Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee STP 8 by peregrinf

   Fortunately, while the school nurse took care of Cameron -- that was the
victim, Cameron Whitaker, who was more scared and angry than hurt -- Mrs.
Devers took control of me.  If I'd gotten my hands on the perp I'd probably
now be doing twenty to life instead of preparing to graduate.  I had some
anger management issues back then -- it was about then Ms.  Andrews got me
interested in archery.

   Thinking about all that distracted me as I settled my helmet on my head.
Not wanting to disappoint the bird watchers, I swung my leg high and wide
as I went to mount Old Bessie.  I launched myself off her with a howl that
scattered sparrows a half a block away.  Bessie went down with a clatter,
the bell on her handlebars letting out a mournful little chirp.  For a
minute I could only rub my pussy, wondering what had happened.

   Then I heard the cackles from the geriatric delinquents under the ficus.
One old duffer was laughing so hard he was hacking while someone pounded
him on the back.  Another was triumphantly waving the towel I put over the
seat when I park in the sun.  I'd been had.  He'd snitched the towel to
give Bessie's seat plenty of time to heat up.  The fact that I don't always
settle ass first had only made the joke better.

   "That's one hot twat you got there, Dee," the guy crowed.

   What could I do but ruefully rub my singed pussy.  After picking up poor
Old Bessie and checking her for bruises I primly walked her over to the koi
pond to scoop some water over the seat and splash some on my scorched
crotch.  Once it -- the seat, not my crotch -- stopped steaming I remounted
and kicked into motion in their direction, waving a scolding finger at the
old geezers.  Deciding that their cleverness deserved a treat, I looped
around them a couple of times -- look Mom, no hands AND no feet!  -- so
they could appreciate my charms -- before I plucked the towel away.

   Giving them a cheery farewell flap of the old rag I pedaled off to my
next assignment, glad to bury my SACNISP memories for a while by
concentrating on navigating the traffic.  I'd been warned once (by Maria,
no less) to put some clothes on or be cited for distracting drivers.  Well,
you can guess how far that suggestion went!  I at least stick to the bike
paths and off the main drag as much as possible.

   This is a typical Saturday for me -- workout, model, grab a bite for
lunch on my way to the high school pool, where I coach the new Diving Queen
of Central High.  She'd been Princess in Waiting and Heir Apparent and now
it was her turn to shine.  It made for a bittersweet afternoon.  I love
diving.  I loved diving competitively, but it had been forcefully driven
home to me that I had outgrown it.  Now I'm reduced to coaching my
successor.  Fortunately I enjoy working with her, a lot.

   Dusting off the crumbs from a sandwich eaten on the pedal, as it were, I
parked in the shade this time.  It had to be heading for a hundred.  With
the desert dry air sucking the moisture out of me I welcomed the
chlorinated humidity of the indoor pool and the chance for a quick dip.

   She was already there, stretching, and I could only marvel at the
flexibility in her petite muscular package.  She was as naked as I was, of
course.  The split stretch forward she was doing -- straight out of her
gymnastics background -- was totally awesome.  She was face down on the
pool deck like a supplicant to some oriental potentate, only her legs were
split out at right angles to her body, her toes pointed.  I've never done a
split like that in my life, even in my diving prime.

   But then it's not really a diving move.

   When the door closed with a thud she rose up just enough to show me her
bare titties, stiff from kissing the cold tiles, knowing I'd appreciate the
view.

   "Hi Dee." Judy Liu flashed her usual wicked grin.

   I'd scold her for showing off, but that would be the pot calling the
kettle black.  What diver or gymnast isn't an exhibitionist?

   "Hi Judy." Without even pausing I dropped my swim bag on the deck and
arrowed into the water, relishing the sweet feel of it sluicing away my
bike-sweat.  There are great advantages to nudism.  It saves on wardrobe
and a lot of time dressing and undressing.

   "You ready to get to work?" I asked when I surfaced and rolled on my
back for a couple of strokes, letting my stiff nipples breathe the pool
air.

   "Don't you want to shower first?"

   "Too late.  I've already contaminated the pool.  Work before play." I
climbed out of the water, using my hands to squeegee the hair back out of
my face as I snatched up my bag and padded across the deck.  A shower with
her meant we'd never get any practice in.  She was only teasing anyway. 
She has a work ethic that won't quit.

   Her response was to roll from her split-forward to a split-back that was
just as wide, her naked crotch gaping right at me.  Starting at her calves
she stroked her legs, up the insides of her muscular thighs to her yawning
twat, where she proceeded to insert a finger, knowing full well what that
did to me.  It was all I could do to keep from diving right in, which was
not the kind of diving we were there for!  Well, not the first kind of
diving, anyway.

   Work before play, I reminded myself sternly.  God she was such a sexy
imp, and she knew just how to push my buttons.  We've been teasing and
pleasing each other ever since that legendary middle school sleepover at
her house, where she'd shoved a butt plug the size of Texas up my rear in
full view of the whole party.

   I'm not complaining.  It was a game of "Truth of Dare" and I'd taken the
dare knowing what I was in for.  We'd been very friendly rivals ever since,
challenging each other every chance we got.  When she was still in middle
school and doing gymnastics, I was diving in high school, and our
encounters had been pretty much as chance allowed.  But once she'd switched
to my specialty and then graduated up to Central High it had become a lot
more on than off, with us pushing each other just as hard in diving -- and
other things -- as Greg and I had pushed each other in swimming -- and
other things.

   "Suit!" I reminded her as she got up and headed for the one-meter board.
Diving nude, even from one meter, is not advisable.  A feet-first entry can
have a gynecological impact one really would just as soon avoid.  While a
double layer of Spandex isn't much it is enough to block a jet-powered
douche.

   She executed a deft pirouette and headed for her swim bag by the pile of
clothes by the wall -- if a tee, shorts and a pair of sandals makes a pile.


   "Ooops!  Forgot."

   Forgot?  Well, maybe.  She bent over sharply to give me a full moon shot
of her tight ass, deliberately shifting her weight from one leg to the
other to waggle her butt at me before straightening and slipping into her
suit.  I must admit I love the view.  We'd been ass-buddies since she'd
introduced me to that butt plug.  Seeing her do gymnastics nude is a rare
treat.  What a body!  She's oriental, and built along the lines of a
fireplug.  She's got boobs of a sort, a bit of a waist and hips, and an ass
harder than mine.

   I know.  I've tested it with my teeth -- and tongue -- as she has mine.

   Her build presents challenges for diving.  Many of the best woman divers
are slender, especially the Chinese Olympic team.  Judy is fuller and
shorter, five-foot nothing.  I doubt she'll top out at more than
five-foot-two, and it is almost all muscle.  Her only drawback is her
curves.  She's got broad shoulders and strong pecs under her boobs that
make it harder for her to rip her entries.

   On the other hand she's quick and agile as a cat and that, along with
her strength and body awareness, more than compensates.  In the air she
knows exactly where every part of her is in relation to herself, the board
and the water.  She's a natural.  When she was still doing gymnastics I saw
her finish off a tumbling run with a layout double back -- that's two back
summies in layout position -- that rocked the house.  Straight as a rod all
the way around, with nary a flinch in the air, seeming not even to look for
her landing, she hit the deck with a crash that rattled the rafters, not a
step, twitch or bounce.  Then she strutted away with a "match that!"
attitude.

   Granted, she'd had a running start, but the spring of the gymnastics
floor is nothing compared to the bounce of a diving board.  She soars off
that with the lift of a rocket.  With her ability to flip and twist she may
eventually be doing things no one else will attempt.

   If she doesn't kill herself first, that is.  She's absolutely fearless,
worse than I was, which means I do have to keep a close eye on her even off
the low board.  So while she was testing the spring of the board I kept one
eye on her as I dug out my own suit.  She was sailing high, kicking her ass
with her heels, first both at once, after the next bounce doing a quick
one-two butt kick before coming back down on the board -- THUMP!  --
driving it down, then lifting off again, the board bouncing --
whacka-whacka-whacka -- while she did a two-footed kick -- then down again
THUMP!  and back up for a one-two -- you get the idea.

   Then she did a one-two-three-four kick, all in the time she was in the
air.  Showing off again.  Ah me.  Mistime that and it could mean crutches
for who knows how long?  I stopped her before she tried for six or eight or
decided to throw in a full twist, which I had seen her do.

   And yeah, I'm no longer as fearless as I was.  I'd learned my lesson the
hard way.  Two months in a cervical collar will do that to you.

   Beginning the run-through of her dives we took turns, starting simple --
the swan dive, which was all grace and line -- and working our way up the
degree-of-difficulty chart.  First she'd watch while I did one -- not
really necessary, but I loved the chance at the board -- then she would do
it while I watched, suggested corrections, then she'd do it again, and so
on until we were both satisfied, then we'd move on to the next in her
program.

   She usually got it right the first time.  Sometimes she was harder to
satisfy than I was, or she'd say, "Lemme do it one more time so I know it
wasn't an accident." She's really a good pupil, in spite of her
effervescence.  When she's in student mode she's serious and attentive,
totally focused, almost worshipful, much to my chagrin.

   On the other hand, when she's not in student mode I have to watch my
back.  The little imp still has a thing for my ass.  Fortunately the
feeling is mutual.

   One problem was figuring out how to improve her entry -- hands together,
thumbs interlocked, palms flat to punch a hole in the water for the rest of
her body to slip through.  I suggested she spread her fingers, even move
her hands apart a little to make a bigger hole and it helped.  Getting her
all into a line wasn't a problem but her boobs stuck out.  After little
mutual fondling -- which we both enjoyed -- we decided there was enough
softness there that a tighter suit might help.  Short of steel plate her
irrepressible nipples would always be a problem.

   When we moved on to the inward dive pike I balked, stepping back to let
her go without me.  Judy didn't say anything, just took to the board.  She
knows why it is my bete noir.  She'd been there, fortunately for me as it
turned out.

   I tell myself I don't want her catching any bad habits from watching me.


   The thing that pisses me off is that it is not a hard dive.  You stand
at the end of the board, back to the water, with just your toes and the
balls of your feet on the board, like you're going to do a regular back
dive.  Give a little bounce then drive the board down and take off on the
rebound.  As you leave the board you lift your hips up and back while your
head goes down and you reach for your toes, touch them, straighten out to
skim past the end of the board into the water, straight as an arrow.

   It was the "skim past the end of the board" thing that I didn't do one
day.  I'd suddenly found myself in the water, doing a sort of wobbly dog
paddle in the general direction of the side of the pool where I was helped
out, I guess.

   The next thing I knew I was on my back on the deck, wondering what the
hell had happened.  Judy had my head clamped firmly between her knees, her
hands on my shoulders, holding me down.  Someone else had my ankles, while
other someones corralled my arms as I tried to reach up to hold my skull
together.  Judy was telling me not to move -- as if I could with her on me
-- and someone else was yelling into a cell phone.  I wanted to tell them
it was no big deal, that I was okay, only my mouth wouldn't work right.  I
was seeing two of everything, people included.  My ears were ringing and I
was starting to hurt -- all the way from the top of my head to my
fingertips, especially my head.

   I kept fading in and out.  There was a siren and some really serious
people, I don't know how many since they kinda blurred into each other. 
Someone different was holding my head and I was looking up at her -- a
woman with frizzy hair, not nearly as cute as Judy.  She looked very
serious, which was kinda funny 'cause either she was upside down or I was,
but I hurt too much to giggle.

   Someone shined a bright light in my eyes -- that hurt -- while someone
else asked me questions.  I couldn't remember my phone number.  I couldn't
remember Mom's work number.  I couldn't even remember how I'd gotten to
school that morning -- walk?  bike?

   Fortunately they took "I dunnos" for an answer and quit asking.  Didn't
matter.  The hurting was getting worse.  They rolled me on my side, the
upside down woman still carefully holding my head, her hands really strong
and steady and gentle.  A foam collar was slipped on me and something was
put behind me and I was eased down on it.  Then I was strapped down, with
some sort of soft blocks on either side of my head so I still couldn't
move.

   Not that I wanted to.  Even the little bit of rolling they'd done had
almost made me throw up.

   They did some other stuff -- I think there was a needle in my arm and a
plastic bag, then the thing I was on -- it was hard as a board -- might've
been nice if it was a little softer, since my back hurt, too -- it was
lifted on to something else and fastened down.  You woulda thought I was
fragile or something.  For some silly reason I got a round of applause when
I gave a sort of thumbs up twitch as they wheeled me out to the ambulance,
the woman shading my eyes from the sun with a clipboard.  I was still
wondering where I was and why everyone was making such a fuss.  Some of 'em
were even crying!

   Have I mentioned that my head hurt?

   I blacked out, woke up on the ride to the hospital, blacked out again,
woke up as they took x-rays, then they got me onto another thing that
rolled me head first into some big rackety giant donut of a machine and
back out of it.  At some point they must have cut my suit off-- I knew Mom
wouldn't like that, those things cost money!  -- and put a sheet over me.
Silly gooses, I didn't need that.

   They tickled the bottoms of my feet, making my toes curl, tapped the
backs my ankles, the fronts of my knees, even the insides of my elbows. 
Someone asked me to squeeze their hands.  It was all really confusing, and
then Mom was there and she was crying, and Elaine was there and she was
crying and they were holding my hands, asking me to squeeze them, too, so I
did, I think.  I guess I did that okay.  Elaine seemed pleased, at least.

   Then there was a lot of humming and muttering and pointing while the
doctors, including Elaine, looked at pictures.  Mom wouldn't let go of my
hand.  It felt good, though I still had trouble focusing on her.  There was
a lot more fussing that involved moving me very carefully and fitting some
kind of a collar on me.  I sorta doped out again and when I woke up I was
looking up at a different ceiling and it was quieter, sort of, except for
some stupid beeping noise that wasn't enough to keep me awake, at least.

   I didn't burst into tears until the next day and they let both Greg and
Coach in to see me in my hospital room, Mom and Elaine hovering by my
bedside.

   "I've ruined everything!"

   Greg shushed me with the gentlest kiss he'd ever given me, his fingers
brushing softly through my hair like he was afraid of jostling me, not that
he could have.  From crown to chest I was practically mummified, some sort
of a rig pulling up on my head using a collar that made it hard to move my
jaw even.  Coach just took my hand and squeezed it.  Hand squeezing was
getting to be a big thing, I guess.

   "It's all right!" Coach assured me.

   But it wasn't.  I knew it wasn't, 'cause this was to be our year, Greg's
and my year.  After last year, when Greg and I had both racked up silvers
in all our events, Coach had hatched this plan to train us both up to get
the golds this year.  We were gonna win the states, me and Greg, in both
butterfly and IM and the relays in only our Junior year!  It had never been
done before.  After our performance last year Coach decided this was the
year, and now I'd screwed the whole thing up.

   We'd already started training, and we needed to train every minute if we
were going to pull it off.  I didn't know how long I'd be out of action,
but I was pretty sure it was going to be for a while.  I felt awful about
letting them both down, but Coach assured me I'd have another chance, that
I should just concentrate on getting better.

   Later, after he left and Mom and Elaine had gone for coffee, after
making Greg promise to take care of me, Greg and I argued, me crying up at
the ceiling, which was all I could do.  Greg wound up wiping my tears with
a tissue so my eyeballs didn't drown, insisting he was going to wait for me
to get better so we could do it together our Senior year.  Sounding like
something out of a cheap movie I told him he should go on without me, that
he shouldn't let my stupidity spoil his chance at history -- well, state
history, at least -- that I'd be there to cheer him on, and then he could
cheer me on the next year and maybe we'd both do it then, him for the
second time.

   Later, when I was alone, I tried to figure out what had happened. 
They'd told me I'd hit the board -- well doh!  I knew I'd been doing, or
planned to do, a back-jack -- inward dive pike -- but I still don't
remember the details.

   They call it dissociative amnesia, and maybe it's a good thing.

   Taking an inventory I figured from the lumps and abrasions that I'd
bounced twice on my head before scraping my back as I tumbled off the board
into the water.  I've been told that while others hauled me out of the pool
Judy had steadied my head, then clasped it between her knees and pinned my
shoulders down so I couldn't move while we waited for the emergency squad.
The doctor told me I probably owed Judy my life, or at the very least my
mobility.

   That is why I'm happy to coach her for nothing.  Besides, the fringe
benefits are lots of fun.

   He also said that if I hadn't been so well aligned for the first impact
the damage to my neck could have been much, much worse.  Then he just had
to add that if I'd done it off the three-meter the impact with the water
might have finished what the board had started.  Like I really needed to
hear that!  At least Mom hadn't been there or she would have super-glued me
to the bed to keep me from ever diving again.

   Of course a month after the collar came off I told myself to get back up
on the horse -- the same dive -- this time off the three-meter board at the
town pool.  After all, it couldn't happen again, could it.

   Yeah, right!

   I took a good bounce, got way up in the air, reached for my toes, only
to discover that the fucking diving board was right under me -- apparently
a little detail I'd missed seeing the last time.  I reached for it and
grabbed, with some vague plan to swing under it and hang on before dropping
gracefully into the pool.  It didn't work, of course.  I was going too fast
and my hands were wet.  I did fend off the board, saving my face, but lost
my grip and plummeted ass first into the water, ruining my entry and
totally losing on style points.

   Shit!

   The lifeguard was halfway out of his chair when I surfaced and glared up
at the board, assuring him that I really was okay between cuss words. 
There was a whoosh of relief from the audience -- some of whom, including
Judy, had seen my previous disaster -- but I got no applause, darn it.  I
thought it had been a pretty cool move, given the circumstances.

   I never told Mom about that, but it was at that point I concluded that
Coach was right.  I'd outgrown competitive diving.

   I cling to that excuse, rather than admit that I am afraid of that dive,
just that one dive.  I still dive, for fun, but not competitively and never
that dive.

   Mom was sympathetic when I told her my decision, but I suspect she was
also relieved.

   With the back-jack out of the way Judy and I moved on, finishing when I
tried to show her some little refinement to a full twisting front one and a
half pike that she already does better than I ever did, the little shit. 
Damn she was good!  And fun to coach.

   Finished with our practice, we headed for the showers, stripping off our
suits on the way, and I found myself taking yet another trip down memory
lane.  It was the same showers where Greg and I had baptized the drain with
our mingled come, more than once, most memorably when he'd asked me to the
homecoming dance my freshman year.

   It was the same showers where we'd shared our last fuck as well, when my
tears had mingled with our come.

   Of course it is not the first time that Judy and I had showered
together. That was always an enjoyable way wrap things up, no matter how
well practice had gone.  After twisting and turning under a shared
showerhead -- saves water, or it would if we didn't enjoy our showers so
much -- I lathered my hands and began at the top of her head and worked my
way down.

   I soaped up her pixie-cut shiny black hair.  She closed her eyes and
purred as I washed her ears, her face, leaving swooping curls of suds
around her almond eyes and on her pert little nose.  I paid a lot of
attention to her pouty lips, until she sucked my thumbs in and gently
chewed on them.

   Bending to kiss her I shifted her so the water sluiced away the lather,
and we tasted each other before I moved on to her neck, her shoulders, her
arms.  God I love her body.  There is so much of it in such a small
package. It's all muscles under soft skin and a ladylike adipose layer. 
She is strong!  All those years of gymnastics -- handsprings and
cartwheels, vaults and uneven bars, the balance beam and floor exercises.
She's matured of course, so there is stubble under her arms and she
wriggled sensuously and giggled as I tickled her there.

   When she dropped her arms I moved on, deliberately teasing her, and
myself, by doing her back down to her waist before reaching around her to
cup her boobs with their berry-hard nips.  Drawing her back against me,
kissing the top of her head, I gave her tits a thorough working over, the
rubbery tips slipping through my soapy fingers, her skin hot and slick on
my palms, her back warm against my front.

   Then I slid my hands down her torso and she sucked in her gut in
anticipation.  Happy to torment her, I tested her abs, poked a finger into
her navel and wiggled it until she whined with impatience.  When I reached
lower she sighed in anticipation, then whined again as my fingers teasingly
traced the intersection of her thighs, approaching the puffy lips of her
pussy and retreating.

   She could have taken my hands and guided them and I wouldn't have
resisted, but she enjoyed the suspense as much as I did so she played with
her own tits instead.  Finally I did fondle her pussy.  She'd gone with me
to the beautician, so now she was as waxed as I was.  I let my finger trace
the line of her slit, testing her heat and slickness without penetrating,
because we both knew the real goal of all this exploration.  As I knelt
behind her she turned and leaned against the wall, pushing her pert butt
invitingly out toward me.

   Oh God, what an ass!  It was so round, so firm, so fully packed I just
had to make a meal of it.  I bit it, scraped it with my teeth, trying to
catch a fold of cheek I could really chew on, first one cheek and then the
other, but it was just too firm to allow me that liberty.  I licked it all
over, and she stuck it out further, I sucked on it, and she offered me
more. My thumbs pried into the crack, wedged it open, and she knew what I
wanted, and I knew what she wanted, and there was no disagreement at all.

   But first I washed her, very thoroughly and carefully, my soapy thumbs
massaging the tight pucker, just to tease her.  She sighed and softened,
her hands sliding farther down the shower wall, her feet spreading, the
shower water rinsing away the soap.  Oh she did want me to do what I so
much wanted to do, but I fought to build both her anticipation and mine.

   Finally, unable to hold back any longer, I nuzzled my face into the
crack of her ass, my lips and tongue homing in on the puckery dimple of her
anus.  She whimpered, stuck her ass out even further, and still I tormented
her before finally probing her tight little bung.  I felt her push out to
grant admission.  Happy to oblige, I lingually explored that dark tunnel,
salivating on her and into her, an appetizer for both of us.

   Reluctantly backing away, I replaced my tongue with my thumb, and
proceeded to slip it into that rubbery ring, its way greased by my spit.  I
worked it deep into her tight little athletic butt, while my other hand
reached around her for her pussy.  My longest finger slid into her hot
channel, a frontal assault on her crotch to match the one in her rear.  It
was soon supplemented by a second finger to stretch her technically
virginal pussy.

   For yes indeed, this lusty little athlete with an aversion to clothes is
still a virgin.  While she'd certainly enjoyed having her cunt invaded by
fingers, her own and others, and foreign objects, she had yet to allow
penetration by a cock.  It was sure to happen sooner or later.  She had no
aversion to males, but she was determined it should be the right male at
the right time and place.

   I could only cheer her decision, remembering my own premature
defloration.

   Meanwhile, I enjoyed the perverse pleasure of feeling my fingers in one
hole against my thumb in the other as I rotated them, all while sliding
them in and out.  She was puffing and gasping, her pelvis working.  When
she started to whine, I added the finishing touch by tweaking her clitoris
with my free thumb as I pumped my digits in and out of her ass and cunt.

   Her crotch muscles began the clenching spasms of her orgasm and, trust
me on this, she was just as strong there as she was in every other way. 
Whoever she chose as the lucky guy was in for a real treat.  Her cunt would
milk him dry, but she'd better choose carefully.  If he wasn't strong
enough she might just chew him up and spit him out.

   Then I drew my hands away and she slid into my lap and we snuggled
together while she caught her breath, leaving me to contemplate how I came
to be here holding this delightful girl, with all her courage, and talent,
and muscle and passion.  After the sleepover it'd been my birthday party,
where she'd first played on Stephanie's diving board.  After that she'd
begun showing up during my diving practices here or at the town pool, first
flying helter-skelter off the board, pestering me for lessons.

   I finally figured I'd better take her under my wing before she killed
herself out of ignorance.  She was beginning to learn, just for the fun of
it, when she found herself wrestling with a really tough decision, one of
those life changers not many her age have to make.  This wasn't one a
teenager stumbles into, like drunken unprotected sex, but a conscious
make-up-your-mind, this-is-your-life-you're-deciding choice.  She'd been
invited to attend a gymnastics camp and school somewhere out in the
Midwest, one that had a reputation for sending members to the national team
and, ultimately, the Olympics.

   Yeah, she was that good, at least good enough to get the invitation. 
Potentially it offered incredible rewards -- travel to exotic places, to
say nothing of fame and fortune and maybe even her picture on a cereal box.


   Sounds like a no-brainer, doesn't it?

   Already close, I became Judy's confidant, her sounding board, and I
learned a lot from her that week.

   That was all the time she had to make the decision, one week.

   It could have been a no-brainer, but she wasn't that starry-eyed.  She
was smart enough to know the offer came with no guarantees.  There was only
a chance she might make the national team.  She also knew no one mentions
what happens to the ones that don't make the team, or are eliminated by
injuries, sometimes crippling injuries, during the training.

   Then there was the cost.  They don't run those places for nothing. 
Judy's family wasn't particularly well off, but they were willing to make
the sacrifices, including a second mortgage, if it was what she wanted. 
So, there was no help there.

   Thanks, mom and dad, I think!

   The decision was only made harder when the news made the local paper. 
Everyone was thrilled -- hometown girl makes good -- and everyone had an
opinion.  Most were encouraging her to take the offer.  Her gymnastics club
ballyhooed it to the hilt, tripling its membership in three days.

   And I'd held her while she fretted and fumed.  All I did was listen and
hold her.  Tough as she was, she cried in my arms, wanting to please
everybody.  At that point I cuddled her, and told her to ignore them and
look inside herself, that it was her life.

   "If I don't do it they'll say I'm chicken, and I'm stupid," she argued.

   "We know better," I answered.  "You know better."

   What else could I say?  With my lofty maturity -- I was all of two years
older -- I told her that she and I both knew that it would take a lot more
courage to turn the offer down, given the local sentiment, than it would to
accept it.  Being called chicken didn't make her one, and she knew it.

   In the end it was the idea of leaving home that decided it for her. 
She'd already told me how much she missed her older brother, who'd joined
the military.  Her parents, supportive of whatever decision she made,
embraced her gratefully.

   Then I held her again while she rode out the storm of confusion, anger
and disappointment that broke around her.  There were people who condemned
her for letting them down -- people who didn't even have a horse in the
race!  It wasn't their life, after all.  All they'd get was the reflected
glory of being from the same town.  Letters in the paper, opinions by
know-it-alls who knew nothing, editorials, crank phone calls telling her
she was stupid, she was selfish, thinking only of herself, that she was an
idiot to turn down the chance at all that money.  That she was chicken.

   It ended with her leaving gymnastics, something she'd loved as much as
I'd loved diving, thanks to the reaction of her club.  She'd let them down,
she'd chickened out, turned down a chance they would have given their lives
for, to say nothing of what it would have meant for the rep the club would
have gotten.

   Until then she'd just been hanging around the pool, sailing off the low
and high boards, even the 10-meter platform when she could sneak up there.
When she quit gymnastics she suddenly became very, very serious about
diving.

   I was holding her in my lap under the shower when I was suddenly stirred
out of my musings by her fastening on my right tit as if she were a
two-day-old baby.  Zowie!  This little sucker in my lap had teeth, of
course, but fortunately she wasn't out for blood.

   Welcoming the distraction I handed her the body-wash.  She got to her
knees behind me while I sat tailor fashion on the shower floor so she could
reach me more easily.  I abandoned myself to her ministrations, to the
sheer sensuous pleasure of her small, soapy hands working their way over
me, my face and neck and ears, my neck, my arms -- she tickled my underarms
just as I'd tickled hers -- my back and sides.

   Reaching around me she doted on my breasts, even now not much more than
mounds, so I eased her aside, stretched out on my back on the hard, cold
tiles, the water sluicing down on both us and she massaged them.  Small as
her hands are they are incredibly strong from years of swinging from bar to
bar, gripping handstands on the balance beam, but she was gentle, gentle,
gentle, her fingers sending deliciously electrical jolts from my tits to my
twat.

   I lay there open to her, totally at her mercy as she soaped me down,
down, down to my waist, to my legs to my toes, avoiding my pleading pussy
until the last, and even then only gently massaging my puffy labia. 
Abandoning myself completely to her I was putty in her hands when she urged
me to roll over on my tummy.

   Oh my, she started again at my shoulders and combined bathing with
massaging as she worked the muscles from the nape of my neck down to my
waist, only to leave off there and move down to my feet!  What was she
doing?

   Did I care?  Not really.  The feel of her stroking and rubbing soapy
hands up the backs and sides of my calves, my knees -- she tickled the
backs of them -- was heavenly!  I opened my thighs invitingly, but she's as
much a tease as I can be.  First she kneaded my buns, taking the
opportunity to press my pelvis against the floor, triggering yet another
gush of juices from my already ravenous pussy.

   Then, finally, her fingers invaded the crack of my ass.  Oooooyeah! 
Starting at my tailbone she slithered her fingers down my crack, back up,
down a little farther, taunting my pucker by stopping just shy of it, until
I groaned and lifted my tail in invitation.

   And still she didn't touch that opening, even though she knew I was
virtually pleading for her to tickle it.  So I raised my ass higher, coming
up on my knees while pressing my forehead to the tiles, the water pouring
down on my back from the shower, swirling around my face.  My knees were
apart, and finally she took advantage of her access to my twat, rubbing and
rubbing, letting her finger slip in to stroke my swollen, flooded petals, a
finger invading my cunt.

   I purred louder as a second finger, then a third invaded my vagina.  Oh
geez that felt wonderful!

   A fourth finger?!  Damn her, she would out-do me!

   And she was turning her little hand this way and that within the gates
of my happy hole, and I could feel all my muscles down there relaxing, and
before I realized it I was peeing, the scent of it hot and pungent as it
flooded the floor under me.

   "Wow!" she murmured.  "I didn't expect that!"

   "Sorry," I apologized as the flow dribbled off.

   "Oh, no, it was wonderful!  It was so hot!"

   I purred, raising my butt, which the little minx interpreted as a
request for more.  The pressure at the entrance to my vagina grew, the
stretching began to sting.  Had she added her thumb to go along with four
fingers she was already screwing into me?!  All I could do was moan, and
drive back and back and back against her pushing and pushing and pushing
and I felt myself being stretched wider and wider, and suddenly she slipped
inside and I realized her whole hand was in me, her finger tips pressing
against my cervix.  Holy shit!

   "Are you alright?"

   "Aahhhhhhhhhh!" was all I could say, and when I felt her clench her fist
in there I experienced a whole new fullness.  I was her sock puppet, and I
was so close to coming, so close....

   Then she touched my asshole, too, and I thought I was going to go up in
flames from the stinging/itching back there as she began to invade my butt.
Was she thinking two hands, two fists in me?

   Too much!  was all I could think, but I didn't say it as a second finger
pried into my rectum.  For a moment I thought she was going to go for it, a
third finger and a fourth, and that she'd tear me open if she did and I was
so out of control I probably would have let her.  Mercifully -- or maybe it
was mercilessly 'cause I did want it, oh God I did so want it -- she
stopped with just two fingers in my rear and felt her turning her fist
inside my cunt like she was unscrewing me, as if my cervix was the bolt
that held me together.  Her knuckles massaged my G spot, stretching my
girl-tunnel, pinching the thin, muscular barrier keeping her hands apart.

   I was ready to come apart.  My whole body was throbbing, right on the
knife edge of an incredible coming.  I could visualize the perverted pose I
was in -- not one that Kathy had thought of, I might add.  My head was
down, the wet tiles scraping my forehead and nose, my arms sprawled limp,
the shower pouring down on me.  My ass was up in the air and this petite,
lovely girl behind me had her whole fist buried in my cunt, while two
fingers of her other hand were snugged as deep as they'd go in the hot,
greasy sheath of my ass.

   Reaching under myself with one hand I found my stretched pussy, touched
her wrist where my hot, wet flesh embraced it.  I felt her tendons flexing
as she worked her fist in my cunt, partly opening and closing her fingers.
She began gently fucking with her fist, twisting her fingers in my butt --
and I swear she curved them so her nails gently scratch me inside.

   Just up a little ways from my strained openings was the neglected little
button of my clit, pleading for some attention.  So I pulled the trigger. I
pressed my little love berry against my pubic arch and suddenly I was
coming and coming and coming, my crotch clenching desperately at her
working hand and fingers, the ecstasy blazing through me like fireworks, on
and on and on.  All I could do was tremble under the onslaught, my rectum
spasming, my cunt clenching.  I held my breath while the storm raged on
until at last I was seeing sparks, out of breath, exhausted.  I was all
come-out and couldn't come anymore.  As I slid down on my face, my legs
straightening and spreading to lower my body she slowly drew her hands out
of me.

   I welcomed her weight as she slid up on my back, snuggling me, kissing
and licking my ear and my cheek, pressing me into the hard shower floor
while I came to my senses.  On a scale of one to ten this coming had been a
ten compared to every other orgasm of -- how many times had I come today?
I'd lost count.

   But even as good as this orgasm had been, and as much as I loved Judy,
there was a hollowness inside me.  It just wasn't the same as it had been
when it had been just me and Greg making long sweet love in my soft, warm
bed, or even sharing a furtive fuck in the shower.

   As I lay there under Judy I again found myself wondering.  As wonderful
as these interludes with Judy and my other lovers were, they would never
replace the times I'd spent with him, the feel of his strong arms around
me, his scent and taste, the feel of his cock filling my cunt, spurting its
hot, gooey load deep inside me, as thick and creamy rich as the love we'd
shared.  Since we'd met at the time trials before our freshman year I'd
come to accept his constant presence in my life.  It wasn't dependence, but
a sharing, a collaboration as we faced life's challenges together, knowing
we'd see each other every day, encouraging and challenging each other.

   He'd been there for me through thick and thin, everything from The
Program turmoil to my diving disaster.  We hadn't just loved each other, we
were in love with each other.  I'd never told him, but I'd even gone so far
as to dream that someday I'd bear his child.

   Now he's gone, and that will probably never happen.  Greg was --
elsewhere -- with an entirely different future ahead of him.
   And it's nobody's fault but my own.