Like Father, Like Daughter Ch. 03

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Lola meets her coach's older son Cam for the first time.
4.3k words
4.49
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Part 3 of the 5 part series

Updated 11/05/2020
Created 05/30/2017
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DISCLAIMER: This is the third part of a longer story. For the best reading experience, it is recommended that you start at the beginning. The story contains plenty of sex, but this chapter does not. If you appreciate stories that build, you may like this. If you want a quick read, this may not be for you.

*****

Although I appreciated that Coach Matthews had stuck up for me, I couldn't get what happened with Todd off my mind, and Jenna's words kept running my through head at random times of day.

"What kind of slut are you?"

"This bitch didn't do anything."

"She fucking loved it."

I knew Jenna was out of line to say those things, especially in front of the whole team, but something about what she had said stuck with me. She was right about at least one thing: when Todd groped me, I didn't do or say anything. I just took it. I let him get away with it. Why?

I told myself that I was just too shocked to react, but I worried that maybe she was right about me. Had I... liked it? Was I really a slut? I desperately needed to talk to someone who could help me understand why I reacted the way that I did, but I didn't know who.

My Mom was out of the question. Between finalizing the divorce, fighting for sole custody of my younger brother, and trying to adjust to her new job, she was barely keeping it together. Especially after what had happened with my Dad, I couldn't tell her that I had let a boy feel me up at school and get away with it. Now more than ever, she needed me to be an independent young woman, and I wasn't about to burden her with something like this. Coach Matthews wasn't an option, either. She had been wonderful to me, but we just hadn't known each other long enough to have that kind of personal relationship. I tried calling some of my friends back in California, but talking to them just made me homesick, and I couldn't work up the nerve to talk about the incident with Todd over the phone.

So, with no one to talk to, I turned inward. I resolved to take Coach Matthews' advice: put my head down, work hard, and keep my eyes on the prize. I might not become popular at my new school, but it was only a year, and then I'd be gone. If people wanted to call me driven, antisocial, or even prude, that was their business. But I wasn't going to give anyone else at that school reason to call me a slut.

To begin with, I started dressing more conservatively at school, which became easier as October turned to November and the weather got cooler. I still wore my tennis skirt to school on match days to show my team spirit, so I couldn't prevent boys from leering at me, but I made certain not to bend over at the drinking fountain anymore. There were still catcalls from the stands during my matches, but I was so focused that I barely noticed.

I was spending all of time free time practicing instead of socializing and it was paying off. In spite of moving from a top-tier tennis school to a middling program, I was playing the best tennis of my life. I owed a lot of this to Coach Matthews and her son. Caleb and I were playing tough, hard-fought matches multiple times per week, and it was elevating my game to the next level. After competing against Caleb, the girls in my division seemed to be moving in slow motion. I was mowing them down with ease, and colleges were taking notice. Recruitment letters from D1 schools were arriving almost every day.

That November, I won the Class 5A Girls State Championships in singles. My doubles partner and I placed third. Granted, a state title in Nevada isn't quite the same as winning one in California, but I was ecstatic. My Mom and my little brother were there to see me win, and although I was sad and angry that I couldn't share the moment with my Dad, it was the first time since the scandal broke that it felt like something good had happened.

To celebrate my victory-the first singles tennis state championship in school history-Coach Matthews invited my family over to her house for backyard barbecue.

Social invitations always made my Mom nervous. She never felt confident about what to wear, what to bring, or what to talk about. She would always follow my Dad's lead in these situations, and without him, she was more frazzled than ever. The day of the barbecue, she and I got into an argument about what I was planning to wear. I was watching TV when she walked into the family room.

"Lola, get changed, we're leaving soon."

"I'm just gonna wear this, Ma," I said, changing the channel. I had on a tank top, cut-offs, and a pair of old flip-flops.

"No, you're not," she said, picking up the remote and turning the TV off. "You're not wearing jeans to dinner at your coach's house. I laid a dress out for you upstairs. Go put that on."

"Mom, it isn't dinner, it's a barbecue. You don't wear a dress to a barbecue."

"Well, I am," she swept her hand over the floral print she had on. "And so are you. Coach Matthews invited us over for a special occasion and you are going to look presentable."

"You're seriously going to dress me? I'm not 6-years-old anymore."

"That's right, Lo, you're not, which is all the more reason for you to dress like an adult." She folded her arms. "If your brother Benji can wear a polo shirt for a few hours, then I think you can survive one evening in a new dress. So chop-chop," she clapped her hands, "because I do not plan on being late."

"Fine," I sighed, sulking my way upstairs.

My attitude changed when I saw the dress spread across my bed. It was a spaghetti strap cocktail dress in coral, trimmed with lace and flared above the knee. I picked it up and let the material run through my fingers. The cotton was thin but beautifully woven and amazingly soft to the touch. It was just my style, cute and trendy. I couldn't believe my Mom had managed to pick it out without asking me a thing.

Next to the dress was a note.

"Congratulations, Lola. So proud of you. - Mom."

Guilt washed over me. I had been such a brat about getting changed, and all along, she had just been trying to give me a present! But my guilt was mixed with annoyance. Why couldn't she just tell me that the dress was a present? Why did she always have to make everything into an argument between us? Or was it me who did that to her?

I pulled the tank top over my head and went fishing inside my dresser for a strapless bra. For a fleeting moment, I envied some of the small-breasted girls on the tennis team, who could've worn a dress like this without a bra at all. But then, as I unhooked the bra I was wearing and looked at myself in the mirror, the thought disappeared.

Big, soft tits.

As I looked at the ripe, heavy mounds that hung from my lithe, athletic body, I remembered the first time I heard a guy comment on my tits. I was 16, and I was sunning myself with some girlfriends at an outdoor pool near the university where my Dad worked. I had been dozing in a red bikini with my sunglasses on when a guy called out to us.

"You girls go to school here?"

I opened my eyes to see a couple of college guys in board shorts looking at us waiting for a response.

"We go to St. Simon's," my girlfriend called back.

"Ahh, okay," they said, turning away from us.

As they walked away, one of the guys gave the other a shove.

"Man, I told you they were jailbait."

"Whatever," the other said. "Red top definitely could've been a college girl with those big, soft tits." They laughed and disappeared into the locker room.

Red top! I stifled a smile, trying not to let my girlfriends see. Had they heard it, too?

Shaking myself back to the present, I pulled the strapless bra over my big, soft tits, smiling at the memory. Next came the dress, which slipped snugly over me, hugging the curves of my body from the waist up.

"Damn, Mom," I said approvingly to no one in particular. I couldn't remember the last time I had dressed up like this. It seemed like ever since we moved, it had been a steady stream of jeans, tank tops, hoodies, and athletic wear. But the coral fabric complemented the deep, butterscotch tan I had acquired during the tennis season.

As I admired myself in the new dress, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Caleb.

"Mom wants to if u mom or lil bro have any allergies."

I text back. "No, all okay."

"Cool. Whats ur eta?"

"20min"

"Great. U ready to lose at pingpong"

"In your dreams"

I put my phone down and grabbed some wedge sandals from the closet to go with my dress. Oh, Caleb. I looked back at the mirror. I am going to give you something to dream about tonight, I thought.

Practically since the incident with Todd, Caleb had been the only boy I interacted with at any length. True to his Mom's description, he was a sweet, shy kid who definitely enjoyed spending time alone with me. He had never come close to making any kind of move on me, which I appreciated, but that hadn't stopped him from stealing glances at my tits and ass whenever he thought I wouldn't notice. I snuck more than few aces by him by putting a little extra "bounce" in my serve.

Since we didn't really do anything other than play tennis, he had only ever seen me in athletic wear. Now, I make a tennis skirt look good, but it can't compete with spaghetti straps and wedges. I was looking forward to seeing his face when he saw me today.

"Lola!" my Mom yelled from downstairs. "Time to go!"

...

The Matthews family lived in a large, Tudor-style home with a big lawn on a shady street, all qualities that were unusual in the suburbs outside Las Vegas. Mr. Matthews was some kind of casino executive and it was clear even from outside the house that the family was very well-off.

We walked up to the entrance and I lifted the heavy doorknocker. Just as I had hoped, I heard Caleb's voice ring out eagerly from inside.

"I'll get it!"

The door swung open.

"H-hi, Lola." Caleb's eyes opened wide the second he saw me. He gulped, trying hard not to let his eyes wander in front of my Mom. "Hi, Mrs. Andrews. I'm... Caleb." I smiled coyly. Poor boy nearly forgot his own name.

"Hi Caleb," my Mom said, sticking out her hand. "I'd prefer it if you call me Ms. Kim, please."

"Oh, sure, Ms. Kim," he said, tearing his eyes away from me to shake her hand. "Sorry about that."

"That's okay," my Mom replied. "This is Benji, Lola's brother."

"Hi!" Benji said. "Do you have any video games?"

"Yes, we do, Benji," said Mr. Matthews, appearing in the doorway behind Caleb. He was tall, looked to be in his mid-50s, with thick gray hair and rugged, good-looking features that had been exposed to just a bit too much sun. "Hi, Mark Matthews," he said, extending his hand to my mother.

"Lina Kim, nice to meet you."

"And you must be Lola," he said, reaching out a big, beefy arm in my direction. "The new state champ and guest of honor!"

"Nice to meet," I replied. "Thanks for inviting us."

"Our pleasure! Come on in, gang. Alice is out back setting up."

I walked past Caleb and followed Mr. Matthews through the house. He was a large man with the build of an athlete gone to seed, powerful but thickened through with the added mass of middle age. The house itself was even more extravagant than it had appeared from outside. High ceilings, wooden floors, rich leather furniture, and tasteful modern art that suggested the work of an expensive interior decorator. Caleb followed behind me like a puppy dog, saying little. Even without looking behind me, I could tell he was fully absorbed by the view of my legs and ass.

As we walked out onto the back patio, Coach Matthews greeted me.

"Lola! So glad you made it," she called from the barbecue pit. "Lina, Benji, welcome to our home."

The backyard was equally lavish: a vast expanse of green with a pool, a hot tub, and a tennis court all hidden behind the walls of a privacy fence. So this is how rich people live, I thought. I gave Coach Matthews a hug and sat down.

"Wow, Lola!" Coach Matthews said. "I see you clean up nicely after practice."

"Thanks, Coach," I said, smoothing the hem of my dress against my leg.

"Doesn't Lola look nice today, Caleb?" Coach Matthews asked with a cheeky smile.

Caleb blushed. "It's a nice dress," he stammered.

"Lola, sit down for a minute," Coach Matthews pulled up a chair. "I want to talk to you and your Mom about something before dinner."

The three of us sat down. Caleb, unsure of what to do with himself, stood awkwardly off to the side of the table, staring blankly out at the backyard.

"Hey, bud," Mr. Matthews called. "Why don't you help me season the steaks while we let the girls chat?"

"Okay," Caleb said, looking relieved. He trotted inside behind his dad.

"Lola," Coach Matthews began. "Your Mom and I started talking a couple of weeks ago about colleges and recruiting. I know you've been getting a lot of recruiting letters, and now that you've won the state title, that's only going to intensify. It's time for you to start making campus visits, and your Mom asked me if I would be willing to help coordinate with some of the tennis coaches at the schools you are interested in visiting. Of course, I'd be delighted, but I wanted to make sure that's okay with you."

"Are you kidding? That would be awesome!" I shouted. "To be honest, I've been feeling a little nervous about the whole process."

"That's perfectly normal," Coach said. "But remember, these schools are out to court you. A girl with your game on the tennis court and brains in the classroom is going to be a very sought-after commodity."

Now it was my turn to blush.

"So," Coach continued, "which schools are you considering?"

"Uhh, well, I really miss California," I said, thinking aloud. "I definitely want to visit a few of the UC campuses. UCLA, Santa Barbara..."

"All good schools that would be lucky to have you," Coach said. "I'll make some calls. Anywhere else in California you are dreaming about?"

"Stanford!" My Mom yelped.

"Mom!" I shouted. "I'm not gonna get into Stanford, okay? Just chill with that."

"Now hold on," Coach Matthews said, placing a hand on my arm. "Let's wait before we jump to conclusions about where you will or won't get in. Are you interested in Stanford?"

I paused. "Well, yeah," I admitted. "Isn't everyone?"

"It's been her dream since she was in middle school," my Mom chimed in. I shot her a look.

"Stanford is a great school, with a very strong tennis program, as I'm sure you know," Coach Matthews said. "Would you be okay with attending a school where you won't be the star recruit?"

"I don't care about that. I wasn't the best player at my old high school until junior year."

"Well, okay," Coach said. "In that case, I think it's definitely worth setting up a visit."

"Do you really think I have a shot?"

"I can't guarantee anything, obviously, but I think you're a strong candidate for them," Coach Matthews said. Then, she smiled. "And as it happens, I know a little something about getting into Stanford. Did you know that's where our older son Cam goes to school?"

Immediately, the photo on Coach Matthews' desk popped into my head. Not for the first time, I mind add.

"Wow! Congratulations," my Mom cooed. "See, Lola? It's not so out of reach."

"Actually, he should be home later tonight, so I'll introduce the two of you," Coach Matthews said. "He's a scholarship athlete, too."

"He plays tennis?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "Caleb takes after me, but Cam takes after his father. Baseball."

"He'll be here tonight?" my Mom asked.

"Yeah, there's a showcase tournament in Las Vegas tomorrow that he's playing in," Coach said. "Lucky timing, eh, Lola?"

"Yes," I replied softly, lost in my own thoughts.

...

The evening began uneventfully enough. We sat around the fire eating steaks and chatting. I learned that Mr. Matthews had been a college ballplayer, just like Cam, and that's where he met Coach Matthews.

"At first, I thought he was just some handsome jerk," Coach said, laughing.

"Handsome jerk was kind of your type back then," he said, putting a hand on his wife's waist. "Maybe still is."

"Oh, stop," she said, slapping his hand away. "Caleb, take no notice of your father. Despite what he would have you believe, women do not find arrogance attractive. Right, Lola?"

"Right," I said instinctively. "Hey, can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure," Mr. Matthews said. "Caleb, why don't you show Lola where to find it?"

Enthusiastically, Caleb hopped up.

"Come on! It's upstairs."

As we walked upstairs, Caleb turned back to me.

"Sorry about that. Man, is your Dad as embarrassing as mine?"

I looked away.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Sometimes he is."

"I need to get away from them for a bit," he sighed. "Hey, after you come downstairs, you wanna play ping-pong?"

"Hmm," I said. His face was eager with anticipation. I pointed down at my sandals. "I dunno if I can play in these wedges."

"Just take 'em off and go barefoot," he said. "The basement is carpeted, so I don't wear shoes either."

"Okay, then," I said. "Why not?"

"Great! I'll meet you downstairs when you're done up here."

Finally alone, I stepped inside the bathroom and caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror. God, no wonder he is so eager to get you alone, I thought. My dress revealed only the barest hint of cleavage, but in the cool evening air, the outlines of my nipples had become visible through the thin fabric of my bra and the cotton dress. Was it the air? Or had something stirred me up inside? I washed my hands and left.

Before going back downstairs, I noticed a door ajar at the end of the hallway. Caleb's room, I thought. Curious, I opened the door and stepped inside.

Aside from my younger brother, I had never been inside a boy's bedroom, so I wasn't sure what to expect, but what I saw shocked me.

The room was practically a shrine to beautiful women. The walls were covered with posters featuring hot girls of every color and complexion, all with the same thing in common: big, soft tits on display in tight, revealing tops. American swimsuit models basking on a tropical beach. Mexican beer girls spraying each other with cerveza. Japanese car show girls bent seductively over the hood of a hot rod.

I took a few more steps before I saw the trophy shelf across from the bed. It was littered with hardware. When I stepped closer, I saw that each trophy was capped with a baseball player in mid-swing.

"MVP," I heard a deep voice say from behind me.

I wheeled around and there he was, leaning against the doorframe. In person, he seemed even larger than in the photograph, impossibly tall with thick, broad shoulders that barely fit inside the doorway.

"MVP," he said again.

"What?" I said, standing up straighter and smoothing the folds of my dress.

"That trophy you're looking at," he said, taking a step into the room and dropping his backpack. "That's an MVP trophy from the Pac-10 championships last year."

"Oh," I mumbled. "Sorry, I just wandered in here thinking this was Caleb's room."

"Ah, I see," he said, seeming to contemplate the mistake. "Well, it's understandable. Caleb does have a tennis trophy in his room down the hall. But," he smirked, "it's not as big as mine."

For the briefest instant, I saw his eyes flick down to scan my body, and I remembered all of the posters on the walls. I folded my arms over my chest, which suddenly felt exposed.

"I should go back downstairs."

"Sure, in a minute," he said, taking a step closer to me. "I guess we haven't really been introduced yet. I'm Cam." He stretched out his arm for a handshake. Even in such a simple movement, I could see the thick, corded muscles flex. "And you must be Lola."

I reached out my hand and we touched for the first time. His hand was huge and calloused and it enveloped mine. The action of shaking hands felt strangely formal, given that we were alone in his bedroom, surrounded by pictures of busty women.

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