We had won the state basketball championship! But the world was way more excited by the fact that my sweet lover, Gina, and I had kissed each other in front of a cheering crowd at a crucial point in the final game. That was titillating. We became social media fodder.

The phones started ringing at my house and Gina’s house around 1 AM. The major networks wanted us. They had seen the kisses. They had also seen our victory, but they were far more interested in our kisses. Suddenly, we were more than just two high school basketball players. We were a story. We were a human interest story of two same-sex high school basketball stars whose love for each other had transcended the sport. 

We had to decide what to do. My stepmom Donna and I went over to Gina's house to discuss the situation with her and her parents. When we all sat down around the dining room table, we were all tired and shocked and didn't know where to begin. Did we want this? Was this what we had signed up for?

But in the end, we knew we couldn't ignore the spotlight that had found us. We agreed to the interview at the school at 7 AM. It was our moment, our time to shine, our school's time to shine, and we would go ahead with it, even if a bit reluctantly.

Later, on that same morning, we rolled up to the school, still dressed in our uniforms from the night before as the network had requested. The parking lot was packed with news vans and reporters clamoring for a piece of us. The network LED lights for the cameras were blinding. Gina and I held hands, trying to keep our cool as we made our way through the sea of microphones and flashes.

The sensationalized questions were met with sound byte answers. "Is this a teen romance for the ages?" "How does it feel to be the poster children for high school love?" "Did the kiss give you a secret power?" "Have your teammates accepted your relationship?" "Do the two of you identify as lesbian or as bisexual?"

We answered them with smiles and with the awkwardness anyone might expect from a pair of high school students. We talked about our friendship, our love for the sport, and how we had supported each other through thick and thin. Then I dropped what proved to be the bombshell toward the end when I turned to Gina and said, "I love you, baby." That clip and that line would be heard across the nation hundreds of thousands of times. Gina and I went viral. 

As we walked away from the cameras, hand in hand, we knew that things would never be the same. But as we looked into each other's eyes, we also knew that no matter what came our way, we would deal with it together. 

The next few days were a whirlwind of interviews and appearances. We were on every news channel, every sports show, every sports magazine cover. Our school got major pub. Stanford got major pub. Oh hell, girls' high school basketball got major pub! But the reviews were divided. We had made some people gag! We were vilified and praised in the halls of Congress and in homes and locker rooms across the country. We had become a symbol of something much bigger than ourselves. We had acquainted America in a straightforward way with teenage same-sex sensuality and affection.

The next school day was like walking into a zoo. The halls were a riot of whispers and pointing fingers. Allison, Brooke, Kimber, Gina, and I were stars of the show, and everyone wanted a piece of all five of us. Our teammates strutted with a newfound swagger, basking in the glory. The starting five had brought down Goliath, and we were the coolest of the cool kids. Even the teachers were star-struck like the kids. This was def a BFD! Truth be told, it was also weird and a bit overwhelming.

As we made our way to our classes, the whispers grew louder. "Look at them," someone murmured. "They're like the power couple of the school." "They're so brave," said another. "They climbed the mountain." And it was then that it hit me: we had become more than just athletes. We had become a canvas for the dreams of others, not just our own.

In calc, Gina leaned over and whispered in my ear, "You think we'll ever get to be just us again?"

I smiled and whispered back, "We are just us, baby. They're the ones who can't handle it."

A few days later, as our lives began to take on some actual normality, I found myself wandering through the upstairs area of our big house. I was wearing a short sundress that barely covered my pretty ass and a pair of stiletto sandals. So, dude, listen, I totally looked like a fuckin' snack!

I thought I was alone, but then I heard some clinking from Donna's indoor gym. I sauntered up to the doorway, and lo and fuckin' behold, there was Brick, Donna's ex-boyfriend, working out with his muscles all engorged!!

Now you have to understand that this dude was a piece of work, about 48 years old and graying a little, but whadda fuckin’ hunk! Hella good looking. About 6 feet and 2 inches tall and 245 pounds. I'd heard it both from Donna and from others that he had a fuckin’ moose-cock and was down for using it whenever.

Well, that's intimidating for Lana! Geez, Louise, I'm a smallish girl! Donna told me some time ago that being fucked by him is some next-level shit! From my own experience, I knew he was an incredibly vain and horny guy and VERY arrogant, but dumb as a box of hammers! Thinks he’s smart, though. Dunning- Krueger.

Brick had been at the final game at the state tourney and had seen us conquer. He was impressed whether or not he would say so. After the game, he ran around and screamed his ass off, eager to bask in our glory!

And here he was, sweat glistening on his rock-solid abs, his biceps flexing like they had their own heartbeats. He was lifting weights, his breath heavy, his eyes closed in concentration. The veins on his neck bulged out like he was about to burst a blood vessel, and let me tell ya, it was doin’ all sorts of things to me down there. I'd seen Brick around plenty of times before, but never like this. The sight of him that day got my motor running.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching him in silence. The way the muscles in his back rippled under his tanned skin fascinated me. He was nothing like the boys I had been with. This, my friend, was a goddam man! The smell of his sweat filled the air, and I couldn't help but take a deep breath. The entire room smelled like Brick.

My heart began to race as I took a step closer. My stilettos clickety-clacked on the floor, alerting him to my presence. His eyes shot open, and he turned to face me, the weight in his hands hovering in mid-air. His mega-horny gaze met my own, and for a moment, time froze. The air grew thick with what remained unspoken.

Standing there in the upstairs gym, he took in me and my cute outfit, and his eyes grew big. There's something about a killer sundress that reminds a man that he is a fucking man if ya know what I mean! Without saying a word, he strode over to me. He grabbed the hem of my killer sundress and flipped it over my head with one swift motion. It tangled around my neck, making it more of a necktie than a dress. "Someone help meee," I screamed at myself! But I was down for this shit, dude!

Brick pinned me to the wall, his strong arms lifting me until my legs wrapped around his waist. I was already wet, and I had already decided to go along with this action. My heart was hammering with excitement. Then his mouth was on me, his tongue darting and probing.

His hands grabbed my pretty tits and squeezed them. I moaned into his mouth as he bit down gently on my lower lip. It hurt so good. He whispered, "You're gonna scream my name, baby. You're gonna scream my name so fuckin' loud."

Then he started pounding away! My poor little pussy was being destroyed, dude. It felt like I was a willing prisoner between him and the wall. I came hard, then I went rope-a-dope, kinda expecting this to be over, but he wasn't even near over. This was gonna be over only when he said it was over, and I was down for that, too! I came hard again, my body coursing with pleasure as he fucking well spit-roasted my sweet little ass.

Brick grunted and groaned as he held me up with one hand and used the other to spank my ass. The sound echoed through the room, mixing with my gasps and moans. He was so fuckin' strong and rough, it was like he was trying to leave his handprint on my cute little ass forever. But you know what? It felt like ass-spanking heaven! Like he was branding me with his own special stamp of approval. Branded by Brick!

He pounded away for at least another 10 minutes, gripping my ass cheeks in his calloused hands. Then I came hard for the third time as his cock had turned me into a fucking orgasmatron, with little Lana screeching filthy shit into his ear! Finally, he exploded, shooting huge globs of cum into me until it was overflowing and dripping onto the floor below. Oh, sweet mystery of life!

Now you have to understand that this wasn't just any fucking. It was a life-altering event. I had barely withstood his thrusts as he impaled me and nearly split me over and over again. This had been beyond anything my poor mind had ever imagined. I was no longer just little Miss Thang being ogled as I passed down the hall at school; I was a ragdoll sex toy for this beast who had zero trouble handling me. Zero! And as I screamed out "Fuck me hard, Daddy!" from my last Brickgasm, Brick had shouted, "You've had that coming for a long goddam time, you little cunt!" Then he exploded into me again!

Post-fucking, we were both breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. He pulled out, and I slid from his thick, sticky cock, my legs wobbly like a newborn fawn's. He looked at me, a smirk playing across his lips, and said, "You're a wild little thing, aren't you, Lana?"

Then he turned and took a seat on one of the exercise benches. His moose-cock was glistening with Lana juices. I crumpled to the floor. I was a fucking mess. My poor little pussy was wrecked. I looked up at him sitting on the bench, catching his breath. Then I slowly crawled across the floor to him. I reached out and fondled his cock, which was nearly the size of my forearm, and made my best effort to make love to it as completely as I could.

Brick, though, wasn't content with the pace of my efforts, so he picked up the tempo and gave me a memorable face-fucking, hammering away, causing me to gag and cough and spit, with hot tears streaming down my face. Once again, after many thrusts, his giant cock exploded, causing me to gag and cough all the more. His cum overflowed my mouth, and the thick goo dripped onto my chin, mixing with my slobber. Dude, I had been royally face-fucked!

Brick then stood up and headed for the shower stall as I collapsed, barely conscious, with my forehead against the cold floor.

Sometimes I don't know how shit happens. I mean, Brick and I were the only ones there. I was alone, one-on-one with some kind of mega-hung dark prince. But by the next day, the story was out. The word on the grapevine was that Lana, the spunky little point guard, had been majorly fucked. 48-year-old Brick, all 245 pounds of him, had pillaged her village. Throughout the day, everyone who saw my freshly fucked, worn-out look and swollen lips responded with eye rolls, smirks, and occasional sympathy.

Donna and Maria, the second-generation Dominican-American cook, caught up with me at the kitchen island where I was trying to recover with a glass of OJ. I ached everywhere, know what I mean? I had been sitting there for about 10 minutes while Maria ran around pretending to be busy. She said nothing. I said nothing.

I was staring into my half-empty glass when Donna came in and sat down beside me. She draped an arm over my shoulders and said, "That's a hell of a rite of passage, Lana. You ok?"

I whispered, "Not sure. Not gonna die, I suppose. I'm still piecing it together. Like you told me, that dude brings some next-level shit."

Donna tried to commiserate. "Bound to happen. He's a hunk. He has that effect. You're a hot little piece of tail, and you don't hide it. You’re down for whatever, and you don't hide it. His cornering you and pounding you within an inch of your life was inevitable. You'll be ok. You look tired, sweetie, but you also look like you had a damned good time." Then she gave me a peck on the cheek. 

Maria jumped in like, "Giiiirl, he wrecked you, huh? Ever chick love a dude packin’ heavy, stop frontin'.’ You gon’ be aight. You got yours. Somebody said they heard you screamin’ like you was in a whole X-rated movie—talkin’ all kinda freaky mess! Just holla at me and Donna, y’know? We ain’t gon’ let you drown out here. That was just your first real taste of some grown man D, that’s all. I remember when Brick caught me one time—Lawd, I thought that man was gon’ kill me with that thang! But lemme tell you somethin’... I loved it. Loved it bad!" Then all three of us broke down laughing. Che sera.

With visions of Brick piledriving Maria dancing in my head, I drained my glass and headed for my bedroom. There was nothing wrong with me that 12 more hours of sleep wouldn't cure.

March rolled around, and it was showtime for some big-time fastpitch softball! We were the cream of the crop in the state of Nevada, ranked number one in preseason polls, mostly thanks to Gina's 76-mph heater and her killer riseball.

For me, it was all about the grind: 100 ground balls a day, soft-hand drills, double-play drills, and cut-off drills. And after that, it was wind sprints that had me ready to throw up in the Nevada sun. Coach was a fuckin’ sadist, pushing us until we were about to collapse, but she was being paid to drive us to another state championship. This was serious business.

I was slated to be the number three hitter in our lineup, bringing some occasional pop, but line drives were my forte, though I could also slap and bunt. Our only real power hitter was Allison, our towering first baseman. That chick had mad bat speed. She swung the bat like it was a buggy whip! When she totally connected, the ball sailed out of the yard.

But it was Gina and I who were the talk of the high school softball world, especially after those kisses in the basketball tournament. Everyone wanted a piece of us, from the newshounds to the jocks to the nerds to the drama kids.

As the days grew longer and the air got warmer, our practices became even more intense. We'd sweat like pigs, and I'd come home every day with a body that felt like it had been dragged around the diamond. But that's what it took to stay on top. We became tighter than skin on a drum. We knew each other's moves, each other's moods. We were a patchwork of different skills, and we marveled at each other and depended on each other.

Our first game of the season was a nail-biter. We were playing one of the top ten teams in the state, and they had a pitcher who was damned near Gina's level. The tension was so thick. But Gina was in the zone, tossing up zeros with near nonchalance. And when I stepped up to the plate in the bottom of the seventh, tied at 0-0, and a runner on first, I knew it was my time to put up or shut up.

I worked the count to 3-2, then fouled off three straight. The next pitch was a couple inches off the plate, but I punched it hard into right-center, and it split the outfielders. I tore out of the box like my ass was on fire, rounded first and second, and headed for three! By the time I got there, the winning run had scored!

Gina had another shutout, I had a game-winning RBI, and a sweet celebration ensued.

Our team swarmed around me, a blur of high-fives and sweaty embraces. I already knew that everyone loves you when you win. The smell of victory was intoxicating, a mix of sweat, grass, and pure, unfiltered joy. We were a well-oiled machine, each cog fitting into place. Had we started something incredible?

The rest of the season was a blur of games, practices, and an occasional interview on local TV. We became the face of high school sports in Nevada, not just for our skills but for what our love was teaching all onlookers. Our kisses had started conversations across the nation, and we were determined to keep that momentum going.

Gina's pitching dominance grew with each game. Her confidence soared as she threw strike after strike, leaving batters bewildered and frustrated. She had this way of glaring at them, a fierce look in her eye that seemed to say, "You think you can hit this?" And they almost never could. Her arm was poetry in motion, whipping around in a blur before the ball smacked into the catcher's mitt with a sound that echoed through the stands. Each victory added another layer to our legend.

But it wasn't just about Gina and me. The whole team was firing on all cylinders. Our outfielders made diving catches that looked like they were defying gravity. Our infielders turned double plays so smoothly it was like watching a dance routine. And our hitters, well, we could hit. We had speed, a little power, and everything in between. When we weren't smacking the shit out of the ball, we were laying down bunts and slapping line drives that had the opponents chasing their tails.

As the season rolled on, the excitement grew palpable. Fans started to pack the stands earlier, eager to catch a glimpse of us. The buzz grew louder with every win. And the kisses? They turned into a tradition. After every victory, we'd share a kiss in the middle of the diamond, surrounded by our cheering teammates. It was our way of saying, "Fuck you, world. We're here. We're queer. And we're not going anywhere."

But amidst the highs, there were lows. Injuries, personal issues, and the occasional slump. We had to pick each other up, dust each other off, and keep pushing forward. Gina and I grew closer than ever, our bond on and off the field unshakeable. We'd sit together on the bus, her hand in mine, whispering strategy and secrets that only we knew. Her grip was firm, her thumb stroking the back of my hand, sending waves of comfort and reassurance through me.

In the dugout, I'd watch her warm up, her skin glistening with sweat, muscles tight with focus. My heart would race, not just from the anticipation of the game but from the sheer determination she exuded. And when she'd look over at me, her eyes locked on mine, I knew she was throwing those pitches for us. For our love.

Our undefeated streak grew to be the stuff of legends.

The state finals approached, and it was the same school we had faced in the basketball finals. We could feel the pressure building. But we had each other, and we had Gina's arm. We thought we were unstoppable. The night before the game, we had a team dinner at the local Italian place. Coach gave a speech that had us all in tears. "You're not just playing for yourselves anymore," she said. "You're playing for every girl who's ever picked up a bat or a ball and been told she couldn't play. You're playing for every girl who's ever wanted to be what she wanted to be and was told she couldn't. Go kick some ass."

That night, in the quiet of the hotel room we shared, Gina and I made love. It was gentle and slow, our bodies moving in sync like they had during those long hours of practice. Her skin against mine was like silk, every touch setting my nerves alight. She was so beautiful that my heart melted. We whispered such sweet things, and we made such sweet promises as we drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

The next day, we took the field, ready to face whatever was thrown at us. And when Gina took the mound for the first pitch of the final game, she looked around and her eyes found mine, and she winked. Game on! That was all I needed. That was all any of us needed.

The crowd was gigantic for a softball game, a sea of faces painted in our school colors and theirs. The air was thick with anticipation. And as the game unfolded, it was clear that this was going to be one for the record books. Gina put up zeros inning after inning, her pitches so precise it was like watching Picasso with a magical right arm. The big Nigerian babe who had decked me in the basketball championship game was pitching for the other side and we couldn't touch her. The game went into extras. Neither team had scored. We hadn't had a base hit the entire game. That big goon on the mound was mowing us down!

When it was my turn to bat in the bottom of the ninth, with the game on the line, I knew what I had to do, I had to up my bat speed, and I had to get deep in the box. The big goon wound up, and I started swinging yesterday. I can't remember even seeing the ball. I felt the sweet spot of the bat connect, sending the ball skyward. Higher and higher it went, until it became a dot in the bright blue Nevada sky. It cleared the left field fence by 30 feet. And then came the roar. It was a home run, and we had won the state championship! I floated around the bases. As I turned second base, I looked into the big Nigerian's eyes and tipped my cap to her. She glowered at me and tipped her cap to me in return. Our war had ended.

The locker room was chaotic as we all hit the showers. In that moment, we all loved each other because everyone loves a winner. We even loved Coach. We had needed her, and she had delivered. She had needed us, and we had delivered.

Someone's boombox was booming Bob Marley as he wailed about “One Love.”

The music and the dancing eventually died down, and the girls began to filter out. Gina and I stayed behind and re-entered the showers, trying to let the water wash our fatigue away. She had been magnificent, and I loved her. We eventually exited and dried each other off. By the time we reached my Mustang for the trip home, we were bushed. We had left it all on the playing field. I popped the trunk and opened a cooler where I had stashed a 40-ounce malt liquor.

We sagged into the front seats of the car and slowly shared the alcohol. It was so cold. It was so needed. The sounds of Linda Ronstadt from the radio helped us mellow out:

We sat there for about half an hour, then I opened my door and motioned to Gina to follow me. We met at the front of the Mustang. I turned to her and said, "Plop your sweet ass up on this hood, baby." She obeyed. Gina always obeyed. I reached under her skirt and removed her thong. I pressed it against my face and inhaled deeply, then I tossed it over my shoulder. I splayed her legs so wide that she looked like a lewd, sinful angel.

With all the love and passion I could muster, I buried my face between her legs, inhaling the scent that sprang from her. I parted her sweet curtains with my tongue, tasting her, drinking her in, and she moaned, her hands messing my hair. Her thighs tightened around my head. This was Lana's place in Gina’s world, and I was lucky to have it.

I licked and sucked, my tongue exploring every inch of her pussy. She was such a wet and ready bitch, and she was mine. I took my time. I wanted her to remember this forever. She writhed beneath me, her breath coming in gasps, her hips rising to meet my mouth. I could feel her building, her muscles tightening, and I worked her clit with an energy that was fueled by my own longing. Her moans grew louder, filling the night air. 

Her legs began to tremble, and I quickened my pace, my tongue flicking and circling, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. "Oh God, Lana," she moaned, her nails digging into my scalp. "You're so good. I love your mouth, baby."

I slid two fingers inside her, feeling her warmth, and she bucked against my hand. The walls of her pussy clenched around my fingers, and I knew she was close. I curled them slightly, hitting that spot deep inside her that always made her scream, and she did, her body convulsing as she came. That girl screamed out some nasty shit, dude! I lapped up her sloppy wetness like a kitten, eager for every scintilla of the girl I adored. And loved. 

After a moment, her breathing slowed, and she released my hair, her legs falling open. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice still thick with passion and wavering from the fatigue of the day. "That was amazing, baby. You are the most amazing baby!"

Then I drove us home in silence with her hand in mine. Words weren't enough to express what we felt as I drove that Mustang through the Nevada night.