"WOW, MISS Gruntworthy! You're gigantic. Your breasts are bigger than some of the girls!"
I blushed prettily. "Thank you, Angelica. Some of the teaching staff seem to ignore the exquisite beauty and fullness of form of their headmistress."
"Huh!" said Corinne.
"You may help me with my bra, Angelica," I said graciously. She scrambled to her feet with unseemly haste. Rank hath its privileges. I could feel her twin latex-clad peaks against my back, her warm breath on my shoulders as she concentrated on the controls of the ScatBra. She was really going to have to become more au fait with ScatBra products. The girls can spot such things in seconds and are merciless. "Haven't you got it undone yet? You'd better come to my room after school for some specialised bra work."
"Yes, Miss Gruntworthy," she murmured. I felt the bra go slack. "There. It's undone. Wooooh, look out!"
"Ouch! Oooofff!" It can still take me by surprise, even when I ought to be ready for it. My breasts finally stabilised, swinging massively around my lower thighs.
"Wowee!"
I checked hastily to see if Angelica was coming, but it was impossible to tell while she was wearing a latex cat-suit.
Smegs had arrived at my side. I could hear her heavy breathing as she knelt to peel off my panties. I parted my massive thighs, holding on to Smegs's shoulder and Angelica's warm hand. Where was Corinne, I wondered. I turned ponderously, like a supertanker assisted by two tugs. She was sitting on the floor, looking up at us. She seemed preoccupied, somehow.
"Are you all right, Cee?"
She looked up, her face troubled. "I feel a bit funny. It might be the chemicals in here." She held her hand to her head, then took it away and examined her fingers. "Woo-woo-woo..." she said in a distracted manner.
"Perhaps we ought to get out of here," I said. "Tell you what, why don't we all go up to my place. There's plenty of room, and we can have a cup of coffee or something."
"What, now?" Smegs complained. "We've been in here ages, and you come in and break up the party."
"Come on! We can have a much nicer party in my room. There's a bed in there. Bring the clothes, Smeggers, there's no point in getting dressed. It's only two minutes away, and the girls will all be in their dorms. Give Cee a hand up, 'Gelica!"
Cee and Smegs grumbled, of course, but they gathered everything up in their arms, and we streamed out of the store room, walking quickly but without unseemly haste, and arrived in my bedroom about forty-five seconds later, panting heavily. I was last by about twenty yards, as my sopping panties were around my knees, making walking hazardous. Fortunately, my difficulties had come to the attention of two helpful Second Formers, who each gathered up one of my breasts in their arms and delivered me safely to my door.
"Are they coming in as well?" Smegs regarded the girls doubtfully.
They looked up at me with eager little whimpering noises. They were pretty little things in their bursting, straining T-shirts, but it was long past their bedtime. "Off you go, girls." I bent and kissed them both and patted their plump bottoms.
"Night night, Miss!" They wobbled away, holding hands and giggling.
"It's all right, Megan. You can have girls any night. This is special. This is a teacher's party."
"So what are your measurements, Miss Gruntworthy?" Angelica put down her empty mug and looked at me with open admiration. She was occupying position A on the bed, her legs parted for me so I could lie between them and knead her strong calves. Smegs was caressing her neck and shoulders. Corinne looked restless, collecting up the mugs and not saying much at all.
I blushed prettily again, and fondled Angelica's soft inner thigh. It was a pity, I reflected, that she was still wearing the black latex cat-suit. "My bottom's shamefully large. And my waist simply won't come down below thirty inches..."
Smegs made a rude sniggering noise. "That's one way of saying it, fatso! You must be thirty-six if you're an inch!"
"Thirty-two," I insisted hotly.
"Thirty-four!"
"Thirty-three," I said, knowing I had got away with an inch.
"And her bum's forty-six," crowed Smegs — unfairly, I thought.
"Wow!" Angelica was obviously impressed. "But it doesn't matter how big you are down there, you're so vast up top!"
Miss Grimbeau would go a long way at St Cat's High School for Growing Girls, I decided.
"So?"
"So what?"
"How big's your bust?"
"Oh! Oh, that! Oh, it's pretty big, I suppose." At least, Smegs wasn't crowing in triumph any more.
"Well?"
"A hundred and twenty-seven," I blushed. Those were the official figures as supplied by Miss Clitress on the first night of term. Not even Smegs would dare challenge those facts.
"Wow! That's huge, Miss Gruntworthy. Yours are the biggest I have ever seen close up." Angelica sighed heavily. "I wish mine were bigger."
"You do?" Smegs's tongue was hanging out with lust. Corinne, I noticed, had finished washing and drying the coffee mugs and was gazing across at us with sudden interest. Her T-shirt looked extremely full tonight. The top of her shorts was invisible, hidden by her overhanging breasts. That was big, by any standard.
I returned my attention to Angelica. "How much bigger would you like to be?"
She stretched her shiny latex limbs. "Oooh, I dunno. Twice as big? Maybe three times. As big as Mee-gan. Or maybe as big as Corinne."
"We haven't really seen them properly, Angelica," I heard myself say. "I mean, naked."
"Oh, Miss Gruntworthy!"
"You can call me Shan."
"Oooh, Shan!" She chewed her lip and presumably blushed prettily. I rested my face against her latex thighs and took a deep, rubbery breath.
"I was trying to get her cat-suit off," Smegs complained righteously. "You lot kept interrupting me!"
I raised my head. "We'd better get it off now, then, hadn't we? It's quite warm in here."
There. The Headmistress of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls had spoken. It was, in fact, sweltering in here. Sweat was trickling down from my armpits and ending up God-knows where.
Angelica sighed. "Well, I guess I am a touch overdressed." Compared to Smegs and me, she certainly was. And although Corinne was still dressed, she could get naked in five seconds, I knew from glorious experience. "Who's going to help me with the zipper?"
Smegs volunteered, almost sobbing with arousal.
"I'd better warn you." Angelica said softly. "Like I told Mee-gan earlier. I've been wearing this thing a few hours. It could be a bit sweaty inside..."
Smegs groaned.
"It traps all the sweat..."
Smegs gave a gulp.
"And... all the other fluids..."
Gulp.
"And juices as well."
Smegs was lowing like a sick calf, pawing at Angelica's back.
"I'm pretty wet in here."
"Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo..."
"You won't want to be too close..."
"Woo-woo-wwwOOO..."
"When you get it off me..."
"WOO-WOOOW!"
That was a good one, Smegs. The whole school would have heard that. It probably triggered chain reactions in every dorm except possibly the Firsts. Possibly.
Smegs wiped her fevered forehead and found the zipper. She hauled it down with a triumphant cry, and followed it up by immediately yanking the cat-suit off Angelica's shoulders.
Miss Grimbeau glistened softly in the light of the bedside lamp. As she had warned us, she was pretty wet in there. It came off like a ripe banana skin as Smegs heaved the suit down to her waist. Her breasts plopped out into full view.
They were only Second Form size, about a D cup under the old system, but a full, plump double handful, glowing and slick with sweat, the small nipples erect within the perfect circles of her purple-black moons.
"Get off her, Shan, you've had ten minutes, and we haven't had a touch of them yet."
Smegs and Corinne, I noticed, were giving Angelica a good going-over, but I had the lion's share. Or the headmistress's. Corinne was beyond Angelica's head, curled up on the pillow — still dressed, I noticed — her lips suctioning on Angelica's hungry mouth. Smegs had found a succulent armpit and had buried her face in it. I had both breasts and as I was lying between Angelica's thighs, the lower half of the cat-suit was still in place.
I sighed heavily. "Oh, all right then. Let's get this thing right off, shall we?"
Angelica giggled like a Fourth Former. "Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all. I'm even wetter down there than under my armpits. I stink."
I don't know if Corinne howled, but Smegs certainly did, and so did I.
Strange. That latex cat-suit was such a snug fit, you'd think it would take for ever to come off. Yet as soon as Angelica raised her powerful buttocks off the bed, it slipped off with a soft sucking sound. It was the rudest noise I had ever heard.
Angelica was right, I suppose. She had warned us. She had been wearing that thing for several hours, and she had not been inactive during that time. 'Funky' was the word she used to describe it.
"Wow!"
That was me saying that.
It must have been nearly two in the morning when we came out of the shower and lay on the bed, snuggled in huge fluffy towels.
"Doesn't seem worth going to bed now," sighed Smegs.
"I'm wide awake, too," Corinne admitted. She had undressed to get in the shower with us. It had not been an illusion. She was much fuller tonight. Despite her fullness, her breasts descended to her stomach once her T-shirt was out of the way. Fortunately, Corinne kept a range of bras in all sizes, to cater for her occasional excursions into the realms of the fuller bosom. Even so, this was her best effort for months.
Angelica lay on her back and giggled as I kissed her navel. Her breasts hardly sagged at all, just pancaking slightly against her rib cage. "That tickles," she laughed softly, and my spleen did a ponderous cartwheel.
"Who's hungry? There's a great big bowl of trifle in the fridge. Jelly and custard, sponge cake, fresh fruit, cooking sherry, more custard and fresh cream..."
Smegs got up. "I'll get it. And three spoons."
She was back in seconds. "Where are the dishes?" Corinne asked, cupping her breasts in both hands as she leaned forward to inspect the trifle. She must have been almost as big as that day when she had first come to St Cat's for her interview.
"We don't need dishes," Smegs said, with a fiendish grin. She handed out spoons to Corinne and me, but not to Angelica. "You ready?" I nodded.
And Smegs took careful aim, and upended the bowl of trifle on to Angelica's almost flat belly.
"Eeeeek! It's freezing!" Her various arms and legs shot out straight in all directions.
"It will soon warm up!"
"Lie still, girl."
Angelica stopped twitching. It wasn't a bad shot of Smegs's, actually. Perhaps a bit low, but that was better than having to dig trifle out from between her breasts. We sat and watched it as it wobbled gently.
"The cream's underneath," I pointed out at length.
"I know," said Smegs. "You can still get at it if you dig." She dug, and Angelica shivered violently.
"It tickles, stop it!"
"Stop shaking about, you'll spill it!"
Angelica subsided, taking a deep breath. Her belly became more concave and the trifle settled more contentedly. Smegs dipped her spoon into it and took a mouthful.
"Hey, it's good. Especially the custard."
"Where?" I tried round toward the side, and plunged in deep with my spoon. Angelica practically went into convulsions, and relaxed her stomach muscles. Suddenly, the trifle was balanced on a convex surface. While charming and delightful in its way, this allowed the confection to slither downhill in all directions.
"Quick!" Smegs went for it with her spoon. "It's getting away! Watch your side, Cee."
Corinne seemed a little reluctant, but she attacked the outskirts of the trifle, scooping it into her mouth. It must have tasted okay, as she immediately came back for another spoonful, and another.
"No fair," Angelica complained. "I don't have a spoon!"
"You don't need a spoon." Smegs dipped a finger into the trifle and slid it gently between Angelica's lips.
"Oooh! Nice."
Meanwhile, I was fighting a losing battle lower down. Lying between Angelica's lovely soft thighs, I worked assiduously away with my spoon, trying to prevent the trifle running down between her legs and becoming lost. Corinne had completely overcome her initial reserve and was working away from one side, remembering to feed Angelica at regular intervals. Smegs did the same from the other side.
So they were too fully occupied to help me.
And I was too busy to call for help.
It was getting too much for me. At last, I laid aside my spoon and dived in. A sigh escaped from the young teacher as a generous helping of trifle found its way where the sun probably don't shine. It took a tremendous slurp to suck it all out of there, but I got it all, a tasty mouthful of peaches and strawberries and lots of other exciting flavours.
We were winning! Each spoonful revealed more and more of the custard and cream, now almost at body temperature. Our spoons clashed time and again as we fought for the last creamy morsels, until we abandoned spoons altogether and went down with tongues lashing and lapping at Angelica's soft skin.
I suppose it must have sounded fairly rude.
The First Form Sexual Chemistry Group fidgeted on their lab stools and nudged each other. Teacher was late. This was an important lesson, the first time they were to be allowed to use real chemicals, the first step on the long road which would eventually lead to the production of Puff.
Ten minutes passed.
Valentina stood up. "This is a disgrace," she said, and the rest of the class gasped. It was a disgrace. "My mum doesn't pay thousands of pounds a year for me to sit in the lab doing nothing when I ought to be developing Sexual Chemicals."
"Your mum doesn't pay anything. She's the School Nurse."
"That's not the point. I'm going to start." She sauntered over to the store room. Her plan was to try the door, find it locked, make some sarcastic comment and resume her seat. She turned the handle and pulled.
The door opened.
A gasp arose from the class.
Valentina swallowed. Shit, that had done it. She had to go in, now. She took a step or two inside, then emerged, red-faced and coughing, pursued by a cloud of pinkish vapour that chased her back to her stool, washing around the corners of the work benches and table legs in a lazy heavier-than-air kind of way.
The girls watched it for a while, then decided it didn't look very nice. Within twenty seconds, the lab was empty, and the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group was in full flight up the corridor, heading approximately for the Junior Common Room. All of the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group, that is, except one.
One girl had dropped her work folder. It fell to the floor and the cloud of vapour washed around it.
The curiously large girl, Helvetica — for it was she — bent and scooped up her papers, collecting them into her folder and tucking it under her arm. Only then did she head for the door. She looked back. The pinkish vapour still curled and eddied around at floor level, but it seemed benevolent enough now. It smelled quite pleasant, although it wasn't a smell she recognised. She was tempted to go back for another sniff, but decided she had better get along and find the rest of the class. She closed the door behind her and walked up the corridor. There was no need to run. No need to panic at all.
The scent of the pinkish vapour seemed to be following her, although she knew that was extremely unlikely. That was when she sniffed at her hands and her clothing, and realised that the smell came from the work folder. It was the sort of smell that made you smile, she thought, like a ripe nectarine. So Helvetica tucked her nose into the folder, and smiled.
By the time Smegs arrived, panting and bad-tempered, at the lab for the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group's class, it was almost twenty minutes late. She was already deciding on a suitable punishment to hand down to the first girl who made a comment about it. She flung the door wide and strode in, head flung back, shouting, "Right, open your folders and write these words...!"
Smegs had reached the blackboard, grabbed the chalk and whirled round to address the class.
"Well, bugger me!"
She walked down the floor of the laboratory, peering between the work benches. The First Form Sexual Chemistry Group appeared not to be hiding anywhere. They hadn't even been in here: there was no sign of notebooks and folders.
The First Form Sexual Chemistry Group was on strike!
Smegs sniffed the air. It was a smell she knew well and recognised. It made her smile, reminding her of countless hundreds of sexual liaisons going back over the years. There seemed to be traces of vapour drifting around near the floor. As she walked about, it eddied sluggishly round her ankles.
And inevitably, her gaze was drawn to the store room in the corner. The door stood open.
Smegs cast her mind back to the night before. They had gathered up all their clothes and stuff and run upstairs to Shan's bedroom. But surely they had locked the door after them. She certainly remembered closing it. It had banged against her tit while she was on the way out, and she had slammed it shut angrily. She stalked over and slammed it again. The key was lying in the corner, on the floor.
Miss Molly Malone was in a bad mood. Her backside was giving her hell this morning. Must be the weather, she thought. She bent over the desk in the staff room, wisely choosing not to sit down. A movement caught her attention. It was one of those two cousins from the Third Form, Suzanne.
"Yes?"
"Mornin', Miss Malone!" The girl smirked at her and bounced away. What was that all about? Miss Malone returned to her work, trying to find a comfortable position for her buttocks. She had to get on with this timetable. The damned headmistress had insisted, insisted that she schedule games for the girls. Competitive games! Everyone knew that competition was an evil thing. For every winner, there was a loser, and losers were made to feel inferior, second-class. It was a two-tier class system, based solely on outmoded concepts of relative competence.
Only this morning, another wad of letters had come in, addressed to her. Other schools wishing to arrange sports fixtures against St Cat's: hockey, netball, tennis, swimming. As if it were not bad enough, having to raise the standard of physical fitness at the school, she now had to arrange games as well, select teams, make herself available to attend matches, at home and away.
Miss Malone was going to insist on an increase in her meagre pittance of a salary.
She growled a savage curse and ruled several thick black lines on a large sheet of paper.
THE FINAL whistle sounded on the netball court.
"Three cheers for St Cat's High School for Growing Girls, hip-hip..."
"Hurrah!"
"Hip-hip..."
"Hurrah!"
"Hip-hip..."
"Hurrah!"
"School! Three cheers for Lady Arabella la Fontaine de Gruchy's Catholic High School for Daughters of Depressed Gentlewomen, hip-hip..."
I put down my binoculars and closed the window. The two teams were shaking hands in an embarrassed and not too affectionate way. It had been a strangely disturbing spectacle the previous week when the St Cat's Junior hockey team had insisted on an exchange of shirts after their 27-0 demolition at the hands of the girls of Borcester (Fillamore Road) Comprehensive. It had been our lightest defeat of the season, and it came after four of the Borcester players had been sent off the field in disgrace (for using foul and abusive language) after only nine minutes of the first half.
"Miss Malone has still not succeeded in instilling the will to win among our Junior sports teams."
Smegs cleaned the last of the deposits of greasy fluff and rotting fruit from between her toes, and got off the green leather-topped table. She came over to the window to watch as the girls streamed into the changing rooms. "Have we lost again?"
"We got stuffed, by the look of it. I lost count, but I think they passed twenty before half time. They eased up after that."
Our girls trudged off, shoulders bowed. I felt and shared their deep sense of shame.
"We're not very good, are we?" Smegs said gloomily. "I wish I could still leap around on the court, I'd show them a thing or two."
"You probably would, yes." I stroked the proud swell of her breast.
The two team captains strolled off the court last of all, arms round each other's shoulders.
"Hello, hello, hello! Is that young Helvetica getting off with a member of the opposition?"
"Looks like it." Smegs took up the binoculars and studied our worthy captain. I knew exactly what she was looking at.
"She's just started. They are very puffy, aren't they!"
"What are?" Too late, Smegs swung the glasses away and studied the brick wall of the laboratory. "I was looking at the flowers in that border outside the lab. They're about a foot taller than the rest. Must be that pink cloud the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group was trying to tell us about in the lab store room."
"Is it still in there?"
"Jeremy opened the store room door last week. A great cloud of the stuff came out. He locked it up again and sealed the door with sticky tape. It must be getting out of the ventilators in the wall."
"Were any girls in the lab when he opened the door?" The last thing I needed was having any girls writing home to their loving parents complaining they had been gassed.
"Just a few of the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group. Helvetica and half a dozen others."
"Oh, good." I thought for a while. "Smegs," I said at length. "You don't think that pink cloud is anything to do with Helvetica suddenly getting big puffy moons?"
"Moons? Oh, moons. She's a girl, Shan! Young girls do get big puffy nipples. I know it's an unacceptable fact, and a lot of people don't like to think about it, but it's one of those inconvenient facts of life."
"I suppose so. It's always such a shock when they've got nothing one week, and a handful the week after. Just like us when we started."
"I remember!" Smegs's eyes misted over and she swallowed a lump in her throat. She squeezed my hand.
"Remember that Christmas?" I said. "The best presents a girl ever had? Boobs."
"And everything else. Boys. That night you first shagged Jeremy."
"In the back of a Jaguar..."
There was a knock on the door.
"Where's Miss Labia? Why can't she do as she's told and send people away when we're alone in here? Come in!" Smegs cursed as she struggled back into her blouse. I was all right, I could hide behind the desk. I fanned the air with an exercise book in a vague attempt to disperse the muskiness.
I needn't have bothered. It was Miss Malone.
"Yes, what is it?"
"We lost again," she snarled. "Crushed. Destroyed. Humiliated by a team of girls two years younger than ourselves. The worst team in the entire league and they beat us thirty-nine-nil. What are you going to do about it?"
I had a feeling I should have been the one saying that.
Smegs fastened the last button and patted the front of her blouse. It wobbled enticingly. "What's the matter with our girls? Aren't they fit?"
"Of course they're fit!" Miss Malone spat out the word, and I wiped the desk with a scrap of second-hand industrial paper towel. "It's not a matter of fitness. They just have no spirit. They know games are a useless anachronism, a throwback to the days of imperialist..."
"Who told them that rubbish?" Smegs snapped.
"Sure, I did. Now who else do you think is going to tell them? Your insistence on the girls playing competitive sports is turning them into second-class citizens."
"So it's our fault?" For some reason, the thought had never occurred to me before.
"Sure it is."
"So what would you propose doing about it?"
"Me? What am I supposed to do about it on my pitiful wages? I am a second class citizen. I could get more than this standing outside Marks and Spencer's selling the Big Issue."
One was tempted to tell her to go and do it. Outside, a burst of cheering sounded as the triumphant girls of Lady Arabella la Fontaine de Gruchy's Catholic High School for Daughters of Depressed Gentlewomen clambered on to their minibus to head back to a ticker-tape reception. They were a bunch of tinies. How had they managed to defeat our strapping Juniors? Not just defeat; crush, destroy, humiliate. The bus drove away. Scarves and netball shirts hung like battle standards from the windows as it swayed and lurched down the drive and out of sight.
"You may return to your classes, Miss Malone," I said formally. "We will discuss this matter and advise you accordingly."
She snorted and backed away from the desk, then the door slammed behind her.
"We will discuss this matter and advise you accordingly?" Smegs raised an eyebrow. "What was all that about?"
"I don't know. We've got to do some bloody thing. If we keep losing games, we'll be a laughing stock. We'll be seen as second-class citizens. We need somebody to give those girls a bit of pride. Someone to get them to stick out their chests and say, we're from St Cat's!"
I found myself at the window. Miss Grimbeau was striding purposefully across the quad. The pale sunlight glinted off the shiny rubber of her skirt. A light breeze stirred her black silk shirt, plastering it tightly across the peaks of her spherical breasts. Far too small, of course, but magnificently formed, firm, thrusting. I clutched involuntarily at my groin. "Woo-woo-woo," I said softly.
"Who have you seen out there...?" Smegs was at my side in a millisecond. "Wow! She is one seriously fit babe!" She clutched at her groin. I knew that because my hand was already there before hers.
"I've had an idea," I said. "Tonight, after supper, let's pay Miss Grimbeau a visit."
"Hello, Angelica!"
"Hi, Headmistress."
"Hello, Angelica!"
"Hi, Mee-gan."
"Megan."
"Meggan. Come on in. I was just about to try on my cat-suit. I think I've put on a bit of weight. Look at the crotch of these jeans." We both looked, on hands and knees, but Angelica was holding another pair of jeans in her hands. "No, these," she giggled as we scrambled to our feet, shamefaced and blushing prettily.
"What about them?" Smegs took the jeans and examined the crotch minutely. I tried to get my face close enough to have a sniff as well, but she kept moving them away.
"My thighs touch in the middle when I put on weight, and my jeans wear out down there. Look at my thighs! Whaddya think of those?"
It was my turn. Smegs was still preoccupied with the holey jeans, studying the crotch from suspiciously close range. I plunged in with both hands. Angelica was right. Her thighs did touch in the middle. It took some effort to prise them apart.
"Wow, Headmistress!"
"I'm only looking," I insisted, my voice somewhat muffled.
"So I was looking to lose some weight. I ought to work out, I guess." Angelica sighed as if it wasn't her most absolutely favourite idea. "I'd have to cut out the trifles, though!"
Smegs reluctantly put the jeans on the bed. She seemed to have drooled on them. "You don't have to eat any. We could give you just the one mouthful."
"You really enjoy eating trifle off my belly?"
"We've got another one in my fridge," I admitted sheepishly. "Only a little one, this time, 'cos Corinne isn't around tonight. We wondered if you'd like to come along to my room."
"Bring your cat-suit," said Smegs. "You can try it on afterwards."
We were both dragging her out of the door, panting raggedly.
"Okay, okay!" She plucked her bright red cat-suit from the bed and came with us. I think she probably enjoyed trifle too.
"Is she in there?" Suzanne and Pansy hovered outside the staff room door.
"Yeah." Suzanne peered inside and took a grip on the squeeze bottle.
"What's she doing?"
"Writing. Some big sheet of paper on the table."
"Is she standing up?"
"Of course. Have you ever seen her sitting down?"
"Go on, then! The sooner the better. A quick spray then get out before she notices. You warmed it up?"
"Of course. What do you think I am? I had it on the radiator for an hour, and it's been down my cleavage ever since. You're sure it will work through panties?"
"Course it will. Unless she's wearing armour plated ones. Just three squeezes of the trigger. Then we've got to do it again tomorrow, and again every day for five days."
"I don't like it, Pan. Why couldn't you just make it stronger so we could just do it once?"
"Little and often. You'd understand that if you weren't still a virgin."
"Huh!"
"Go on, then, cousin. I need a piss." Pansy hopped massively on one leg, groping somewhere out of sight beneath her breasts. The sight unnerved Suzanne. She grasped the trigger of the bottle, closed her eyes briefly as if in prayer, then sprang forward before she could change her mind.
Seconds later, she shot out of the door, past the astonished Pansy, and skidded out of sight around the corner of the corridor. Pansy watched her for a moment, then waddled off in the opposite direction.
By the time Miss Malone hobbled painfully out of the staffroom, the corridor was innocent of schoolgirls. She grunted and went back inside. There was a curious feeling of warmth and dampness around her crotch. It seemed vaguely familiar somehow.
"You're so fit, Angelica!"
"I am not! I'm fifteen pounds overweight. Look at my butt!"
"I can't. You're lying on your back." I pushed at her helplessly but she just giggled.
"We saw you earlier," sighed Smegs lewdly. "Walking across the quad. The wind was blowing and your shirt was sticking to your lovely breasts!"
"Oh, sheesh!" She wiggled her shoulders and her breasts wobbled heavily. I felt the warmth of Angelica's blush. It felt quite pretty.
"And I said to Shan, wow! She is one seriously fit babe!"
"Oh, my!"
"And we had an idea."
"An idea? About me?"
"About you. You can help rescue the name of St Cat's from the gutter."
"The gutter? Our name isn't in the gutter, is it?"
"Our sports teams are," I said. "We have the worst sports teams in the county. Possibly in the entire world."
"But what's that to do with me? I'm not the sports teacher."
"No, but you're American, aren't you!"
She lay there and looked up at us. We were reclining on the bed, one on each side of her. I had managed to arrange my breasts in various directions so I could see her face. It looked confused.
Smegs took up the narrative. You could get our girls where they belong, on top. Turn them into winners."
"But I don't play netball. And I never played field hockey in my life."
"You don't need to. The girls know how to play. They just lack self-belief. That's where you come in."
"I do?"
"Cheerleaders!" said Smegs. "You know? A row of girls who prance about wearing silly uniforms and cheering...?"
"I know what cheerleaders are. You don't mean you want St Cat's to have cheerleaders?" Angelica sounded incredulous.
"Why not?"
"But they're English!" She laughed, wobbling deliciously. "English girls can't cheer! They're too reserved, up-tight." She raised herself on to her elbows and pulled an austere face. "Oh, yo, ho, ho! Come on, Sint Kett's. Jolly good show!"
"Hey, that's pretty good," I said.
Smegs didn't seem to agree. "You don't have to take the piss. I bet if you had a bunch of the girls together for an hour, you'd have them prancing about like the Real Thing. English girls can do anything. You'd be surprised how good they are!"
"You're serious!" Angelica looked from one to the other of us. "You really want me to do this?"
"Of course. Why not?"
She lay back and started giggling. Everything wobbled beautifully. I found myself becoming aroused. I stuck my face into Angelica's navel. It was warm and ever so slightly funky. At last she stopped and sat up again. I felt her breasts squish against my cheeks, but made no attempt to pull away. Nor did she. Possibly she liked the feeling.
"All right!"
"All right?"
"All RIGHT!"
"You'll do it?"
"Sure, why not?"
"She'll do it, Smegs!"
"I know, I heard her."
"Hey, all right!"
I staggered to my feet, with breasts flopping unheeded all over the place, and dragged Angelica off the bed. Smegs followed, and we all hugged and went into a lumbering dance around the bedroom floor.
"All right!"
"Well, all right!"
We performed a series of high fives together, with a degree of success.
"When do you want me to start?"
"It's pretty urgent. There's a hockey game tomorrow. Away, at St Sandra the Hirsute's Grammar School for Girls. The trouble is, it starts at three, and you've got classes all morning."
"We thought if you could start at lunchtime, you could choose a team of cheerleaders, and train them for an hour, then Jeremy can bring you all over to St Sandie's in time for the second half. We'll be there to give you support."
"An hour? You want me to choose and train a set of cheerleaders in an hour?"
"It won't take you long," said Smegs airily. "Nothing elaborate. Just get them to jump up and down a bit and yell something encouraging."
"What about uniforms?" Angelica gasped, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"Clit will run something up in the morning. What do they need? If they wear short skirts and T-shirts, Clit can make them some of those fluffy things. We can get something better later."
"Sheesh!"
"Well!" I looked as Smegs. "That's all settled. It went off quite well, actually. Time for trifle, then!"
Smegs shot away to the fridge. The trifle wobbled attractively on its dish. "It's a bit cold," she said sticking a finger into it. She licked it with a thoughtful expression.
"Never mind! Angelica's so hot, it will be boiling in five minutes. Come on, you!" I bore Angelica backwards until the back of her knees contacted the bed. She sank backwards with a sinuous motion. She was incapable of an unlovely movement. She wriggled her bottom into position, then lay back, her eyes closed. "You all ready?" I asked her.
She nodded.
Splat!
"Eeeek!"
Strange. She knew it was coming, yet she said the same thing every time.
"I'm not doing it again, and that's that."
"You've got to, Suze. She has to have the rest of the stuff up her bum or it won't work."
"You do it yourself, then. I went in the staff room with the spray bottle and I was just pointing it up her arse and I saw Miss Lundberg sitting there looking at me."
"What did she say?"
"She didn't exactly say anything, she was just watching. Then when I aimed the bottle and squeezed the trigger, she sort of giggled."
"There you are then," said Pansy. "She didn't mind. She thought it was funny."
"Funny? But she's a teacher!"
"I see what you mean," Pansy said after a minute's thought.
"I'm keeping away from her, anyway. And I'm not going near Molly Malone either. She might have told her."
"But you've got to spray her. I can't do it with these things." Pansy breathed ostentatiously for a second or so. "You're scared," she concluded.
"No I'm not."
"You are."
"Not."
"Are."
Negotiations broke down.
"We could get someone else to do it," Suzanne suggested.
"Who?" Pansy sensed a breakthough.
"A junior. They're stupid enough to do anything you tell them. And they've got smaller tits, so they can run faster."
"Maybe." Pansy thought about it, then brightened. "Especially if we made it worth her while. I mean, we could make an offer a Junior girl couldn't refuse."
"Huge tits, you mean?"
"Why not? We've got plenty of Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus left."
"I s'pose so." Suzanne thought back over the history of Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus. It had been a qualified success. "Yeah, why not? When shall we find a volunteer."
"Now. There'll be plenty of them in the Junior Common Room. Let's go and do it. I've got to get back and feed Baby."
"Why not feed Baby first? Then we can go afterwards and catch them while they're getting undressed for bed."
"You're sick, Suzanne!"
Suzanne widened her eyes. "What do you mean? If we see them without their kit on, we'll know how much Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus to use."
Clit shook her head. "You want me to work overtime all night just to make half a dozen skimpy tops and short skirts for a team of cheerleaders?" She turned accusingly to Angelica. "This is some kind of American idea?"
"It's for the morale of the whole school," I interrupted briskly. "And it won't take you all night. All the tops will be the same size. Use that stretchy pink stuff you ordered last month."
"That's for something special!" Clit was blushing.
"And the skirts are tiny. Junior size. As short as you like..." I glanced at Angelica for confirmation and she nodded eagerly, the horny little slut.
"Really short!" she gasped. "Right up to here!"
"Right up to there?" Smegs croaked helplessly. "You'd better make sure we've got half a dozen pairs of your briefest silk panties, pink."
"Make it a dozen," I suggested, "in case they get excited."
"Two dozen!" Angelica was almost panting with lust. I began to feel faint apprehensions about my decision. Angelica had seemed so suitable.
"Can I have a skirt and top, Miss Clitress, please?" Angelica said softly and chewed her lip.
"Her too?" Clit looked at me in disbelief.
"Of course," I said loyally. "Miss Grimbeau is in charge of the cheerleaders. She has to match, obviously." I half closed my eyes and formed a mental image of Angelica and the cheerleaders all dressed the same.
It seemed to have gone very quiet.
"Shan! Wake up!" Smegs was shaking my shoulder. Angelica, quick to appreciate the situation, mopped at my inner thighs with a wad of industrial paper towel.
"What colour skirts?" Clit sneered. It seemed she had already asked the question once.
"White. Pure, virginal white." Another mental image came into my mind: of Angelica's magnificent thighs revealed by a pure white skirt. Right up to here.
"What's your name, girl?"
"Helvetica Bold." The girl regarded the two cousins with awe. They had marched, wobbling massively, into the First Form dormitory and stood there, looking around them. Rumour had it that the Woods cousins' development was entirely natural. Probably a bunch of lies. The smaller one, Suzanne, had a plastic carrier bag in her hand. Helvetica looked at it with undisguised interest.
"Come with us," said the big one — Pansy, the one with the babies. Another rumour had it that Suzanne was a virgin! How did these ridiculous stories get around. Helvetica followed the girls to the door of the dorm, looking round helplessly at her classmates.
"I can't go out there like this." Helvetica gestured at her relative nakedness.
"Just into the toilets," said Pansy. "Only for a few minutes."
"And you won't need clothes," added Suzanne.
MISS GRIMBEAU strode silently up and down the rows of desks. The girls looked up at her with respect, wondering what was going to happen to them.
The teacher returned to her desk and perched herself on the edge of it. "Hey, relax, kids!"
The First Form released its breath and its members smiled at each other. Whatever was going to happen to them, it wasn't going to be bad news.
"You haven't been here at St Cat's long." Miss Grimbeau had their full attention. The girls stared at the splendidly powerful legs slowly swinging to and fro hypnotically. Her skirt was extraordinarily short. Even shorter than usual. One or two of the girls reached down surreptitiously and tried to turn over the waistbands of their skirts so that when they stood up they would reveal a few more inches of thigh. Not like Miss Grimbeau's, though. Thighs like hers only came with maturity. It might take years.
"Please, Miss Grimbo?"
"What is it, Gwendoline?"
"Geraldine, Miss."
"I beg your pardon. Geraldine. What was your question?"
"I need a pee, Miss."
"Can't you hold it for a few minutes? What I have to say won't take long."
"It's urgent, Miss," said Geraldine urgently.
"Go on, then," the teacher sighed, and Geraldine rose from her seat and fled to the door. She was pursued by gasps of disbelief. Miss Grimbeau's eyes started from her head. Geraldine was blessed with more mature thighs than some of her young classmates. And she had succeeded in turning the waistband of her skirt over upon itself, not once, not twice, but three times. She had, in fact, become distracted and had lost count. As she reached the door, her classmates were aware that Geraldine had overdone things a little. The plump, rounded cheeks of her bum were in plain view. Both of them. Minor uproar broke out, the girls making little noises of shock, indignation and outrage.
Miss Grimbeau recovered her wits with an effort. "Until Geraldine comes back, let me just explain the purpose of bringing you together here instead of your usual class this afternoon." Silence returned instantly. Miss Grimbeau looked round at the eager, innocently shining faces. "Thank you. Some of you would have been enjoying Math with Miss Lundberg." The girls nodded. Nobody even mentioned to Miss Grimbeau that the word Maths ought really to be plural. "Some of you would have been supporting your classmates in the St Cat's hockey team over at Saint Sandie's. You are aware that our sports teams have not been doing very well so far this season." Faces fell. Girls blushed in corporate shame for their humiliated school. Tears glistened.
"Miss Gruntworthy has asked me to do something about it."
"You, Miss Grimbo?"
"You're not the games teacher, Miss Grimbo."
"You're American, Miss Grimbo."
"I had noticed, thank you. And I propose to bring an American solution to the problem." The girls hung on her every word. "Cheerleaders."
"Cheerleaders, Miss?" Few of the girls had any idea what a cheerleader was. Those who did blushed prettily and whispered to the others. Soon, the whole class was blushing prettily.
"I am now about to select five girls. Then we will have a brief training session, during which we will learn a basic cheer. Then the cheerleaders will accompany me to Saint Sandie's in the school minibus, hopefully arriving in time to support our team during the third and fourth quarters of the game."
"You mean the second half of the match, Miss?"
The others all told the girl to shut up and stop interrupting, this was important.
Miss Grimbeau stood up and patted a plastic bag beside her on the desk. "I have your uniforms. Mine, too! Now I must ask you all to stand up and walk round the room while I make my selection." The girls stood immediately and formed a straggling line, then began to parade round the room. Geraldine returned from the toilet and stared before joining in, asking her nearest neighbours what it was all about. As soon as they told her, she began to swing her hips provocatively, until she realised she was making an exhibition of herself, and stopped, blushing deeply. The others copied her actions with varying degress of success.
They sashayed patiently round and round for several minutes under the gaze of their teacher. From time to time, she touched one of the girls on the head. At last she was satisfied.
"Thank you, that will do. All of you sit down, apart from those girls I have indicated."
They wandered back to their seats and looked up at the five chosen girls who now stood in a blushing row in front of the blackboard.
Miss Grimbeau grinned round at the class and jerked a thumb at her selected team. "Well, whaddya think? Pretty good, huh? All right?"
"All right," the class muttered.
"Hey, all right!"
"Hey, all right." The girls sounded subdued, rejected.
"I made my choice for good reasons. They're not the prettiest five. But I have only five outfits, and they are all the same size. Well, four of them are. One is a bit bigger. And there's one for me, of course. But for the team, I had to choose girls who were the right size for the outfits."
The class regarded the five chosen cheerleaders.
The five chosen cheerleaders regarded each other.
A thought occurred to more or less everyone in the room at the same time. Four of the girls were of almost identical size and general construction. The fifth was Sally Chung.
"She said what?" I looked aghast at Smegs. There were just the two of us standing together. Molly Malone had set off on a solitary walk and was now diagonally across the field, as far away from us as possible.
Smegs leaned back against the horizontal rain and wrestled briefly with the umbrella. A faint cheer heralded another goal for St Sandie's. Eight nil. "She said she made an outfit for Angelica, and four more for the cheerleaders. Then she realised she had a great load of the pink stretchy stuff left over. Not enough to be worth keeping, but miles too much for one more stretchy top."
"Go on."
"So she found herself making a huge stretchy top to use up the material. She said she's sorry, it was just force of habit."
"How huge?" I had a feeling of doom.
"Pretty huge!"
"How huge, Megan?"
Smegs gulped. "About Sally Chung-size."
"Oh, Jeeezus!"
Another goal went into the net. Nine nil.
Miss Clitress certainly knew what she was doing with a sewing machine. Quite why she had produced four identically small stretchy tops and one gigantic one had not been satisfactorily explained.
All in all, though, the girls didn't look too bad in their outfits, Miss Grimbeau decided. In fact, they looked amazing, standing there looking at each other self-consciously, their toes and knees turned inwards for reasons of insecurity.
She had one or two fleeting doubts, looking at them. The pink tops were sleeveless, with slightly scooped necklines, then they stretched across the bosom with elastic round the chest. The effect was that an expanse of bare flesh was exposed between the girls' bras and skirts. In Sally Chung's case, there was no bare flesh visible, as her bosom more than adequately covered her right down to some considerable way below the waist of her skirt. One of the less-endowed girls had a different problem.
Miss Grimbeau blinked in surprise and gulped. "When did you last shave, Miranda?"
"Shave, Miss Grimbo?" The rest of the class looked on, open-mouthed.
"Your bikini-line." Miss Grimbeau waved a hand in the general direction of Miranda's pubic area, and to the copious line of rich black fur which led up to her navel.
"I don't shave, Miss. Men shave. I'm a girl." As if to emphasise her point, she tossed her twin black ponytails which hung almost to her waist.
"But you're all hairy..."
"I know, Miss. It's just the way I am."
"It's just the way she is, Miss," the rest of the class confirmed. "We call her Hairy Miranda."
"She doesn't mind, Miss."
"No, Miss. I like it. Especially in the winter."
Miss Grimbeau had never heard of such a bizarre thing. Hairy Miranda. But the class evidently saw a girl with a fur-lined navel as no big deal. Europeans!
"Aren't you going to try yours on, Miss Grimbo?"
"Yes, Miss. Let's see you in yours!"
A chorus of voices suggested that this would be a popular idea.
"I don't think I need to change for this first session, girls. It's only a drill. Later, when you're good at it, we'll all be able to dress up together."
The class sounded wholly unconvinced.
Sally Chung, as Form Head, was nominated as spokeswoman for the group. "If I can wear one, Miss, I'm sure you could. My tits are miles bigger than yours."
"It's nothing to do with the size of your ti... of your figure, Sally. We are very short of time today, and I really do want to get on with working out a few routines. We've only got half an hour before we have to leave."
"Teach us what to do, then. And while we're practising, you can go to the bogs and change into your outfit, Miss. You'd better, Miss, or we might find it mooch too difficult to learn!"
There was no answer to that chilling logic. Miss Grimbeau was faced with no alternative.
"Stand in a line facing me," she commanded. "Sally, you'd better go in the middle." The girls arranged themselves into a line and awaited instructions. "Let's try a few simple steps. Do as I do, but the other way around, since I'm facing you. Pretend you are looking in a mirror. So if I kick this leg up..."
"Wheeeeeee!" The class screamed delightedly as Miss Grimbeau performed a high kick.
"You do the same, but instead of your left leg, you use your right. All right? Let's go!"
An embarrassing scene ensued, with the cheerleaders trying to remember which leg was which. Sally was having difficulty doing high kicks.
"Ah can't get me leg reet oop theer," she sobbed, her accent becoming more intense with emotion. She rearranged her stretchy top so it covered her bra cups again. One of her team mates offered her a handful of industrial paper towel, and Sally blew her nose in it. The benefactor refused to have it back. "An me tits keep on fallin' out."
"It's all right, Sally. You're doing just fine. Practise those steps for a few minutes, and I'll go slip into my outfit.
"Do you think they'll make it? It's a twenty minute drive from St Cat's."
Smegs put an arm round my shoulder and squeezed. "Angelica won't let us down. It's probably too late, though. We're 12-0 down already."
"We're even worse than Miss Malone said. These kids are running rings round us. We've only touched the ball about three times." I waved my wet hanky limply in encouragement as half of the St Cat's team looked at me in mute, tearful appeal. "Come on, Cat's!" I called in a thin and reedy voice. The rest of the crowd stared at me as if I had farted.
"What are you lot staring at?" Smegs advanced on the small group of opposing teachers, brandishing the umbrella. They fell back in disarray and Smegs returned to my side, big and warm and powerful.
"Not long now, Shan."
"Right, you're really looking great, girls!" Miss Grimbeau crossed her fingers behind her back as the little troupe cavorted more or less in formation in front of the class. The other girls watched them doubtfully. Most of them preferred to watch Miss Grimbeau, who presented a stunning spectacle. Perhaps Miss Clitress ought to have allowed a little more material for the teacher's skirt, but it wasn't too disgraceful when she remembered to tug it down to cover more of her buttocks. A slightly larger pair of silk panties might have been an idea, too. Miss Grimbeau filled them totally and comprehensively, stretching the material so tight that there seemed to be a very real danger of her dark-skinned backside exploding out into the open.
"Try it once more. That's beautiful!" It was as good as they were going to get. "Now, the rest of you, we need a cheer. What are they going to shout?"
"How about 'Come on, School,' Miss?"
"Very good, Rachel. Anyone else? Something a little more dynamic, perhaps?"
"Come on, St Cat's!"
"Come on, Cats!"
"Don't our teams have a name, kids? What are we called? An animal? Cats?"
"Pussies, Miss," one girl said daringly, then blushed bright red.
"How about Puffies, Miss!" The suggestion came from one of the cheerleaders, who had stopped their jigging around to stand there breathing heavily. The girl on the left hand end stuck out her almost insignificant chest. "It's another name for..."
"I know what puffies are, Annabel. I don't think it's a very good id..."
Miss Grimbeau was interrupted by the voices of the class raised in chorus: "Puffies, Puffies, watch them grow; Puffies, Puffies, Go Go Go!"
They repeated it with increasing verve, and the cheerleaders took up the cry, capering heavily around and panting out the words in approximate cadence. The windows shook.
Miss Grimbeau had seen worse. Not often, but it wasn't too bad. She joined in, jigging and high kicking in front of the girls, whose expressions brightened and their movements became more coordinated. There was joy in their performance.
"That's great, girls! One more time, c'mon! Puffies, Puffies, watch them grow; Puffies, Puffies, Go Go Go!"
Jeremy opened the classroom door and stared. It was perhaps half a minute before the girls ended their routine, and drooped, holding on to each other for support, chests heaving, occasionally breaking out into little uncontrolled giggles. Miss Grimbeau turned and saw the caretaker watching.
"The bus is outside the main door. It's raining a bit hard." He stopped in confusion, staring at Miss Grimbeau, unable to stop. She was magnificent, her powerful shoulders and legs damp with sweat.
"Oh, thanks. Jeremy, isn't it?"
"That's right. We'd better be leaving if we're going to get there in time for the second half."
"Sure!" Miss Grimbeau lowered her eyes and felt herself blush. One or two girls snickered lewdly. She took a deep breath. "Right, the rest of you, get on with your private studies. Come on, then, team. Let's go kick some ass!"
"Hey, all right!"
"All right!"
"Let's go!"
"We're outta here!"
The cheerleaders and their teacher exchanged high fives and streamed out of the classroom. Jeremy followed at a distance. The scent of Miss Grimbeau was in his nostrils. Warm, soft, womanish, and the sexiest thing he had ever smelled in his life.
"They're not coming," I said gloomily.
Smegs cuddled me to her side. Even Smegs was looking hopeless now. The second half was now ten minutes under way. I had lost count of the score, but St Sandie's seemed to have been getting a goal every ten seconds, every time we gave the ball away. "Never mind, Shan, my love. Let's slip away now. We can have a shower and sit in front of the fire. You're soaking wet. I shouldn't have brought you."
A car horn sounded from the car park. We turned round dejectedly, beyond hope.
"Shannie! It's Jeremy and the bus!"
"They're here?"
We peered through the driving rain. A number of figures were dimly visible, climbing out of the mini-bus, standing in an uncertain group. They headed this way. And as they came closer, we got our first good look at the St Cat's Cheerleaders.
"What do you think, Smegs?"
"They're certainly different."
She could say that again. The five Juniors approached and stood uncertainly next to Smegs and me. The mud oozed around their poor little Reeboks and splashed their pink ankle socks. Already, their skimpy stretchy pink tops were soaked through, revealing the outlines of their ScatTrainer bras. Or in Sally's case, her PreTeen Stonker. Their virginal white skirts hung damply around their almost non-existent hips. They looked wretched and I wanted to hug them all. Even the little dark-haired one who seemed to be concealing a cat under her skirt.
Angelica and Jeremy arrived. Jeremy had found an old umbrella from somewhere and he was trying to keep the rain off the teacher. It wasn't working, as the rain was lashing horizontally across the open field. He had his arm around Angelica's shoulders, the randy sod. But at least, she was relatively dry. She thanked him politely.
"Sorry we're late, Headmistress. How are we doing?"
"We're getting absolutely stuffed out of sight," said Smegs. "Demolished. It's 27-0. At this rate, St Sandie's are going to break all records. There's still another half an hour to go. They'll get fifty at this rate."
As if to demonstrate, the St Sandie's centre forward, a diminutive girl with a low centre of gravity, waltzed past nine St Cat's players, leaving them spreadeagled in the mud, and slammed home her team's goal number twenty-eight.
"You still want us to do our routine?" Angelica asked, and the poor girls looked up at me in mute appeal.
"Anything is worth trying. It would be a pity to have practised like this, and come over here and got soaked, just for nothing."
"Give me a minute, then." Angelica held out her arms to the cheerleaders. "C'mon, you guys! Huddle!"
I don't know what she said to them, but they eventually broke away, smiling bravely into the teeth of the storm, and approached the touchline. The little group of supporters and teachers from St Sandie's just stared at them as if they had never seen such a thing in their lives before.
The cheer was ragged at first. The girls had never performed outdoors, and the wind and rain made things difficult. But after a few seconds, they seemed to get it together. Sally Chung's Yorkshire tones rang out above the rest, driving her team relentlessly. Suddenly, everything clicked into place.
"Puffies, Puffies, Watch Them Grow. Puffies, Puffies, Go Go Go!"
I looked at Smegs, and Smegs looked at me. We both looked at Angelica, mouthing the word at her.
"She shrugged helplessly. "The girls thought of it themselves."
"Puffies, Puffies, Watch Them Grow. Puffies, Puffies, Go Go Go!"
Smegs nudged me in the ribs. "What are you waiting for?"
The cheerleaders stole a sideways glance at us, looking for encouragement. I gave Sally a little thumbs up and a great big grin broke out all over her normally slightly mournful face. She whispered something to the others on each side of her. Their voices were stronger now, carrying through the wind to the ears of the St Cat's players.
The little centre forward slithered through for another goal as our players stood transfixed.
Angelica's voice suddenly bellowed at them. "Come on, Puffies! You are a bunch of shit!"
She clapped a hand over her mouth and stepped back a few paces, straight into Jeremy's arms. The randy, lucky bugger.
But the rallying call had its effect. It seemed that the St Sandie's girls had never heard such language, especially from a teacher. And never in their young sheltered lives could they have seen a teacher dressed like Angelica.
"Puffies, Puffies, Watch Them Grow. Puffies, Puffies, Go Go Go!"
Somehow, one of our players found the ball at her feet, she set off through the mud, flicking a long and hopeful pass out to the left wing. And there was our captain, Helvetica, sliding past two sprawling defenders into the St Sandie's half of the field. With a shimmy, she turned a defender this way and that, before darting arrow-straight for the Sandie's goal.
"Puffies, Puffies, Watch Them Grow. Puffies, Puffies, Go Go Go!"
The goalie came out to narrow the angle. She got it hopelessly wrong. It was the first time the ball had been near her all afternoon, and she was less than surefooted in the mud-slick circle. Down she went, presenting Helvetica with an open net to aim for.
"Puffies, Puffies, Watch Them Grow. Puffies, Puffies, Go Go GO!" Had that been my voice I had heard in that last chorus?
Helvetica's shot missed the open goal by ten yards.
The referee's whistle went. Three long blasts. The official was coming over towards us. Obviously, she was going to have a serious word about our supporters' tactics. The cheerleaders stopped in mid cheer and looked round at us for support. Smegs had already drawn herself up to her full height. Angelica had disentangled herself from Jeremy and advanced to do battle.
"It's no use," hooted the referee. Her voice was like a foghorn. "We can't go on in these conditions. Who's in charge of the St Cat's team?"
"I am," said Smegs. Molly Malone was still miles away, a hunched figure with her hands thrust deep in the pockets of her plastic mac.
"I'm sorry about this," said the referee. "We will have to rearrange the fixture later in the season. It's really impossible to play. One of the girls might get injured."
"Pity," said Smegs. "Just when we were starting to come back into it, too."
"Better luck next time, then?" The referee was a teacher from one of the other schools. Probably an out-and-out dyke. She looked at Angelica with some interest. "I love your cheerleaders," she said hoarsely. "But they're wringing wet. You'd better take them in out of the rain before they start to smell."