Contest And Consequence

by Sarah Bayen

Part Thirteen

 

I stepped through the door, and shut it quickly behind me. I leant against it, and bit my lip, and took a deep breath, wondering how I might explain to my Mum why I had turned up, yet again, wearing girl's clothes.

"Is that you Steve?" asked my mother's voice.

"Yes," I replied. I wondered for a second whether I could sneak upstairs and change before she saw me dressed in my work outfit, but it was not to be. She walked into the hall straight away, and stopped as she saw me, with surprise on her face.

"Oh," she said, looking me up and down. "I didn't think you were going to dress as a girl today?"

"I wasn't," I admitted, looking sheepishly at her. "It's just that," I hesitated. "Well, I had to go into work after school."

She looked at me disbelievingly for a moment, and shook her head.

"Sorry," I offered.

She looked at me again, and shrugged her shoulders. "Well, there's no need to apologise. You look very smart actually."

"Thank you," I managed to reply.

"But I wouldn't let your father see you like that. Get yourself changed, and then you can get on with the cooking. There isn't any time to waste."

I smiled at her. The confrontation hadn't been as bad as I thought it might have been. I rushed upstairs, threw my bag down on the bed, and started to unbutton my blouse.

"Hurry up Steve!" she shouted up the stairs. "It's later than I thought it was. We'd best get started."

The worst thing about girl's clothes I had discovered was that they took so long to put on, and even longer to take off. I stared at myself in my bra in the mirror, and decided that, to save time, I might as well keep it on. If I wore a baggy enough top over it, it probably wouldn't notice. I did take the precaution of removing the padding, however, and found myself an old football shirt to wear. I unzipped the skirt, and took that and the slip off, before finding an old pair of tracksuit bottoms to put on. The tights and knickers could stay on the same principle as the bra. I quickly checked myself in the mirror, and smiled. I looked like a smaller, and rather more delicate version of Liz in my new outfit. Pleased with myself, I rushed downstairs to the kitchen.

"Right," my Mum said, seeing me arrive. "The ingredients are all there, and here's the recipe book. It's all down to you then!"

My mouth opened in surprise. "Aren't you going to help?"

"No," she stated firmly. "I've cooked meals in this house for nearly twenty years. It's about time someone else had a go."

I thought about pleading with her, but saw from her face that she was determined. I walked over to the kitchen side, and looked at the book, helpfully left opened on the page headed Spaghetti Bolognaise. There were a couple of pictures of an immaculately prepared meal, which I guessed was the standard I should be aiming for. It sneered at me from the page, daring me to even attempt to emulate it.

The next hour was absolute chaos. It seemed to me that everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I struggled to get the measurements right, and had to think long and hard what the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon might be. The minced meat I was using was a bit fatty, or so it seemed to me, and pealing the mushrooms took me forever, trying to strip tiny bits of flesh off the washed white things.

I was sweating profusely, both from the heat of the cooking, and the stress of the moment. This was important, I kept telling myself. I had to prove to Liz that I was competent at more than looking good in a cheerleading outfit, otherwise our relationship would always be based on me just sitting there looking pretty. It was also important that I fed her properly before her big game. She would need lots of energy, and protein and whatever, to be able to run around the field and score lots of goals and stuff. I just had to get it right.

My Dad came in while I was half way through, and demanded a cup of tea, which was a distraction I could have done without. The sauce decided at that moment to reach a heat where it could easily stick to the pan unless I constantly stirred it. For some inexplicable reason, I had also decided that we should have a starter, and I was half way through trying to slice a melon into attractive shaped slices.

After five minutes he came back through. "Where's my tea? A man could die of thirst waiting for a drink in here."

"Can't you do it yourself?" I snapped in reply, running from pan to the chopping board in a frenetic but largely ineffective frenzy.

He looked at me in surprise. "I can't even see the kettle, you've got so much stuff out all over the place." And with that, he walked back through to the living room.

Nearly in tears, I filled the kettle, and put it on, while running quickly back to attend to the sauce, and to consider how I might start on the pasta. The melon slices were looking ridiculously plain, nothing like the beautiful little boats in the recipe book. I wished I hadn't tried to exceed myself by doing those as well, and I hadn't even thought of a desert yet.

The kettle boiled, and I took some time out to make teas for Mum and Dad. I tried shouting through to them that it was ready, but there was no response. With a quick stir of the sauce, I rushed through with the cups to the living room, and plonked them down on the coffee table, slopping them more than a little.

"Careful," my Dad advised, rather belatedly. I didn't bother to reply. I had to get back to the kitchen to take care of the developing chaos. Stirring the sauce once more, and cursing it for sticking to the pan, I scanned through the dessert pages in the recipe book to see if there was anything I might be able to do.

Liz chose this moment to arrive. I heard the doorbell, and hoping that my Mum or Dad might open it, I ignored it for a while.

"It's your guest!" My Dad unhelpfully announced, signalling his intention that I should open the door. Cursing his lack of understanding, I wiped my hands on a towel, and rushed down the hall to do so. Liz smiled at me as she stood there, and handed me a huge box of chocolates, wrapped in a pale pink ribbon.

"For you," she announced, smiling, and she bent down to kiss me on the lips.

"As if my bum isn't big enough already," I mumbled, standing aside to let her in. "Come on through. You'll have to entertain yourself in the front room for a minute, I'm still cooking."

"That's fine," she said, smiling again at me. She went through to the living room, and announced her arrival. I left her talking to my Dad, and went back into the kitchen from hell.

I decided eventually that a simple fruit salad would probably suffice for dessert. I started peeling and chopping the fruit to get this ready, while keeping an eye on the bubbling sauce, and the slow to boil water, which was going to receive the pasta.

My Dad stuck his head around the door. "Aren't you going to offer your friend a drink?" he enquired.

"I haven't got time!" I snapped. "If she wants one, she can do it herself."

Looking a bit surprised, he raised his eyebrows and went back into the living room. The water eventually boiled, and I poured the pasta into it, carefully checking the time. I was determined to follow the recipe slavishly on timing, regardless of whether the thing looked ready or not.

I had the bright idea to liven up the appearance of the melon boats by throwing a couple of cherries onto each of them. The result looked all right at first, but I soon noticed that the cherries were staining the pale flesh of the melons, and cursed myself for being so stupid. Liz was going to think I was completely incompetent.

Ten minutes to go. Suddenly, with a sense of horror, I realised that I hadn't set the table in the dinning room at all. I glanced at all my charges, now nearing completion, and told them to behave themselves while I was away. To my horror, the dinning room was in a mess! My Mum had left out all sorts of books and magazines all over the table, together with some cups and a plate left over from her lunch. How could she have been so thoughtless!

With tears forming in my eyes in frustration, I swept all the books and magazines together, and put them behind the curtain on the window shelf. I rushed the cups and plate through to the kitchen, and then rushed back to put a cloth onto the table. I managed to find a nice plain white one, which after a bit of coaxing, agreed to sit more or less centrally on the table.

I got out some place mats, and arranged these, together with the cutlery. I wondered for a moment what the best sort of implements to eat melon with would be, but was limited in my choices anyway, so I took a guess. As a final touch, I put a vase of flowers in the middle of the table, and pausing only briefly to check on the effect, rushed back into the kitchen.

The pasta had decided to boil over, so that was my first task when I got back. There was a gooey mess all over the hob, but I decided that could wait while I checked on the melon boats. The red stains from the cherries were even worse now, and it looked as if the melon slices had been involved in a particularly nasty road traffic accident. God, Liz was going to think I was a complete idiot now!

I stirred the sauce again, and grimaced as I realised how much had elected to stick to the pan. It was going to taste dreadful and burnt, I decided, and found myself close to tears again. To make matters worse, I heard my parents and Liz laughing in the front room.

I looked at myself quickly, in my mini Liz outfit. It was a mistake, I decided. I should have at least made some effort to dress properly for dinner. Perhaps there would be time to do so before I served up? I looked at the merrily boiling pasta, and decided that that was out of the question. Pity, it would have been good to slip into a nice top, and maybe my denim mini skirt; Liz thought I looked good in that. I shook my head to get the thought out of my mind; besides, I told myself sharply, what was I doing imagining I could dress like that for dinner with my Dad?

The pasta was definitely done. I could leave it as it was, I decided, and then reheat it once we had eaten the starters. This was it then, it was time to call the lambs to their slaughter. I turned the sauce down as low as it would go, and picked up my wounded melon slices to take through to the dinning room. As I did so, I dropped one, and it fell to the floor almost in slow motion in front of me, before shattering on the tiles. Carefully, I placed the others back onto the side, and then burst into tears.

"Is everything okay?" my mother asked, coming into the room at the sound of the shattering plate.

"No," I shouted between sobs. "It's all gone wrong!"

She took me in her arms. "There there," she soothed. "It'll be all right. There's some more melon left isn't there?"

I nodded glumly.

"Well there you go then. You make up a replacement one, and I'll take these through for you. By the way, have you got the wine ready?"

"The wine?" I asked. Oh God, I had completely forgotten about that. "No, I'll do it now."

"Well we only need it for the main course, but it's suppose to breath a bit first." Mum told me sympathetically.

"Breathe?" I asked.

"Yes. You have to open it, and let it have some air."

I nodded, and cut another slice of melon. At least someone was going to have a starter that didn't look as if it belonged in hospital. I got the wine out, and opened the bottle leaving it on the side as my Mum came back in.

"Come here," she said, wiping my face. "You've made your mascara run."

Oh God, that was even worse. I had completely forgotten to take off the make up I'd worn for the meeting with David in the shop. Now I probably looked a complete mess, as well as a complete incompetent.

"That's better," she said, after much rubbing. "I doubt that Liz will notice. Shall I call them through for you?"

I nodded at her, fighting back more tears.

"You might want to put some shoes on too," she added, nodding downwards at my feet. I looked down. There were my feet, poking out from the tracksuit bottom, and pretty obviously wearing tights. I gasped, what if my Dad had noticed them? I rushed up to my bedroom to find a pair of slippers and put them on, before returning to the scene of my disasters. Liz and Dad were sitting at the table, looking at the bizarre fayre that was being offered them. I sat myself dutifully down opposite Liz, and watched intently to see what her reaction was going to be.

"This looks nice," she said brightly, picking up a fork to inflict new damage on the already terminally injured melon.

"Yes," my Dad agreed, doing the same. To my shame, the uninjured melon had somehow been allocated to me. While the others tucked into theirs, I turned mine over and over on the plate. I was simply too wound up to eat, and watched each mouthful

Liz took to see if she grimaced, or if she was able to suppress this natural reaction out of politeness.

Somehow everyone except me managed to finish the fruit, and once they had done so, I rose to collect the evidence before it could be held against me. "I'll go and get the main course," I said nervously.

"And the wine I hope," Dad suggested. He seemed full of ideas for extra work for me to do tonight. Back in the kitchen, I first of all checked on the sauce. It had managed to stick itself even firmer to the base; it was going to be a disaster. I turned the gas off entirely, and started the pasta up again, while I returned to the dining room with the wine and some glasses. Dad and Liz were as always in some animated discussion about football. Giving my Mum a knowing look, I hurried back to the kitchen to try and retrieve the situation.

I served up the pasta once it had warmed through. It looked a bit of a funny colour to me, although I put that down to letting it stand in lukewarm water while we ate our starters. Serving the sauce was the difficult bit. A lot of the meat had managed to sink to the bottom, and stick to the pan itself. I had to make a delicate balance between scrapping enough of it off to make a proper meal, but not so much as to introduce too many burnt bits into it. This really was proving a terrible experience for me; I just hoped I wasn't going to poison anybody.

With a quick last glance at the fruit salads, I walked through with the plates to the dinning room, serving Dad and Liz first, and then returning with plates for Mum and I. I had given us rather less than the other two; I knew my Mum didn't appreciate big portions, and I certainly wasn't in the mood for a huge meal. Not so much for the sake of my bum, although that still played on my mind, but because I was by now a nervous wreck.

"Parmesan?" my Dad asked pointedly, as I put my plate down. Damn, he would have to point out my mistake to Liz. I hurried back into the kitchen to get the smelly cheese he liked so much, and at last sat down to play with my food some more.

I waited with trepidation to see what Liz made of it. I had to wait a little longer, because, like my Dad, she wanted some cheese on her meal as well. Not a bad idea, I supposed, considering it was going to taste so bad. Dad then delayed matters more by pouring the wine for us all in turn.

"Here's to the cook," he said, raising his glass. Liz did the same, and smiled at me. "He'll make someone a lovely wife one day at this rate," Dad added.

"I'm sure he will," Liz agreed, her eyes darting at me brightly while I blushed.

Then the moment arrived. I watched attentively as Liz expertly picked up a forkful of pasta, and some sauce, and took it to her mouth. She blew on it gently, and then stuffed it in. I stared at her face, waiting for some sign of disgust to show. She chewed a few times, and then nodded. "It's pretty good," she said.

"Yes," Dad agreed from the head of the table. "Not bad at all."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and even tried a little of the meal myself. Like they had said, it wasn't too bad. Not poisonous anyway. We talked and munched our way through it, and fortunately, Dad and Liz were so engrossed about whether some incident or other had really been a penalty in a football match they had evidently both watched on TV that they didn't notice that I had hardly touched mine.

After a suitable pause, I collected the plates, and took them back to the kitchen. Only the dessert to go now, and the ordeal would be over. I put the four bowls on a tray and took them through to the dining room. "Very nice," my Dad commented, as I put the fruit in front of him. "I'm not sure about having fruit for a starter and a dessert, but it looks quite good anyway."

"Very nice," Liz agreed.

I managed to eat all of mine, although I went without the cream which Liz and Dad added to theirs. This, I have to confess, was for the sake of my bum, which for some reason, with Liz in the room, was beginning to feel large again.

"Excellent, what about coffee?" my Dad said eventually. I meekly began to rise to go and make some when my Mum put her hand on my arm.

"I'll do it dear," she said, smiling. "I expect you and Liz would like to go out and spend some time together."

"What about the washing up?" I asked.

"I'll sort that out. You go and enjoy yourselves," she replied, smiling.

I looked shyly at Liz, who was grinning at me. "Sounds good to me," she said, without taking her eyes off of me. "Don't worry," she said to my Dad. "I'll make sure he gets back at a reasonable time."

"Oh, yes," my Dad said, falteringly. "I'm sure we can trust you."

Liz stood up, and walked towards the door. "Perhaps I should get changed," I said, nervously.

"Don't worry, you look lovely as you are!" Liz assured me.

We said our goodbyes, and she led me off to her car, opening the door for me to step in. We drove a little way out into the country, and stopped in a small lay by, and she put her arm around me. I snuggled down onto her chest.

"That was a nice meal Sarah," she complimented me.

"I'm glad you liked it," I replied, truthfully.

She bent down, and gently inserted her tongue into my mouth, as I turned to face her. I loved this woman. Her hands stroked my shoulders and neck, and I lost myself in the magic of her caresses. I thought of floating clouds, and dappled hills, and little baby Amy. Her hand slowly but deliberately pulled my football shirt out of my tracksuit, and her hands began rubbing my tummy. I felt a bit worried for a moment. That was beginning to look fat to me as well, but the pressure of her insistent tongue made me forget even that.

Her hands played me like a musical instrument, and every stroke produced in me a note of exquisite pleasure that rippled around my body. Slowly they inched higher, and her hands began to play with my bra. Oh God, I thought to myself; she can feel I'm wearing a bra, she'll think I'm really odd now! But her tongue continued its playful exploration of the inside of my mouth, dancing with my own tongue in intricate and delicate circles.

She cupped one of my nipples in her hand, and began to massage it with excruciating but delightful gentleness. I heard myself moan lightly, as my head span in circles, and I eagerly pressed my mouth to hers. This was just so wonderful, I thought, as my head filled with images of moonlit beaches, and soft waves, and weddings.

Her hand moved now, and slowly pulled at the waistband of my tracksuit. She slipped it inside, and I felt her touch the nylon of my tights, before slowly heading further down. I managed to free one of my own hands to reciprocate, and she eagerly allowed it to descend.

We separated for air. "You're well defended tonight," she whispered. I looked at her with misty eyes, and shook my head to show I didn't understand. "Two pairs of knickers as well as your tights," she explained, smiling. Oh God, I thought, she's going to criticise me for wearing girl's underwear.

"I didn't have time to change," I began to explain. She put a finger against my lips to silence me, and then inserted her tongue back inside, as her hand slipped further down. I moaned again as her hand slipped over my top pair of knickers, and down between my legs, stopping to stroke the inside of my thighs.

I eagerly found the place on her I was looking for, and began to do what I knew she wanted. Both stroking, and kissing, we stayed like this for several minutes, before I felt her body begin to tense, and then arch, and then explode. She pulled her face away from me to breathe, and I followed her with teasing kisses on her neck, before allowing myself to come to rest on her.

"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed, when her breathing returned to something like normal. "You are so bloody good at that."

I smiled up at her, and snuggled down some more. I thought I should let her rest a little, before seeing if she wanted any dessert.

Suddenly a light shone through the window on my side, followed by a tap on the glass. In panic, I pulled myself off Liz, who too was glaring at the intrusion.

"Are you all right love," came a woman's voice. The torch shone away from my face, and towards Liz's, and I could make out the shape of a face with a hat.

"Good God, you're both girls!" the voice exclaimed. "Judging by your ages, that's probably illegal."

"I'm not a girl," I protested. The torch immediately shone back on me.

"You must be joking," the female voice went on. "Hang on though. You might be right. God, you're not are you?"

I didn't bother to reply.

"Right, make yourselves decent, and step out of the car please," the voice commanded. I pulled my shirt down over my bra, and my tracksuit up over my tights and knickers, and opened the door, stepping out into the twilight. Liz did the same on the other side of the car. She came around to my side and put her arm around me protectively.

Standing with us, taller than me, but considerably shorter than Liz, was a police officer, wearing a blue buttoned shirt, and drill trousers, as well as her peaked cap. She was joined by a similarly dressed colleague, and I saw their panda car, lights ablaze, parked further down in the lay by.

"What have we got here Shelley?" the newcomer asked, in an official and unfriendly manner.

"A couple of lovers," officer Shelley explained, shining the torch on us again. "This one claims," she said with emphasis, "to be a boy."

The newcomer came over, and stared me in the face. "Well I suppose he could be," she conceded. "But he's not much over fourteen if he is. Whereas this one," she said, turning to Liz, who I could tell was getting angry. "Is twenty if she's a day."

Officer Shelley circled us, brandishing her torch as a weapon. "So it looks as if we might have a case of underage sex, and maybe lesbianism as well."

"Lesbianism's not an offence," the newcomer pointed out.

"It is if you're fourteen," the other officer went on. Shelley shrugged, and shone her torch at me again.

"So you're a boy are you?" she asked pointedly. I nodded. She circled some more. "So why are you wearing a bra and knickers? I saw that through the car window."

"It's up to him what he wears," Liz pointed out through gritted teeth.

"I wasn't asking you!" Shelley retorted, shining the torch into Liz's face, causing her to turn her eyes away. She turned her attention to me again. "Well?"

"Because I want to. I like it." I replied.

She circled around again. "Sounds a bit perverted to me," she said. "What do you think Tash?"

Officer Tash stepped forward, and looked closely at me. "I don't know," she said. "I'm still not really convinced he's a boy. I think they're dirty lesbians, knocking each other off on the public highway."

I sensed Liz tensing beside me, and knew that the officers were trying to wind her up. If she got violent now, there would be no end of trouble. "Well I am a boy," I said, lifting my shirt up to my neck. "I've got a bra on, but if you care to look, there's nothing in it."

The officers looked surprised, and a little embarrassed by my gesture. I decided to try and press the advantage. "Go on, look," I said, holding my position.

"There's no need for that," Shelley conceded eventually. "You're either a boy, or a pre pubescent girl, I can see that."

"Thank you," I said, with sarcasm.

"But that doesn't mean that there's no underage sex," Tash put in. "I bet she's older than you isn't she?"

"So?" I asked, with some defiance.

"Did she make you wear that stuff then, so she could have her way with you?"

"No," I said, as calmly as I could. "I told you. I like wearing it, it makes me feel nice."

They continued to circle, eventually Shelley broke into a smile. "Well good on you," she said to Liz. "I like this."

"Yeah," agreed Tash. "Snogging a young boy dressed in a bra and panties. I like that."

"I can think of one or two of the officers down at the station I'd like to do that to," Shelley suggested, looking at Tash. "That would teach them a lesson wouldn't it?"

Tash laughed. "Yes. Maybe we should do it to Alan. He's always making a nuisance of himself."

"Yeah," agreed Shelley, laughing with her colleague.

Liz and I made no move during all of this, but I found her hand and held it, to make sure she kept her calm.

"All right," Tash said at length. "We'll let you off. But don't keep clogging up the public highway with your late night antics will you?"

"No officer," I said in the sweetest voice I could muster. "And thank you for being so understanding."

She looked at me, trying to decipher the level of sarcasm. At length she nodded, and the two of them walked slowly back to their car. We waited until they were gone, and Liz, breaking free of me, violently pounded her fists against the roof of her vehicle.

"They make me so angry!" she snarled, turning around to make a rude gesture at the departing vehicle.

"It doesn't matter," I said soothingly. "They've gone now."

"Why don't they mind they're own bloody business?" Liz demanded. "We weren't doing anybody any harm."

"I know," I said, trying to take her arm, but she shook it away.

"It makes me feel, I don't know!" she said, picking up a broken log, and smashing it against a tree, so that it shattered into several fragments.

I thought about how best to calm her down. "Stop it Liz," I said, softly, and rather pathetically. "You're frightening me."

Her demeanour changed almost immediately. "I'm sorry," she said, solicitously putting her arm around my shoulders. "I got a bit carried away."

"It's all right," I said, leaning against her. "Perhaps we should get back home anyway."

"Yes, perhaps we should," she agreed, and leant over to kiss me again. We got back into the car, and she drove the short distance back home. We parked outside the gate.

"Do you want to come in for a coffee or something?" I asked.

She looked at me and smiled. "I'd rather have the something," she said, suggestively. I playfully punched her arm, and we both got out of the car, and I let her into the house.

"It's only us," I announced. "We're just going to have a quick coffee."

"Or something," Liz whispered in my ear, sending delicious shivers down my spine.

I made the coffee, and we stopped and chatted in the kitchen, which miraculously my Mum had turned from the scene of a bomb assisted burglary to something resembling a room for the preparation of food.

Liz held my hand across the table, as I listened to her talking. Her voice was like a symphony to me, and I listened to its tone and timbre rather than the content. I was rather surprised, when I suddenly realised she had asked me a question.

"So why do you like me?"

I looked at her, and shook myself back to a different sort of consciousness. "I don't know," I mumbled. "I just do."

"But why?" she insisted.

"Well, you're so cool, and confident," I began. "You always seem to be in charge of things. I like that."

She smiled at me. "Go on," she insisted.

I helped myself to one of the chocolates she had bought me. I thought I deserved it after the evening I had had, regardless of my bum. "You're just fishing for compliments." I accused her.

"No I'm not," she said. "I just want to know."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Well, you're always nice to me," I went on. "You take care of me and stuff like that."

She smiled again, and squeezed my hand. "And what would you change about me if you could?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No, I can't answer that." I protested.

"Go on!" she insisted. "I'm sure there's something."

I bit my lip. "Well all right," I said. "If I could change something, it would be to make you forget I was only fifteen!"

She stared back at me, and smiled. "What?"

"I wish you thought I was sixteen," I said, nervously. "Then maybe we could, you know."

She looked at me and smiled again. "Sarah!" she said in mock horror. "I hope you don't mean what I think you mean!"

I tried to look coy. "I might do," I said, hopefully enigmatically. "And what about me? What do you like about me?" I asked, looking deep into her eyes.

"Oh God!" she said. "What's not to like? You're pretty, and sweet, and gentle and caring. Anybody would love you."

"Do you love me then?" I asked, deliberately pouting a little.

"I just said so didn't I?" she said. "Yes, Sarah, I love you."

My heart jumped with joy. She had said it; I leant forward, and encouraged her to kiss me, which she did.

"And what would you change about me, if you could?" I asked, turning the tables on her.

"Nothing!" she insisted. "You're perfect, you know that."

"Of course I'm not," I went on. "Come on, tell me!"

She hesitated, and then looked at me. "Well all right. If there was one thing I could change, it would be to make you sixteen, How's that?"

I smiled at her. "It'll do. Well perhaps we can pretend I am then. It'll only be cheating by a few months."

She looked at me. "Are you sure?" she asked me.

"I'm very sure," I replied, squeezing her hand, and letting her kiss me again.

All too soon, my Mum and Dad came through from the living room in a none to subtle attempt to hurry us along. Liz said her goodbyes, and we had another long kissing session on the front step before I reluctantly let her go. Closing the door behind me, with a huge self-satisfied grin on my face, I went to bed, and slept with wonderful dreams of what might come of the evening.

The next morning it was cloudy, and a little cooler than it had been of late. I supposed this would probably be good for the girls playing in the match, and let this act as a solace. I got myself ready without incident, picking out the pink fluffy knickers that Liz had bought me to wear. As I walked to the station, I hoped they wouldn't show under my cheerleading uniform.

Anita still wasn't on the train. Obviously I had upset her so much that she was going to take the rest of the week off, rather than have to face me. I was a bit disappointed by that. Sue took the opportunity of the train journey to press me further and harder about David's offer of working through the summer. She had spoken to Anita on the phone the previous evening, who had apparently agreed in principle to work two days a week there. I was a little uncomfortable about that; working with Anita might be difficult, but I needed to tell her about Liz and me. Maybe she would be all right about it, and we could work without any undue friction.

Despite Sue's probing, I refused to commit myself. I had until Saturday to make up my mind anyway, and I saw no reason to rush the decision. It was pretty obvious Sue was all fired up for this. She saw it as an easy way into her preferred profession of retail. She could reasonably claim on her CV that she had run a fashion store at an early age. I knew it was important to her, and I wanted to help. But I really did want to talk to my parents, or at least my Mum, before committing myself. Sue was a little cross with me, but I think she saw my point.

The morning at school was pretty uneventful. I had a quick chat to Lawrence, who true to his word, was still dressed in his schoolgirl uniform, the only person at school, male or female, who was wearing such a thing. I also saw Peter, who looked less happy. Apparently Chrissie had given him a really bad time for not being able to show up Janet. He was still happy to go along with the cheerleading, though, which was good.

Liz was entirely taken up with getting ready for the match, which was to kick off at two o'clock. At just gone twelve, Peter, Lawrence and I met up by the changing blocks to get ready. The rooms would be needed by the girls to change for the match, so we had agreed to get ready early. Lawrence greeted us both with a little hug and an air kiss, and seeing that the changing room was already open, we entered with our things.

I have to say I was quite pleased to be taking off my jeans. More and more, their rubbing on my legs was irritating me, and they felt inappropriate for the summer, even though today was colder than it had been. If felt good too, to put a bra on. Somehow my chest had got used to having itself wrapped up in one, although I could hardly claim that my physique necessitated wearing one. Soon we were dressed, and in front of the mirrors fixing our make up and hair.

"How are you getting along with Liz?" Lawrence asked me, as we both applied our mascara.

"Fine," I replied brightly. "She's nice."

"Yes," he said knowingly. He turned to me with a cheeky grin on his face. "Have you let her, you know, get very far yet?"

Peter turned to see what my answer might be. I was taken aback by this intrusion into my private life, but decided not to let it show. I also decided that honesty was the best policy.

"No," I quickly said. "We don't think we should do too much until I'm sixteen."

"I'm not sixteen," Lawrence pointed out, as he started on his eye shadow. "That doesn't stop Max."

"Well Liz is a gentleman," I said, pouting into the mirror to prepare myself for my lipstick.

Lawrence gave a look of mock horror. "And you're saying that Max isn't?"

I smiled at him, and shrugged.

"Well," he acknowledged. "Not in that way perhaps. Still, I don't mind." We all giggled at our daring.

"I wonder if I could get myself a girlfriend like you two have," Peter mused, brushing the blonde wig Nancy had given him through and through, to make it look nice and silky. "It seems to be good fun, and easier if you let them dress you up a bit."

"I don't see why not," Lawrence responded. "There seems to be plenty around. You were very popular with the football team yesterday."

"Not so popular as you!" he retorted, and we found ourselves giggling again.

"You seemed to let Liz monopolise you Sarah," Lawrence said to me. "I'm sure some of the girls would have liked to have examined your uniform a bit more closely if she hadn't ushered you away."

"It's Steve," I corrected him. "Well, she had got a bit of a prior claim on me."

"Ooh prior claim is it?" Lawrence cooed in friendly satire. "Maybe you're not so pure as you make out Miss Sweetheart!" He and Peter giggled again.

There was a knock on the door, and Lawrence, now more or less fully made up, went to answer it. It was one of the football team enquiring how much longer we were going to be.

"Not long now!" he said brightly. "We're nearly finished!"

He strolled back in, and began tying his wig back into a ponytail. "I should have let her in really," he mused as he did so. "You could have auditioned her as your girlfriend Ronnie!" We all giggled again at the thought of the poor girl having to sit there while we prettied ourselves up.

Soon we were ready to go. We had a quick group hug to wish ourselves luck, and walked proudly through the door. The two football teams were milling around in little huddles on the grass near the changing rooms. We smiled our best smiles, and I could see some pride on the faces of our team. The opposition, from a local school, looked on in amazement.

"Are they really boys?"

"My God they look fantastic."

"I wish we could get the boys at our school to do that."

"Look at her tits!"

"I wish I had legs like that."

To go with these and other comments, there was a spontaneous burst of applause, which somehow made me feel quite warm inside. We were quickly surrounded and isolated by groups of the girls in three little circles. As soon as mine had formed, however, I felt Liz by my side, and all but two or three of my suitors disappeared to join the other throngs.

"You look as gorgeous as ever," Liz told me.

"Thank you," I said. "You look pretty good too." And she did, in her tracksuit and fleeced jumper. It felt good to have her arm around my shoulder.

"But they look so real!" I heard someone say, over by Lawrence's group, as Liz steered me protectively away from the other girls. She stopped some distance away, and turned to face me, smiling down at me with her big blue eyes.

"Aren't you going to wish me luck?" she asked, placing her hands on my hips.

I smiled back at her. "Do you need it?"

She shrugged. "Well a good luck kiss wouldn't go amiss."

I lifted my head a little, and she bent down and kissed me. I opened my lips to let her enter, and she moved one hand to the back of my neck, as I raised myself up on my toes. We carried on for a few moments, before the sound of catcalls and general jeering from her teammates made me pull away.

"They're just jealous," she said to me smiling.

"Maybe, but you ought to go and join them," I told her, still holding on to her shoulders. Reluctantly she agreed. A gust of wind caught the hem of my tiny skirt, and I put my hand down to steady it, and shivered.

"Are you cold?" Liz asked me.

"A bit," I admitted.

She immediately began to pull off her fleecy jumper, and handed it to me. "Come on," she said. "Put it on."

"I'm all right," I protested.

"Go on," she said. "You're cold, and I can't imagine you're afraid to wear a girl's jumper are you?"

With some hesitation, I took the jumper, and slipped it over my head. It was miles too big for me, and hung below my skirt half way down my thighs. It felt good though, warm, and infused with the essence of Liz. She kissed me again, and we walked back towards the changing rooms.

I was surprised to see the other girls arguing with each other about who should offer Peter and Lawrence their jumpers. It seemed as if Liz had started a trend. Lawrence eventually made his choice from at least five different offers, picking one of the girls from our school out of loyalty. Seeing this, Peter did the same.

Nancy and the coach from the other school appeared at this point, and ushered the girls into the changing rooms to get ready for the match, and to discuss tactics. The three of us were at a bit of a loss, and sat ourselves down on a bench just outside, and chatted amongst ourselves for a while.

Slowly, and in pairs, the football players re-emerged, and began kicking balls to one another. One of the opposition had the cheek to come over and ask us for a kiss, but Lawrence shooed her away fairly good heartedly. I looked occasionally over to see if Liz had come out, but there was no sign of her as yet.

"Did you want to run through the routines?" Peter suggested.

"No, I don't think so. Not with them all looking anyway," Lawrence replied, looking over at the girls, some of whom were now stretching and warming up.

"We ought to warm up as well," I suggested.

"Maybe, but we'll leave it a bit," Lawrence replied.

"Hey, listen!" Peter suddenly whispered. "You can hear them talking in there."

Lawrence and I stopped our chatter, and turned our heads towards the wall. "You're right!" Lawrence exclaimed. "Shhh, I think it's your Liz!"

I listened carefully to the voices. Lawrence was right. It was Liz's voice in there, talking obviously to one of the other players.

"What's he like then?" a voice I didn't recognise asked.

"He's dead sexy," Liz's voice replied. "A real babe."

"They're talking about you!" Lawrence whispered, with obvious delight in his voice.

"Shhh," I urged him, anxious to hear Liz's opinions of me.

"Does he go then?" the unknown voice asked. Lawrence's mouth fell open, and he looked over to me, and then giggled silently.

"Well, yes." Liz responded. "He goes all right."

"Only I wondered," the stranger went on. "Being a bit girly and all that. Maybe he was, you know, a bit gay as well."

"Oh no," Liz assured her. "He's not gay. I mean, I have to take the lead, if you know what I mean, but I don't mind that."
"I bet you don't" the stranger went on. "And is he," she paused for effect. "Good?"

"Good?" Liz asked.

"Yeah," the unknown voice went on, urging her for a reply. "Is he worth it? He's not just a teaser is he? You do get what you want?"

There was a silence for a moment, and this time my mouth fell open. What sort of question was that to ask about me? And just as important, how would Liz reply?

"Oh yeah," Liz replied eventually. "I get exactly what I want. He shags like a rabbit, like a bitch on heat."

"Wow!" the stranger responded, with admiration in her voice. "Good for you! I'll have to try and get one for myself when I get the chance."

"I can recommend it. Come on, let's get outside."

The voices stopped, and Lawrence and Peter gave each other meaningful stares. I was in shock. How could Liz tell one of her friends that I shagged like a rabbit, when we hadn't even done anything? I was going to have to have a stern word with her, ruining my reputation like that. Bitch on heat indeed!

"Sarah Sweetheart!" Lawrence said, in an accusing tone. "You told me you had never gone all the way!"

"We haven't!" I protested weakly.

"Well Liz certainly seems to think you have!" he went on. "Well I never! You're a dark horse aren't you?"

I felt myself blushing. "Come on, we ought to warm up."

"From what Liz was saying it sounds as if you're hot enough anyway!" Peter added.

"Shut up!" I snapped. "She was just boasting."

"If you say so," Lawrence said. "Come on. Let's warm ourselves up then. I don't want to pull a muscle when we start."

"I should think Sarah might have pulled a muscle or two last night!" Peter put in, and he and Lawrence giggled again. I felt myself blushing.

"Stop it!" I said irritably. "Come on. Let's get ourselves ready."

We went around the building until we were more or less out of sight of the football players, and began our warming up exercises in silence. I was shocked, and a little disappointed with Liz. I could understand that she would want to appear big and clever in front of her friends, but I didn't see why she had to do it at the expense of my reputation; bitch on heat indeed! She would have to make a pretty good apology before she got more than a peck on the cheek from me again!

Once we felt stretched and warmed up enough, we ran through a couple of the routines, and this put me in a better mood. Lawrence took the lead as our coach, and put us through our paces well. After about a quarter of an hour, I saw Nancy approaching us.

"I was wondering where you were," she said

"We were just warming up and practicing a bit." Lawrence told her, as we stopped for breath.

"Good," Nancy responded. "Well, the kick off's in about ten minutes, you'd better get yourself pitch-side, and start playing the crowd."

"The crowd!" we all said in horror.

"Yeah," Nancy went on. "It's not huge, but there's a fair number of people who've come across to support the team."

We followed her, and to my dismay I saw she was right. There were about fifty or sixty people from the school dotted around the touchline. The vast majority were girls, presumably supporting their friends. Much as I might hate to admit it, Nancy was right; the boys paid very little attention to the sporting exploits of their female classmates.

There was something of a cheer as we showed up. We took off the fleeces the girls had lent us, and checked out our pompoms and other equipment. Then, with a nod from Lawrence, we were off.

The whole match was a daze to me. We pranced around for a crowd before the kick off, and led them in the cheering of the school name. Without any pause, I noticed that the players had moved onto the pitch, and still our routines went on without respite. It was exhilarating being the centre of attention for those few minutes. Then I heard a whistle from the centre of the pitch, and the match was on. We took the opportunity to take a break from our leaping and jumping, and watched the girls run around after the ball.

There was no score after ten minutes or so, when Nancy came over, and told us to start cheering again. Tired, but not exhausted, we did so, and went through all the routines we knew again, finishing with our 'on the knees' climax, that seemed to go down so well. I was feeling happy again, and flashed a genuine smile at the crowd, and at the players. We were stars! It didn't do the trick for the team, however, as after a few minutes more, the other school scored a goal.

We began cheering again with renewed vigour, trying by our exploits to urge the girls to further effort. Just in front of us, Andrea was tackled by one of the opposition with considerable violence. There were boos from the crowd, and we stopped our cheering. A whole melee of players seemed magically to have gathered in front of us, and there was a good deal of threatening, and swearing going on. I was shocked. The referee came over, and gradually restored order, and the match resumed.

Just then, the opposition scored their second goal, and the atmosphere of the crowd turned to depression. Nancy rushed over, and urged us to start cheering again, which we did, leaping and jumping, and shouting louder than ever before. With the last kick before half time, it had the desired effect. Andrea managed to kick the ball into the net, and on cue, the three of us jumped, and waived our pompoms frantically in the air.

At half time, the players gathered in two groups at opposite sides of the pitch, eating oranges, and drinking water and juice straight from the bottle. Their respective coaches stood with them, remonstrating about how the first half had gone. Lawrence, Peter and I took a welcome break. One of the girls in the crowd offered me a drink from her bottle, which I took with a smile.

"You're doing well!" she told me. "Better than the team is anyway."

"I'm sure they'll come through, "I said, more in hope than expectation.

"You're going out with Liz aren't you?" she asked. I looked at her. I didn't recognise her particularly, but I had seen her around the school. She was in Liz's year. I nodded, and she smiled knowingly. "She likes you a lot!" she said. "She's always talking about you."

"Is she?" I responded. I wondered whether this girl had heard that I shagged like a rabbit.

Then the match began again, and we started our cheering once more, urging the crowd to join in with the silly chants we had made up. There were a couple more rather ugly incidents on the pitch, and I saw Liz being spoken to firmly by the referee for some foul or other. I was outraged; as if my Liz would deliberately trip another player up! This outrage caused me to jump and leap with even more frenzy for the next few minutes, and then we exploded into further activity when one of our players managed to get a goal. Two goals each now, and the game was on.

Nancy rushed over, and told us to keep up the good work. That was easier said than done, as we were getting more than a little tired from all the effort. She had been right; cheerleading was a sport in its own right. As well as skill and grace, it took a whole lot of effort, as we were finding out.

There were about fifteen minutes to go, as we roused ourselves for another bout of leaping and jumping, and pompom waiving. The girl who had spoken to me earlier smiled, and told me that it looked as if the match would go into extra time. My God, I thought, there was no way we were going to be able to keep up this level of activity much longer.

To add to my feelings of despair and fatigue, the opposition managed to scramble a goal at that point. Liz and her friends were now loosing, and we would have to be seen to put in extra effort to urge them on. Taking a rare breather by sitting on the touchline, we all looked at each other, nodded, and began our cheering again.

I hardly saw Liz's first moment of glory in the match because I was unable to keep still. She told me later that she beat three of their players, one after the other, and then shot low to the keepers right or something. But whatever had happened, the crowd around us erupted into applause, and we did our 'scored a goal' routine once more.

I had mixed feelings I have to say about the goal. Even though we had been losing, the prospect of the end of the game approaching had appeared to me, and my shaking legs, like a port at the end of the storm. Now the ghastly spectre of extra time was heading my way again.

Summoning up reserves of energy I didn't know I had, I threw myself into another round of jumps and leaps, and silly little marches too and fro. Looking towards the pitch, I saw the ball soaring towards the oppositions goalmouth, and Liz, taller than most of the players, rising up to hit it with her head. It span off, and squeezed into the goal, spinning as it did so away from their goalkeeper. We were in the lead. We geared ourselves up for a frantic last five minutes of cheering, urging aching limbs to move, and pompoms to flap. It was probably the longest five minutes of my life. When the final whistle blew, rather than jump and down to do our 'winning' routine, the three of us simply collapsed on the floor, and we remained there while the crowd did the jumping, and ran on the pitch to salute their heroes.

We must have lain there for at least ten minutes, panting and closing our eyes in exhaustion. I was brought back to consciousness by a pair of hands being placed under my shoulders. I opened my eyes and saw an exuberant looking Liz, who lifted me, first to my feet, and then off them again, holding me around the waist.

"Put me down!" I gasped.

"We won!" she shouted, ignoring me, and swinging me round and around. "We won!" she repeated.

"I know, put me down." I said again. She did so, catching me as I descended, and thrusting her eager tongue into my mouth, none too gently.

"We've won the cup!" she said again, with an inane grin nearly splitting her face. "And you made all the difference!"

"Oh I doubt that." I muttered.

"You did!" she exclaimed, lifting me up again. "The other side just said so! They reckon that if they had had some cheerleaders they would have been able to hold on. This is one American tradition that we're going to keep going now!"

She let me slip to the floor again, but kept her hands on my waist. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I smiled back at her in admiration. She was hardly looking her best, sweaty, and with her hair, although tied back, in disarray. It occurred to me that after nearly two hours cheering, I probably looked little better.

She bent over, and whispered in my ear. "And there's another little American tradition I'd like to try,"

"What's that?" I asked.

She smiled knowingly at me. "Don't you ever watch any movies? Teen movies that is."

"Not really," I answered, with some honesty.

She continued to smile, and leant back to whisper in my ear. "There's a tradition that the prettiest cheerleader has to give the captain of the football team a little present after a match."

I hesitated. "Then I'd best get you Lawrence," I said.

"No!" she said, holding me firmer, as if I might actually do that. "I want you to do it."

"Well I haven't really got anything I could give you as a present," I said, coyly. "Do you know what sort of thing you might like?"

She smiled again, and moved her hand onto my buttocks. I tried vainly to knock it away. She whispered in my ear again. "Do you know what a BJ is?"

I knew very well, but since it appeared that I was prone to shag like a rabbit, and act like a bitch on heat, there was no way I was going to let on. I shook my head. "I know OJ is orange juice," I suggested, trying to look as naïve as I could. "Perhaps BJ is blackcurrant juice."

Her face contorted as she looked at me to see if I was joking. Eventually I could keep the act up no longer, and broke into a grin. "Very well," I said, taking one of her hands. "If that's the present you want, then I'd better see what I can do."

As surreptitiously as I could, I led her back to the changing rooms, and with a quick glance behind us, to make sure we hadn't been seen, I led her in. I pushed her up against one of the walls, and she made no resistance as I grabbed her shorts, and pulled them down around her ankles.

I knelt down in front of her, and she shuffled herself into position. I wondered for a moment whether I should ask her to have a quick wash. She was bound to be a bit sweaty from all that running around, but I decided against it. Sweat was natural enough. Closing my eyes, I buried my face into her.

If I had thought that jumping and leaping through the latter stages of the match had been the longest few minutes of my life, I was soon proved wrong. I didn't know until then that it was possible to get cramp in your tongue. I pressed on, however, listening to her groans and grunts as I did my best to please her. More than once, I thought I had her on the point of no return, but she seemed to slip away again. I was beginning to think that I would have to give up, and use my hands or something, when suddenly she began to suck in huge breaths, and to hold the back of my head even firmer, pushing me forward, so that I could hardly breath myself. Then it happened. She thrust her hips towards my face, and shouted something unintelligible, before jerking backwards and forwards three or four times.

Relieved, I pulled my face away, and drunk in some air. Because of this, I didn't hear the cheering, or the footsteps behind me until there were arms under my armpits again.

"You're right!" I heard a voice call. "He does shag like a rabbit."

I was pulled away from Liz by several pairs of hands, and lifted into the air. I couldn't believe it! Not only had Liz told her friends I was like a bitch on heat, she had arranged this as a peep show. How could she? I saw her collapsed on the floor, with a huge grin on her face. She was even enjoying this! Tears started forming in my eyes, as I was passed from girl to girl around the room, all laughing, and pinching my bum. Eventually, with much struggling and kicking, I was able to free myself.

"Sarah," I heard Liz call from behind the scrum around me. I ignored her, ran to where my bag was, picked it up, and ran outside.

  

  

  

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