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Message-ID: <36937asstr$1024690208@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} [rom fest] Hard Promise, Chap. 1/14 (rom mf)
Date: Fri, 21 Jun 2002 16:10:09 -0400
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Welcome to the Church of The Right Reverend Cotton Mather.  This story
is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit.  Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.

(Copyright 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.
RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
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HARD PROMISE
Rev. Cotton Mather



- 1 -

It seemed like such a good idea at the time.  Our anniversary was
coming up in a few weeks, and I had found a great deal on a vacation to
Bermuda that I knew my wife would really love.

You see, six years ago, for her high school graduation, her parents
gave her a trip to Bermuda.  She traveled with three of herhigh-school
buddies, and it was one of the highlights of her life, she says.
Now, for our second anniversary, I was going to surprise her with
another trip to her dream destination, a place she calls the most
romantic place on earth.

It's a lot easier, according to some of our friends who have already
started having their children, to just pick up and go when you aren't
tied down with familial obligations.  I guess that's true, because the
deals I see for people who can travel on short notice to vacation spots
are very good, indeed.  And this deal was better than even those,
provided we leave in two days.

Naturally, I couldn't reach her by telephone, so I left work early to
try to catch her before she got too busy.  She usually got home from
work around 4:00, relaxed for awhile until she knew that I would be on
my way home, then start to make dinner for the two of us.  We would
eat around 6:00, and she would run out the door right after dinner,
leaving me to clean up the dishes.  She's studying at night to be a
chef, so our dinners tended to be on the elaborate side.  My wife
loves to cook, and she considers it her sacred duty to make sure
that everything she prepares is done just right.  The result?  I've
gained 10 pounds since our marriage.  My work is sedentary, shuffling
paper at a big insurance company, and I try to exercise when I can,
but my battle of the bulge is a difficult one.  I still tend to eat
like I'm still playing football, as I did in high school, and our
large dinners and changed lifestyle have conspired to change my
profile.  I do try to work it off a few times a week doing horizontal
aerobic exercises, if you know what I mean, and my little sweetheart
is always very cooperative, and even enthusiastic.  And I'll tell
you, her efforts in the sack must give her an even greater workout,
since she's exactly the same size now that she was when she was
leading the cheers for good old North High.




It was her cheerleading, actually, that first made me notice her.
I loved seeing her in those tight letter sweaters and short skirts,
shaking and jumping all over the football field.

I was a junior playing on the football team, and I loved watching all
the cheerleaders.  I had a lot of trouble concentrating on the game
when I got to watching their backsides on the sidelines.  Every time
one of them would jump up in the air, I would catch a glimpse of
white ruffled panties.  Drove me crazy, they did.  Of course, all
the cheerleaders were gorgeous and athletic, and a common conversation
among my fellow players when we were at practice or on the bench
during a game was to rank the cheerleaders (and all other good-looking
girls at school, of course) in the order in which we would like to bop
them.  All during the season we would revise our lists, taking into
account changing tastes, how a particular girl dressed on that
particular day, or whatever rumor about a girl's reputation might be
running through the school.  We based our rankings on such things as
"boob-alicious-ness", how a girl used a straw or ate a banana, how
easy we thought she might be, if we thought a girl might be a screamer
or a moaner, her reputation in the school at large as well as in the
locker room, or any of a dozen other crude evaluation criteria.  Over
the course of the football season my list changed according to my
mood: sometimes it was Lisa, a varsity cheerleader who was a junior
and arguably the hottest girl in the school, who was at the top of my
list; sometimes it was Micki, a petite freshman with big, pouting
lips who, it was rumored, was trying to earn her way onto the varsity
cheerleading squad by bedding any member of any varsity sports team
in school; sometimes it was Nicole, a senior who was on the yearbook
staff and had been a member of the student council since her freshman
year who, according to my buddies in the locker room, gave her dates
exquisite hand jobs on the third date - and no more, ever; but always,
among the top 3 on my list, was Melissa, a sophomore cheerleader.  No
"bad girl" rumors ever surrounded her, no innuendoes about her sexual
prowess (or lack thereof), nothing but a general admiration for her
All-American good looks and her quiet pursuit of excellence in all
she attempted.

So there we all were, week after week, struggling through a mediocre
season on the football field, celebrating wins and consoling ourselves
on our losses in the same manner by converging as a group at
Fabrice's, a local pizza parlor that catered to the high school crowd.

So there is where we all went after the game.  We would all be hanging
out at the local pizza joint, the team and its hangers-on around one
group of tables, the cheerleading squads around another, and a whole
bunch of other students who had gone to the game all around us.  And
there Melissa would be, sitting with her friends, always nearby,
always out of reach.  She had to have known that I was attracted to
her.  All my friends on the team knew she was always high up on my
list, and they would certainly never let a teasing opportunity go by
without taking as much advantage as I would let them take.  And she
would always play it coy with me.  Looking at our table out of the
corner of her baby-blue eyes, swishing her long blonde hair off her
shoulder, crossing and uncrossing her long legs, leaning back and
laughing at some clever thing one of her girlfriends said and pressing
her sweater tight against her boobs, all the time knowing that my
friends and I were over there drooling over the vision of all that
lovely cheerleader poontang sitting there, not being used properly
(in our sophisticated opinions anyway), and hoping that, eventually,
Fortune would smile down on us and grant us a precious evening alone
with the girl of our choice.

Okay, I admit it, we were young and foolish.  And stupid.  But
Fortune did indeed smile upon me one glorious fall evening that year.


(Continued in Chapter 2)




Rev. Cotton Mather
Senior Pastor,
Church of the Erotic Redemption
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ReverendCottonMather/www
http://www.storiesonline.net

**If I had to do it all over,
I'd do it all over you**


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