Message-ID: <41752asstr$1050009004@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <002101c2ff6e$0d368f00$0100a8c0@office> From: "RCM" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2600.0000 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 10 Apr 2003 09:32:39 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} -RP- Playing the Game II, Playing to Win, Ch. 11-15 by Rev. Cotton Mather Date: Thu, 10 Apr 2003 17:10:04 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, gill-bates 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. --------------------------------------------------------------------- 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) <1st attachment begin> <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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