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Message-ID: <39481asstr$1038471004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} RP Playing the Game II: Playing to Win, Ch. 5-8  (mf rom)
Date: Thu, 28 Nov 2002 03:10:04 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Here is a repost of the first 16 chapters as a Thanksgiving present.

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.
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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 5 -


TOURNAMENT WEEKEND



I kept up my schedule through the end of the school year.  Since I
didn't have a girlfriend to spend any time with, I kept on running,
with and without a soccer ball.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I worked
with Davey, Kip, and Justin before the Warriors practices.  I wasn't
sure how productive these sessions were, but we had fun goofing
around in the park, at least.  And, at that age, any time spent
working the ball was time well spent for a kid who wanted to be a
better player.

The recreational leagues played through the first weekend of June.
The following weekend, there was a huge tournament in a nearby
community, and Bill had sent in our entry.  The tournament was for
recreational teams only, all age groups, and all the teams played
three 40-minute games on Saturday.  The top four teams would be
invited back for playoffs on Sunday.  The organizers used a version
of tournament scoring, which meant that teams were awarded 3 points
for a win, 0 points for a loss, and 1 point for a tie.  In addition,
teams were awarded 1 point for each goal scored, up to a maximum of 3
points.  If a team shut out their opponent, they accrued 2 additional
points.  Finally, the referee working any game, at their option,
could award 1 more point to any team that displayed, in their
opinion, outstanding sportsmanship and fair play, so the maximum
number of points a team could win in a game was 9, by winning a game
by a score of at least 3-0 (3 points awarded for the win, 3 for
goals, 2 for a shutout, and 1 for sportsmanship).  The top four teams
in each division with the most points after the three Saturday games
would play two more games on Sunday.  The winners of the semi-finals
would advance to the championship game, the losers would play a
consolation game.

The community's soccer organization set up 15 soccer fields around
town, ranging from small fields, not much bigger than the width of a
regular field, for the little kids, all the way up to full-sized
fields at the schools, for the older kids.  The organizers also
required each team entering the tournament to supply one referee, to
be assigned games not involving their own teams.  I agreed to be our
team's designated referee, so I would be there all day Saturday,
running from game to game to game.

Wendy Marcus, Justin's mom, arranged for a team party at their house
for Sunday afternoon, win or lose.  They had a swimming pool in their
back yard, complete with a slide and a diving board, and the boys
were just as excited about the party as they were about the
tournament.

There were 14 teams in our division, but only three of them were
teams in our rec league, so we weren't familiar with any of our
scheduled opponents.  The Eagles, our only loss of the season, were
also entered in the tournament, but if we played them, it would only
be because we had both made the playoffs.  We had a lot of work to do
before we could even begin to think about it.

Our first game was at 9:00 on Saturday morning.  Our team was
assembled and anxious to play by 8:40, and we watched the last few
minutes of the game ahead of ours.  It was an Under-12 girl's game,
and the hometown team was winning by a score of 3-1 when the final
whistle blew.  We organized our Warrior Warm-up Shuffle, while at the
same time, our opponents were running laps around the field, without
balls, as their warm-up.

We started Devon in goal.  Ever since our loss to the Eagles, he had
taken on more of a leadership role for our defense while he was on
the field, to the point where he really didn't want to play a forward
position at all.  Bill and I agreed that he was effective and
comfortable staying on defense for the entire game, so there was no
point in forcing him to play up.  Besides, even when he wasn't in
goal, he helped the other defensive players maneuver on the field,
proving his proficiency.

And he was very effective during that first game.  He moved his
defenders around so efficiently, that he only had to make one, easy
stop the entire half he played in goal.  His midfielders, sweeper,
and fullbacks stopped every other threat on our side of the field.
We ended up winning easily, 4-0.  Eight points for the Warriors went
on the giant scorecard at the central scorer's table.

Right after our game ended, I had to jog over to another field to
referee my first game of the day, an Under-6 boy's game on a half-
sized field.  Each team had about 25 players, so there were a lot of
substitutions being made, by both sides, on every available throw-in.
It almost seemed like there was more standing-around time, waiting
for players to either get on the field or get off after being subbed,
than there was actual playing time, but eventually the game
progressed as much as it could, considering that it was Munchkin
Swarmball at its ugliest.

The Warriors had another game at noon, and I got there just in time.
Bill had already set the lineup, and the boys knew the routine by
now, so I got to sit back and relax during the second game, chatting
with Lori and Wendy and some of the other parents as our boys romped
to a second shutout, 6-0.  Even though this was a tournament, Bill
still pulled one of our players after our fourth goal, in the
interest of fairness.  He promised the boys that he would play them
at full strength again if the other team scored on us while we were
down one player, but that was never necessary.  Because of this
sportsmanlike gesture, our team was awarded an extra point for fair
play.  We now had tallied 17 points, and were looking good for
returning on Sunday.  A tie or a win would land us in the playoffs.

Our last game was at 4:00 in the afternoon.  We took all the boys
out for a good, relaxing lunch at a nearby pizza parlor, and let them
run riot in the little game arcade that was there.  By the time we
got back to the field, around 3:30, they were starting to tire a
little.  They were easily distracted, more into goofing off than
getting ready to play soccer.  They really didn't want to go through
the Warrior Warm-up Shuffle, so we were a little disorganized when
the referee came over to inspect our shoes and shin guards.

We sent our starting lineup onto the field, and within a few minutes
after the opening whistle blew, the carbs and sugar from lunch
finally kicked in, and the boys began to run and play their game
again.  Bill and I discovered, however, that their stamina was short
by this third game, so we found ourselves keeping a close eye on
everybody, substituting much more often than we normally did, and
making sure the smaller kids got a little more rest before shuffling
them back into the game.  We won the game, but it wasn't pretty.  The
final score was 3-1.

Everybody went home exhausted.  Bill promised to call everyone when
he found out what time we would be playing the next day.  I hoped it
wasn't going to be an early game.  I was supposed to referee the
first playoff game for the Under-6 boys on Sunday, at 10:00, and I
really wanted to sleep in a little.

By the time I got home and out of the shower, there was a message
for me from Coach Bill.  Our semi-final game was at 11:00, against
the Eagles.  The championship game and the consolation game would be
played at 2:00, giving all the teams a chance to grab some lunch
before playing.  I silently gave thanks to whichever soccer god was
watching over me this particular weekend, and was asleep almost
before my head hit the pillow.





The next morning, Lori and Davey and Kip picked me up in plenty of
time for my 10:00 game.  It was going to be sunny and fairly hot.  I
had a small cooler full of ice and water for myself, and I was glad
to see that Lori had packed a large, wheeled cooler full of drinks
for the team.  The Warriors were assembled and ready to play a couple
of fields over from me, and as my game was finishing up, I could see
Coach Bill working the Warm-up Shuffle with the crossing passes.  He
wanted them ready against the team that handed us our only loss of
the season.

By the time I got over there, the boys were warmed up and
enthusiastic about playing.  Bill put together what he considered to
be his strongest starting lineup, with Devon in goal, Davey in the
center at midfield, Kip to his left, Justin playing right defender,
and Joey at forward.

"Defenders!" he called out.  "Listen for Devon's instructions, guys.
He's your captain out there.  And Justin?  Stay close to that fast
kid whenever he's in your zone, whether he's got the ball or not.
All the defenders keep an eye out for him.  If he's in your lane and
zone, I want you to stick like glue to him.  If he zigs, you zig.  If
he zags, you zag.  Try to stay in his way as much as you can, okay?
The other defenders will try for the ball.  You just keep him
covered, so they can't pass to him."


"Anytime he stops running," I added, "lean your shoulder on his.
Let him know you're there.   Just make sure you stay between him and
our goal.  You don't want him getting a head start on you.  Maybe
this way, we can keep him from getting a breakaway chance on us."

The referee blew his whistle.  We huddled up and sent our players
out onto the field to take their positions, and the Eagles did the
same.  The game was on.

Remembering the varsity team's experiences in the state playoffs, I
reminded Bill to substitute often.  We had a second game to play,
either for the championship or the consolation game, and we didn't
want to leave everything we had on the field during this first game.
Our defenders, in particular, were going to get tired quickly,
worrying about the Eagles forwards.  On every throw-in we could, we
substituted at least two players, even if they were protesting that
they weren't tired at all.

Even though our defenders stayed on the kid as much as they could,
he still managed to score twice, but our offense was clicking, too.
We got a lot of good looks at their goal, and managed to convert 4
good shots into goals by the final whistle.  The Warriors were bound
for the championship game.

The Eagles and the Warriors were the two best teams of our age group
at the tournament.  The only reason we didn't meet in the
championship game was because another team had tied the Eagles, 1-1
on Saturday, so they didn't score as many tournament points as some
of the other teams.  The team we played for the championship must
have played some of the weakest teams in the tournament to get there,
because they were hopelessly overmatched against the Warriors.  By
the start of the second half, we were already up 4-0, and our keepers
were never challenged.  We ended up cruising to the tournament
championship, 7-0.

After the presentation of trophies, everybody piled into cars and
headed over to the Marcus house for the pool party.  Justin's dad,
Arthur, had the barbeque grill fired up, and was busy flipping
burgers and turning hot dogs as the boys took turns running in and
out of the house, stripping off uniforms and pulling swim trunks on,
jumping into the pool and splashing anything that moved.  A lot of
the parents came along, content to sit around the pool, out of range
of all but the most determined splashers, drinking sodas and beer
after the long weekend out in the sun as they watched the boys play
soccer.

I had ridden over with the Wilkinsons, and was very conscious of how
sweaty I was.  I was looking forward to getting in the pool and
cooling off.  When we got there, though, the pool was crowded and
rowdy, full of 7 and 8 and 9 year olds.  I plopped down in a lawn
chair, and wiped my face off with my damp shirt.

"You look hot and sweaty," said Wendy as she walked by.  "Why don't
you hop in the pool?"

"Maybe later," I said.  "It's a little busy right now."

She smiled.  "If you'd like, you can take a shower upstairs."  She
pointed toward the patio sliding doors.  "Just go in there, through
the kitchen.  You'll find the stairs by the front door.  Go on
upstairs, the bathroom is the second door on the right."

"Thanks," I said, "but I'll be fine..."

"Don't be silly," she interrupted.  "Go on.  Towels are in the
closet in the bathroom."  She pulled me up out of the chair, and
propelled me toward the house with a gentle shove.  A shower did
sound good.  I headed into the house, and found my way upstairs.  The
bathroom was big, with a linen closet, double sinks, and a toilet in
one room, a large shower and changing area through another door.  I
grabbed a towel, turned on the shower and let the water run until
steam was permeating the room, and stripped off my sweaty clothes.  I
had my swim trunks and a fresh t-shirt in a gym bag that I left by
the sinks.  I stepped into the shower, closed the Plexiglas door, and
adjusted the water temperature, turning the shower head until I got a
needle spray that pounded into my neck and shoulders.

It felt so good, I never noticed the sudden swirling of the steam in
the room as the outer door opened.  In fact, I was standing there,
eyes closed as the water streamed down my back, when I heard the
shower door open.  Startled, I opened my eyes, just as the outline of
another person appeared through the mist.  With a wide grin and a
twinkle in her eye, Wendy Marcus stepped up to me, pressing her very
naked body against mine, her large breasts mashing up on my ribcage.

"I thought you might need some help washing those hard-to-reach
places," she said softly.  She reached down with one hand and took
control, sizing up my already hard cock, while with the other, she
pulled me down by my neck to press her open mouth hard to mine.

The assault on my senses had its desired effect.  I kissed her back
as the little head began taking control once again, and I reached up
to squeeze one large boob, with its swollen and distended nipple.
She was stroking me rhythmically, and my hips joined in on the
activity, pushing my cock harder into her pumping palm.

She must have been somewhat familiar with a teenager's ability to
last (next to none), as well as a teenager's ability to recharge
after coming (second to none), because she didn't hesitate.  Almost
as soon as she felt my hips thrusting, she broke our wet kiss and
dropped to her knees, unhesitatingly taking me fully into her mouth.

This was no foreplay.  Her technique was a direct assault on her
target, the object was to get me off quickly.  And it worked
beautifully.  She took just about all of me into her mouth, her
tongue working frantically on the underside of my cock as she bobbed
up and down.  One hand was caressing and squeezing my balls, the
other was stroking the base of my throbbing cock, working me into a
frenzy.  In record time, I grunted and thrust as deeply into her
mouth as she would allow, and spewed across her tongue and down her
throat.  She kept sucking me, taking all I could give her, and when I
was done, and my poor abused cock was softening slightly, she
continued to suck me hard, concentrating on keeping me erect.

Before I knew it, I could feel my heartbeat through my resurgent
dick, and Wendy felt it, too.  When she was sure I had attained
nearly full hardness once again, she gave me one last lick, and
stood.  She never relinquished her hold on me, though, but instead
took her other hand, ran it down my arm until she was grasping my
hand, and then guided my fingers to her very wet, hairy pussy, her
legs spread for me.  With a moan, she turned around, rubbing her
substantial butt against me, still holding and stroking my cock with
one hand, and guiding my efforts with her other hand on my wrist.  My
fingers eagerly plowed through her pussy lips, releasing her oily
lubrication in their search for her vagina, her clitoris, and all the
hot flesh in between.

She began breathing hard, huffing and puffing in front of me, until
she bent over, and guided my pole toward her flooding hole from
behind.  I sank fully into her, my thighs slapping wetly against her
ass, and I stroked deeply into her.  She put her hands out in front
of her so she could lean on the shower stall wall, and let me
willingly do the work.  Each time I bottomed out in her, I drove the
breath out of her in a breathy huff.  Each time I pulled almost out
of her, she wiggled her ass, trying to keep our connection, until I
pumped back into her again, my hands on her hips, and the cycle
started all over.  With the shower pelting my back, refreshing me, I
felt like I could stay like this, inside her, for hours.

Finally, though, Wendy's breath got ragged, and her movements became
erratic.  Her butt was moving from side to side, then front to back,
then up and down, creating a lot more friction between us.  Her
fleshy walls were gripping me, and I could feel her vaginal muscles
clenching and unclenching against my intruding shaft, raising my
temperature and bringing on my second climax.  I felt a hot, oily
flooding along my cock as she came, and it triggered my own reaction,
and I groaned as I flooded her spasming walls with hot jets of semen.

If she hadn't been leaning against the wall, and if I hadn't been
leaning on her backside, we both would have collapsed to the shower
floor.  As it was, Wendy roused herself weakly, and I pulled back, my
thoroughly spent cock slipping from her, and she turned, reached up
to wrap both arms around my neck, and kissed me softly, tenderly.

"Thanks, Sean," she whispered.  "I needed that."  She pecked me on
the lips one more time, turned, and opened the shower door,
disappearing as suddenly as she had appeared just a few minutes
before.  I stood there, the water cascading down over me, in shock
from it all, until finally I roused myself, turned off the water,
opened the door, and reached for the towel.  I wasn't quite sure how
I was going to be able to face her, or Justin, after this.  And then
there was her husband, blissfully unaware that his wife was upstairs
schtupping his son's soccer coach, while he was busily cooking for
the troops out by the pool.

I got dressed and reluctantly went back down the stairs and out to
the back.  Wendy was chatting with Lori, as if this was just an
everyday neighborhood get-together.  She glanced up as I came out the
door and flashed me a quick, knowing smile before turning back to her
conversation.  Arthur was busy at the grill, and the entire soccer
team was either carousing in the pool, or standing nearby, shoving
down food before rejoining the fun in the water.  There was typical
suburban normalcy all around me, and yet I felt completely out of
place and disconnected.

What a very strange day, I thought to myself.






- 6 -


SMALL THREATS AND INVITATIONS



All the recreational leagues were finished, and my soccer club
wouldn't start for a couple of weeks, so I was a free bird the last
part of June.  I slept in a lot, until my parents noticed that I was
unoccupied, and put a crimp in my plans on being lazy.  They left me
a list each week of chores they wanted done around the house, such as
painting the garage, weeding the flowerbeds, and mowing the lawn.  It
still left me plenty of time to keep up with my running and working
with the ball.  In addition, I was still working with the three boys
twice a week at the park.

I was very nervous about seeing Wendy the first time after the
tournament that she dropped Justin off at the park for our practice,
but she was acting perfectly normal.

"Uh, Mrs. Marcus..." I stammered.

She whirled around, looking behind her and to the sides, a humorous
glint in her eye.

"Is Arthur's mother here?" she asked teasingly.  "She's the only
person who fits the description of 'Mrs. Marcus' that I know."

I could feel myself blushing.  "Okay, then, Wendy," I reluctantly
agreed.  "The other day, at your house..."

"Oh, my, Sean, are you embarrassed?  How cute!"  She reached up,
placing her palm against my cheek.  "I could just eat you up!"  She
patted my cheek.  "In fact, if the boys weren't here..."

I backed up nervously, not wanting her touching my face.  "Look,
Mrs. Marcus," I began, but i 	wasn't given an opportunity to continue.

"Seriously, Sean, don't trouble yourself over anything," she
interrupted.  At least she didn't try to move closer to me again.
"It's just me, you know?  I just like to relive my youth
occasionally."

"But..."

"Besides," she continued, "I really enjoy the... attentions... of
younger guys.  Their ability to just keep on going is, um, enjoyable,
to say the least.  And, if I remember correctly, you enjoyed
yourself, too, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Enjoyed yourself twice, if I recall."

"Uh..."

"And I don't remember any protests at the time.  Do you?"

"No, but it was all so..."

"And I wouldn't mind an encore sometime," she steamrolled.  "That
is, if you enjoyed yourself enough to consider paying a visit on an
'older' woman," she continued with a mischievous smile.

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Ta, Sean," she said, turning back to her car with a swish of her
well-remembered backside, leaving me standing there, speechless and
practically breathless.  "Lori will pick the boys up in an hour."
She waved gaily as she drove off.

Hoo boy, what a ride on a rocket this was turning out to be.

I turned back to the boys, trying to regain a little control over
the moment, and over myself.  I had to admit it, Wendy rattled me.





During those first few weeks, Jake Lehigh and I would go out in
search of a pickup baseball game, or maybe meet up with some of our
other buddies and just goof off, riding bikes through some empty lots
across town, or hanging out at the DQ, during the early part of that
summer.  He had girl problems of his own, so it was easy for us to
fall back into our old habits together.  Oddly, I didn't see his
sister, the lovely blonde Kayla, she of the "I Dream of Jeannie"
costume, hardly at all at the time.

When I asked him about it, he looked at me kind of funny.

"I thought you knew," he said.  "Kayla's got a boyfriend."

Damn.  Another prospect down the tubes.

"Yeah," Jake continued, "he's just a pimply-faced little punk she
knows from school.  I think she's been hanging around with him and
his friends, just to have something to do this summer.  I already
told him that if I hear any whisper about him getting too familiar
with her, I'd take him out into the woods behind our house and break
both his legs."  He laughed out loud at the memory.  "Kid nearly shit
his pants when I got in his face.  He got all sweaty and blubbery,
promising me on his grandmother's grave that he would treat her nice,
which was pretty funny, considering his grandmother's not dead.  I
think I scared him into actually keeping his word."

"Hell, Jake," I said, "I'll even be glad to help you out if it comes
to that."  I punched him on the arm companionably.

We were walking down the sidewalk, headed for Josh O'Toole's house
to see if he wanted to go with us to the arcade, when we heard the
throaty growl of a powerful car engine coming up from behind us.  We
turned and watched as Joey Amonte roared by us, one hand draped
insolently over the steering wheel, the other arm across Molly
O'Toole's shoulder, holding her close to him on the bench seat.  The
windows were open, and the radio was turned up loud.  Molly's long,
strawberry-blonde hair was blowing around her face, and she was just
reaching up to brush it off her forehead when she turned and saw Jake
and me.  She stared blankly at us, then turned and said something to
Joey.  He glanced at us, and we could just see him shaking his head
as they roared out of sight up the street and around a corner, tires
squealing.

"One of the oddest couples I've ever seen," mumbled Jake.

"Yeah," I agreed.  "You know what, Jake?  Let's forget about Josh.
I don't want to run into Molly or her boyfriend today.  Let's just go
to the arcade, maybe we can call him from there."

"Okay," he said.  "The less I see of Joey Amonte, the more I like
it, anyway."

We spent the rest of the afternoon throwing dimes into the pinball
machines at the arcade, enjoying the clang and clatter of steel balls
hitting bumpers and ramps and dropping down into the wells of the
tables.





- 7 -

FIREFLOWERS AND SCREAMERS



Every year, the town we live in throws a big party for the 4th of
July.  When the holiday falls on a weekend, like it did in 1981, the
community puts together enough events to fill the entire weekend.  A
traveling amusement park sets up, the firehouses have water hose
fights, there is live music and a food fest, and, of course,
fireworks.  Almost everybody in town attends something in the park by
the lake over the weekend, and the place is always packed for the
fireworks.

That year, walking around the park, I could see that all the little
kids were being carted around by their parents, riding the merry-go-
round and the kiddie cars, watching the magicians and the clowns, and
eating gallons of ice cream.  The teenagers tended to clump together
at the faster rides, sometimes hanging around the beer tent, hoping
for a chance to sneak inside.

On Friday, Jake and I were supposed to meet a bunch of our friends
at the carnival.  Jake's parents had been kind of lulled into
thinking that Jake and Jaimie were no longer meeting up, even though,
as determined and sneaky kids will tend to do, they had managed to
get together occasionally over the past several months.  Jaimie was
going to the carnival with Kayla and a bunch of their friends, too,
so I fully expected to see her there, looking for Jake.  It was a hot
day, and the principal of our school, Dr. Osgood, was going to be
sitting in the dunk tank, part of a fundraiser for the foundation
that Skip Horvath's family had set up in his memory.  So, of course,
about half the school was there, taking a turn at trying to dunk Dr.
Osgood, at a dollar a throw.

We got bored watching, and the line was way too long for a chance at
the booth, so we all just started hitting the other rides.  Jake,
Jaimie, Josh, Andrea, Becky Steinman, and I kind of stayed together
as a group.  Others joined us for a ride or two, then split off;
sometimes, there were as many as 15 friends of ours in line,
particularly for the Gravity Drop.  This was a ride where everybody
stood up inside a big cylinder.  Once the ride was full, the cylinder
started spinning you around, acting like a centrifuge, until you were
pinned to the metal wall.  At that point, the floor dropped out, and
you were literally stuck to the wall.  It was a fun ride, especially
when I got to be opposite a cute girl, because their tops would be
plastered to their bodies, and sometimes would even creep up,
revealing a wonderful width of bare skin at their stomachs.  One
lucky time, a girl's t-shirt literally flew up into her face, showing
her pink bra to everyone on the ride.  It was half the thrill of the
ride, wondering what would be revealed, each time you rode on it.

Just before dark, we headed toward the food concession stands, and
pigged out on corn on the cob dipped in a big vat of melted butter,
and hot dogs, and cheeseburgers, and pizza, and french fries, and
onion rings, and sodas, and ice cream bars for dessert.  We all
moaned and groaned, too full to move from the picnic tables we had
commandeered for our feast.  Finally, we tired of doing nothing, so
we wandered off again, in search of more carnie thrills.

One time, we were waiting for the Ferris Wheel, and Jorge and
Kristina came over by us.  They were taking their four younger
brothers and sisters around the carnival, so they all got in line
with us.  Since the Ferris Wheel could sit two adults and one child,
Kristina divvied up her younger siblings among us, so all of them
would be accompanied by someone they knew.  As we were getting ready
to board the ride, Jorge suddenly stepped aside, effectively
positioning me in line to get in the seat with Kristina and her
younger sister, Lina.  I was a little embarrassed by Jorge's
maneuvering, and Kristina looked a little uncomfortable, but she
accepted graciously when I gestured for her to get on ahead of me.
We sat down, Lina between us, our hands in our laps, as the wheel
lurched and moved so that the next seat could be loaded.

By the time we had stuttered our way to the top of the Ferris Wheel,
Lina had broken the ice for us.  She was so excited, to be so far
above the rest of the carnival and the park, that she could hardly
contain herself.  She started pointing out landmarks to us,
screeching and waving to friends she spotted far down on the ground,
and turning around to laugh with Jorge, Becky, and Emilio, another of
the Mendoza kids, in the bench behind us.  As the ride launched for
its prescribed time, Kristina finally smiled, and we took turns
searching for other people and places throughout the park to point
out to Lina, chatting and laughing like friends once again.  Kristina
even spotted my younger brother Stephen, running in a pack with a
bunch of his buddies, as they raced toward the Tilt-A-Whirl.  It was
an easy pattern to fall into, and I remembered with a rush just how
much fun Kristina and I had been having, just a few short weeks
prior.  Maybe our friendship could be salvaged, I thought.  I hoped
so.

The carnival stopped the rides at 11:00 PM, and by then, there were
just the high-school kids left.  The younger kids had all gone home,
and the older ones found someplace else to have their fun.  I was
pretty tired from being outside all day, eating junk and sloshing it
all around in my stomach from so many rides.  Jake was ready to pack
it in, as well, and Jaimie had already left to meet up with the
friends she came to the park with, so we waved goodbye to our friends
and headed back toward our neighborhood.

The next day, it was more of the same.  Most of us were pretty much
burned out on the rides at the carnival.  Besides, Saturday afternoon
the entire place was going to be overrun by all the little kids and
their parents, so a bunch of us decided to hit the beach at the park,
instead.  I met up with Eric, Keisha, Becky, Trent Abbott, and
Danielle Nickerson, who was Trent's new girlfriend, and we spent the
afternoon being slothful in the sand and in the water.  Keisha, of
course, looked sensational and exotic, with her glistening dark skin
and bright red bikini.  Danielle was kind of plain-looking, with
mousy brown hair she kept cut fairly short, and hips that were a
little wide, but she was one of the nicest people I knew, and I was
glad to see that she and Trent had found each other.

Becky and I had known each other since about the second grade.  She
was slender, with shoulder-length dark blonde hair that she nearly
always tied back.  She played recreational soccer, but wasn't
confident enough in her abilities to try out for the school team.
She normally dressed pretty conservatively, but I guess that didn't
carry over to beachwear, since she was wearing a very small purple
bikini today.  I couldn't keep my eyes off her.  This was a brand-new
Becky to me, and she was happy to hang out with me at the beach,
which was just fine with me.

After spending a couple of hours on the beach, we all grabbed t-
shirts and strolled up to the concession stand to get something to
eat.  We ordered greasy cheeseburgers and fries, all except for
Danielle, who got a limp and sorry-looking salad with a virulent
orange dressing.  We crowded in around a wooden picnic table in the
shade, and dug in.

"What IS that stuff?" asked Keisha, eyeing Danielle's salad warily
as she gingerly picked up a wilted shred of lettuce and dipped it
into the paper cup of dressing.

"It is disgusting, isn't it?" replied Danielle.  "It's really good
for my diet, though.  One look at it, and my appetite disappears."

"Well," said Trent between mouthfuls, "this burger hits the spot."

"Thass 'cause you never met a hamburger you didn't like," retorted
Eric.

"Hey, I can't help it if I'm a carnivore," replied Trent.

"Carnivore?" asked Danielle.  "How about omnivore?"

"Yeah, there's very few things I won't eat," said Trent, giving
Danielle his best Groucho Marx eyebrow wiggle.

He had to duck as Danielle threw a shriveled radish at him.
"Pervert!" she said.  Meanwhile, Keisha, sitting next to him, started
pummeling him on his arm for the remark.

"Do you kiss your mama with that mouth?" derided Keisha as she
pounded him.

Ducking his head and tucking his elbows to his sides to cover up
against the assault, Trent replied, "Yeah, and she really likes it
when I do."

"Ewww.  That's completely disgusting!" cried Keisha as she renewed
her attack.  Trent had to finally slip down off the seat and slide
under the table to get away from the two girls, laughingly
apologizing from his hideaway.

Becky and I just watched the exchange with amusement.  Her bare
thigh was resting against mine, a warm and smooth, surprising
connection between us.

After lunch, we wandered back down to the beach, feeling full and
lazy.  Trent and Danielle decided to walk around the lake, so they
slipped their sandals on and strolled along the shoreline.  Eric and
Keisha sat down at the water's edge and drew doodles in the sand,
watching the waves lap up and erase their lines and drawings as they
lazily talked.

Becky and I flopped back down on our towels spread out on the hot
sand.  She had her sunglasses propped up in her hair as she rolled
over to lie on her stomach.  She reached up and flipped her
sunglasses down onto her nose as she turned to me.

"Put some lotion on my back, Sean?"

"Sure," I said, reaching for the sun block.  I squirted a dollop
across her shoulders.  The skin pebbled a little as she squirmed.

"Oh, that's cold," she complained.

"Sorry," I mumbled.  I started spreading the lotion across her
shoulders and down her back.  I slipped my hand under the strap of
her bikini top, but she apparently decided that wasn't sufficient,
since she reached back with both hands and undid the strap, pulling
the ends out and off her back wordlessly.  I was now faced with an
expanse of naked skin that I was supposed to rub lotion into.  Didn't
she realize what the sight of so much skin did to a teenaged boy?  I
could feel blood being diverted into my crotch, making my trunks a
little tighter, but there was nothing to be done about that.  I bent
back to the task at hand, squirting a little more lotion out into my
palm, and rubbing it into her back and sides, trying to keep my
fingers from noticing the supple feel of her skin, the ridges of her
backbone from her neck all the way to where her bikini bottom covered
her, and the softer flesh of her squashed breasts as she lay there.
I finished by brushing my fingertips along the waistband of her
bikini bottoms, wanting to slip under the elastic a bit further, but
unwilling to take the chance.  I took my time replacing the cap on
the tube of sun block, kneeling on the towel and waiting for my
erection to subside before standing.

I thought her eyes might have been closed.  It was hard to tell
through the dark lenses of her sunglasses.  She seemed to know,
though, when I was getting ready to move over to my own towel.

"You didn't get the backs of my legs yet," she said softly.

Uh-oh.  Legs.  I knelt beside her knees, and reopened the lotion.  I
squeezed lotion into my hand and started on the left leg, at her
ankle.  Yeah, I was a chicken, but so what?  I was working my way up
that long length of smooth leg, making sure I got every square
millimeter protected with sun block.  Up her calf, to the crease of
her knee, and even further, feeling the big muscles of her thigh at
rest, smoothing the lotion into her skin.  I made it all the way up
to where her bathing suit covered her butt, and then started again at
the ankle of her right leg, trying to ignore the way her legs had
parted just slightly as I had worked on her thigh.

By the time I had worked my way up her right leg, I could just
detect a slight quiver in her muscles, and her legs had definitely
spread out a little more, allowing my fingers to work the lotion
along her inner thigh.  I made sure she was well covered, going over
and over the area, from her knee to just below her covered crotch.
Finally, breathing heavily, I collapsed down next to her.  My painful
erection was pushed into the sand, where it wouldn't be noticed, I
hoped.

Becky sighed and turned her head toward me.  "Want me to do you
now?" she asked.

My first reaction was probably what you would expect from the mind
of a hormonally charged teenaged male.  What, do I want you to do me,
right here and now?  Absolutely, do me now, and do me often.  But
then, I realized that she was talking about putting lotion on me.  I
looked over at her, and she had an uncharacteristic, knowing grin on
her face, seeming to be waiting for my reaction.  I was sure she had
read my mind, and found what little I keep in there to be
inconsequentially amusing.  I just nodded, afraid to open my mouth,
for fear I would only be able to croak something goofy.  Without
lifting her body up, she reached back and refastened her top, and
then knelt beside me and reached for the tube of suntan lotion, still
in my hand.  She tugged at it, trying to get me to let it go, but I
was unconsciously gripping it tightly.

"Sean?  The lotion?" she laughingly inquired as she finally pulled
it from my grasp.  She propped her sunglasses up onto the top of her
head again, so she could properly concentrate.

She squirted a dollop onto the middle of my back.  She was right.
It was temporarily cold on my skin.  But it warmed up fast, once she
started rubbing it into my skin.  She rubbed slowly, using a circular
motion that felt really good.  When I was a kid, my mom would just
slather the stuff on me, wiping me down in big, fast strokes to get
as much coverage as quickly as possible, leaving me covered with
white streaks of lotion.  This was much better, more like what I
thought a massage would feel like, as Becky methodically rubbed the
sun block into my skin.  I liked it a lot.  I liked it so much, in
fact, that if I hadn't been lying on my stomach, I probably would
have caused a sensation, there on a public beach and all.

It was even better, and even worse, when she got to my legs.  I had
no qualms at all about having my legs spread out a little, and Becky
took full advantage, making sure I was well covered by lotion, going
over and over my legs, from my ankles to the hem of my swim trunks.
By the time she finished, I was having trouble focusing, and I was
breathing hard, as if I had just run a sprint.  Finally, she flopped
down next to me on her towel, smiled at me, reached behind her to
once again unfasten her bikini top, and then nonchalantly closed her
eyes so she could feel the full effects of the sunshine beating down
on her, flipping her sunglasses back down onto her nose.  I couldn't
close my eyes.  I just lay there, watching her relax.  It was a
fascinating view.

Finally, Trent and Danielle returned from their walk, dropping down
to sit beside us.  Eric and Keisha came up from the water's edge to
see what was going on.  Becky reattached her top, and we sat up to
join in.

Everybody was tired of being in the sand, so we headed for the
changing booths up near the concession stand.  Both the men's and the
women's sides had shower stalls, and we all had brought a change of
clothes, so we took turns washing the sand off and getting into
clean, dry t-shirts and shorts.

The six of us headed back to the park, and spent the rest of the
afternoon and evening tossing balls at stacks of bowling pins,
shooting targets with b-b guns, munching on popcorn and letting
cotton candy disintegrate in our mouths, and listening to the live
music coming from the beer garden as we stood around outside the
fence.

By dusk, the entire town was starting to gather in the park,
families staking out their spots on the grass in anticipation of the
fireworks display.  We wandered around, looking for clumps of kids we
knew, stopping to shoot the breeze with friends.  We found Theo
Jameson among the crowd, a fellow soccer teammate who was involved in
a horrible car accident the previous fall, an accident that killed
his best friend and our star player, Skip Horvath, an accident caused
by Richie Del Toro, the leader of the gang of toughs at school known
as the Bulls.  Richie was still being held in the county jail, having
been convicted of vehicular manslaughter, but his lawyers were
attempting an appeal.  Theo survived the accident, but spent several
months in a wheelchair, and then underwent a grueling set of therapy
sessions, just so he could walk under his own power to receive his
high-school diploma in June.  He still walked very slowly, but I
could see he had made a lot of progress, even in just the last month
or so.

"Trent!  Sean!  Eric!  Man, it's good to see you guys!" he called
out.  He shuffled over in our direction as we veered over toward him.
He gave each of us a fierce hug in greeting.  "What are you guys up
to?"

"We're just cruising the park," said Trent.  "How about you?"

"I'm staying put right here," he said with a smile.  He indicated
his family, on blankets behind him, as he continued, "My folks wanted
us to watch the fireworks together, like we used to do when my
brothers and sisters and I were little.  Besides, I think they're
still nervous about how well I can move around, even though I'm back
on two feet again."

"You'll be back on the soccer field by the fall," said Trent
encouragingly.

He looked a little sad.  "I don't think so, Trent.  My playing days
might be over."  He brightened up then.  "But, I did get some pretty
good news this week.  Seems that the soccer coach over at Western had
been watching us play early in the season last year, and had been
considering offering me at least a partial scholarship, until I got
hurt.  Anyway, when he found out that's where I was going to go to
college anyway, he called me up the other day, and asked if I wanted
to work on the sidelines with him and his coaching staff.  He said he
could offer me part-time employment as a coaches' aide, if I wanted
it.  At least it's a way for me to stay in the game, you know?"

"That's really great," I said.  "You know, coaching just might be
the right fit for you, Theo."

"Yeah," he agreed, "if I can't play, maybe I can at least teach the
game to others.  It's worth a shot, anyway."

We chatted for a few minutes more, congratulating him about the
opportunity, and then headed off, so that Theo could spend this
evening with his family.  Trent and Danielle split off and went in
search of some of their other friends, and Eric, Keisha, Becky and I
continued strolling through the crowd, until just before the
fireworks were scheduled to begin.  We hooked up with Josh and
Andrea, Jorge, Kristina, Toby Mueller, and Ashley Horvath, and
plopped onto the ground beside them, just as the opening salvos were
set off.

I was watching the fireflowers and screamers flying into the dark
sky, leaning back on my hands as I oohhhed and ahhhed over the
colorful, fantastic display in the sky, when I felt Becky, on my
left, put her hand over mine as she leaned back, next to me, to enjoy
the fireworks.  It was not entirely unexpected, nor was it unwelcome,
especially after our afternoon on the sand.  It was a warm and quiet
invitation from a very good friend.

What was unexpected, however, was the warm body on my right, not
merely resting her hand on mine, but actually leaning on me, pressing
her side into my arm.  I could feel the warmth of Kristina's body up
and down my arm, her unspoken signal stabbing straight to my
midsection.






- 8 -

HE SAID/SHE SAID



"You know she likes you a lot, Sean."

"Yeah, I know, I've been working with her kids for awhile now."

"Not like that, stupid," she said.  She was propped up on one elbow,
doodling in the small line of hair that ran from my belly button to
my crotch.  It sort of tickled, in a squirmy way.  "I mean, she LIKES
you."

"Nah."  I dismissed the thought.  I had too many complications right
now to be thinking of Lori like that.

"What?" She was persistent.  "You don't think of her in that manner?"

"No.  Yes.  I mean...  Well, she's really pretty and all."  I
sighed.  This was an uncomfortable conversation to be having,
especially when I was lying here, both of us naked atop the rumpled
and sweat-slicked sheets.  Why did she insist on talking about
someone else while I was in bed with her?

"And lonely," she added.  "Her husband has been gone for almost two
years.  She's got to have a lot of pent-up emotions ready to come
flooding out.  Wouldn't you like to be the right man in the right
place at the right time?"

"Are you kidding me?  She wouldn't think... I couldn't... she
doesn't look at me like... Nah."

"What is the matter with you?" she asked, a little frustrated at my
thick-headedness.  "If she found you in her bed, you think she'd kick
you out?"

Now I was starting to get a little irritated, as well as
embarrassed.  "Yes, of course she would.  Not that I would be jumping
in her bed so she would find me there, anyway.  Come on, Wendy, can't
we talk about something else?"

Her doodling brought her fingers within range of my more sensitive
spots.  She had already gotten me off twice, once with her mouth and
once as she worked me from on top, while I suckled and squeezed her
big breasts as they swayed over my face.  Now she was very lightly
running her fingertips along the skin between my legs and my balls,
teasing and tickling, but never touching either my scrotum or my hard
cock.  The anticipation was making coherent thought, particularly
about Lori Wilkinson, difficult.  I decided that a decent defense was
a good offense, so I reciprocated by lightly running my fingertips
over her sensitive boobs, circling but never touching her ruby
nipples.

"Is that what you want to do?  Talk?" she teased.  She blew at my
ear.  "You know, there's something else two people can do with their
lips besides talk..."  She leaned toward me, never stopping her
teasing fingers, and kissed me softly on the lips.  The soft kiss
turned heated as she opened her mouth and invited my tongue in.  Both
of our hands relented at the same time, as I pinched a distended
nipple, just as she grasped my rigid cock.  She stroked me as she
kissed me, until she finally grabbed on and pulled me by my cock over
onto her, spreading her legs and guiding my head toward her heated
opening.  As I sank into her soft and pliant pussy, she wrapped her
short legs around mine, pulling me tighter into her.

She was very wet and slick as I pumped in and out of her in a
rhythm, drawing almost all the way out of her as her legs relaxed,
and then slamming back into her hard when I felt her flexing against
the backs of my thighs.  The air conditioning in her house couldn't
keep up with our efforts, and we both were breathing very hard into
each other's mouths, and sweat was running down my back.  Her chest
had a sheen of perspiration, her breasts mashed against me as she
held me close.

Finally, she could take no more, and she broke the kiss and panted
as she was pushed over the edge.  I had already come twice that
afternoon, and had started out feeling like I could ride her for
hours, so I was pistoning in and out of her energetically.  But when
I felt her vaginal muscles contracting as she came, it triggered my
own orgasm, and I clenched and pushed as far into her as I could as I
pumped and spurted once again.

That was the end of the road for me.  I was wrung out, exhausted as
I collapsed down on top of her.  I could feel her oils coating my
cock and balls, and our combined juices leaked out and soaked the
sheet beneath us again.  I rolled off her, my shrinking dick slipping
from her slippery passage, and landed on my back next to her again.

"Mmmm, that was a good one," she said, mostly to herself.  She
indulged herself for a few more minutes, enjoying the aftereffects,
and then she bounded up out of the bed.

"Get up," she commanded as she slipped into her robe.

I curled up into a ball, wanting to just slide into an easy slumber
for just a little while.  "No," I said, a little petulantly.

She started pulling the sheets out from under me, being none too
gentle as she rolled me out of the way.  "Get up, you lazy boy.  I
have to get these sheets in the wash and the bed changed before
Arthur gets home."

I rolled over, propped my hands behind my head, and looked at her.
"Why do you do it, anyway?" I asked.

She knew what I meant.  She stood there a moment, arms full of
soiled sheets, and I could see her about to give my question a
flippant reply, and then changing her mind.  "I love Arthur, Sean.
Let's not forget that.  I would never want to hurt him.  But he can't
provide certain... excitements... that I choose not to be without."
Her face took on a harder look.  "Don't get all dewy-eyed on me,
Sean.  You know it's just fun and games.  You get to get your rocks
off, I get to remember what it's like to go at it two or three times
in succession."

That was my cue.  I stood up and looked around for my clothes.

"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure I like it very much."  Who was I
kidding?  I liked getting my ashes hauled, especially by someone as
energetic and experienced as Wendy.  But I still walked away feeling
pretty slimy, a feeling that no shower in the world could wash away.

Her eyes got a little reptilian.  "So?  I'm not forcing you, Sean.
If you don't like it, don't come back.  See how simple it is?"

"Simple for you, maybe.  You've got it all figured out.  I don't
have a clue about any of this shit, I'm just a kid.  What do I know
about love and relationships and behavior?  I can't seem to keep it
in my pants well enough to hang on to a girlfriend.  I... ah, fuck,
never mind," I trailed off.

"Love?  Relationships?"  Her eyes were flashing with anger.  "Let me
help you out here, kiddo.  This ain't love, it ain't a relationship.
It's sex.  Boffing.  Getting it on, getting your rocks off, lighting
your candle, setting off your pocket rocket, it's the ol' in-and-out.
It's fucking at its finest.  Enjoy it for what it is, and don't try
to read anything else into it, okay?"

Her look softened, and she dropped the sheets and walked over to me
and reached up to take my face in her hands.  "Sometimes I forget how
young you are.  You look grown-up, but there's still a lot of little
boy in you, and I need to remember that."  She pecked me on the lips,
then grasped my shoulders and turned me toward the bathroom.  She
smacked me on my bare ass to propel me toward the shower.  "Now go
get cleaned up quickly, please?  I'm running late."

She bustled back around to the pile of laundry as I shuffled off to
the bathroom.

I leaned in and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

I looked grown-up?  When did that happen?



(Continued in Chapter 9)















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