Our enchanting tale starts in a cool and drizzly October night. It was homecoming week in my senior year. I had a special part in that particular homecoming weekend.
There I was. It was a Friday night. In Texas, it was a holiday. We had new life. Our team had a new coach. That year, we were “the little team that could.” They went from nothing to something. Eventually, halftime came. At this time, I was down on the field with the others for the introduction of the homecoming court when I heard that familiar boisterous voice:
“Ladies and gentlemen!"
See, our football team might have a newfound voice, but our band always brings the noise.
“The Majorettes...”
They were majestic in their movements. Gorgeous in their grandeur.
“The Starlettes...”
They stood out from the crowd. And for good reason. They were real women. They were full figured. They carried the school colors. They had a certain personality to them and proud of it.
But some, in particular, they were like sirens. Like aggressive nymphs, they would seduce you with their dance moves and beckon you. They would tease to ask come to them. Their bodies slowed down, then sped up to the drum beat’s cadence. Their bodies popped. Their bodies rolled. I stared at them longingly. The drumbeat was like my heart. The horns were like the song that was in it. Lust filled me. All of a sudden it stopped, as they posed and my eyes fixated onto one person in the front.
“…and the Enchanting... Wings Dance Team… Your Mighty Eagle Band!”
I was on the 25-yard line with Kendra Jackson, a cheerleader, who read all my expressions. I had disdain for her. We were representing the National Honor Society. I was king. She was my queen. (I didn’t vote for her… Something about her rubbed me the wrong way)
“Who are you staring at? Don’t think I don’t know about you and Jasmine. And Denise too?”
I cursed, and sighed. High school, where drama gets pounced on.
“Kendra, who told you?” I said as calmly as possible.
“I don’t remember. The real question is why can’t you keep it in your pants?” She said. I sighed again.
“What do you know about the story? Or stories that you heard?”
She looked at me blankly.
“Exactly. You know the synopsis. The summary. I will tell you the story next week in class,” I said.
“Very well.”
“Representing the National Honor Society, Kendra Jackson and Chad Dupree!”
We waved politely as cheers rang out. I watched the others get introduced as well as the coronation. I watched Cecily pass down her crown to “The Duchess”, of whom I was crazy about for years. She and her brother won Homecoming to my mild surprise.
After the ceremony was over, myself and Kendra would go our separate ways until the next night.
As for Jasmine and myself...
In fact, we go back years. I can think of one of the first times I saw her. We actually grew up together. (But that's beside the point.)
However, one year ago… I was seventeen years old at the time. She was sixteen. She remembered me. I remembered her. Jasmine had grown hips and a nice bubble butt. While I had bloomed into a taller man with a beard. To her, I was still that shy nerdy boy. To me, she was still the early bloomer. But that’s ok.
A series of serendipitous events involving her happened. One, in particular, was, I was walking to class one day. I got to one of the intersecting hallways, where I met Jasmine, who was running. I stopped myself. She stopped almost just in time.
“Whoa,” I said. I looked down at my hands. They were touching her breasts. I jerked back. “Sorry.”
“It’s ok, Chad. You’re not the first to touch my tits. You won’t be the last,” She said. That was true. The same incident happened again, almost in the same spot. Her breasts were so soft. It certainly did not take long to make me start undressing her with my eyes. That year, we had a US History class together.
One day, it was so cold in the classroom, that her nipples showed through her top. Needless to say, it turned me on. I got as many peeks at her buxom breasts as I could before class ended. When the bell rang to be dismissed, most of the class left while I wanted to get one last look at Jasmine. I took one last look at her hips and her beautifully shaped buttocks, as she bent over. Lust filled me. I walked away, visibly turned on when I heard:
“Chad?”
“Yeah, Jazz?” I said, trying to regain composure.
“Were you looking at me during class?”