When cheerleading practice was over, Ana still had a lot of energy, so she hung around the gym shooting baskets. She was a pretty good player, had played a lot with her brothers, but hadn’t picked up a ball lately. She had just thrown up an airball when one of the members of the girls’ basketball team arrived early for practice.
“Nice form, cheerleader,” sneered the girl. Ana glanced over at her; she was small but athletic-looking, with her long black hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a number 23 jersey. Ana had seen her around but never really paid attention to her before.
Ana retrieved the ball and took a few dribbles. “You talking to me?”
The girl smiled, recognizing the reference. “There’s no one else here, is there?”
Ana launched another shot, and this one was much better, dropping through with a swish. “You think you could take me?”
Number 23 raised one eyebrow. “You serious?”
“Sure. Unless you’re afraid.”
Just then the rest of the team started to arrive. The girl pointed to Ana and said, “After practice. One hour. Be here.”
Ana nodded and went to the locker room, where she changed into gym shorts and a tank top. She grabbed a ball and went out to the outdoor court to shoot a little more, arriving back in the gym in time to watch the last few minutes of practice. Number 23 was the point guard on the team, and she was a real player, no doubt about that; she was quick, could handle the ball, was a sharp passer, and had a nice pull-up jump shot. Was she showing off for Ana? Maybe a little bit.
She was also very cute for a sporty girl, Ana noticed. She was thin but strong, with nice legs and small but substantial tits that were not entirely hidden by her sports bra. She had skin that was a little darker than most of the people at their school, but Ana was not quite sure of her ethnicity — maybe she was part Filipina, or Hispanic, or Middle Eastern? Maybe she had one African-American grandparent? It was hard to tell, but it always made Ana happy to see a bit of color in this town.
When the practice dispersed number 23 hung around, wiping the sweat from her face and arms with a towel. Ana rose from the bleachers and approached her. She knew she was going to have her hands full, but it would be no shame to lose to such a talented player, so she felt pretty relaxed.
“I’m Ana,” she said, extending her hands.
“Christina,” said the girl. “Game to 11?”
“Your outs,” said Christina. “I hope you’re a good loser.”
“We’ll see,” answered Ana, who was used to trash talk and not phased by it. Dribbling in, Ana backed Christina down into the post, faked one way, spun the other, and dropped in a layup with her left hand. She saw the expression on Christina’s face change immediately; she was going to have to take this seriously, and her eyes narrowed into a mask of intensity. They were beautiful eyes, Ana couldn’t help noticing — big and brown and full of life.
Ana missed her next shot and Christina got the rebound. She dribbled out to the three-point line and turned toward Ana, bouncing the ball out in front of her, almost daring Ana to try to steal it. Ana knew not to fall for that; the moment she lunged for the ball, Christina would dart by her and go to the basket. After sizing up Ana’s defense for a few seconds, Christina made her move; she went hard to the right, and when Ana chased, she crossed over and went left, easily beating Ana to the basket for a layup.
When Christina took the ball out this time, Ana backed off her, so Christina coolly drained an 18-foot jumper. On her next possession, though, she tried to drive again, and Ana made an adjustment and blocked the shot, recovered that ball, and again went inside for a layup.
This set the pattern of the game; Christina used her speed and shooting ability, while Ana relied on raw power, using her ample butt to push Christina under the basket. The smaller girl had to use all her weight to get any leverage, with the result that her chest was often pressed against Ana’s back. Ana enjoyed that. Once, when trying to grab Christina to foul her and prevent an easy layup, Ana got a full handful of breast; it was an accident, but she let her hand linger there a few seconds longer than it needed to.
They traded baskets for awhile, but Ana was rusty and missed a few easy shots, so Christina went up 10–8. After stuffing another of Christina’s shots, Ana made two very determined forays to the basket, Christina trying to foul her but getting outmuscled both times. Now the score was 10–10 and Ana tried the same approach, but this time Christina poked the ball away and stole it.
Again Christina dribbled back and forth, her body swaying, trying to hypnotize Ana with her body language. Finally, she head faked right and drove left, getting a step on Ana, who pursued doggedly. Christina managed to kiss the ball off the glass just before Ana crashed into her, spilling them both to the floor, where they looked up to see the ball drop through the net for the game-winner.
Ana had landed on top of Christina, her full weight pressing down on the smaller girl, and she made no move to get off. A meaningful look passed between them, and Ana was just about to lean down for a kiss when the custodian arrived to lock up the gym. And just like that, the moment was over. Ana hopped up and Christina scurried away, pausing only to glance back briefly and mutter “Good game” before exiting, looking somewhat red in the face.
Ana considered following her but decided against it. One step at a time. But she did want to get home and masturbate as soon as possible; she’d never realized that basketball could get her so hot.