2. A Kiss Before Clobbering

As Saturday afternoon presses on, Tommy cruises the neighborhood on her TomboyCycle, trying to get that annoying Randy Starr out of her mind. But it sure isn't easy, much as a frowning TB hates to admit it. “Okay, so he’s kinda cute,” she grouses to herself. “But that doesn’t mean he has the right to… Hey wait a sec. What can I be thinking? Kissing? Romance? Eeeuuu!!!”

Suddenly the flustered femme catches sight of something that really does put Starr’s handsome face on hold for a sec: it’s local toughs Frankie and Pimples, harassing some young schoolkids. Both of these guys are creepy juvenile delinquent-types, with duck-tailed, unshaven Frankie coming across as the Fonz gone over to the dark side!

Boyd pulls up, grins at the familiar goons. “Care to dance, boys?” she playfully throws out a challenge.

“Hey look, Frankie!” Pimples tells his cohort, loosening his hold on one of the youngsters. “It’s Dyke-Girl, on her Dyke-Bike!”

Tommy scowls at this nasty remark. “I see, I see,” answers low-life Frankie. “Enough with these meddling munchkins… Let’s take Tommy Tits for a spin.”

Looking forward to overwhelming their beautiful antagonist (in spite of numerous defeats at her hands), the two leather-clad creeps grin nastily at each other. Then they abandon their relieved victims and stalk toward Tommy.

Big mistake.

BAM! BIFF! POW! With an almost elegant suddeness, Tommy swings into spectacular action, walloping her ham-fisted opponents in a dazzling display of Olympics-level physical dexterity. “Screw you and this karate crap!” Pimples shouts, winded from the assault. “I’m gonna beat your -- UGGHHH!” A surprise right cross sends Pimples crashing into a garbage can. “There,” laughs Tommy with a sprightly grin. “Something a little more traditional you for. Hope you enjoyed it, Pimp-Man!” Meanwhile, a ticked-off Frankie tries to sneak up from behind… but the tomboy, who seems blessed with eyes in the back of her head, swiftly knocks the wind out of him with a perfectly delivered kick to his midsection. “Awww… tummy ache?” Tommy taunts. “Not a problem. This’ll help get your mind off of it.” POW! Frankie is instantly floored by Boyd’s powerful left hook, which she delivers from the ground up.

A few seconds later, this mere slip of a girl stands triumphantly above the sprawled, crumpled, unconscious bodies of her opponents, fists-on-shapely-hips in a defiant power stance. “Thanks, Tommy….you’re the greatest!” bubbles Kevin, one of the rescued, grateful kiddos. She ruffles the boy’s hair, hops back on her waiting ‘cycle and takes off. As Tommy vanishes into the distance like the Lone Ranger, this kid’s innocent expression changes into something more wily. “Man, what a babe!”

Some difference a work-out makes, Tommy muses to herself. Especially when it involves clobbering a pair of local cretins and coming to the much-needed defense of harassed neighborhood children. The young bike driver beams with joy as she zooms through the sunlit Heights, thoughts of a certain hot-looking racing star/super-athlete temporarily out of her mind.

Still, Tommy the tomboy is clearly having trouble lying to herself. Staring into the bedroom mirror later that evening, she can’t help practicing first-level kissing techniques, gamely puckering her lips to outlandish proportions. “Aww man, I look like some dorky flounder!” she finally groans, disgusted with herself for indulging in such unabashed “girlie” behavior.

It’s a day later. A few hours of sweat and fury in the Lincoln Heights gymnasium seems to revitalize young Boyd, getting her back to basics. The much-abused school punching bag becomes a sort of stand-in for every boy she’s ever competed with athletically, and the perfectly toned teen dynamo, resplendent in boxing gloves, just keeps battering away.

And then there’s Harold Pinter, Tomasina’s best friend and new “kissing trainer.” The irony is overwhelming. Nerdy Harold’s been trying to get into Tommy Boyd’s shorts for years now. But her puckered lips seem so for--d (a child’s idea of how to kiss) and her manner is so clearly tomboyish and unfeminine, that Harold is actually scared off!

But as confident as she may be while she’s conscious, Tommy’s nightmares betray a grave concern for this incredibly potent male weapon. In a stylized dream, she sees herself facing off against perennial adversaries Chad, Frankie and Pimples. As usual, she cleans the JD’s clocks with a dazzling display of agility and fighting tactics. But all they have to do, Tommy worries as she sleeps, is catch her off-guard for a crucial second… which is exactly what happens with obnoxious, super-arrogant sports rival Chad. An experienced ladies’ man, he seems to swing out of nowhere to engulf her in a killer kiss, instantly rendering the spitfire helpless. The other guys laugh uproariously as, once again, Tommy’s arms go limp and her lips remain puckered.

The dream continues, with a partially-recovered Tommy encountering and struggling with both Frankie and Pimples. They both manage to sneak in a smooch, instantly immobilizing her. Totally entranced by this well-aimed affection, all the helpless tomboy can do is stand there and take it.

Finally, the guys remember that Tommy Boyd is an annoying sports rival first, a voluptuous screwable babe second. In an outlandish triple-punching, each takes Tommy by the chin and arranges the perfect angle for their devastating wallop. Whoa… talk about getting it in the kisser! And three times in succession! Tommy bolts out of her dream. Feels her chin and her lips. “This is getting serious,” she says glumly, sitting up in bed.

Later that same day, a testier Tommy demands that Harold help her out… even threatening him with a clenched fist at one point (“Just DO it, Harold!”). She shuts her eyes, leans over, and puckers up in her usual, exaggerated fashion. But, amusingly enough, the tomboy’s closed eyes actually enable Harold to sneak away, a fact she’s totally unaware of. In his place coming down the street now saunters…Pimples!

Only this time, it isn’t a dream!

Delighted to find his nemesis in such a compromising position, Pimples grabs Tommy and gives her the sloppiest kiss he can muster. Ugh! Stunned and wobbly, the woman athlete is utterly helpless in her adversary’s ham-fisted grasp.

“Mmmm… Ohhhh…” Tommy moans, totally entranced. In her mind, she sees herself playing catch with her beloved dad, Colonel Boyd, flexing a cute little girl muscle to impress him. But then his fatherly features congeal into the handsome young contours of dreamboat Randy Starr. Fudge. Try as she might, Tommy can’t get this devilishly cool-looking dude out of her mind!

Meanwhile, an in-control Pimples is having the time of his life. Turned-on by this for--d stimulation, Tommy’s breasts expand, pushing her tank top to the max, and missile-shaped nipples jut forth provocatively. With the finesse of a bull elephant, low-life Pimples energetically feels up the young tomboy’s ample boobs. “Mmmm… Ran—dee…” unconscious Tommy blurts out. “Randy? Ha! Thought you were a dyke!” Pimples laughs. “So you’ve got the hots for that new guy, huh. Now that’s rich!”

“Mmmm” is sleeping, ultra-aroused Tommy’s only response. Once again, the cute peach fuzz on her forearms bristles, and a big moist spot begins spreading across her abbreviated running shorts. “That’s right, sweetie, it’s your dream boy Randy, right here! Give me everything you got, bitch!”

Just then… Ding-ding-aling-ding! sounds the ring tone of Pimples’ cell phone, interrupting his unexpected make-out session. Annoyed at this distraction, Pimples pulls out the phone, even as stupified, sexually-primed Tommy remains standing right in front of him. As fate would have it, it’s Pimples’ no-nonsense girlfriend Celine, and she wants him to pick up a few supermarket items for their dinner-at-home that very evening. Much more interested in continuing the feast he’s currently enjoying, Pimples nods and placates his partner (“I hear ya, babe… not a problem,. Nah, I’m just hangin’ around, wasting time…”).

Pimples concludes his call and puts the cell phone away. He looks at ample, sexually-alive Tommy, rubs his chin thoughtfully, then glances about. On the alley floor he spots an old plunger, discarded with some other household junk. A nasty smile gradually spreads across the overweight greaser’s face. He picks up the plunger, which drips a little dirty water, then turns and faces Tommy. “So you want a kiss, huh, ya little bimbo?” he asks with a leer, raising the object.

“Mmmmmm….”

“Fine. Try THIS!” With sudden swiftness, Pimples slams the wet plunger directly into Tommy’s waiting mug, then retracts it just as quickly. Yikes! The tomboy’s face practically pops from this direct, cartoon-like assault. She’s certainly broken out of her romantic reverie trance, but so violently that her whole body staggers, her hair is disheveled, and both of Tommy’s lovely eyes cross for a few laughable moments. At the same time, a time-pressured Pimples rolls up his sleeve…

Just like in the tomboy’s dream, he adjusts his opponent’s pretty chin for a massive, perfectly-delivered punch. WHAM! Tommy goes flying like a featherweight dummy, landing spread-eagled and unconscious on the ground before her gloating enemy. “Sleep it off, slut,” he laughs harshly as he walks right past her, pushing on to his next destination. “We’ll pick this up some other time.” Humorously, there’s still something of a smile on sleeping Tommy’s face, even though she’s just been pummeled.

“Tommy! You okay? Wake up!” shouts a concerned Harold, now returned to his floored tomboy pal’s side. “Ohhh… what happened?” Tommy says weakly, rubbing her sore chin and touching her lips. Then she looks at best bud Harold, Lincoln Heights’ quintessential nerd. And a real look of terror crosses her face. “Wow! You’re a better kisser than I thought!” she tells him, horrified at her extreme vulnerability in this department. Being smart for a change, Harold decides to remain mum on the subject.

TO BE CONTINUED,,,