby corner talking to Willie Nelson and
Leslie Cochran. "I've seen tapes of you and that driver doing it,
but it's much better in person."

"Thank Jake," I replied, smiling. "He's the one who thought most
of it up."

"Sorry we didn't get to practice before the event," Kimmie sighs,
drawing me aside and leaning closer. "I tried to find a way, but
Bob made it impossible. I really need a new agent."

"Try Dorothy Boyd," I recommend with an emphasizing gesture.
"She's been good to most of our team."

Kimmie nods. "I've heard good things about her." She puts her
hand on my arm again. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

I shrug. "Sure." Any time a beautiful young girl wants to talk to
me, I'm all for it. It doesn't matter who she is. I am of course
glad this one is an incredibly skilled athlete, not to mention
the first skater who's seemed interested in spending time with me
after the game. Amazing. "Is your family here?"

She rolls her eyes and grimaces. "That's another one of Bob's
blunders. Mom and Dad wanted to come down, but he said he
couldn't get us on a flight all together. Just me, him, and Pam-
that's my coach, Pam Gregory." I nodded, recalling the
information I'd read on her. Meanwhile she kept talking. "The
three of us got on the same flight, but he said he couldn't get
two more seats for my parents. Then I saw all the empty seats on
the plane and I knew what that snake was planning. Thank God Pam
was there with us. Bob is such a loser!"

"Yeah, really," I agree, rolling my eyes under my mask. I decide
to change the subject and settle something I'm curious about. "I
noticed you were watching the game pretty closely."

She nods and smiles. "It reminded me of my brothers. They're all
big hockey fans."

"Right," I hold up a finger and smile. "I remember that now.
That's how you got into skating."

She arches an eyebrow. "You researched me?"

I nod again. "I had to if I was going to skate with you."

Kimmie frowns and sighs. "And I know almost nothing about you."
She pauses, then smiles. "Well, I know about the bats in Austin,
the ones you're supposed to emulate. But that's not the real you,
is it?"

I shake my head, feeling another improv moment coming on. "No,
it's not."

"Well then," she arches her other eyebrow and leans in close to
me, "who are you?"

I strike a dramatic gesture. "Who? Who is but the form following
the function of what... and what I am is a man in a mask."

Kimmie nods. "I can see that."

I nod again, smiling as I emphasize the line with my fingers. "Of
course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation.
I'm merely remarking on the paradox of asking a masked man who he
is."

She grins and laughs, recognizing the words I am speaking. "I
love that movie. Are you, like, a crazy person?"

"No more than most," I shrug, waving my hands to my sides and
bowing. "Uh, you can call me Holden."

"Holden," she smiles, trying it out on her lips. "Like in
Salinger."

"Yes," I sigh and grimace. "My mom was a big fan of his work."

"Hey Kimmie!" a voice shouts. I turn to see several fans lurching
toward us with dirty sneering faces. I can see the somewhat-empty
beer bottles in their hands, I don't need to smell it on their
lips. Great, I glare at them. You guys just had to ruin the
moment. "Can you jump for us again, Kimmie?" the fattest and
ugliest of the drunks asks, waving his bottle and grinning. She
shakes her head, looking very disturbed by their mere presence.
The drunk sneers and keeps encouraging her. "Come on, do it, you
sexy little..."

"Sorry, guys," I cut him off, stepping in front of Kimmie. Easily
able to see over the drunks' heads, I spot a security guard and
make a gesture. He immediately gets it and starts approaching us,
talking into his radio. "Show's over."

"Yeah?" the lead drunk asks, leering obscenely. "Says who? You,
Bat Boy?" I grimace at the looks he and his buddies give me,
feeling Kimmie's hand clench my arm. Then the security guard, a
burly black ex-Marine named Zack who's been on our staff a long
time, steps between us.

"What's going on here?" he asks, grimacing and putting a hand on
his riot baton.

"Nothing, officer," the lead drunk puts his hands up quickly and
backs away, his buddies following. "We were just leaving."

Zack gives them a smile, gesturing with his eyes at two other
guards moving in on the drunk group's flanks. "I would hope so."

"Thanks," Kimmie tells him as the drunks leave. Zack nods in
reply, then he and the others move to make sure the drunks leave
peacefully. Kimmie turns to me. "Thank you too. Can you walk me
to my trailer?"

"Of course," I nod, frowning as I watch the drunks round the
corner, followed closely by Zack and his associates. "Out back?"

Kimmie nods and takes my hand, again leading the way. "I shared
the Bat Girls' locker room, but Bob insists I have my own trailer
wherever I go. It's one of the few things I'm glad he does for
me." She smiles all of a sudden. "You know, your girls are pretty
good skaters. I think some of them have Olympic potential."

"Did you tell them that?" I beam under my mask. "Some of them
have dreams of being in the Olympics."

"Of course I told them," Kimmie nods as we near the arena's rear
exit. "You have to encourage the next generation." She turns to
regard a group of smiling kids and parents waiting for us around
the doors, many extending autograph books. It takes us several
minutes to work our way through them. Kimmie encourages them to
do what they enjoy and never take themselves too seriously. I
nuzzle a few kids in the head and enthusiastically agree.

"Phew," Kimmie takes off her cap and wipes her brow with it as we
finally get out of the arena and behind the sawhorses protecting
the team's trailers. "Haven't seen so many of them in a while. Is
it you?"

"Maybe," I shrug, walking alongside her toward the smallest of
the trailers. It's farthest from the sawhorses, next to a wall,
and by the Olympic rings on the side, obviously Kimmie's. "You
did give a very unique performance."

"Your music director said he got the idea for that program in an
anonymous email," she smiles, taking a key from around her neck
and walking up the steps away from me. "Somebody sent it to him
but didn't give their name. Pam and I both thought it might be
interesting to try it." She unlocks the door, then turns back to
face me. "Would you like to come in?"

"Sure," I grin. I'm curious to see what the inside of her trailer
looks like. She wants to keep talking, I guess, get to know the
guy she just danced with. Surely nothing else is about to happen,
right?

I follow her up the steps and into the trailer, ducking the low
ceiling and grimacing as I bump my head on the upper doorjamb.
"Sorry," Kimmie apologizes. I nonchalantly wave at her, glad for
my mask's padding. I reach up and take it off, wanting to get a
better look at our surroundings. Typical trailer, I think. Army
cot, big dresser next to a rack of outfits on hangars, makeup
table. Pictures of her on the walls- skating, riding horses,
smiling with her family. Posters of a few famous girls and guys
on the walls too. Big pile of books tossed on the floor, mostly
fantasy novels. Next to them is a great Casio stereo system. I
take it all in, then turn back to Kimmie, who is gasping. I give
her a questioning expression. "Sorry," she grins and recovers.
"You look so much like him."

"Who?" I arch my eyebrows and frown.

"Orlando Bloom!" she waves a hand at a poster of the actor as
Legolas on the wall beside me. "Your skin's paler, and you're
taller, and your hair's darker and longer, but the resemblance
is... astonishing." She grins, showing her dimples. "I'm sorry,
he's my celebrity crush."

I frown, tossing the mask back and forth in my hands idly. "You
really think I look like him?"

"Yeah," she takes the mask from me and puts it on a dressing
table. She then turns back to me and her smile deepens. "You have
the same eyes. Hasn't anyone ever told you?"

"No," I muse, looking away from her. I've been told a few nice
things by girls from time to time, but never anything like that.
Hearing it from Kimmie gives me the strangest feeling.

"Well, then I'm the first," she laughs, putting her cap on top of
my mask and stepping closer to me. "Can I..." she pauses, then
smiles. "Can I kiss you?"

My mouth falls open. "What?"

"Hey, you danced with me," she reminds me, stepping closer and
smiling wider. "And you were ready to defend me from those idiots
back there. You deserve a reward, right?"

I frown, feeling suddenly giddy in the knees. The look on her
face is full of an emotion I rarely see in women but often direct
at them. It's attraction, attraction and desire. And not just for
kissing either. Oh my.

"Come on," she puts her hand on mine, standing up on her tiptoes.
I shrug and bend down, falling to one knee and taking her in my
arms. I'm feeling desire for her too, I have to admit. Might as
well as indulge it, if she wants to.

Kimmie takes my head in her hands, running her fingers through my
hair and smiling. She leans forward and presses her lips against
mine, hesitantly at first and then with greater passion. I gasp
at their softness, their salty taste, the scent of her so close
to me. She eagerly takes the invitation my open mouth provides,
sticking her tongue into it and licking across my tongue. I gasp
again at the sensation, shocked at her youth and energy.

"Oh my," she pulls back, grinning and running a hand through my
hair. She moves her other hand to my left knee and squeezes it,
causing my heart to fall into my stomach once more. I gasp again
as she moves her fingers higher, feeling my crotch openly. Her
smile widens as I harden. "Hmm," she appraises. "Size and girth.
Definite potential."

I frown, feeling my cock grow at her touch. My breath is coming
faster. "Uh, Kimmie..."

She chuckles and lets go, then steps around and behind me. I
watch with increasing fear as she double-bolts the door of the
trailer. "Relax, Holden," she assures me with a smile. "I'm on
the pill and clean. I need to do this. I'm like Faith the Vampire
Slayer. Doing what I do best always gets me hungry and horny."
She grins and strokes me through my pants, unbuckling my belt and
chuckling. "I've got satisfaction for both lined up later today,
but I can't wait that long. I propisitioned a couple of the Bat
Girls, but they didn't seem interested. Please tell me you're not
like the stereotypical male cheerleader."

"No," I shake my head as she unfastens my fly and pulls my pants
down. Even if I were to try to lie, my other head would show her
the truth behind it. "Uh, you're only eighteen. I have to ask,
are you...?"

"A virgin?" she completes, rolling her eyes. "No, sorry. A hot
guy I met in Italy took care of that, but of course I was already
prepared for him. All the stretching we skaters do tends to tear
and break the hymen."

"Right," I nod, putting my hands on her shoulders. They seem the
safest place at this shocking juncture. I gasp, immediately
noticing her body's warmth and tight muscles. Both are even more
evident now than they were on the ice. I realize what she said a
moment ago and my mouth falls open. "You propositioned the Bat
Girls?"

Kimmie nods, sticking a hand under my boxers and touching my
cock. I feel my heart quicken as the shaft twitches and hardens
under her fingers. "Subtly," she replies to my question. I notice
her face is flushed, her body starting to tingle. "Maybe too
subtly. It worked for Miki and Shizuka, but not this time. Oh
well, things could have gone bad anyway. They did with Sasha and
Irina- I got them too sore."

I feel my mind boggling at the implications in her statement. "So
you're bisexual?"

Kimmie smiles and nods again, stroking me harder and faster. "I
get with girls all the time. A lot of skaters do. They're
wonderful. But guys are great too. They're so hard, so
contrasting. I don't get with them that often, but I love it
every time it happens." She withdraws her hand from my shorts,
then shoves its palm hard against the front crotch panel, pushing
my cock up into a ready position. Her other hand moves to and
massages the back of my neck. "These are in the way," she says,
biting her lip as she grabs the top of my boxers and snaps the
elastic.

"Right," I agree, standing up and taking a few steps back from
her. I raise my hands at her frown, assuring her most
extravagantly that I am not backing out. I want this, I really
want it! To give action to my words, I reach down and unlace my
boots, then take them and my socks off. She grins and sits down
on the cot, untying and removing her own shoes. "So you got it on
with the other lady skaters at the Olympics?" I ask, wanting to
keep up the hot conversation.

"Most of them," she replies, smiling as she reaches up and lets
her hair down. The pine-colored waves tumble in a flood about her
shoulders. "They were all good. Miki and Shizuka were like little
geishas, and Caro Kostner was just incredible. Joannie Rochette
was great too but she made too many mistakes. Of course, that was
partly my fault. I got too enthusiastic with her, just like with
Sasha and Irina. Sarah Meier and Emily Hughes were my favorites.
Especially Emily. She and her sister really know how to use
strap-ons." She reaches for the back of her dress and frowns as
she unhooks the top button. She looks up at me with a sheepish
smile. "Uh, sorry, I have to ask. You are clean, right?"

I nod, glad she's asking the question. One should always ask it
in this day and age, and receive a truthful answer. "I gave blood
last week," I tell her, a response that usually makes girls
chuckle. "They didn't tell me there was anything wrong with it."
Kimmie nods and widens her grin.

"And you are up to this, aren't you?" Kimmie goes on, smiling and
showing her dimples. "You're not too tired from the game?"

I shake my head and laugh, kicking my pants off. I am a little
tired, but the fatigue is disappearing quickly. Pretty girls
always have that effect on me, especially ones giving me
attention of this kind.

"Let me do that," Kimmie says, holding up a hand as I reach for
my shirttail. I nod and unbuckle the wings that stretch under my
arms, dropping them to the floor of the trailer. "You don't have
any pressing engagements, right? No girlfriend waiting for you?"

I shake my head, once again rendered speechless by her. "No, I
don't have a girlfriend right now." I catch myself and frown,
feeling my insides quiver as her smile widens. "Uh, do you...."

"No," she cuts me off, pushing down and throwing aside her
nylons. She moves her hands back and forth nervously, her body
shaking as she continues talking. "Pam and Bob won't bother me
for a while." Kimmie looks up and her smile widens. "At least
they better not. I gave them a good story. I'm glad now that my
parents aren't here. It's always a pain in the ass ducking them.
They may have suspicions about me, but they don't know anything
for sure." She frowns all of a sudden. "You won't tell anyone
about this, right? I want to keep this side of me unknown."

I nod, my face communicating my disbelief that it is even
happening. "I'm just glad you chose me."

Kimmie laughs and shrugs. "I did get a few offers from the fans,
but none I wanted to act on. My IM-friend Cat Osterman said hi to
me too, but she couldn't stay. I'm meeting her later at Conan's."
She looks at the UT cap and chuckles. I raise my eyebrow, knowing
the girl to whom she's referring. Another Olympian, though in the
opposite season from Kimmie. Obviously skaters aren't the only
athletes she's had fun with. She's quite the little sex fiend.
This is going to be a treat.

"I have to have you," Kimmie leans back and declares, opening her
arms as I step close to her, wearing only boxers and team jersey.
She looks so beautiful, slim and lithe, her face shining with
lust. Her dress sweaty and tight against her warm body, young and
nubile, her inviting features framed by the curtain of her long
brown hair. "You were so funny out there on the ice," she tells
me, "so emotional. I want you, Holden. Please. Fuck me."

Girls, I think to myself, unconsciously echoing my namesake.
Jesus Christ.

Kimmie waves a hand to me, again beckoning me closer. This time I
don't hesitate. I move in and jump on the cot beside her,
grinning as she rolls to the side to make room for me and then
leans in, putting her arms around me and grabbing at my
shirttail. A thought occurs to me as the trailer shakes with her
motions. "Um..."

"This'll cover anybody who gets the wrong ideas," she says,
pulling back and grabbing a remote control off the floor, then
pointing it at the stereo. "And if it doesn't, well, I don't
care. Let them wonder. I'll just go with the story I gave Bob and
Pam- that you’re teaching me some Bat Girl dance moves."

I laugh again, once more amazed at her daring. "Not too loud,
okay? I have sensitive ears."

She laughs and hits the on button. I raise my eyebrows at the
opening notes. It's a favorite song from my birth year, the
redone version by an infamous British pop group. I recognize
their dance beat and the Bee Gees' original words. "You better
not lip sync," I tell Kimmie as she pulls my shirt over my head
and smiles at my lean muscles.

"My lips will be too busy," she replies, tossing the shirt away.
She then moves up on me and kisses me again. I feel my heart and
cock leap at her passion, the trailer shaking again as she
cuddles closer to me. Her groin rubs against mine, and I feel my
body quake at the wet heat I feel there. Her tongue pushes into
my mouth and I lick back at it, enthusiastically returning her
motions. "Yes!" she pulls back from my mouth and gasps out as my
hands move to her shoulders. "Touch me."

"With pleasure," I gasp back, fingers moving to her zipper. She
kisses me again and again as I pull it down, fingers playing over
my back and chest muscles. "You have great abs," I tell her,
rubbing at them through the sheer material of her dress.

"Yours aren't so bad either," she says, rubbing them and gyrating
against me. I run my fingers through her hair, reveling in its
scent and softness. Unbound, it goes all the way down her back,
straight to her waistline. I rub it and her back as I pull down
her zipper and push her dress open, elicting new moans and
whispers with every touch of my fingers.

"Here I lie," booms Maurice Gibb on the radio, "in a lost and
lonely part of town! Held in time, in a world of tears I slowly
drown!"

"You must practice your moves every day," Kimmie says, rubbing my
pecs and biceps.

I nod, kissing her again and pulling the dress straps off her
shoulders. "I practice three hours a day."

She chuckles and quotes another good movie. "You need to find
yourself a girl. Oh wait," she reaches down and squeezes my cock
through my shorts, enjoying the feel of it, "you just found one."


"Going home, I just can't make it all alone! I really should be
holding you, holding you..." I do what the song suggests,
grabbing Kimmie and pulling her closer to me as her dress comes
down around her. Her hair tumbles and rubs against me, its
softness increasing the temperature of my skin. "Loving you!
Loving you!"

I kiss her smile again, then pull back to gaze upon its beauty.
She stares back at me for a moment, then her eyes turn downward.
I follow their gaze to her breasts and gasp. The dark nipples are
hard and standing at attention, and the left one is pierced by a
twisted piece of silver wire. "That's a charm," she tells me.
"It's sensitive. Be careful." I nod, moving down and running my
tongue across her chin, neck, and cleavage.

"Tragedy," the radio goes as I roll her onto her back, move up,
and then kiss my way down her body, pushing Kimmie's dress off
her as I rub my hands across her heaving chest and shoulders.
"When you lose control and you've got no soul, it's tragedy! When
the morning cries and you don't know why. It's so hard to bear,
with no one beside you, you're going nowhere!"

Oh, I'm going somewhere, I laugh at the singer, kissing and
sucking at Kimmie's nipples. As per her request, I use care and
caution with the pierced one. I enjoy every moment. The soft feel
of her dress, the softer feel of her skin. The smell of her, warm
and lemony. Her sweat rising, increasing, mingling with mine. Her
gasps and cries in my ears, her warm breath against the top of my
head. She enthusiastically helps me along, pushing my shorts down
and continuing to rub my muscles. Her silken hand brushes my cock
for an instant and holds it fondly, but only for an instant. Then
our height difference gets in the way as I move farther down
towards her cunt.

"Oh God," she moans as I lick across her belly. "Yes, I'm so wet,
please, God yes." Her sweaty warm skin gives her words prime
evidence. I pause and smile at her, then push her dress aside and
drop it to the floor. I kick my shorts fully off to join it
there, grinning down at Kimmie all the while. She moans and gives
me a begging look, throwing her head back and moaning as she
squeezes my arms and shoulders. I reach a hand up and rub it
across her cheeks, then her mouth. Her lips suck at the sweat on
my fingers. I move my other hand down under the waistband of her
dark red thong panties. I feel a wet mass of flesh there,
throbbing and gyrating. It's scratchy, freshly shaven. The lips
are prominent and sticking out, the clitoris like her breasts-
small but obvious.

"Night and day," the song goes on as I finger her, "there's a
burning down inside of me!" Kimmie gasps as I pull aside her
sopping undergarment, rubbing at her legs and thighs as I push it
off her. The wet juices on my fingers mix with her sweat and
perfume, creating the most wonderful aroma. "Burning love, with a
yearning that just won't let me be. Down I go, and I just can't
take it all alone. I really should be holding you, holding you."
I move my face down and inhale deeply the scent of her bare
pussy, then press my mouth into it, sucking at her lips with
mine, licking back and forth with my tongue. She whoops at the
attention, the roughness. "Loving you! Loving you!”

“Yes!” Kimmie gasps out as I move my hand back up, rubbing her
juices into her skin, over her belly and nipples. My other hand
remains in her hair, teasing and untangling its tresses with wild
abandon. The hand with which I was fingering her a moment ago
meanwhile keeps moving up her body. “Yes!” she moans as my wet
fingers roam over her neck, lingering for a moment in the deep
cleft there before touching her lips. Again she sucks at my
fingers, more passionately this time. Like many girls, she loves
the taste of her own essence. I love it too, salty and warm,
tinged with that extra spice of youth and daring. “Yes!” she
cries out again as I gulp down her juices more eagerly than I
have ever drank any other liquid, feeling in them the first
swallow of wine after I’ve crossed the burning desert. “Yes!”
Kimmie wails as both my hands move off her lips and hair to her
nipples, rubbing at them, twisting and flicking. Her hands
continue to caress my arms and shoulders, promise in every soft
touch and squeeze. She screams out along with the radio as my
tongue entwines around her clit and my lips suck at it. “Yes! Oh
yes! I’m cumming!”

She screams and shudders in my arms, her body shaking and her
pussy erupting with juice and fragrance. The sweet taste of her
overwhelms me, sweaty and full of youth. Ah, the young, I think
as I let my lips absorb it. So quick to go off, and yet so ready
to keep going. So eager.

“Tragedy!” shouts Maurice on the radio. “When the feeling’s gone
and you can’t go on, it’s tragedy. When the morning cries and you
don’t know why. It’s so hard to bear, with no one beside you.
You’re going nowhere!”

I finish sucking up Kimmie’s cum as the song ends, then kiss my
way back up her body as she gasps and lies still, fingers
continuing to tease and caress me through the afterglow. “Let
me,” she implores as she kisses me heatedly, her juices mixing
with our saliva. “Let me do you.” Feeling my heart leap once
more, I nod and smile, sucking down the juices smeared around my
lips and her lips, pausing every now and then to trade licks with
her tongue.

Kimmie rolls me onto my back, laughing as the music changes. This
tune too is familiar. No words, but the crashes are loud enough
to cover any noise we could possibly be making. The common sounds
of the tune, brooms hitting garbage cans, pots hitting walls,
drawers banging in tables, are reproduced often and at high
volume. Like the music Kimmie danced to earlier, it hits several
amazing crescendos, sparking new awesome movements in her with
each. She rubs and breathes against me with every clash, her soft
fingers and breath incredible on my skin. Every touch heightens
my heartbeat, every caress shakes my insides. And then she
reaches down and captures my cock with her mouth.

“Aah!” I gasp, grateful for a loud smack of booted foot on metal
table from the radio as she takes in the entire length, sucking
and caressing with her tongue and fingers.

“Sarah Hughes has a bigger one,” Kimmie takes her mouth off me
and smiles. I revel in the sight of her, naked and sweaty,
freshly orgasmed. Smiling at me, my precum staining her lips and
teeth. Then her mouth comes back down and takes me in again,
tongue lapping at the underside, lips sucking on the head.

“Yes, Kimmie, yes,” I gasp out, crying her name as her fingers
roam over my ass, caressing my inner thighs as she continues to
deep-throat me. Cymbals clash on the radio, and my cock shakes
between her lips. Her smile expands around me, her tongue teasing
the hole in my little head. One of her hands moves down and
fondles my balls, rubbing and teasing them, imploring them to
release their contents. The other moves back and around my waist,
faster and harder. I moan anew as her soft fingers roam above my
cheeks and press into the small of my back, the hard and tender
bundle of nerves just above my sphincter. “Kimmie. Oh, Kimmie.”

“Cum for me,” she pulls back and orders, smiling and rubbing with
her fingers. “Cum for me. Fill me up. I want it all.” I briefly
reflect that the ice is not the only arena she feels she must
dominate. Then such thoughts are lost as her mouth slams back
down, my cock hitting the end of her throat and her tongue
expertly twisting around it, vibrating back and forth as she
continues to gasp and breathe into me. Her fingers continue to
rub at my nerves and testicles. Her hair whips back and forth
against my thighs. Yes, I feel my insides sigh as its softness
touches me. Yes. Oh God yes.

“Oh yes,” I gasp, hands moving down, rubbing at her head and
shoulders. “Kimmie!” I scream her name as the cymbals of Stomp
clash again. “Kimmie! Oh Kimmie!” Then I erupt, blasting white
ribbons into her. She grins and sucks them down eagerly, moving
her lips up on me. Her fingers come back to my cock, rubbing and
squeezing, coaxing every drop out of me and swallowing it it
down.

“Mmmmm,” she muses, pushing me down and rubbing her body against
me as I shake with the aftermath. “My favorite part of life,
biology.” Her tongue creeps out of her mouth and licks at a white
stain on her dimpled cheek, then sucks the juice inside.

“Kimmie,” I gasp again as the music hits a final crescendo and
then changes. It’s softer this time, the singer is different.
Still English, though, with pedal steel guitar and piano. I frown
as she slows her rhythm to correspond with this music, growing
even softer with her tenderness. “Did you make this CD?”

She nods, smiling and pressing her body against me. “I downloaded
it, Holden. Fucking isn’t my only vice. Speaking of which...” She
moves up on me, hands once again caressing and massaging the
muscles of my torso. Her groin touches mine once more, and again
I feel the hot wetness of her. This time it’s more pronounced,
and not just because our skin is bare. I grimace, feeling my
wilted member. Kimmie’s left hand reaches out and strokes it, her
fingers coaxing it back to full hardness. Her other hand finds
mine, entwines with its fingers, pushes the arm aside, holding
and pressing it towards the floor. I flick my thumb back and
forth across her knuckles, smiling at the look in her eyes this
produces. My other hand moves to again tease her hard nipples and
rub through her long brown hair.

“Blue jean ba-by,” Elton John sings on the stereo, and I am
struck by the music’s appropriateness to the girl holding me. “LA
La-dy! Seamstress for the band... pretty eyed, pirate smile,
you’ll marry a music man...” Kimmie echoes the song’s words with
her face, continuining to rub and spoon against me.
“Ba-lle-rin-a... you must have seen her, dancing in the sand.”

“Tell me, Holden,” Kimmie again urges me on with sexy phrases,
pressing her warm body against me and rubbing. “Have you ever had
two women at once? You know, a threesome?”

I grimace as Elton sings about the piano man making his stand in
the auditorium, the tiny dancer looking on, singing and humming
his songs. “No,” I sigh and tell her. “Though it’s long been a
fantasy.”

Kimmie smiles and strokes me faster. “I can arrange it, you know.
I’m friends with a lot of girls, and many of them are
heterosexual virgins. They’d like you, Holden. They’d like you a
lot.”

I gasp at her words, images crystallizing and exploding in my
brain. Sasha Cohen, Sarah and Emily Hughes, other skaters. Cat
Osterman, maybe other famous Olympic athletes too. Gymnasts
perhaps. Dominique Dawes has long been a girl I've admired, and
more recently so have Carly Patterson and Courtney Kupets. If
Kimmie could introduce me to those girls... Her eyes are full of
promise, her face giving voice to my hopes. So many skaters have
shunned me, so many dancers and cheerleaders. But maybe if she
talks to them, maybe if Kimmie can tell them about me, get them
interested in me... The very thought is enough. I look down and
I'm hard again. Kimmie smiles, then impales herself on my length.
Wow, I think immediately. Not as tight as I expected, but tight.
I can feel her around me, compressing and squeezing. God, she's
so warm.

“Oh, how it feels so real,” sings Elton. “Lying here, with no one
near. Only you, and you can’t hear me, when I say softly,
slowly...”

I smile at Kimmie and sing along with the music. “Hold me closer,
tiny dancer...” She cuts me off with a kiss, pulling herself up
on my body. The folds of her clench and contract around me. My
cock extends to move with her, our hips and hands thrusting and
caressing with abandon. My thumb and fingers dance across the
knuckles of her hand intertwined with mine. Her fingers do the
same to me, rubbing at my palm, squeezing my knuckles. Somehow
this heightens our tempo, making and keeping our connection
intimate even though we’ve only known each other for a few brief
hours.

“Hold me closer, tiny dancer,” the radio implores. “Count the
headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen. You
had a busy day today...”

Kimmie’s hips move against mine, her cunt muscles pulling and
tugging at me. She moves on top of me and presses me down into
her bed, thrusting her body up and down on me in time with
Taupin’s lyrics. She’s age eighteen, I think to myself, almost
the same as the girl about whom this song was written. God, I
hope she’s still like this when she’s twenty.

The music ends, but our passionate cries do not. Another song by
the Bee Gees comes on, that very famous one where the Gibb
brothers ask a girl how deep her love is for them. You don’t need
to show me anything, I tell Kimmie with my eyes as we thrust back
and forth into each other, our mouths touching and sucking each
other, our fingers rubbing, our lips whispering promises and
passionate cries. You don’t even need to say it. You’ve already
done so much.

She kisses me and cries out as my sex organ rubs against hers,
muscles heaving and contracting, small hard bud piercing into
long hard shaft. “And you come to me on a summer breeze,” Maurice
Gibb sings. “Keep me warm in your love, then you softly leave.
And it’s me you need to show- how deep is your love for me,
girl?”

“Fill me,” Kimmie tells me, moving her hips up and down on me,
riding me, one hand rubbing at my chest and the other at my
knuckles. I have one hand’s fingers caressing her knuckles, the
other hand stroking her breasts and the cleavage between. I enjoy
the feel of them, soft skin and hard points. Aureolas large,
sensitive, shaking. And of course the silver wire in her left
nipple, its cold surface a delicious counterpoint to her warm
skin. God, I think to myself, this girl is sexy. So sexy.

“I believe in you,” Maurice tells his dream girl. “You know the
door to my very soul. You’re the light in my deepest darkest
hour. You’re my saviour when I fall.”

I love you, Kimmie. I feel the words rising in my brain and know
they are true. I have only just met this girl, but she has
profoundly affected me, changed me. Her attention has altered my
outlook on everything. I want to tell her, but I stop myself. I
just met her today, I remind myself. Before now, I’ve only known
her in the media, and I still don’t know her, not really. Never
mind that she's amazed me since the moment I saw her. I can't
have stupid thoughts at this moment. For all I know she may leave
me just like the girl Maurice Gibb wrote this song about left
him. This may just be a one-time thing, the fulfillment of a need
and a fantasy. I need to enjoy it while it lasts. All this I
think on and contemplate, then it vanishes as her lips once again
touch mine and take in my breath.

“Deep is your love, how deep is your love, I really need to
learn...”

“Yes,” Kimmie gasps as I thrust deeply and powerfully up into
her, wanting to tear her apart with my desire, my need. She
shakes back and forth, moving with me, her hand on mine, our
fingers in each other’s hair, our eyes telling each other more
than our voices. The pleasure is pulsing within us, incredible
and growing. This cannot end, I think. This must go on forever.

But then, like all things, it does end. I feel my hips shake
again, in time with hers. Her fingers move down me and rub at my
balls, her other hand leaving mine and rubbing my back muscles. I
put both my hands on her waist, holding her against me as I shake
and spasm, hot ribbons of cum flooding into her. “Yes,” she gasps
at the feel of them, and I can feel her start to shake too, her
back arching. She's cumming again, and this time more than once.
A long and deep series of little orgasms, each one a key moment
in an amazing combination very much like one of her skating
programs. She shudders and gasps out each one, screaming and
moaning into my neck.

“How deep is your love?” Maurice sings on. “How deep is your
love? I really need to learn. Cause we’re living in a world of
fools, breaking us down, when they all should let us be. We
belong to you and me.”

I gasp out one last moan, releasing one final ribbon of cum into
Kimmie’s pussy. She stays on me as I deflate, her soft hair and
warm tingling body keeping me turned on for a great long while.
The song ends, and another piece of music comes on, this one
another movement from Swan Lake. A softer one than the dramatic
ones at our performance, the one for the moment when the Prince
must choose between the light and dark sisters. Kimmie pulls off
me as the oboes strum, moving down my body and licking my cock
dry, swallowing every bit of liquid smeared on it. I feel myself
rise to hardness again as she does this, and am amazed at my
stamina. Bleedover, I think, her youth and energy flowing into
me. That must be it. I’ve heard about this phenomenon, but never
before experienced it. Today is a day full of surprises. Kimmie
gives me another one as she moves up against me, locking her legs
around me, her lips touching mine and biting at them. The
surprise is that I don’t mind the taste of my semen on her lips,
especially with the flavour of her juices and saliva overpowering
it. My God, I think, she’s so amazing. So beautiful, so sexy.
Insatiable.

Suddenly the pager clipped to my belt on the floor starts
beeping. “Shit!” I gasp, knowing I have to answer it. I pull back
from Kimmie and grab for the pager, ignoring her disappointed
frustrated glower as I withdraw from her. Her hair cannot hide it
as she shakes her head and its curtain falls over her eyes. “It’s
the boss,” I groan as I jump to my feet, looking at the number.
“He probably wants to talk to me about the next game's program.”

Kimmie nods. “You better go,” she sighs heavily, moving back from
me. I frown, then watch as she stops and looks up. "You were
great," she says. "Thank you."

"Thank you too," I nod, turning away from her. This was just a
one-time thing, I think to myself sadly. Just a fling, a tryst,
no more than that. Why did I ever think it could have been
anything else?

Kimmie stops me as I reach for my pants, putting her fingers on
my elbow. "Hey."

I turn back to her. "What?"

She smiles, pointing at my still-hard member. "I'm in town until
Sunday. You wanna get together again?"

My mouth falls open. "What?"

"Hey," she turns her head to the side and looks at me, "what's
the matter?"

I turn my eyes away from her, unable to take the sight of her
freshly fucked body. Her face framed by her hair. Eyes staring at
me, alight and full of happiness. I notice that another song has
come on the radio, Kelly Clarkson singing about a breakup. "Here
I am once again, I'm torn into pieces. Can't deny, can't pretend,
just thought you were the one. Broken down, deep inside..." God
bless you for matching my mood, Kelly, I think to myself. Then
the radio snaps off.

"Holden!" Kimmie growls, dropping the remote as I turn back to
her. She is glaring at me now, her eyes full of anger. "What's
the matter?"

I frown at her, then turn away. You have to tell her, orders my
consicence. I look back up at Kimmie, eyes traveling over her
body. Her legs that were just wrapped around me, Her pussy still
shining with the juices I made flourish there. Her breasts still
hard from our loveplay, the silver in the left one gleaming. Her
arms that just embraced me. Her hands that just touched me. Her
mouth that just kissed me. Her hair that she just let down for
me. Her eyes... oh God, her eyes.

I shake my head, trying to clear it of the memories. I focus on
her eyes, the anger in them. You have to let her go, I tell
myself. God damn it, you have to. Thankfully, I've done this
before. It's easy. All one has to do is channel the greatest
actor of all time, the ultimate breakup artist. "I'm sorry,
Kimmie," I begin, my face growing sad as the actor's ever did. I
try to put the same pain in my voice, the same passion. "We're
from different worlds. You're going home soon, taking your plane
back to Delaware. We shouldn't have done what we just did, we
both know it." Her face grows angrier and I feel my heart
shaking, my insides collapsing. Damn it, I'm not getting the
words right. I know I have to keep going though. "Don't get me
wrong," I tell her. "It was amazing. We both needed it. We both
enjoyed it. But we'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not
tomorrow..."

"Shut up!" Kimmie cuts me off. I stop speaking and look at her,
hating the pain in her eyes. She sits up on the bed, skin flushed
with sweat and anger. "Shut up and listen to me!" I nod, trying
to keep from turning and walking away. I want to, I have to, but
I can't. My clothes are on her floor. My passion is spent within
her. I'm trapped here drowning with my swan princess. Nothing can
take me away.

Kimmie pauses for a moment, staring at me. Her face grows calmer,
her eyes more serene. I frown at the change. Then she surprises
me again. "It's that girl you just broke up with," she asks,
"isn't it?"

My mouth falls open. "What?"

She holds up a finger. "I have a confession- I researched you
too, with the Bat Girls and your friend Jake. Watching you and
skating with you during the game got me curious. I had to know
about you. Not just the mask, the man inside the mask." Her voice
deepens. "They told me about that girl, and the other girls. All
the girls you've skated with, all the ones that have made you
sad. I understand your pain, Holden."

I feel my heart shaking. "Then you..."

She nods, face glistening with juice and emotion. "I didn't just
fuck you to satisfy a need." She smiles. "Though it was fun,
wasn't it?"

"Yeah," I frown at her. "It was. But..."

She cuts me off again, waving her hand. "But nothing! This
doesn't have to end here. We can be friends, we can stay in
touch, I'll give you my e-mail. Yes, I'm going home on a plane
soon, but I'll pass this way again someday." She smiles and her
voice deepens. "And whenever I do, I will come and see you. Count
on it."

I stare at her as she says this. Damn, and I thought she was just
going to be another cold celebrity. But she's not. She's
beautiful, warm, still shining. It would be so easy, I think to
myself, just to stay with her. Forget the team, forget the boss,
forget everything. But no, I have other concerns and she does
too. We both must remember them. I shake my head, wondering if
things have been like this with her past lovers before me. Surely
they must have. Surely it... I shake my head. "Kimmie, we can't."


She stares at me for a moment, then nods. "Of course we can't.
You were just a tryst." She turns away and puts her head in her
hands. I stand up, step away from the bed, and start to get
dressed. All the time I'm trying to ignore her. Her dejected
look, the new fluids shining in her eyes as she stares at me,
watching me dress and get ready to leave her.

"Holden," her voice stops me again as I head for the door, mask
tucked under one arm and wings under the other. I turn back to
her and sigh, trying to tell her with my actions what my words
can't say anymore. I noticed she has tossed her hair back, pulled
the sheet over her naked body. Damn, and I was hoping to view it
one last time.

"What, Kimmie?"

"Remember me," she says, looking straight at me and smiling.
"That's all I ask. Remember me. And remember that I'll still be
there for you anytime you want- no complications. Okay?"

"Okay," I nod, then turn and unbolt the door. Her smile remains
on me as I open it. I know I will always treasure that look, even
though I will never see it again. I take a step outside the door,
then I stop, turning back to face her. Damn, I can't do it.

"Holden?" she is frowning.

"I can't do it," I say aloud, stepping back into the trailer,
dropping my wings and mask as the door slams shut. Kimmie stares
at me, breathless, her eyes alight. There it is again, the look I
cannot leave. What to do now? What to say? Just forget
everything, I tell myself. Act on instinct.

"You said no complications," I begin, once more improvising.

"Right," she nods, arching her eyebrows. "None at all. No
complications, just trust, compassion, and loyalty. Same as I
give all my friends."

"Friends," I repeat, nodding. Then I smile at her, feeling my
heart ease. By her eyes, hers too is easing. I try out the
syllable again, liking the taste of it on my tongue. "Friends."
Can we be friends? I wonder. Can we really? Well, we have to be.
Anything else is impossible-for both of us. It will be terrible
and at the same time wonderful, more than any relationship I've
had in the past. "Friends."

Kimmie nods, seeming to understand all that I am thinking even
though I'm not saying it. "Right, friends. That's all we can be,"
she leans forward and adds, throwing her hair to the side of her
face and framing it. "Like you said, we're from two different
worlds. We have very different lives. But none of that means we
can't still share something."

"Right," I agree, still unsure how I feel about it. But now I
don't want to think about it anymore. It's attention that she's
giving me, and as always, it's enough. I can't find my own words,
so again I use the master's. I step back towards her bed, take
her hand, and smile. "Kimmie, I think this is the beginning of a
beautiful friendship." Her laughter warms my soul.

***
The End.