3. The Problem Child

A small TV camera crew is busy setting up outside Lincoln Heights High School. Riding up on her motorcycle, Tommy Boyd catches sight of arrogant jock rival Chad Parker showing off for some admiring visitors in the adjacent schoolyard. The tomboy’s lovely eyes twinkle… here’s an opportunity for some fun!

“As Lincoln Heights’ most awarded athlete, I feel it is my obligation to set the right example for local youth, especially in these troubled times,” Chad, the “sensitive” jock himself, tells some gathered reporters with deadpan earnestness.

“You’re so full of crapdoodle it’s coming out of your eyeballs!” announces Tommy matter-of-factly, standing behind the reporters with her arms folded.

“Get lost, brat! Can’t ya see we’re busy here?!” a suddenly seething Chad tells taunting Tommy as she hangs around the TV cameras and crew, making funny faces and generally mocking his performance. “Blowhard! Coward!” she finally shouts through cupped hands. “Admit it, Parker… You’re too chicken to take me on!”

The reporters chuckle at this last rally of jabs.

“Oh yeah??! Chad roars back, red-faced. “Well I’m gonna call your bluff, Problem Child. It’s time you were taught a lesson-- the hard way!”

Sure enough, it isn’t long before hapless Mr. Parker is playfully upstaged by his uninvited femme competitor in a succession of strenuous mini-contests. Javelin-throwing, shot-putting, pole vaulting… anything Chad can do, Tommy pulls off way better. And with her clearly defined female physique, she looks more than amazing doing it!

“Sorry, Chad… guess the best man wins!” she can’t help teasing her defeated foe. That tears it. Chad becomes so enraged that he actually takes a swing at his mocking adversary. Tommy defty dodges this ungentlemanly attack, then retaliates by punching her stunned opponent right in the bread basket. A sock to his chin sends the heavy-duty athlete sprawling on his ass in front of everyone.

After flexing her cute muscles in triumph, Boyd hops on her ‘cycle and rides off with an eruption of girlish laughter, just as Chad shakes his groggy head clear. “Your tomboy days are over, Dyke-zilla!” he shouts as she zooms away. “That’s a #@*%# promise!”

Not about to let “some case of arrested development” interfere with Chad’s career plans, he and girlfriend Marcia launch a new scheme to remove Tommy from the local sports scene. They visit her hopelessly old-fashioned guardian, Aunt Edwina, and pretend to have the young lady’s best interests at heart. All three agree that it’s high time Tomasina started dressing like a female, and that fighting or competing with boys is “distasteful behavior” she should be compelled to grow out of. Impressed with their eagerness to help her unfortunate niece through an awkward, trouble-prone adolescence, Aunt Edwina gives Marcia and Chad carte blanche to do the impossible…”make a proper young lady out of that little monkey.”

Far above it all, an unsuspecting Tommy and her nerdy best friend Harold are hanging out in Tomboy’s Treehouse, the plucky teen heroine’s version of the Batcave. As bouncy rock’n’roll plays on the CD, Tommy works out with weights, gyrating to the music. Harold sits nervously across from her, eyes occasionally peering up from his comic book to stare at Tommy’s magnificent, undulating, sweat-soaked chest. “Boy, you should have seen Chad’s face when I blew him away in all categories,” she beams, reliving her triumph at the school. This mega-hot babe is completely oblivious to the devastating effect her early-naked body is having on poor Harold!

Obviously, these two have been pals for many, many years. But it’s just as obvious that Tommy’s no longer a gangly little waif, and Harold has a tough time keeping his very natural male arousal in check. Whenever the issue does come up, so to speak, Tommy simply rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Like every self-respecting tomboy since time began, she thinks romance is for the birds.

Or does she?

Harold can’t help noticing that the T-babe’s been staring through their Treehouse’s telescope quite a bit of late, and it seems to be more than just a case of checking out weather conditions and sports terrain. Sure enough, when he happens to take a peek through the ‘scope after she’s vamoosed, it’s none other than weight-lifting Randy Starr, new boy in town, coming into focus, working up a fairly impressive sweat of his own. “So that's where her attention is going these days!” Harold comments in open-mouthed astonishment. Is it possible that Lincoln Heights’ most infamous and dedicated teenage tomboy is finally, truly growing up?

A question TB herself would probably like answered. Shooting baskets in the relatively empty schoolyard, Tommy’s late afternoon practice is suddenly interrupted by a decidedly rude voice. “Off the court, tomboy!” declares Frankie, apparently itching for yet another fight. He and his pal Pimples approach the defiant-as-always female athlete. “Yeah,” Pimples adds with a sneer. “You can play hop-scotch and jump rope, but stay outta sports meant for the stronger sex!”

Tommy simply stands her ground, smiling smugly. “Make me, you morons” she responds sassily. Which really pisses Pimples off. But before he can connect with his oversized fist, she’s ducked safely out of harm's way. “Mind I put my best foot forward?” she playfully quips. The tomboy drop-kicks her hulking adversary and sends the Pimp Man flying. “Oh, I can’t believe I said that!”

Enraged, Frankie circles his dynamic foe and prepares to strike. But when he finally lunges at Boyd, he misses, and accidentally wallops a recovering Pimples instead! The gazelle-like female wonder spins, punches Frankie square on the chin - POWW! - and knocks the bastard out cold.

Fists on hips, a satisfied Tommy hovers over her fallen foes. “Okay… that was fun” she proclaims dryly, not noticing a shadowy figure creeping up behind her. Suddenly the figure – Chad Parker – grabs Tommy from behind and clamps a chloroform-soaked rag over her mouth! Boyd writhes and struggles for all she’s worth, but well-muscled Chad has a really good grip on her. Almost instinctively, he takes this opportunity to fondle her creamy breasts, and the sudden arousal that courses through Tommy’s virgin body, coupled with the effects of the chloroform, slows her down considerably.

“Not so smart with the mouth now, huh, hotshot?” sneers Chad, feeling his victim weakening. Frankie and Pimples stir awake, get a gander at what's happening, then laugh harshly at their opponent’s sudden predicament.

Totally in control, Chad feels Tommy finally go limp in his arms. Seconds later, she’s sprawled helplessly on the court before him, breasts heaving like mini-mountains, nipples no aroused they’ve punched through the fabric of her sports bra. “Sweet dreams, little Tomboy,” Chad grins, now joined by the leering delinquents. "When you wake up, it'll be a whole new ball game!"

A few minutes later:

Emerging from the schoolyard’s back entrance are cackling JDs Pimples and Frankie, with an unconscious Tommy Boyd in tow. The Pimp man’s up front, holding his captive’s legs as the trio moves forward, with Frankie coming up the rear, his hands under the girl’s armpits… and occasionally around her sweaty bosom and its aroused nipples. There’s a devilish grin on his unshaven mug as they approach Chad's parked van with its open rear door, and then slide sleeping Tommy Boyd inside like a slab of shapely meat. Walking directly behind them are super-cool, triumphant Chad Parker and the mastermind behind all of his audacious career schemes, fiancée Marcia Sloan. An attractive and sophisticated society babe, Sloan thoroughly enjoys the sight of her helpless adversary being manhandled in such a humiliating way, but soon turns to Chad with a more pragmatic, no-nonsense look.

“All right, Chad, here’s the deal,” Marcia patiently explains. “I’ve done my part in clearing the way for you. I can keep ‘bicep bitch’ out of action for awhile, but it’s going to be mostly up to you to sell yourself to that agent. Have you studied the data I gave you?”

“Yeah, Marcia, I got it all down pat,” responds Chad confidently. “Statistics, names to drop, nice shit to tell the guy, all that garbage. No prob, Babe.”

Marcia growls. “UUGGH! Not ‘I got it all down pat.’ It’s I’VE got it all down pat’! Haven’t you taken the required English classes? If you talk like an illiterate hick, that agent will drop you like a bad habit!”

Chad just rolls his eyes, but listens and finally nods, knowing full-well that Marcia is a genius at this sort of character assassination and career building scenario.

Meanwhile, the boys pop out of the van and shut the door behind them. As Marcia and Chad continue their conversation, Pimples spots Tommy’s famous TomboyCycle, parked a few yards away near the schoolyard fence.

“Hey, ain’t that the bitch’s motorcycle?”

Frankie’s nasty smile widens. “Finders keepers, losers weepers, I always say…” And with that, he jumps on the vehicle and starts checking it out.

“You look more like the Fonz on a bad day than Brando, man!” Pimples laughs.

“Screw you! It’s not a bad fit… once we get rid of the female stench,” observes Frankie. Then he notices something about the bike… “Hey what is this, some kinda personal compartment…?” He flips open a lid and shuffles through some papers. “This is Boyd’s personal shit. A lot of junk.”

Pimples looks around. “There’s a garbage can right behind you…”

“Great. Hey look – her driver’s license, photo ID, credit cards…” CRACK! “Boyd won’t be needing plastic anymore, they’re gonna control all her purchases from now on. Peteeeeewwwww!! Bombs away!”

Tommy’s crunched cards are tossed into the air, finding their mark in the garbage can with a CLANG! “And the man makes a perfect basket…!”

Pimples glances back at their van, with their nabbed arch-foe inside. “Ha! It’ll take her forever to get that I.D. replaced!”

“Gives the bitch something to do, now that competing with guys is out,” reasons Frankie, checking out some of Tommy’s other personal items stashed in the bike compartment. “What is this… oh hohoho!” the greaser laughs, his face aglow with nasty joy as he shoves a new discovery in his pal’s face. It’s a photo of a 10 year-old TB posing prettily with her dad, the Colonel, and he’s dressed in full military attire. “A Personal Keepsake… from Dad to Tomasina!” Frankie reads aloud in a mocking voice.

Pimples grabs the picture and guffaws. “Ha-ha-ha. Look at the little squirt. She’s titless!”

“Hard to believe, right?” Frankie grabs the picture back, automatically rips it to pieces. “She was probably a dyke even then. In the garbage…” He tosses the crumpled up little ball that was once a cherished memento over his shoulder without a second thought, continues to explore the TomboyCycle’s personal compartment. “Hey! Snickers bars! Three of ‘em. Knock yourself out…”

He tosses one to Pimples, who catches the taste treat and unwraps it. Within seconds both leather-jacket creeps are wolfing down Tommy’s candy bars. “Mmmmm. Always liked Snickers,” comments Pimps, his big mouth chewing as he begins to rummage through the compartment himself. “What’s this? Some kind of medal, or something. ‘Lincoln Heights Guardian Angel’ – what’s it say there, Protector of the Neighborhood Tommy Boyd –“

“Gimme that shit” snaps Frankie, grabbing the medal from his pal and instantly tossing it.

CLANG. “Next…”

“Here’s another picture,” an excited Pimples announces as he checks it out. “Hey, hot! That’s Tommy with her arm around some Asian chick, another female athlete – they’re both in track suits. There’s some writing: ‘For my wonderful friend, Tommy… something to always remember me by.’”

Frankie glances at the pic and leers. “Two dykes for the price of one. No – wait a minute, don’t tear it up. I’ll email this to my little cousin Chuck. He hates Boyd’s guts. Like, ever since she caught him pushing some stupid kid around, and she gave him that spanking in front of everyone…”

“Yeah,” sighs Pimples, recalling. “That was way harsh.”

“Well now he can even. If I know him, he’ll have this picture up on the web in like a few hours. It’ll be great… we’ll expose Boyd for the dim-witted dyke she really is.”

“Hey man, that’s perfect,” Pimples concurs. “So much for the wholesome All-American role model.”

“Right! Ha-ha-ha!”

Just then, finally finished chatting with Chad, Marcia approaches her two hired tomboy-catchers with a satisfied smile. She can’t help noticing where Frankie happens to be sitting. “A job well done, boys. I see you’ve claimed the bike.”

“Well, yeah, I was just figurin’…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Frank. It’s a gift from Aunt Edwina. She says it’s the least she can do considering how much you’ve been helping her out lately, and how often her misfit niece annoys you.”

A wiseass smile spreads across Pimples’ fat face. “Yeah, Frankie. She’s really bought your ‘perfect gentleman’ act.”

“Look, what can I say? The old lady has taste.”

About fifteen minutes later, Chad’s van rounds a corner on its way to Edwina’s suburban residence. Inside the cab, dedicated-as-always Marcia patiently drills her boyfriend/fiancée/meal-ticket Mr. Parker, steady at the wheel. Within the van itself, Frankie barks into a cellphone, Pimples lights up a joint, and lying on the floor before them is the motionless form of Tomasina Boyd, totally knocked out by her enemies’ potent combination of chloroform and sexual stimulation. Above the young woman’s sneakered feet, both ankles are bound together, and following her long, sexy legs to the briefest of cut-off jeans, up to bound wrists which rest upon her stomach, directly below a pair of world-class boobs that puff outward, nipples insanely erect. And above this tantalizing female body is a face the angels themselves must be envious of… Sweet as a newborn while in deepest dream-slumber, innocent, rounded facial features suggesting a little child rather than a young adult woman. Simply enchanting. And then…

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!! Tommy Boyd snores like a fatso truck driver, practically interfering with Frankie’s cell phone reception! The annoyed greaser shoots a glance at his ultra-voluptuous sleeping captive, then shakes his weary head in resignation: Once a tomboy, always a tomboy!

TO BE CONTINUED...