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Subject: {ASSM} -RP- Playing the Game II, Playing to Win, Ch. 11-15 by Rev. Cotton Mather
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Just a little something for those of you who are just catching up with the adventures of my good friend Sean Porter...
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The 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 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 11 -
LUSCIOUS GIRL DILEMMA
I knew that there was no way that Kristina's parents would allow her
to go to the block party with me, and I wouldn't ask her to sneak
around against her father's wishes, so I decided to give Becky
Steinman a call. After all, why should I be the only kid there
without a girl to hang out with?
"Hi, Becky," I said when she got on the phone. "It's Sean."
"Sean? Sean who?" she asked teasingly. "Not Sean Porter, is it? I
thought he dropped off the face of the earth."
"Nope," I replied. "Just been busy, that's all."
"Oh," she said. "And no telephones anywhere to be found, I suppose."
"Hey, you could have called me, you know," I said defensively.
"And what would you have thought of me if I had called? That's not
my style, to be so forward."
"So," I said, "let me get this straight. You'd rather do nothing
than risk having someone think you are too forward?"
There was a pause from the other end of the line. "I guess it
doesn't make a lot of sense when you put it like that, does it?" she
said. "Okay, next time I'll call. Do you want me to sigh and swoon
for your benefit, too?"
I laughed. "Sure," I said. "You'd better practice first, though.
I get the feeling you're not very good at sighing and swooning."
"I don't have anything worth sighing and swooning over. Not yet,
anyway," she added coquettishly. "I'm afraid that, even with
practice, I wouldn't be very convincing in the swooning department."
"I think you're right, Becks. You're just not the swooning type,
I'm afraid."
I told her about the block party on Saturday, and asked her if she
would like to go there with me.
"Be still my heart," she sighed. "I think I might swoon."
It was almost too much to take, and we both started laughing.
The next day, I was working with Davey, Kip and Justin at the park.
We did some passing warm-ups and some stretching, and then I took
them over by the baseball fields. We jogged around to the outfield
fence, a wire fence about five feet high.
"Okay, men, here's the drill," I instructed. I took them out so
they were about 15 feet away. "I'm going to go to the other side of
the fence, and I want you to kick the ball over the fence to me."
"Why, Sean?" asked Kip.
"Because, stupid," retorted his brother, "the fence is in the way.
You can't kick it to him without going over the fence."
"Don't call me stupid!" cried Kip.
"That's right, don't call him stupid," I admonished Davey. "He's
asking a good question."
"Okay, then, why?" asked Justin.
I lofted my ball over the fence, and then leapt up, grabbing the top
bar, and hoisted myself over the top, dropping to the other side. I
ran over to retrieve my ball, and tossed it back over the fence to
the boys.
"I want you to learn how to pass the ball through the air, not just
on the ground," I said. "There will be times in a game when you
might want to pass the ball over an opponent's head, for instance."
"Or hit him in the head!" laughed Davey.
"Nope," I said. "Never deliberately kick the ball so that somebody
nearby might get hurt, Davey. Okay?"
"I was just kidding, Sean," said Davey, by way of apology.
"I know you were, buddy," I said. "Anyway, can you think of any
other reason why you might want to kick the ball into the air,
instead of on the ground?"
"I know!" yelled Kip. "To kick it really far!"
"That's right," I said. "The ball goes further in the air than it
does on the ground."
We were at the limit of instruction by talking, so I got them going
on booting the ball over the fence. The three boys started out just
kicking at the ball, with no sense of where it was going, and only
about half the time the ball made it over the fence.
"Okay, hold up a minute," I said. I had three of the four balls on
my side of the fence, so they couldn't continue, anyway. "The
object of the game is not only to get the ball over the fence, but
to make it a pass to me. Everybody got it?"
"Okay!" "Yep-sirree!" "I got it, Sean."
With a little more practice, and a little more concentration, they
started being much more accurate about their drill. Most of the
balls were making it over the fence, and quite a few were in my
vicinity, as much or more than I could have hoped for on our first
try at this drill.
After about 15 minutes of lofting the ball, I called a stop to it.
I tossed the balls back over the fence to the boys, and hopped back
over to their side. We started dribbling back over to our gear.
"There's one more time when you might want to get the ball off the
ground a little," I said. "Anybody care to take a guess at when
that might be?"
They thought about it for a few moments, and then Justin said, "When
you're shooting?"
"Right you are, buddy-boy," I said. "The best places to shoot for
when you're attacking the goal are the four corners. Most keepers
your age can't defend a shot aimed at the high corners. If you can
practice lofting the ball accurately, you'll score more goals."
"All right!" shouted Davey enthusiastically. "Score more goals!"
"But," I admonished, "it has to be an accurate shot, otherwise it's
just another wasted opportunity, and you've ended up giving the ball
back to your opponents.
"Okay, Sean," said Davey.
I informed them that practice was just about over. "Okay, guys, I
want two laps around the outside of the soccer field. First lap use
just your right foot, second lap just your left foot. Ready? Go!"
And off they went. I trailed behind them, also using only one foot
to dribble the ball. If it was good enough of a drill for them, it
was good enough for me. I never wanted to be the kind of coach who
wouldn't do the exercises that I assigned to my players.
As we were finishing up the last lap, I saw Wendy pull up to the
curb and park her car. She walked over toward our gear as we jogged
up to her, each of us dribbling the ball with just our left foot.
"Hi, Mom," called out Justin.
"Hi, Champ," said Wendy. "Davey and Kip, your mom asked if I could
give you a ride home. Okay?"
"Sure, Mrs. Marcus."
"If Mom says so, it's okay with me, I guess," said Kip.
"And you're okay with that?" she asked, turning to me with a smile.
"Sure," I replied. "I guess you and Lori know each other well
enough, how could I object?" I rummaged around in my gear bag for a
towel to wipe my face with.
Wendy sent the boys off to the car. She stepped up a little closer
to me.
"Careful," I said. "I'm pretty sweaty and smelly."
"I like the smell of healthy sweat," she said. There was a little
trace of hunger in her voice. "It's kind of sexy."
"Sexy? I don't think so," I said nervously.
"Arthur's working late tonight," she said quietly. "Lori would be
glad to keep the boys for dinner. I'd be home, all alone. I might
enjoy some... company," she continued.
"Uh," I mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. "Look, Wendy, I..."
She glanced around quickly. There was nobody else nearby, and the
boys were involved in choosing who got to ride in the front seat of
the car, paying no attention to us at all. Wendy stepped up to me,
her large breasts pressing lightly against my chest, and reached down
and ran her hand smoothly up my thigh, letting her fingernails
lightly scratch me under the leg of my shorts. I could feel my cock
beginning to rise, and the recognition of that fact was clear in her
eyes. I stepped hurriedly away from her, and crouched down by my
gear bag, pretending to look for something that wasn't going to be
found there.
"Look, Wendy... it's not that I don't appreciate the offer... or the
attention, you understand... but I don't think..."
"I'm not asking you to think, Sean." There was an edge to her
voice. I glanced up at her. She was standing there, hands balled
into fists, fists perched on her hips, staring at me. "A simple yes
or no will do. Do you want to fuck tonight, or not?"
Hearing her talk like that made up my mind for me.
"Nah," I said. "I guess not." I went back to packing my bag. She
stood there a moment, no doubt shooting daggers at me, and then she
turned and, without a word, strode back to her car.
On Saturday afternoon, Becky and I got to the field behind the
Lehigh's house fashionably late. The softball diamond had once
again been set up, and a tee was standing in front of home plate.
The little kids were playing tee-ball, encouraged by their parents.
We walked over to the tub that contained the sodas in ice, and each
grabbed something to drink. Most of the teenagers were sitting or
lying down on the grass in the outfield, waiting for the tee-ball
game to end. Jake waved to us as we wandered over toward them.
Jaimie was also there, in the crowd and not too close to Jake, in
deference to her parents, I was sure. I also saw Kayla, and the kid
who I supposed was her boyfriend, a stick figure of a boy with spiky
hair and acne on his chin. There were a few of Jake's football
friends there, some with girls I knew from school, and there was a
whole gang of younger teens, apparently led by Jaimie's younger
sister Tara, who moved as a herd. I was surprised to see my younger
brother Stephen among the group, following Tara around like a wounded
puppy.
And it was no wonder he was panting after her. If I had been his
age, I might have been on her scent, myself. For a girl who had
just recently turned thirteen, Tara was acting and dressing way
beyond her years. She had on denim cutoffs that were cut short, so
that her ass cheeks were peeking out, making her slim legs look very
long. She also wore a tube top that was tight enough to mash her
small boobs together, giving her some cleavage showing from the
strapless top. The clingy material molded itself to her, her
nipples evident through the cloth. Her brown hair had grown out, and
she had put some blonde streaks in it, but it was still an unruly
mop, and she wore too much makeup. She looked hot and ready for
action. I wondered at the disparity of Mr. and Mrs. Jacks allowing
their younger daughter to run around looking like she did, while
keeping such a tight rein on Jaimie. It didn't make a lot of sense
to me.
"Hey, Sean," said Jake, by way of greeting. "Hey, Becky."
"Hey yourself," I answered. "When's the softball game start?"
"Pretty soon," he said. "Just waiting for the kids to finish their
game. Dad's cooking up hot dogs for them, so they'll eat while
we're playing. Gonna be kind of an assembly line meal today, what
with all the people here."
And there were a lot of people in the back yards and in the field.
It was a much bigger gathering than last year's. It looked like it
had expanded beyond the houses on this block. As I was looking
around, I saw Mr. and Mrs. O'Toole come around the corner of a house.
Heather and Josh were with them, and so was Josh's girlfriend,
Andrea. They spotted us immediately, and headed over toward our
group. Becky walked over to meet them, and she, Heather, and Andrea
went off to join another group of girls over closer to the woods.
"What's up, Josh?" I asked.
"Nothin' much," he replied. "My parents wanted to make this some
sort of family outing, but Molly took off this morning with that
asshole Joey, and nobody knows where they are. Mom and Dad are
really pissed off over her disappearing act." He spotted Tara and
her group as they sped by us. "Whoa, who's that?" he asked, giving
a low whistle.
"That's Jaimie's sister," said Jake. "I think she's a Molly-in-
training."
Josh whipped around to stare at Jake. I thought it was an
unfortunate remark, too, and so, apparently, did Jake.
"Sorry, man, I didn't mean anything by it," he offered by way of
apology.
Josh just shook his head, as if he had gnats flying around his ears.
"Aw, shit, that's okay, Jake. I'm just a little uncomfortable
knowing others are seeing the same thing in my sister that I'm seeing
lately, that's all. It's not the kind of confirmation I was looking
for, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I know, but I'm sorry my big mouth got going before my brain
dropped into gear anyway," said Jake.
The tee-ball game broke up, and the parents guided the younger kids
toward the grill, where Mr. Lehigh and Mr. Jacks were busy setting
up plates of hot dogs. Us older kids, along with some of the other
parents, started extending out the bases, collecting bats, and
discussing team rosters. The girls came over, and the team captains
were chosen. In the interest of fairness, the husbands and wives,
boyfriends and girlfriends were going to play on the same teams as
couples. Becky and I were on Jake's team, and we walked out to
center field to play the position together.
By about the third inning, most of the girls had gotten bored with
the game, and they sauntered off the field to look for other
amusements. The softball game got more serious, now that it was
mostly the jocks and would-be jocks playing.
During the sixth inning, one of Jake's friends from the football
team stepped up to the plate. His name was Stanford Harrison, but
everybody called him Tiny, because he was anything but. Tiny was
about 6-5, and had to weigh over 300 pounds. He anchored our
school's front line, and was nearly impossible to move off his
position by less than two opponents. All the outfielders moved way
back when Tiny crowded over the plate, the softball bat looking very
twig-like in his meaty hands. He swung at the first pitch, and
there was a funny, soft sound as the ball ricocheted off the bat.
The ball blooped over the shortstop's head, and landed with a plop
in short right field. As Tiny lumbered around the bases, the right
fielder raced up to pick up the ball. He reached down, but what he
picked up didn't resemble a softball very much any more. Tiny had
crushed the ball so hard the seams had split, and the stuffing was
leaking out of the ball so badly, it couldn't be thrown. Everybody
gathered around to stare at the ball in amazement, and Tiny kept on
running around the bases until he reached home plate. He wanted to
make sure he got the home run before jogging out to see what
everybody was looking at.
"Well," said Josh, "I guess that's the game." He handed the ruined
softball to Tiny. "Here you go, Tiny. Another trophy for your
mantel."
Tiny bowed low, as everybody broke out in applause at the feat they
had witnessed.
Josh and I walked over to where Andrea and Becky were sitting, and
the four of us headed over to fill our plates. We took our food and
drinks over to one of the tables set up across the back yards.
By dusk, the smaller kids were running around, trying to catch
fireflies, and Mrs. Lehigh was getting the supplies for the
scavenger hunt ready. Floodlights came on in the backyards,
illuminating the tables and patios, and leaving the field and woods
behind seeming nearly impenetrable in the deeper shadows.
"Scavenger hunt time!" called out Mrs. Lehigh. She gathered all the
participants around to explain the rules. "I have a list of items
you must collect," she said. "Everybody take one of these paper
bags to hold your items. The Lehigh Drug logo on the bag will help
identify you to the neighbors. No going beyond the neighborhood.
There's a map on the back of the items list showing the boundaries.
Everybody has to go out with at least one other person, so nobody
wanders around all alone. Does everybody understand?"
"How long do we have?" asked a voice from the back.
"One hour," answered Mrs. Lehigh. "There will be prizes awarded, so
do your best and hurry back. Any other questions? No? Okay, on
your mark, get set, go!"
And the race was on, but I had other plans. I figured that I would
probably find the front door of Jake's house unlocked, so I took
Becky's hand and quietly told her to wait for a few minutes, until
the teams had left the immediate area. She looked a little puzzled
as I led her away from the lights in the back yards, and peeked
around the corner of the house. It looked to be all clear. I could
see a few kids a few houses away, running down the sidewalk, but they
were moving away from us. I pulled her around the corner.
"What are we doing, Sean?" she whispered.
"Ducking out of the scavenger hunt," I replied quietly. I led her
up the stoop to Jake's front door. Sure enough, it was unlocked.
There was light spilling from the kitchen, but the front of the house
was dark. Putting a finger to my lips to indicate we needed to be
silent, we tiptoed through the house to the basement door. We
slipped down the stairs. Becky was moving hesitantly behind me,
unsure about the steps, but I had been here hundreds of times, and
knew the basement almost like I knew my own. I guided her
confidently across the room to the corner furthest from the stairs,
and we slid down the wall to the floor, sitting next to each other.
Faintly, somewhere in the basement, I heard a faint ticking, but I
couldn't identify what it was, or even where it was coming from. I
ignored it. Probably the furnace, or something, I thought. It was
pitch dark, Becky's presence felt through warmth, rather than sight.
"What..." she whispered. She wasn't able to finish her sentence,
because I put my arm around her shoulder, and pulled her over and
kissed her. As our lips pressed together for our first kiss, she
squealed in surprise into my mouth, but then relaxed and kissed me
back with enthusiasm. We stayed just like that for a few moments,
our lips moving slightly against each other, getting accustomed to
each other's ways. I felt her lips parting slightly, a clue that she
was enjoying it, so I brushed my tongue very softly around her lips,
letting just the tip gently caress her. She moaned, and her tongue
darted out to meet mine, hesitant at first, but getting a little
bolder as she welcomed the contact. She broke the kiss so she could
plant little kisses around my mouth, her hand slipping up to grasp
me around my neck to hold me close to her. We heated up, our lips
finding each other again, and our mouths opened wider, and the kiss
got hotter and wetter. As our tongues writhed together, she pressed
herself closer to me, bending her knee and resting her leg on top of
mine as we sat there, and twisting her body for more contact. With
one arm around her shoulder, my other arm slipped around her waist,
and she put her hand on my shoulder, pulling me around toward her.
We stayed like that for a long time, letting our mouths and tongues
learn of each other, kissing actively and holding each other fairly
passively. I felt her upper body twist just a little, and my hand
on her waist slid to her tummy. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt
with lace at the hem, and I could feel the filigree of the lace
against my palm. She began rubbing my upper arm, up and down, elbow
to shoulder, as we kissed and sucked on each other's tongues. I was
breathing heavily, and Becky would occasionally whimper or moan,
especially if I unexpectedly thrust my tongue deeply into her mouth
for a moment. Before long, she was rhythmically rubbing my arm from
my shoulder down my forearm, and back again, sometimes in concert
with the jabbing of her tongue against my mouth as we kissed.
I must have been dense in picking up on her signals, because,
finally, she ran her hand down my arm, grasped my wrist, and slowly
pulled my hand up from her stomach to her covered breast. She held
my hand there, pressing it against her, and moaned into my mouth,
her desire evident.
I had learned from my past mistakes. I accepted her cue, and let my
hand squeeze her breast, feeling the spongy firmness through the
layers of cloth, detecting the nipple as it filled and expanded with
my manipulation. She continued to press my hand against her, wanting
firmer contact.
My own desire was painfully evident, standing up there in my shorts,
as I explored the shape of her breast through her clothes. I could
feel her nipple hardening as I kneaded her flesh, pressing through
the layers of her clothes and announcing itself against the palm of
my hand. I slipped over to her other breast, squeezing and pinching
that distended nipple, as she passively allowed her hand to rest on
my flexing wrist. I reveled in the shape of her, the way her body
sloped from her chest to the swells of her breast. I hefted the
small weight of each breast, nesting them in the palm of my hand.
Even through her shirt and her bra, it was an extremely erotic moment.
I tried brushing my hand back down to the lacy hem, so I could feel
the soft skin of her middle and get closer to her, but she pulled my
wrist back up to her boob, wanting nothing more than the contact we
had already established, so I continued to manipulate the soft flesh
of her breast, capped by the rubbery hard point of her distended
nipple, through her clothes, happy for even that much liberty.
Becky still had her hand on my wrist, in a tacit approval of my
actions, as I fondled her boobs over her shirt. Our kiss was now
very hot and wet, no subtlety at all in the movement of our tongues
in each other's mouth. Even with all these sensory pleasures,
though, I could still detect, just at the periphery of my hearing,
that annoying ticking sound.
Becky was sliding down the wall, and I was laying over her, still
pressing my mouth over hers, tongues dancing, and still clutching
her boob through her clothes, when, jarringly, a high-pitched chime
rang three times. It broke our concentration, and we both sat up
quickly. It took a moment for the sound to register, and by the
time I recognized it as one of those wind-up kitchen timers, I could
hear other rustlings and sounds of movement from two other directions
in the dark basement.
A light clicked on, over by the stairwell. It was indirect enough
to cast only a dim light around the room, but compared to the total
darkness it was banishing, it seemed harsh. I glanced over toward
the light, and saw Kayla there, her long white-blonde hair tousled,
holding her boyfriend's hand as they moved quietly toward the
stairs, apparently unaware that Becky and I were in the far corner.
As I heard them go up the stairs, I saw Jake's head peek up from
behind the couch. He jerked in surprise when he saw us sitting on
the floor, looking at him. He shrugged sheepishly, and stood up.
His shirt was off, and his cutoffs were unbuttoned. He reached down,
and helped his companion to stand up. Jaimie was trying to
straighten out her tee shirt and refasten her bra strap as she
struggled to stand.
"How long have you guys been down here?" asked Jake. "I didn't even
hear you come down the stairs."
I chuckled. "I think you were probably a little busy, and not
paying any attention to us," I said.
Even in the dim light, I could tell Jaimie was blushing a bright red.
"Ah, hell," said Jake. "We're all friends here, anyway, right?"
Becky and I stood up. Fortunately, considering the circumstances,
we didn't have a lot of clothing to readjust, having a much milder
make-out session than Jake and Jaimie had.
"Yup," I agreed. "Nothing but pals here in this room."
"Who set the timer?" Becky asked.
"I saw Kayla come down here with it earlier this afternoon," replied
Jake. "I kind of figured what it might be for, so I made sure we
were down here and behind the couch before she and her boyfriend got
down here."
"We'd better get back out to the party," said Jaimie. "We don't
want them missing us, and wondering where we've been."
"You're right, sweetie," agreed Jake. "Besides," he continued with
a smile, "we've scavenged all we could for tonight, anyway, haven't
we?"
Jaimie hit him hard on the arm as Becky and I laughed.
As Becky and I headed up the stairs, hand in hand behind Jake and
Jaimie, some troubling thoughts were starting to rumble around in my
otherwise empty head. I really liked Becky, and obviously she liked
me. But I was still powerfully attracted to Kristina.
Just because it's a luscious girl dilemma, doesn't mean it's any
easier to solve.
(Continued in Chapter 12)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The 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 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 12 -
HAZING THE FRESHMEN
A couple of weeks before Labor Day, our school was holding team
tryouts for the fall sports, including football and boy's soccer.
Coach Neville already had several positions filled, from returning
starters and reserves. Kevin Soranno, Trent Abbott and Mike Evanson
were returning as seniors, and Eric Johnson, Anthony Rogers and I
were returning juniors from the starting lineup of a year ago. In
addition, Jorge Mendoza, a sophomore, was taking over the starting
keeper duties from John Pennington, who had graduated in the spring,
and there were a number of kids who had either sat on the Varsity
bench, or had played as freshmen or sophomores on the JV team, who
were ready to take the step up to be a starter on the Varsity team.
I could tell that Coach felt really good about the team, starting
out with so many returning players. Since we had won the conference
title last year, and we were fielding quite a few veterans, we would
be the team to beat this year. The seven of us were there first
thing, the first day of tryouts, helping take the other hopefuls
through their paces. We did a lot of running, so that Coach Neville
and his two assistants could evaluate fitness and conditioning, and
we helped run the dribbling and passing tests that they were using.
There were about 50 guys who were trying out for the Junior Varsity
and the Varsity teams, and we would need about 20 players for each
team. The first cut, after the second day of tryouts, took the
hopefuls down to 40. Now, Coach had to decide which players would
most benefit the Varsity team, and which would play better on JV.
There was one kid in particular, a freshman named Adam Prince, who
managed to really get on my nerves, in less than a week at tryouts.
He dogged me at every opportunity, during every drill he could. It
was almost as if he wanted me to blow up at him. But I kept my cool,
and kept my distance from him whenever I could.
By the end of the week, the rosters for both teams had been set, and
we could start learning each other's strengths and weaknesses on the
field. The only sour note was that Adam was assigned as the nominal
freshman to the Varsity team. He was good, perhaps even good enough
to play on the Varsity team, but I didn't like him.
On Saturday, our club team played, and Eric, Jorge and I got another
couple of hours of soccer played. By Sunday, I had had about 4
straight weeks of soccer, and I was looking forward to a soccer-free
day. I slept in late, fixed myself pancakes for breakfast, mowed the
lawn, took a nap, washed Michael's car for him (I was building up
favors for when I wanted to borrow it), and Mom fixed an actual sit-
down family dinner, since all of us were home, for a change. Jake
came over after dinner, and we went out to my driveway and shot
baskets for awhile, before deciding that was way too much like work.
We grabbed some sodas and chips, and flopped down on the floor of the
family room and watched the tube for the rest of the night.
Monday afternoon, the day before school was scheduled to start,
Coach Neville called an early stop to practice. We all walked off
the field and back to the school, where he led us into an empty
classroom next to the gymnasium.
When we were all seated, he walked up to the chalkboard and quickly
sketched half of a soccer field.
"Okay, boys, listen up here," he called. "Here are the starting
lineups. Forward on the left, Trent Abbott. In the middle, Javier
Perez. On the right, Jimmy Brooks. Midfielders will be Eric Johnson
on the left, Robert Anderson in the middle, and Kevin Soranno on the
right. Sweeper is Mike Evanson, defenders are Anthony Rogers on the
left, Brett Oldman in the stopper position, and Sean Porter will be
on the right. In goal will be keeper Jorge Mendoza."
"Coach?" came a voice from the back. Adam Prince stood up. "Can we
challenge for a position?"
"After the first game, you can challenge for any position, Adam.
We'll set up a two-on-two challenge ladder. The challenger will
pick a teammate, and the man in the position being contested will
pick a teammate, and they will play a two-on-two game. The first
team to score five points will acquire the position."
"When can we start planning challenges?" The kid was persistent.
Coach sighed. "After the first game, Adam. Let's concentrate on
starting the season on a winning note first, okay?" Coach still had
the chalk in his hand, and now he tapped it against the desk to
drive home the importance of his message. "This challenge ladder
will not be used to divide this team, gentlemen. If I don't think
the challenge has merit, I will not approve it. Understood, Mr.
Prince?"
Adam sat back down. He didn't look the least bit admonished.
"Understood, sir," he said.
He dropped the chalk back in the tray, anxious to get the meeting
back on track. "Everybody will be expected to work hard this week,"
he continued. "Our first game is this Friday, against Oak Grove.
They will play us hard; in fact, I don't anticipate we will have any
easy games this year, but they still are one of the weaker teams in
the conference, so I'm confident that we will be able to control the
pace of the game. All of you know how to play soccer, but our
conditioning worries me a little, so we will concentrate more on
strength and wind this week, and less on practicing set plays."
There was a collective groan throughout the room at that news. It
meant there would be a lot of running laps around the track that
circled the football field. It was boring, but necessary.
"Quiet, now, please," he admonished. "The next order of business is
to elect team captains. Last year," he continued, "we had some
success using two captains, a defensive captain and an offensive
captain. I think we should use the same configuration this year.
Any comments?"
"Yeah," piped up Eric. "Kevin can be pretty offensive, I nominate
him for captain."
After the laughter died down, Coach Neville said, "That's not quite
what I had in mind, but I will accept the nomination, just the
same." He wrote Kevin's name down on the board. "Any other
nominations?"
Jorge said, "How about Sean for defensive captain?"
Before I had a chance to react, Coach Neville said, "Okay, good,"
and he wrote my name down.
I stood up. "Coach? As much as I appreciate Jorge's nomination, I
think that the captains should be chosen from the seniors on the
team. After all, they will be the real leaders of the team, and this
is their last season. Because of this, I respectfully request that
my name be withdrawn, and Mike Evanson's name be placed for
nomination, instead." I sat back down, not looking around.
There was the murmur of whispered comments throughout the room.
Coach considered my statement for a moment before commenting.
"Quiet, please," he called out. "I have always been of the opinion
that the best man for the job should be considered, despite
questions of age or class ranking. However, this is a team decision,
and if the rest of you concur with Mr. Porter's suggestion, I would
have no objection. Shall we have a show of hands?"
And it was done. Mikey and Kevin were elected team co-captains, by
acclamation. Coach Neville dismissed us, and as we were shuffling
out of the room, he called, "Mr. Porter? Mr. Mendoza? May I see
you both for a moment?"
Jorge and I hung back. Eric gave me a questioning look, but I just
shrugged. His guess was as good as mine.
After everybody had filed out of the room, Coach leaned back against
the teacher's desk in the corner of the room.
"Sean, that was a magnanimous gesture you made. On behalf of the
other members of the team, I thank you." He removed his glasses,
absent-mindedly polishing them against his shirt. "However, whether
you like it or not, almost everybody on the team will be looking to
you for leadership. Your awards from last season alone make you
stand out, Sean, not only here at this school, but throughout the
conference. You can expect that every team will be focused on your
area of the field, putting their best players on you whenever
possible. You are not the unknown quantity you were last season,
when you were thrust into a starter's role." He paused, and put his
glasses back on. He looked at me, examining me as if trying to see
inside me, trying to see what I was made of. I wasn't sure I could
stand up under that kind of examination for long. "Mr. Evanson and
Mr. Soranno have been elected captains, but you must plan on taking
on the role of team leader this season, anyway. Do you agree?"
I just nodded in compliance. I would try my best. How good I would
be as a leader remained to be seen.
"Now, Mr. Mendoza," Coach continued, turning to Jorge, "as our
starting goalkeeper, you will be in charge of our defense during the
game. It will be up to you to recognize and evaluate the dangers as
teams test our defense, right from the start. You must have the
respect of your fellow teammates, or they will not react in a timely
fashion. This responsibility supercedes the captaincy bestowed upon
Mr. Evanson, do you understand?"
Jorge also nodded.
"You, too, because of your position on the field, will be looked
upon as a leader of this team. It's a lot of responsibility for a
sophomore to carry, but I know you are more than capable."
He glanced back at me. "Sean, I expect you to lead by example in
this manner. Many of our players, particularly the younger ones,
will be emulating you as much as they can on the field. Conversely,
some of the upperclassmen might chafe at taking direction from a
sophomore, no matter his position or ability. I will leave it to
you, along with Mike and Kevin, to make sure any insecurities within
the team will be properly addressed." Coach stood suddenly, and
thrust out his hand to Jorge, who shook it. Coach then held his
hand out to me to shake.
"Good. It's done, then. Good luck, gentlemen. Lead your team
well, and I will help all I can."
The next day, we had our first day of school. Actually, it was only
a half day, each class shortened to about 20 minutes long, just
enough time for the teachers to pass out books, and let us know what
we were to expect during the coming school year. It was also a day
we could harass the incoming freshmen, when they got lost and
couldn't find their classrooms.
I hated it. It's not that I necessarily hated school, but when
classes started before Labor Day, it meant, in essence, the end of
summer. The weather was still warm, the leaves were still green -
hell, it was still August, for God's sake! - but our independence was
a thing of the past once again.
And, of course, there were some teachers who couldn't resist the
temptation to assign homework, even on the first, abbreviated day of
school, so by the time I got home after soccer practice, I had to
hit the books.
And the telephone lines began humming all around town, right after
the dinner hour. Kids were calling each other, comparing class
schedules, catching up on summer gossip, and reconnecting with pals.
Josh, Eric, and Jorge called me, and I called Becky, Trent, and Jake,
and got their schedules, and we were ready for a brand new year of
school.
By the end of the week, most of us were bored with misdirecting the
freshmen, and we fell back into the routines that would carry us
through the year. Most of my friends were in one or another of my
classes. Molly was in my math class, and she had probably changed
the most, of all the kids I knew. She had put a garish yellow
blonde streak in one side of her reddish hair, and she looked pale
and thin and unhappy. Curiously, she either skipped out on the math
class, or maybe she had called in sick for the entire day, for two
out of the four days of that first week. It was completely unlike
her.
On the other hand, I found a bunch of friends in my study hall,
including both Kayla and Jaimie, new freshmen this year, along with
Eric and Tiny, and the five of us managed to commandeer a corner,
circling our desks as if they were Conestoga wagons under an Indian
attack.
Our game on Friday was an easy win for us. My summer spent running
was paying big dividends. I was strong and energetic all game, and
felt like I could have played another 90 minutes by the final
whistle. Coach Neville left me in for the whole game, and we walked
away with a 6-1 victory. The stands were more than half full, a
huge turnout for a sport that was perceived to be boring to watch, a
show of support from our school for a team that had aspirations of a
good showing in the playoffs in a couple of months.
Because of our success the previous year, our local newspaper was
covering every soccer game, and writing up an article every week.
Their reporter was a thin, nerdy looking guy with thick glasses,
several pens sticking out of his shirt pocket, and baggy cotton
slacks. I couldn't help thinking that they could have chosen a more
athletically inclined reporter to cover local sports, but he was who
they sent, so he was who I talked to, after the game. His name was
Matthew Hartigan, and he was earnest and serious in the presence of
a high-school team riding high on their first win of the season. It
almost wasn't fair, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Still, I answered his questions, introduced him to our co-captains,
and left him with Coach Neville before rejoining my comrades in
celebrating our victory. It was the beginning of our long holiday
weekend, and I was looking forward to it.
(Continued in Chapter 13)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The 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 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 13 -
GIRLS' NIGHT OUT
Our club season was finished, our school team had won its first
game, and I had a long weekend ahead of me. I planned on being as
lazy as I could be, all weekend long.
From what Lori and Wendy had been paying me for teaching the boys,
and all the games I officiated for the past year, plus the money I
had earned working for Duane Olchick during his clinic, I was feeling
pretty damned wealthy. I was even thinking I might have enough to
buy a good, cheap car for myself.
I brought the subject up during breakfast on Saturday morning.
"I've been thinking, Dad," I said.
"Uh-oh," warned my older brother Michael. "That's a real danger
sign, when Sean's been thinking."
I threatened to flick a spoonful of cereal at him, and he ducked out
of the way playfully.
"Cut it out, boys," warned my mother reflexively.
"I'm almost afraid to ask. What have you been thinking, son?" asked
my father.
"Well, I think we need to go car shopping."
"Why?" My mother turned from the sink to join the conversation.
"Our cars are just fine, I thought. Is one of them broken?"
"No," said my dad. "Unless Sean got in an accident last night, and
isn't telling us."
Everybody turned to look at me accusingly. "No, no accident or
anything. Jeez! What I meant was, we should go car shopping for a
car for me."
"Oh, I understand now," said my dad. "In a word, no."
"No?" I complained. "And why not?"
"You can't afford it, first of all," he said. "And, second, we
already have three cars in our driveway. You can use one of them
anytime you want."
"I can, too, afford it," I said. "And besides, you take yours to
work every day, Mom needs hers to get to work and shopping and stuff,
and Michael takes his to school."
"And you're in school every day, too," said Dad patiently. "In the
evenings, there's almost always at least two cars here. If you need
to borrow one, all you need to do is ask for it, Sean."
"It's not fair," I grumbled. "Michael's got his own car."
"And I didn't get it until my senior year, either," he reminded me.
"You're just a junior."
"And it's not just the purchase price of the car you have to be able
to afford, dear," offered my mom, as she poured more orange juice
into my glass. "There's gas, and repairs, and tires, and insurance.
It's not just a simple purchase of a car, Sean."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I mumbled, discouraged. Dad reached over
and tousled my hair.
"Don't rush things, sport. You'll grow up fast enough. And in the
meantime, if you need the car, just let Mom or me know ahead of time,
and we'll do our best to make sure one is available for you. Okay?"
"Yeah, okay," I acquiesced.
I was disappointed that I wasn't going to be able to get my own
wheels, but at least I got them thinking about being a little bit
more liberal with the use of their cars. All was not lost.
After breakfast, I grabbed my mom's keys and headed out the door
with Stephen. I was taking him to his football practice, and I
figured I could swing over to Jake's house until I had to pick
Stephen back up again. Jake was playing on the Varsity football
team, and their game was later that afternoon, so I knew he would be
home, doing essentially nothing until he could stoke up on
carbohydrates at lunchtime, saving his energy for the game. We
watched one of the college games on TV for about an hour, and then
ate lunch together, until I had to go back and pick up my brother. I
dropped Jake off at school, so he could get ready for the game, and
then went back and got Stephen. I dropped him at home, drove over to
Becky's house, and picked her up for the football game, and got back
to school and joined the mass of cars pulling into the parking lot
for the game. Becks and I walked together into the stadium, and
quickly found Eric and Keisha in the stands. They were sitting with
Anthony Rogers and his girlfriend, Ayesha Ford, along with Trent and
Danielle. We worked our way through the stands, sliding sideways
down the row, through the crowd, to get to the seats they were saving
for us.
It was a warm afternoon, and we were in the sun during the game.
"I should have brought some sun block," said Danielle. "I think I'm
burning."
"Me, too," said Ayesha.
Trent laughed. "You, too? I didn't think that was possible."
Eric glanced over at Ayesha, and then turned to Trent. "Sure, it's
possible," he said. "Ayesha's fairly light-skinned, but even Keisha
and I have to be careful sometimes."
"No way," said Trent. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope," said Anthony. "Just because our skin is dark, doesn't mean
we are immune to the sun's rays, man. We just don't turn pink and
red and all, like you guys do."
"But it's still a burn, and it still hurts," added Ayesha.
"Hey, I'm sorry, Ayesha. I really didn't know," said Trent.
She didn't look at all upset. She just nodded, and put on her big
round sunglasses.
"S'okay," said Anthony. "It's just another misconception about
blacks, kind of like how we've all got great rhythm, or we're all
hung."
"I thought that one was true," murmured Eric, just loud enough for
us to hear. Keisha snorted, shaking her head.
"Anyway," said Anthony, "I can't dance for shit, so I know that at
least the first statement ain't true."
We all laughed, even though Ayesha looked a little embarrassed by
the conversation.
We were surrounded by fellow students, so we all did the yells and
the cheers that the cheerleaders were coaxing out of the crowd,
stomping our feet and acting silly. At halftime, Becky and I got up
and wandered over to the snack shack, where we picked up sodas and
popcorn for everybody. We got back to our seats just after the
second-half kickoff, and we enjoyed watching our team pound the snot
out of the Rockton Heights team, our biggest conference rivals.
After the game, we were all filing out of the stadium. Becky was in
front of me, and Eric was directly behind me.
"Hey, Sean, you guys want to get together tonight? Maybe go get a
pizza or something?" he asked.
"Sure," I answered. I tapped Becky on the shoulder to get her
attention. "Becks, you want to meet Eric and Keisha for pizza
tonight?"
"Okay," she said. "Where and what time?"
I turned back to Eric. "She says okay, too. Where, and what time?"
"I dunno, I'll have to call you. Trent has a place in mind, I
think. I'll let you know."
I turned back up and said to Becky, "Don't know yet where or when.
I'll call you after Eric calls me."
When we finally got to the exit, we still had to walk down the
school driveway to the parking lot. Just outside the stadium,
standing next to the chain-link fence, I saw Joey Amonte and Molly
O'Toole, lounging around with Vinnie Arilio, Harold Barnes, Pammy
Lipschutz, and another kid who looked like a younger incarnation of
Richie Del Toro. The contrast between the grunginess of the Bulls,
and Molly's All-American look in her cheerleading outfit, was jarring.
I thrust my chin over in their direction. "Is that Poo-Poo's
younger brother over there?" I asked.
"Yeah," replied Anthony. "That's Angelo. They call him Jilly, and
he's mean as a snake, from what I've heard. Meaner even than Richie."
"Shit," said Eric, "with a name like Jilly, anybody'd be mean and
nasty."
"You can say that," warned Anthony, "but don't get in his way, bro."
"The Bulls leave me alone," muttered Eric, "and I leave them alone.
Long as they don't mess with me, I won't get in their faces."
The crowd had thinned out by the time we got to the parking lot. We
waved to our friends, and hopped into the car. Becky leaned over and
gave me a quick kiss before settling back and fastening her seat
belt. I started the car, and we made our way slowly out of the
parking lot. I dropped Becky off at her house, promising to call her
as soon as I heard from Eric, and I headed for home.
I walked in the door, and headed upstairs to take a shower. By the
time I got done getting cleaned up, it was just after 6:00. I came
down the stairs, went into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator
to get a glass of milk.
"Sean?" I heard my mom's voice coming from the family room.
"There's a note on the table. Mrs. Wilkinson called. She wants you
to call her back." I picked up the note, but it only contained her
phone number. Nothing to indicate what it was about. I picked up
the phone and dialed Lori's number.
"Hello?"
"Lori? Hi, it's Sean."
"Oh, Sean, I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday night," she said.
She sounded sad, and maybe a little weepy. "But Mrs. Marcus - Wendy -
insisted that I try calling you, to see if you can help me out."
"Sure," I said. "What's up?"
"Oh, I hate to even ask you this..." I could just make out another
indistinct voice in the background. "It seems that, uh, my sister
Joanie, and Wendy, they wanted me to go out to dinner with them
tonight. Molly was supposed to baby-sit for me, but she hasn't shown
up, and her mother doesn't know where she might be, and... well, I
know it's an imposition, Sean, but I don't know who else I can call
on such short notice... and I know you're probably busy anyway..."
Her voice cut off, and it sounded like somebody grabbed the phone
from Lori's hand.
"Hello, Sean?" It was Wendy who was on the phone, now. "Could you
possibly come over and sit with Lori's boys tonight?" There was no
hesitation in Wendy's manner about asking me to do this. In fact,
she sounded like she fully expected me to comply with her request, no
questions asked.
I was just about to tell her no, when she cupped her hand over the
mouthpiece and quietly said, "Please, Sean, could you do this?
Joanie and I want to take Lori out to take her mind off this weekend.
Kind of a girls' night out. It's the anniversary of her husband's
accident."
Now I remembered. Lori's husband had been in a motorcycle accident
two years before, and he was kept alive, on life support, for five
days before Lori finally agreed to pull the plug. He died of massive
internal injuries. It was just last year at this time that she had
extracted a promise from me, that I would never get on a motorcycle.
I couldn't leave her in the lurch, just because I was in a defiant
mood with Wendy.
I sighed. "Okay," I said. "Put Lori back on the line, would you?"
I could hear Wendy saying everything would be okay as she handed the
phone back to Lori.
"Sean? Are you there?"
"Yes," I replied. "Let me see if I can borrow my mom's car, and
I'll be right over."
"You really don't have to do this, Sean," she said.
"It's fine, Lori, really. I didn't have any plans for tonight,
anyway."
After saying goodbye, I quickly called Eric, and told him I wasn't
going to be able to make it. I explained the situation to him. He
said, "Thass okay, man, you gotta take care of friends, I understand."
"Thanks, Eric. I'll see you on Tuesday."
"Okay. You call Becky yet?"
"No, I've got to do that now."
"Oh, man, good luck," he said as he hung up.
I called Becky, and gave her the bad news. She was not happy with me.
"You're going to what?" she asked.
"I've got to baby-sit," I repeated. "It's a long story, and they're
good friends, and they're in a bind," I explained. She didn't know
Lori, even though she was aware that I was teaching soccer to the
Wilkinson kids.
"Okay, Sean," she said, but she still sounded pretty pissed. "If
you feel you must do this, I understand. But you'll make this up to
me, won't you?"
"Of course I will," I said hurriedly. Let's see, I thought to
myself, breaking a Saturday night date, an hour before I was supposed
to pick her up. This was going to cost me, big time.
"All right, then," she said, somewhat mollified. "Have fun."
Women, I thought to myself as I hung up the phone. Can't figure
them out at all.
Mom said it was okay to take the car, so I hopped in and drove over
to Lori's house. Wendy's car was in the street, and another car,
presumably Joanie's, was in the driveway. I pulled in next to
Joanie's, and ran up the front steps to the door, and rang the bell.
Lori opened the door, stepping aside to let me come in. My instinct
about her was right. Her eyes were red, and even her artfully
applied makeup couldn't completely conceal the dark rings under her
eyes. She was dressed in a simple red silk blouse and a pleated
skirt that came to just above her knees. A wave of affection hit me
hard, not only for Lori, but for Wendy, too, for trying to ease her
friend's pain by distracting her for an evening.
Wendy was in the kitchen, sipping on a glass of white wine. With
her was another lady, who was obviously Lori's older sister, also
with a wine glass in her hand. Wendy was dressed to kill, in a
pastel pant suit and a flowery silk blouse that had the top three
buttons undone, allowing her ample cleavage to be revealed. Her eyes
were hard when I walked in, but softened immediately, in recognition
of my efforts on Lori's behalf.
Lori, following me into the kitchen, made the introductions. "Sean,
this is my sister, Joanie."
I strode over and held out my hand. Joanie shook it firmly, her
grip lingering for just a moment as she looked me up and down.
"I've heard great things about you, Sean," she said. She had a low,
gravelly voice that was oddly compelling. I thought she looked like
she was a few years older than Lori. She had the same slim build as
Lori, though she was a little heavier in the hips than her sister,
and she cut her dark hair shorter, but there was a clear family
resemblance. Her clothes looked expensive, but they smelled of
cigarette smoke, which might have explained the huskiness in her
voice.
"Thank you, but these two might tend to exaggerate my virtues," I
said. "When it comes to helping their kids, I've noticed that moms
can get pretty fierce in their loyalties."
"It comes built-in," said Joanie with a smile. "It's all part of
our maternal instinct, I think."
Wendy took Joanie's glass, and carried it over, along with hers, to
the sink and rinsed them out.
"We'd better be going, or we'll be late for our reservations," she
said briskly.
"Right," said Lori distractedly. "Oh, Sean, the boys are upstairs,
taking their baths. They didn't know you were coming, so I'd better
go tell them."
"There's no need," I said. "They knew a babysitter was coming over,
right?" Lori nodded. "Okay, then, we'll let it be a surprise for
them, that I'm their babysitter for the evening."
"But I don't know..."
"Oh, poo, it's fine," interrupted Wendy. She bustled around, and
grabbed Lori's arm. As she was firmly guiding her toward the back
door, she continued, "Sean knows your boys almost as well as you do,
for goodness sake. They'll be fine."
Joanie followed them out the door, closing it behind her. I could
hear Wendy chattering on, all the way down the driveway to her car,
engaging Lori in a barrage of conversation to help take her mind off
everything. I watched out the open window as Joanie caught up with
them, and joined in. I could hear the buzz of their voices, but not
their actual conversation, as they opened the car doors and climbed
in, Wendy and Lori in the front seats and Joanie in the back. The
car doors slammed, abruptly shutting off the buzz of their voices,
and they headed down the road.
I sat down in the family room, waiting for the boys to come down. I
thought about calling Becky, thinking maybe she could come over after
the boys went to bed, but before I could pick up the telephone, I
heard two sets of little feet pounding down the stairs. Davey and
Kip came racing into the family room, and skidded to a stop when they
saw me.
"Sean!" "Sean!"
"Hi, guys," I said with a smile.
"Are you our babysitter tonight?" asked Davey.
"Well, I'm your sitter tonight, but you guys aren't babies, are you?"
"No!" laughed Kip. "We're big boys!"
"Okay, then," I said. "I guess I'm a big boy sitter, then."
"And not a BABY sitter," Kip exclaimed.
"That's right," I agreed with a laugh.
"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy," said Davey as he ran around the couch.
"Whoa, there, pardner," I admonished. "Slow down, Davey, you're
making me dizzy." I reached out and tried to grab him to stop him
from running, but he swerved and avoided me. Kip thought it looked
like so much fun, he started running after Davey, around and around.
I sighed. It looked like it was going to be a long, active evening.
I got up and walked into the kitchen to fill glasses with ice and
sodas. The boys got tired of chasing each other, and ran into the
kitchen to see what I was doing.
"Okay, guys, here's the plan," I said. "You two stop running, and
you can have something to drink. Then, we can find something to
watch on television, or we can play a game. Your choice."
"Game!" cried Kip.
"Play a game!" yelled Davey.
"All right, a game. Which game? Let's go look at what you have," I
suggested. We set our drinks down on the kitchen table, and they
each grabbed a hand and pulled me to the front closet, where their
games were stored.
"How about Life?" I suggested.
"Sissy game," complained Davey. "How about Snakes and Ladders?"
"Yeah," agreed Kip. "Snakes and Ladders!"
I pulled the box out of the pile, and carried it into the family room.
"Okay, guys, you get the game set up, and I'll bring our drinks in
from the kitchen." By the time I got back with the three glasses of
pop, Davey and Kip had the game set up. We sat on the floor, with
the game on the coffee table, and spent the next couple of hours
rolling the dice, letting our game pieces climb up ladders and slide
down snakes, each trying to beat the other two to the finish line.
Finally, though, it got to be 9:30, way past their normal bedtime.
It was dark out, with scattered pools of light thrown by the
streetlamps and porch lights up and down the street.
"Okay, you guys, time for bed," I said.
"Aw, please can't we stay up?" "Just one more game? Please?"
"No. Your mom's going to tan my hide if she finds out you guys are
still up. Now, march upstairs and get your teeth brushed, both of
you." I pointed toward the stairs.
With much grumbling, the boys shuffled to the stairs, heads down as
if I had severely punished them.
"Let me know when you're ready, and I'll come up and read you a
story," I offered.
Their faces brightened. "Okay!" they shouted, nearly
simultaneously, and they raced each other up the stairs.
I just shook my head at their antics as I cleaned up our mess. I
carried the glasses into the kitchen and set them in the sink, and
returned to the family room with a cloth to wipe the coffee table. I
put the game away, and was just about to sit down when I heard them
calling me from the upstairs landing. As I got to the top of the
stairs, both boys raced to Davey's room and jumped onto his bed.
Davey was clutching a paperback book of The Berenstain Bears in his
hands, and he handed it to me. They had their pajamas on, and Kip
was holding a stuffed owl under one arm. They settled back against
the pillows and waited for me to sit on the edge of the bed and begin
the story.
"'It had been a wonderful summer for the Bear family,'" I began. By
the end of the book, Sister Bear had found out that school really was
fun, and she and Brother Bear were on the Big Yellow School Bus,
heading back for another exciting day at school.
"The End," I finished. Davey and Kip just smiled.
"Another one?" asked Kip hopefully.
"To bed with you, ruffians," I said. I picked Kip up. "Oof. Did
you eat bricks for dinner?"
He giggled. "No, I had pas-ghetti," he replied.
Davey laughed out loud. "Not 'pas-ghetti', stupid. It's
'spageddity'."
Kip and I both laughed. "That's not right," yelled Kip. "Tell him,
Sean, 'spageddity' is wrong!"
"You're both wrong," I said, dropping Kip back on the bed. "It's
'noodles'." I shooed Kip off of Davey's bed. "Now skedaddle, you.
It's past time you two were asleep."
Finally, I managed to get the boys into their proper beds, with the
lights off and the doors closed. Both boys slept with their closet
lights on, the closet doors cracked open just enough so that a small
spill of light could be seen. Monsters didn't like the light, and
there were no monsters allowed, according to Kip. I crept back down
the stairs and collapsed on the couch. Babysitting was harder work
than I had realized, especially when you were taking care of two boys
as energetic as Davey and Kip.
I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. Saturday Night
Live was a rerun, but there was a station showing the 1943 Claude
Rains version of "Phantom of the Opera." My brother Michael was a
huge movie fan, and he had insisted that I watch this with him one
time, and I discovered I had a taste for movie classics, especially
melodramatic horror movies from the thirties and forties. I refilled
my glass and settled in to watch, plumping up the throw pillows on
the couch and stretching out, my shoes kicked off and my t-shirt
untucked.
I didn't last long. Sometime during the second reel, I fell asleep.
The scenes being performed on the stage of the Paris Opera House in
the movie were reflected in my dreaming brain, melding and creating
odd, disjointed images that splashed against my closed eyelids, and
scattered away into infinity, all in fractions of seconds.
I heard car doors slamming, and the sound of female voices laughing,
counterpointed by the swelling organ music from the television, and
my mind seamlessly worked these external sounds into a semi-cohesive
scene in my dream. From somewhere in the same room, I heard quiet
voices.
"Oh, God, that's just too cute."
"Shut up, Wendy, you'll wake him."
"I know how I'd like to wake him."
"Wendy!"
"Maybe you should wake him that way, Lori."
"Wendy! Please!"
A throaty giggle. "You don't have to say please, girl. It's there,
on the couch, just lying there and waiting for you."
"You are really awful, do you know that?"
"Tell me you've never thought about it, Lori."
"Me? God, he's young enough to be my...."
"Your younger brother?"
A sigh. "Go home, Wendy. You're tipsy."
"You're a little high yourself, Lori. Inhibitions are lowered. Go
for it. You deserve it."
"You are terrible. Go home. I'll call you in the morning."
"Okay, honey, but not too early, okay? Arthur's playing golf in the
morning, and I need my beauty sleep. G'night. Good luck." That
throaty chuckle again.
A door closed. Silence. Soft footsteps, and then the impression of
the heat of a very close body. Soft hair, tickling my forehead and
cheeks. Wine-sweetened breath hitting my nose, my mouth, my chin.
Soft, so softly I couldn't be sure it was real or part of the dream,
a soft pressure of lips against mine. The Phantom was taking his
paramour Christine down into the catacombs of Paris on the
television, and soft fingers were caressing my bicep, and the dream
took a decidedly erotic turn. I was swimming up out of the dream,
struggling toward the surface of consciousness, unsure if I really
wanted to awaken, or sink back into the dream. The lips pressed
again, soft and pliant and warm, with that odd slickness of lipstick
helping the two sets of lips to part slightly, finding a more natural
fitting.
I didn't want to open my eyes, only to burst the bubble of this
dream. My arms came up to the narrow ghostly shoulders I knew would
be there, and I heard and felt a soft moan come from the faerie
creature leaning over me, and she pressed closer to me, her lips no
longer a feather against mine, but a living, warm weight of promise
and desire.
My arms went around her neck, and I pulled her on top of me. I felt
very real silk and cotton, real flesh and blood as she lay down on
me, the points of her breasts pressing into my chest, her knees
inside my parted legs, her feet touching the tops of mine. Her hair
fell like a curtain across our faces, and she tilted her head, opened
her mouth against mine, and let her tongue brush against my lips as
she held my head in both her hands.
She tasted of me, as I opened my mouth and surrendered to her. Her
tongue explored the shape of my lips, forayed into my mouth, and
encountered my own tongue, lying in wait. She darted, withdrew,
darted out again, always tempting, always teasing, testing and
provoking, until I could take it no more. Finally, our tongues
writhed against each other, our passions released, our senses
awakened. She moaned again, or maybe it was my own groan I heard,
and she squirmed as she lay on me, creating an impressive weight and
heat along the entire length of my body. I was startled to discover
that I was at full mast, and her pelvis was pressed against the
turgid length of my manhood, as if measuring how deep it would go.
My hands slid down her back, smoothing the rumples of her blouse,
slipping down the smoothness to her small waist, blindly searching
for a hem. The fingers found the rolled seam, slipped beneath, and
ascended again, this time tickling along the bare skin of her back
and sides.
With a sucking sound, Lori broke our kiss, and arched up, rocking
back onto her knees. She crossed her arms in front of her, grasped
her blouse from the bottom, and lifted it up and over her head. The
neck of her blouse caught in her hair, and lifted the mass up. It
fell back around her face in soft waves as she tossed her blouse to
the side, reached behind her, and unfastened her lacy bra. She let
the white garment slide down her arms, inadvertently hiding the
vision of her unfettered breasts from my now wide-open eyes for a
moment, before tossing it in the direction of her blouse. She knelt
there for a moment, a serious expression on her lovely face, allowing
me to feast on the vision of her naked breasts. She grasped my
hands, placed them on her tummy, and guided them up, my palms
registering the soft feel of her skin, and the swell of her beautiful
breasts, and the pebbly hardness of her nipples. She pressed my
hands against her breasts, leaning in to increase the pressure, and I
could feel her nipples expand, dimpling my palm. Slowly, she
collapsed back onto me, her mouth automatically seeking mine, to
resume our high-pressure kisses.
As she fell back onto me, my hands slipped from her breasts, around
to her back. I slid them down to the globes of her incredible butt,
grasping the flesh and pressing her harder against my steely cock.
She wiggled her hips against me as I clutched her to me, and I
hitched up her skirt, rucking up the material until I felt the hem.
I pulled the bunched up skirt higher, and let my hands rest on her
tight ass, with just the thin layer of her panties between her skin
and my fingers. I let my fingers explore, from her hips to the
juncture of her thighs, where a substantial heat and dampness was
found, until I could contain myself no longer. My fingers spidered
up the mounds of her bottom, and grasped the elastic waistband of her
panties. She lifted up her hips, and I slid her underwear down, off
her hips and to her thighs. She reached down herself and pushed them
further down her legs, until she could kick them off. I could feel
her drooling pussy heating up against my crotch as she lay back down
on me, my hands resuming their exploration of the moist folds between
the cheeks of her ass. As I separated her nether lips, releasing a
flood of hot, oily lubrication, she moaned once more into my mouth,
and broke our connection once again. She knelt up again, dressed in
only her skirt, and reached for my shirt. She worked it up and over
my head, and then grabbed the waistband of my sweat pants, pulling
them down, along with my underwear. Everything got hung up on my
stiff cock, causing a momentary panic. Lori chuckled softly, lifted
the material away from me, and continued shucking my clothes down my
legs. She stared at my throbbing cock all the while with shining
eyes, working my pants off each foot and throwing them aside. Almost
absent-mindedly, she stood, and pulled her skirt down, and stepped
out of it, so that we were both completely naked.
She knelt back down, her knees straddling my legs, and reached with
both hands for my cock and balls. As she tenderly grasped the stalk
with one hand, and gently held my sac with the other, she sighed and
whispered, "It's been so long..."
She bowed down and slowly, agonizingly, licked up my shaft as she
held it in her small hand. It was nearly enough to do me in. My
hips involuntarily bucked up, as my cock jerked at the touch, and my
heart started beating faster. All I could do was watch her as she
examined me, reacquainting herself with a male body.
She must have decided she couldn't hold off any longer, because she
sat up, crawled up my body until her crotch was poised over me, and
lowered herself slightly. She was still holding my cock in her hand,
and she rubbed the head against her pussy lips, stroking herself from
her clitoris to her vagina for a moment, spreading her moisture
around the sensitive tip of my cock. She held me still against her
tight opening, allowing her weight to settle just a little more, and
I felt the head spreading her lips further apart, and entering her
hot, flexible hole. She threw her head back in pleasure, and slowly
allowed herself to sink, impaling herself on my rod, until she
settled down, and I was fully inside her. She ground down on me just
a little, and groaned.
"Oh my god, so long," she whispered again, as her body accustomed
itself to the intrusion. She put her hands on the couch above my
shoulders, leaning on them, her hair falling down around her face
like a veil, and she started moving. I reached up and grasped her
dangling breasts, pinching her nipples and hefting their weight, as
she pumped her hips up and down, rotating slightly at the top and at
the bottom of her pistoning action. The heat and the friction were
incredible, and I knew I wouldn't last very long.
But it didn't matter. As soon as I reached up and pulled her down
so that I could take a turgid nipple into my mouth, she screeched
breathlessly, and her movements against me got a little
uncoordinated, as she quickly reached the summit. I pushed up into
her as far as I could go, and bit down lightly on her nipple, as I
felt her walls pulse and squeeze my cock as she orgasmed. I came
hard, spurting several hard pulses deep into her, adding my own
juices to hers at our joining.
Her eyes were squeezed closed, and her mouth was stretched in a
rictus very much like pain, as she worked for every last nerve ending
to shiver and pulse with pleasure, until her arms could no longer
hold her, and she collapsed down onto me breathlessly. The tension
in her body drained out as I held her close, feeling the sweat of our
exertions pop out on both of us, and I slowly ran my fingers up and
down her spine, willing her to cool down a little. I was still
buried deep inside her, and I could feel my cock wilting just a
little, in spite of the tight grip of her honeyed walls. I planted
little kisses on her cheek and her forehead, unsure if she was even
aware of my ministrations.
At last she seemed to come to her senses, and she lifted her head
up. She seemed to see me for the first time, the sudden recognition
burning brightly in her eyes.
"Oh, Sean, I'm so sorry..." she began.
"Shhhh," I said. I gently pressed her head back down, until she
acquiesced, and let it rest against my neck and shoulder.
She settled down against me with a small sigh, but her shifting
caused an unexpected reaction from my heightened senses. Blood flow
was diverted, and my cock began refilling. I was acutely aware of
her breasts squashed against my bare chest, and the heat of her
thighs against mine were practically creating burn marks. I felt the
precise moment she realized what was happening. She stiffened as she
felt my cock expand within her, and her hips began to tremble in
anticipation. She lifted her head up, a questioning look in her
eyes. I pulled her to me, and rolled her over, flipping her onto her
back on the couch, with me nestled between her splayed legs. She
giggled, and held on as I started flexing my thighs, glutes and abs,
pumping my now rock-hard cock through her slickness. She moaned
then, and closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensations
telegraphing from her center through her nervous system, and pulled
her knees up, wrapping her heels across my thighs and tilting her
bottom up so I could get even deeper into her. I reached up and
grabbed a flattened boob, squeezing and kneading it, until the nipple
was reddened and expansive, and then I reached down between us,
thrusting my hand down until I could feel our connection. I dragged
my fingertips through her swollen folds, and pinched her clit between
my first and second fingers as I worked my cock in and out of her,
and she flipped into another climax. She clutched at me as she came,
throwing her hips up at me in complete abandon, but I was relentless.
I continued to rub her clit as I pumped into her, and she rolled into
a second orgasm, followed by a third.
It was all too much for me, by then. Sweat was rolling off me,
dripping off my chin and collecting unnoticed in the small of her
throat. I took my hand away and grabbed her shoulder, and flexed my
hips as hard as I could, feeling her vaginal muscles contracting
against the inflexible tube of my flesh, and I felt my own orgasm
take over, turning me inside out in its intensity. I felt the
plumbing pump and pulse three, then four, then five times, until
there was nothing left to give, and I collapsed on top of her, tired
to the bone.
Finally, naked and sweating and panting, we both came to realize
where we were, and who we were. A not very comfortable silence
descended as we shifted to take pressure off our intimate parts. I
slipped out of her with a barely audible pop, and ended up kneeling
on a very wet couch cushion, soaked with our combined juices. I
rolled off the couch, and knelt on the floor. I still had one arm
draped across her, under her breasts, as we looked at each other.
"Uh, Lori..." I started.
She pressed her palm against my lips to silence me. "No, Sean,
please don't say anything," she whispered. "Not yet, anyway." Her
eyes were shining.
We stayed like that, just looking in each other's eyes, for several
minutes. Finally, I pushed myself to a standing position, and turned
away from her, suddenly self-conscious about my nakedness. I grabbed
my clothes and pulled them on. Finally, unable to put off the moment
any longer, I turned to her, but before I could say anything, she
just shook her head.
"It's okay, Sean," she reassured me as she sat up. She reached down
and picked up her blouse, and clutched it to her breasts. "Thank you
for... everything. You've been my best friend, my best male friend,
for a long time."
I was about to say something, no doubt something incredibly stupid,
but she shushed me before I could open my mouth.
"Sometimes friends... comfort each other, Sean. It doesn't have to
mean anything beyond an expression of friendship, if we don't let
it." Her lower lip trembled. She was doing her best to convince me,
and I thought she was also attempting to convince herself of the
truth of her words. She finally gave in to her feelings, however,
and stood and came over to me. She put her arms around me, dropping
her blouse to the floor, and rested her head against my chest. I
couldn't resist putting my arms around her once more. For comfort, I
told myself. Even though she was naked, and clinging to me, and her
skin felt so incredibly smooth and warm against my palms. It was for
comfort. Comfort. She took a deep, shuddering sigh when she felt me
hug her. Her voice was muffled, but I still heard her clearly.
"Okay?"
"Okay," I agreed.
(Continued in Chapter 14)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The 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 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 14 -
NICKNAMES CAN BE FUN
Someday, I thought to myself, somebody will be able to explain to me
how come I suck at relationships with girls my own age. And why I
couldn't seem to keep any sense about me when it came to older women.
Wendy was just too much of a hedonist for me. I had to look the word
up in the Thesaurus, but I was pretty sure that was the right term
for her. And now I was deathly afraid that I had ruined my
friendship with Kip and Davey's mom, too. And, to top it all off, I
always seemed to blow any chance of having a girlfriend for more than
about five minutes.
I know, I know, it was my own damn fault. I was willing to admit
it: I was extraordinarily stupid when it came to girls.
Why was I being so hard on myself? I could explain it in four
simple words.
I never called Becky.
All weekend long, I agonized about what I would say to her, after
Saturday. I have never been good at making small talk, that chatty,
unimportant chitchat that comes so naturally to some people. I get
tongue-tied, and my brain freezes up, and the pauses in my already
stilted conversations get long enough to become uncomfortable for me,
as well as the unfortunate I happen to be conversing with. My
solution? Why, to avoid potentially troublesome situations, of
course. Which, as we all know, only makes matters worse. But I was
16. Not facing up to my responsibilities in relationships was a
specialty of mine.
Not that Becky and I had much of a relationship. It was kind of a
budding one, I suppose, but I still had not given up hope that
Kristina and I might be able to get back together, either. And Becks
and I had never talked about boyfriends and girlfriends, and dating
each other, and all that. But I had an idea of what her expectations
might be, and here I was, falling well short once again.
I was fucked up, and there was no doubt about it.
Monday was a rainy holiday, so Jake and I hid out at the shopping
center. There was a new video game out, Pac-Man, and we spent all
afternoon feeding quarters into the machine, taking turns with the
joystick. It was mind numbing, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Reality came crashing back down on me on Tuesday, however. It was a
mild, sunny day, but there were thunderheads inside the school,
evident every time I saw Becky. If looks could kill, I would have
been fried to a crisp several times that day. I took to walking the
halls hunched over, as if I was expecting raining blows to land on my
head and shoulders at any time. By the time school ended, I was
relieved to be able to head for the locker room. I was looking
forward to getting out on the track and running.
Normally, our weekly practice schedule was the same. Monday's
practices consisted of an hour of drills, and an hour of watching
film of our last game. Tuesdays were devoted to conditioning drills,
Wednesdays were scrimmages. On Thursdays, we watched film of our
upcoming opponents for an hour, discussing their strengths and
weaknesses, and then we spent an hour working on plays we thought we
could use in Friday's game. This week, being a holiday week, meant
that we would be practicing for three hours on Tuesday, so we could
still see our game film, and get in a full practice session.
When I met up with the other guys in the locker room, we were just
buckling on our shin guards and lacing up our shoes, when we heard
loud voices coming from the direction of the offices. Eric, Trent
and I looked at each other quizzically, but none of us knew what the
ruckus was about, and nobody was willing to venture over there. If
Coach Neville or Coach Simonson, our assistant coach, wanted us
involved, they would come out and get us. We filed out the door, and
headed out to the track to begin running our laps.
After about 15 minutes, the two coaches came out the door, led by
Adam Prince and Anthony Rogers, who looked pretty disgusted. Adam
and Anthony started running around the track as the coaches began
setting up the drills they wanted to work.
Eric slowed down, waiting for Anthony to catch up to him, and the
two of them trotted around side by side. Anthony was filling Eric in
on what had transpired, I knew, so we would find out in due time.
During the drills, I only had a chance to stop for a moment and ask
Eric what was going on.
"I still don't know, man," he said quietly. "Tony was really
ragging on, something about the challenge ladder. I still don't have
it straight."
We finished our outside work, and we headed back inside to the
classroom where the projector was set up. It was an easy win for us,
so there wasn't a lot that Coach Neville really had to say about the
game, but he did stop the film several times so he could draw the
developing plays out on the chalkboard, showing us where we might
have improved our play, or where our opponents might have penetrated,
had they been a better team. His real lesson during that session was
that, no matter how well you thought you might have played, there was
always room for improvement.
After the film was finished, Coach turned the lights back on, and
called for our attention.
"The first challenge for position on the team challenge ladder has
been issued," he announced. "Adam Prince is challenging Anthony
Rogers for his starting position."
Adam stood up defiantly. "No, I'm not," he said. He looked over at
me contemptuously. "You want me to challenge Anthony, but I still
say I want to challenge Porter for his spot."
Coach Neville pushed his hands at Adam, indicating that he should
sit, which he reluctantly did. Coach removed his glasses, and began
to absentmindedly polish them on his shirt.
"We have already had this discussion, Mr. Prince. Since you insist
on being pugnacious about this, I will inform the rest of the team of
our earlier conversation." He sighed, put his glasses back on, and
then continued. "Mr. Prince, as he has indicated just now, was
interested in pursuing an opportunity to earn a starting position,
and he wished to play in our defensive position currently handled by
Sean Porter. I have informed Mr. Prince, and I now inform you all,
that there are certain positions on our team that I consider to be
inviolable and unchallengeable, sacred if you will. Those positions
are Trent Abbott's forward spot, and Sean Porter's defensive
position. One other player will be, if I may use the term,
protected, but still may be challenged if I feel the challenger has
proven merit, and that is Jorge Mendoza's keeper duties. As far as I
am concerned, any other position may be challenged, but these three,
being the basis for our strengths as a team, are not subject to
change through the challenge ladder. Therefore, I have refused Mr.
Prince's request to challenge for Mr. Porter's position, and
suggested that, if he wished, he could challenge for the left
defensive position."
"But..." began Adam.
"But nothing," interrupted Mr. Neville. "Do you wish to challenge
Mr. Rogers, or do you withdraw your challenge? Those are your
choices."
I stood up. "Wait just a minute," I said. "I'm not sure I want to
be a sacred cow." The entire team laughed. "I mean, if I can't keep
up with a snot-nosed freshman, maybe I don't deserve the spot
anyway," I continued.
I could see Adam's face turning red at the insult. He jumped up.
"So you accept?" he asked eagerly.
I stared at him. "Sure, weasel," I said.
The room went silent as we all watched Adam's eyes bug out.
"Weasel? Get ready to eat my dust, Porter. Then we'll see who the
weasel really is." He stood up straighter, and looked around the
room. "I choose as my partner," and he paused, as if for dramatic
effect, "Eric Johnson."
Eric nearly fell onto the floor. "Uh-uh, no way am I helping The
Weasel to beat Porter," he said. "Get yourself some other do-gooder.
It ain't gonna be me."
That took a little of the wind out of Adam's sails. I thought he
had been planning on taking Eric, so I couldn't rely on him, and now
he was stuck.
"Okay," he said. "In that case, I choose Robert Anderson."
"Sheee-it," came a drawl from Robert. "If this quest ain't good
enough for my man Eric, it sure as shit ain't good enough for me.
Count me out, Weasel." He slouched in his chair, a stubborn look on
his face, his arms crossed in defiance.
Adam looked as if he had swallowed a bowling pin. His eyes were
bugged out, and his face was beet red, his mouth opening and closing
soundlessly.
"Have you had enough yet?" asked Coach Neville quietly.
"No!" shouted Adam. He looked wildly around the room at his
teammates, wondering whom he could enlist. "I... I choose Brett
Oldman, then."
There was a snort from the front of the room. "Third choice, huh?"
Brett stood and turned to face Adam and the rest of the team. "Under
normal circumstances, I would let you crash and burn right here and
now, Weasel, but I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll be your partner,
Prince. And I promise you I will play hard for you, and try to win
with you. But if we fail, Prince, here's the deal. You will never
challenge me for stopper. Deal?"
Adam was stuck with no place to go. "Deal," he muttered.
"Mr. Porter? Who would you like as your second?" asked Coach.
"Eric Johnson," I replied.
"Good. The challenge will be played tomorrow during practice."
Coach looked around the room questioningly. "Any other comments?
No? Good. Dismissed, gentlemen."
He gave me a significant look, so I hung back until the room had
emptied.
"Are you sure about this, Sean?" he asked.
"Don't worry, Coach," I replied. "Eric and I will toast him good."
"I trust you are right about this, Mr. Porter. I would be very
disappointed, and not a little embarrassed, if you were to lose this
challenge."
"Prince is good, and Oldman is very good, Coach. But Eric is better
than either of them, and I can hold my own against a freshman."
"Don't let his age lull you, Mr. Porter," he admonished. "Many a
warrior has been taken down by underestimating a younger opponent."
"I'm not underestimating him. But I've got Rocket Johnson on my
side. He'll torch Weasel so badly, he'll have burn marks on his ass."
"That's quite enough, Mr. Porter," said Coach. But I could see a
smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, all the same. "See you
tomorrow," he finished, dismissing me.
The next day, we ran through our warm-up procedures. Coach Neville
set up the scrimmages, leaving Adam, Brett, Eric, and me standing on
the sidelines until he was done. He left Coach Simonson in charge of
the scrimmage, and led the four of us to another practice field,
where two nets were already set up across the width of the field.
"Okay, Eric and Sean, you take the far side. Adam and Brett, you
defend the near side. No goalies, standard game rules. Challengers
start with the ball on the midfield stripe. If the ball goes out of
bounds, instead of a throw-in, the team with the ball gets a free
indirect kick. If I blow this whistle, the game stops. Depending on
why I stop the game, we will probably restart with a drop ball. The
first team to 5 points, winning by two, takes the position being
challenged. Any questions?" The look on his face discouraged
questions, even from someone as thick-skinned and clueless as Adam,
so we took our positions.
Coach blew his whistle to start, and the game was on. Adam dinked
the ball to Brett, but it was a weak opening kick, and Eric took
advantage by elbowing Brett off the ball, taking it away, and lofting
it into the open field. I ran toward the bouncing ball, with Adam
hot on my heels, and kneed it back over to Eric, who popped it into
the net. One-nil for us.
On the second possession, Brett shot a strong pass over to Adam,
right through Eric's legs, and just like that, it was 1-1.
At 2-2, our possession, Eric turned on the afterburners and streaked
by Brett. Adam decided the threat was too great, so he left me, and
tried to angle Eric off the goal. Brett caught up on the switch, but
it was too late, and Eric's pass led me by about five feet, making it
way too easy for me to hit the back of the net. We were up, 3-2.
On Adam's possession, I was all over him by his third stride into
our half, so much so that, if it had been a real game, I probably
would have been called for a foul. As it was, Coach let us play on,
and Adam tried to force a shot past me, from too far away, and it
glanced off my leg, and went wide right and out of bounds. Our
possession, from the goal line.
Adam and Brett were a little winded, so they backed off, allowing us
to advance the ball across our half of the field unobstructed. Eric
had the ball, and he sped up, pressing Brett. Adam was crowding me,
making sure he stayed between me and their goal, trying to impede my
advance down the field. I thought he was thinking he could muscle me
off the play, similar to what I had done to him on their last
possession. I didn't mind at all, especially since I had worked out
a couple of special plays with Eric on the phone, the night before.
This situation fit right into one of them, and Eric recognized it,
too. He allowed Brett to close a little, and then he passed across
the field to just behind me, and Brett followed the ball's direction,
anticipating an errant pass rolling behind me. Instead, I cocked my
right leg, swept it behind me, and gave Eric a heel-pass give-and-go
that we had developed during Duane Olchick's clinic. He picked up
the pass, and, since Brett was caught woefully out of the play, was
all alone and wide open as he tapped the ball into the net. It was
game point, at 4-2, and all over except for the shouting. An easy
steal later, and our opponents only made a cursory try at defense,
and Eric and I walked away with a 5-2 victory.
As we walked off the field, back toward where the rest of the team
was still playing, Brett trotted up to Eric and me.
"That was a great play, that behind-the-back pass, Sean," he said.
"Thanks," I replied. "That was one of the tricks we learned over
the summer from Olchick."
"Really? Can you show it to me sometime?"
"Sure," I said. "Maybe tomorrow after practice."
"Porter!" Adam sounded angry as he came up behind us.
I stopped and turned around, sighing. "What the fuck do you want,
Weasel?"
Angrily, he said, "First of all, stop calling me Weasel."
Eric was at my side. "If you earn the name, Weasel, you better
learn to live with it," he said threateningly.
Adam took a step back, putting his hands up in front of him. "What
did I ever do to you?" he asked innocently.
Before Eric could take a step toward him, I put a hand on his arm to
stop him. He was breathing fire, and he looked like he wanted to
tear Adam's arm off and beat him unconscious with it.
Brett stepped up to save the kid's bacon. Facing Adam, his back to
us, he said through clenched teeth, "What did you do to him? You
wanted to use him to take Sean's position. You wanted to cash in on
their friendship. You wanted to divide this team into pro-Prince
versus pro-Porter. You wanted to bring a little spotlight onto
yourself, at Eric's and Sean's expense. And, incidentally, you tried
to drag me into the middle of all this, too."
Adam had the good grace to look abashed. He mumbled what sounded
like an apology, and then stood there, content to let us walk away
and leave him standing there.
Eric was not quite finished, however. He turned back. "Weasel?
Don't do it again. Don't challenge Sean, don't challenge Anthony,
don't challenge Brett. And don't even think about challenging me.
Got it?"
Adam just stood, rooted in place, and nodded.
"And get used to the name, Weasel. It fits you, so it's yours.
Understand?" Again, Adam merely nodded. Eric looked a little less
angry, a little more satisfied with the outcome of the afternoon. As
he turned away from the freshman, he said, "See? Nicknames can be
fun." Eric stepped back to rejoin Brett and me, without waiting for
Adam's reluctant, assenting nod.
(Continued in Chapter 15)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The 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 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 15 -
BUILDING A FLOAT
We fell into our school routine through the fall. Becky decided I
was dirt, and, except for when she had to, she stopped talking to me.
Kristina seemed to work through her guilt and anger, and was pretty
much back to her old self again. Molly was skipping school with some
regularity, and on the days she did show up, she was looking paler
and thinner than ever. I noticed that she had taken to wearing much
heavier makeup, perhaps to try to cover the dark circles that were
forming under her eyes. I had heard, through the school grapevine,
that the cheerleading coach had tried to intervene on her behalf,
even going so far as to call her parents, but it didn't seem to help
much. I knew that Josh was very worried about her, too, but she
wasn't listening to him any more than she cared about what Mrs.
Halliburton, the cheerleading coach, had to say to her.
Homecoming was scheduled for the first weekend in October. A couple
of weeks before that, a committee of students from each class, with
faculty advisers, came up with float designs. The locations where
these floats were to be constructed were supposed to be a secret, so
that there would be no sabotage raids between the freshmen,
sophomores, juniors, and seniors. The Junior Class float was going
to be built inside a big old barn on some land owned by Shayna
Gallagher's parents, located just a couple of miles out of town. The
Gallaghers also provided a hay wagon for the float, and construction
time was scheduled for every weekday night for whoever could come.
It was a fun diversion to go over there and shape chicken wire over
the wood framing, and to tie colored crepe paper into the wire.
Because of practice schedules and homework, I wasn't able to go over
there more than a couple of times the first week, but there were
usually about 20 or 25 kids and adults there every night.
On Thursday, I was just sitting down for dinner with my family,
anxious to be done so I could run over, pick up Jake, and head out to
the barn. Both my mom and my dad were amused, watching me shovel
food into my mouth in such a hurry. My younger brother Stephen was
just picking at his food, acting distracted.
As I forced down that last mouthful, I dropped my silverware and
asked, "May I be excused?"
Stephen piped up right after me, "Me, too, please?"
"All right," said my mom with a small laugh. "Go, before you
explode."
I ran upstairs to change my clothes. I was pulling on my jeans when
Stephen knocked on my door, and opened it.
"Come on in," I said as I tucked in my shirt. "What's up?"
"Sean, I... uh, can I ask you something?"
"Sure, pal," I replied. "What's bothering you?"
He had his head down, and one foot was tapping.
"Ah, never mind," he said uncomfortably, and he turned to leave.
I took two steps over to him and grabbed his arm and turned him back
around to face me.
"Hold it there, Stephen. What's going on? I know it's something
you don't want the parents to find out about, right?"
"Yeah, well, right," he reluctantly agreed.
"So talk to me."
He sighed. "I... well, I..."
I sat down on my bed and folded my arms across my chest.
"I'm not going anywhere until you spit it out, buddy," I said.
"All right, all right. It's just that I don't know... what I mean
is... Sean, if somebody says they're giving somebody head, what do
they mean?"
No wonder he didn't want to talk to Mom or Dad. "Well, it means
oral sex. They're sucking cock. Why? Who's giving head?"
"It's Tara. You know, Jaimie's sister? She told me she wants to do
that to me, and I didn't know what she meant."
"Tara? I guess it doesn't really surprise me," I said.
"Yeah," said Stephen as he pulled out my desk chair and sat down.
"She's kind of a wild kid, you know? My friend Tommy claims he
fucked her. I don't know if that's true, but I know she's done some
stuff."
"What do you mean, done some stuff? Like drugs? Or like sex stuff?"
"Well, maybe both. Like, I know she was, uh, like playing show-and-
tell awhile ago."
"Show-and-tell?"
"Yeah, you know at that picnic and party a few weeks ago? With the
baseball game in their back yard, in the field by the woods? Well,
Tara took a bunch of us back into the woods there, me and Tommy and
Carlos and Richie and maybe a couple of others, and she told us that
if we all took our clothes off, she would, too. So we did it. And
so did she. And she was laying down, and spreading her legs, and
letting us look at her, and everything. And we were all kind of
kneeling around her, looking at her, and Carlos reached over and
touched her boob, and she kind of closed her eyes, and licked her
lips, and we were all getting boners, you know? And she reached out
and just touched the end of Carlos's prick with her fingers after he
started playing with her. I think if they had been alone, a lot more
would have happened, but we heard some little kids shuffling through
the leaves close by, so we all scrambled to get dressed again."
"Wow," I said. "That's weird."
"And later, after dark, Tara and Carlos and Richie kind of
disappeared for awhile. I think they went back into the woods, but I
don't really know for sure. Anyway, at school the other day, she
told me she might give me head. I didn't want to ask Tommy or Richie
or Carlos what it meant. I didn't want to sound stupid, you know?"
I nodded. Nobody wants to sound stupid in front of their friends.
He continued, "So I said, 'Sure, anytime,' and she said I should
call her and meet her after school. She said that maybe we could do
some homework together, or something. But I don't think she really
was talking about school homework." He stood up. "Now I know what
I'm gonna call her for, at least. Thanks, Sean."
"Hold on there, pardner," I said. "Just because she's kind of
offered to suck you off, doesn't necessarily mean you should be going
for it. I mean, yeah, it feels good and all, but what about the
risks? Think about this for awhile, Stephen. It doesn't sound like
you want to be caught up in being Tara's boyfriend, especially if
she's out there experimenting a lot."
"Well..."
"Look, I'm just saying that she might be reading more into this
offer of hers than you are." I grabbed my shoes and started putting
them on. "And even if she isn't, it sure sounds to me like there are
a whole shitload of issues tied to her, and maybe you don't want to
get caught up in all that. So just think about it, okay?"
"Yeah, you may be right," he admitted. "Thanks, Sean."
"No problem, little brother. Take it from me, dealing with girls is
a minefield. You've got to be real careful. Slow and steady, or you
just might find something blowing up in your face. And sometimes
getting your rocks off just isn't worth the price. Understand?"
"Got it. Thanks." He walked out of the room a lot happier than he
walked in. I wasn't sure I had helped him much, but I hoped he would
pass on Tara's offer, and wait for something better to come along.
I shook my head at myself. Here I was, giving advice to my little
brother, and my own love life was in shambles. Why should he listen
to me?
I finished tying my shoes, ran downstairs, grabbed the keys from my
mom's outstretched hand, and ran out to her car.
When Jake and I got to the barn, I was surprised at the progress
that had been made on the float. The wooden supports were all in
place, and most of the chicken wire was stapled up and shaped. There
were about 15 kids working on tying crepe paper around the back of
the float, while others were snipping wire. The teams playing the
homecoming game were us, the Bears, against the Dover Hornets, and
our float design was supposed to be a giant bear crushing a scared
hornet in its paws, so there was a lot of smaller work to be done
with wire and wood, shaping the figures. A couple of the dads were
looking over a set of drawings, calling out measurements to kids with
saws. Tiny was helping with carrying lumber, picking up impressive
amounts of two-by-fours at once, and Jake walked over to give him a
hand. There were a couple of picnic tables set up in a corner, away
from the dust and commotion, and the remains of two pizzas were still
laying out. There was also a big old refrigerator by the tables, and
Kristina was over there, getting out a couple of cans of pop out of
the refrigerator.
I walked over toward her, and reached for the door, just as she was
closing it.
"Wait a second," I said, as I reached in and grabbed a Coke.
"Who did you come here with?" I asked, glancing at the two cans in
her hand.
"Oh, this is for Tessa," she said with a smile. "I caught a ride
with her and Austin." She pointed back toward the float. I saw them
then, working with the crepe paper.
"Is that where you're working, too?" I asked.
She blushed just a little. "Yes," she said quietly.
I knew where I wanted to work. "Is there room for one more?" I asked.
She glanced quickly at me as we strolled toward the float. "Maybe,"
she replied with a smile.
She handed Tessa one of the cans, and scrambled up on top of the
flatbed wagon. She bent over to pick up a roll of green crepe paper,
and then looked over to me questioningly, a slight grin on her face.
I took the hint, and followed her up to work on tying paper to one
of the forms.
Two hours later, my hands were dyed blue and green from the paper,
and my fingers were cramping from shoving bits of crepe through the
openings in the wire and tying them off. I stood and stretched my
aching back muscles, and stopped, looking around in surprise.
It was quiet in the barn. Most of the kids had already left, and
most of the ones still there were manning brooms to clean up the area
a little. I hopped down from the wagon, and reached up to give
Kristina a hand as she clambered down. Tessa and Austin were just
finishing up the section they had been working on, and Jake and Tiny
were sitting at one of the picnic tables, polishing off the last of
the cold pizza. I walked over toward them, opened the fridge, and
took out two cans of soda.
"Hey, Sean, if you're going to stay here and work some more, I think
I'll catch a ride home with Tiny," said Jake.
"Yeah, that's fine," I said. "Maybe Kristina and I will help Tessa
and Austin finish up that back part."
Jake smirked just a little, but he tried to keep a straight face.
"Yeah, okay, you work on that with Kristina."
Tiny laughed out loud, and they both stood. They had to sit on
opposite sides of the table, or it would have tipped over. Even at
that, the table rocked when they both stood up. I could imagine it
groaning in relief, after having those two big bodies pressing down
on it.
I walked back over and handed a can to Kristina. We were content to
stand there, watching Tessa and Austin as they tied the last few
pieces of paper on. Tessa stood back and eyed their work critically.
"It looks like it could use just a little more over there, on that
side," she said, pointing. "See?"
Austin got up off his knees and moved back to where Tessa was
standing, draping an arm casually around her shoulder. He looked to
where she was pointing.
"Yeah, I agree," he said. "But it's going to have to wait until
tomorrow. I'm beat."
By then, there was just Shayna and her dad left in the barn, and it
was obvious they were waiting for us to leave, so they could lock up.
The four of us strolled out into the night. Kristina reached out and
held my hand as we walked slowly toward our cars.
"Goodnight, you guys," said Tessa with a smile. She and Austin
walked to Austin's car, while Kristina and I hung back for a moment,
before walking hand in hand to my car, parked about 20 feet away. I
unlocked the car, and we climbed into the front seat. Kristina slid
over to sit next to me, and I put my arm around her shoulder. She
turned to me expectantly as I dropped my head down to her uplifted
face, and kissed her softly, tenderly.
We stayed that way for a long time, enjoying soft, undemanding
kisses. I glanced up once, and was not surprised to see that
Austin's car hadn't moved, either. It was a nice, quiet, dark spot.
Lights splashed across us briefly as the Gallaghers pulled out and
drove away shortly after we had gotten in the car, but other than
that, it was quiet and peaceful.
It was getting colder out, but I didn't want to start the car to run
the heater. Besides, we were starting to generate our own heat. I
slipped my arm inside her jacket, holding her waist as I kissed her,
taking great care to keep my hand firm and steady along her middle,
straying neither north nor south. She reached up and held my neck,
opening her mouth just a little, letting her tongue creep out to
teasingly brush against my lips. I let her taste my closed lips,
waiting for her to indicate that she was ready for more, until I felt
her pushing the tip of her tongue between my lips, trying to get me
to open up just a little. I allowed her to push my lips apart just
enough so that my tongue just touched hers, and we teased each other
in an oral game of hide-and-seek.
We played little kissing games like that, neither of us wanting to
press any further and possibly spoil the moment. I knew I had to go
very slowly with her, now that she had taken this big step in my
direction, and I was determined not to blow my chances with her
again. We were warm enough, holding each other and kissing.
Again, lights flashed across my windshield. We instinctively ducked
down, out of sight, in case it was Mr. Gallagher, coming back to
retrieve something he might have forgotten. I caught a glimpse of
Austin's car, still in the same spot, but I could see two heads
through the windows, looking at the oncoming headlights. I got a bad
feeling when I saw that there were two sets of headlights coming
toward us. When the cars driving up got closer, their lights
suddenly went out, and I knew it wasn't Mr. Gallagher. I had a
sinking feeling we were going to be caught in the middle of something
we really didn't want any part of, and I was suddenly regretting that
we didn't find a different place to park. I poked my head up, and
was able to watch the two cars come barreling up the deserted road.
They swerved, and almost missed the driveway to the barn, their tires
kicking up dust and stones as they spun and finally caught, sending
the cars careening up. I heard them come to a sliding stop, and then
I heard car doors opening and slamming, and the sound of voices.
I didn't know what was going on, but I didn't want to get Kristina
in any trouble. The problem was, if I started my car now, we would
certainly be noticed, so we sat there for a moment. I saw a bunch of
bodies moving from the cars toward the barn, until they disappeared
around a corner. We heard the sound of pounding, metal on metal, and
then the screech of the barn door being opened. Somebody was
breaking in.
I opened my car door. Kristina's face was pale with fright when I
looked over at her, and she shook her head at me, frantically waving
her hands to get me to get back into the car. I motioned for her to
stay there, but she scooted over, and slid out of the car and closed
the door softly. I glanced over, and saw Austin and Tessa getting
quietly out of their car, too. We met up, and tiptoed up to the
barn, trying to sneak up on whoever was inside.
There was a long, dirty window that was cracked open, along one side
of the barn, on a wall facing a cornfield, so we snuck over toward
it. The four of us could stand, side by side, and peer in. We could
hear the drunken voices of the Bulls and some of their girls, holding
flashlights as they examined our float. I could recognize Joey
Amonte, Jilly Del Toro, Harold Barnes, and Vinnie Arilio as they
walked around, and there were a couple of other guys I didn't
recognize with them. Shockingly, Pammy Lipschutz and Molly O'Toole
were also there, but rather less willingly, it seemed. In fact, both
Molly and Pammy had studded dog collars around their necks, and
leashes were attached. Harold held Pammy's leash, and Jilly was
clutching the leash attached to Molly's collar. Every now and then
he would yank on the leash, pulling Molly stumblingly toward him, and
in his other hand he held a bottle in a paper bag, which he would
occasionally lift to his lips.
"What the fuck is this pussy float supposed to be?" sneered Jilly.
"It's a real piece of shit," said Joey.
Jilly yanked on the leash. "You're a junior, bitch. You should
know. What's this pussy float supposed to be?"
Molly's voice was weak and submissive. "I don't know. I think it's
a bear and a hornet."
"What's the bear doing? Fucking the hornet?" laughed Jilly. All
the other Bulls laughed raucously, dutifully. He dragged Molly over
to the other side of the float. "Shit, it don't look like nothin'.
How long they been workin' on this?"
"Just a few days, I think," said Pammy, sounding anxious to please.
Harold snapped the slack out of the leash he was holding. "Shut
up," he hissed. "You'll shut up unless you're spoken to, bitch."
"I think the bitch is askin' for it," suggested Vinnie.
Harold looked at Pammy's frightened face. "You think?" he said.
"No!" Jilly's voice cracked across the room. "Leave her alone,
Vinnie. Maybe we'll all bang her later, but for now we've got work
to do."
Vinnie said, "Yeah, maybe we can bang both these bitches later
tonight."
Jilly just looked at him. Vinnie shuffled his feet and said,
"Sorry, Jilly. I got carried away."
"Yeah, well, just watch your fucking mouth, Vinnie, or I'll make
fucking sure you're carried away. When I'm tired of her, you'll get
your fucking chance. Until then, just shut the fuck up."
"Okay, Jilly. Sorry." Vinnie moved a little further away from
Jilly, just in case. He shot a glance at Joey, who had a very sour
look on his face. Apparently, he wasn't too happy about losing Molly
to Del Toro. I wondered if he gave her up willingly. I couldn't
believe that Molly would have agreed. In fact, I would say she
probably wasn't consulted at all, from the looks of things.
The four of us dropped down to crouch below the window. Both Tessa
and Kristina had tears in their eyes.
"Can you believe that shit?" said Austin incredulously.
"We've got to do something," said Tessa.
"I know, but what?" I said. "If they find us here, we'll be toast.
But you're right, we've got to get some help."
We stood up again to peer through the window. We needed to know
that they weren't coming out of the barn and stumbling across us.
They had found the supply of sodas in the refrigerator, and were
loading up. They scavenged some paper grocery bags from the garbage,
and filled them with cans, setting them down on the ground just
outside the door. Jilly stood to one side, directing the others,
with Molly standing obediently to the side and a couple of steps
behind him. After they got the refrigerator emptied, Jilly
instructed them to squirt the float with lighter fluid. Vinnie and
Joey pranced around the wagon, squirting the lighter fluid all over,
while Harold, pulling Pammy along beside him, paced back and forth
along one of the longer sides.
"Goddammit, they're going to set it on fire!" Austin roughly
whispered.
"Shhh!" warned Kristina.
There wasn't really anything we could do. It was a helpless
feeling. We watched as Jilly stepped up to the wagon, dragging Molly
behind him. He dug into his jeans pocket, pulling out a Zippo
lighter. We could hear the metallic snick as he flicked open the top
and spun the wheel with his thumb. A small flame danced atop the
lighter, and he slowly brought the flame over to a wisp of crepe
paper. It must have been pretty well soaked, because it caught and
flared, sending tendrils of flames up and out, until the entire
section was burning. He tossed the lighter over to Joey, standing on
the other side, and he set another blaze opposite the first. Joey
walked around the wagon to hand the lighter back to Jilly, apparently
unwilling to trust his toss of the lighter back to his leader, and
the four boys, dragging the two girls along by the leashes, headed
over toward the door. They watched, passing the bottle back and
forth among them, as the float burned.
I was afraid that the flames might reach the rooftop, and the Bulls
must have had the same thought. Jilly glanced up toward the roof,
nudged Harold in the ribs, and said, "Okay, guys, I think our work
here is finished. Let's get the fuck out of here." He threw the
empty bottle into the middle of the fire, and they all turned and
jogged to their cars. They piled in, and spun their wheels leaving
the gravel parking area, heading down the empty, dark road.
As soon as we saw them drive away, Austin, Tessa, Kristina and I
raced around to the door. There was a fire extinguisher just inside
the doorway, and I grabbed it, hoping against hope that it wasn't too
old.
"I've got a little extinguisher in my car," shouted Austin, and he
ran out to retrieve it. Meanwhile, I pulled the pin on the one from
the barn, and squeezed the handle. Fortunately, it was fully
charged, and it began spraying foam.
The paper was pretty much burned off, but the wood frame was still
burning, and the floorboards of the wagon were smoldering. I aimed
my extinguisher at the higher parts of the framework, hoping to douse
the flames before the roof caught. Austin came running back in, and
aimed his extinguisher at the floorboards of the wagon.
Between the two extinguishers, plus the four of us getting up on the
wagon and stomping out the remaining sparks, we were able to put out
the fire before the barn caught. But it was a close thing, far
closer than we wanted to think about. We clustered around the open
door, watching the last few tendrils of smoke rise up from the mess,
tired and sweaty and nervous.
And now we had some real concerns. We weren't supposed to have been
here, and, even though we saved the barn, we lost the float, and we
couldn't tell hardly anybody about it. And, suddenly, we had some
serious worries about Molly and the Bulls.
We knew we had to do something. But we had no idea what we were
going to be able to do.
(Continued in Chapter 16)
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