Message-ID: <38784asstr$1034633402@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <revcottonmather@hotmail.com> From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 X-Original-Message-ID: <F163CHBDOVhs4MJmC6c0000be61@hotmail.com> X-OriginalArrivalTime: 14 Oct 2002 13:24:57.0558 (UTC) FILETIME=[171F7F60:01C27385] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 14 Oct 2002 08:24:57 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} NEW Playing the Game II: Playing to Win (mf rom) 1/? Date: Mon, 14 Oct 2002 18:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/38784> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: kelly, dennyw As promised, the continuation of "Playing the Game". Enjoy. --------------------------------------------------------------------- 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 - 1 - SEAN PORTER'S DILEMMA You wonder, sometimes, how you get into these situations. Looking back, I have to believe that, somewhere along the timeline of my life, I was led to this point, that I would be here no matter how I led my life. But I digress... In the spring of 1981, I was experiencing a crisis. I was a 16-year- old soccer jock with girl trouble brewing, ready to spill out and burn me good. On this particular weekend, I had spent Saturday afternoon fooling around with Kristina Mendoza, the girl I had been dating for a few weeks, only to end up frustrated when her mother called, interrupting our fun, and she had to go home. Later that same afternoon, I helped coach a team of younger kids, a boy's under- 8 soccer team, to their first win of the season, and we all celebrated by going out for pizza and sodas afterwards. Davey and Kip, two kids I had been working with who were on the team, fell asleep in my car as I was driving them home, so I carried them into their house, where my old girlfriend, Molly O'Toole, was babysitting. One thing led to another, and before I could stop it, Molly and I were going at it on the family room floor. Now, here it was, Sunday afternoon, and I still couldn't work up the courage to call Kristina, even though I knew she was waiting to hear from me. Not only did I screw Molly, but I had the feeling I had royally screwed myself by letting the little head do my thinking for me last night. I had no idea what I should do. So I did nothing, which was probably even worse. I hid at home most of the day, even though it was a gorgeous spring Sunday. I didn't want to see anybody, I didn't want to talk to anybody. I couldn't even stand being in my own skin. I tried to tell myself to give Kristina a call, pretend that everything was all right, but I knew things weren't all right, and I knew my voice would betray me. I thought about calling her brother Jorge, one of my best friends, but I wouldn't know how to explain it to him, either. My best buddy Jake would be sympathetic, but he had his own troubles, ever since he was caught with his pants down, literally, with his next-door neighbor, Jaimie. It was just too much of a dilemma for a 16-year-old kid. So I stayed locked away from the world at large, hiding in my room (it almost sounds like a Brian Wilson song; in fact, it felt like a Brian Wilson song). I dreaded going to school on Monday, but I knew I wouldn't be able to effectively fake an illness. Mom and Dad had seen it all with my older brother Mike, and he pretty much ruined it for me and my younger brother Stephen when it came to trying to scam the parents. Monday morning dawned cold and rainy, perfect for my mood. In the hallway before first class, I imagined that everybody around me was whispering and pointing at me accusingly, knowing practically first- hand what had happened over the weekend. I kept my head buried in my locker, trying to will myself into some sort of invisibility. By lunchtime, I was a wreck. I wanted to move away, start life over under a new identity. Everything, including what little future I had, looked bleak. And then, things got really bad. I was standing under the canopy of one of the rear doors of the school during lunch. It was one of the spots where the smokers tended to congregate, but I was hoping that the weather would discourage a lot of them. Of course, today I couldn't be that lucky, and I was enveloped in a blue-white cloud of cigarette smoke as I tried to choke down my sandwich. Finally, I had enough, and disgustedly tossed the rest of my lunch away and yanked open the door. I thought maybe the library would be a safe place to hang out for the rest of my lunch period, so I headed in that direction, only to bump into Jorge Mendoza. Jorge was a couple of inches shorter than me, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in ferocity. He grabbed the front of my shirt and pushed me back against the wall. "What the fuck is going on, Sean?" he growled. I put my hands up in resignation, and tried bluffing. "What do you mean? Get off of me, Jorge." "You know what I mean," he said. "Rumor has it you're back together again with Molly. So tell me, Porter. What the fuck is going on?" "No, I'm definitely not back together with Molly. Where did you hear that?" "The usual sources," he admitted. He let me go, but still stood close to me, not willing to give me a chance to slip away. "So how would a rumor like that get started?" "Uh," I said cleverly. My mind was scrambling for something plausible to say, and was coming up blank, as usual. "You din' call Kristina all weekend, either. And she's pretty upset about it. It's pretty suspicious, Sean," he continued. I desperately needed a friend in my corner, if I had any hope of redeeming myself in Kristina's eyes. I had to hope that Jorge was that friend. "Look, Jorge, I need your help. You've got to talk to Kristina for me." "Why, amigo? Why don' you talk to her yourself?" "Because I am drowning in a lake of shit, and she's probably going to throw an anchor at me, instead of tossing a safety rope, when she hears about this." I put my arm around his shoulder and turned with him to walk down the hallway. I felt his shoulder muscles bunch up, as if he wanted to shrug off my arm, but I was determined to enlist his help here. "I'll tell you all I have to tell, Jorge, but you've got to help me convince your sister that I'm not the bad guy here," I pleaded. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, but at least he didn't shove me away and bury me. I steered him toward the library, where we might be able to find a corner we could whisper, and I could confess my sins. I laid myself bare and told him nearly everything. I told him about studying with Kristina in the afternoon, about making out with her after lunch. I told him about the soccer game, and how well the boys had played, and especially how the keepers had seemed to grasp what Jorge had tried to teach them. I told him about going out for a pizza celebration afterward, about how the boys had fallen asleep, and about how Molly had answered the door at the Wilkinson house. I told him about putting them to bed, and about how I was looking at Molly's art project. I confessed about being lulled by her, and I told him about her little play with the wax banana, and how she used it to her advantage. I told him about fucking on the floor, sparing no detail, offering no excuses, letting him see the Sean Porter I had come to loathe. The only thing I didn't tell him was how his sister looked on my family room floor, her hands on the back of my head, pressing my mouth harder onto her naked pussy as I reveled in her sweet taste, and how much she loved licking her own juices from my face and lips. I needed an ally, after all, not another enemy. "Sean, you really fucked up," whispered Jorge as he shook his head. "I know I did. I've been beating myself up about it since it happened. But what do I do about it?" I asked in desperation. "I dunno. Lemme work on it a little." Jorge stood up from the table and walked away, still shaking his head. Maybe I had found an ally. I hoped I had. Then again, maybe I had given him all the ammunition he needed to bury me. (Continued in Chapter 2) _________________________________________________________________ MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos: http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx -- 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: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+