Basketball Amazons by Tony Back.
__________________________________________________________________________
From olskool@ix.netcom.com Thu Sep 05 19:06:39 1996
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Subject: BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future! (Part I)
From: olskool@ix.netcom.com (Tony)
Date: 6 Sep 1996 02:06:39 GMT
The following story is intended for your reading pleasure and
edification. Its content may not be appropriate for minors. It
contains passages of a mildly sexual nature. Please use discretion in
reading it.
************************
BASKETBALL AMAZONS: GIRLS OF THE FUTURE!
Prelude
The year is 2024. My name is Cleo Drake. I am a sportswriter for
the Atlanta Herald-Monitor, one of the nation's foremost cyberjournals.
I have a master's degree in journalism from Tulane University. I am
29 years old, 5'8" tall, and weigh 150 lbs. Since I was a teenager,
I've fantasized about attractive women bigger and taller than myself.
I don't know why. It started about 12 years ago, when I was
seventeen. Back in high school it seemed that there were so many
girls who looked down on me. And in college too.
And then, eight years ago, in 2016, the National Institutes of Health
announced that a certain by-product of a new chemical process used to
produce high-tensile strength polymers could mimic the human sex
hormones estrogen and testosterone. Actually, it was more complicated
than that. The chemical had powerful effects on humans, but only on
human females. Specifically, on growing human females. And,
regardless of government efforts to stop its proliferation in the
environment once its effects were established, the NIH concluded that
enough of the chemical had already leached into the nation's water
supply to have profound effects on an entire generation of prepubescent
and pubescent females. The effect was very interesting: it made
young, growing girls grow taller and stronger.
Somehow, the chemical, acting as a "sex steroid", entered the cell
nucleus and mutated the genetic code on the X chromosome of
preadolescent females. Girls exposed to the chemical, named
3,6,6-triiodo-estrosterone by organic chemists, experienced delayed
puberty, plus an unnaturally long, intense growth spurt in adolescence.
This caused affected girls to grow taller than was normal for young
females. Instead of growing to the average female adult height for
previous generations of American women (about 5'5"), this new
generation of American girls was growing taller -- to an average height
of 6 feet!
Somehow, the chemical also affected physique and muscular development.
Girls who were exposed developed much more athletic frames -- broader
shoulders, slightly narrower hips, and a somewhat higher proportion of
muscle in their bodies, with correspondingly less fat. Paradoxically,
however, adipose tissue in the breasts remained unattenuated -- indeed,
it was noted that affected women tended to have larger and firmer
breasts than average women!
The affect of 3,6,6-triiodo-estrosterone were first noted in 2016. I
was 21 at the time, so girls of my immediate age cohort were not
affected. It was the girls about 5 or 6 years younger than me who
were the first age cohort in which these effects were described.
Scientists had no name for the effect yet, but some called it an
"Amazonizing" effect. Many women, especially women's groups like
NOW, called this term derogatory and offensive. I kind of liked it.
It seemed to represent everything I had always fantasized about!
And now, it is 2024 and I am 29 years old. The oldest girls affected
by estrosterone in the environment are now about 23 or 24. But the
effect in those girls was not as pronounced as it is in younger girls.
The average height for girls in the older group is about 5'10". Girls
who are now in their teens and early twenties, however are experiencing
the maximum effect -- they are almost universally growing to 6' tall or
taller.
Plus, geneticists are telling us that even if the chemical is
completely washed out of the environment, eliminated from the water
supply and bioremediated from the soil, its effects will last for
generations and generations; probably they will be permanent, at least
in North America. You see, the genetic code on the X chromosome has
been permanently altered. Women passing either X chromosome along to
their daughters automatically pass on what my insensitive colleagues in
the media are calling "Stretch X Syndrome", because one arm of the X
chromosome looks a little longer underneath the electron microscope
(I'm sure they were also making a tongue-in-cheek reference to the way
girls look nowadays!) To be activated, the mutated genes have to be
present in homozygous form -- that is, there must be two affected
chromosomes. I'm no geneticist, but my scientist friends tell me that
even the one X chromosome men carry has been affected. Men aren't
affected by the syndrome, however, since we only have one X chromosome.
The United States, Quebec, British Colombia, and Mexico were the only
countries affected by all this. And in the short span of time since
the advent of "Stretch X Syndrome", a lot has changed. Social
scientists almost all predicted that young women would be traumatized
by their added height and strength, which would somehow stigmatize this
generation of women as being "Amazons". But, something quite the
opposite has happened. Girls everywhere are revelling in their height
and strength. There has been a boom in girls' and women's sports, in
high schools and colleges all over the continent. Young women are
taking up basketball and volleyball, in particular, like never before.
Many young women are having to settle for boyfriends or husbands who
are even a few inches shorter than they are! Young women are
developing a whole new attitude towards men and towards sex. And many
men are being forced to change their attitudes. Lots of men have
emigrated from North America, to Europe and Asia, to seek the so-called
"old-fashioned" type of woman. Some people think what's happened is
scary. But I don't know. I think it's great.
*****************************
I am forced to play basketball on a women's team, against another
women's team. These are two of the top college women's basketball
teams, or at least the girls are college age. All of them are
attractive and over 6' tall. I am the only male playing, but since
I'm only 5'8", they all tower over me (they aren't giantesses, just
very big girls.) The girls are wearing what now pass for standard
women's basketball uniforms. Quite a bit sexier than what I remember
in my younger days: tighter, with very short shorts, tight clingy tank
tops, and little socks which rise only to ankle height.
The play is very rough, much rougher than normal women's basketball.
All the girls are in great physical condition. I try to keep up
but they are all 100X better players than me, and I mess up a lot.
I get roughed up a lot, with all these 6'-plus tall girls bumping into
me, passing and catching the ball over my head, and knocking me down.
There is a lot of pressure from the girls on my team for me to perform,
as I'm "a guy", but I am a terrible player and contribute nothing to
the team. Plus, I feel incredibly turned on by all these girls, who
are all very attractive. I can't concentrate on the game. So the
coach calls me out and puts in another girl, an attractive 6'2"
freshman named Darrelyn. She goes in and scores 12 points for our
team, saving thegame for us. I find this girl especially cute; she
has very long, shapely legs; a fair, smooth complexion, red-blonde
hair, and thick red lips. Her body is tight and pretty well-muscled,
though not ripped like a bodybuilder's.
After the game, there is a victory party in a hotel suite. I'm there,
but very embarrassed among all these girls who are such great players.
I am the only male at the party; the rest are all team members....
Everyone is drinking and getting high, there is great music, and I
find myself standing in a corner right next to that strawberry blonde
girl, who has broad shoulders, big tits, and a sweet southern accent.
She is wearing very short shorts, white basketball shoes, a
tight-fitting T-shirt, and big-framed glasses. I have an incredible
hard-on.
I compliment her on her playing, and tell her "That three pointer you
hit with four seconds on the clock was awesome." She smiles
victoriously and kicks on knee high into the air. Because her legs
are so long, her knee practically reaches my shoulder! She whoops,
excaiming, "That's my specialty!"
In the suite's breakfast nook, there is a bar and a bunch of the girls
are laughing and playing "arm wrestle" with each other. They call out
to me to join them. "Let's see if anyone can beat a guy!" I say I
don't want to play along, but they all shout "C'mon, c'mon, you're a
guy, men are stronger than women!" They shout and shout almost
tauntingly, until I agree to arm wrestle a pretty 6'1 brunette named
Meredith. We lock hands on the bar top, and after a struggle, she
defeats me! My face goes red!
"Hey Meredith, it looks like the Olympic powerlifting is paying off!"
"Olympic powerlifting?" I ask, bewildered. "Yeah," says Dixie, a 6'
blonde, we do four three hour sessions every week. All of us."
Then they push Darrelyn in front of me. "Try Darrelyn," says Dixie.
"We noticed you seem to like her." "He's sweet on Darrelyn, everybody
knows it!" blurts out Mandy, a gorgeous 6'2" black girl, from the
living room. "He'll want to try that!"
All the girls are standing around me, smiling broadly in anticipation.
"C'mon, try her! Arm wrestle Darrelyn. Best of three," says Dixie.
"Yeah," says Suzanne, "the loser has to make breakfast for the winner
tomorrow morning." Suzanne pushes me back to the bar across from
Darrelyn.
"Come on, we wanna see if you can beat Darrelyn. She's younger than
the rest of us, she's only been powerlifting for five weeks," says
Dixie.
"She looks pretty strong to me," I say. "She's only a freshman. Just
a little Southern girl," Dixie smiles, squinting her eyes. "You're
29 years old, aren't you?"
"Yeah," I gulped. I had agreed to play that night on their team
because I was a sports columnist for a local newspaper, and my editor
liked the whole writing staff to try crazy stunts to boost readership.
"Well, you're a grown man. Now arm wrestle her!"
Darrelyn looked miffed, like she wanted to back out. "He's probably
tired. It's been a long night." "Well, you must be tired too,"
Suzanne said. "After winning the game for us." She went over and
cupped Darrelyn's ear conspiratorily, whispered something into it.
Darrelyn's face lightened. She raised her perfectly arched brows and
said, "OK", smiling a bit.
She extended her arm and we locked hands. I concentrated on pouring
all my strength into my right arm. Beads of sweat were developing on
my temples. I strained against her force. Her face was calm,
without a bit of strain. Then her gorgeous features tightened a bit,
as if she were concentrating too. For no more than ten seconds, it
was a titanic battle of supposed equals. I funnelled every ounce of
strength into that arm. But I was losing. My arm descended slowly,
then faster. And then WHOOOMP! I had lost.
There was silence in the room. "And she hasn't been powerlifting but
a month and a half," someone said. "It's still best of three," Dixie
reminded us. "Rest up. Tracey, get them some cold pop from the ice
chest." Tracey, a 6'1" platinum blonde with very fair skin and
strikingly sharp features, handed us ice cold cans of soda. After
a few minutes, we were back at it. "Okay, second bout," Dixie
announced.
I gripped Darrelyn's bigger hand. "Remember, loser cooks breakfast.
Whatever the winner wants! Get set, go!" said Dixie in her South
Carolina drawl. Again, we strained fiercely, or rather I did.
Again, Darrelyn's perfect features remained expressionless. She even
cracked a bit of a smile, which I thought was cruel. And again, beads
of clammy sweat developed on my temples, tracing cool-warm rivulets
down my sideburns, my cheeks, my neck. I concentrated hard, almost
prayed. But to no avail.
WHOOOOMP! I was down again.
"That's best of three. Darrelyn beat you!" announced Dixie. "Now,
Darrelyn, what'll it be for breakfast tomorrow?" Darrelyn rolled her
eyes a bit, pursed her full lips. "Can I sleep on it?" "You sure
can, girl. It's been a hard night!" Dixie said. "Now you guys shake
hands..."
I went over to shake Darrelyn's hand. I looked up at her wide-set,
pretty blue eyes, and those full lips. No one spoke.
Someone turned the stereo back on, and Darrelyn and I each opened a
cold beer. We talked a bit, standing near the kitchen. The music
was loud again. We talk for a long time, have a few more beers. The
other girls leave us alone in our corner. My head seems to be
spinning from the night, the beer, the music, and my defeats to this
towering golden-haired goddess.
Suddenly, a girl pushes me from behind and I loose my balance. I fall
right on top of Darrelyn, knocking us both over, onto the floor. My
beer spills all over her chest, saturating the clingy tan T-shirt she
is wearing.
We're both down and I'm on top. Moving around on top of her body, my
hard-on returns in full force. A bunch of girls are yelling, "Kiss
her! Kiss her! C'mon, kiss her you little wimp!" One girl pushes my
head down onto her, and I kiss her thick red lips...she smiles and
giggles. The girls are shouting, "Come on, we know you want her!!"
Then a girl picks me up by the elbows and pushes both me and her into a
semidarkened bedroom. One girl yells to her teammate, "Hey Darrelyn,
don't hide your strength from him!"
"Yeah," shouts another, "Remember, you're representing the female sex!"
"And the Class of 2028!" someone else shouted. "Show him what the
girls of our generation can do!" They shut the door on us and we took
off our clothes....
Any comments or suggestions for extending this story please email me!
From olskool@ix.netcom.com Thu Sep 05 21:47:33 1996
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Subject: BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future! (Part II)
From: olskool@ix.netcom.com (Tony)
Date: 6 Sep 1996 04:47:33 GMT
BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future
Part II: After the After Party
I looked up at her and said, "I can't believe we're in here...
together!" She looked down, and I could tell from her eyes she'd been
drinking too much. Her thick red-blonde locks formed a round,
disheveled mane which framed her perfect oval face. Her big blue eyes
seemed about to shut.
"Why? You don't think those girls are serious?"
"I can tell they like to joke around."
"And I can tell you had a big hard-on the whole night!" She kept
looking down at me, trying to focus her eyes on mine.
I paused, then said, "I guess you've got me there."
"Well at first I wanted to play along with those girls. They told
me I should sleep with you, they put me up to this. And I thought,
why would I want to sleep with this...this man who..."
"Who what?"
"Oh, don't get me wrong," she said. Her drawl seemed more
pronouned, slurred perhaps by all that booze. "I've slept with a few
guys. No real long-term relationships, just one-niters mostly.
Mostly athletes, too."
"Athletes?"
"Yeah. Big, tall guys."
I decided to take a more direct approach, to the extent I felt
comfortable with this big, strong Amazon. "Well I can see why so many
of those guys would be...would like you. You're very attractive!"
Her eyes widened just a bit and the glaze seemed to fade. "Thank
you," she said, in a voice that could have come from an 11 year old
Southern girl, for all its sweetness and innocence.
We were standing very close in the semi-darkness. I shuddered.
Then I backed off, feeling nervous and suddenly weak, and turned the
lights up a bit higher. "Oh yeah," I said, and locked the door.
"Why are you locking that?" she asked, yawning silently.
"More privacy, so we can talk..."
She stretched her long arms, one after the other. As she did, a
crack opened between her t-shirt and shorts, and I caught a snatch of
tight, firm abdominals. Then she stood up straight, more erect.
Her big, very round breasts filled out the grey ribbed t-shirt
gloriously, like perfectly twinned melons sitting close together on a
shelf. A shelf as high as my nose! I couldn't get over how big they
were. All the girls on the team had nice tits, but these were
unbelievable!
The thought flashed through my mind that these should be illegal.
"About what, Cleo?" she said. Her hands were clasped in front of
her and her look was tired, almost sad, but there was a hint of
playfulness in her voice.
Though it was difficult to avert my gaze from her two erect,
generous melons, I looked down at her sprawling legs. The shorts she
was wearing were very short, and fit her hips and thighs as tightly as
another skin. But her own skin was perfect, everywhere, and there was
a lot of it! Her legs were powerful-looking, like two big, pink tree
trunks. Yet they were graceful and feminine; the skin so flawless and
soft, yet firm, hard with undeniable muscle. And long: my eyes
followed them slowly, from the top of her smooth bare thighs, down and
down and down, past strong Amazon knees and finally to her calves,
fine, soft, yet well muscled. They were maybe the longest, most
perfectly ideal set of legs I had ever seen on a girl. She caught me
looking and pouted, bent one knee inward as if to call even greater
attention to her attractiveness.
"You are very attractive."
"You said that."
I walked closer, hesitantly. When I got close enough, I stopped.
"Can I just have a kiss?" I asked.
"Well you kissed me out there already, when you fell on top of me."
"Can I have another?"
"Umm... I guess it wouldn't hurt."
I raised my neck and our lips met. I concentrated on her lips:
how thick and perfect and naturally red, a beautiful contrast with that
fair skin... I took her by the elbows, plunged my tongue into the
depths of her mouth. I gripped her elbows harder.
After about 30 seconds, we pulled away. She shook her hair
mussing it up even more, and a wild look seemed to take hold of her
eyes. "That was...good," she said.
I looked at her expression, couldn't help taking in the broadness
of those shoulders. Here I was, with the most attractive girl I had
ever kissed, and she was built not like a cheerleader but like a
linebacker, an Amazon who towered over me!
I felt my dick throbbing. "This is too much," I said. "I want
you so bad!"
"Um, a girl can tell when she's wanted. I have eyes."
"Then what are we gonna do about it?"
"Who said we were gonna do anything about it?"
"Why can't we?" I asked, the frustration mounting now.
"Because! Because I said so! Because you can't make me do what
I don't want to, that's why." Her voice was sweet again, like an 11
year-old's, with a hint of sarcasm.
"I can't help it, Darrelyn. When I look at you I just get..."
"Well hey, maybe we can talk tomorrow. I really need to get some
sleep. Practice in the morning, powerlifting in the afternoon and all
that shit, y'know?" She squinted her eyes as if to say, "You moron!"
She walked over to the door, touched the "unlock" key. The door
didn't slide open! "Hey, what's the matter?"
I went over and tried touching the key. No response. I tried
again. Nothing! I pounded on the door. Not a sound from outside.
"What's goin' on here? Is this somebody's idea of a joke?" she
said, sounding quite irritated.
"I -- I don't know..." was all I could say. My mind raced.
Would I be locked in here with this beautiful, reluctant Amazon all
night?
She beat me over to the interlink on the nightstand, sat down on
the bed crossing those long legs. She touched a few keys.
"Interlink's down," she said. "I'm not gettin' a thing." I noticed
her Southern accent seemed more pronounced when she was angry. And
angry she obviously was!
"Oh no! Can't you get through to the front desk? Or one of the
other suites? You mean it's totally dead?"
I went over to take a look. There was only a bluish, snowy static
on the screen, fast moving dots and lines. Her fingers were flying
over the small keypad. I reached out to touch it and she shoved me on
the chest. "Ow! That--"
"Don't touch! I'm trying to dial out!"
"I was just trying to--"
"I don't care what you're trying to do, I'm trying to get us a line
out! Now keep your dick inside your pants!"
Wow! Was she angry! I felt myself afraid to say another word.
"Is there a handheld we can use?" I finally asked.
She nodded "no". "Mine is in my duffle bag, and that's out in the
hall closet. Here, you try to dial, maybe you'll have better luck."
I tried the front desk. Nothing but static and error messages.
"They're foolin' with us. It's Dixie and Meredith," she said.
"Well, I guess we're stuck."
"I guess so." She picked up the TV remote. "Maybe this works."
Fortunately for her, it did. She surfed through the channels and
stopped on -- what else? A women's basketball game!
"Well as long as we're gonna be in here I'm watchin' tonight's
game." It was the women's pro league, the San Diego Aztecs playing
the Chicago Lakesiders.
"Oh cool! The Siders are spanking San Diego! Courtney Vollrath
is so bad-ass!"
I sat on the bed and looked at the screen which filled most of the
facing wall. Watching them reminded me of the game we had played much
earlier that day, and how Darrelyn had saved the game. She reclined
on the bed now, stretching out her 6'2" frame, bending one mighty
Amazon leg at the knee. Her breasts were like two enormous mountains,
side by side, rising from a plain. She caught me looking at her.
"Are you gonna watch the game, or what?"
I touched her arm. Like a bolt of lightning, she slapped my hand
away. "Don't touch me!" she ordered sternly. "I won't let you take
advantage of this situation! Remember...I beat you at arm-wrestling,
didn't I?"
"T-twice," I reminded her.
"Yeah, that's right. I do think I can take you in a fight." She
giggled.
"W-what?" I said. I felt so -- rejected.
"Remember when we arm-wrestled?"
"Yeah?"
"I wasn't tryin'"
"What?" I said, and gulped.
"Do it look like it was a challenge to me?"
"Ummm...I don't know."
"I held back. I only used like 40 percent of what I could have.
Maybe 30 percent."
"R-really? No..."
"Oh, you don't believe me?"
"It's not that I don't, but how could--"
"Okay, let's go over there to that table. Sit down 'cross from
me."
"But h-how...I don't..." There was genuine fear welling up inside
of me. It was like a dark, distant but growing dread arising in my
head, in every fiber of muscle. Where would it lead?
"Sit down," she said. "Let's REALLY arm-wrestle, Cleo. No
pretending this time. All right?"
"A-all right..."
We clenched hands. "You say when." That black dread inside of
me menaced and taunted me like a hungry panther licking its chops on a
distant perch. Soon I would be that panther's lunch!
I looked at her big, wide-set blue eyes, which were wide open now.
Her red-gold hair still touseled, it surrounded her serious features,
her upturned nose and strong chin, like a fiery mane. Her brows
arched upward, at an inhumanly high angle.
"Now," I said.
"I'll give you a little time to understand this, Cleo," she said.
"Taste it...like you tasted that kiss?" She twisted her arm around
mine so that our arms were intertwined. "Now this is how you arm
wrestle. This is how you see who's really stronger. Come on, give
it all you've got!" Istrained against her superior strength.
"I'll put you down on three. One. Two. Three." She slammed my
arm, hard, onto the table. Her big eyes gleamed ferociously, like
the eyes of a tigress.
To Be Continued...
From olskool@ix.netcom.com Thu Sep 05 23:54:54 1996
Newsgroups: alt.amazon-women.admirers,alt.sex.femdom,alt.women.supremacy,alt.se
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Subject: BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future! (Part III)
From: olskool@ix.netcom.com (Tony)
Date: 6 Sep 1996 06:54:54 GMT
BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future
Part III: "Secret Revealed!"
"Wanna try that one more time just to make sure you understand?"
"N-no. I think that's sufficient," I said. I understood, all
right. Not only was she strong, but Darrelyn was considerably
stronger than I had imagined, much stronger than she had revealed
herself to be in our early-evening arm-wrestling games. I looked at
her and she smiled without parting her full lips.
She got up, walked over to the nightstand. "Let me try this thing
once again." She sat on the edge of the bed and touched a few keys on
the intelink. Just static and error messages came up on the screen.
"Shit! I can't even get an optical carrier." She grabbed the TV
remote and turned up the volume on the game from San Diego. It was
the fourth quarter; there were only two minutes left on the clock.
"Oh fuck. Eighty-nine seventy-eight Aztecs? Chicago's defense is in
the toilet."
"Darrelyn, that was pretty impressive, the way you spanked me so
well at arm-wrestling."
She squinted at me. "I like to arm wrestle. I used to do it
with my brothers all the time. They taught me something about being
quick, psyching out your opponent."
"But you didn't have to psych me out. You're just...much
stronger."
She squinted again. "Sorry. I just love arm-wrestling."
"Did your brothers teach you -- to fight?"
"Oh, fighting? I didn't have to learn fighting from my brothers.
Learned that at school. I guess it's just the times we live in. I
don't know about when you were growing up -- what's the difference in
our ages -- ten years? Girls fight now in school, just like guys.
They say that 'Stretch X' makes us more...physical. More belligerent,
right? Like guys." The game was just about over, the San Diego
Aztecs had upset Chicago, and Darrelyn muted the volume on the TV.
"That's what they say."
She smiled a haughty smile. "I guess that's why women's basketball
is pretty physical nowadays, too!" She crossed her Amazonian legs.
"You weren't ready for the physicality in that game today, I could
tell. Were you surprised at how rough we get?"
"Actually, yes. I didn't expect--"
"What? That women can be tough and strong?"
"Y-yeah. Wee..."
"Well look at us, Cleo." She kicked her crossed leg up and down
playfully. "I mean we're not delicate little things like girls were,
maybe back when you were growing up. We're not the girls you went to
high school and college with, are we?"
"No, y-you're--"
"Say it. Say it, Cleo, tell me what you're thinking."
"You're like Amazons."
She looked at me, arched her eybrows. "Women warriors?" Her
arms were stretched out behind her and planted on the bed, and she
arched her back, pressing those two melon-mounds proudly forward. She
was still kicking her leg. She still had her white-white tennis shoes
and ankle socks on, and I watched her foot bounce up and down.
"They're always comparing us with Amazons. Female warriors.
Sometimes it...hurts. I mean I like being tall and all. I like
being strong. But -- what do you think about girls like us? Like
me?"
"Well, um..." I gulped silently. The words were caught in my
throat, or somewhere between my imagination and my larynx. There was
so much I could say to answer her question. Could I ever tell her my
fantasies? Could I unleash a torrent of honesty, tell her that tall,
strong women -- Amazons like her -- turned me on more than anything in
the world?
"You can be honest," she said. My attention fixed on the fineness
of her complexion, the fair pink-white of her powerful knee. She
reached over to the nightstand and put her glasses on again, then
arched her back once more, puffing out that impressive set of
headlights. Her lips took on a soulful red pout.
"I like tall women. I like strong girls, strong--"
"But there aren't as many taller girls your age. You're almost
thirty."
"We're still in the same age group. I'm only ten years older..."
"Ten years is a long time, Cleo. The world has changed a lot
since you were my age."
"You're making me feel so old. I--"
"Cleo, I think women are finally equal now. Or at least my
generation wil be. Now with this new extra-uterine technology they're
talking about, women won't even have to get pregnant anymore. We won't
have to have babies! I could deal with that!"
"Hey, I don't blame you. I would never want to get pregnant."
"My mom says its the worst thing that can happen to a girl. That
is, apart from actually giving birth!" We both laughed a little.
"But getting back to what I was saying, Cleo," she said, becoming
serious. "What do you think of girls like us -- are we really
Amazons?"
"I -- I don't know."
"You say you like big, strong girls. Girls like us, bigger and
stronger than you?"
"I guess I have to live with it. And the fact that you're so
attractive makes it--"
"Harder to deal with?"
"I -- I wanted to kiss you again before -- to touch you -- but you
pushed me away."
"That's because I make the rules here. If I want to be touched,
I'll ask." She stood up, placed her hands on her hips.
I looked up at her impressive form: the broad shoulders, the
powerful-looking arms, the long legs, almost too long even for her tall
body. There was a tightness, a firmness about her; a formidable
athletic density that said everything was in the right place.
"So you learned to fight at school, with other girls?"
"That's the way we did it. It was like, we couldn't wait to get
out into the playground and rumble. Even the boys were afraid of us!
Sometimes we'd even go out of our way to make them afraid."
"Did you ever fight boys?"
"Sometimes. But only the bigger ones could take me. Well,
that's not exactly true. If a 6'5" or 6'6" guy came along, I'd back
off into a corner. But there weren't many of them. Thank heavens
for me."
Just then there was a loud tone from the TV omnivox. The caption,
"Recorded 10.04.24, 1016-1029" appeared on the screen, in big yellow
letters on a grey background. Then, a bunch of faces, mostly male.
I recognized Dwayne Walters, my cameraman. Steven Lopez-Clarke, my
good friend from Atlanta's AT-NET Sports. Megan Crandall, one of
Darrelyn's team's trainers at Peachtree State University. But she
walked off the screen. The setting looked familiar. It looked like
Dwayne and Steven were standing near in the hall outside the women's
practice gym at Peachtree State, where we were this morning, a few
hours before the game I participated in. We had gathered this morning
to watch the PSU girls practice. And look! I couldn't believe it!
There I was!
"How did this get on the screen?"
"I don't know." Darrelyn checked the remote control. "It looks
as if somebody timed this thing to go on now! At 3 am!"
Fear flooded me all of a sudden. "Turn this thing off!" I said.
I grabbed the remote from her. "I don't want to see myself--"
"Hey!" She shoved me lightly and grabbed it back. "I wanna see
this, as long as it's on!"
She turned up the volume. There I was, in my sky-blue windbreaker
and nylex pants. As usual, on the screen, it looked like I was having
a bad hair day.
"That chick, number 23, the redhead," I was saying. "She is
gorgeous. I got a good look at her. Man, is she beautiful. I could
fuck her lights out. Those long legs would put me in heaven," I said.
"I'd like to get her alone in a room somewhere. I'd wrestle her down
to the floor and bang her till..." I went on talking, with snickers
from the other two guys. "Darrelyn Fields," I said. "Can we get some
more information about her? Maybe we can do a one-on-one?"
"Oh Cleo..." she said, staring coldly, but with the fire of a
fierce anger building in her big, catlike eyes.
To Be Continued...
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