A helping hand

?Need a hand big boy?? You look up surprised to see a hand in front of your face.  You had heard one set of footsteps come and go while you were clutching at you crotch.  You hadn?t heard a second set.   Why becomes clear as you look up to see Linda ?Running Doe? Nelson looking down at you.

Despite being almost six foot tall, Linda couldn?t weigh more than a hundred pounds, even if you included the heavy backpack she usually wore.  The calfskin moccasins she wore helped to muffle her light tread.  Although her complexion is a shade or two darker than yours, her nickname is more a product of her physique than her Native American heritage.  She was built like the classic long distance runner, tall and thin.  While her 32-28-32 figure only sported B-cups, it was enough to ensure no one could deny she was a woman.

Linda was a rather plain looking woman.  She had large, doe-like brown eyes, a small button nose and thin pale lips.  It didn?t help that she wore her thin dark brown hair in a pair of tight braids.  Like her namesake, Linda is rather shy, almost skittish.  You are one of the few people she calls friends.  Having grown up next to each other, you grew up to be best friends.

You marvel at the ease with which Linda hauls you to your feet when you grab her hand.  Many a young man had regretted underestimating her.  Not only did Linda have some strength, she had the knowledge and will to use it.

?Where?d Cindy go?? you ask Linda, ?I?ve got to see her.?

?You and every other guy on campus.? Linda muttered, ?Coping a feel wasn?t enough??  You give her a sheepish grin and shrug.  She motions for you to follow her.