Message-ID: <45936asstr$1071886205@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Originating-Email: [revcottonmather@hotmail.com] From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" X-Original-Message-ID: X-OriginalArrivalTime: 20 Dec 2003 00:39:24.0332 (UTC) FILETIME=[B73D6EC0:01C3C691] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 19 Dec 2003 18:39:23 -0600 Subject: {ASSM} NEW Playing the Game III: The Competitive Edge, Ch. 13 Date: Fri, 19 Dec 2003 21:10:05 -0500 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: hoisingr, hecate And our hero goes to Georgetown for a tournament... Enjoy! RCM Rev. Cotton Mather Senior Pastor, Church of the Erotic Redemption http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ReverendCottonMather/www http://www.storiesonline.net www.ruthiesclub.com Would you like to be notified when I post new chapters or stories? Sign up at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/RCMStories/join **If I had to do it all over, I'd do it all over you** _________________________________________________________________ It's our best dial-up Internet access offer: 6 months @$9.95/month. Get it now! http://join.msn.com/?page=dept/dialup <1st attachment, "CE14.txt" begin> --------------------------------------------------------------------- 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 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather) E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather at hotmail dot com Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you. --------------------------------------------------------------------- THE COMPETITIVE EDGE: PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK III by Reverend Cotton Mather - 14 - TOURNAMENT WEEK "Okay, team, listen up," Eddie called out. "Coach has some announcements and some last-minute changes." We all paused as we were dressing for our first game. Pick came through the door into the locker room, ubiquitous clipboard in his hand, and stood next to Eddie until he was sure he had our undivided attention. "Now, George Mason University is seeded fifteen in this here tournament, but I don't want you boys to take them any lightly than you do a conference opponent. Y'all understand me?" He waited until he heard us all shout out, "Yes, sir!" "Sean Porter? Ah, there you are, son. You and Stuart Early, I've got some special instructions for the two of you, and the rest of the team needs to be aware of what you two are gonna be doing, okay?" "Okay, Coach," I said. What did he cook up now? I wondered if Spencer was going to not like this very much. "First of all, I want to reiterate to all of you that I am really likin' the way everybody is moving on the field. You all are playing' very fluid positions, and yet the entire playing surface is well covered. That's payin' attention to what's happenin' out there, and I want you all to know that I like it a lot. It's going to give some teams fits, I know, when they're up against it." He looked around, making sure we were all paying attention. "That said, I'm gonna throw another little firecracker into the powder room. Porter and Early, I'm starting you in your customary positions, but I want you two to be particularly aware of each other out there today. I want Porter to follow the path of the ball and switch with Early whenever practical, and everybody else can feed off the results. Stuart, you played a lot of defense before, so I'm well aware you know your way around back there. Just keep an ear out for your keeper's instructions. Understand?" "Yessir, Pick," replied Stuart. "Now, that ain't quite all," Pick continued. "Porter and Spencer Goldman, I want you two to play interchangeable midfield. I want you two to be constantly thinkin' about workin' a two-man game out there. Anytime one of you happens upon the ball, the other had better be considerin' how he's gonna be receiving it. You know the drill, boys. Open spaces, give-and-go, blindside passes. You two are to be aware of each other every damn second out there. Got it?" "Coach? You want us to provide your firepower in the middle?" I wanted to make sure I understood what he was expecting from me. "I'm not much of an offensive-minded player, which you know. What are you trying for here?" I saw Max Ehrlinger nodding his head in agreement. Even though he was Spencer's backup, I knew he was thinking he didn't want to be the third-position player at midfield if Coach Pick suddenly decided I would make a better midfielder than defender for this particular team. With Dan Ortega pretty much locked in at defense, it was Max who was looking at moving down to third-team status, and we both knew it. He was too smart to open his mouth and say something about it, though. "Good point, Mr. Porter," said Pick. "Here's what I'm thinking. George Mason's strongest players are in the middle, right down the centerline. Forward, midfielder, sweeper, stopper, keeper. When the Patriots are attacking our net, I want you back there in your customary position, helping to keep them out of our goal. When we're on the offensive, I want you up and ready to muddy up the middle for just the same reason. Your defensive mindset will help us plug up their field of play, and I'm hopin' you will be able to keep the ball on our feet by harryin' their quality guys." "Okay," I said doubtfully. I glanced over at Spencer. He looked as uneasy as I felt about this experiment. "Now, before you start raisin' objections, let me say that I'm leavin' it up to you when to call for the switch. I ain't expectin' you to dash on over there as soon as the ball crosses midfield, but if'n you see an offensive or defensive reason for you to be in the middle, that's where I want you to be." "Why don't you just start me in the middle, then?" I asked. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "By gum, there's an idear I might just have to use up sometime," he said, rather too smoothly. "Nope, I want them Patriots to find you where they are expectin' you at the start of the game, Sean. But I want 'em surprised by where you might end up." "We'll give it a try," I said. It was a lot of field movement for everybody involved in Pick's scheme. I was a little concerned about the weather and its effects. It was unseasonably warm, and with some humidity added in, I knew our legs would start to misbehave if we found ourselves in a dogfight. I turned to Dan Ortega and Max Ehrlinger. "Be ready to hop in, guys. By the end of each half I'd be willing to bet one of us will be ready to grab a breather." "No problem, Sean. I'll be ready," said Dan. Dan was always ready. I knew it, and he knew I knew it, but I felt more comfortable communicating it, anyway. "You got it," agreed Max. He was just as anxious to play as Dan was, and maybe more so. Spencer's intelligent face was bright with anticipation. "I think this is going to work," he said. Stuart shrugged. "It's a lot of movement just to maintain our coverages," he said. "That's kind of the point, though, I think," I told him. He thought about it for a moment, and then nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I guess it is, at that," he said. I just happened to glance over at the coaches right then, and I saw Pick and Eddie put their heads together. Pick had a catlike grin on his face, and Eddie looked like he had just put one over on somebody. I hoped it wasn't me. By game time it was sunny and almost hot, and there was a strong wind blowing straight down the field. Keeper punts and long, looping passes were going to be tricky to judge, and corner kicks were going to be especially dangerous in those conditions. There didn't seem to be any gusts that veered off the field. The wind was relentless, blowing from end line to end line. We went through our warm-up drills and did our laps. Going with the wind I felt like there was a gentle hand pushing me along, but running against the wind was a struggle. Warming up wasn't too bad, but I knew that as the game progressed, I would feel like I was trying to push my way through cotton candy moving in that direction. Another niggling worry was the way the wind seemed to rob me of my breath when I was running into it. Sometimes it seemed like I couldn't fill my lungs, and I was concerned that feeling would hit me sometime during the game. I tried to shake off the feeling, concentrating instead on feeling the wind on my skin as I jogged. The Patriots won the coin toss and elected to start with the ball. That gave us the choice of which side of the field to defend, and we chose to defend against the wind to start. The captains of the George Mason team looked a little surprised that we were giving up the advantage of the wind, but we had reasoned that it would take them several plays to judge the force of the wind on the ball, effectively reducing its advantage for several minutes. Additionally, we wanted them to feel comfortable playing with the wind at their backs during the first half, so that the struggle against the wind in the second might take an even bigger toll on them. We were gambling that the wind would continue to blow for the next two hours, but we all thought it was an acceptable risk, especially against the bottom seed in our draw. True to our plan, the Patriots started with the ball, and almost immediately misjudged its effect on the ball's flight path. Their first pass sailed over everybody's head, and Rick came out into the front of the box and gathered it up. He held the ball for a moment until he was satisfied we could move the ball fairly unimpeded, and he rolled it over to me. I passed it up to Spencer, who advanced the ball to the midfield stripe. Spencer sent the ball up to Jesse on our first offensive set, and almost immediately he found himself double-teamed. Jesse tried moving the ball over, but when he did, we discovered the hole in our grand design of taking advantage of the wind's velocity. Our plan was only partially thought out, as we quickly discovered. We, too, had trouble adjusting to how the ball was moving in the wind. Our passes were almost always short, and it was pretty easy for our opponents to cut off even a vigorously struck pass. Jesse's first attempt to get rid of the ball resulted in a takeaway, and the Patriots were on the move. Their right midfielder tried a long pass through the air, and the ball sailed way over the head of his intended target. It took three big bounces and ended up out of bounds for a goal kick for us. Rick played it smart, though, and he passed the ball over to me on the goal kick, rather than taking a chance on having the ball fly back into his face on a long kick. I took the ball and moved up with it, making sure I struck the ball a little harder than I normally would as I ran. The left forward for George Mason came up to challenge me as I controlled the ball, but his angle was bad. I faked a pass over to Brad in the middle, which made the forward stutter and hesitate as he considered changing direction. It was enough of an opening for me to be able to juke him and move past him, toward the midfield stripe. The Patriots center-mid and the left midfielder both converged on me. I used my right instep to cross the ball over to Spencer, and I took off into the wind. Spencer one-touched the ball back to me on a give-and-go, and then he dropped back into my coverage as I picked up the ball and took it into Patriots territory. The Patriots players were not expecting me to advance the ball beyond the midfield stripe, apparently, because they covered my forwards and midfielders, leaving me pretty much alone. Once they saw their error, their stopper peeled off his coverage and moved up to intercept. Once more I passed the ball off on a square cross, this time to Bryan, and again I moved upfield. Bryan trapped the ball, took a couple of sliding steps as he rolled the ball with the top of his foot, changing its direction, and then he threaded a pass back to me in the middle. I was now behind the stopper, who had followed the path of the ball from me to Bryan, and I picked up the pass unobstructed. I was only able to take two or three steps with the ball before the Patriots stopper moved on me from behind and their sweeper came up on me from in front. I saw Jesse swinging out into open space, and I powered the ball hard toward him. Even with as much foot as I put on the ball, it was starting to slow to a stop by the time Jesse was able to pick it up, with the defender closing on him fast. Jesse managed to slip the defender just enough so he could put the ball in the air, aiming for the net, but the wind pushed the ball out past the eighteen-meter mark. I desperately leapt up, hoping against hope I could at least graze the ball into a different direction with my head, but I missed, and the ball sailed by me. The Patriots stopper managed to jump up and scissor-kick high enough to get his ankle on the ball, bringing it down to the ground. Before he could do anything with it, though, I ran at him and slide- tackled the ball out from under his feet. We both tumbled to the ground, with the stopper landing hard on my outthrust leg. The Patriots stopper scrambled up, but my leg wouldn't work very well. All I could do was roll around on the ground, grimacing as I tried to bend my knee to get some feeling back into it. Brad had gathered in the ball on my tackle, and he quickly passed it over to Jesse, who kicked it out of bounds, stopping the game so Eddie could come out and see what was wrong. By the time Eddie trotted out to where I was, I was wishing I hadn't wanted feeling to rush back into my leg quite so quickly. It hurt a lot, so much so I wasn't sure I could get up without help. Eddie crouched down, his face looking worried. "Where's it hurt, Sean?" he asked, glancing down toward my knee clutched in both hands. "Everywhere, man," I groaned. I had some movement in the joint by then, and I flexed the knee. Nothing seemed to be wrong there, and I was beginning to think maybe it was just a delayed reaction to the collision. It seemed like, if I let it, my calf would start to tighten up and bruise, but if I could get up and walk it off, I might be okay. "Give me a hand up, would you?" I asked. By then, Jesse, Tad, and Bryan were there, too, and four sets of hands reached out to help me to my feet. I tentatively put my foot down and put some weight on my leg. Miraculously, everything held together. The referee came over to ask if I needed assistance off the field, and Eddie shook him off. I had to come out for at least one play, but I could walk on my own. Eddie and I walked slowly off the field. Dan Ortega started taking off his warm-up jacket, but Pick motioned for him to sit back down. I flexed my leg, and even jogged a few steps as we moved toward our bench, and I heard a smattering of applause from the Patriots, a show of sportsmanship. Pick opted to play a man down rather than take me out of the game until the half ended, so I walked the sidelines, loosening up my abused leg and trying to keep my muscles warm. George Mason took the throw-in to continue with the game. They passed the ball over to our side in deference to the injury stoppage, and play resumed. As soon as he could, Pick put me back me back into the game. By that point Stuart had moved back to the right-side middle to try to shore up our defense in the center of the field while we were playing short. When the referee waved me in, I took my customary spot defending on the right. We played them tight the rest of the half, and even managed to sneak a goal in on a squibbed corner kick. Frenchy took the corner and tried to keep the ball low and hard, and he ended up hitting the ground with his foot before striking the ball. The ball rolled out, and Spencer moved out to gather it up. He tried to thread the needle on a pass to Bryan close in by the goalpost. Bryan was pushed from behind, but he still managed to heel the ball, perhaps intending on sending it over toward Jesse. Instead, the ball ricocheted off his instep, catching everybody by surprise, and ended up rolling into the net right by the near post. The Patriots keeper made a dive for it, but was a half-second too late. We found ourselves with a 1-0 lead at the half, and the prospect of playing with the wind in the second half. As we huddled up before the whistle to start the second half, I looked over at Spencer. "You have any problem with me starting in your position?" He looked at me for a moment, and then turned to Stuart. "You wanna play more D?" Stuart looked from Goldman to me. "Okay by me," he said. Spencer nodded, and then turned back to me and nodded again. "Let's do it," he said forcefully. Pick, on the outside of the huddle, just watched and listened, not saying a thing. His body language spoke of complete agreement, however. We broke our huddle and trotted out to take our positions. I looked over at the sidelines as the Patriots lined up, and I saw Pick, Stan, and Eddie standing side by side, studying the playing field and talking to each other, presumably about their observations. The referee blew his whistle to start the clock, and the game was on. Jesse took the opening tap from Spencer, and turned to pass the ball back to me, fifteen meters behind them. At the kickoff, Juan Maria and Spencer had taken off down the right sidelines, and Bryan and Jeremy mirrored them on the left. If our plan didn't work, we were going to be caught very thin in the middle of the field, but the wind was in our favor. I launched a pass up into the breeze toward the right corner, and it sailed downfield, aided by the wind. It hit the turf in front of Juan Maria, and he had to sprint to catch it before it bounced out of bounds. His last-second effort saved it, and he managed to juggle the ball just enough to get it back under control before he was forced to pass it off to Spencer. In the meantime, I had run right past the Patriots forward, who was advancing a few meters into our space in anticipation, and their front midfielder, who was also thinking offense. Their sweeper picked me up, but Jeremy, our left midfielder, angled in behind the sweeper to get the attention of their stopper. Bryan was being covered by the defenseman on our left, but the fast play deep into Patriots territory resulted in two of our players being left open. Jesse, positioning himself on the left for a cross, was unattended, as was Spencer, with the ball. The defender who had forced Juan Maria to pass the ball had to make a choice. Either he had to stay with his coverage, or he had to peel off and challenge Spencer, the ball handler, at least until their midfielders could recover and fall back on defense. The defender opted to stay with Juan Maria, which meant either the sweeper or the stopper had to move on Spencer. The sweeper, probably reasoning that his midfielders could cover me quicker than they could fall back to take over the stopper's lanes, tried to check me with a shoulder before going after Spencer. I sidestepped and moved behind him, away from the approaching midfielder, and Spencer let him commit to him before looping a pass over his head to me. Spencer aimed the ball a little behind me, letting the wind push it up to the open space in front of me. It bounced twice and settled just as I was running up to it. It hit it in stride with the laces of my right foot, trying to keep the ball low enough so that the wind didn't pick it up but still trying to take advantage of its push. The ball launched off my foot like it was rocket propelled, on a low trajectory toward the net. It was traveling at warp speed as it passed over the ground, and it was still rising as it fit in the miniscule space between the top rail and the outstretched hand of the leaping keeper. It was my first tournament goal, a strike that felt just as sweet as it looked. I ran up to Jesse and leaped into the air, and he caught me around my waist and held me up as he carried me in celebration back toward our side of the field. In moments, we were overrun by our teammates, who piled on, until I found myself at the bottom of a mound of screaming, yelling players, all wanting to pound my back and chest in congratulations. We finally untangled and resumed our positions for the restart. The fast goal lifted us up, and we played an inspired second half, stopping George Mason cold before they could mount any serious attack. They were able to achieve only one modest breakaway, down their right side, but Frenchy, pulling out the stops, put a quick end to it, seeming to yank the ball right out from beneath the feet of the Patriots forward who was dancing with the ball, seeking an opening. Frenchy did a little trick with his feet, and suddenly he had possession. The Patriots player looked confused as he gazed down, fully expecting to see the ball still on his shoes, but Frenchy was already five meters upfield from him with the purloined ball. Our first tournament game was a victory, 4-0. We packed up our bags and left the sidelines just as South Carolina was arriving. I stopped and talked to Trent for just a moment, and he introduced me to some of his friends. They were a good group of guys, but I didn't want to get too friendly with them quite yet. I had the feeling I would be meeting them again, this time on the field of battle at RFK Stadium. After our team meeting in the locker room, we just had time for a quick shower before the Wildcats of Kentucky took on the Fighting Gamecocks of South Carolina. Pick encouraged us to stay and watch the next games, and everybody wanted to relax in the stands and study the teams. We got to the grandstand just before kickoff, and sat in a section Stan and Marv were holding for us. We spent the next several hours enjoying the warm day, now that our work was done, eating outrageous amounts of hot dogs and fries, pizza and nachos. Occasionally we even watched a little soccer being played. __________________________________________________________________ We had a day off before we played our second game. Jesse and I took a cab over to Georgetown to watch Eric and his Maryland team take on Ohio State. We stayed afterward and sat with the Terps while Purdue battled the University of Connecticut. I had had more than enough of stadium food the day before, so Jesse, Eric and I left at halftime and found a KFC restaurant nearby. Fried chicken was an improvement over corn dogs. We decided to eat inside, away from the bugs and the relentless sunshine. "Say, Sean, Trent wants to get together Thursday night," Eric said. "Danielle's driving up and wants to go out to dinner with us all." "Sounds good," I said. "Jesse? You and Bryan want to come along?" He shrugged. "Sure. I'll double-check with Watkins, but I doubt he's got plans. Probably would like a break from watching the tube in a hotel room." "Free HBO is great for one night," agreed Eric. "Two or more is stretching it, though." "You got that right," said Jesse. "What about Keisha?" I asked. I knew it was kind of a sore subject, but I wasn't going to let him forget that she was a friend of Danielle's, and a friend of mine, too. "Think she'll join us?" "I don't know, man," Eric said. "You want me to call her and ask her?" I asked. "I'd like to see her." "Nah, I'll talk to her," he said. "Don't worry about it." "Okay," I said, though I was worried about it, despite his admonitions. We dumped our empty boxes and cups in the garbage receptacle and went back to the stadium to watch the second half, with the question of Keisha coming along still unresolved. __________________________________________________________________ Our next game was against Princeton, who had beaten Marshall University to advance. Pick started me at right defense again, but our coverages were now so fluid our starting positions were practically reduced to just naming conventions. Everybody on the field was so in tune with everybody else, it was almost like telepathy. The only people you could pretty much count on being in their positions were Rick in the net, and Brad right in front of him. They became the anchors of our defense, giving out instructions and moving people around as needed. Sometimes it was Frenchy, Tad, and me; it could just as often have been Luke, Stuart, and Spencer. Occasionally, even Juan Maria and Bryan found themselves defending, though they were never both back at the same time. Jesse Wilhoit, an unrepentant offensive player, could usually be found up and in the middle, his customary position, but even he took to roaming in the midfield upon occasion. He never dropped back into defensive territory, but he was our strongest offensive weapon, and he knew it. He stayed up in our opponents' territory most often, so he could use his skills to our best advantage. It made our team unpredictable, it made opponents' scouting reports a lot less useful, and it made the Gators a much stronger team. We strolled through Princeton, tallying up an easy shutout, and awaited the winner of the UConn-North Carolina game. Two games in, and Florida and South Carolina were the only two teams to record double shutouts, no goals against. It looked more and more like we would be playing Trent's team for the title on Sunday. ___________________________________________________________________ Danielle Nickerson was due in on Thursday afternoon. She was planning on driving up in time to watch Trent's game against Georgetown. Thursday was an off day for us, so Coach put us through a light practice session in the afternoon. I was going to miss the South Carolina-Georgetown game, but we had already made plans to meet for dinner at a local Italian restaurant that Eric had recommended. After practice, freshly showered and shaved and feeling clean, I let Pick and Eddie know where I was going. Jesse, Bryan, and Spencer were coming with me to dinner. Spencer knew Eric and Trent from my summer clinics, and Jesse, a soccer god back home, was known by everyone. He also knew Eric and Trent through me, having met both of them a few times before. Bryan fit right in with our group. I knew they would like him just fine, just as I knew he would enjoy spending time with my friends. I was looking forward to seeing Danielle and the rest of the gang, and spending an evening relaxing before the semi-finals the next day. On the way out the door, we met up with players from Ohio State, who were staying in the same hotel as we were. "Hey," I said, stopping one of the Ohio State players. They were all dressed in their team sweats in red and white. "Did you guys just come from the game?" "Yeah," he said. "Good game, too. North Carolina won in the first overtime, 2-1. You're from Florida, right? Looks like you'll have a fight on your hands tomorrow against the Tarheels in the semis." "Good deal," I said. I was looking forward to the game against one of the premier organizations in college athletics. We might just have a surprise for them. And so the teams were set for the finish of the tournament. Florida was playing North Carolina, a perennial powerhouse, in the noon game, and Maryland was up against South Carolina in the second semi-final later in the afternoon. Trent Abbott's team against Eric Johnson's team. Win or lose, on Sunday I would be playing against an old high school teammate, either in the championship game or in the consolation game. Jesse, Spencer, Bryan, and I hopped into a cab outside the hotel. It was after six, and we were supposed to meet up with everybody by seven. We got to the restaurant, a pretty nice place called Nicolai's, early enough to find a small round table in the bar area. We ordered Cokes and sat back to wait for my friends. Trent and Danielle came in a little bit later, and I jumped up and gave Dani a big hug. She leaned down and gave Spencer a brief hug, and I introduced her to Jesse and Bryan. She and Jesse had met once before, but it seemed like a long time ago. "Of course I remember," said Jesse graciously as he stood to shake her hand. "Hey, let's go get our table," suggested Trent. "Shouldn't we wait for Eric?" I asked. "Nah. He'll find us," Trent said. He hustled us up and out of the bar. Jesse paid our tab for our Cokes as Trent and Danielle led Spencer, Bryan, and me into the dining room. "We've got a reservation under Abbott," he said to the lady at the podium just inside the door. She was a gray-haired, proper woman who wore a pair of reading glasses on a beaded chain around her neck. She daintily picked up her glasses and perched them on the tip of her nose as she checked her reservations book. "Ah, yes, of course," she said. She grabbed a handful of menus from behind the podium. "If you would follow me, please?" She took off her glasses, letting them fall back to her bosom, and gestured for us to accompany her into the dining room. There was a big, round table set up off to one side, and she led us to it. She indicated that we were to take our seats. Trent, Danielle, Bryan, and Spencer moved around to sit on the far side of the table. I was about to sit next to Danielle, but she put her hand down on the seat. "Let's save this seat for Eric, okay?" she asked with a smile. I shrugged. "Sure, why not," I said, though the request seemed a little odd. I took the next seat over, my back to the doorway. Trent and Danielle kept on glancing up toward the entrance, seemingly watching for Eric. Jesse came in from the bar and joined us. He picked up his menu and began to casually study it. "What looks good to you, Porter?" he asked. Danielle giggled softly. I glanced at her, but she didn't look at me at all. She deliberately picked up her water glass and took a small sip. Something seemed just a little off, but if they wanted to play some sort of silly game, I was willing to go along with them. I picked up my menu. Chicken Parmesan or Baked Mostaccioli? Decisions, decisions. I was studying my menu when I heard Eric come up. "How's everybody doin'?" he drawled. I looked up at him and just saw his shit-eating grin before two hands wrapped themselves around my head and covered my eyes. "What's going on?" I asked. "Is that Keisha?" I heard Keisha's laugh, and it gladdened my heart. She turned my head to the side so she could lean down and gave me a soft, languid kiss on the lips. "Hello, Sean dear," she murmured. She didn't let go of my eyes, however, and I was startled to feel another soft cheek gently rub against mine, and another soft pair of lips also give me a slow and warm kiss on my mouth. "That's not Keisha," I said. "And it's certainly not Eric. Who's there?" "Aw, man, cain't you even take a little guess?" asked Eric teasingly, and everybody at the table laughed. I couldn't pick out the voice of the person keeping me blinded, however. I just shook my head. Better to keep my mouth shut than to find a size eleven foot in it, I said to myself. A list of possibilities ran through my head, though. I smelled a familiar smell, and I felt familiar lips kissing me, but I still was unwilling to believe. The disappointment would have hurt too much. "Come on, Sean," implored Keisha. "Can't you even try to guess?" "I could try, but what if I'm wrong?" I asked. "What if you're right?" asked Kayla, a voice beside me. I leapt up out of my chair, startling everybody. I whirled around, nearly knocking the chair over, and there she was. She was smiling, there were tears in her eyes, and she looked lovelier than she ever had before to me. She squealed just a little as I stepped up to her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and picked her up. I kissed her hard, still disbelieving she was actually there, and she put her arms around my neck and kissed me back. I could feel my own tears trickling down my cheeks, but I didn't care at all. Everything I wanted in the world was right there, in my arms. (Continued in Chapter 15) <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+