Author's Note: This is the first part of what could be a seven or eight part series. Chapter two is being written, and three is in the planning stages (sort of). The first three chapters all take place on the same day. After that, there are the rest of the girls to play with. I consider this to be an Erotic Coupling series, with one fantastical element.
These girls will feature in another series. I also have ideas for a couple of unrelated stories knocking on my brain and trying to get out.
This is my first submission, and I'm going to try working without an editor. Constructive comments are appreciated. If any editors think that I do need help, let me know. Thanks for reading.
In case you're curious, "Telepresence refers to a set of technologies which allow a person to feel as if they were present, to give the appearance of being present, or to have an effect, via telerobotics, at a place other than their true location.(Wikipedia)" In other words, the ability to be somewhere that you're not.
*****
I have no clue how it happened. No lightning, or lab accident, or any of the other sci-fi cliches. It just happened one day. Maybe it was the flip side of being 'invisible' through all of middle and high school. Maybe it had something to do with the recovery from my near suicidal depression of two years ago.
I don't know and I don't really care anymore. What I do know, is that it changed my life. This is how it started.
*****
"Okay, everybody! Good practice. Remember that tomorrow is the last practice before the game with Wilson High on Saturday. So, focus, eat smart and get enough rest! I want you all at your best. Silverstrike hasn't lost to Wilson in the last ten years, and I don't plan to start now! And remember, no sex tomorrow, 24 hours to game time.
"Hit the showers, guys. Talbot, with me in my office."
Coach Williams jogged to his office with me keeping pace, ten feet behind. I'm Greg Talbot. 18 year old brainiac senior at Silverstrike High School. I keep in good shape by running and swimming, but there's no swim team or track team. All anyone cares about in our affluent, mid-sized high school is football. So, my attachment to school sports is as Coach Williams' assistant.
Just to make it clear, I'm not the equipment manager. Andrew does that. I deal with stats and logistics, keeping the team running so Coach can focus on the players. I've been doing this since the start of junior year, and Coach likes my work. But the main reason for volunteering for this was so I could be closer to the cheerleaders. Eight of the most beautiful women alive, all seniors, and all stunning. None of them know I'm alive.
I saw them gathering their gear as I headed to Coach's office. I'd known all of them for years, some since childhood. We'd shared classes, but they barely saw me at all. Look, I'm five-eleven, brown hair, blue-gray eyes, lean build, dress well, and I don't fit the stereotype of the high school nerd at all. I like science fiction, but I'm not a fanboy. But nobody sees beyond the glasses (wire frame, no tape) or GPA (4.0).
My meeting with Coach lasted only a few minutes, just making sure that there was nothing we were forgetting with two days before Saturday's game. We'd do this again on Friday, but everything was prepped. The only real variable was how late Steve would be. It could be anywhere from 10 to 45 minutes or more. Coach and I had moved call from 20 minutes before we planned to leave back to 45 minutes early. We still had been forced to hold the bus once. We put up with this because he was our best receiver, with hands like glue. He never dropped the ball once he laid a finger on it.
After the meeting, I indulged in my usual pastime. I found a bench in a secluded corner near the locker rooms and imagined what it was like in the showers. Not the team's shower of course, but the squad's. Head cheerleader Eva, the dark eyed Arabian Princess. Beautiful honey blond Julie, who I'd had a crush on since we were sophs. The 'twins' from separate families, Robin and Rachel, the subjects of my first and second wet dreams respectively. Helen of the milk chocolate skin, and tiny Japanese Kim. Martial artist Ginger, and curly haired Diane who had trouble smiling.
I knew them all, knew their stories. I knew that (surprisingly for the Los Angeles area) none of them dyed their hair, even redheaded Robin. None of them had implants or plastic surgery of any kind. They didn't need it. What I didn't know is what they looked like naked. I knew their breast sizes, but what did their nipples look (or taste) like? Given their regular pool parties (cheerleaders only invited) and skimpy suits, I was sure that none of them had a full bush. But who had a landing strip, a small tuft, shaved or waxed?
I fell into my favorite fantasy, watching them wash themselves and each other in my mind. Not overtly sexual, but playfully. While it was rumored that they all played with each other (they all did, but only I knew it for sure), the only ones who were openly bisexual were Robin and Rachel. They had a habit of sharing boyfriends. They had shed their virginities side by side after an away game, then swapped partners, then shared them.
So I imagined the water and soap running down their smooth curves, while I got harder and thicker. Where I was sitting, I couldn't touch my cock. I'd do that at home, as usual. I'm not a virgin, thanks to a fellow camp counselor who saw me at the pool, and was surprised, and pleased, when she saw my cock. Maybe I'll tell that story later. But at home, my only partner is my hand.
After a moment, I realized that I was seeing the ladies differently than I was used to imagining them. I could hear the water, and smell the different body washes and shampoos. I looked down but I didn't see myself. I realized that I was seeing clearly, even though my glasses were not on my face. I could feel the water on my skin, and saw it splash off me as I stood three feet from Julie DiMarco.
I turned my gaze to the other cheerleaders. All wonderful specimens of Southern California teenage women. One look showed they conformed to my theory for pubes. None of the redheads or blonds were shaved clean, all had kept at least a small patch to prove their hair color was natural to their lovers. Only Kim and Ginger had smooth mounds. I could have stared at them for hours, but I turned back to Julie to memorize her.
Five feet-six inches of blue eyed, honey blond beauty. Her 36C breasts were just as wonderful bare as I had imagined, with dusky rose nipples half an inch long that I ached to suck. Her mound was bare except for a small triangular patch, the precise shade as on her head, just at the top of her lips. All the others were amazing as well, but having my fantasy girl so close had me harder and thicker than I can ever remember being. I had to know if she felt as good as she looked, so I reached out my hand.
Like silk. I feather stroked my fingers down her arm, then pulled back. She didn't seem to notice, so I got bolder and ran my hand over her ass. An incredible mix of firm and soft. I couldn't stop myself and touched her breast. Julie's hand whipped up and grabbed my wrist.
"Who are you?" she snapped. "I can't see you, but I've got your wrist and I felt your hand on me."
I made my voice deeper and rougher to disguise it, "Just one of your many admirers, Julie." Most of the squad rushed to cover themselves. To my surprise, Ginger made no move to hide her tits or pussy.
"How do you know my name? Who are you, anyway?"
