Coverage

If the cornerback had seen the naked female form across the room, he didn't appear to be interested. But as Melody approached him, with Gregg following three feet behind, she began to suspect that D'Wayne was intentionally avoiding her. In fact, as she got closer, the tempo of his answers increased, and he seemed to concentrate even harder on the reporter from WCIV.

Melody thanked heaven that there was at least one person in the locker room who wasn't gawking at her. Nonetheless, as she began to pepper the cornerback with her own questions, she couldn't help but feel that much more uncomfortable, with D'Wayne seemingly incapable of even acknowledging her nudity.

She asked him about the first interception, and about how he'd followed it with his eyes out of Welch's hands and into his own. She asked about the second, and about whether or not he had felt that was what had won them the game. All the while, Melody stood just inches from her fellow reporters, even though they were all dressed and all men. Their interest drifted from the nude collegian to the triumphant back, and back to the nude collegian once again.

But D'Wayne's concentration was total. He kept his eyes straightforward, never once even glancing at Melody's pale skin. He fiddled with a crucifix that hung from his neck, and the reporter guessed that he might have been more religious than some of the other men around her, more religious than some of the athletes that had been harassing her since she entered.

Though their eyes never met, Melody extended her arm and placed her yellow Dictaphone directly in front of the young man's mouth. His pace slowed, and his answers became more deliberate. Contrary to the exuberant and self-congratulatory boasting Mitchell had been offering to Melody's male counterparts, the cornerback simply offered straight, honest answers. She made him nervous. She put him off-guard. And, armed with nothing more than her tits before her, she was able to get him to expand upon his criticisms of the referees the previous week, offer insight into how the Stallions planned and packaged their defenses, and even his own, honest emotions about the success he'd had on the field that afternoon.

D'Wayne's focus was remarkable. Though he continued to finger the silver cross around his neck uncomfortably, his eyes never broke their straightforward stare.

Melody's focus was not nearly as good. As D'Wayne expounded upon his life, his play, and his earlier comments, the girl couldn't help but think about her situation. She desperately tried to concentrate on the work in front of her, but her mind kept coming back to her bare skin. Her nipples, sitting atop her smallish breasts, were still adamantine, even though the climate inside the locker room was hot and balmy. And she kept switched her weight from foot-to-foot, constantly aware of her posture.

"It's a win," D'Wayne rambled on, his efforts to bring the interview to a close apparent. "It's a big win. Obviously, Baptist has been the cream of the crop within the SCC the past couple of years – them and Tallahassee. And we knocked off one of them this week, so we get to a take a big win into Georgia next week against Atlanta."

Melody refocused, well aware that she'd gotten more heartfelt and honest responses from D'Wayne in this interview than she had throughout the cornerback's entire sophomore season the year before. But, she was obviously making him uncomfortable, and in turn, he was making her feel even more awkward about her present state than she already had. In an effort to liberate them their embarrassment, Melody stepped away. As she turned, she swore she heard D'Wayne sigh with relief.

Around the corner, in a recessed area of the locker room, Melody found Justin Cox, the Stallions' star linebacker. It had been a big day for the senior defenseman, as the Southern Baptist's quarterback could attest – Trevor Welch was likely in his own locker room, icing bruises and picking field turf out of his teeth. But the crowd around him was surprisingly small, consisting mostly of a few local print reporters. A glance across the confirmed why – Dave Lebeau, standing in a towel, was holding court at his own locker. ESPN, Sports Illustrated, Fox Sports, and the networks were all gathered around him, peppering him with standard questions, and being treated to standard responses.

There'd be time for Lebeau later, Melody reasoned. Later, when she wouldn't have to muscle her way through the crowd, her naked skin rubbing up against a mass of male reporters. Here, in the far corner of the locker room, Melody had only a few clothed colleagues to compete with, and the strength and conditioning coach that followed her every step.

"Justin," she called, catching the player's attention. Standing over six feet tall, Justin Cox was as perfect a physical specimen as any man in the room. Sweat glistened on his shaved head, as well as down his entire body. He smelled of it, but it wasn't a rank odor in Melody's mind, so much as a musky, competitive, cologne – the smell entirely male, and surprisingly alluring. Wearing just a pair of grey boxer-briefs, Cox smiled as he saw the girl approach.

Though she was naked already, Melody couldn't help but feel she was being undressed again, given the way the linebacker was staring at her body. He let his eyes linger on her legs, as if attempting to part them and expose her further with his mind. It was clear, from the way the player's gaze drifted from her thighs to her pussy that he wanted to see more than the well-kept triangle of public hair. Melody imagined him imagining having sex with her, Cox lost in a fantasy of taking her onto his lap then and there, and fucking her in celebration of a game well-played. Though the blonde girl quickly brushed such thoughts away and forced herself to concentrate on the job at hand, the thought of riding the linebacker in front of Coy Prickett of the Danbury Shopper and Heath Wilson of Channel 15 left the girl a bit warm. She blushed.

"Virgo?" Cox asked, jutting his chiseled jaw at the girl's tattoo. Unlike D'Wayne Mitchell, Cox seemed to have little difficulty in calling to attention Melody's nudity.

"August twenty-third," the girl conceded, offering the linebacker her birthday. "I got it on my eighteenth birthday."

Cox had now traversed up the girl's body with his eyes, but had only made it as far as the girl's breasts. Nonetheless, he continued the conversation, even if he seemed a bit distracted. "I got this one," he said, pointing at a Chinese character on the left-hand side of his neck, "on my eighteenth. It means 'strength.'"

"Nice," Melody answered.

"You've got a great body," Cox offered, as tactful as Melody could have expected. His eyes, like D'Wayne's, never met those of the naked reporter. Cox, unlike the cornerback, was too busy devouring the girl's form.

"Why, thank you," the girl replied sarcastically, eager to make Cox aware of how inappropriate this might become.

Undeterred, the linebacker pressed on. "I mean, your legs are amazing. And your stomach? Oh, I could get lost in your bellybutton." He glanced at Prickett, and added, "And those breasts..."

"Okay! Okay!" Melody stopped him with two open palms. "I'm naked. I'm in the locker room. But, I'd hope that I'm not the first naked woman you've ever seen, so let's try to keep this professional."

"Professional?" Heath Floyd asked in disbelief, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, professional," the girl reiterated firmly. "I'm not an exotic dancer. I'm not your girlfriend. And I'm not exhibitionist. I'm here for a couple of quotes, a halfway presentable story, and to keep my beat with the Tribune. Period."

The four men, Coach Gregg included, stared at her blankly. Cox's gaze still hadn't progressed past her tits.

"So," she went on, and pointed towards her face, "eyes up here. Together, we can get through this."

"I was just saying," Cox offered apologetically, finally making eye contact with Melody. "You have a nice body, is all."

"Thank you. So do you."

Cox was more attentive to the girl's questions and less to her body as Melody began, but over the course of the interview, his concentration lapsed time and again. Rather than call attention to it, though, Melody let the linebacker ogle her, as she felt chiding him was a losing battle. He was answering her questions honestly and to the best of his ability, perhaps more openly than he might have had he not been as distracted as he was. And besides, Melody WAS in his locker room stark naked, her breasts on display and even her pussy unshielded. Was she really going to make each and every guy in the room ignore her nudity?

Instead, Melody did her best to imagine herself in a smart, professional business suit. Someone as uncouth as Cox might be staring at her breasts no matter what she was wearing, and the girl had little legitimate control over where the linebacker's roving eyes went next. Focused on her questions, and the player's answers, Melody was almost capable of blocking everything else out – the rowdy the locker room, the men standing all around her, and her complete and total lack of clothing.

But it wasn't as if Cox was that much more clothed himself. The player was dressed in nothing besides his underwear. For what it was worth, Melody at least had jewelry and her shoes, her own state of undress entirely intentional. Cox, on the other hand, was in a much more transitory state – he certainly hadn't intended for Melody or her fellow reporters to see him in his boxer-briefs. It was little comfort, Melody knew, but the fact that she was in control of her situation, the fact that she had been fully aware of what she was getting herself into, the fact that she had intended to be seen like this since she first undressed in the hall, made it seem a bit more manageable.

Of course, the linebacker wasn't embarrassed about his own partial nudity. Melody doubted that it even entered into his mind, while her own nakedness near consumed her. And never mind that Cox still had on his underwear, while Melody didn't even have that luxury. If she could have sacrificed interviews with D'Wayne and Cox in order to wear just her yellow panties that afternoon as she made her way through the locker room, she probably would have done so.

Beside her, Melody caught sight of a player she couldn't place. The jersey hanging in his locker, number fifty-five, identified him as a linebacker as well, but obviously the young-looking dirty-blonde spent more of his time on the bench than the field. Like Cox, Number Fifty-Five had already shed his uniform and stood in just his underwear. Unlike Cox, the young man glanced at Melody, then at the other reporters, and stripped out his last article of clothing.

Melody did her best to stay on Cox, but she felt her eyes wander, catching a quick glimpse of the player's white buttocks as he reached for a towel. For just a brief second, she wasn't the most naked person in the room. Naked as, perhaps. But for a moment, regardless of gender, she wasn't the only one stark naked in a crowd of other people.

Cox continued to ramble on, but Melody began to suspect that she'd gotten from him the juiciest quotes. He'd revealed more to her in this one question and answer session than she'd gotten from him all of the previous year, distracted perhaps by the woman standing before him. His mouth motored on, but it clearly was detached from the dirty thoughts that occupied his mind.

Melody glanced again at Number Fifty-Five, clad in just his towel. The young linebacker excused himself through the three reporters and Coach Gregg, pushed his way across the locker room, and proceeded down the long, orange-tiled hallway to the shower block. The naked girl doubted that the player had done all that much that day, and wondered if he had truly worked up a sweat enough that he'd need a shower.

She followed him with her eyes. It wasn't that he was all that good-looking, and Melody certainly wasn't attracted to him in any meaningful sense. But, as he disappeared down the poorly-lit corridor to the shower block, she couldn't help but long for what he represented. For an instant, she hadn't been a nude anomaly; rather, she'd been just another naked person, just one of many. Sure, she was the only girl, but she'd been on a somewhat level playing field.

The crowd around Dave Lebeau began to disperse, as the all-star quarterback wrapped up the current interviews. Melody could hear him promise more, once he'd returned from his shower. As her eyes drifted from the young, benchwarming linebacker to the tall, dark-haired passer, she had an evil thought. Lebeau, clad in his Stallion-blue towel, descended down the hall to the showers.

"Thank you, so much," Melody said to Cox, again glancing across the locker room. She clicked the "stop" button on her Dictaphone, and smiled at the linebacker.

Clearly, the bald-headed Cox was disappointed. "Listen, if you're not doing anything..."

"You're sweet," the reporter cut him off. "But while my outfit may suggest otherwise, I'm not really here to throw myself at you guys."

She turned quickly, preventing Cox from hitting on her again. With Gregg a few steps behind, Melody b-lined for the shower block, knowing that the linebacker was following the bounce of her ass with every step.

Had Melody ever taken a peek at the equipment of the players in previous forays into the locker room? Of course she had. She was young. She was sexually active. She was blessed with curiosity. In previous years, covering the football, basketball, and baseball teams, she'd been exposed to more male nudity that she was capable of recounting. She'd seen cocks of all shapes, lengths, and colors, the bare buttocks of dozens of young men, the nude forms of players as she chatted them up about their game-time performances. Most of the time, Melody had allowed wide berth to the athletes stripping in the locker room, preferring to interview them before they got naked, or after they'd changed.

Something was different this time, however. The environment seemed more sexually charged, more stimulating. Most of it, Melody wagered, was the effect a naked woman had on a room full of young men at their sexual peaks. Men were, on the whole, more visual creatures than women, becoming more easily aroused by what they saw. But the reporter couldn't quite deny the effects that the muscular, sweat-covered, naked and half-naked forms were having on her own libido.

Her nipples were still hard, having yet to calm down since stripping in the hall. As her sandals clacked against the tiled floor, she could feel the moisture build between her legs, could feel the warmth spreading from her pussy throughout the rest of her body.

Melody was turned on by the naked men around her. She was turned on by the fact that she was naked among them. She was turned on by the way their eyes watched her, stared at her body, devoured her sexually.

Upon reaching the long corridor that led to the showers, Melody stepped to one side and placed her right foot up on a nearby bench. She nodded at an offensive lineman who had recently emerged from those very showers, and was standing beside her, in a wet towel, at his locker. With a quick motion, the girl unfastened the buckle on her ankle, and shed her right sandal. A few seconds later, she'd taken off the left, as well. She shoved them both into her large purse, handed the bag to Coach Gregg, and explained, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

The strength and conditioning coach shook his head, even as he reluctantly accepted the purse. "I can't let you go down there."

"Are you going to stop me?" Melody asked, daring the man to physical restrain her. Given the awkward way the coach had interacted with her since he'd been given his assignment, Melody doubted he possessed the fortitude to touch her.

Gregg glanced nervously over his shoulder, as if he were looking for Art Hull's advice. He sighed, and shook his head again, but relented. "I'm coming down there with you, but I'm going to wait outside."

"That's fine," Melody agreed. To be fair, she worried what might happen alone on the shower block with a dozen naked football players. Gregg's presence would keep them in line, even if he stood just outside the showers themselves.

Still wearing her jewelry, but nothing else, Melody began her journey down the darkened corridor to the showers. She'd never dared to enter this particular area before, which had always been a refuge from the Media. But, the girl figured it might be her only opportunity to get a few words with Dave Lebeau, to have an exclusive interview with the NFL-bound quarterback. In addition, it might be one of the few times that afternoon when she was on equal footing with the athletes, all of them – Melody included, of course – completely naked from head to foot.

The women's locker room, at Palmetto State's student gym, had shower stalls sectioned off from one another. A handful of the women's varsity locker rooms, however, had open shower blocks, much like the Stallion football team's. The soccer and field hockey teams shared a locker room, and as Melody rounded the corner onto the shower block, she noted the similarities in the layout.

It was a large, rectangular room, covered in blue and orange tiles. At the center, a wall divided the showers in two, with an opening at either end. Spaced at a relatively comfortable distance from one another were showerheads and water knobs, placed along the both the outer walls and the inner divide that ran between them. And beneath each waterfall was a stark naked, soaped up football player.

The voices, laughing and hollering only moments earlier, became silenced as Melody stepped into the room. Each man present seemed to catch their breath with a look at their guest, stripped to her skin and ready to join them.

"Are you fucking serious?" It was Lebeau's voice, from the right-hand corner of the shower block.

Melody fixed her eyes upon the quarterback, and padded barefoot towards him. As she passed the other jocks, erections rose to attention to greet her. Even Lebeau, who didn't sound at all pleased to see the girl, could help but reveal his true feelings. Melody did her best to look at his face, but her roving eye couldn't help but catch a glimpse of his hardening cock.

Armed with her waterproof yellow Dictaphone, the girl slipped under the berth to Lebeau's right, one of the few that remained empty in the room. To her own right, the team's large defensive tackle, Willie Mathis, looked on with interest.

Chatter began to uneasily begin up again, but every man in visual range kept their eyes upon the skinny, naked blonde beside their team captain.

"I can't get five fucking minutes to myself?" Lebeau asked, groaning at the girl's presence. Despite the protestation, the quarterback didn't seem angry. Maybe mildly annoyed, but Melody doubted that he minded a female presence with him in the showers.

"Just a few questions," Melody replied, smiling. Water spattered off the dark-haired man's muscular body onto her own, even as she felt the splash of warm water falling from Mathis's shower behind her. She wasn't under the stream of water herself, but it was clear that she was going to get wet, whether she wanted to or not.

Lebeau rolled his eyes, but nodded. There was, of course, the danger of scandal that could erupt should news of Melody's exploits leak out onto campus. But, at least hidden away from other reporters and the news cameras in the rest of the locker room, Lebeau wouldn't actually be seen with the girl. ESPN wouldn't know. The NFL wouldn't know. And, perhaps most importantly, his girlfriend Samantha wouldn't know.

"One catch," the quarterback smirked. He reached to his right, past the girl's naked body, and twisted the knob of her shower. She gasped as the frigid water rained down upon her body, arching her back and squealing in surprise. Lebeau explained, "If you're in here, you're in here to shower."