Girl's Soccer Coach  
approx 30,000 words 
Codes: Mf, first, cons, rom, slow

This story is about the relationships of some female youth soccer players and their coach, a young man who goes into girls' soccer coaching involuntarily. Some of the relationships began as pure sexual attractions, but there is also a romance driven one. The situation gets more and more complex as the characters and the relationships develop.

Bingain
http://storiesonline.net
http://www.asstr.org/~bingain

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Girls' Soccer Coach
An Olexander Skripnik Adventure Story
Copyright © 2005, Bingain (Mf, 1st, cons, romance, slow)

Disclaimer: This story is a fiction. It does not relate to any real 
incidences or real persons. This work contains explicit descriptions 
of sexual activity.  Anyone who may be offended by such contents, or 
persons forbidden by law or any regulations, should not read, hear, 
touch, smell, or download this story. Re-distribution, posting, and 
anything other than personal enjoyment are subject to explicit 
authorization of the author.

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Preface

This story is about the relationships (note the plural) of some female 
youth soccer players and their coach, a young man who goes into girls' 
soccer coaching involuntarily. Some of the relationships began as pure 
sexual attractions, but there is also a romance driven one. The 
situation gets more and more complex as the characters and the 
relationships develop. 

Readers should bear in mind that no matter how innocent this young man 
is, he is legally a criminal for having sex with young girls. 
Actually, undisclosed sources claim that there will be a possible new 
congressional bill requiring all male soccer coaches dealing with 
female youth players be castrated before taking on the job;-) Anyway, 
I hope what this young man does will mitigate his guilt somehow.

Unlike my previous story 'Impossible Dreams', this is a story using 
some sports merely as background. It is not about sports, and 
therefore it doesn't matter if you know any sports at all. 

Many thanks to jhasty658 for his effort in editing this story for me.

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Chapter 1

Chelsea made a pass to Diana. The ball bounced off Diana's feet. She 
sprinted forward to regain control of the ball, and was immediately 
surrounded by two opponents. Diana tried to get through the defenders 
but the bigger girls eventually fended her off.

It was a match between two varsity high school girls' soccer teams. I 
was an assistant coach of the home team, Peterson High School, in 
which Diana and Chelsea were playing for. It was a close match between 
these two teams of enthusiastic teen girls. Our teams had better 
chances but the opponent team did a good job in the defense after they 
made a leading goal. Nevertheless, our girls kept on trying and 
pushing. 

Diana had the ball again. She pushed it to her left and spun around a 
defender, then sent a pass into the defending team's penalty box. 
Barbara just arrived in time to slide tackle the ball, pitching it 
towards the far end of the goal. I watched anxiously as the ball 
approached the goal. It missed by a few inches and went out into the 
baseline. I heard grunts from my own throat and the people around me.

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The picture of me missing my own score, many years ago, in the exact 
same way, came back into my mind. I was playing in a crucial match and 
I missed the best chance of the game, leaving my team defeated by just 
one goal. Despite being consoled by parents, friends, and coaches, I 
was still very upset for many weeks that followed. It was a very 
important game. It was my last chance to attempt playing in the 
territorial youth championship game. In hindsight, it was also my last 
competition soccer game.

Shortly after that devastating game, my family moved to the United 
States. I spent my thirteenth birthday in a congested apartment in 
Paterson, New Jersey, that accommodated three families. We moved out 
of that overcrowded flat and into our own apartment a few weeks later 
when my dad found a job working for a moving company. It was a 
downgrade of job for my dad, as he was a senior supervisor at a 
chemical factory back in Siberia, Russia. Mom used to be a high school 
teacher in her home country, but she had to settle for a clerical job 
with below-minimum pay. None of us could speak decent English. It took 
us a long while to settle down in the new environment. 

The hardship also began to cripple the relationship between my 
parents. My mom began complaining how life in the new country was much 
tougher than in their homeland, how my dad had made a terrible 
decision to come over here, and how he had not listen to her opinion 
before making the decision. They began quarrelling day and night. They 
did not get separated or divorced, but became hostile housemates 
instead of loving spouses.

What hurt most was that back then nobody played soccer here. The 
opulent professional soccer league had collapsed. It would take more 
than a decade to rebuild a more practical league. The only major ball 
sports that the Americans were involved in were American football, 
baseball, basketball, and ice hockey. Most of my schoolmates had no 
idea what soccer was. I was very lonesome as I never was able to get 
along well with my older brother Miloslav. 

Eventually the staff in my school persuaded me to play on the football 
team, as I was a very fast runner with excellent sprint speed and 
quick reactions. It turned out this decision was a turning point of my 
life. I was not lonely anymore. I began to have peers and girlfriends. 
My English began to improve much better than when I was staying home 
watching soccer games on Spanish channels. What was more important was 
that later on I was offered a sports scholarship to attend college.

Miloslav never got to go to college. He became a construction worker 
after his high school. But he was a smart guy. He worked as a 
freelance handyman in the evenings, often using materials from his 
daytime job. Then he began hiring his newly immigrated countrymen at 
pitiful pay to help him expand his night-time business. Before I 
finished my high school, he was already operating his own construction 
and remodeling business. We moved to Englewood Cliffs before I packed 
for college.

I went to New Jersey's state university, Rutgers, and began my quasi 
professional years with the college's football team, Scarlet Knights. 
It did not turn out very well. I was injured in a game during my 
sophomore year and suffered severe Colles' wrist fracture. I had to 
have surgery requiring a plate and screws which sidelined me for the 
entire season. 

While I was recovering, I learned that my dad was killed in a car 
accident. I went home for his funeral. It looked like mom had grown a 
decade older since I saw her a few months ago. I didn't know the loss 
of a hostile housemate could also hurt that much. The only good news 
was that my sister-in-law was pregnant, and in a few months' time my 
mom would have a grand-child to keep her company.

I was injured again in the first game I played after my 
rehabilitation, lateral collateral ligament this time. It wasn't as 
serious as my previous injury, but I knew my NCAA career, as well as 
the hope of any professional sports career, was over.

I was still in school, and I had no other choice than to finish my 
degree, so I began hitting the books. It wasn't easy, as being an 
athlete student, I actually spent very little time on books. I was 
enrolled in Exercise Science major when I started my college and I had 
a hard time deciding if I should switch major. Finally I decided to 
finish the curriculum. It was the easiest route because I didn't have 
to practically start all over. I worked part-time in the football 
team's support training program while I continued with my study.

After graduation, my former coach put me in an assistant football 
athletic trainer job at Rutgers. I stayed there for two years until my 
mentor was replaced, and the new coach wanted his own guys for the 
coaching staff positions. I began looking for new employment.

I took up an athletic trainer job at the Morris County Community 
College. Nothing offered by the new job was comparable to the one at 
Rutgers, but it was still much better than waiting to be fired. Before 
I went to Randolph to look for accommodation, I had a phone chat with 
my former quarterback teammate, Simon O'Carroll. I told him the new 
development at his alma mater, and he told me his agonizing struggle 
dealing with being released from the NFL. When he knew I was going to 
work at Randolph, he suggested me to call his grandmamma, who lived in 
Lake Hopatcong, 20 minutes away from the community college, and was a 
realtor before she retired.

I thought I was calling a former realtor for information. I didn't 
know I was calling a matron looking for a cohabitant to help taking 
care of her husband, who was recovering from prostate cancer, as well 
as heavy duty housework like shoveling snow on her driveway. 
Nevertheless, I agreed to her offer of free room and board for the 
occasional services I would render. I wasn't in a very good financial 
situation and would appreciate any cost saving arrangement. I knew I 
had made the right decision when I had dinner with them for the first 
time. Mrs. O'Carroll was a terrific cook. After six years living on my 
own surviving on junk food, I really appreciated those marvelous 
meals.

It was there where I first met Chelsea Boswell. 

Chelsea's family lived next door to the O'Carroll's. Chelsea was 
having her fourteenth birthday party in her backyard when Mrs. 
O'Carroll introduced me to her parents. Chelsea was a rather skinny 
girl with shoulder length brown curly hair and brown eyes glistened 
with cunning sparks. I didn't pay attention to Chelsea at our first 
acquaintance. It was also a long time afterward that I knew her best 
friend Barbara Enzi was there as well. The person I was paying 
attention to at that occasion was Chelsea's older cousin Sheila, who 
was on summer vacation from her study at Rutgers.

Being a Scarlet Knights' starting wide receiver, I never lacked the 
opportunity with pretty and sexy girls while in college, even after I 
had to quit from playing. However, Sheila was still very appealing to 
me. She wasn't exactly beautiful, but you can use the word 'sexy' to 
describe every part of her face and body. I began dating Sheila that 
evening. Actually we had sex in my jeep during our first date. 

I began to appreciate the boarding offer of Mrs. O'Carroll even more, 
but I also hated the lack of privacy and lack of opportunity my 
residence provided for this function. Sheila lived with her parents 
while in town, so we couldn't use her place. I had to pay for motel 
room or use my jeep in roadside parking for our near-daily sexual 
activities. I called up my mom and told her I wouldn't be going home 
for the summer.

My relationship with Sheila didn't last long, which was no surprise to 
me. When Sheila went back to school, she began dating, or resumed 
dating, her schoolmates. It was nevertheless a very enjoyable and 
pleasing relationship, with only good memories and no sad feelings.

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The ball hitting me in the chest brought me back from my daydreaming 
to the reality. I picked up the ball and gave it to an opponent player 
when she asked me for it. The game went on. My girls were so desperate 
to level the game they missed many chances. When the referee whistled 
the end of game, I saw a bunch of devastated girls tottering slowly 
towards us. Some of them had tears in their eyes.

We distributed bottles of water to the girls. The coaching staff was 
also comforting the girls. Finally, parents and students, as well as 
the players started to leave the field.

Chelsea and Barbara were whining and blaming each other for not being 
able to tie the game while I gathered the discarded drink bottles and 
tossed them into the garbage bin. The duo was riding with me. Normally 
it was only Chelsea riding with me. Barbara used to drive her own car 
after she got her driver's license and her own car. She crashed her 
car last week, so she was riding with us.

I took Barbara home, and then Chelsea. She told me to take my jeep 
into a quiet cul-de-sac and gave me a 'friendly' kiss before I took 
her home. I then went back to my place to enjoy the dinner I picked up 
on the way. After dinner, I turned on the TV to watch a NCAA football 
game. I normally wouldn't go to the weekday games, but I had the 
afternoon off that day and had nowhere to go. I had broken off with my 
girlfriend, and my best friend Nakhval who was supposed to go out with 
me was out of town to attend some family business.

A commercial on the TV during a break reminded me of some moments I 
had when I was living with Mrs. O'Carroll. My mind went back into the 
past again.

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When I learned that Mrs. O'Carroll's eldest granddaughter, Tammy, was 
going to move in for a not-yet-determined period of time after her 
divorce, I suggested to my landlady that I would go look for my own 
place. Mrs. O'Carroll declined, and told me she believed I would be 
more needed and appreciated by the new family members moving in. 

Tammy & I never really hit it off, but I was God's gift to her seven 
year old daughter Julie when she found out I was a soccer player some 
twelve years ago. Julie had started playing soccer not too long ago. I 
was playing with her in the backyard even before our first dinner 
together was finished. The first thing she did when she went to school 
was to enroll in U8 soccer team and made me take her to the practices 
and games whenever possible. It became obvious why I was appreciated; 
Tammy and I often went out of the door together, I took her daughter 
to the games, and she went for her dates.

Often parents had to get involved in coaching the chaotic gaggle of 
little boys and girls. I wasn't Julie's parent, but she considered me 
her personal trainer, and I was her guardian at the practices and 
games. So naturally I became a part of the volunteer helping hands. I 
could play soccer pretty well myself, but I had no clue how to teach 
them. The guys I trained at college knew what they were doing, these 
kids didn't. The coach of the team suggested me to read some books and 
attend some courses designed for parents. I read the books, but I 
never went to those courses. Since I was a professional athletic 
trainer, he also suggested me to join the youth soccer coach 
association for more resources. An additional license never hurt, so I 
did it.

Chelsea found out I was playing with Julie in the backyard one day, 
and she insisted she be invited. It was then I realized she was also 
playing soccer. She was a JV player at school and was about to move on 
to varsity level. Very soon she was fighting with Julie for my time. 
She managed to grab a bigger piece of me by offering the little girl 
some of her own time when I was not around. Chelsea also insisted she 
had the same treatment as Julie, that I would take her to her games 
and practices. I couldn't afford the time, and actually I didn't want 
to. I needed a life beside my job and the kids, and for God's sake 
they were not my kids. But after Chelsea made everyone from the two 
neighboring households to petition to me for a fair treatment, I gave 
in and agreed to do it sparingly, if I had the time. 

Not long later, I also became a part of the volunteer helping hands 
for a group of older girls. Of course I was the most qualified one 
among them. I was a professional trainer myself, I knew the game very 
well, I was the most skillful one on the field, players, parents, and 
coaches included, and I was the only 'parent' who had a soccer coach 
license.

Since I was such a rare commodity, the head coach of Chelsea's team 
began asking me to take a bigger role in helping these eager girls. I 
would have if he had asked me to play, but I believed I had enough in 
training others. I took a rain check on his invitation every time he 
asked. It soon became a continuing nuisance when the girls knew of 
their coach's intention and started an endless effort to talk me into 
it. I began telling them I had a girlfriend, then a few girlfriends, 
then a harem full of concubines, and so I had no time for them.

The bad news came one day when Tammy announced that she and Julie were 
moving in with her new boyfriend in Newark. Before Tammy's boyfriend 
had pulled the rental truck off our driveway, I already had a few of 
Chelsea's friends gathering at our front yard ready to start a new 
round of lobbying. I didn't give in to their claptrap. I gave in that 
evening when Chelsea's mom knocked on our door, with an awfully 
looking cake in her hands, and giggling at me, telling me the young 
girls had baked me a cake, and also telling me that she and her 
husband would be very grateful if I could give a little more help to 
the girl next door, and her friends as well.
 
Mrs. O'Carroll's dog ate the cake that night, while I ran through 
their schedules to see how often I could go to their practices. I 
called their head coach the next day telling him my available 
schedules.

Even though I was listed as an assistant coach on their publication, 
our understanding was that I was a trainer. I helped to train the 
girls in the physical and skill areas. The game play aspects belonged 
to Glenn and the occasional assistants the school assigned to the 
team. Of course there were always enthusiastic or unwilling parents to 
help in all areas. Friday was a no-no for me to go to the field. I 
always had a girlfriend waiting for me on Friday nights, whether it 
was a real one or an imaginary one.

I admit it was somehow enjoyable to watch the girls in competition 
games, even though the excitement was far less than watching 
professional games, especially the European games. I never went to 
weekday games, because it would be very late in the game when I could 
get there. In fact, in the beginning, I didn't even go to their 
weekend games. I had been successful in using excuses to turn down 
invitations from my girls to go watch their weekend games, until 
Chelsea figured out a way to break my defense.

Chelsea managed to convince my guardians why it was so important for 
her to come into my room and pull me out of my bed to take her to her 
games. Very soon Mrs. O'Carroll and her husband would simply left the 
door open for Chelsea and they went about their own business. I knew 
the days I could always sleep with just my underwear on were over. I 
bought myself pajamas for the weekends.

The player I talked to the most was of course Chelsea. She was a very 
pleasant, outgoing, outspoken, witty, and artful girl. She was also, 
undoubtedly, a very dangerous person to deal with. She had the gifted 
ability to make you say yes a million times for no good reason and the 
outcome was going to be death penalty.

Chelsea's mom was a customer services supervisor for the local utility 
company, and her dad worked for an appliance outlet. I didn't see her 
dad much, and I didn't hear Chelsea talked much about her dad. Mrs. 
O'Carroll, however, had told me Chelsea's parents had been on the 
brink of separation a couple times in the past. I also didn't see 
Chelsea's older brother Mark very much, but it was very easy to know 
when Mark came home after his night-time activities. He rode a bike 
with extremely loud tailpipes.

Barbara Enzi was Chelsea's best friend and classmate at school. She 
played center position in the team. She had a strange physical 
development process. I believe she remained the same height throughout 
the years I had known her. However, every time she would give me a 
slightly different figure about her height, ranging from the more 
convincing 5'9 to my height of 6'1. Barbara had also maintained her 
finely chiseled features and long light brown hair going to the middle 
of her back since I first noticed her existence. 

Barbara's dad was a successful realtor and they lived by the lake. I 
also knew her older sister was going to Princeton the following year. 
It was one of the first things her mom told me the first time we were 
introduced at the field. Barbara's problem about playing the center 
position was that she was a little bony. One of her typical behaviors 
after a game was to show me the bruises on her thighs and legs, 
complaining how the defenders had treated her. 

I didn't notice we had a girl called Diana Fiore until after a while. 
The first time I paid attention to her was when I found out she could 
use both feet to pass the ball or strike. This was unusual among 
players of her age. As a matter of fact, most professional players can 
not do it well. Diana and Chelsea both played midfield positions in 
the team, but she was a year behind Chelsea at school. She was an 
Italian with an average build and had very long and thick eyelashes as 
well as dimples on both cheeks. 

Diana is the kind of girl you can not resist the craving to hold her 
in your arms when she gives you a sweet smile. I knew it because I had 
seen her smile that way once, just once. According to Chelsea, a 
second sweet smile from Diana would only occur when someone gave her 
dad an unclaimed jack pot lottery ticket. Diana was also a rather 
reticent person. Again, according to Chelsea, if Diana would talk to a 
guy for more than five minutes, that would be an undeniable proof that 
she was deeply in love with the guy. 

Diana lived with her divorced dad. I learned from Diana that her dad 
was a die-hard Italian soccer fan and a carpenter working for the 
township Public Works. I had never seen her dad, although I had seen 
his pickup truck once when he came to pick up Diana on his way home. 
His pickup truck was the dirtiest vehicle I had ever seen. Diana 
usually rode the school bus or with another teammate, Ely, who lived a 
few blocks from her.

Glenn Harrison, the head coach of the girl's soccer team, was a PE 
teacher at school. One of his consistent remarks to me was to tone 
down my enthusiasm a little. He told me that Peterson High School 
wasn't a big high school, and had never had talented soccer players, 
either boys or girls. We had never been able to reach the second round 
in area tournaments, not to mention a state championship race. He told 
me unless a miracle happened, we were not going to see a player to get 
a college sports scholarship. The girls we were to coach were going to 
enjoy the game and the activities, not take it as a professional 
career.

Actually that had been the change in style of training I had been 
trying to adapt to for a while. Back at Rutgers, I dealt with 
motivated NCAA players aiming for a pro career. At Morris Community 
College, I dealt with rather matured players looking to get into 
senior years of colleges or just for fun. Here on the soccer field, I 
was dealing with riotous girls who could be serious about the game one 
minute and typical goofy teenagers the next minute. But as time 
passed, it became also satisfying to see the young girls grow up.

The soccer games didn't last all year long, which was a great relief 
for me. They typically started when the school semester started, and 
ended towards mid November when weather started becoming bad and snow 
would pose problem for soccer fields without cover and prowling 
equipment. Games at a more competitive level would resume in April, 
but normally not for the Peterson girls. They might get together in 
summer just for fun and practice.

As the girls began growing up, I started patting them on their heads 
instead of any other parts of their bodies, or hugging them all the 
time. I also began to ignore Barbara's complaints about her bruises on 
her thighs and legs. She was beginning to have a pair of legs that 
could drive a guy nuts just by thinking about them. Besides, I also 
realized Chelsea was no longer that skinny girl she once was. She had 
become an attractive girl with well proportioned figure.

The girls also started shifting attentions to other areas. Most of 
them, including Barbara and Chelsea, were dating. When asked if Diana 
was dating as well, Chelsea said nobody knew, and there were some 
rumors about Diana being gay spreading around.

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My reminiscence was interrupted by a phone ring. I picked up the 
phone. It was Chelsea.

"What are you doing?" she said.

"Watching football. You?"

"Calling you," she said, giggling. "Hey, Operation True Blue 
suspended. Operation Rosebud filling in. And, wait..."

"What?"

"Hey," she said, lowering her voice. "Mom's back. See you Sunday." She 
hung up.

I had no clue what she was talking about. I stared at the TV for a 
while before I realized what True-Blue was. The soccer club Chelsea in 
England was sometimes nicknamed the True Blue. So it must mean Chelsea 
was going to skip something. I couldn't figure out what Operation 
Rosebud was. She couldn't have meant my ex-girlfriend Rosemary, who 
broke off with me a few months ago and went back to her former 
boyfriend in New York.

I went to the fridge for a beer, and realized the painting Mrs. 
O'Carroll gave me was still on the floor. I went over to the coffee 
table and picked up some picture hanging nails I bought a few days 
ago. I snapped a nail into the drywall and hung up the picture.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went back to the couch to 
continue watching TV. The football match was over, so I flipped 
channels. I stopped when I saw a movie shown on the screen, Bruce 
Willis was groaning and struggling in the bed to answer a phone call.

I tried very hard to forget it. Well, once tried hard, but not 
anymore. What happened on a sunny and humid Sunday three months ago 
seemed like it happened a few hours ago.

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I had gotten so used to Chelsea pulling my arm and dragging me out of 
my bed in weekend mornings that I normally wouldn't be resistant at 
all. But this time it was different. I had a long night out with a few 
Rutgers alumni the previous night at New York City. Two of them had 
business expeditions at the Big Apple, and since it was such a rare 
occasion, we gathered everyone who lived nearby for a fun night out. 
It was already dawn when I came home.

Even though my mind was completely blank, I still knew we didn't have 
a game that day. I grunted as I tried to shove her off. I must have 
shoved her in the chest as it kind of felt good, and Chelsea loosened 
her grip. I might have been awakened by the touch if I had half dozen 
less Tom Collins the previous night. I pulled my arm back and slipped 
it underneath the pillow as my face flopped down onto the pillow 
again. I was free from further harassment for like two seconds.

Chelsea began shaking my shoulder. I turned my face and opened an eye 
to look at her. Her face was a little flushed, but her intention was 
apparently to get me out of bed. She started pulling my elbow. When it 
didn't work she flipped the blanket off me and tried to roll me over. 
I let out a long sigh and turned my face up. I knew I wasn't going to 
be allowed to go back to sleep until I found out what she wanted. 

Chelsea was giggling while I was still trying to clear my throat.

"What?" I struggled to say, still with only one eye opened.

Chelsea's face was a little pink. "Are you always like this?" she 
said, with a sly smile on her face.

"What?"

Chelsea giggled again. She perched on the edge of my bed, with a knee 
on the bedside. "This," she said, as I felt a soft pat on my hard-on.

Not even a thunderous alarm clock could wake me up better. I nearly 
jumped off my bed. I didn't normally have a morning hard-on after my 
puberty years. I didn't know if it was because of the excessive 
alcohol I had a few hours ago or the lack of rest I had. I also 
realized that I wasn't in my pajamas but was in my underwear. 

Chelsea giggled again, and her smile became more wicked. Before I 
could do anything, I felt soft fingers on my thigh, very close to my 
groin. I jolted again. Well, I didn't really jolt, but my hard-on did. 
I also must be out of my mind, because the next rational move should 
be to pull her over, but I started searching for my blanket.

My search for blanket was halted when Chelsea's fingers had moved to 
the bulge on my brief. I actually jolted this time, and I 
instinctively turned to look at her.

Chelsea had a very strange expression on her face, which I had not 
seen before. She was half giggling, half flushing, half smiling 
teasingly, and half winking artfully. She also was still running her 
fingers over the tent on my brief.

"Do you want me to give you a hand?" Chelsea asked teasingly, while 
still smiling.

I was once again out of my mind. "No," I said. My voice was a little 
dry. 

Chelsea put a finger over her lips. "Ssh," she said, lowering her 
voice. "They're still downstairs."

Now that she reminded me, it was an even bigger reason for me to get 
out of this situation. 

"What're you doing here?" I said, also lowered my voice. I paused, and 
wanted to tell her to get her fingers off my bulge. I paused again 
because it really felt good. Then I remembered this was the little 
girl next door and not my girlfriend, she was a soccer player I 
coached, and she was an untouchable minor. "Take..." I struggled to 
say.

"Huh?" Chelsea said, interjecting me. Her smile grew bigger. "You're 
bad, Alex." She giggled then went on. "Okay, just this time." She slid 
her hand from outside my brief to inside, and began running her 
fingers along my cock.

I didn't know what Chelsea thought I was going to say. I didn't know 
if she really misunderstood me or otherwise. But this time the smarter 
side of me took over. It felt so good I would be really stupid to ask 
her to stop. I began procrastinating my protest as she stroked my cock 
inside my brief. The word "Stop" remained stuck to my teeth and never 
got out of my mouth.

Even though I knew Chelsea was no longer a little girl, and I also 
knew she had been dating on and off for a while, what she was doing 
still stunned me, above all, doing it to me. I had not done this for 
quite a while since I broke off with Rosemary, actually a long time 
before that. Ever since high school, usually when my cock was freed 
from it's confinement, it would either go inside the body of a girl or 
her mouth. This was a very refreshing experience. I began to forget 
who was giving me the joyful helping hand, and focused my vision on 
the hand slithering in and out of my waistband.

I heard my breath getting a little heavier, then I heard it from 
beside me. I turned to look at Chelsea, and yes, it was she who was 
also breathing rather rapidly. She glanced and noticed me looking at 
her, and she smiled. Then she slowly lowered her face to me, with her 
hair flowing down beside my face. I felt her lips on mine. She began 
gliding her soft lips against mine. She also began stroking my cock 
faster and faster.

I didn't know how long it took. I squirted inside my brief, and 
apparently all over her hand. Chelsea jolted a bit when she felt me 
shooting. She lifted her face as she began pulling her hand out of my 
brief. She gave me another naughty smile before she looked around for 
tissue. She pulled some sheets out of the box on my night table, wiped 
her hand, and then bunched them up and stuffed the dollop into my 
brief.

Chelsea turned to me again, still smiling with her tongue between her 
teeth. I didn't know what to say. 

"Feeling better?" she asked softly, winking.

Of course I was feeling better, a lot better. But I was trying to say 
something more appropriate. Something that could reduce my guilt a 
little.

"Like it?" Chelsea asked again.

I nodded.

Chelsea smiled again, with some sparks in her eyes.

"What're you doing here?" I heard myself asking.

"Oh," Chelsea said, giggling. "I nearly forgot."

I also chuckled.

"Well," Chelsea said, again lowering her voice. "Go clean up yourself 
first. I'll be in the backyard." She lowered her face down to give me 
a peck on my lips before she went out my room.

It took me quite a long time to clean myself up in the bathroom, 
because I spent most of the time sitting on the toilet seat thinking 
what had happened. It wasn't alright, and I didn't know why Chelsea 
did it. I checked the time when I was back in my bedroom. It was 
almost eleven o'clock.

The O'Carroll's were already on their way to the church by the time I 
went downstairs. I went into my backyard and saw Chelsea sitting on 
the edge of her porch and smiling at me. I went over to her.

"What took you so long? She said.

"Well," I said. "Not um, not really long."

"Not long?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

I laughed. "Okay," I said. "So, what's the matter?"

"I think I will keep my cleats," she said.

"Okay," I said. "So what do you want?" She had made me agree to buy 
her a pair of new cleats for her seventeenth birthday, which was a few 
days away.

"Do I get to have the same value?" she said.

"Sure."

"Okay," Chelsea said, smiling. "Do you want to change?"

"Why?" I said. I was wearing an old tee-shirt and workout shorts. 
Chelsea was wearing a camisole and jeans.

"Well," Chelsea said. "I don't know. Do you go to the mall in workout 
shorts?"

"You want me to go buy it with you?"

"Of course," she said, giggling. "Otherwise who's going to feed me? 
Mom's working today."

I laughed. "Okay," I said. "I'll go change." I rose and started going 
back to my house. Chelsea's dad always worked on Sunday as he was in 
retail business. Her older brother Mark was studying college in Long 
Island, and had to retake a course in summer which he flunked in 
Spring.

"Don't take too long," Chelsea said from behind me.

I didn't see Chelsea in the backyard when I went there a little later, 
but I heard a banging sound in the front. Chelsea was kicking the 
fender of my jeep to let me know where she was. I went around to the 
front.

"When is the closing?" Chelsea said as I walked toward her, pointing 
at a realtor sign standing in my front yard, with a smaller 'Sold' 
sign hanging over it.

"In about six weeks," I said. The O'Carroll's were going to move to 
Northern Florida. They had enough of the cold winter, and had decided 
to move south when the old man had recovered from his various health 
problems. I had been looking for my own place for a short while as 
well.

"Nike Cleats, one hundred and twenty two," Chelsea said, as we went 
out of a shop in the mall. "Layering halter, seventeen bucks. 
Happiness, priceless."

I laughed.

Chelsea turned to look at me, smiling slyly. "Why are you laughing, 
Alex?"

"Because you're funny."

"What is one hundred and twenty two minus twenty seven?"

I drew the rows and numbers in my mind, did the subtraction, then 
said. "Ninety Five."

"Striped frayed denim mini, forty dollars," she said, winking at me. 
"Pull-over sport bra, forty dollars. What else should I buy?"

"Oh," I said, as I realized it was not over yet. "Alright, what else 
do you want?"

"Let's get these first," she said, and started looking around. "Hey, 
what color should I pick?"

I grinned. "I'm not good at picking colors," I said. I halted, then 
continued uneasily. "You shouldn't ask me that."

Her smile started to grow bigger. "I didn't ask you to pick that," she 
said. "You dirty rat. I asked the color of skirt."

I started looking around. "Well," I said, switching away from the 
topic. "Let's go find an ATM. I will give you the money and you go buy 
them. I'll wait at the coffee shop.'

"Nah," Chelsea said. "I like you go shopping with me. Remember? 
Happiness, priceless." She pulled my hand and went to another store 
for her mini skirt.

I balked when she wanted to go inside a lingerie shop. "I thought you 
said sport bra," I said.

"I've changed my mind," Chelsea said, smiling. "Who'd be so stupid to 
wear a sport bra inside a halter?"

"Okay," I said, choking a little. "You go inside. I'll wait at the 
cashier."

Chelsea came out a little later, urging me to go help her pick a 
choice. I refused outright.

"Okay," Chelsea said. "I'll bring them out here for you to pick."

I remembered a few months ago I went to help Rosemary pick lingerie 
and I almost had sex with her in front of all the customers and sales 
women. I decided I would never do it again.

I pulled out my wallet, checked it briefly and knew I had enough cash, 
then gave Chelsea all my cash. "I'll wait for you at the ice cream 
shop. I walked away while Chelsea was laughing from behind.

I was waiting in the line for ice cream when I remembered I had given 
Chelsea all my cash. I looked around and saw an ATM machine not far 
away. I went over and refilled my wallet. I then went back to the ice 
cream parlor. 

Chelsea found me in the ice cream shop about fifteen minutes later. I 
didn't know if she had bought anything. I didn't know how much cash I 
had given her, so when she gave me back seven dollars I simply pocked 
the change. We went to lunch, and then back home.

I stopped my jeep at the curb in front of my house, and bid goodbye to 
Chelsea.

"Where are you going?" Chelsea said.

"Home."

"Oh," she said. "I thought you were going out."

"No," I said. "Why?"

"Because you said goodbye."

"You're not going back to your house?" I said, looking at her.

"Where are they?" Chelsea said, and pointed at my house.

I turned over to look at the driveway. Mrs. O'Carroll usually parked 
her car on the driveway during the day if she was going out later. Her 
car wasn't there.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe already at the gospel show, maybe 
inside."

"Oh," Chelsea said. "Why don't you come over, then?"

"Why?"

"Don't you want to see how your gifts look on me?" she said, smiling.

"Isn't Tom the one supposed to see?"

"Which Tom?"

"How many Tom's do you have?"

"Oh," Chelsea said, rolling her eyes. "You mean Tom Zappa?"

Hell if I knew her boyfriend's last name. "Tom your boyfriend," I 
said.

"Why do you always forget everything I tell you?" she said, with an 
angry look I knew she made it up.

"What did you tell me?" I said, suppressing my laugh.

"I dumped him on the first day of the final exam," she said. "Well, 
maybe he had dumped me, I don't know." She giggled.

I laughed. "Okay," I said. I wasn't sure if she had told me about it, 
but I still added. "Sorry, I forgot."

"Okay," she said. "My house, then." She opened the door and got out of 
my jeep.

"I'll wait on the porch," I said, as I got out of my jeep.

After another round of negotiation, I found myself sitting on the 
couch in her sitting room, drinking a can of orange flavor soft drink, 
which I disliked, while she changed in her bedroom.

"So," Chelsea said, when she came down the stairs, turning and posing 
in front of me. "How do I look?"

"You're pretty," I said, looking up and down an attractive teen in a 
pale pink halter and a gray striped frayed denim mini skirt.

"That's it?" Chelsea said, stopped her motion, and glared at me.

I almost laughed. "Well," I said. "You're pretty, and attractive."

"Looks like some crappy scripts," she said, pouting at me.

"Well," I said. "Okay. You're pretty. You have killer eyes and smiles. 
You're attractive. Your clothes match you very well. How's that?"

"Hmm," she said. "A little better. Am I sexy?" she struck a pose, 
extending a leg in front of her, and an arm behind her back.

I again held my laugh. "Well," I said. "Yeah, you are sexy, too. You 
have a well proportion figure, even though a little slim. You also 
have slender legs, you know."

"How come your voice doesn't sound dry?" she said, winking at me.

I laughed. "Should I?"

"Well," she said, smiling, while she came over to the couch and sat 
beside me. "That's how it sounded this morning. I like that voice."

I had almost forgotten what happened that morning. I didn't feel 
comfortable when she mentioned it. I had hoped she had forgotten it, 
but apparently, and naturally, she had not.

"Well?" she said, a little later, breaking the silence. She took the 
orange flavor soft drink from my hand, finished it in a gulp, and put 
it on the coffee table. She then shifted a little closer to me, and 
turned to look at my face.

"Well," I said. I didn't know what to say.

"That's better," Chelsea said, giggling.

"Huh?" I said, turning over to looking at her.

"That's a little dry," she said, smiling. "But a little more will be 
better."

I grinned. My grin started to freeze as I saw her leaning her face 
over. I knew what she was going to do. I knew I should push her away. 
My brain sent the wrong instruction to my body. I leaned back, until 
my back was at the back of the couch. Chelsea followed. But since she 
was about six inches shorter than me, at lease there was a little 
distance between her face and mine now.

Chelsea raised a knee onto the seat, tilted, and knelt towards me, 
with her knees straddling my leg, while supporting herself with her 
hands on my shoulder. I had wanted to push her off, but I knew my hand 
would definitely land on the wrong part of her body and get me deeper 
into trouble. I felt my mouth getting dry as I looked up at her face. 
Chelsea was smiling at me. She lowered her face and then her lips were 
on mine again. 

I lost my defense. I soon found my hands on her waist, and then I half 
intuitively opened my mouth a little, and felt she did the same. 
Moments later our tongues were dancing together, and then she was 
sucking my tongue.

Chelsea was panting a little when we parted. "Well?" she said softly.

"Well," I said. I could hear my dry voice again.

"Yeah," Chelsea said, smiling. "This is the sexy voice."

I heard dry chuckles from myself.

Chelsea slid her knee, which was in between my legs, a little closer, 
causing some chills from my thigh to my spine. "Do you know what I did 
when I came back from your room?" she crooned, with glistening in her 
eyes.

I heard myself whispering. "What?"

"I did it," she whispered. "But it didn't help." She began stroking my 
shoulder.

It looked like my jeans were too tight for me, as I started feeling 
very uncomfortable in them. There was no ambiguity about what she 
wanted to do with me. The only question was, should we do it? I knew I 
still had a last chance to withdraw when I saw her face drawing close 
to me again. I missed the last chance and found me kissing her 
passionately. Since I had missed the opportunity, I began caressing 
her, on her waist first, then to her thighs, and eventually inside her 
skirt. I knew I wasn't going anywhere when I found out Chelsea wasn't 
wearing panties.

I swear I had no idea how we got to her bed. I only knew it was an 
extremely huge relief when my jeans were stripped off my legs as I was 
already beginning to get blue balls. I started licking Chelsea's 
beasts while unzipping her skirt, and then pressing my cock against 
her smooth thighs when her skirt was being pushed down her legs. We 
rubbed our bodies against each other, with occasional moans coming out 
of Chelsea's mouth. We began adjusting positions. 

My tip was already at her wet opening when I remembered one thing. I 
instinctively reached for her night table, then I realized we weren't 
in my room. I halted, and then I heard Chelsea giggling.

"Don't worry," Chelsea said. "Unless you have STD."

I grinned, and returned my vision to her face. I felt soft touches 
from her fingers along my cock again. I slowly inserted myself into 
her, pausing when my glans were engulfed by her soft tissues. She 
smiled at me as she removed her hand and moved it on to my hip. I sank 
myself into her slowly, until our groins met and my cock was 
completely enveloped in a warm and silky environment. I let out a 
breath as she did the same. I ground my groin against her a little 
before I started withdrawing.

Very soon I was shoving in and out of her as she bumped her hip into 
mine. I went faster and faster as she dug her finger nails deeper and 
deeper into my ass cheeks. 

Chelsea's face tensed up as she started trembling briefly. I slowed 
down as she heaved, and resumed the pace when she smiled at me again. 
I felt her trembling again just as I felt my balls convulsing. I 
didn't slow down this time. I went frantic, pounding myself into her 
as I began shooting inside her. 

"Am I sexy?" Chelsea said, still panting, as we lay in the bed 
recovering.

I laughed weakly. "Do you still have to ask?" I said.

Chelsea laughed too. "You know," she said softly. "I haven't had such 
an intense one in a very long time. Actually, I'm not sure if I ever 
had one quite like that."

I turned to look at her. "You do it a lot?" I said.

"No," she said, giggling. "Well, a little. Far from Sheila and you."

I chuckled. "You know everything?" I said.

"No," she said, smiling at me. "Not the details. Well, I think I do 
now." She giggled again, with a little pink on her face.

I chuckled again. "That's why you did it?" I said. "And how's she 
now?"

"No," Chelsea said, and giggled before going on. "Well, maybe a 
little. You know, I kind of like you."

"I kind of like you too," I said. "But not like this."

"If you were younger, would you have dated me?"

"I don't know," I said. "Would you?"

"Of course," Chelsea said, giggling. "Why do you think we are here?"

I laughed. 

"Anyway," Chelsea said. "Sheila's moved to Boston. She's now engaged."

"I see," I said. "Why are you still on pills?"

"I began having Amenorrhea about three years ago. I'd been taking 
pills since then. You know what it is?"

"Of course," I said, chuckling. "Female Athlete Triad. I'm a sport 
science professional."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I realized I was stroking myself while the TV was showing the Bruce 
Willis movie. I went to the bathroom to finish myself off. Then I went 
back to the couch and continued my recollection. 

I had some mental struggles after I had sex with Chelsea. I knew it 
was wrong. Actually it was illegal, and I felt guilty. I knew I wasn't 
in love with her. In fact, I rarely was in love when I went to bed 
with a girl in the past, including Sheila. It was more of a sexual 
attraction.

I lost all my guilty feeling when Chelsea gave me another hand job the 
next weekend. I had sex with her again that afternoon. We had sex a 
couple times in my room when the O'Carroll's went to Florida for the 
closing of their new house there. We stopped during the last week of 
my landlady's stay in New Jersey, and resumed again after I moved into 
my own apartment, usually during the weekends.

The soccer team came back together towards the end of August for 
practices. The new season started on the first day of school. We lost 
four players who finished high school before the summer, but had a few 
replacements. Chelsea, Barbara, and a couple others were now seniors, 
and the team would be losing them the next year. The girls who would 
replace them weren't as good, so I knew we would have some tougher 
years ahead.

Actually, this season wasn't a good one either. Out of the eleven 
games we had played so far, we lost six of them, tied twice, and had 
only won three times. We had just another twelve games to go, and the 
chance of getting into the second round was slim.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
...to be continued

Written by Bingain
Last Updated: 05/29/2005

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