A Little Yearning

At twelve to fifteen percent of total weight and a size of one to two square meters, human skin is the body's the largest organ. As a cool wind came off the north Texas plain, flushing off the baked-in heat of late afternoon, Katie Prado could feel every inch of hers, from the bristling hairs at the base of her neck to her sun-reddened shoulders, to where the band of her short pleated skirt chaffed her damp back, along the expanse of her long bare legs to her where her toes pinched in the tips of last year's shoes. In late September, the setting sun seems to drop right out of the sky, and the temperature can drop twenty degrees in an hour. The refreshing wind was already starting to feel a little chilling. Or perhaps it was just nerves.

This can't be right, she thought, as she took the note from where she had tucked it in her sports bra. It was a half page of yellow ruled paper, the purple ink a little smudged and the paper curling a bit from the damp. She unfolded it carefully and read it in the light of the bright floodlights, still turned on though the team had gone to the showers after practice and the stadium was empty save for a lone custodian cleaning up the benches at the far end of the field. In a curious loopy hand, the note read: MEET ME AFTER PRACTICE ON THE NORTH SIDE OF GYM. I'M HOT FOR YOU! XXX LOVE, DWAYNE.

The north side of the gym at Gusher Community College was an odd place to meet. In fact it was a little creepy. It was a narrow passage between the hulking back of the gym and the featureless brick wall of an adjacent school maintenance building, blocked at one end by a rank of the bleachers facing away toward the football field and at the other by a couple battered dumpsters sequestered behind a padlocked eight foot chain link gate. Access to the space under the bleachers had been fenced off as well, but generations of students had managed to avoid this impediment by the simple expedient of tearing loose a section of chain link where it butted up against the wall of the gym to give access to the littered shadowy space underneath the bleachers.

Careful not to snag her cheerleader's sweater, Katie squeezed through the narrow gap and threaded between the rusty stanchions to come out into the alley behind the gym. The floodlights, pointed the other way and blocked by the looming bleachers, cast a subdued glow over the asphalt strip, littered with flattened cups and smashed soda cans, yellowed scraps of newsprint and stray crumpled socks. There was a scattered assemblage of battered sporting equipment: blocking skids, volleyball poles mounted on concrete-filled tires with drooping torn nets, a couple empty ball bins. Halfway down the alley a large metal box with Carrier Air lettered on the side partially blocked the way. A couple large metal ducts connected it to the building and it echoed between the brick walls as its fans thrummed and a compressor thumped with a runner's pulse.

"Dwayne?" she called softly, and then a little louder. "Are you there?"

She was startled as, with a distant ka-thunk, the stadium lights were extinguished. Now the only light in the alley came from a distant light set in the wall above the dumpsters at the other end.

She looked around forlornly, feeling abandoned. What had she been thinking?

Dwayne was a star tight end on the football team. He was also the acknowleged property of Kathy Bonney, aka Chiclet, the head cheerleader of her squad. As such he was definitely off-limits. Besides, apart from this note, left in her locker, he had hardly shown any sign that he was even aware of her existence. Just single look, that was all. At the end of practice yesterday, as the football team was filing off the field and the cheerleading squad was cooling down on their adjacent patch of grass, she had popped a Russian right in front of him. Even though she was just a freshman, Katie had a more extensive background in gymnastics than any of the other girls on the squad, and no other girl could jump so high or achieve that perfect split.

Well, that had certainly caught his attention! He had walked right into the rail surrounding the field and practically fallen on his face. And then Chiclet had come over to chew her out for grandstanding in front of the football team. (As if that wasn't what cheerleaders were for. . .Duh?!)

"Piglet" is what Chiclet had dubbed her, since "Kathy" and "Katie" were too often confused, and Katie often wore her hair in pigtails. She didn't like the nickname, but it had stuck. The gum-snapping Chiclet was, after all, in her fourth year at the two year community college, the acknowledged wet-dream of every athlete and the fashion icon of every girl. Katie was just fresh out of braces and still a little uncomfortable with the curves her body had recently developed.

A couple of the other players had kidded with her after practice, but she only had eyes for Dwayne. She had a foolish crush on him, she knew, but she just couldn't seem to shake it. Watching him racing down the field, juking and jiving past defenders as he faked and froze them hopelessly in his tracks, he was pure poetry. Whenever she thought about him, it just made her go all warm inside. Today, however, Chiclet had intercepted Dwayne after practice and drawn him aside, and Katie hadn't seen him since. Perhaps, Katie thought hopefully, he had just been delayed.

Tentatively, she picked her way down the dim alley. There was no door to the gym on this side and some small windows high on the wall were dark, but halfway down the alley, almost obscured by the bulk of the air conditioning unit, there was a frosted glass window at ground level that was ajar, spilling some light into the gloom. As she got closer she could hear the noise of laughter and shouting.

The window was hinged at the bottom and ajar by only a few inches at the top. Curiously, she bent down to look. Apparently it vented part of the boy's locker room, which was below grade on this side of the building, and she found herself looking down on what was evidently a corridor between the locker room and the showers. Just below her vantage point, the boys of the football team were padding up and down the concrete corridor, slapping hands and snapping towels, shouting and yelling in the boisterous afterglow of a hard afternoon's practice under the blistering sun. Though some of the more modest had wrapped their towels around their waists, for the most part they were naked.

Katherine had never seen such a display before, and she didn't quite know how to react. Shocked, bemused, somehow embarrassed. She straightened up and turned away, looking around. She thought she'd heard a noise. "Dwayne?" No response.

She stepped away from the window, hesitated, then returned to kneel again beside it, repulsed but fascinated by the parade of moist reddened flesh.

For the most part she couldn't see their faces. Those on the far side of the corridor were only in view below their shoulders, and those closer up were almost directly below so she could only see the tops on their heads. However their butts, she thought, were quite as individual as any face, each one subtly yet distinctly different. Big, little, round, pear-shaped, some droopy and marbled, others firm, slightly concave on the sides; some were flat, some almost bulbous, some with a short crack, others with a longer one, some swarthy, some quite hairless and pink.

And their cocks were even more distinctive. Apart from the length, some were circumsized, some not; some had fat round glans, others narrow, almost pointed tips. Some had a distinct curve. Some jiggled up and down while they walked, while others swung from side to side, and yet others seemed to swing in little circles. Some peeked out of a thick black bush that hid their balls altogether, while others were just lightly downed revealing tight little nutsacks, or ones that drooped and bounced against their legs as they walked. Katie watched, unable to tear her eyes away.

At first, her puss seemed to itch with that kind of prickly sweat that you get from clothes that are chaffing. Unselfconsciously, she rubbed it as she watched the boys. Soon she noticed her panties were moist. Pulling them aside, she found her puss was wet and sticky. Parting the lips with her fingers, she spread some of the moisture up and down and around the little nubbin at the top. That felt better.

Soon she could no longer deny she was turned on. She remembered the day a couple months ago when she had accidentally walked in on her stepfather one morning, peeing in the toilet, his penis still turgid and stiff from sleep. Blushing red as a beet, she had hastily excused herself, gone back to her bedroom and standing with her back pressed against the door, fingered herself till she had come for the first time in her life.

Now, with the fingers of her right hand making little circles in the moisture leaking from her puss, she pushed up her sweater and bra with her left hand. As the cold air washed over her nipples, they stiffened and become almost painfully sensitive. One at a time, she teased them as she slid her fingers up and down her breasts.

Totally immersed in the scene before her, she almost levitated when all of a sudden the loud woosh of the air conditioning unit right beside her shut off without warning. Now the only noise was the muted chatter of the boys echoing up from the corridor below. In the resulting quiet she heard a faint scuffle behind her. Turning awkwardly on her knees, she found herself looking up at a boy dressed in shorts and a Wildcats sweatshirt standing right behind her. His hands were in his pockets, his face in shadow under the hood of his sweatshirt.

"Dwayne," she gasped. Awkwardly, she found herself all at once trying to tug down her sweater, extract her hand from her panties, and get up off her knees.

His voice was no more than a whisper. "I saw what you were doing." He took her left arm by the wrist before she could get up and placed her hand on the bulge in his shorts. "I was watching you."

She could feel the hardness twitching under her palm and feel the warmth underneath the thin cotton fabric.

She struggled to get her feet under her, but he held her there. Then he hooked his thumb under the waistband on his shorts and pulled them down. "Look."

She stared in dumb shock at the rampant cock not more than a foot away from her nose. If it had been any closer, she would have been cross-eyed. Like a mouse cornered by a cobra, somehow she found she couldn't move, couldn't take her eyes off of it. It was about six inches long (though from her vantage point it looked bigger) and had a decided curve so it stood almost vertically before her, a nasty splinter of flesh veined with thick ropes of blue and topped with an angry purple plum glistening with moisture. Unblinking, she watched with rapt fixation as a drop as clear as spring water oozed from the tip and ran down the seam to disappear into the folds of flesh which rimmed the bottom of the glans.

Mutely he placed her hand on his shaft. It jerked under her touch and she pulled her hand away, but then she reached back for it. She was amazed by the touch of it, the surface so soft and velvety, yet underneath, so rock-hard. The warm skin was loose like the hide of dog, so as she moved her hand unconsciously up and down it slid smoothly, without resistance. She licked her lips, unaware she was panting as her pulse hammered in her chest.

He was breathing heavily too, as if he had just made a fifty yard run. He reached down to paw at her breast and his chest heaved as he emitted a low groan. "Wait! Oh, no! Oh, shit!"

She hadn't moved her hand up and down more than three times when suddenly the air was full of pearly droplets. She jerked her head to the side as a thick ropey strand spattered across the bridge of her nose. Squeezing her eyes shut, she could feel it landing everywhere: in her hair, on her lips, on her sweater and the tips of her bare breasts.

She tried to protest as he shuffled forward, backing her against the wall, but the "No!" that emerged was no more than a breathless squeak, and she found his cock prodding insistently at her lips. She seemed to have to no strength. And rather than pushing him away as she thought she wanted them to, her hands reached out seemingly of their own volition to clutch his legs as she unclenched her jaw and let him push inside. The smell, the taste, the heat of him was overwhelming, and she could sense nothing else, not the cold asphalt scrapping her knees, nor the coarse hair on his legs brushing her erect nipples, nor the rough bricks cutting into her back. In the corridor below, the rowdy boys passed by obliviously.

But she wanted to say, "Stop, let's go back and start over!" This wasn't how she had imagined it would be. They seemed to have skipped over all the warm and fuzzy parts in an unconscionable rush. Where was the part where he dropped to his knees to tell her how much he adored her; where was the kissing and snuggling; where were the long sighs and companionable silences that punctuated the ardent claims of undying devotion?

Moaning and mumbling incoherently, his buttocks clenched, he rocked forward on the balls of his feet. His cock, which was a little rubbery at first, became hard as oak as her lips closed around it. The round knob swelled alarmingly as he nudged another inch into her mouth. She reached up to wrap her fingers around the base of his cock to prevent him from going any deeper.

He exploded again and her mouth filled with a fluid as thick as warm molasses, yet acrid and salty as brine. The overflow ran down from the corners of her mouth to dribble off her chin. With a desperate toss of her head, she pulled loose from him as all the strength seemed to go out of his grip. She bent over and spit it out into her palm, looking at it curiously. In the darkness the little frothy puddle seemed to gather all the light in a milky opalescence.

There was a distant clatter from the front of the alley as a group of boys ambled past on the other side of the dumpsters. She shrank back against the wall, but they passed without even glancing back in her direction, and when she turned back, he was already gone. Through teary eyes, she just caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared into the shadows under the bleachers. The odd thought struck her that he wasn't running at all like he usually did.

Once again she was alone. Though it seemed like much longer, it couldn't have been more than a five minutes that had passed since she turned to find him there. Wiping her face on the arms of her sweater, she rose shakily to her feet.

She wanted to cry out for him; she wanted to run after him, but she couldn't risk attracting attention. She wanted to scream with frustration. Surely, this meant he loved her, she told herself. They just got carried away by circumstances. But how could he run off and leave her like that? Her eyes brimmed with tears.

Brushing off her skirt, she was about to leave when she caught sight of a folded piece of paper lying on the ground. It must have fallen out of his shorts. It was half a sheet of yellow ruled paper. With hands that were still trembling, she unfolded it. In purple ink in a loopy hand, it read: "MEET ME AFTER PRACTICE ON THE NORTH SIDE OF THE GYM. I WANT YOU! PIGLET." The "I" in PIGLET was dotted with a little heart.

Uncomprehendingly, she read it again. Nothing made any sense to her. Water dripped from her chin. She didn't know if it was tears, snot or sweat. She looked up sharply as she heard what seemed to be the muffled rattle of footsteps coming down off the darkened bleachers. And the wind was picking up, so perhaps she only imagined it: a distant laughter.