Unblended Ch. 07

This story is based on the setting created by icedragonmo3 in their story The Blending. It contains lots of characters of intersex gender with exaggerated proportions, oral sex, huge cumshots, cum swallowing, polyamorous relationships, incestuous relationships, and Internet exhibitionism.

As always, all persons participating in sexual activities or described in a sexual manner are at least 18 years of age. All characters, locations, web sites, and scenarios presented here are a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real-world people and places is coincidental.

*****

"So, detention with the principal, huh."

"Yeah. Should I be concerned?"

"Wouldn't hurt to make sure your insurance info is up to date."

It had been a pretty good morning so far. I woke up with Tessa in my arms, we made out for a bit before getting ready to school, Mama had gotten up early to make waffles, and Tanya called on the drive to school and we all gushed over romantic evenings. So I was in high spirits as I made my way into Locker Room 1 (the new signage had been installed over the weekend). I stepped into the athletic office that bridged the locker rooms and where the PE teachers/coaches had their personal offices. Since I was still unisex male, I'd been given special dispensation to use the office to change and shower. I was slipping into my new yoga pants to meet Coach Traeger's personal dress code for PE when she came out of her office.

"Looking good, Wayne," she smirked, and she doubled over laughing when I showed her the sports bra I'd also purchased. Something about that laugh told me she really needed it.

"Coach, no offense, but I really don't think I need this. And I look like a chump wearing it."

"Yeah, you can leave that off." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye as she started looking over some papers. We discussed my impending detention with Principal LeBeau, and Coach confirmed that she hadn't heard of students serving their time with the principal herself. It made me wonder if she planned to roll my detention and her offer of "training" together.

"Hey, uh, sorry about Casey and Rhonda," I said. I didn't envy her the job of reconfiguring the team's offensive strategy in the wake of her receiving corps being gutted.

"Casey'll come around eventually, she got in over her head. Rhonda, though," Coach replied with a grunt. "That kid's needed a serious attitude adjustment for years. I'm really surprised Mary finally listened to reason rather than tear our heads off about it." She shook her head. "You should have seen her storm out of practice when I kicked her off the squad. I could have sworn she said 'you'll regret this' under her breath."

"Huh," I responded, "I wouldn't have taken her for the supervillain type. Vengeful, certainly, but not theatrical about it."

"Mmm."

Coach seemed to be lost in thought, and I considered heading into the locker room to give her some privacy until I saw another tear start rolling down her cheek. I went and closed the door before sitting down.

"Everything okay, Coach?"

She sniffed before wiping her eyes and looking at me. I was immediately struck by the sad cast to her vibrant violet eyes; I'd never seen her so far from her usual boisterous self and it tugged at my heartstrings.

"Why do you call me that?" she asked, avoiding my question. "All the other non-athletes stick to Mrs. Traeger." I shrugged.

"It's appropriate, isn't it? Feels more respectful. I call all the coaches that, but I can stop if you'd rather." She shook her head and said it was fine. "Seriously, though," I resumed, "is something going on? I just want to help." I gave what I thought was a sympathetic look, and Coach smiled faintly.

"It's nothing," she said, "certainly nothing I should be discussing with a student." Her voice grew soft, like it had the previous week when she asked me to sing for her. That was weird enough, but this was worrying. "Thank you for the offer, though. I appreciate it."

"Okay," I said, making to leave. "If you do want to talk, though, I'm happy to lend an ear. For whatever support a callow youth can offer, anyways."

As I opened the door, I caught a whiff of something through the pervading aroma of unwashed athletic supporters and Tiger Balm: a combination of apple pie and lemon-lime soda, almost exactly like my usual body wash but fresher and brighter. I dismissed it as I exited the office into the locker room proper to an enthusiastic round of catcalls.

"Shake it, baby!" "Someone's been working OUT!" "Gimme a piece of that beefcake!"

"Thank you, thank you, you're too kind," I said, waving to all and sundry as I descended the short staircase from the office. Tanya was waiting for me at the base of the stairs, looking incredible in her bra and yoga pants. To the approbation of her peers, she licked my nipple before I slid into her arms, the sensation sending a jolt of lightning directly to my crotch and causing my legs to buckle.

"Fuck," I breathed, the sudden blast of pleasure taking my breath away as she caught me. Tanya tilted her head in concern.

"You okay?" she asked, and I nodded vigorously.

"We need to explore THAT later," I said, giving her a quick kiss on the lips before spinning out of her arms. Her eyes went wide as she realized what had happened.

"Were they that sensitive before?" she asked as we made our way out to the gym, her arm slipping into mine.

"Nope," I responded, "that's new." From the look on her face, you'd have thought I just gave her a million dollars.

"We are going to so much fun tonight," she purred. I was absolutely looking forward to my evening with her, though I wanted to spend most of it getting to know each other better.

"Will your darling mother be joining us?" I asked, and was a little relieved when Tanya shook her head 'no'.

"For dinner, maybe, but that's it. We're going to have plenty of hot, incestuous sex together eventually," she whispered, "but we talked about it last night, and she thinks it's better if we all get to know each other more first."

"I was thinking the exact same thing. She's a wise woman, your mother."

"Besides, I recall someone wants to rim me real bad, I feel like I should let him."

We were both taken by surprise by a loud whistle blast. "Hey!" Coach Traeger shouted, "no canoodling on company time in my gymnasium!" Tanya thought it was hilarious, and I wished my poor eardrums agreed with her. We went through the usual round of calisthenics before a few laps around the gym floor. Tanya and I kept pace together, and I took the opportunity to ask her something.

"Hey, is Coach okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has she been out of sorts at practice? Anything like that?"

Tanya didn't say anything right away, but the frown she made told me a lot.

"Actually, yeah," a voice behind us said, "she's been riding us a little harder than normal." Katie Gibson, one of the linebackers, jogged up beside me. She was definitely undersized for an LB: 6' even, maybe 200 pounds but probably under, with a figure better suited to cheerleading or the dance team than garnering eight tackles and four sacks the previous Friday night. But her size fooled people, and she was incredibly quick off the mark. Weirdly, she'd actually been bigger before she blended, but getting a little smaller did nothing to blunt her effectiveness at the position. As I was learning, the Blend did some weird shit sometimes.

"We just had our first game," Tanya said, "she's usually that stern before the opener."

"Not like that," Katie answered back. "I mean, sure, be that way with Stacy to build her skin up, she's a rookie, but I've never seen her snap at Donna or you like that."

"Why do you ask?" Tanya said, looking at me as we rounded a corner.

"Something's up," I said, "I'm just not sure what yet, and I don't know if I should push, or how hard."

"Don't," Tanya and Katie both said. "She's super sensitive about her personal life," Tanya continued, "fastest way onto her shit list is to pry into it. Hell, the only reason Stacy didn't get in real trouble calling her at home Saturday night was because it was a team emergency, and she STILL had to do extra motion drills yesterday."

Coach Traeger started directing us out of the gym towards the practice field. It was a brisk morning, and the jog over felt really nice. We'd moved on from talking about Coach Traeger, and Katie was bombarding Tanya with questions about me and my "performance". I didn't say anything as Tanya wildly overexaggerated my more intimate skills, I knew the value of a well-developed reputation enough to not interfere. Instead, I considered the morning's events: Jolene Traeger was absolutely going through something, and maybe she felt vulnerable enough around a relative stranger to let the mask slip a bit.

"HEY, WAYNE," Coach shouted once we got to the field. I turned around and saw her hurl a football up over my head in a high arc. I scoffed at her feeble attempt to get me to actively engage in sportsball. At least, I would have, if my body didn't suddenly take off in a sprint following the ball.

If you've read the previous chapters of this story, you'll be familiar with my usual response to various coaches: I'm no athlete. Sure, I didn't mind the occasional jog, and I knew that cardio was going to be super important given my intense interest in the carnal arts, but the idea of extended physical exertion and the risk of severe bodily harm in the pursuit of fleeting victory on the sportsball field held no appeal for me in the slightest. Consider also, even despite the recent, sudden addition of some lightly-defined muscle mass, I was still relatively slight and gangly. Wiry. FRAGÍLE. (That Christmas Story joke always sent Mama into hysterics, and the pronunciation just kinda stuck.)

AND YET: here was a football, flying overhead in a perfect spiral, and my brain decides it would be a damn shame if someone wasn't there to catch it. I covered the distance surprisingly quickly, and I found I could track the ball's arc pretty easily. In short order, the ball fell into my outstretched hands without any hysterics, and I turned around and waved it in the air. "I got it!"

"I can see that!" Coach yelled. "Would you mind walking the ball back here?" I saw Tanya and Katie whispering amongst themselves before looking at me with wicked grins, like they knew something I didn't.

"Uh, sure thing!" I said, doing just that at a leisurely pace. Coach looked around at the rest of the d-squad, who had given me a light round of applause and were now just milling around.

"Well?" Coach shouted at them. "What are you waiting for? GET HIM! *WHISTLE*"

GET HIM?!

Tanya and Katie had split up and were now barrelling towards me from two different directions. The rest of the squad had missed a step, but had formed an impressive defensive line as they advanced towards me. Unlike when Coach threw the ball, however, my body just stood there, a deer in the headlights. My brain was screaming MOVE IDIOT at me, and I had to will my legs to start running. Unfortunately, once they did get going, they took me directly towards the two leading defenders.

It must have surprised them, because I was able to dart through the gap between them. The next 30 seconds were... indistinct, and I can't remember precisely what happened apart from me jumping to my right to avoid a grasping hand and then trying to figure out how to get past the wall of women baring down on me. I think I saw another gap and ran for it. I recall ducking just in time to avoid getting clobbered. The only thing I'm really sure of at this point was standing next to Coach and handing her the ball.

"Here you go, Coach," I said, collapsing to the ground out of breath.

"Nice moves," she commented, tossing the ball around in her hands.

"No problem. What the hell was that?!" I countered. "Get him! Are you trying to get me killed?"

"At most, they would have shoved you around to force a fumble," Coach scoffed, "they wouldn't hit you that hard."

"They wouldn't need to! I'd have fallen apart like a crash test dummy!" I turned around to lie on my back and stare up at the sky as I recovered. I eventually turned my head to look up at Coach and Tanya, who'd walked over in the interim. "Seriously, though, what the hell?"

"I hate to say it," Tanya said, giving me that beautiful smile of hers, "but you've got some moves, Ace."

"Stacy and Donna thought it might be worth giving you a tryout," Coach added, "but that would be too high pressure with the entire team there, so I figured a bit of Kill the Guy with the Ball might ease you into it."

I shook my head. "I mean, sure, but I would have appreciated a warning first! Also, don't get any ideas, I'm not sure I could do that again on purpose, and I work Friday nights."

"Yeah, you keep saying you're no athlete," she said, giving me a smirk. "Still, I'm pretty impressed. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you'd been at wideout for a while."

"It did look like you teleported your way through the d-line," Tanya said approvingly, "I've never seen that before."

I sat up and looked at the other girls, who were all looking back at me with various combinations of curiosity, confusion, and wonder. Also lust. Quite a lot of that, too. I looked back at Coach and Tanya with a shrug.

"Flight response is a hell of a drug."

*****

The rest of PE, and the rest of the school day, passed uneventfully. There were some pointed invitations to shower with the rest of the defense which I gracefully declined (somewhat disappointedly, in Tanya's case), and my other classes went by in something of a blur. That day's schedule meant that I would be eating lunch without any of the usual crowd: I had study hall while everyone else had electives of some type, putting us all on different lunch periods. As I was eating, I remembered the recording I took in Mrs. LeBeau's office the previous day. I threw on some earbuds and started it up, mostly interested in the part of the discussion I wasn't present for. When it got to my blowing up at Superintendent Harding, the recording got a little weird, and my voice sounded like it was passing through an effects board. When the principal's voice sounded similarly, I chalked it up to us blowing the microphone out. Everything sounded fine after that, though.

"Incredible! Are you going to allow a student to speak to me like that?" Mrs. Harding sounded incensed, but also out of breath.

"I hate to say this," Mrs. LeBeau said, "but he has a point, Mary. Rhonda has been a problem student for almost her entire career here."

"This isn't the first stunt she's pulled like this," Coach Traeger said. "She has the run of the school, and anyone that tries to discipline her gets countermanded, which doesn't help at all."

"What are you saying?!" Mrs. Harding sounded offended, or chastised, I couldn't tell which.

"I'm saying she's off the team. For good."

"And facing suspension. I know," Mrs. LeBeau sounded like she was cutting the superintendent off, "it wasn't a school function, but Miss Bourne was utterly terrified of returning to school while your daughter remains at large. Also, there were several members of the school newspaper's staff at that party as well, and you know what their response will be if Rhonda faces no punishment."

Melissa hadn't said anything about that, though having lunch with us might have helped without us knowing. I made a note to make sure she knew she could sit with us whenever she wanted. The optics problem didn't surprise me.

"*sigh* You're right, of course." Mrs. Harding was clearly resigned to it. "Suspension, then?"

"Three days, out-of-school. In addition to after-school activity restrictions."

"And Miss Martinez?"

"The same, though I believe she will be suspended from the team rather than expelled. She, at least, seems to realize the gravity of the situation and is remorseful."

"Very well." The rustling of chairs indicated the superintendent's departure, and I stopped the recording. That explained a few things, at least, though it didn't explain Mrs. Harding's apparent arousal on her way out of the office. Probably just the stress of the situation, I remember thinking at the time. At least, I hoped that's all it was.

At that moment, my attention was drawn across the lunchroom to a round of applause as Kate Baxter hung campaign posters in the administration-approved locations and manner. If you can picture Reese Witherspoon's character Tracy Flick from the film Election, you wouldn't be far-off: blonde ringlets just off the collar, clear bluish-green eyes, winning smile, cheerily ruthless attitude. We didn't run in the same circles and that was fine by me, there was something about her that rubbed me the wrong way. Not her determination to be class president, that was understandable and I couldn't fault her drive. Maybe it was the insincere, slightly plastic cast to her personality; maybe it was how she'd demanded makeouts at Stacy Keebler's sweet sixteen party and how deeply offended she was when I'd declined; I don't know. That entire business revealed a side of her that she kept well-hidden from the cameras.

Unfortunately, she caught me looking her way and waved before starting over. I thought I had just enough time to grab my things and vamoose, but I'd misjudged how long it would take to get my calc textbook in my messenger bag.

"Hey, Ace!" Kate said brightly. "Great story about you in the paper, huh?" I suddenly got a strong whiff of stale orange sherbet ginger ale punch, because of course she would smell like an awkward church social hour.

"Hi, Kate," I said, wincing. "Yeah, it was alright, I guess. Amy likes to exaggerate things sometimes."

Kate laughed brightly, briefly touching my shoulder in 'sympathy.' Really, everything she did had the intensity of, and in some ways felt like, staring directly into the sun. "She sure does! Still, you gotta make nice with the press sometimes, right?"

"You're the authority," I said, adding "gods help us" under my breath.

"So, I can count on your vote, right?" she asked, offering me a gaudy "Kate Baxter for President" button. It seemed she'd drawn the attention of the entire lunch room to us, and I suddenly recognized the low cunning at play. Getting my commitment to supporting her now would be a clear endorsement, and her ascendence would be assured. I found the entire business distasteful, but I knew I couldn't slap the button out of her hands like I wanted without inviting comment.

"Well," I hedged, "there's still some time left to mull over the issues, I wasn't planning on making a decision until the debates, at least. Who knows? Maybe I'll throw my hat in and make you work for it!"

I detected a slight movement at the corners of Kate's mouth, and her eyes both widened and hardened; I'd just described her nightmare scenario, and it pissed her off. She recovered quickly, however, laughing a little too hard and placing the button in front of me on the table. "Well, if you decide not to run, I hope you'll keep me in mind! I've got the best interests of our class at heart!"

I nodded and she whirled off to glad-handle elsewhere. I looked at the button briefly before flicking it off the table like a paper football. "Best interests of your college applications, you mean."

"Can I quote you on that?" Amy Hauser said to my back, startling me.

"God damn it, woman!" I said. "Warn a guy before you start interrogating him! And no, you may not!"

"Seriously," she said, sitting down next to me and unpacking her lunch, "you should run."

"Absolutely not, I said that to get her goat a little and that's it. I'm the last person that should be seeking political office, especially given certain extracurricular activities in which I may or may not have participated, and in which I may or may not enthusiastically participate in future. Visual evidence of which may OR MAY NOT eventually be available for a reasonable, ongoing monthly contribution to a joint college fund."