Keep-Away

He was the kind of boy who couldn’t stand being teased, and this had been a whole morning of teasing thanks to the girls and their netball team. They were all cheeky smiles and show-offy confidence and little netball skirts – the very opposite of what he was like. The girls may have been the younger team, but they’d sure made the boys feel small today!

One of them was tantalizing him now. She stood in the shooting position underneath the basket and nothing he did, no amount of jumping and jumping, could either induce the girl to throw or get him close enough to knock the ball from her hands. His face was hot and red. Why did netball always have to be such a tease?

His bouncies were really starting to bother him from all the hopping up and down when the girl finally shot. The ball missed, after all that, and he managed to catch it as it fell. Finally! Some success! He whipped round and tried to pass to a boy on his team, but he’d reckoned without the greater speed of his opponents. Another girl sped into view and caught the ball easily.

Feeling stung, he set off after the girl who’d intercepted. The bouncing at the front of his underpants was driving him up the wall by now, and it was worst of all when he ran.

Trying to ignore it he caught up with the girl who had the ball, but she was ten times faster than him and skipped daintily out of his path. Her skirt fanned out, so as he stumbled past he saw a flash of the most pristine white cotton you could imagine hugging a round little poking-out butt. He gasped as he felt himself start to stiffen immediately, the pang of desperate excitement so acute it even hurt him a little.

That was the last thing a boy needed mid-game! Already it was making him short of breath, and he didn’t like to imagine how embarrassed he’d be it started to show.

He pressed on, because there was nothing else to do. One of the girls began to block him, putting herself directly in his path and stopping him getting past to where the ball was. She did this very well, so everywhere he darted and dashed the girl was in front of him, or rather her panties were, because she was really flashing them off. This wasn’t exactly helping with the other problem!

There was just no getting past, this was impossible. “Maybe if you stopped playing like a girl!” he flung at her, between puffing and blowing.

“This from the boys who are losing!” she sang back smugly, making him blush with shame. Then at long last, in a great surge of pent-up relief, he made it clumsily past the pink underwear that was obstructing his way…or did the girl let him past on purpose, he thought in a flash?

There ahead of him was the girl who held the ball, looking like the cheekiest on the whole team. He ran at her to try for that long-delayed tackle. She didn’t make any effort to get away, so he was next to her in moments. But she whirled sweetly around as he ducked down to try and reach the ball, her netball skirt flaring in his face, so all he got was a faceful of bum and no ball.

Blue polka-dot ones, seriously? And they so smelled of girl that it left him stunned. Stumbling back around to face her again he was in a daze, but also fuming with indignation that any girl should have been able to do such a thing to him.

She was only just getting started though! There on the court she proceeded to play keep-away with the ball, and by now the stiffness pushing out his underpants had made every one of his movements so awkward that he didn’t stand a chance. Soon he was boiling over with fury. She was behaving as if they were on the school playground, not in the middle of a netball game! Time and again she’d stand her ground and hold the ball out to him, then move it as soon as he made a grab. She was a whole lot faster and no matter how he tried, he just couldn’t lay a hand on it. He jumped up, bobbed down, shimmied from side to side and all the while, he thought between heavy panting, all the while, this horrid teasing girl keeps moving the stupid thing out of my reach!

When she dared to wiggle the ball right under his nose, flaunting it at him, something seemed to snap inside. He made a fevered grab, but the girl only moved it yet again so he fell and landed flat on his face, his knickers in a knot, bumping his stiffness agonizingly on the hard court. Then the girl, standing above him, pushed out her butt so her underwear showed again and briefly yanked the polka-dots down. Two perfect, pink, peachy butt-curves were being shoved at him as if to say just what this girl thought of his game. Then at long last she passed the ball and skipped away.

Slowly, he stood, an impossibly flushed, quivering figure, rooted to the spot on the netball court, his hormones raging so much he couldn’t trust himself to even move. His bouncies were maddening him, and there was just nothing he could do about how pushed-out his pants were directly above. That wasn’t going to go down any time soon, and the shame of everyone seeing him thus made him want to cry.

All the boys’ team were feeling a bit like that by the end. These girls were faster and they knew all the tricks, while the boys were no more than beginners. What this meant in practice was they couldn’t lay a hand on the ball, and felt really stupid dashing from one smirking girl to another, trying in vain to keep up. Every encounter was a tease, the girls using their greater skill to full advantage, only making the boys hotter and hotter and madder and madder as the game wore on.

THE END