Cheerleader vs. Ex Olympian

Disclaimer:

This is a pure work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or events in this story is totally coincidental.

Warning:

Slow Build. Enjoy

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My name is Chelsea Varga and if you saw me now, you'd never guess that this wispy, 33year old, 5'4, chubby, dirty-blonde haired, timid, near blind, 190llbs, fat assed, titted and bellied soccer mom was once an Olympian. I can't help but laugh at myself in contempt whenever I remember that sometime in the eternally distant past, I... me, yes the same one writing this now, once won the Bronze medal in Olympic gymnastics. To put that into perspective, I was once the third best female gymnast on the whole fucking planet. My sister Marcia was the first on that same day.

Yes, I have a baby sister who's an Olympic gold medalist. How's that for crazy? We both started training when I was 12 and Marcia was 8. And if there was anything like a perfect child, it was her. She easily excelled at anything she tried. Don't get me wrong, she's no slacker though, she's a severe hard-worker. But she just seemed to have that magic touch that just made it all fall in place for her. She had a forcefulness, audacity and self-belief about her that just compelled people to let her have her way. Marcia always wanted to win. And she wouldn't settle for less.

I on the other hand was more on the timid and concilatory side. I was mom's favorite and Marcia was Dad's. I think he saw in her, the son he never had.

It didn't come as a surprise to me when Marcia won gold even though it was her first ever appearance at the Olympics (and my second.) I was truly happy for her. Since then, she's gone on to win 2 more Olympic medals; silver and gold respectively, 5 world titles and countless national trophies. After she retired, she went on to start a super successful sporting assessories line and many charities. The last few times we saw, she'd just had her first baby Lance whom I adore. We used to talk every now and then though, but it seemed that as time passed, we just had less and less in common. I love her to bits though, and despite her seemingly aloof exterior I know she loves me too.

For me though, that bronze medal at age 18 proved to be the highlight of my career. For me, such success was too much for me to handle as an 18 year old and immediately after that, I quit gymnastics and sports altogether to the horror of my dad and coach. Mom was more understanding though, but dad was less amused. Although he grew more accepting, I still feel he's never fully forgiven me.

I don't blame him though; when it seemed like I'd finally begin to reap the rewards for the endless amounts of time and effort, I just walked away from it all.

But the fact was that I was petrified of falling short of the height I'd reached. I'd been shy of a medal in the last Olympics. But not winning a medal at all hurts different if you've won one before and I didn't think I could bear that. Until now I still can't shake that feeling that I failed my coach, country and especially my parents.

After my fifteen minutes of fame though, my life just seemed to sink into deeper and deeper levels of mediocrity. Whenever (and that's pretty often) I feel my self esteem sinking to abysmal depths, I watch old footage of my past gymnast days.

But I don't dare watch my Olympic or any other pro performances though, those always make me feel like an imposter and a coward. I only watch those of me as an amateur. I find it more soothing and relatable to watch me as a fault ridden toddler than as a pro teenage gymnast.

When I was younger, I used to be able to muster enough courage to watch videos of me as a dazzling, full-figured expert teenage gymnast girl. And on some rare occasions of otherworldly boldness I could even watch that cursed footage of me as an eighteen year old grinning ear to ear while yelling lies about hearing bombs bursting in air and watching ramparts alongside Marcia. But those got harder to watch as I got further and further away from what I used to look and feel like back then, until I eventually stopped watching them altogether because all they did now was shred my already tattered self image. I'll never be that girl again.

Fast forward eight years and I finally get another chance to get something right. I met and fell in love with My college sweetheart Dennis Varga who is now a 36 year old successful dentist and the most blameless man I've ever met. I never even revealed to him that I was once an athlete. He found out shortly after our only child Samantha was born courtesy his YouTube recommendation and at that point, we'd been married three whole years and known each other for four. Can you believe what a slimeball I am?

I'd never seen him look at me with such awe when he found out. Nor can I remember him fucking me as passionately as he did that day and other days around that period. That was the highlight of our sex life.

Before that period, our lovemaking was pretty decent and fairly regular but nothing close to fireworks. While I loved his newfound lust for me, I couldn't shake off the feeling that he fucked me while thinking of somebody else, even though that somebody else was me. So I surprised myself by begging him to never watch videos of my youth again, snd was even more surprised when he agreed not to or at least, so it seemed. Gosh I suck.

Since then though, things have kinda teetered down quite a bit. And I'm not even about to blame Dennis because despite his pretty busy schedule he makes time for us. I just wish I was more adventurous. But I totally love and respect my husband.

Anyways, fast forward seven years later and now I'm a high school librarian and let me just say sex isn't on the top of our priority list. Maybe 12th or 15thish...you know, it's there but just really really rusty.

I really do not need to work though, Dennis makes more than enough money. But with Samantha away most of the time at school and for ballet classes, I really needed something to take my mind away from my bouts of self-loathing and to give me a chance to feel like I can achieve something myself, at least once more. So I thought; what better way to forget about being an eigtheen year old than hanging around a bunch of eigtheen year olds all day. Right?

Well, that's not quite how it happened. More like: too many compliments from Dennis about my cooking had me believing I was Colonel Sanders.

But then, the restaurants I applied at weren't as upbeat about my skills. It also didn't help that I had never worked before in my life and really had no job experience.

Then Dennis suggested I apply at one of his Clients' school as they needed a librarian and books have always appealed to me.

Again Dennis beat me to it. I got the job and although Dennis swears he played no part, i still feel it was all him. God, what would I be without this man? (I think it also helped though that Mr Singh, my husband's client seemed to suck at hiding his secret fetish for heavy bitches. Ha.)

Work at Chennayams High was pretty routine and uneventful like I liked it. Kids nowadays cared more about selfies than about self-help. Cheerleading and basketbalI was what Chennayams cared about. Needless to say, I avoided those arenas and their participants like the plague and thankfully they seemed to return the favor. I went by almost invisibly. I got to work first and left last, partly out of an old habit and in part a conscious attempt to limit the number of people I ever came across. The library was empty most times which was a true shame as it was the most well stacked high-school library I'd ever been in. It'd seem only Mr Singh ever drops by. But even he, never stays to read. He justs says hi in his usual awkward, geeky way and leaves with an armful of books for the next month or so it probably takes him to finish them.

Everything was going great until Mya; the school's star cheerleader stepped into the library for the first time. Without intending to sound like a cynical bore, I wondered what a girl like Mya was doing anywhere near a pile of books. Now before you think I was just stereotyping, here's a little about Mya: Up until then, this was the first time i'd seen her up close and alone. I'd only ever seen her from afar, on the school posters and flyers and on the internet whenever I entered curious, jealous stalker mode. And she was always surrounded by other cheerleaders or boys or just someone, doing one scandalous thing or the other. And visiting this nightclub or that resort. So I couldn't help but be surprised to see her here and alone for that matter.

Mya had a reputation I was quite privy to. I am not judging but let's just say: if men sowed oats literally, Mya'd make Mr Quaker's fields blush. But really, could you blame her? The girl had it all and the world was her oyster. She'd dated literally everyone on the basketball team as her Facebook profile seemed to suggest. She'd been traveling the world since she was a toddler courtesy her media mogul dad and fleet of rich boyfriends. Again, thanks to Facebook's inability to keep a secret.

Girls like that just didn't visit the library; not necessarily because they were dumb, but because they didn't need to. Or did they?

Everything about Mya's visit tripped my alarm bells still. It was bad for me for two reasons: first, she reminded me of my past and second, wherever Mya went, everyone else followed. And in no time, if she decided she liked it here, the library'd soon be the place to be. Great.

It's no surprise Mya's the most popular girl in school. She has that all too familiar air of a girl who had the whole world wrapped around her fingers. She didn't walk, she sashayed with a strut. She didn't just talk, she forced you to hear. She didn't just wear clothes. She dressed in such a way as to make you choke on your own passion and desire for her body; and what a body she had: she was no less than a couple inches shy of 6', had silky, shiny luscious curly afro hair that seemed to grow out of her eyes, a butt that could only be achieved by a rare and perfect blend of fantastic genetics, superb hormonal balance, prime of youth and endless hours of optimum exercise.

Her breasts were average sized, but just the right blend of perky and firm and far from flat. I particularly loved(more like envied) how firm and toned her thighs looked. Toned thighs always looked best on black girls. And Mya had the best looking toned thighs of any black girl I'd ever seen. And she seemed to know it too, cos she always made sure her skirts never came anywhere near her knees.

I must admit I felt really small, ugly and insignificant sitting there looking up at this perfectly sculpted figure of prime womanhood. I'm ashamed to admit though, that her polite and cordial manner surprised me:

'Hello Mrs.... Var...ga. Mrs Varga. I'm Mya' she said, gazing at my desk tag with a rather sweet and chirpy smile.

I immediately felt at ease and returned her enthusiasm.

'Hi Mya. Of course I know you, who doesn't? And please, call me Chelsea. To what do we owe this pleasant surprise.'

I cursed myself after that last comment. But too late it was already out.

'Ohh. So sorry, I didn't mean it like...'

'No worries Chelsea, I know you didn't. But you're right, I'm not exactly a book worm.'

God I'm an asshole. Thankfully, she didn't seem offended and still had her smile on.

'Anyways, I have a little favour to ask you.'

'Well ask away.' I replied trying to seem non-challant but mentally beating myself wondering what I could possibly help Mya with.

'You see, I've got a huge crush on Marshal. But we are kinda... you know, like differently inclined and so our paths and interests never overlap. I know he spends most of his time here so I wanted to ask,...no beg you to tell me what kind of books he reads and maybe kinda like, you know, since you're also pretty into books, help me talk a bit to him for me so that I could you know..., at least know where his... mind's at.' She said with an almost inaudible whisper.

I must've looked a confused mess as I squirmed and grimaced trying to remember who on Earth Marshal was.

Mya seemed to sense my dilemma and said rather bashfully:

'You know, slim, tall, very quiet...'

And then it hit me like a thunderbolt:

Marshal! Damn. Of course that was his name. He introduced himself the first day we met. God how could I forget? He was nearly the only person who ever came around here and yet I couldn't remember him. What kind of person am I?

But in my defense he was that kind of kid who didn't really look like much at first glance. He was always very polite, considerate and respectful, would even ask me how my night was and if I had a good weekend on Mondays and throw in the occasional thoughtful compliment. Nothing flagrant though.

He was mostly quiet and alone whenever he came to the library. Though he was quite gregarious and talkative around his mates.

But what could almighty Mya possibly have seen in a boy like that? She'd dated star athletes and could get any guy she wanted. Why some oddball loner?

'Can you help me?' Came Mya's voice, snatching me from my thoughts.

'Mmm. I think I can. Though you have to promise to not engage in anything... like, you know....un-wholesome. I hope you catch my drift?'

'O no I promise you Mrs Varga, I won't try anything funny.'

'In that case, I'll help you do some digging.'

'O thanks plenty Chelsea. I owe you big time.' She chirped as she walked away like the giddy school girl she was.

Marshal didn't visit the library that day but I was quite sure he'd be back on the next. When I got home that day, my head was still whirling from what I had just learned. So Mya, the most sought after girl in school, had a secret crush on the most unlikely boy in school and needed the help of the most unlikely person in the entire school to talk to seduce him. I couldn't stop grinning like a fool. Finally, some spice in my boring life.

~Few Days Later At The Library~

I must confess, now that I think of it, Marshal is actually quite more intriguing than I'd cared to notice. I do admit now, albeit in retrospect, the more you looked at him, the more you sensed a certain depth, uniqueness and even...sadness that just pulled you in.

These past few days have been the first times I've ever truly paid attention to him and i'm ashamed to realize that I have been in such close proximity with a kid in such obvious need of connection on a near day-to-day basis but have been too much in my own head to even notice.

Have I really become so self-absorbed?

What if my snobbishness has rubbed him the wrong way and caused him to withdraw even deeper into his shell!? Maybe he even thinks I don't like him! God! What kind of a mother am I?

I really need to make some much needed changes 'round here and besides, I promised to help Mya do some digging about him.

~Marshal's POV~

Could Mya have been right about Mrs Varga or am I just ahead of myself and imagining or even wishing for things that aren't there, or has Chelsea really been progressively more friendly and even sometimes flirty to me since Mya's visit?

She has always been nice and cheerful, but she's never seemed as attentive to me as she's been these past few days. I've caught her staring at me a few times and she seems to move about a whole lot more than usual and her smiles are wider and last longer than before.

But..No it can't be.

But still, what about her new clothes and makeup? It seems that her skirts have ridden up a good 6 inches higher than they've ever been, not to mention steeply tighter. And her blouses are getting more colorful. Gosh her yummy arse never looked better than they did on Tuesday in that sexy ol' yellow sundress she had on. O Lord! Let Mya be right. Let her...

Chelsea coughs and smiles tepidly as she snaps me out of my last thoughts, driving me straight into a new one:

Why on Earth is Chelsea standing beside my table? And... is she leaning her ta-tas a bit toward me? Oh Lord this is happening. Okay comport yourself Marshal, it isn't that deep.

'O hi Marshal, sorry for barging in on your study time. But you know, I really needed to have a word with you.'

'Oh. It's no problem at all. Please excuse my absentmindedness.'

'May I sit?'

'On wh... mmh.. huh, yes sure please by all means ma'am.'

I replied as I shuffled slowly and awkwardly further-in on my bench to make room for Chelsea in a pathetic attempt at acting cool. I was trying to prevent Chelsea from seeing either the giddy, nervous teenager I was definitely feeling like or the massive boner threatening to lift my table off the ground if something wasn't done soon. I seemed to be failing on both counts.

It would seem my reactions were giving Chelsea's obviously gun-shy self esteem a much needed facelift as her coy smile could scarcely hide. Her effect on me seemed to spur a boldness and naughtiness I believe had been long buried. Her mannerisms seemed to suggest that she derived a perverse and dark thrill from seeing how far she could revv this shy, obviously inexperienced, dangerously libidinous kid nearly half her age. Now she was sitting close enough that our knees where almost touching. And although she's always got great posture, I think her back is a tad bit more arched than necessary.

She's showing her tits off to me!

Now there's no doubt in my mind. Mrs fucking Varga is coming on to yours truly.

Is it hot in here?

So far, I have no reason to refute Mya's claims of being an expert at female psychology. Just wow. Who'd have guessed that Chelsea could be so petty as to fall for such a cheap gimmick. Well, I sure as hell am not complaining.

~Chelsea's POV~

Now that I was really looking at him and up close like this, I had to admit he really was quite handsome with sharp and bony features. He had very full and luscious dark brown hair too that he seemed to struggle to keep out of a pair of small, sparkling green eyes that housed a particularly inquisitive gaze. He had really thick, dark and lush eye brows that closely framed his upper eyelids, giving his eyes a pretty intense essense. He had jutting cheekbones, and a narrow, pointed nose and chin. I can't help but compare him to Richard Ramirez. Only on the outside though I assure you. I even feel somewhat guilty comparing an innocent 18 year old kid to a callous serial killer. Marshal was a shy, sweet kid.

'You see Marshal, the thing is i've noticed that you tend to be all by yourself most of the time which i find pretty alarming for someone your age. Not to sound critical or anything; In fact, being able to enjoy one's company from time to time is highly commendable. I just feel like you might be overdoing it just a bit. Don't you think it could also be fun hanging out with others too, sometimes?'

'Well, Mrs Varga, I sincerely appreciate your thoughtful concern. But I really prefer things this way. I really don't relate much with kids my age. We never seem to share the same interests.'

'No shit.' I thought.

'Oh wow. Hmmm, so if you don't mind my asking, what kinds of things interest you?'

'I know it might sound ironical and maybe cliche, but I'm really interested in human psychology. You know, how people think and what motivates them. I also like business, which is also essentially about understanding people. So in a nutshell, I'm fascinated by people, although I prefer watching from a distance to active engagement.'

'Oh dear, he really is quite the smartass. I can see why he might be scaring his mates off. He might really be more like Richard Ramirez than I'd thought too with all that people-watching.' I mused light-heartedly.

'Preach to the choir!' I echoed in exaggerated approval which made him burst in the most heartfelt and genuinely uninhibited laughter I'd seen in a while. I loved the way his eyes would suddenly come alive when he smiled. Then his lips would slowly but steadily unfurl; tentatively at first, but then they'd get wider and wider until they blossomed into a beaming boyish grin. It was a pure smile. One that had seen too little of the disenchantment that is this world. A world I wished he never discovered.