Strip Basketball, Not-So-Nice Girls

Personal experiences morphed into comments on national trends can range from annoying to funny. So, I'll say just that when I attended college, not so long ago, I concluded that women were starting to hit on women much more frequently than used to be the case. Or maybe I was a target: short black pixie-cut hair, boyish figure, not into talking about men all the time. Everything but carry around a volume of poems by Sappho.

I already related one well-greased experience in my story, "Lizzie and Sappho Fucked Senseless" (names not the real ones, of course). I thought someone else might be hitting on me when Christy, a girl on my floor of the dormitory, invited me home over spring break. Big deal inasmuch as she's from Arizona and the college is in Rhode Island. Sounded perfect after the Providence winter, though, when she said her family lived in the desert, with lots of outdoor space, a pool, even a mini-basketball court. Horses available for early morning rides to shoot selfies against the blooming cactuses. Look for me on Instagram.

Every girl back then wasn't blond, but Christy was. Medium height, trim and athletic, cute face, bouncy. Liked to hang out a little longer than strictly necessary around the shower area in the girls' bathroom—nude or with a towel around her waist. Her breasts were adorably average—perky, nicely spaced, sweet soft nipples. Standard issue boobs. No, really, this becomes relevant later in the story.

So, we are in Arizona in their one-level ranch surrounded by rock gardens, terraces, the pool, an outdoors shower, a redwood fence. Sort of at the rear of their place is a spread-out development of similar homes; but in the other direction is seemingly trackless desert sand except for their driveway and one straight, slim roadway. Nice blue mountains in the distance. As soon as I arrived at the airport, I stopped and bought much, much darker sunglasses, wraparounds.

Christy has a youngish mom and dad, both good-looking, and a brother finishing high-school this year. Her mom has been holding out on her, though. Mom is a bit heavy-set and with what looks like a pair of medium-sized beavers in her bra cups. Same with my mom; never could understand why I got so little.

So far, so good. Nice discussion at the first dinner, which I think was pickled cactus, fileted rattlesnake, and boiled crab apples—couldn't tell. Thank Christ the wine wasn't home-made. Her dad and mom probed about life at college. Very liberated. You will not fucking believe that her mom as much as asked if my pussy was shaved. Not directly. Conversation got around to Christy in high school. They did not let Christy get a tattoo on her ass; many tears shed. And, somehow, we get around to Christy wanting in high school to shave the puss; no to that, also. "I don't know what decision you made, Ellen," says her mother with an endearing smile. And she isn't GOING to fucking know, either. Except, of course, Christy will tell her later. (Just between you and me: "No, I'm not.") Christy is decent enough to pretend to be embarrassed, yelping: "Mom! You just met her! You want to tell her if YOU'RE shaved?"

"Your dad wanted me to," mother replies. "I didn't especially mind as long as I didn't have to let it grow back."

At last, we reach dessert, which I think is Saguaro cactus pulp with whipped yak cream on it. Christy and I step outside; the night air of the desert is way better than dessert. Christy says, "I have a basketball game tomorrow. Same bunch of girls as in high school, but one newbie. Want to play with us?"

Never played, except in gym class at the Academy. But I am fairly athletic. I favor solitary sports like archery or one-on-one sports like wrestling. I wrestled guys at the Academy until I realized that their favorite holds were the Double-handed-wraparound-tit squeeze, the Sawing-knee-in-the-pussy move, and the Full-hips-rear-side-butt-crush. In other words, I was a joke. Once, I called a guy on it and challenged him to nude wrestling; he refused.

"Sure," I said. "On the court right out back?"

"Yup," said Christy. "Very private. Just for kicks we play penalty."

"Aren't there always are penalties?"

"No, I mean, the girl who at any time is low scorer has to strip off her top. We all love it. Sun and warm breezes on your tits. Toasts them like marshmallows."

"Uh, sure, I guess. Just girls."

"Same old five, but one new girl who's been asking to join us. We five were the super cuties in high school. Such a clique. I wouldn't do it, again, probably, but you know how high school is."

I did. "So, you're going to let this girl play. And she knows it's strip?"

"Oh, sure. She's a little pathetic. Cute face and all, but...well, you'll see. I think she's nuts wanting to play with us. She really just wants to be "in" with us.

I don't think there are any cloudy days, out here. About 10:00 a.m., after sneaking a breakfast of Cheerios and skipping the Gila Monster bacon, the day is sweltering when gathered at the court. Christy and four girls just like her: medium-height, trim build, blondish, cute. Perfectly friendly—sort of. But stuck-up. I mean, exactly what did they have to be stuck-up about? Cutest girls in the Last Chance High School cheerleaders?

All wearing halters, bare shoulders and midriffs, short-shorts with nothing under them. Shoulder-length hair. Like a uniform. Except, of course, for the new girl, Sally, who is built more like Christy's mom. SO eager to please. Smiling in ecstasy to be one of the girls. I would no more play strip basketball carrying her rack than I would cover my tits with python tattoos and post on Facebook. Actually, I'm sure you could find lots of volunteers to do that.

"Okay," says Christy, kind of bouncing with anticipation. "You become low scorer and you strip. Don't worry about keeping track. I give you a slap on the ass to let you know you're 'it.' Just toss your bra onto the side and keep bouncing the ball. Ready?

You know what they say in poker: If you don't know who the mark is, it's you. Okay, that must mean poor Sally, right? About to supply a giggle for everyone. Not so fast, Ellen. You may THINK you know who the mark is...

Okay, seven girls. Five of them the Arizona Sun Sisters, same sun-tanned, athletic, lithe bodies and shiny blondish hair. Very good at this basketball. The court, about half-regulation with one hoop, is surrounded by gardens, trees, a fountain, a couple benches at the side.

We are now sweltering. These girls are used to heat; almost immediately, I start pouring sweat and panting. Same with Sally, only more so. Very game girl, though.

The action is fast, nonstop. Sally gets the ball only when someone passes it to her. She never makes a shot that reaches the backboard. I am doing a little better, but I distinctly feel that these girls who are supposed to be competing are a team.

Whap! Christy slaps Sally's ass. "Okay," she says.

"Wait a minute!" Sally cries in a high-pitched voice. "Already? I'm the first one? All by myself?"

"Sally!" snaps another girl impatiently.

"Are you playing or not?" The girls don't stop moving as they yell at her.

"Hurry!" someone yells. "Keep the game going!"

Sally is standing at the side, but not hurrying. Kind of feeling around for the clasp at her back.

"Just WHIP it off and PLAY or you're out!" yells Christy, dribbling toward the backboard.

With a desperate jerk, Sally has it off and turns back to the game. Jesus, they're nice, but, then, what isn't to like at 19? But they're so big that they almost reach her waist and they're also VERY full. I mean, these are legendary knockers and they are pressed together, a plunging cleavage between them. Her nipples are huge, perfect circles atop each spacious boob. The weight of the breasts totally flattens the nips, of course, almost nothing sticking up...

Now, Sally is trying to play, again, like a sport. Her face is red, eyes blinking fast. As she runs, dodges, her knockers are like ollas swinging in a heavy breeze, banging together. She tries not to notice, but once she grabs one with her hand as though to steady it. Good luck, Hon.

As I am trying to play-since I have scored only once, so far-but also watching Sally, I feel a stinging smack swat on my sweaty butt. "Strip!" yells Christy.

I don't want to attract attention by doing a Sally. What's the point? My top is coming off one way or the other. Just girls. Pretty soon I'll have lots of company. So, I whip off my halter, and, without even pausing, fling it to the side. I'm back in the game.

I described Sally's tits, so here are mine. I'm pale, tall, long torso. I always thought my breasts were attached kind of high on my chest, but I just have a stretched-out midriff. My breasts aren't so big, but they aren't pure hillocks. Each one swoops down my chest and then does a ski-jump curve upward, ending in a tapering cone. The cap of each cone is a rather embarrassingly (to me) elongated nipple, dark red against pale skin. Guys go crazy about them, for some reason. I think they're kind of jaunty, pointed upward, and the nipples are very, very 'out there.'

Well, no need to describe them to the girls. They are glancing repeatedly as they zip around the court. I am leaping to block, jumping to shoot, so my breasts are jiggling, jouncing. But not making anything like the commotion on Sally's chest.

What? I mean: What?

Christy's Dad has sauntered out the sliding screen doors, drink in hand, and plunked himself down on the bench beside the court with a nice smile on his face. I thought he had left for work.

Did someone say: Just us girls?

I actually halt on the court, staring at Christy. She pauses, panting now, sweat running down into her halter between her breasts. She sort of yells, "You mind my Dad?"

Who? Me? You think I'm some kind of prude? Of course, your dad can watch me play basketball half-naked. What are daughters for?

I shrug. Maybe this is life in the desert. No one worries about clothes. Anyway, I plunge back in and play. When is one of the fabulous five going to show hers, by the way?

Ouch! Christ! Was that deliberate? One of the girls, Lana, has done a very vigorous straight pass to me, while I am glancing at Christy's dad. Slap! Right into my tit.

"Hey!" I yell and my hand flies to my stinging boob. Lana is grinning. Meanwhile, I didn't even catch the ball. It just bounced off the backboard of my right boob. Now, Lana already has made a basket.

"Go!" I hear a slap. Christy has whacked Sally's ass.

"What?" cries Sally, panicked.

"Bottom!" yells Janie. "Come one, do it and play!"

"No bottoms!" wails Sally. "Who said...?"

"It's penalty," yells Lana from across the court. "Take if off. Are you quitting on us?"

"Yeah, but you..." Sally is glancing over at Christy's dad. But she already is moving toward the side of the court opposite dad. She pushes down her shorts, wiggles her full ass to make the wet shorts move, stoops to drag them off over her feet. I see her big, pale ass bent over. Sorry, Sally, you may be opposite Dad, but bending like that we see your pussy between your ass cheeks. She doesn't realize it, I guess.

I am moving even faster because I suddenly realize that next...

Sally is back in the game. She isn't a blondie like the fabulous five. She's a redhead. Right at the base of her pale belly, above her heavy legs, is a heathy patch of red hair flowing up her belly and down her thighs. I mean, I don't shave, but I do TRIM. Sally is such a good sport, running around again. I wonder if dad is getting a little hard? Jumbo knockers, fleecy pussy, peeping cunt lips, pretty face. All in action, now.

"Whap!" Well, what do you know? Not me. Lana barely pauses racing around the court. In two seconds, her halter is flying. Yup, absolutely regulation breasts, modest, nicely rounded, soft hillocks topped by a well-color-coordinated tit. When she jumps, they jounce ever so slightly, just to prove they're real and soft. I wonder if my dad would like an invitation to watch this game, too?

"Fuck!" Now, I'm getting pissed. As I was checking out Lana, Janie generously sent me a ferocious chest pass that smacked the same tit. That smarts, bitch! Had to be deliberate. We're not a team. Why pass to the competition? Just to be a good sport? I am glaring at Janie.

Next chance, I take aim and shove the ball right at her. Scored! I can hear the wet smack on her sweaty boob. Caught her when she was looking away at Sally, grinning.

"Hey, my boob!" Janie whines. She is rubbing the nipple under her halter. She can be thankful it wasn't bare tit. "Did you do that deliberately?"

"You crazy?" I say out of the side of my mouth and I pretend to go dashing into the action.

Oops! What the hell is going down, here? Ricky, Christy's brother, the one headed next year for college, has joined dad on the bench. It's a father-son activity watching the local girls play nude basketball. Isn't that the nicest thing? That real spring break treat when the new girl visits. Hey, Rick, great knockers and pussy on Sally, huh?

Right then, I feel the whack on my own ass. I haven't been paying enough attention to scoring. So, what now? Walk right off this court, pack, and call a taxi to the airport? What am I?

But, you know, if you've read my stories, that I'm kind of an exhibitionist. I know I'm not eye candy. But guys do like to check me out. Ricky is cute. Why doesn't HE come and play basketball? He is watching me, so is dad. I'm hot and sticky and feeling horny from the exercise and all the hi-jinx.

I quickly and efficiently ditch my short-shorts and bound back into the game. That's right guys, jet black on a pale belly. Atop long, long slim legs. Too dark to see my slit though it. By the way, I'm really panting, by this time, my chest heaving. I glance at Ricky. Still all attention on me. Makes me kind of hot. I do a jumping block, arms up, so he sees the whole deal nicely stretched at full length.

By the time we finish (thank God), three of the fabulous five have bare boobs, not including my hostess, Christy. Only Sally and I are completely naked. We all stop, bent over, panting. Frankly, I have gotten used to being nude. Christy's Dad is still checking me out.

And then, I am a bad girl. I admit I was a bad girl. I was holding the ball. Suddenly, I said, "Take the ball, Janie, I'm going to shower," and did a snap shot straight onto her pretty little bare titty.

I already had turned away and started toward the shower when she yells. "Hey, you bitch! You did that deliberately!" I feel a tremendous whack as the ball hits my bare ass, but, of course, it just makes me laugh.

I turn, grin, and say, "Hey, sorry, okay? I did NOT do it deliberately!" And I keep walking, definitely giving my hips and ass a nice sway.

"Bitch!" she calls.

"Janie, stop that!" I hear Christy say. I also hear Ricky laugh.

Ah, sweet revenge.

Yikes! These are cowgirls! I hear a rapid patter of feet across the court and, before I can turn, arms are around me and fingers have clamped like pliers on my titties. She's trying to tear them off!"

I hear Janie right by my ear, yelling, "How do you like it, Ellen?"

My hands fly up to my tits but only cover her hands. I yell in protest.

"Girls!" I hear Christy's dad calling. He also is chuckling. Quite a show.

"Stop it!" Janie's voice, now, also, and the clamps release my nips. I am whirling around to confront Janie. I am NOT a pushover. Christy has seized Janie's biceps from behind, pulling her. Her tits push out.

I am just not thinking, anymore. I lash out and give her left boob a hard slap and say, "Bitch yourself! Keep your hands off me!" I think this is my last invitation to this place. Never know, though. Maybe this is supposed to happen every holiday?

Apparently, we're even, and the other girls are closing in. "Come on, guys," shake hands and make up, says someone. Sally, still completely naked, is standing, staring, unable to believe this.

"Okay," says Janie with a sigh, making a face. She holds out her hand. I take it, not smiling. She says, "Nice ones, Ellen."

"Yours too," I say. I have to get used to this style of basketball, I heard that Wilt Chamberlain used to tell people, "You aren't tough enough to play with us." When they insisted, during the play he accidentally-on purpose slapped them hard in the nuts. "See, I told you that you weren't tough enough."

Beside the pool, along a short path through the cactus garden. Onto the side of the terrace. Really nice outdoor shower. Kind of sheltered by a curved entranceway. Open to the sky above, though. Nice and big.

Standing under the spray is a good time to contemplate what an asshole you've been and figure out what you're going to say to your hosts. If you are standing alone, that is. Right then, Janie comes around the corner, full nude, now, and gets under the other shower head. I noticed in passing that she is shaved.

"Sooo good," she moans, rubbing her hands over her shiny wet boobs. Getting a little stiff, there, Janie, dear? Am I exciting you?

Nope, that isn't today's excitement. Next, I hear, "Hey, you guys, forgot towels!"

So helpful, Ricky. Thoughtful. He's standing at the entrance to the shower, getting a nice eyeful, holding two towels. Actually, I didn't forget a towel. As I said, clearly, when I walked away from the group, "I'm going to shower and then dive in the pool." No towel needed.

"You can put them on the bench out there," I say. "Thanks."

"You girls play a great game!" says Ricky. He is not leaving.

"Come on under, if you want," Janie sings out. She is smiling very brightly.

"Really?"

I close my eyes, rub shampoo into my hair. I can't figure out if this family is cool or the Phoenix Perv Partners, LLC. I don't care that much. Ricky is cute, tall and well-built.

"Ellen?" he asks.

"I'm just visiting," I say. "Play by house rules."

In about five seconds, he is back. I open my eyes. Very nice boy. Very pleasantly hefty prick sort of tapering to a blunt point. He isn't cut. Good tan, too, all over. By contrast, I feel like as though I have come out from under a rock to see if summer has begun. He certainly isn't getting stiff. I'm sure this is old stuff in the family. Where is mom, by the way?

He's under the shower with Jamie. I hear laughing. Glance over. He is behind her, reaching around with the soap to give her tits a vigorous rubbing. Suds are running down her brown torso and over her nice smooth pussy. She is giggling. Great service in this spa.

Janie sort of turns around, still in his arms. Her own arms go around his neck. She presses her titties into his chest. I get a glimpse of him, now. Yup, starting to elevate. The raspberry is halfway out of the sheathe. He is pressing himself against her nice brown thigh.

I'm clean enough. I turn the handles of the shower, say "Bye," with a flap of the hand, and head for the door.

"Hey, we aren't driving you out, are we?" calls Janie. "You can come and help me with this dick, if you want..." Ricky's hands are holding her ass. I think one of his fingers is push into one of her holes. Their lips are locked together.

"Pool, for me," I call back. Just run for it, Ellen.

Behind me, I think I just heard a wet body smack down onto the shower floor boards. I glance back. Yup, Janie has gone down, her legs lifting and spreading. Ricky's dicky is right up toward his navel and the head butting full out.

I am horny and annoyed. Feeling a little sorry for myself, too. This is not a restful spring break. Penalty girls' basketball my fucking ass!

I'm probably going to do myself, tonight, if I want to get any sleep. And I didn't bring my ebony striated ten-inch dildo vibrator. Carry on luggage. Don't want some guy at security waving it around in the air and asking me what it's for.