Basketball Amazons by Tony Girls of the Future! (Part I) The following story is intended for your reading pleasure and edification. Its content may not be appropriate for minors. It contains passages of a mildly sexual nature. Please use discretion in reading it. ************************ BASKETBALL AMAZONS: GIRLS OF THE FUTURE! Prelude The year is 2024. My name is Cleo Drake. I am a sportswriter for the Atlanta Herald-Monitor, one of the nation's foremost cyberjournals. I have a master's degree in journalism from Tulane University. I am 29 years old, 5'8" tall, and weigh 150 lbs. Since I was a teenager, I've fantasized about attractive women bigger and taller than myself. I don't know why. It started about 12 years ago, when I was seventeen. Back in high school it seemed that there were so many girls who looked down on me. And in college too. And then, eight years ago, in 2016, the National Institutes of Health announced that a certain by-product of a new chemical process used to produce high-tensile strength polymers could mimic the human sex hormones estrogen and testosterone. Actually, it was more complicated than that. The chemical had powerful effects on humans, but only on human females. Specifically, on growing human females. And, regardless of government efforts to stop its proliferation in the environment once its effects were established, the NIH concluded that enough of the chemical had already leached into the nation's water supply to have profound effects on an entire generation of prepubescent and pubescent females. The effect was very interesting: it made young, growing girls grow taller and stronger. Somehow, the chemical, acting as a "sex steroid", entered the cell nucleus and mutated the genetic code on the X chromosome of preadolescent females. Girls exposed to the chemical, named 3,6,6-triiodo-estrosterone by organic chemists, experienced delayed puberty, plus an unnaturally long, intense growth spurt in adolescence. This caused affected girls to grow taller than was normal for young females. Instead of growing to the average female adult height for previous generations of American women (about 5'5"), this new generation of American girls was growing taller -- to an average height of 6 feet! Somehow, the chemical also affected physique and muscular development. Girls who were exposed developed much more athletic frames -- broader shoulders, slightly narrower hips, and a somewhat higher proportion of muscle in their bodies, with correspondingly less fat. Paradoxically, however, adipose tissue in the breasts remained unattenuated -- indeed, it was noted that affected women tended to have larger and firmer breasts than average women! The affect of 3,6,6-triiodo-estrosterone were first noted in 2016. I was 21 at the time, so girls of my immediate age cohort were not affected. It was the girls about 5 or 6 years younger than me who were the first age cohort in which these effects were described. Scientists had no name for the effect yet, but some called it an "Amazonizing" effect. Many women, especially women's groups like NOW, called this term derogatory and offensive. I kind of liked it. It seemed to represent everything I had always fantasized about! And now, it is 2024 and I am 29 years old. The oldest girls affected by estrosterone in the environment are now about 23 or 24. But the effect in those girls was not as pronounced as it is in younger girls. The average height for girls in the older group is about 5'10". Girls who are now in their teens and early twenties, however are experiencing the maximum effect -- they are almost universally growing to 6' tall or taller. Plus, geneticists are telling us that even if the chemical is completely washed out of the environment, eliminated from the water supply and bioremediated from the soil, its effects will last for generations and generations; probably they will be permanent, at least in North America. You see, the genetic code on the X chromosome has been permanently altered. Women passing either X chromosome along to their daughters automatically pass on what my insensitive colleagues in the media are calling "Stretch X Syndrome", because one arm of the X chromosome looks a little longer underneath the electron microscope (I'm sure they were also making a tongue-in-cheek reference to the way girls look nowadays!) To be activated, the mutated genes have to be present in homozygous form -- that is, there must be two affected chromosomes. I'm no geneticist, but my scientist friends tell me that even the one X chromosome men carry has been affected. Men aren't affected by the syndrome, however, since we only have one X chromosome. The United States, Quebec, British Colombia, and Mexico were the only countries affected by all this. And in the short span of time since the advent of "Stretch X Syndrome", a lot has changed. Social scientists almost all predicted that young women would be traumatized by their added height and strength, which would somehow stigmatize this generation of women as being "Amazons". But, something quite the opposite has happened. Girls everywhere are revelling in their height and strength. There has been a boom in girls' and women's sports, in high schools and colleges all over the continent. Young women are taking up basketball and volleyball, in particular, like never before. Many young women are having to settle for boyfriends or husbands who are even a few inches shorter than they are! Young women are developing a whole new attitude towards men and towards sex. And many men are being forced to change their attitudes. Lots of men have emigrated from North America, to Europe and Asia, to seek the so-called "old-fashioned" type of woman. Some people think what's happened is scary. But I don't know. I think it's great. ***************************** I am forced to play basketball on a women's team, against another women's team. These are two of the top college women's basketball teams, or at least the girls are college age. All of them are attractive and over 6' tall. I am the only male playing, but since I'm only 5'8", they all tower over me (they aren't giantesses, just very big girls.) The girls are wearing what now pass for standard women's basketball uniforms. Quite a bit sexier than what I remember in my younger days: tighter, with very short shorts, tight clingy tank tops, and little socks which rise only to ankle height. The play is very rough, much rougher than normal women's basketball. All the girls are in great physical condition. I try to keep up but they are all 100X better players than me, and I mess up a lot. I get roughed up a lot, with all these 6'-plus tall girls bumping into me, passing and catching the ball over my head, and knocking me down. There is a lot of pressure from the girls on my team for me to perform, as I'm "a guy", but I am a terrible player and contribute nothing to the team. Plus, I feel incredibly turned on by all these girls, who are all very attractive. I can't concentrate on the game. So the coach calls me out and puts in another girl, an attractive 6'2" freshman named Darrelyn. She goes in and scores 12 points for our team, saving thegame for us. I find this girl especially cute; she has very long, shapely legs; a fair, smooth complexion, red-blonde hair, and thick red lips. Her body is tight and pretty well-muscled, though not ripped like a bodybuilder's. After the game, there is a victory party in a hotel suite. I'm there, but very embarrassed among all these girls who are such great players. I am the only male at the party; the rest are all team members.... Everyone is drinking and getting high, there is great music, and I find myself standing in a corner right next to that strawberry blonde girl, who has broad shoulders, big tits, and a sweet southern accent. She is wearing very short shorts, white basketball shoes, a tight-fitting T-shirt, and big-framed glasses. I have an incredible hard-on. I compliment her on her playing, and tell her "That three pointer you hit with four seconds on the clock was awesome." She smiles victoriously and kicks on knee high into the air. Because her legs are so long, her knee practically reaches my shoulder! She whoops, excaiming, "That's my specialty!" In the suite's breakfast nook, there is a bar and a bunch of the girls are laughing and playing "arm wrestle" with each other. They call out to me to join them. "Let's see if anyone can beat a guy!" I say I don't want to play along, but they all shout "C'mon, c'mon, you're a guy, men are stronger than women!" They shout and shout almost tauntingly, until I agree to arm wrestle a pretty 6'1 brunette named Meredith. We lock hands on the bar top, and after a struggle, she defeats me! My face goes red! "Hey Meredith, it looks like the Olympic powerlifting is paying off!" "Olympic powerlifting?" I ask, bewildered. "Yeah," says Dixie, a 6' blonde, we do four three hour sessions every week. All of us." Then they push Darrelyn in front of me. "Try Darrelyn," says Dixie. "We noticed you seem to like her." "He's sweet on Darrelyn, everybody knows it!" blurts out Mandy, a gorgeous 6'2" black girl, from the living room. "He'll want to try that!" All the girls are standing around me, smiling broadly in anticipation. "C'mon, try her! Arm wrestle Darrelyn. Best of three," says Dixie. "Yeah," says Suzanne, "the loser has to make breakfast for the winner tomorrow morning." Suzanne pushes me back to the bar across from Darrelyn. "Come on, we wanna see if you can beat Darrelyn. She's younger than the rest of us, she's only been powerlifting for five weeks," says Dixie. "She looks pretty strong to me," I say. "She's only a freshman. Just a little Southern girl," Dixie smiles, squinting her eyes. "You're 29 years old, aren't you?" "Yeah," I gulped. I had agreed to play that night on their team because I was a sports columnist for a local newspaper, and my editor liked the whole writing staff to try crazy stunts to boost readership. "Well, you're a grown man. Now arm wrestle her!" Darrelyn looked miffed, like she wanted to back out. "He's probably tired. It's been a long night." "Well, you must be tired too," Suzanne said. "After winning the game for us." She went over and cupped Darrelyn's ear conspiratorily, whispered something into it. Darrelyn's face lightened. She raised her perfectly arched brows and said, "OK", smiling a bit. She extended her arm and we locked hands. I concentrated on pouring all my strength into my right arm. Beads of sweat were developing on my temples. I strained against her force. Her face was calm, without a bit of strain. Then her gorgeous features tightened a bit, as if she were concentrating too. For no more than ten seconds, it was a titanic battle of supposed equals. I funnelled every ounce of strength into that arm. But I was losing. My arm descended slowly, then faster. And then WHOOOMP! I had lost. There was silence in the room. "And she hasn't been powerlifting but a month and a half," someone said. "It's still best of three," Dixie reminded us. "Rest up. Tracey, get them some cold pop from the ice chest." Tracey, a 6'1" platinum blonde with very fair skin and strikingly sharp features, handed us ice cold cans of soda. After a few minutes, we were back at it. "Okay, second bout," Dixie announced. I gripped Darrelyn's bigger hand. "Remember, loser cooks breakfast. Whatever the winner wants! Get set, go!" said Dixie in her South Carolina drawl. Again, we strained fiercely, or rather I did. Again, Darrelyn's perfect features remained expressionless. She even cracked a bit of a smile, which I thought was cruel. And again, beads of clammy sweat developed on my temples, tracing cool-warm rivulets down my sideburns, my cheeks, my neck. I concentrated hard, almost prayed. But to no avail. WHOOOOMP! I was down again. "That's best of three. Darrelyn beat you!" announced Dixie. "Now, Darrelyn, what'll it be for breakfast tomorrow?" Darrelyn rolled her eyes a bit, pursed her full lips. "Can I sleep on it?" "You sure can, girl. It's been a hard night!" Dixie said. "Now you guys shake hands..." I went over to shake Darrelyn's hand. I looked up at her wide-set, pretty blue eyes, and those full lips. No one spoke. Someone turned the stereo back on, and Darrelyn and I each opened a cold beer. We talked a bit, standing near the kitchen. The music was loud again. We talk for a long time, have a few more beers. The other girls leave us alone in our corner. My head seems to be spinning from the night, the beer, the music, and my defeats to this towering golden-haired goddess. Suddenly, a girl pushes me from behind and I loose my balance. I fall right on top of Darrelyn, knocking us both over, onto the floor. My beer spills all over her chest, saturating the clingy tan T-shirt she is wearing. We're both down and I'm on top. Moving around on top of her body, my hard-on returns in full force. A bunch of girls are yelling, "Kiss her! Kiss her! C'mon, kiss her you little wimp!" One girl pushes my head down onto her, and I kiss her thick red lips...she smiles and giggles. The girls are shouting, "Come on, we know you want her!!" Then a girl picks me up by the elbows and pushes both me and her into a semidarkened bedroom. One girl yells to her teammate, "Hey Darrelyn, don't hide your strength from him!" "Yeah," shouts another, "Remember, you're representing the female sex!" "And the Class of 2028!" someone else shouted. "Show him what the girls of our generation can do!" They shut the door on us and we took off our clothes.... Any comments or suggestions for extending this story please email me! BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future Part II: After the After Party I looked up at her and said, "I can't believe we're in here... together!" She looked down, and I could tell from her eyes she'd been drinking too much. Her thick red-blonde locks formed a round, disheveled mane which framed her perfect oval face. Her big blue eyes seemed about to shut. "Why? You don't think those girls are serious?" "I can tell they like to joke around." "And I can tell you had a big hard-on the whole night!" She kept looking down at me, trying to focus her eyes on mine. I paused, then said, "I guess you've got me there." "Well at first I wanted to play along with those girls. They told me I should sleep with you, they put me up to this. And I thought, why would I want to sleep with this...this man who..." "Who what?" "Oh, don't get me wrong," she said. Her drawl seemed more pronouned, slurred perhaps by all that booze. "I've slept with a few guys. No real long-term relationships, just one-niters mostly. Mostly athletes, too." "Athletes?" "Yeah. Big, tall guys." I decided to take a more direct approach, to the extent I felt comfortable with this big, strong Amazon. "Well I can see why so many of those guys would be...would like you. You're very attractive!" Her eyes widened just a bit and the glaze seemed to fade. "Thank you," she said, in a voice that could have come from an 11 year old Southern girl, for all its sweetness and innocence. We were standing very close in the semi-darkness. I shuddered. Then I backed off, feeling nervous and suddenly weak, and turned the lights up a bit higher. "Oh yeah," I said, and locked the door. "Why are you locking that?" she asked, yawning silently. "More privacy, so we can talk..." She stretched her long arms, one after the other. As she did, a crack opened between her t-shirt and shorts, and I caught a snatch of tight, firm abdominals. Then she stood up straight, more erect. Her big, very round breasts filled out the grey ribbed t-shirt gloriously, like perfectly twinned melons sitting close together on a shelf. A shelf as high as my nose! I couldn't get over how big they were. All the girls on the team had nice tits, but these were unbelievable! The thought flashed through my mind that these should be illegal. "About what, Cleo?" she said. Her hands were clasped in front of her and her look was tired, almost sad, but there was a hint of playfulness in her voice. Though it was difficult to avert my gaze from her two erect, generous melons, I looked down at her sprawling legs. The shorts she was wearing were very short, and fit her hips and thighs as tightly as another skin. But her own skin was perfect, everywhere, and there was a lot of it! Her legs were powerful-looking, like two big, pink tree trunks. Yet they were graceful and feminine; the skin so flawless and soft, yet firm, hard with undeniable muscle. And long: my eyes followed them slowly, from the top of her smooth bare thighs, down and down and down, past strong Amazon knees and finally to her calves, fine, soft, yet well muscled. They were maybe the longest, most perfectly ideal set of legs I had ever seen on a girl. She caught me looking and pouted, bent one knee inward as if to call even greater attention to her attractiveness. "You are very attractive." "You said that." I walked closer, hesitantly. When I got close enough, I stopped. "Can I just have a kiss?" I asked. "Well you kissed me out there already, when you fell on top of me." "Can I have another?" "Umm... I guess it wouldn't hurt." I raised my neck and our lips met. I concentrated on her lips: how thick and perfect and naturally red, a beautiful contrast with that fair skin... I took her by the elbows, plunged my tongue into the depths of her mouth. I gripped her elbows harder. After about 30 seconds, we pulled away. She shook her hair mussing it up even more, and a wild look seemed to take hold of her eyes. "That was...good," she said. I looked at her expression, couldn't help taking in the broadness of those shoulders. Here I was, with the most attractive girl I had ever kissed, and she was built not like a cheerleader but like a linebacker, an Amazon who towered over me! I felt my dick throbbing. "This is too much," I said. "I want you so bad!" "Um, a girl can tell when she's wanted. I have eyes." "Then what are we gonna do about it?" "Who said we were gonna do anything about it?" "Why can't we?" I asked, the frustration mounting now. "Because! Because I said so! Because you can't make me do what I don't want to, that's why." Her voice was sweet again, like an 11 year-old's, with a hint of sarcasm. "I can't help it, Darrelyn. When I look at you I just get..." "Well hey, maybe we can talk tomorrow. I really need to get some sleep. Practice in the morning, powerlifting in the afternoon and all that shit, y'know?" She squinted her eyes as if to say, "You moron!" She walked over to the door, touched the "unlock" key. The door didn't slide open! "Hey, what's the matter?" I went over and tried touching the key. No response. I tried again. Nothing! I pounded on the door. Not a sound from outside. "What's goin' on here? Is this somebody's idea of a joke?" she said, sounding quite irritated. "I -- I don't know..." was all I could say. My mind raced. Would I be locked in here with this beautiful, reluctant Amazon all night? She beat me over to the interlink on the nightstand, sat down on the bed crossing those long legs. She touched a few keys. "Interlink's down," she said. "I'm not gettin' a thing." I noticed her Southern accent seemed more pronounced when she was angry. And angry she obviously was! "Oh no! Can't you get through to the front desk? Or one of the other suites? You mean it's totally dead?" I went over to take a look. There was only a bluish, snowy static on the screen, fast moving dots and lines. Her fingers were flying over the small keypad. I reached out to touch it and she shoved me on the chest. "Ow! That--" "Don't touch! I'm trying to dial out!" "I was just trying to--" "I don't care what you're trying to do, I'm trying to get us a line out! Now keep your dick inside your pants!" Wow! Was she angry! I felt myself afraid to say another word. "Is there a handheld we can use?" I finally asked. She nodded "no". "Mine is in my duffle bag, and that's out in the hall closet. Here, you try to dial, maybe you'll have better luck." I tried the front desk. Nothing but static and error messages. "They're foolin' with us. It's Dixie and Meredith," she said. "Well, I guess we're stuck." "I guess so." She picked up the TV remote. "Maybe this works." Fortunately for her, it did. She surfed through the channels and stopped on -- what else? A women's basketball game! "Well as long as we're gonna be in here I'm watchin' tonight's game." It was the women's pro league, the San Diego Aztecs playing the Chicago Lakesiders. "Oh cool! The Siders are spanking San Diego! Courtney Vollrath is so bad-ass!" I sat on the bed and looked at the screen which filled most of the facing wall. Watching them reminded me of the game we had played much earlier that day, and how Darrelyn had saved the game. She reclined on the bed now, stretching out her 6'2" frame, bending one mighty Amazon leg at the knee. Her breasts were like two enormous mountains, side by side, rising from a plain. She caught me looking at her. "Are you gonna watch the game, or what?" I touched her arm. Like a bolt of lightning, she slapped my hand away. "Don't touch me!" she ordered sternly. "I won't let you take advantage of this situation! Remember...I beat you at arm-wrestling, didn't I?" "T-twice," I reminded her. "Yeah, that's right. I do think I can take you in a fight." She giggled. "W-what?" I said. I felt so -- rejected. "Remember when we arm-wrestled?" "Yeah?" "I wasn't tryin'" "What?" I said, and gulped. "Do it look like it was a challenge to me?" "Ummm...I don't know." "I held back. I only used like 40 percent of what I could have. Maybe 30 percent." "R-really? No..." "Oh, you don't believe me?" "It's not that I don't, but how could--" "Okay, let's go over there to that table. Sit down 'cross from me." "But h-how...I don't..." There was genuine fear welling up inside of me. It was like a dark, distant but growing dread arising in my head, in every fiber of muscle. Where would it lead? "Sit down," she said. "Let's REALLY arm-wrestle, Cleo. No pretending this time. All right?" "A-all right..." We clenched hands. "You say when." That black dread inside of me menaced and taunted me like a hungry panther licking its chops on a distant perch. Soon I would be that panther's lunch! I looked at her big, wide-set blue eyes, which were wide open now. Her red-gold hair still touseled, it surrounded her serious features, her upturned nose and strong chin, like a fiery mane. Her brows arched upward, at an inhumanly high angle. "Now," I said. "I'll give you a little time to understand this, Cleo," she said. "Taste it...like you tasted that kiss?" She twisted her arm around mine so that our arms were intertwined. "Now this is how you arm wrestle. This is how you see who's really stronger. Come on, give it all you've got!" Istrained against her superior strength. "I'll put you down on three. One. Two. Three." She slammed my arm, hard, onto the table. Her big eyes gleamed ferociously, like the eyes of a tigress. To Be Continued... BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future Part III: "Secret Revealed!" "Wanna try that one more time just to make sure you understand?" "N-no. I think that's sufficient," I said. I understood, all right. Not only was she strong, but Darrelyn was considerably stronger than I had imagined, much stronger than she had revealed herself to be in our early-evening arm-wrestling games. I looked at her and she smiled without parting her full lips. She got up, walked over to the nightstand. "Let me try this thing once again." She sat on the edge of the bed and touched a few keys on the intelink. Just static and error messages came up on the screen. "Shit! I can't even get an optical carrier." She grabbed the TV remote and turned up the volume on the game from San Diego. It was the fourth quarter; there were only two minutes left on the clock. "Oh fuck. Eighty-nine seventy-eight Aztecs? Chicago's defense is in the toilet." "Darrelyn, that was pretty impressive, the way you spanked me so well at arm-wrestling." She squinted at me. "I like to arm wrestle. I used to do it with my brothers all the time. They taught me something about being quick, psyching out your opponent." "But you didn't have to psych me out. You're just...much stronger." She squinted again. "Sorry. I just love arm-wrestling." "Did your brothers teach you -- to fight?" "Oh, fighting? I didn't have to learn fighting from my brothers. Learned that at school. I guess it's just the times we live in. I don't know about when you were growing up -- what's the difference in our ages -- ten years? Girls fight now in school, just like guys. They say that 'Stretch X' makes us more...physical. More belligerent, right? Like guys." The game was just about over, the San Diego Aztecs had upset Chicago, and Darrelyn muted the volume on the TV. "That's what they say." She smiled a haughty smile. "I guess that's why women's basketball is pretty physical nowadays, too!" She crossed her Amazonian legs. "You weren't ready for the physicality in that game today, I could tell. Were you surprised at how rough we get?" "Actually, yes. I didn't expect--" "What? That women can be tough and strong?" "Y-yeah. Wee..." "Well look at us, Cleo." She kicked her crossed leg up and down playfully. "I mean we're not delicate little things like girls were, maybe back when you were growing up. We're not the girls you went to high school and college with, are we?" "No, y-you're--" "Say it. Say it, Cleo, tell me what you're thinking." "You're like Amazons." She looked at me, arched her eybrows. "Women warriors?" Her arms were stretched out behind her and planted on the bed, and she arched her back, pressing those two melon-mounds proudly forward. She was still kicking her leg. She still had her white-white tennis shoes and ankle socks on, and I watched her foot bounce up and down. "They're always comparing us with Amazons. Female warriors. Sometimes it...hurts. I mean I like being tall and all. I like being strong. But -- what do you think about girls like us? Like me?" "Well, um..." I gulped silently. The words were caught in my throat, or somewhere between my imagination and my larynx. There was so much I could say to answer her question. Could I ever tell her my fantasies? Could I unleash a torrent of honesty, tell her that tall, strong women -- Amazons like her -- turned me on more than anything in the world? "You can be honest," she said. My attention fixed on the fineness of her complexion, the fair pink-white of her powerful knee. She reached over to the nightstand and put her glasses on again, then arched her back once more, puffing out that impressive set of headlights. Her lips took on a soulful red pout. "I like tall women. I like strong girls, strong--" "But there aren't as many taller girls your age. You're almost thirty." "We're still in the same age group. I'm only ten years older..." "Ten years is a long time, Cleo. The world has changed a lot since you were my age." "You're making me feel so old. I--" "Cleo, I think women are finally equal now. Or at least my generation wil be. Now with this new extra-uterine technology they're talking about, women won't even have to get pregnant anymore. We won't have to have babies! I could deal with that!" "Hey, I don't blame you. I would never want to get pregnant." "My mom says its the worst thing that can happen to a girl. That is, apart from actually giving birth!" We both laughed a little. "But getting back to what I was saying, Cleo," she said, becoming serious. "What do you think of girls like us -- are we really Amazons?" "I -- I don't know." "You say you like big, strong girls. Girls like us, bigger and stronger than you?" "I guess I have to live with it. And the fact that you're so attractive makes it--" "Harder to deal with?" "I -- I wanted to kiss you again before -- to touch you -- but you pushed me away." "That's because I make the rules here. If I want to be touched, I'll ask." She stood up, placed her hands on her hips. I looked up at her impressive form: the broad shoulders, the powerful-looking arms, the long legs, almost too long even for her tall body. There was a tightness, a firmness about her; a formidable athletic density that said everything was in the right place. "So you learned to fight at school, with other girls?" "That's the way we did it. It was like, we couldn't wait to get out into the playground and rumble. Even the boys were afraid of us! Sometimes we'd even go out of our way to make them afraid." "Did you ever fight boys?" "Sometimes. But only the bigger ones could take me. Well, that's not exactly true. If a 6'5" or 6'6" guy came along, I'd back off into a corner. But there weren't many of them. Thank heavens for me." Just then there was a loud tone from the TV omnivox. The caption, "Recorded 10.04.24, 1016-1029" appeared on the screen, in big yellow letters on a grey background. Then, a bunch of faces, mostly male. I recognized Dwayne Walters, my cameraman. Steven Lopez-Clarke, my good friend from Atlanta's AT-NET Sports. Megan Crandall, one of Darrelyn's team's trainers at Peachtree State University. But she walked off the screen. The setting looked familiar. It looked like Dwayne and Steven were standing near in the hall outside the women's practice gym at Peachtree State, where we were this morning, a few hours before the game I participated in. We had gathered this morning to watch the PSU girls practice. And look! I couldn't believe it! There I was! "How did this get on the screen?" "I don't know." Darrelyn checked the remote control. "It looks as if somebody timed this thing to go on now! At 3 am!" Fear flooded me all of a sudden. "Turn this thing off!" I said. I grabbed the remote from her. "I don't want to see myself--" "Hey!" She shoved me lightly and grabbed it back. "I wanna see this, as long as it's on!" She turned up the volume. There I was, in my sky-blue windbreaker and nylex pants. As usual, on the screen, it looked like I was having a bad hair day. "That chick, number 23, the redhead," I was saying. "She is gorgeous. I got a good look at her. Man, is she beautiful. I could fuck her lights out. Those long legs would put me in heaven," I said. "I'd like to get her alone in a room somewhere. I'd wrestle her down to the floor and bang her till..." I went on talking, with snickers from the other two guys. "Darrelyn Fields," I said. "Can we get some more information about her? Maybe we can do a one-on-one?" "Oh Cleo..." she said, staring coldly, but with the fire of a fierce anger building in her big, catlike eyes. To Be Continued... BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future! Part IV: "Revelations!" "But she's twice your size," said Steve Lopez-Clarke from the TV screen. "How you gonna wrestle a girl like that to the ground and fuck her?" "Where there's a will there's a way, I guess," the me on the screen said. There was something uncharacteristically cocky in my voice: I was trying to impress my friends. "Hey, she's a nineteen year-old girl-jock. These girls aren't rocket scientists." Darrelyn was standing in front of the huge screen in our hotel bedroom with her jaw hanging down. She was obviously in shock. Now was the time to act. I lunged at her, bounding over the corner of the queen-sized bed. "Give me that remote!" I yelled, and snatched it from her hand. "I don't know who recorded that, but it's garbage. That's not me! This is a set-up!" I was lying, of course, and pretty desperately. She looked at me, her jaw still agape. Then her face twisted into anger again. She said, "No! I will not let you have that remote!" She grabbed the remote control, and shoved me, hard this time. Very hard. I went reeling backwards onto the floor. She stood now triumphantly, a smile on her face that was purely sarcastic, and devoid of pleasure. I looked up at her impressive form: the lanky, bare legs like two powerful tree-trunks, the shapely waist curving upwards into glorious proud breasts. She laughed smugly. "I've gotta see this! I wouldn't miss this for the world." "Don't watch it, Darre--" "Oh," she said, in her faux-sweet voice. "I should rewind a bit, shouldn't I? I think we've missed some." She hit the rewind button and returned to the part where I was insulting her intelligence. "Hey," I said again, "she's a nineteen year-old girl-jock. These girls aren't rocket scientists." I crouched there close to the floor, stunned. My own words, coming from the omnivox, echoed in my head like explosive charges. "I don't know, some of these girls are pretty decent scholars," Steven said. "Yeah, Cleo," said the third guy on the screen, my cameraman Dwayne. "You really think you'll be able to get her into bed so easy?" I got up again, tried to grab the remote one more time but Darrelyn quickly blocked me. WHOOOMP! She delivered a hard backhand to my shoulder. "Yowch!" I yelped. That one hurt bad. Then she grabbed my right wrist. Her grip was vice-like. She tossed the remote onto a nearby chair and grabbed my other wrist with her free hand. I thrashed my arms about, trying to fight her control, resist her strength. She scowled down at me, shifted her gaze back and forth between me and the screen. "He-heh," chuckled the me on the screen. "Remember what they used to say about dumb blonde cheerleaders, back in the day. These girls are just the 2020's version of an airhead cheerleading squad. Georgia Valley Girls." "Georgia Valley Girls?" Darrelyn asked, bewildered. "What's that?" I struggled against her hold with both my arms, all my strength. "Oh, you wouldn't want to know," I said, resignedly. "Airhead cheerleaders?! Is that what you think we are? Dumb cheerleaders?" Her expression now looked vicious, and deeply insulted. "But you gotta admit, that Darrelyn is one sexy babe. Those legs! And those knockers! She's qualified to rock my world, baby. Just get me in a room together with that chick and I guarantee I'll get it on with her one way or another." I rambled on. It really was embarrassing to hear myself engaging in such a sexist display of objectification. It was so out of character for me, I thought. And yet it was me, undeniably, up there on that huge TV screen. Although she had the upper hand from the start, I now felt myself weakening. But she was as strong as ever. With her powerful grip on both my wrists, she was now able to control my arms, to steady them, keep them from moving. I was restrained, immobilized by this big Amazon before me. The one I thoughtlessly insulted and berated from the TV screen. I looked up at her face. The pride was gone from her expression, and now a tear welled up in the corner of her eye. It streamed down her puffy cheek. I went on hanging myself from the TV screen. "She probably got into PSU on a basketball scholarship! That means she's taking classes like "History of Sports," "History of Art"..." "Yeah," said Dwayne. "Dribbling 103." When "jokes" like that were uttered, it was no longer funny, even to the usually affable Dwayne. Her grip didn't weaken, but she was visibly shaken. And another tear streamed down as she held my arms in check. Her feet were anchored firmly on the floor, stabilized by those lanky, powerful legs. "I'm a Math major!" she said, almost sobbing. "I'm not an airhead! For your information my GPA is 3.53, and 4.0 in Math. I scored a 1900 on the math section of the SPECs. The second highest in Georgia!" Her grip didn't weaken, in fact she tightened her hands about my wrists. Then she started twisting my right wrist. What she was saying was shocking. It shook me, exploded like a small pipe-bomb between my ears. "I was offered a four-year scholarship to MIT!" My head reeled. She stared intently at me now. Her blue eyes, fearsome as a big cat's, were now touched with red at the corners. Her cheeks puffed out. And that's when the screen went gray and the yellow caption appeared saying "End of Recording." She pulled me inward, and then with astounding energy and force, shoved me hard across the room. I hit the wall near the door and dropped to the floor. She stood now with hands on hips, long bare legs spread apart. "How could you say those things about me? Insulting me like that on TV?" "But it wasn't on TV, Darr--" "I don't care what it was on, you called me an airhead! You thought it would be that easy to get me into bed, didn't you? You set this whole little scenario up, didn't you, little prick?" "No! No, Darrelyn I had nothing to do--" "You're such a puny little penis-brain, I could knock you from here to next Thursday with one hand! Is that what you think of women, what I saw you say on that TV screen just now? Is that how you think of us?" "No! No, it's not. I just got carried aw--" "You got carried away, huh? Well, I'll sue your ass for sexual harrassment, you son-of-a-bitch! I've got you on chip, now. A nice recording! And I'm gonna see to it that this recording gets to your bosses and to the police! And the Justice Court of Cobb County, where my daddy's a prosecutor!" "No, Darrelyn, don't." I strained for an explanation, something clever or distracting to say. My mind raced for an angle, a way I could spin this perfectly incriminating behavior so that it wouldn't look so bad. But my mind was at a loss. It was effusive apology time. "Darrelyn, please! Please, I'm sorry for what I did and said. Th-that's how guys act, that's how w-we talk sometimes, w-when we're together. Especially when a guy -- h-has the hots for a good-looking woman. It's -- it's hard to control. At least for me it is." "So you denigrate, and you berate, and you call a girl you don't even know an airhead. An blonde, airhead cheerleader. And I'm not a rocket scientist. It's funny you should mention that, Cleo, because I'm headed for a Ph.D. in quantum physics and the Mars program!" To Be Continued...