## Archive-name: basketball_amazons4

From: olskool@ix.netcom.com (Tony)

Subject: BASKETBALL AMAZONS: Girls of the Future! (Part IV)

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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...

Last modified (12/24/96 14:09:25) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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