His job was to hand me the ball. My job was to pound the rock. Occasionally he got to throw it. But that was just to open up the line, so I could go for bigger yardage runs.Anyway, I’d already been through most of the viable women in my class and I was bored. I’d been hearing about this Betty girl, from some of the guys on the team. Actually ... I’d been hearing about her boobs.And I was underwhelmed by her face. I was also unimpressed with her hair and her clothes too. But when she put her books down and I saw those boobs, my dick sprung up so fast that it hurt.I made a beeline over to where she was sitting. It was weird. She was sitting off in a corner by herself. Everyone else was eating lunch or talking to their friends but she was by herself.I sat down across from her, but she didn’t even look up.“Hey Babe,” I said. “I’m...”“Not interested,” she said.“Huh... ?” I gulped. I was shocked. This was after all MY school. Usually my soulful, “Hey Babe,” was enough.“I’m not interested. All eyes were upon you as you paused and scanned the bar; every man hoped he would be your chosen target, your conquest. Your tight black dress did nothing to hide your curves and your sensuous movements only served to advertise just how curvaceous you body really was. Your wavy brown hair cascaded over your naked shoulders and down your back, yet even under your locks, your barely concealed breast still managed to flaunt their delicious presence. The tops of your stockings were accented by an antique lingerie garter clip peeking just below your hemline. As an artist eyes appreciate a nude model, my eyes devoured you, sliding down your body, taking in each curve and valley, I hungered for your ample breasts, your exposed cleavage leaving little to my imagination. The dress hugged your waist and spread provocatively over your firm hips. Yes, I wanted you, but perhaps more important is… you wanted me. I had noted that the slender vintage ornate collar on your neck, my present to you,.
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