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Bert Ellis was daydreaming again. His gaze was softly focused on the figure of Carole Van Hoff as she jumped and gyrated at cheerleader practice. Bert couldn't hear the cheers extrolling the virtues of fighting for good old Walter Williams Memorial High School, but he had a great view of the incredibly sexy girl. Her blond hair rocketed up and gently floated down with every graceful leap; Bert imagined those Delft china-blue eyes fastened on him, lust- ful and wanton. Her firm, young tits barely swayed or bounced. That was good. Bert didn't like big floppy boobs.

At least, he didn't think he did. He wasn't sure what he really liked in a woman. He had lots of fantasies – Carole's seduction being primary one in his head right now – but damn little experience. If pressed on the issue, Bert would have to admit to no experience at all.

He was a virgin.

The heartening words of some sage kept coming back in his dream-filled existence. "Virginity is a curable perversion. " He wanted to be cured in the worst way. The only trouble was, he didn't know how to go about it.

He wasn't ugly or even very pimply-faced. While he wasn't the athlete his friend Cruncher Hiatt was, he was not the ninety-eight pound weakling in the "before" pictures in all the magazines. He just didn't know how to go about getting a girl to jump in bed with him.

But he had plans. There was a city-wide photo contest.

And she could thank him with that gorgeous body of hers. His eyes never left Carole's dancing, twirling, trim figure. The tight crimsom sweater offset the cascade of blonde hair nicely, Bert thought. And the pleated white dress that came to mid-thigh swirled and revealed those fine, slender, shapely legs and pert, tight ass so nicely. He could watch her all day, even if it made him uncomfortable.

His erection strained against his blue jeans and bulged ominously. He hoped old battleaxe Mrs. Entwhistle didn't call on him. It would be excruciatingly embarrassing to have to stand up in front of the class with that telltale tenting in his pants.

Luckily, Bert escaped the class without having to be put on exhibit. When the bell rang to signal the end of class, the last clang had barely died by the time Bert was outside the building and running pell-mell through the milling students over to where Carole and the other four cheerlead- ers practiced. He cast a quick, covetous glances at the others. He had heard lots of things about them from Cruncher. Cruncher claimed to have made it with all of the cheerleaders except Carole.