I got distracted when I saw the girl slowly walking on the other side of the fence. Darren easily knocked the ball from my hands and made the basket.
“Ha!”
He passed the ball back, then turned to see what I was looking at. The girl’s fingers were gripping the chain links, and she was peering at us with one eye. “Hi,” he said as he approached her from our side. “I’m Darren.”
“Really? I thought your name was ‘Dweeb.’ At least that’s what your friend ‘Asshole’ kept calling you.”
“I’m Mike,” I told her. “Come around, we play better when we have an audience.”
“I’d rather play than watch.” Her legs swished against her floor-length skirt and her white sneakers appeared and disappeared under it as she ran around the court’s perimeter. Darren trotted alongside and I met them at the gate. I snapped the ball into her upraised hands, and she dribbled it a couple of times before tucking it under her arm.
She was pretty with very long eyelashes, and I don’t think she was wearing any makeup. Her hair was cut short, shorter than mine and a lot shorter than Darren’s, which was probably why her round head seemed small for her body. I’m six-one, Darren’s a little under that, and this skinny girl could almost look him straight in the eye.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Today I think my name will be…” She teased out the “beeee” for an absurdly long time with a growing smile before finally saying, “Mandy!” Then she easily made a three-pointer.
Darren said that she and I would be a team. “Mike will be your handicap, Mandy. That way, everything is fair and even.”
“Uh-uh. The two of you, against me. Shirts and skins—you’re the skins.” She was wearing a way-oversized tank top under an unbuttoned lightweight denim shirt. She tossed the shirt aside and walked for the ball.
“Okay, but don’t trip on your skirt, girlie,” Darren said.
“Good point.” Mandy shimmied out of her skirt, and we barely caught a glimpse of her white underwear before her long top draped just below her little butt. To say that she was fit would have been an understatement, and I had a bad feeling that we weren’t going to win.
“Your shirts—off!” she said. “Nice!”
“What are we playing for?” Darren’s got a big mouth.
“Guys are always too competitive,” she said. “A kiss.”
“What do you mean, ‘a kiss?’” I asked.
“You’re big boys. You’ll figure it out.”
Damn, she knew what she was doing. Not only was she good at handling the ball, but she was also good at the mental game, giving us clear views of her tits from the wide-open sides of her tank when she shot or from the top when she bent over. She’d charge or shoot when she knew our attention was fixed on her nipples instead of the ball.
Then again, maybe we just psyched ourselves out.
I had seen girls’ boy shorts before, but this time I was sure that these were actual boys’ briefs, which she was all too happy to flash when she used her shirt to wipe the sweat from her brow. They made her legs seem impossibly long, and that was distracting as hell, too.
Some clouds moved in, and it began to drizzle. Mandy had accused us of being competitive earlier but quickly chided us when we suggested calling the game on account of rain. “Afraid of losing?” she asked. But then at one point, when it started to come down a little harder, she just stopped playing and, with her arms outstretched, she turned her open mouth toward the sky to drink. Darren sank the layup, and she didn’t care.
Our able, attractive opponent performed with a graceful attitude like she was dancing on the court. She whirled around us. She lifted herself on her toes and stayed there forever with her arms stretched high above her head and her fingers elegantly extended before sinking the shot. The ball wasn’t an object, it was a partner who followed her lead in a kind of erotic ball-dribbling tango.
We clumsily lost. It was close, but we lost.
After we congratulated each other on a good game, she stood there uncharacteristically girly and almost shyly bit her lower lip. She looked me in the eyes, and then Darren, and back to me.
“A kiss,” she said. She came to me, haltingly, and wrapped her arms around my waist, placing her hands on the small of my back. She pressed her lips to mine, then offered me her tongue. As our kissing grew passionate, she slipped her hands down my shorts and pulled my hips against hers. I cupped the backs of her drenched tighty-whities and we ground against each other.
She broke the kiss. “Nice,” she said and turned toward Darren. She kissed him too, with her hand down the front of his shorts—lucky dog. He played with her tits over her soaking-wet top, and I watched her strokes get longer as he got longer.
Mandy stepped back and peeled her soaked, clingy top from her skin. Her nipples were dark and firm, and I could see her dark bush through her wet, transparent underwear. “We’re all on the same team now,” she said. She brought us together, boy-girl-boy, in the cool, pouring rain. Our four hands vied for her flesh, and we wantonly kissed her mouth and body. Her hands were down our shorts, squeezing and tugging on our cocks.
