Lola: Confessions of an Addict

I stood bolt upright and wheeled around in shock. Behind me was Jenna's boyfriend, Todd, trying not very hard to feign a look of surprise.

"Shit, sorry," he mumbled as he stepped away. "Thought you were Jenna."

I could hear his friends laughing further down the hall.

"Those skirts," he said, smirking as he walked back to join them. "They all look the same from behind."

I stood completely still and said nothing. I had no idea what I was supposed to say. Plenty of guys, including Todd, had made verbal passes at me in the weeks since school started, but none had ever been bold enough to grope me. His brazenness left me speechless. After a few seconds of stunned silence, I gathered my things and walked to class as if nothing had happened.

This turned out to be a mistake. That afternoon before the match, as I was getting changed in the locker room, I heard Jenna's voice.

"Where is that slut?!"

I turned around and looked at her. She was bright red, with her face drawn tight and her fists clenched.

"What kind of SLUT," she said, raising her voice on the last word, "goes around bending over for OTHER PEOPLE'S boyfriends?"

I looked around at the other girls. They were staring into their lockers, awkwardly pretending to ignore the confrontation unfolding around them.

"I asked you a question, bitch," Jenna spat, walking towards me. "What kind of slut are you?"

This was the first time I had ever been called a slut. It would not be the last.

"Jenna," I stammered, "I didn't do anything."

"Oh really? Because I heard you gave Todd quite a show today." She was shaking as she spoke.

"No, it was an accident. I was just getting a drink of water, and--"

"Don't bullshit me, Lola." She pointed to the underwear hanging in my locker. "You don't put on a little thong like that without planning to show it to someone."

"Jenna, it was seriously a misunderstanding. He thought I was you, and so-"

"Shut the fuck up!" She screamed, stamping her foot on the tile floor. I had six inches on her, so I knew she didn't want the situation to become physical, but she was barely able to restrain her rage. "You really think he got us confused, you dumb bitch? I find that hard to believe since one of us is white and the other just pretends to be."

One of the other girls gasped. Before I could react, someone finally spoke up.

"Jenna, you need to chill. It isn't Lola's fault that Todd is an asshole."

"Really, Courtney?" Jenna wheeled around. "If some random guy put his hand up YOUR skirt, what would you do? I bet you'd slap him in the face, wouldn't you?" But this bitch..." she turned back to me. "This bitch didn't do ANYTHING. Didn't SAY anything. And you wanna know why?"

She looked me dead in the eye.

"Because she's a slut, and she fucking loved it."

With that, Jenna spit on my bare chest. Then, she turned around and walked out onto the court as her saliva disappeared into the valley between my breasts.

...

The next day, Coach Matthews dismissed Jenna from the tennis team, appointing another senior girl, Candice, as the new captain. Unlike Jenna, Candice had no aspirations to be the best player on the team, so there was no reason for us to be rivals.

After making the announcement to the team, Coach Matthews invited me back to her office for a private conversation.

"I'm really sorry about what happened, Lola," she sighed. "I heard from the other girls that Jenna said some pretty hurtful things."

"It's okay, Coach. Thanks for looking out for me."

She leaned forward. "I know it's hard being the new girl at school, especially as a senior. There's some good news, though," she said, cracking a smile. "You'll be done here and onto better things before you know it."

"Thanks, Coach."

"I'm serious, Lola. I haven't known you that long, but long enough to tell that anyone who says anything bad about you is just jealous of the places you're going." She reached across her desk and put her hand on my arm. "You put your head down, work hard, and you're going to get that scholarship."

"H--how did you know I was trying to get a scholarship?"

"I talked to your Mom. You know she really wants the best for you, right?"

I nodded.

"So, here's what we're going to do. The reality is, none of the girls here are good enough to push your game to the next level, but there's someone at this school who is." Coach Matthews picked up a picture frame and turned it towards me. "I don't know if you've met my younger son, Caleb. He's only a sophomore, but he's far and away the best player on the boy's team."

The picture showed two boys in bathing suits at the beach. These must be Coach Matthews' sons, I thought. Her index finger was pointed towards the younger one, a smiling, freckle-faced boy with lanky hair, braces, and wiry limbs that looked just a little too big for his body.

"If you want, I can pull some strings and make sure the two of you have a free period together two or three days week. I think it will really help you with your pace to play against a boy. I know he looks like a kid, but you'd be surprised how much heat he can put on his serve. Plus," Coach Matthews said, lowering her voice, "he's a little shy, so I think it would do him some good to try interacting with a girl every so often."

I stifled a laugh.

She smiled. "Sometimes I wish he had a big sister like you to look up to. It hasn't been easy for him growing up in his brother's shadow."

I turned my attention to the other boy in the photo, though calling him a "boy" was hardly fitting. They may have been related, but they barely looked like the same species. Caleb's brother towered over him, a dark, broad-shouldered mass of tightly wound muscles. His blonde hair, blue eyes, and bright, white smile stood out against his tanned, golden skin.

"I can imagine," I mumbled.

"I'm sure you can," Coach said, giving me a knowing wink. "So, shall I set things up with Caleb?"

I paused for a moment, still gazing at the photo. "Sure," I said. "Sounds like a plan."

...

Although I appreciated that Coach Matthews had stuck up for me, I couldn't get what happened with Todd off my mind, and Jenna's words kept running my through head at random times of day.

"What kind of slut are you?"

"This bitch didn't do anything."

"She fucking loved it."

I knew Jenna was out of line to say those things, especially in front of the whole team, but something about what she had said stuck with me. She was right about at least one thing: when Todd groped me, I didn't do or say anything. I just took it. I let him get away with it. Why?

I told myself that I was just too shocked to react, but I worried that maybe she was right about me. Had I... liked it? Was I really a slut? I desperately needed to talk to someone who could help me understand why I reacted the way that I did, but I didn't know who.

My Mom was out of the question. Between finalizing the divorce, fighting for sole custody of my younger brother, and trying to adjust to her new job, she was barely keeping it together. Especially after what had happened with my Dad, I couldn't tell her that I had let a boy feel me up at school and get away with it. Now more than ever, she needed me to be an independent young woman, and I wasn't about to burden her with something like this. Coach Matthews wasn't an option, either. She had been wonderful to me, but we just hadn't known each other long enough to have that kind of personal relationship. I tried calling some of my friends back in California, but talking to them just made me homesick, and I couldn't work up the nerve to talk about the incident with Todd over the phone.

So, with no one to talk to, I turned inward. I resolved to take Coach Matthews' advice: put my head down, work hard, and keep my eyes on the prize. I might not become popular at my new school, but it was only a year, and then I'd be gone. If people wanted to call me driven, antisocial, or even prude, that was their business. But I wasn't going to give anyone else at that school reason to call me a slut.

To begin with, I started dressing more conservatively at school, which became easier as October turned to November and the weather got cooler. I still wore my tennis skirt to school on match days to show my team spirit, so I couldn't prevent boys from leering at me, but I made certain not to bend over at the drinking fountain anymore. There were still catcalls from the stands during my matches, but I was so focused that I barely noticed.

I was spending all of time free time practicing instead of socializing and it was paying off. In spite of moving from a top-tier tennis school to a middling program, I was playing the best tennis of my life. I owed a lot of this to Coach Matthews and her son. Caleb and I were playing tough, hard-fought matches multiple times per week, and it was elevating my game to the next level. After competing against Caleb, the girls in my division seemed to be moving in slow motion. I was mowing them down with ease, and colleges were taking notice. Recruitment letters from D1 schools were arriving almost every day.

That November, I won the Class 5A Girls State Championships in singles. My doubles partner and I placed third. Granted, a state title in Nevada isn't quite the same as winning one in California, but I was ecstatic. My Mom and my little brother were there to see me win, and although I was sad and angry that I couldn't share the moment with my Dad, it was the first time since the scandal broke that it felt like something good had happened.

To celebrate my victory-the first singles tennis state championship in school history-Coach Matthews invited my family over to her house for backyard barbecue.

Social invitations always made my Mom nervous. She never felt confident about what to wear, what to bring, or what to talk about. She would always follow my Dad's lead in these situations, and without him, she was more frazzled than ever. The day of the barbecue, she and I got into an argument about what I was planning to wear. I was watching TV when she walked into the family room.

"Lola, get changed, we're leaving soon."

"I'm just gonna wear this, Ma," I said, changing the channel. I had on a tank top, cut-offs, and a pair of old flip-flops.

"No, you're not," she said, picking up the remote and turning the TV off. "You're not wearing jeans to dinner at your coach's house. I laid a dress out for you upstairs. Go put that on."

"Mom, it isn't dinner, it's a barbecue. You don't wear a dress to a barbecue."

"Well, I am," she swept her hand over the floral print she had on. "And so are you. Coach Matthews invited us over for a special occasion and you are going to look presentable."

"You're seriously going to dress me? I'm not 6-years-old anymore."

"That's right, Lo, you're not, which is all the more reason for you to dress like an adult." She folded her arms. "If your brother Benji can wear a polo shirt for a few hours, then I think you can survive one evening in a new dress. So chop-chop," she clapped her hands, "because I do not plan on being late."

"Fine," I sighed, sulking my way upstairs.

My attitude changed when I saw the dress spread across my bed. It was a spaghetti strap cocktail dress in coral, trimmed with lace and flared above the knee. I picked it up and let the material run through my fingers. The cotton was thin but beautifully woven and amazingly soft to the touch. It was just my style, cute and trendy. I couldn't believe my Mom had managed to pick it out without asking me a thing.

Next to the dress was a note.

"Congratulations, Lola. So proud of you. - Mom."

Guilt washed over me. I had been such a brat about getting changed, and all along, she had just been trying to give me a present! But my guilt was mixed with annoyance. Why couldn't she just tell me that the dress was a present? Why did she always have to make everything into an argument between us? Or was it me who did that to her?

I pulled the tank top over my head and went fishing inside my dresser for a strapless bra. For a fleeting moment, I envied some of the small-breasted girls on the tennis team, who could've worn a dress like this without a bra at all. But then, as I unhooked the bra I was wearing and looked at myself in the mirror, the thought disappeared.

Big, soft tits.

As I looked at the ripe, heavy mounds that hung from my lithe, athletic body, I remembered the first time I heard a guy comment on my tits. I was 16, and I was sunning myself with some girlfriends at an outdoor pool near the university where my Dad worked. I had been dozing in a red bikini with my sunglasses on when a guy called out to us.

"You girls go to school here?"

I opened my eyes to see a couple of college guys in board shorts looking at us waiting for a response.

"We go to St. Simon's," my girlfriend called back.

"Ahh, okay," they said, turning away from us.

As they walked away, one of the guys gave the other a shove.

"Man, I told you they were jailbait."

"Whatever," the other said. "Red top definitely could've been a college girl with those big, soft tits." They laughed and disappeared into the locker room.

Red top! I stifled a smile, trying not to let my girlfriends see. Had they heard it, too?

Shaking myself back to the present, I pulled the strapless bra over my big, soft tits, smiling at the memory. Next came the dress, which slipped snugly over me, hugging the curves of my body from the waist up.

"Damn, Mom," I said approvingly to no one in particular. I couldn't remember the last time I had dressed up like this. It seemed like ever since we moved, it had been a steady stream of jeans, tank tops, hoodies, and athletic wear. But the coral fabric complemented the deep, butterscotch tan I had acquired during the tennis season.

As I admired myself in the new dress, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Caleb.

"Mom wants to if u mom or lil bro have any allergies."

I text back. "No, all okay."

"Cool. Whats ur eta?"

"20min"

"Great. U ready to lose at pingpong"

"In your dreams"

I put my phone down and grabbed some wedge sandals from the closet to go with my dress. Oh, Caleb. I looked back at the mirror. I am going to give you something to dream about tonight, I thought.

Practically since the incident with Todd, Caleb had been the only boy I interacted with at any length. True to his Mom's description, he was a sweet, shy kid who definitely enjoyed spending time alone with me. He had never come close to making any kind of move on me, which I appreciated, but that hadn't stopped him from stealing glances at my tits and ass whenever he thought I wouldn't notice. I snuck more than few aces by him by putting a little extra "bounce" in my serve.

Since we didn't really do anything other than play tennis, he had only ever seen me in athletic wear. Now, I make a tennis skirt look good, but it can't compete with spaghetti straps and wedges. I was looking forward to seeing his face when he saw me today.

"Lola!" my Mom yelled from downstairs. "Time to go!"

...

The Matthews family lived in a large, Tudor-style home with a big lawn on a shady street, all qualities that were unusual in the suburbs outside Las Vegas. Mr. Matthews was some kind of casino executive and it was clear even from outside the house that the family was very well-off.

We walked up to the entrance and I lifted the heavy doorknocker. Just as I had hoped, I heard Caleb's voice ring out eagerly from inside.

"I'll get it!"

The door swung open.

"H--hi, Lola." Caleb's eyes opened wide the second he saw me. He gulped, trying hard not to let his eyes wander in front of my Mom. "Hi, Mrs. Andrews. I'm... Caleb." I smiled coyly. Poor boy nearly forgot his own name.

"Hi Caleb," my Mom said, sticking out her hand. "I'd prefer it if you call me Ms. Kim, please."

"Oh, sure, Ms. Kim," he said, tearing his eyes away from me to shake her hand. "Sorry about that."

"That's okay," my Mom replied. "This is Benji, Lola's brother."

"Hi!" Benji said. "Do you have any video games?"

"Yes, we do, Benji," said Mr. Matthews, appearing in the doorway behind Caleb. He was tall, looked to be in his mid-50s, with thick gray hair and rugged, good-looking features that had been exposed to just a bit too much sun. "Hi, Mark Matthews," he said, extending his hand to my mother.

"Lina Kim, nice to meet you."

"And you must be Lola," he said, reaching out a big, beefy arm in my direction. "The new state champ and guest of honor!"

"Nice to meet," I replied. "Thanks for inviting us."

"Our pleasure! Come on in, gang. Alice is out back setting up."

I walked past Caleb and followed Mr. Matthews through the house. He was a large man with the build of an athlete gone to seed, powerful but thickened through with the added mass of middle age. The house itself was even more extravagant than it had appeared from outside. High ceilings, wooden floors, rich leather furniture, and tasteful modern art that suggested the work of an expensive interior decorator. Caleb followed behind me like a puppy dog, saying little. Even without looking behind me, I could tell he was fully absorbed by the view of my legs and ass.

As we walked out onto the back patio, Coach Matthews greeted me.

"Lola! So glad you made it," she called from the barbecue pit. "Lina, Benji, welcome to our home."

The backyard was equally lavish: a vast expanse of green with a pool, a hot tub, and a tennis court all hidden behind the walls of a privacy fence. So this is how rich people live, I thought. I gave Coach Matthews a hug and sat down.

"Wow, Lola!" Coach Matthews said. "I see you clean up nicely after practice."

"Thanks, Coach," I said, smoothing the hem of my dress against my leg.

"Doesn't Lola look nice today, Caleb?" Coach Matthews asked with a cheeky smile.

Caleb blushed. "It's a nice dress," he stammered.

"Lola, sit down for a minute," Coach Matthews pulled up a chair. "I want to talk to you and your Mom about something before dinner."

The three of us sat down. Caleb, unsure of what to do with himself, stood awkwardly off to the side of the table, staring blankly out at the backyard.

"Hey, bud," Mr. Matthews called. "Why don't you help me season the steaks while we let the girls chat?"

"Okay," Caleb said, looking relieved. He trotted inside behind his dad.

"Lola," Coach Matthews began. "Your Mom and I started talking a couple of weeks ago about colleges and recruiting. I know you've been getting a lot of recruiting letters, and now that you've won the state title, that's only going to intensify. It's time for you to start making campus visits, and your Mom asked me if I would be willing to help coordinate with some of the tennis coaches at the schools you are interested in visiting. Of course, I'd be delighted, but I wanted to make sure that's okay with you."

"Are you kidding? That would be awesome!" I shouted. "To be honest, I've been feeling a little nervous about the whole process."

"That's perfectly normal," Coach said. "But remember, these schools are out to court you. A girl with your game on the tennis court and brains in the classroom is going to be a very sought-after commodity."

Now it was my turn to blush.

"So," Coach continued, "which schools are you considering?"

"Uhh, well, I really miss California," I said, thinking aloud. "I definitely want to visit a few of the UC campuses. UCLA, Santa Barbara..."

"All good schools that would be lucky to have you," Coach said. "I'll make some calls. Anywhere else in California you are dreaming about?"

"Stanford!" My Mom yelped.

"Mom!" I shouted. "I'm not gonna get into Stanford, okay? Just chill with that."

"Now hold on," Coach Matthews said, placing a hand on my arm. "Let's wait before we jump to conclusions about where you will or won't get in. Are you interested in Stanford?"