Dribble, Shoot, and Run-101 Baskets

Alone on the basketball court, dribbling, shooting, and running was her game to play and her exercise plan to do in the hopes of not only having some fun but also losing a few pounds. Encouraged by the hoped for outcome, for the first time in a long time, she was happy that she was doing something positive about losing weight. For the first time in a long time, she was proud of herself for sweating while working so hard to have some fun. For the first time in a long time, continuing to challenge herself, she believed that this little, private, basketball game would really work.

Every day, while not overdoing it, whether she got them in or missed horribly, never shooting anymore and never shooting any less, she shot 100 baskets. In the beginning, she was lucky to get 10 baskets out of 100 shots but as her hand and eye coordination and basketball shooting skill improved, so didn't her basket making percentages. Day after day and week after week, by the end of April, she was making 20 baskets out of 100 attempts, not bad. By the end of May, shedding her baggy clothes for something more appropriate for playing basketball, shorts, a tank top, and sneakers instead of baggy black pants, an oversized, navy blue sweatshirt, and slip-on shoes, after losing 20 pounds, she was making 30 baskets out of 100. Moreover, something she seldom worked hard enough at to do, even when jogging, she was sweating while shooting baskets.

* * * * *

Then, in the way that men discovered big screen TV's and big, chain hardware stores and women discovered shoe sales and designer pocketbooks, something miraculous happened. Something that possibly may be no big deal to others but that was a big deal to her, symbolic in her effort to finally succeed in making baskets while shedding her extra, unwanted weight, she made her first swish. She made a swish. She couldn't believe she made a swish. She didn't just make a basket, she made a swish. The perfect basket and the very best basket to make, she was so excited that she made a swish.

"Swish!"

Every once in a while, not very often, she'd get a swish. As if a baseball player hitting a high, long ball while taking a second to watch it travel over Fenway Park's green monster, just by the sound it made off the bat, he knew it was a homerun. In the way he watched his homerun ball, she watched the basketball heading for the center of the basket. As if a novice dart player feeling the excitement of making a bull's-eye, she always felt that excitement making a swish.

Swish! She made a swish. Having never made a swish before, she couldn't believe she made a swish now. Every once in a while, not very often, she'd make the perfect shot. Every once in a while, not very often, she'd make a swish. Intoxicatingly addictive, as if the basketball was whispering its approval, she loved the sound the ball silently made when touching nothing but net.

"Swish!"

Swish. A five letter one syllable word that so perfectly described the sound that the basketball made when going through the center of the net. Swish. She was so happy every time she made a swish. As if that swish was her brass ring and as if that swish was her goal to do every time she made a basket, she not just wanted to make a basket, she wanted to make the perfect basket. She wanted to make a swish.

"Swish!"

Seemingly innocuous, that one sound made her practice and concentrate on making perfect baskets even more. Doubling her effort and increasing her exercise plan, before starting her day and after work, she shot her 100 baskets. Now shooting 200 baskets a day, as her hand and eye coordination improved, her percentages quickly rose to 40 percent. For every 100 shots, she was making 40 baskets. Not bad for a woman who never played a sport in her life. Not bad for a woman who was always so uncoordinated that she was a clumsy klutz. For every 100 shots she took at the basket, always so surprisingly gratified when it happened, she made 4 swishes. Unbelievable for a 5'7" girl who hadn't shot a basketball in 20 years, since she was 10-years-old at the park with her brothers, she was not only making baskets but also she was making swishes.

"Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish."

Being that she worked seven days a week caring for Mrs. Morrison, she was there on weekends too. Sometimes, instead of staying home alone to watch American Idol by herself, enduring the seemingly endless commercials, taking the second shift of the next healthcare worker, she returned to watch that program with Mrs. Morrison. Maintaining her exercise and weight loss routine, every early morning and every late afternoon, even if it was raining, dedicated and determined, she was out shooting baskets. Then, with Mrs. Morrison's permission and while her charge took a nap, Charlotte was out there at lunchtime shooting more baskets. Now she was shooting 300 baskets a day and now with her shooting skills increasing, her basket making percentages increased to 50%. What took her twice as long to shoot 100 baskets was taking her half as long now. Moreover, instead of horribly missing, she was making half of her shots and her percentages of swishes were climbing too. For every two shots she took at the basket, she made one. For every 100 shots she took at the basket, she made a dozen swishes.

"Swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, and swish."

* * * * *

By June, after shooting baskets for three months, she had lost 25 pounds.

'Twenty-five pounds? No way!'

When she stepped on the scale, she couldn't believe it. Without following a diet plan, without taking a diet pill, without having to waste her money on a gym membership, and without buying one of those infernal exercise machines, she lost 25 pounds. Just dribbling and running while shooting 100 baskets three times a day, every day, whether she made them or missed them, she lost 25 frigging pounds. She couldn't believe it.

'Are you kidding me? Wow!'

Finally finding her magic formula to her personal weight loss, no longer weighing a chubby 180 pounds, she now weighed a shapely 155 pounds. Moreover because she was replacing fat with muscle and with her body more proportional in the way of a broad shouldered, big backed, and narrow waist swimmer, no one would ever guess that she weighed a pudgy 155 but would instead think that she weighed a svelte 140. With her dress size dropping from a size 18 to a size 10, wearing more flattering clothes, with her stomach flatter, her overall body toned and conditioned, her breasts looked even bigger. With her ass appearing rounder, and indeed it was, her body was noticeably shapelier. Never muscular before, her shoulders, arms, calves, thighs, and back had more muscularity to them. Something she never looked like before, she was beginning to look hot. Someone she always wanted to look like before, she was looking as if she was a professional dancer or a professional ice skater now.

By the end of July, never thinking it possible, she lost 10 more pounds and another ten pounds by the end of August. Nearly at her goal weight, with just five more pounds to go, she was now down to 135 pounds. Only, at 135 pounds, with her toned, shapely, muscular figure, she looked more like 120 pounds. Now wearing a size six/eight instead of a size 18, she exchanged her clothes for a bikini with a light cover up over it. Every day, three times a day, she was still out there shooting baskets. During the summer, every morning, every midafternoon, and every late afternoon, no longer hiding her body with a cover up, she shot baskets in just her revealing bikini.

"Swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, and swish."

Her record, twelve swishes in a row, until she missed one and then made thirteen more consecutive swishes.

"Swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, and swish."

Her first time wearing a bikini, she never thought she'd ever wear a bikini. As long as her top didn't pop off or her breasts didn't peek out of her bra, she enjoyed the freedom of wearing a bikini. So long as they fit right, bikinis were comfortable. When wearing her bikini, sometimes feeling naked, she sometimes felt as if she wasn't wearing anything at all. She had bikinis in every style and color. With her now having the body of an Olympic volleyball player but with tits, seeing her shooting baskets was hot, especially when she ran, turned, and twisted. With her big breasts bouncing up and down with her, watching her make a jump shot was especially hot.

* * * * *

As if she was shooting baskets in a stadium or a coliseum, it was as if she was a female, Harlem Globe Trotter showing off how many consecutive swishes she could make. Whenever she made a basket, which was now more often than not, she had a fan club of elderly men and women hanging out their windows and applauding her basket shooting skills. With many of them no longer mobile and with many of them no doubt wishing they could be on the basketball court with her shooting baskets, as if rooting for themselves, they rooted for her instead. Whenever she was on a run and making a consecutive number of swishes, they'd keep count for her by yelling out their windows.

"One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Eleven!"

Moreover, always giving her pointers until she no longer needed a man to give her pointers, there was always some man who worked for or was visiting the complex watching her shooting baskets.

"Don't push it from your chest. Instead, put your arms up, way up. Extend your arms over your head," said the custodian of the complex who obviously knew something more than she did about how to correctly shoot a basketball.

"Thank you," she said figuring he was just another dirty, old man who wanted to ogle a young, hot chick shooting baskets in a bikini.

Holding out his hand, he asked her for the ball to demonstrate how she should shoot it. Extending his arms high over his head, he looked at her. "Now, when you shoot, shoot the ball high, higher than necessary, and arc it. Instead of aiming it, a delicate operation as if dropping a pinpoint bomb from a building, allow it to fall from the sky over the basket and into the next. If you shoot a line drive it will hit the rim or bounce off the backboard. Lastly, when you shoot, allow the ball to roll and spin off the very tips of your fingers," he said.

Nonetheless his professed technique, uncomfortable shooting baskets in that way with her arms raised over her head, she figured that he just was hoping that her tits would fall out of her bra. She figured that he was just hoping that her bra would pop off her body and she'd be standing there topless for a few seconds before noticing that her bikini bra was on the ground. Yet, after watching the professionals play, never comfortable shooting in that posture before with her arms stretched high over her head, she felt comfortable shooting that way now. Now when she launched the ball instead of shooting the ball, it felt more natural. Now comfortably poised as if ready to do a high dive, she couldn't imagine shooting a basketball any other way. Besides, now with her in that professional posture, in the way of a batter stepping to the plate, just as someone could tell from the stance he took if he could hit a baseball or not, without her even shooting the ball, someone could tell that she was a good shooter.

First there was one man, a man who worked at the housing complex cheering her on while giving her encouragement and pointers. Then, there were two men giving her pointers and cheering her on while giving her encouragement. By the end of the summer, as if she was shooting an exhibition, the basketball court was literally lined with men watching her shoot baskets. Perhaps the reason why they stopped to watch her, she liked to think, was because of her basketball shooting skills. Perhaps the reason why they stopped to watch her, she liked thinking that too, was because of the consecutive number of swishes she made. Or perhaps the reason why they stopped to watch her was because it was of her barely there bikinis that she wore while shooting baskets.

Obviously, with her having the focused attention of so many men, she had her pick of any man that she wanted but she was more interested in making baskets and in making swishes than in dating men. Now at a high percentage rate, she was making 60-70 baskets per 100 shots. Right up there with and on par with the pros, with the ball poised high over her head, her arms extended, and her fingers lightly rolling and spinning the ball high through the air...

"Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish."

Because of what the custodian showed her in how to correctly shoot a basketball, she was making more swishes. More often than not, when she made a basket, she made a swish. Swish, swish, swish, swish, whenever she made a basket, not hitting the rim or the backboard, she made a swish. Seldom hitting the rim or the backboard, all she now made were swishes. As if she was a swish making, shooting machine and immediately fielding the ball, running and shooting without even taking a second to set and aim, she made one swish after another. The sound of the swishes were intoxicating. It didn't matter from where on the court she shot the ball, she made a swish.

"Swish."

* * * * *

"You're good," said a tall, good looking man while watching her shoot baskets and make swish after swish.

Unable to remove her stare from his eyes, his light, grey eyes contrasted his dark skin.

"Thank you," she said.

Filled with confident poise, in the way that he carried himself, he looked like someone of significance. He looked like he had money. He looked as if he owned the place and as it so happens, he did. He resembled Derek Jeter of the Yankees only with a fuller face, more in the way of Alex Rodriquez, he was better looking.

"Just the two of us, maybe we can play a game sometime," he said giving her a look that told her that he wasn't talking about playing basketball.

With her not having had sex in a long time, since her boyfriend left her last October, suddenly, she imagined herself tied to his bed and him tearing off her clothes with his teeth. Suddenly, she imagined him tied to her bed and her having her wicked sexual way with his hot body. He was coming on to her but she didn't work this hard to get the body that she now had to jump in bed with the first man who made a pass at her.

She wasn't a slut. She wasn't a whore. Even though on the outside she was hot, on the inside she was still fat. On the inside she was a good woman who wanted to fall in love, get married, and have a family. In this age of everyone living together and having children without exchanging marriage vows, having learned the reality of that with her three ex-boyfriends who never confessed their love for her, she was old fashioned in that regard. Steadfast in who she was and in now knowing what she confidently wanted, she'd never live with another man until he put a ring on her finger at the altar.

"I don't play games," she said shooting without even looking. "Swish. When I do play a game, I play alone. Swish. When not playing a game, I play for keeps. Swish, swish," she said returning the eye that he was giving her with a sexy, come hither look.

She turned as she jumped high in the air to make the next shot.

"Swish."

He watched her as if she had just dived from the 30 meter high diving board.

"My name is Martin," he said walking over to her to extend his hand.

"Charlotte," she said with a smile that would light up a room and that obviously lit up his world.

As soon as his hand touched hers, she knew this was fate. This was her destiny. Love at first sight for both of them, after dating for nearly a year, they were married the following summer, the best summer she ever had. Three months later, she was pregnant with their baby, a boy she affectionately called Swish in private but named, Jerry Martin after her father with his middle name in honor of her husband. Swish made for her 101st basket. Then, two years later, Rita Charlotte, named after her mother with her middle name in honor of her, made for her 102nd basket.

Still shooting baskets but no longer caring for Mrs. Morrison, she plans on teaching her two kids how to shoot baskets as soon as they're older and taller.

THE END

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