Dee Saves the ProgramChapter 15
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Dee Saves The ProgramChapter 8 free porn video
Fortunately, while the school nurse took care of Cameron -- that was the victim, Cameron Whitaker, who was more scared and angry than hurt -- Mrs. Devers took control of me. If I'd gotten my hands on the perp I'd probably now be doing twenty to life instead of preparing to graduate. I had some anger management issues back then -- it was about then Ms. Andrews got me interested in archery.
Thinking about all that distracted me as I settled my helmet on my head. Not wanting to disappoint the bird watchers, I swung my leg high and wide as I went to mount Old Bessie. I launched myself off her with a howl that scattered sparrows a half a block away. Bessie went down with a clatter, the bell on her handlebars letting out a mournful little chirp. For a minute I could only rub my pussy, wondering what had happened.
Then I heard the cackles from the geriatric delinquents under the ficus. One old duffer was laughing so hard he was hacking while someone pounded him on the back. Another was triumphantly waving the towel I put over the seat when I park in the sun. I'd been had. He'd snitched the towel to give Bessie's seat plenty of time to heat up. The fact that I don't always settle ass first had only made the joke better.
"That's one hot twat you got there, Dee," the guy crowed.
What could I do but ruefully rub my singed pussy. After picking up poor Old Bessie and checking her for bruises I primly walked her over to the koi pond to scoop some water over the seat and splash some on my scorched crotch. Once it -- the seat, not my crotch -- stopped steaming I remounted and kicked into motion in their direction, waving a scolding finger at the old geezers. Deciding that their cleverness deserved a treat, I looped around them a couple of times -- look Mom, no hands AND no feet! -- so they could appreciate my charms -- before I plucked the towel away.
Giving them a cheery farewell flap of the old rag I pedaled off to my next assignment, glad to bury my SACNISP memories for a while by concentrating on navigating the traffic. I'd been warned once (by Maria, no less) to put some clothes on or be cited for distracting drivers. Well, you can guess how far that suggestion went! I at least stick to the bike paths and off the main drag as much as possible.
This is a typical Saturday for me -- workout, model, grab a bite for lunch on my way to the high school pool, where I coach the new Diving Queen of Central High. She'd been Princess in Waiting and Heir Apparent and now it was her turn to shine. It made for a bittersweet afternoon. I love diving. I loved diving competitively, but it had been forcefully driven home to me that I had outgrown it. Now I'm reduced to coaching my successor. Fortunately I enjoy working with her, a lot.
Dusting off the crumbs from a sandwich eaten on the pedal, as it were, I parked in the shade this time. It had to be heading for a hundred. With the desert dry air sucking the moisture out of me I welcomed the chlorinated humidity of the indoor pool and the chance for a quick dip.
She was already there, stretching, and I could only marvel at the flexibility in her petite muscular package. She was as naked as I was, of course. The split stretch forward she was doing -- straight out of her gymnastics background -- was totally awesome. She was face down on the pool deck like a supplicant to some oriental potentate, only her legs were split out at right angles to her body, her toes pointed. I've never done a split like that in my life, even in my diving prime.
But then it's not really a diving move.
When the door closed with a thud she rose up just enough to show me her bare titties, stiff from kissing the cold tiles, knowing I'd appreciate the view.
"Hi Dee." Judy Liu flashed her usual wicked grin.
I'd scold her for showing off, but that would be the pot calling the kettle black. What diver or gymnast isn't an exhibitionist?
"Hi Judy." Without even pausing I dropped my swim bag on the deck and arrowed into the water, relishing the sweet feel of it sluicing away my bike-sweat. There are great advantages to nudism. It saves on wardrobe and a lot of time dressing and undressing.
"You ready to get to work?" I asked when I surfaced and rolled on my back for a couple of strokes, letting my stiff nipples breathe the pool air.
"Don't you want to shower first?"
"Too late. I've already contaminated the pool. Work before play." I climbed out of the water, using my hands to squeegee the hair back out of my face as I snatched up my bag and padded across the deck. A shower with her meant we'd never get any practice in. She was only teasing anyway. She has a work ethic that won't quit.
Her response was to roll from her split-forward to a split-back that was just as wide, her naked crotch gaping right at me. Starting at her calves she stroked her legs, up the insides of her muscular thighs to her yawning twat, where she proceeded to insert a finger, knowing full well what that did to me. It was all I could do to keep from diving right in, which was not the kind of diving we were there for! Well, not the first kind of diving, anyway.
Work before play, I reminded myself sternly. God she was such a sexy imp, and she knew just how to push my buttons. We've been teasing and pleasing each other ever since that legendary middle school sleepover at her house, where she'd shoved a butt plug the size of Texas up my rear in full view of the whole party.
I'm not complaining. It was a game of "Truth of Dare" and I'd taken the dare knowing what I was in for. We'd been very friendly rivals ever since, challenging each other every chance we got. When she was still in middle school and doing gymnastics, I was diving in high school, and our encounters had been pretty much as chance allowed. But once she'd switched to my specialty and then graduated up to Central High it had become a lot more on than off, with us pushing each other just as hard in diving -- and other things -- as Greg and I had pushed each other in swimming -- and other things.
"Suit!" I reminded her as she got up and headed for the one-meter board. Diving nude, even from one meter, is not advisable. A feet-first entry can have a gynecological impact one really would just as soon avoid. While a double layer of Spandex isn't much it is enough to block a jet-powered douche.
She executed a deft pirouette and headed for her swim bag by the pile of clothes by the wall -- if a tee, shorts and a pair of sandals makes a pile.
"Ooops! Forgot."
Forgot? Well, maybe. She bent over sharply to give me a full moon shot of her tight ass, deliberately shifting her weight from one leg to the other to waggle her butt at me before straightening and slipping into her suit. I must admit I love the view. We'd been ass-buddies since she'd introduced me to that butt plug. Seeing her do gymnastics nude is a rare treat. What a body! She's oriental, and built along the lines of a fireplug. She's got boobs of a sort, a bit of a waist and hips, and an ass harder than mine.
I know. I've tested it with my teeth -- and tongue -- as she has mine.
Her build presents challenges for diving. Many of the best woman divers are slender, especially the Chinese Olympic team. Judy is fuller and shorter, five-foot nothing. I doubt she'll top out at more than five-foot-two, and it is almost all muscle. Her only drawback is her curves. She's got broad shoulders and strong pecs under her boobs that make it harder for her to rip her entries.
On the other hand she's quick and agile as a cat and that, along with her strength and body awareness, more than compensates. In the air she knows exactly where every part of her is in relation to herself, the board and the water. She's a natural. When she was still doing gymnastics I saw her finish off a tumbling run with a layout double back -- that's two back summies in layout position -- that rocked the house. Straight as a rod all the way around, with nary a flinch in the air, seeming not even to look for her landing, she hit the deck with a crash that rattled the rafters, not a step, twitch or bounce. Then she strutted away with a "match that!" attitude.
Granted, she'd had a running start, but the spring of the gymnastics floor is nothing compared to the bounce of a diving board. She soars off that with the lift of a rocket. With her ability to flip and twist she may eventually be doing things no one else will attempt.
If she doesn't kill herself first, that is. She's absolutely fearless, worse than I was, which means I do have to keep a close eye on her even off the low board. So while she was testing the spring of the board I kept one eye on her as I dug out my own suit. She was sailing high, kicking her ass with her heels, first both at once, after the next bounce doing a quick one-two butt kick before coming back down on the board -- THUMP! -- driving it down, then lifting off again, the board bouncing -- whacka-whacka-whacka -- while she did a two-footed kick -- then down again THUMP! and back up for a one-two -- you get the idea.
Then she did a one-two-three-four kick, all in the time she was in the air. Showing off again. Ah me. Mistime that and it could mean crutches for who knows how long? I stopped her before she tried for six or eight or decided to throw in a full twist, which I had seen her do.
And yeah, I'm no longer as fearless as I was. I'd learned my lesson the hard way. Two months in a cervical collar will do that to you.
Beginning the run-through of her dives we took turns, starting simple -- the swan dive, which was all grace and line -- and working our way up the degree-of-difficulty chart. First she'd watch while I did one -- not really necessary, but I loved the chance at the board -- then she would do it while I watched, suggested corrections, then she'd do it again, and so on until we were both satisfied, then we'd move on to the next in her program.
She usually got it right the first time. Sometimes she was harder to satisfy than I was, or she'd say, "Lemme do it one more time so I know it wasn't an accident." She's really a good pupil, in spite of her effervescence. When she's in student mode she's serious and attentive, totally focused, almost worshipful, much to my chagrin.
On the other hand, when she's not in student mode I have to watch my back. The little imp still has a thing for my ass. Fortunately the feeling is mutual.
One problem was figuring out how to improve her entry -- hands together, thumbs interlocked, palms flat to punch a hole in the water for the rest of her body to slip through. I suggested she spread her fingers, even move her hands apart a little to make a bigger hole and it helped. Getting her all into a line wasn't a problem but her boobs stuck out. After little mutual fondling -- which we both enjoyed -- we decided there was enough softness there that a tighter suit might help. Short of steel plate her irrepressible nipples would always be a problem.
When we moved on to the inward dive pike I balked, stepping back to let her go without me. Judy didn't say anything, just took to the board. She knows why it is my bete noir. She'd been there, fortunately for me as it turned out.
I tell myself I don't want her catching any bad habits from watching me.
The thing that pisses me off is that it is not a hard dive. You stand at the end of the board, back to the water, with just your toes and the balls of your feet on the board, like you're going to do a regular back dive. Give a little bounce then drive the board down and take off on the rebound. As you leave the board you lift your hips up and back while your head goes down and you reach for your toes, touch them, straighten out to skim past the end of the board into the water, straight as an arrow.
It was the "skim past the end of the board" thing that I didn't do one day. I'd suddenly found myself in the water, doing a sort of wobbly dog paddle in the general direction of the side of the pool where I was helped out, I guess.
The next thing I knew I was on my back on the deck, wondering what the hell had happened. Judy had my head clamped firmly between her knees, her hands on my shoulders, holding me down. Someone else had my ankles, while other someones corralled my arms as I tried to reach up to hold my skull together. Judy was telling me not to move -- as if I could with her on me -- and someone else was yelling into a cell phone. I wanted to tell them it was no big deal, that I was okay, only my mouth wouldn't work right. I was seeing two of everything, people included. My ears were ringing and I was starting to hurt -- all the way from the top of my head to my fingertips, especially my head.
I kept fading in and out. There was a siren and some really serious people, I don't know how many since they kinda blurred into each other. Someone different was holding my head and I was looking up at her -- a woman with frizzy hair, not nearly as cute as Judy. She looked very serious, which was kinda funny 'cause either she was upside down or I was, but I hurt too much to giggle.
Someone shined a bright light in my eyes -- that hurt -- while someone else asked me questions. I couldn't remember my phone number. I couldn't remember Mom's work number. I couldn't even remember how I'd gotten to school that morning -- walk? bike?
Fortunately they took "I dunnos" for an answer and quit asking. Didn't matter. The hurting was getting worse. They rolled me on my side, the upside down woman still carefully holding my head, her hands really strong and steady and gentle. A foam collar was slipped on me and something was put behind me and I was eased down on it. Then I was strapped down, with some sort of soft blocks on either side of my head so I still couldn't move.
Not that I wanted to. Even the little bit of rolling they'd done had almost made me throw up.
They did some other stuff -- I think there was a needle in my arm and a plastic bag, then the thing I was on -- it was hard as a board -- might've been nice if it was a little softer, since my back hurt, too -- it was lifted on to something else and fastened down. You woulda thought I was fragile or something. For some silly reason I got a round of applause when I gave a sort of thumbs up twitch as they wheeled me out to the ambulance, the woman shading my eyes from the sun with a clipboard. I was still wondering where I was and why everyone was making such a fuss. Some of 'em were even crying!
Have I mentioned that my head hurt?
I blacked out, woke up on the ride to the hospital, blacked out again, woke up as they took x-rays, then they got me onto another thing that rolled me head first into some big rackety giant donut of a machine and back out of it. At some point they must have cut my suit off-- I knew Mom wouldn't like that, those things cost money! -- and put a sheet over me. Silly gooses, I didn't need that.
They tickled the bottoms of my feet, making my toes curl, tapped the backs my ankles, the fronts of my knees, even the insides of my elbows. Someone asked me to squeeze their hands. It was all really confusing, and then Mom was there and she was crying, and Elaine was there and she was crying and they were holding my hands, asking me to squeeze them, too, so I did, I think. I guess I did that okay. Elaine seemed pleased, at least.
Then there was a lot of humming and muttering and pointing while the doctors, including Elaine, looked at pictures. Mom wouldn't let go of my hand. It felt good, though I still had trouble focusing on her. There was a lot more fussing that involved moving me very carefully and fitting some kind of a collar on me. I sorta doped out again and when I woke up I was looking up at a different ceiling and it was quieter, sort of, except for some stupid beeping noise that wasn't enough to keep me awake, at least.
I didn't burst into tears until the next day and they let both Greg and Coach in to see me in my hospital room, Mom and Elaine hovering by my bedside.
"I've ruined everything!"
Greg shushed me with the gentlest kiss he'd ever given me, his fingers brushing softly through my hair like he was afraid of jostling me, not that he could have. From crown to chest I was practically mummified, some sort of a rig pulling up on my head using a collar that made it hard to move my jaw even. Coach just took my hand and squeezed it. Hand squeezing was getting to be a big thing, I guess.
"It's all right!" Coach assured me.
But it wasn't. I knew it wasn't, 'cause this was to be our year, Greg's and my year. After last year, when Greg and I had both racked up silvers in all our events, Coach had hatched this plan to train us both up to get the golds this year. We were gonna win the states, me and Greg, in both butterfly and IM and the relays in only our Junior year! It had never been done before. After our performance last year Coach decided this was the year, and now I'd screwed the whole thing up.
We'd already started training, and we needed to train every minute if we were going to pull it off. I didn't know how long I'd be out of action, but I was pretty sure it was going to be for a while. I felt awful about letting them both down, but Coach assured me I'd have another chance, that I should just concentrate on getting better.
Later, after he left and Mom and Elaine had gone for coffee, after making Greg promise to take care of me, Greg and I argued, me crying up at the ceiling, which was all I could do. Greg wound up wiping my tears with a tissue so my eyeballs didn't drown, insisting he was going to wait for me to get better so we could do it together our Senior year. Sounding like something out of a cheap movie I told him he should go on without me, that he shouldn't let my stupidity spoil his chance at history -- well, state history, at least -- that I'd be there to cheer him on, and then he could cheer me on the next year and maybe we'd both do it then, him for the second time.
Later, when I was alone, I tried to figure out what had happened. They'd told me I'd hit the board -- well doh! I knew I'd been doing, or planned to do, a back-jack -- inward dive pike -- but I still don't remember the details.
They call it dissociative amnesia, and maybe it's a good thing.
Taking an inventory I figured from the lumps and abrasions that I'd bounced twice on my head before scraping my back as I tumbled off the board into the water. I've been told that while others hauled me out of the pool Judy had steadied my head, then clasped it between her knees and pinned my shoulders down so I couldn't move while we waited for the emergency squad. The doctor told me I probably owed Judy my life, or at the very least my mobility.
That is why I'm happy to coach her for nothing. Besides, the fringe benefits are lots of fun.
He also said that if I hadn't been so well aligned for the first impact the damage to my neck could have been much, much worse. Then he just had to add that if I'd done it off the three-meter the impact with the water might have finished what the board had started. Like I really needed to hear that! At least Mom hadn't been there or she would have super-glued me to the bed to keep me from ever diving again.
Of course a month after the collar came off I told myself to get back up on the horse -- the same dive -- this time off the three-meter board at the town pool. After all, it couldn't happen again, could it.
Yeah, right!
I took a good bounce, got way up in the air, reached for my toes, only to discover that the fucking diving board was right under me -- apparently a little detail I'd missed seeing the last time. I reached for it and grabbed, with some vague plan to swing under it and hang on before dropping gracefully into the pool. It didn't work, of course. I was going too fast and my hands were wet. I did fend off the board, saving my face, but lost my grip and plummeted ass first into the water, ruining my entry and totally losing on style points.
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