Growing up in the outback, I was pretty naïve when it came to city ways. My typical Friday night was laying on the hood of a Jeep, looking at the stars, and fending off the bloke who wanted to get his hand on my boobs or down my pants.
In our small community, everyone knew everyone, so if you ever put out for anyone, all the guys wanted some ass. This made high school freaking unbearable because I really wanted to be fucked. I think on the inside, I was a girl who wanted cocks, but I was afraid that once I got one, I wouldn't be able to control myself and become the "class slut."
Like a lot of girls, I lost my cherry the night of the junior prom. Boy, was that anticlimactic. I think it lasted a total of five minutes. Once he climbed on me, it was just a blur, and then it was over.
Afterwards, I thought to myself, "What's the big deal about this? I felt nothing!" Plus, he stained my dress.
It was summer vacation, so my bestie and I got some tickets to an exhibition basketball game in Melbourne. We were both on our school's girls' basketball team. I'm not tall, five foot four, but in spite of being top-heavy, I can dribble and have a pretty fair outside shot.
One night, I was shooting lights out from long range, and the crowd, as it was, began chanting my name, "Zoey...Zoey...Zoey", every time I handled the ball. We won the game by ten points, and I scored a team-high eighteen points. That was the best night of my high school life.
Anyways, back to our Melbourne trip, Leah and I got to the gym early to watch warm-ups. It was a traveling team of American college boys versus one of our local semi-pro teams. Most of the American's team members were Black except for three token White boys.
Since the tickets were for open seating and because we got there early, Leah and I sat in the front row. I couldn't keep my eyes off one American boy, err, man, who played forward. He looked like milk chocolate, was at least six foot five and seemed to be pretty funny from the side conversions we heard. I smiled at him a few times, and he winked back at me.
The game was won by the Americans and every time my forward would run past us, he would look my way and wink or smile at me. Leah wanted to leave right after the game, but I wanted to get his autograph. You never know he might be the next LeBron. Leah said that she would wait for me outside.
They were all high-fiving afterwards. I asked for his autograph before they left the court.
He scribbled something, then, while heading to the showers, said, "Why don't you hang around, and I'll get the rest of the team to sign your program, too." I handed him my program, and off he went.
It wasn't very long, maybe ten minutes, when he returned with my program. They all had signed it just like he promised. There were still people mingling around the gym, but I didn't take notice of them.
"So, what's your name?"
"Zoey."
"I saw you watching me during warm-ups and the game. I scored some points for you. Did you notice?"
"Yes, you can really jump high and have a nice shot."
"Oh, so you play basketball, too."
"Yes, I'm our point guard, but we're not that good."
"Oh, so you're the ball handler."
"Yes, I'm the best dribbler on our team."
"I can dribble, too. I'd like to let you handle my balls."
I blushed at such a forward comment, but I guess American boys are like that.
"Zoey, why don't we go under the bleachers and get acquainted?"
I followed him under the bleachers, then he guided me up against the wall and put most of his weight on me. He smelled of cologne, and I heard people talking in the distance.