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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, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather at hotmail dot com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

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PLAYING THE GAME

A Novel

by R.C. Mather




- 29 -

RESPECT



On Friday night, Michael drove me over to pick up Kristina. We were
meeting Josh and Andrea at the mall, and then we were going to go see
a movie.

I knocked on the front door and Mr. Mendoza opened the door. He
stepped aside, gesturing me in. He was not very tall but he was
substantial. I could see just how Jorge would look in twenty years,
looking at his father.

I stepped into the hallway. Mr. Mendoza held out his hand and in a
heavy accent said, "Welcome, Sean. Kristina will be here in uno
momento."

The smaller Mendoza children, four all told, were peeking at me from
doorways, whispering to each other and giggling. I felt like I was on
display as I shook Mr. Mendoza's hand.

Jorge came out of the kitchen, his mother trailing behind, and came
over to me.

"Hey, Sean," he said with a smile.

His father turned to him and said something in Spanish.

Jorge turned back to me, a grimace on his face. "My father has asked
me to translate for him. He says that he is very glad to meet you. He
also said he wishes to say something to you."

"Okay," I said, suddenly apprehensive. This was a new one on me.

Mr. Mendoza looked at me as he spoke, and I stayed facing him as
Jorge translated.

"He says that Kristina is his oldest daughter and so is very special
to him, just as his oldest son is special to him." Jorge's voice was
expressionless as he spoke. I saw Kristina, dressed in a simple black
sweater and cotton pants, just coming in from the hallway. I glanced
at her and smiled before turning back to her father. She looked a
little embarrassed but said nothing.

Her father glanced back to see her standing in the doorway, then
turned and continued.

"We have tried to raise our children to respect all others, even
when we ourselves have not been shown that same respect," Jorge
continued translating. "It is a sad fact of life that not all people
have been taught how to respect others."

Jorge stopped, firing off a burst of Spanish to his father. It
sounded like a question, or maybe a complaint. His father answered
back implacably, and Jorge, resigned, continued translating.

"He says that he expects you to treat his daughter with all the
respect she is due. If you do not, he will know, and he will have
words with you about it."

He did not look like a man I would want to have "words" with,
particularly alone in a small locked room. Still facing him, I
composed my reply before opening my mouth.

"I give you my word that I will give Kristina every consideration I
can. I think of her as a good friend, and Jorge is a good friend, and
I would do nothing to harm either friendship."

Jorge translated for me. Mr. Mendoza nodded, held out his hand, and
shook mine to seal the deal. He smiled then, and turned and held out
his arm, as if presenting his daughter to a crowd. Kristina came up
to him, kissed him on the cheek, and we headed out the door to
Michael's car.

It was always awkward when you had to be driven around because you
were too young to drive yourself. Picking up a date was even more so.
We solved the problem by squeezing into the front seat with Michael.
It was crowded, but I certainly didn't mind. As a side benefit, Mike
didn't feel so much like a chauffeur, either.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that with my father," Kristina said
as we started down the street.

"Hey, it's just fine," I assured her. "I know he worries about you
and wants to protect you, and all that..."

"Yes, well, he's decided that the best way to get his point across
is to speak Spanish and have Jorge translate. In reality, he speaks
English nearly as well as we do. He's just trying to make an
impression on you," she said with a smile.

"Oh, he made an impression on me, all right," I said. "He scared me
a little," I added.

"He'll be glad to know that," she said with a laugh. She shifted a
little, and the contact I felt with her, up my side and my arm, from
my hip and down my leg, got just a little more substantial. We stayed
in unacknowledged close contact with each other, just like that, all
the way to the mall.

Once we met up with Josh and Andrea at the mall, thoughts of the
punishment Mr. Mendoza might be planning to wreak upon me if I got
too improper were banished, and we had a great time together. When we
got to the movie theater, we settled in with popcorn and sodas, into
one of the side rows of the auditorium. Andrea and Kristina were
sitting between Josh and me. By the middle of the first reel of film,
our hands had found each other's.  We spent the rest of the movie in
awareness of each other, maintaining contact with clasped hands and
knees just touching.

On the way home, Kristina and I once again squeezed into the front
of Michael's car, and Andrea and Josh climbed into the back. We
dropped off Andrea first and Josh walked her to her door, giving her
a long kiss goodnight before trudging back to the car for a ride back
to his house.

Kristina's house was our next stop and I walked her to her door,
also. I wondered if Mr. Mendoza was watching through the curtains,
making sure I treated his daughter properly. I looked at the windows
nervously. Kristina probably guessed my thoughts, because she had a
small, secret smile on her face as she stood there, waiting for me to
make up my mind about what to do. Finally, she took both my hands in
hers and turned me to face her.

"Good night, Sean. Thank you for a very nice evening." She leaned in
toward me just a fraction, watching me. I bucked up my courage and
bent toward her, and our lips touched softly for just a moment. She
turned toward the door and opened it, flooding the landing with light
from the hallway.

"Kristina?" I suddenly asked. She turned around and looked at me
quizzically. "Did you really have a good time tonight? What I mean
is, would you go out with me again?"

She smiled her secret smile again. "Yes, Sean, I would love to go
out with you again."

The pressure I had been feeling, but had tried to ignore, dissipated
into vapor, to my immense relief. I headed back to the car, my feet
barely making contact with the sidewalk.

The whole next week at school, I didn't have much of a chance to
talk with Kristina. I kept on telling myself that it was just one
date, not a lifetime commitment, and to chill out about it. It didn't
help. I called her on Tuesday evening, but her father said she
couldn't come to the phone. I called her on Wednesday, but she wasn't
home. I called her on Thursday, very near panic.  She had me thinking
that I had done something wrong, that she didn't want to see me
again, that she was evading me. She answered the phone on the second
ring.

"Si, hello?"

"Kristina? Hi, it's me, Sean."

"Oh, Sean, I was hoping you would call," she said. She sounded
happy, not upset. Did I worry all week for nothing?

"You were?" I asked before I could think about it. "I thought maybe
you didn't want to talk to me."

"Why would you think that, silly?" She sounded amused.

"Well... ummm... I called the other night, and then again last
night..."

"Oh, that," she dismissed. "My father just told me tonight that you
had called. He wouldn't let me call you back. He says it's not
ladylike to be calling boys."

"That's okay," I said, relieved. "I just wasn't sure if I was making
a pest out of myself or not, that's all."

She giggled, a tinkling sound that sent shivers up and down my
spine. "You can be a pest, if you'd like," she said softly. "I won't
mind."

"Um, would you like to do something this weekend with me?"

"Of course. What did you want to do?"

"Well, Eric and Keisha were thinking about going out to the bowling
alley on Saturday night. It's something about using glow-in-the-dark
pins, or something. Would you like to try it?"

"Okay. What time?"

"I'll call Eric and find out and call you back," I suggested.

"No, don't call back tonight. Just tell me tomorrow at school, or
call me tomorrow night. I'll ask my parents if it's okay, but I'm
sure they will say it's fine, as long as I don't stay out past
eleven."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow then. Bye."

"Bye, Sean. Thank you for calling." The telephone clicked in my ear
as the connection was broken.

Eric, who had just gotten his driver's license, picked me up
Saturday night for our dates. It was so wonderful having a little
more freedom, instead of relying on older brothers or parents for
rides. My birthday was coming up soon and I could hardly wait to take
my driver's test and get my license.

We picked up Keisha and then drove over to Kristina's house. I
thought I must have passed some sort of test with her parents,
because she came bounding out the front door and down the sidewalk,
waving back toward the house as she headed for our car. I didn't have
to go through a grilling from her father this time. Maybe he figured
he had scared me sufficiently that first time, which was true, or
maybe he had come to trust me a little bit. I hoped to be
trustworthy, not only in his eyes, but in Kristina's too. She climbed
into the back seat with me and as soon as we were down the street and
out of sight of her house, she scooted over to sit next to me. I took
her hand and held it in mine, glad of even that little touch.

At the bowling alley, most of the lights were out. There was a disco
ball rotating above the alleys, with a spotlight shining on it
scattering shattered rays of light all over the interior. Some of the
bowling pins had been painted with fluorescent colors, and there were
blacklights shining down from the pinsetters, making the pins glow at
the far end of the dark alleys, giving the place a surreal feel.
There was loud music playing, the pulse of the bass was thumping and
reverberating through the floor and into our bodies.

Kristina was a terrible bowler. She had only gone bowling once
before in her life and the challenge of trying to knock the pins down
in the dark was beyond her. Nearly every time she whipped the ball
down the alley, it ended up in the gutter, usually within about ten
feet of the foul line. She didn't care though, and neither did the
rest of us. We were laughing and joking about how awful we all were
at this game. On the rare occasions when Kristina actually managed to
knock a few pins over, she would jump up and squeal excitedly, hands
in the air in triumph, and then she would run over to me and jump
into my arms joyfully. I loved it every time she did that, being able
to hold her tightly with a crowd all around us. It really felt
special to me.

On the ride home after we finished bowling, we snuggled up in the
cold back seat, her arms threaded through mine as we waited for the
heater to kick in. Keisha and Eric were pointedly ignoring us, so I
took the opportunity to lift up her chin and lean toward her. Her
eyes were wide and solemn, an infinitely deep pool of brown and
black, with her lips slightly parted in anticipation of this moment.

I kissed her. Softly, oh so softly and gently, I paid homage to her
soft and sensitive lips. Her eyes closed and she pressed toward me
for more. I turned in my seat and slipped my arm around her waist as
we continued kissing. I was getting very warm but it had little to do
with the car heater. I was hoping she was feeling the same.

She was wearing a long coat that buttoned down the front with four
large buttons. I stopped kissing her and gazed into her eyes as my
hand found the coat button near her waist and fumbled to open it up.
I wanted to be closer to her, but I didn't want her to be cold. I
just wanted to slide my arm inside her coat to hold her closely. I
finally was able to push the button through the buttonhole, and as I
slipped my arm inside her coat, my fingers accidentally brushed
against the bump of her breast, barely hard enough to feel. But I saw
her eyes widen and she jerked a little. By then of course, my hand
was on her waist and she understood that it was an accident. 
However, I was afraid the damage might be done. She relaxed though,
and moved to kiss me again, a soft and tender touching that washed
away all worry.

We stayed just that way until we pulled into her driveway. We walked
to her front door but this time the light didn't come on. I pulled
her to me.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly.

I thought she might have blushed just a little. "Of course I am. Why
wouldn't I be?"

"Um... well, it's nothing," I stammered.

"Look, Sean, I... There was a boy I liked, when we lived in Texas."
She paused. "I was only thirteen, almost fourteen. We... he and I...
he is the only other boy I've ever kissed, Sean, besides you."

"It's okay, Kristina..."

"No, I just want you to know... that I have no... experience... in
this."

Tears were just starting to well in those deep, dark eyes.

"So," she continued hesitantly, "I'm a little frightened sometimes,
Sean. If you don't want to see me anymore, I understand... but..."

I was devastated by her words. "Don't you want to go out with me,
Kristina? I thought you liked me."

She hugged herself to me. I instinctively held her tight, trying to
understand what she was saying.

"I do like you, Sean, and I do want to go out with you. It's just...
I mean... I can't... you know... I can't be like some of the other
girls, and... if you don't want to be with such an...
inexperienced... person..."

"Hold on a minute," I said. I pushed her away from me a little, so I
could look in her eyes. "You think I won't like you, just because
you're not like Molly or someone?" She didn't move, but her eyes told
me the truth. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard
you say, Kristina. I like you because you are you, not because of
anything you might or might not have done in the past, or for any...
um... favors you might give in the future."

"Really?" The tears started spilling, but I thought it might be from
relief instead of sadness.

"Really. Don't get me wrong here, Kristina. I would love to share
something beyond a few kisses with you. Hell, I'll come right out and
tell you that I lust after you." She finally smiled, a very good
sign. "I would jump your bones in a heartbeat, if I thought you would
be willing. But I know you're not, and it's all okay. I like you for
who you are, and your innocence is all a part of you. If you want to
wait, I'll wait. Maybe some days I'll be a little impatient, but just
tell me to back off and lighten up, Kristina, and I promise I will.
And that's no lie."

She sobbed and crushed herself to me, holding me as tightly as she
possibly could.

"Hey," I said. She looked up at me, her head still against my chest.
"Would you go out with me again?" I asked.

Eyes shining, she lifted up and kissed me, pressing hard against my
lips with hers.

"Yes, of course," she said happily. She gave me one last quick kiss
before turning to the door. "Thank you, Sean. Thank you for
understanding. Call me?"

"Maybe even tonight, when I get home," I threatened, even though we
both knew I wouldn't. Her parents would never let her talk on the
telephone this late.

My feet never touched the sidewalk at all as I strolled back to
Eric's car.

Over the course of the next week, I called her so we could chat in
the evening a couple of times, and she even managed to call me once,
a very short, whispered conversation. I was impressed, since she
apparently managed to sneak that call in to me, a huge accomplishment
considering there were seven other family members in her house at the
time.

In the back seat of Eric's car the next weekend, we were snuggling
and sharing small kisses again. This time, when I brushed against her
as I put my arm around her waist, she didn't flinch or look upset at
all. In fact, she kissed me hard, and opened her mouth just a little,
allowing her tongue to slip out and brush lightly against my lips.
Encouraged, I let the tip of my tongue touch hers, and the contact
was electric. Her mouth opened a little more, her tongue got a little
more daring, and she was making small noises deep within her as she
felt her passions begin to escalate. As we kissed, her body turned
slightly away from me. My hand at her waist was moved from her side
to her tummy, over her sweater.

I was so involved in enjoying the development of our new way of
kissing, that the change in her body language didn't register with me
at first. Finally, one of those odd contact switches in my brain
clicked and it occurred to me that this was her silent signal to me
that it was probably okay to take our physical relationship up
another step. I slowly, cautiously, allowed my hand to move up the
outside of her sweater, ready to call an instant retreat at the first
sign of discomfort. I felt the nubby cotton of the knit of her
sweater, and then I could feel the harder edge of the bottom of her
bra beneath. Still no sign of hesitation came from her; in fact, her
kissing got hotter and wetter as my hand moved further up, finally
cupping her small breast through the layers of clothing. I caressed
and lightly squeezed her, and then slid over to pay attention to her
other breast, treating it the same. I could just feel her expanding
nipple under my palm as I pressed my hand against her, squeezing and
rubbing and stimulating.

Unfortunately, it was a short ride to her house, and we arrived way
too soon for my liking. But arrive we did, so we scooted out of the
back seat and I walked her, as usual, to her door.

This time, her goodnight kiss held quite a bit of heat, no doubt
left over from our activities of a few moments before.

"You are a surprising young lady," I said as I held her there.

Again, I thought I could detect a blush. "I don't want you to think
I'm cold," she whispered.

"Hey, I've seen you dance. You are anything but cold, sweetie." I
kissed her again.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," she said. "My momma taught me a
dance..." She stopped talking abruptly, and this time I knew she was
blushing fiercely. It made my blood race a little faster through me,
let me tell you.

"Will you dance it for me?" I asked teasingly.

"Oh, maybe some day," she replied coquettishly. "If you're a very
good boy." She pecked me on the lips and turned to the door. "Good
night, mas querido. Sleep well."

'Sleep well,' she said. It would be a very long time before I could
get the image of Kristina Mendoza, her cinnamon skin naked and
glowing as she danced alone just for me, out of my mind enough to be
able to fall asleep. By that time, my hand was sore, but satisfaction
was still a long, long way away.





(Continued in Chapter 30)


  
PTG29