Alistaire Ch. 04: Carla

One of my favorite sub-genres on Literotica is what I call the "Shy Nerd Harem", in which a young virgin utterly improbably discovers his inner sex-beast prowess, and that prowess is in turn discovered by a series and/or group of his fellow students. This is my first shot at the trope.

Please remember (as is the case with all my stories), if you are looking for 'Realism', just move on. As always, I aim for 'Ridiculously Plausible'. All sexually active characters are eighteen, or older, at the time of the action.

The stories are spread out over various categories, so follow me and check my author's page to make sure you can find them all. Fair warning, if you try to start this tale in the middle, I make no serious effort to explain prior events. You would likely prefer starting at the beginning. Please enjoy.

—————

THE ONE WITH CARLA

—————

"Come on, Peter, get the lead out!" I shouted encouragingly to the lanky freshman who was laboring down the back straightway on lap three of eight in the 3,000 meter JV race. Only the 4x400m relays (Varsity, Girls, and JV) were left after this race, and while we on varsity had already mathematically lost our meet, the JV still had a slim chance for the win... if Peter, or Timmy, who was ten yards behind Peter, could catch the fat kid from the other team just ahead of them. We had first and second in the bag already. A 1-2-3 sweep would tighten the score just enough that the relay would decide the match. If that fat kid held on for third, JV would lose before their pretty good relay team had their chance.

Peter was thin, weak, and lacked confidence. In other words, he was me as a freshman. Given that, Coach Parvis had secretly assigned him to me as my project back during Cross-Country season in the fall. Most days, I felt like it was a pretty hopeless assignment, but every now and then, Peter showed me some guts. Today needed to be of those times.

I'd have said more, but we are not allowed to run alongside racers and he had gone on too far to keep talking. Fortunately, Bridget was just past me on the track, waiting. The girls' meet was also already decided, except they had won theirs. Bridget was still a little blown from her own 3,000 meter race just before this one, but she knew the JV score, too. "Alright Peter," she said warmly, "I know you can do this." Jesus, Bridget, I thought. Kid has enough problems without you giving him a hard-on. "You don't need to catch him yet, just get back close enough to make him think!" She called out as Peter lumbered past.

"Come on, Phelps," I yelled at Timmy, as he ran along near me, now twenty yards behind Peter. "Peter needs you, get up there and push him." There were two things I knew for certain in the universe: Apples do not fall upward, and Timmy was as close to Peter now as he would be for the rest of the race.

Peter did not know it, but the entire meet hinged on him somehow finishing third, ahead of the fat kid. He should have known it, but he didn't. He had not yet learned to follow the overall score. I walked over to Bridget. We had a minute before the race came around to where we stood again.

"For the first time in his life," I observed, "Peter has an entire team's chances on his bony-ass little shoulders. Think he'll come through?"

"Hell if I know," shrugged Bridget, watching Peter come off the last turn, passing by three of his JV teammates and two varsity sprinters who were all cheering him on. "But he is getting that ultra cool experience of having a lot of teammates like you cheering him on intently like they never have before. Maybe he responds."

I privately thought that the more powerful motivation for Peter could be the girls like Charity McLain the sophomore pole vaulter, and Bridget herself, rather than old geezers like me. Whatever it would take.

By the fifth lap, I started to believe he was going to catch his prey. His form was good, and he had closed most of the distance. As he approached me, he looked me in the eyes and I made sure I showed confidence in mine. "When you catch him," I called out (not if, but when), "don't pass right away. Make him listen to your footsteps for a hundred yards."

Damned if, by the start of the bell lap, Peter had not caught the fat kid and was cruising along, breathing down his neck. His eyes met mine and I knew he hadn't passed yet because I had told him not to. Once he passed me and then Bridget, with 170 meters to go, he went for the power move and started to pass while still on the turn. And he did it. Hitting the straightaway, Peter had a full five yard lead.

But the fat kid had a kick in him, and Peter didn't. Our little freshman lost by ten feet, and with him, so did the whole JV team. He didn't know, thank goodness.

All he knew was that a bunch of Seniors, guys and even girls like Bridget, swung by to tell him he ran a great race. It really was a great race, too. The best he had ever run in his life, and we all had noticed.

It just hadn't been enough on that day.

We had a good team; smart and supportive. If we had had anything in the way of physical talent, we would have been a threat. I didn't know how things would be the next year. The potential leaders among the current juniors were mostly a bunch of douche nozzles.

So I just slapped Peter on the shoulder and dragged him to his feet by the hand. "Get up, asshole. There's no sitting in Track," I said good-naturedly and led him off to the backstretch to watch the relays, none of which mattered to the meet score anymore.

*

My buddies Adam and Tres had come up to watch most of the meet, but had already bailed to hit the dining room after the boys' varsity became mathematically out of it... the faithless punks. That left me to walk back to school with my track chicks, Bridget, Carla, and Beth.

Carla was walking along easily, loose and comfortable. She's a high jumper. They never get sore or tired—just pissed or elated. Bridget and I both had run two races and were sore as hell. Beth had won the 100 meter, stank up the 200 meter after a bad start, and had given the girl's relay team an insurmountable lead in the third leg of the 4x400. She was a little wobbly and characteristically disheveled.

We walked down the long, open hill from the isolated track down to main campus in companionable silence. Silence, at least, until they inevitably decided it was time to fuck with me.

Carla clapped my shoulder and drawled, "Hey! So when is our newly minted ladies' man going to hook up with a girl here at school?"

"Piss off, Carla," I growled, good-naturedly. It was still bizarre to find myself not being politely left out when the subject of dating came up among the four of us. "When did you last have a date?"

"Not since Christmas," Carla replied defiantly, tossing her long blonde ponytail. "That is why I'm hoping to live vicariously through your shenanigans... now that you have shenanigans, Alistaire!"

"Give him a break," Bridget said easily. "He can't screw two hot chicks every week."

"He should start with one, then," Carla replied, grinning.

"Can't argue with that," Beth chirped, looking at me. "Ready to ask out Sherri Stroheim, Alistaire?"

I silently looked at Beth, the image of her naked body humping up and down on my cock, her pretty, delicate tits bouncing wildly until she came like thunder Monday night, leapt into my mind--unbidden, but most welcome. She looked back at me blandly. "I am not going out with Sherri," I said sternly. "She's just not..." I cut my thought off. Too late.

"Oh my God," Bridget laughed. "Now he has standards. You would have drunk her bathwater just this winter, Alistaire, and you know it."

I blushed, but decided to own it. "I agree," I replied calmly. "But it has come to my attention since then that I can do better than Sherri."

Bridget rolled her eyes and shoved my shoulder, "Fuck off, you conceited douche."

It pleased me no end that none of the girls seemed to think in any way that I was wrong...

Still, I was more than tired of being the focus of all the hazing about dating. "How about you, Bridget," I asked, picking a random target that wasn't Beth. "Got a hot date lined up for this weekend?"

"Yes," Bridget said, leaving it at that.

"You didn't tell us!" Carla exclaimed.

"So, who ya gonna canoodle with during the movie?" Beth added.

Bridget muttered something none of us could make out.

"Peter?" Carla, who was closest to her, asked. "Freshmen are a little young for you, don't you..."

"Petra," Bridget corrected her. "I'm going with Petra."

Well, that brought conversation to a momentary halt.

Listen, Bridget liked dudes. The evidence was in and very clear on that front. But this would be Bridget's second date with Petra, the first having happened back in November. Was Bridget actually bi? Or was she just throwing Petra a bone? Or something in between?

My plan to take the focus off me had backfired. No one wanted to talk about Bridget and Petra. At least not with me around, I suddenly realized. I was just deciding to object to being left out of the interrogation when the three of them mutually agreed to return the subject to me.

"So, no date yet for you then, Alistaire?" Carla asked brightly.

"No," I said easily. "I haven't decided how I..."

"Ask Sherri. I'm telling you," Beth said.

"Not. Sherri."

"Fine then," Beth laughed. "If she isn't up to your standards, try Sara Eriksen then, for all I care!"

That brought me up short. Sara was up to my standards. Sara was up to Brad Pitt's standards. With her willowy body, round hips, broad shoulders, naturally viking blonde hair, and big, bouncy tits that she invariably refused to encase in a bra, I was sure that Sara was the number one student instigator of nocturnal emissions among the school's population. But the image of her in my mind wasn't what brought me up short. I paused because I realized that I was thinking about it... thinking about it like it was even a remote possibility.

I shook my head, and, remembering her boyfriend Davis, running back and first baseman, I replied, "Nahh. I like my teeth where they are."

We all walked along for several strides after that before Carla leaned in close to Bridget. I could nevertheless hear her when she muttered, "Jesus fucking Christ, Al actually just thought about going for Sara." If I heard her, Beth did too. And all three of them just walked quietly after that.

I suddenly realized something that I had always known, but never really thought about. I had somehow accidentally lucked into having three of the best-looking girls at my school as close friends. None of them were Sara Eriksen, but they were all more than just a little hot. Maybe that was why I'd never been bullied as much as you otherwise, as I otherwise, would have expected. Did guys lay off me to avoid hurting their chances with my friends? Or did I get more respect than I realized for just hanging out with such a large portion of the good-looking girls at school?

"I still think..." Beth began at last.

"No," I said. I looked her in the eye and flared my nostrils once, twice, three times. I was imagining the scent of her pussy in my mind, and I could tell she knew it.

"Well, I'm running on ahead," Beth said, flipping her dark hair. "I'm starving and I need a shower before dinner, or they will throw me out of the dining hall." With that, she ran from my gaze. I was happy to watch that ass as it retreated.

After a moment, Bridget mused, "Maybe you should ask Jenn."

Jenn Potter was a girl whose cute face was marred by a constant struggle with acne, but still was attractive as hell. Her top notch rack didn't hurt there... I was struck by the realization that I was actually confident that if I made play for her, I could probably have her. Who the fuck was I?

"That's not a bad idea..." I thought out loud.

*

After practice the next day, I got hung up talking to Coach Parvis, first about Peter, then mostly about me and my own times. Coach continued to insist that I should not be peaking out as a runner yet, I had it in me to shave more seconds off my times. Inwardly, I wished Coach would point out where these hidden seconds were located, because I sure as hell could not find them. Outwardly, I listened politely, and wished he was right.

After a last clap on my shoulder, Coach head for his car, and I started walking back toward school from the far end of the track. As I went, I passed the high jump pit, where Carla was still trying to break five feet.

"I'd like just a few more tries," Carla was saying to Mrs. Fletcher, the coach. "I just have to get the feel for the takeoff."

"I agree, Carla. You are almost there. But I have to go. I have duty tonight," the silver haired assistant dean said. "And I can't leave you here jumping by yourself."

"I'll stick around, Dean Fletcher," I said, turning from my path. "I know how to put the bar back up after Carla crashes into it."

"Your faith in me is inspiring," Carla said. "But I do appreciate it, Alistaire."

"All right then. Just remember to cover the pad before you leave, and lock the chairs on top so morons don't go jumping on it for giggles," Mrs. Fletcher said, turning to go. "Oh," she added, stopping, "what is with the 'Alistaire' thing? Should I be calling you by a new identity for some reason, Al?"

"Ah... no," I said hurriedly.

"It's just an inside joke," Carla said with a smile. She turned to try again at her white whale of a height, and the dean ambled off, already reading and replying to emails on her phone.

Carla grimaced at the bar and took off toward it in her loping gait, gaining speed with each step. She curved up to the bar, and at the last moment twisted, her tall, slender form curving in a graceful arch up into the air... and into the bar. She bounced back up and went back to set up again as I retrieved and replaced the bar.

This time, she narrowed her eyes to a piercing focus and dashed forward, her body soared up in an even more beautiful arch... and this time she came down on top of the pole. She winced at the impact and swore loudly at the failure.

Carla was damned tall, almost as tall as me, and her delicately muscled body was like a steel spring. She was certain that she could do this height. I agreed.

"Come on, Carla," I said encouragingly. "Just a little harder push off and you will have it, right?"

Carla just screamed. "Who the fuck are you, man?" she added in frustration, taking me aback. She advanced on me, "Look, until this spring, you have always been this great friend, who was funny, smart, and knew your limitations. Now, you are this god-damned force of nature, who thinks he can do anything if he just decides he is going do it. You even had Peter believing in that yesterday. Kid had no business running that guy down from as far back as he was."

"He still lost," I replied crankily.

"He was fifty yards back and was fading when you started getting your teeth into him. He lost well."

"There were lots of people cheering him on. Not just me."

"Yes, Alistaire," Carla said quietly, "but you were the only one who he was listening to."

What was her problem, and where was Carla getting this from? "Well, if I'm Knute Rockne," I said, putting the bar back up, "then listen to me and find a way to push off just a little harder this time."

She stared at me. "You do realize that I'm clearing the height with every one of these jumps, right?"

"The bar I keep putting back up says otherwise."

"No, it doesn't. I'm making the height—I'm just doing it too soon or too late. I don't have to fix the height, but the position of my jump. Look," she said, turning sideways to me. Then she leaned her legs forward and her shoulders back, her long legs and slender torso bending into an incredibly flexible backward curve that looked like three-quarters of a circle. Standing there, in that arresting arch, she went on. "I just need to make sure the top of my arch forms right over the bar. When I do, I'll roll right over."

I realized I was staring at her, somehow holding that bend. I shook my head and said, "Got it. Thanks. So what can I do to help?"

Carla just flowed back upright and shook her head again. "And there is that change again. I tell you that you are being an ass, and you just listen, say okay, and reset."

"I've always been ready to listen to you guys when we argued."

"Yes, but before you were malleable—easily pushed into thinking differently. Now you are so self-confident, you don't even feel threatened by being corrected. But if you still disagreed with me, you would push back now."

"Malleable?" I didn't know where that word had come from, but I didn't like it.

"Accommodating. Whatever," Carla said dismissively. "My point is that most guys do not take correction from a girl very well. Fuck, the last guy I dated didn't even take a simple 'no' very well." There was the slightest of quavers in her voice that told me instantly what she was implying there. Quickly, before she could clam up, I asked, "Just who was your last date?"

Carla just looked at me, breathing heavily. "And there. It is. Again! You are the same guy, Alistaire, but totally different."

"Explain," I said, already cursing myself for letting us get off the subject of this guy's identity.

"Okay," Carla said, being to prowl around the paved run-up apron in front of me and the huge cushion that formed the high jump pit. "First of all, I would have never felt the urge to tell the old you about that situation at all, even as obliquely as I did just now, but if I had, you'd have been understanding and supportive."

"And now I'm not?" I objected hotly.

"No! Of course you are that. But you are not primarily that any more," Carla said, flushing a little. She barked a short laugh, almost a cough. "Look dude, you should have seen your face just now when you asked who he was. You were like a wolf for a second there. You were ready to sally forth and literally go kick his ass."

I was still ready to sally forth and kick his ass, if only she would tell me his name.

"It's the before and after," she went on. "Before, Good Old Al was comfortable and unthreatening. Now, the new Alistair makes me feel safe. No... Alistair does not make me feel safe at all, but he makes me feel safe from the rest of the world."

"Wait, I somehow make you feel unsafe now?"

"You really don't make me feel safe, Alistaire. No, you don't," Carla said quietly, eyes cast down. Then she looked up into my eyes and added, "And I really, really like that."

So intent was I on what she had been saying, I hadn't quite realized that her restless prowling had brought her close to me. As she finished speaking, she took a last step straight forward and I found her standing right in front of me, probably less than a foot away.

Oh boy. Was this about to get complicated?

Prior to spring break, I had basically always avoided being physically near any girl, much less this close and staring into her eyes while I was there. But since my world had warped into unrecognizability, all the girls I had been near, deliciously near, had been a little or even a lot shorter than me.

Carla was really tall for a girl, both of us were over six feet. I found myself looking into a pair of eyes at almost, well, eye level, instead of looking downward. It was a new sensation, and I felt myself responding to it. I was also responding to the things she had said about me. She had called me malleable, which I had bristled at, but also inspirational, which seemed over the top for what I deserved.

And this not safe shit was weird. I wanted to be hurt but... Oh man, was that new Male Instinct saying, Damned Straight? It was.

Then Carla rested her hand on my forearm and kissed me tentatively.