index


Message-ID: <39793asstr$1039641005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
ReSent-Date: Wed, 11 Dec 2002 09:34:18 -0500 (EST)
ReSent-From: ASSTR Administration <ckought69@hotmail.com>
ReSent-To: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
ReSent-Subject: [1ckought69@hotmail.com] {ASSM} Playing the Game II: Playing
 to Win, Ch. 2 (mf rom)
ReSent-Message-ID: <Pine.LNX.4.30.0212110934180.4664@sara.asstr-mirror.org>
Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game II: Playing to Win, Ch. 21 (mf rom)
Date: Wed, 11 Dec 2002 16:10:05 -0500
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


And the story continues apace.

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




- 21 -

SUSPICIOUS CHARACTERS AT THE DOOR



You can always tell when a doctor or a nurse is lying to you.  It's
when they are approaching you with a wicked-looking instrument or
needle in their hand, and they say, "Now, this won't hurt a bit."

About 20 minutes after hearing just those words, they were still
trying to scrape me off the walls of the examination room, having
changed all my bandages, and cleaned and drained all my wounds,
performing all these tortures with the cavalier indifference to my
pain and discomfort that probably caused them to go into medicine in
the first place.

It was just before lunchtime when Mom and I finally were on our way
home.

"Would you like to stop at McDonald's or someplace for lunch?" my
mother asked with artificial good cheer.  She was in the room with me
while they poked and prodded my lip and arm, after all.

"No," I snapped.  "I just want to go home."

"All right, dear," she replied sympathetically.

Two hours later, I was feeling almost human again.  Two peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches on spongy white bread, comfort food for
the young, had been wolfed down, along with nearly a quart of milk,
and I was cocooned on the couch in the family room, a thick quilt
wrapped around me.  The pain in my arm and my ribs was down to a dull
throb, thanks in part to the painkillers I had taken with lunch, and
I drowsily acknowledged my mom when she called out from the kitchen
that she was leaving to go in to work for the afternoon, now that she
had me back home, safe and reasonably sound.

It was just too easy to fall asleep that afternoon, and it was after
3:00 when I finally woke up.  I got up creakily, and headed into the
kitchen, and I started rummaging through the cabinets, looking for
cookies or crackers or something.

I was just in the process of fumbling open a bag of potato chips,
trying to tear the bag open with my teeth without jarring my cut lip
too much, when I heard a soft knock at the back door.  Before I had a
chance to see who it was, the door opened, and Jake and Kayla came in.

"Hungry, Porter?" asked Jake when he saw me struggling.  He reached
for the bag and tore it open for me.

"Hi, Sean, how are you feeling?" asked Kayla softly, her eyes
glittering.

"Not bad," I replied.  "I think I like taking naps in the
afternoons."  I stretched to emphasize the point, but I was a little
too extravagant in my movements, and I ended up pulling on my bruised
ribs, which made me hunch down, clutching at my ribcage and grimacing
in pain.  Kayla came over and held my good arm solicitously.

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asked anxiously.

"It's okay, Kay," I assured her.  "It only hurts when I move."

"And that's why he was taking a nap, Kay," said Jake, his big hand
rummaging around in the bag of chips.  "So he wouldn't move around
and hurt himself any worse."

I gave him a look that he easily ignored.  "What a pal," I muttered.

As we headed for the family room, it occurred to me that they were
here too soon after school let out.

"Hey, Jake, why aren't you at football practice?" I asked.

"Oh, man, you missed the strangest day I've ever seen at school
today," he said.

"Everybody was talking about the Homecoming dance," added Kayla.

"And, of course, you and Jilly were the main topics of
conversation," continued Jake.

"Of course," I said disgustedly.  I could see already that it was
going to be tough that first day back.

"You wouldn't believe some of the stories I heard today," said Jake.
"You were dead, Jilly was on life support, Martians had landed.  You
name it, I heard it today."

"Was Molly at school?  Surely she could have straightened everybody
out."

"Shirley could have straightened it out?  Who's Shirley?"  I scowled
at him, and Kayla stuck her tongue out at her brother.  "Actually,
Molly was there, but it's much more exciting to spread rumors about
what might have happened than actually learn the truth.  Besides, she
could only talk to a few kids in one day between classes, and stories
expand a lot faster.  And the fact that both you and Del Toro were
missing today only fueled the fire," he said.

Another thought occurred to me.  "Okay, but why aren't you at
football practice?"

"Practice for both the football team and the soccer team was another
casualty of the weekend," he answered.  "Counselors were at school
all afternoon, trying to get to the bottom of it all.  They were on
the phone with the cops, and they called in half the football team
and most of the soccer team for interviews.  So many kids were
cooling their heels in the counselor's office that they had to cancel
practices."

"Jake had to talk to them, Sean," said Kayla.  That news didn't
surprise me.

"Yeah, me and Tiny and Josh and about 10 other suspicious characters
had to talk to the principal and the counselor.  I saw Eric and Trent
and Mikey and Jorge there, too," said Jake.

"I suppose it'll be my turn when I go back," I said.  "How about
Amonte and Barnes and those guys?  Any of the Bulls at school today?"

"No, not really," said Jake.  "Remember last year, after Skip got
killed?  The Bulls kind of hid out for a few days, and then came back
all spiffed up, as if they were giving up the gang life, you know?  I
think they might be doing the same thing now.  Besides," he
continued, "their leader and chief bully is fallen.  They've got
nobody to tell them what to do right now."

"Del Toro may be out of sight, but I'll bet he hasn't given up the
reins of his little terror squad quite yet," I surmised.

"Yeah, he's in a little cubbyhole somewhere, some rat's nest,
licking his wounds right about now," said Jake.

The sudden laughter burst from me in a painful cramp.  Both Kayla
and Jake looked at me as if I had lost my mind.  Maybe I had.  When I
got myself back under control, moaning at the pain in my ribcage as
the laughter subsided, I explained.  "The mental image of Del Toro
having to lick those particular wounds is kind of funny, isn't it?"

Jake looked surprised, and then he must have remembered that it
wasn't just a separated shoulder that Del Toro was hurting from.  In
fact, that was his secondary injury, and Jake started laughing,
sending me off again.  Kayla giggled, all the while turning bright
pink as she recalled where Jilly was hurting the most.

We finally settled down.  Kayla went out into the kitchen and got
sodas for us all, and Jake and I cleared off the coffee table so we
could work.  Kay had done as she promised, and picked up my homework
assignments for the day.  There wasn't much, because of the uproar in
school all day, but that just meant that the teachers would pile it
on the next day, I was certain.

And, as it turned out, it was a good thing there wasn't much work to
do.  My front door should have been a revolving door, there were so
many visitors, each with a tale to tell about what had happened at
school.

The first to drop by were Trent and Allison, who just wanted to see
how I was feeling.  Allie looked stricken when she saw me all
bandaged up, but I was able to reassure her that I was doing okay.

Trent sat down on the couch and helped himself to a handful of
chips.  "Coach is going to have a cow when he realizes you're out for
a few weeks," he remarked.

"I hope it's not a few weeks," I said.  "My arm shouldn't keep me
out of the lineup.  It's just a question of how fast my ribs will
heal.  As it is now, I'm having trouble taking deep breaths."

"Ribs can take a long time, buddy," said Jake.  "Sometimes six or
eight weeks, if they're cracked."

"I don't think they're cracked," I said.  "I just had another x-ray
today, but nobody seemed real concerned about my ribs."  Six or eight
weeks?  Oh, man, say it ain't so, I thought to myself.

"That's because of your filleted arm, Sean.  Ribs can heal
themselves in time, but they've got to keep an eye on your cuts to
make sure they don't get infected."  Trent reached for the bag of
chips again.

The doorbell rang again, and Kayla, playing hostess, hopped up to
open the front door.  Eric and Anthony came in and headed right for
the bag of chips on the coffee table.

"How you doin'?" asked Eric.  "Keisha wanted to come over with me,
but she was afraid of how busted up you would look.  I told her that
maybe, if Del Toro rearranged your face a little, you'd turn out to
be better looking."

"What a pal," I said disgustedly.  "Here I am, in pain and needing a
little sympathy, and instead I get a junior Richard Pryor."

Kayla jumped onto the couch next to me and snuggled up, putting her
arms carefully around my neck.  "Do you need some sympathy, Sean?"
she cooed as she pressed herself in next to me.  She gave me a quick
kiss on my cheek, hopped back up, and declared, "Sorry, none to be
found here!"

Everybody cracked up.  I claimed I didn't see the humor in it, but I
was lying, and they all knew it.  I finally relented, and smiled
along with them all.  I knew, deep down inside, that just by being
there, my friends were showing their sympathy and support, and I was
grateful.

I turned to Eric and Anthony.  "I'm going to have to call Coach and
let him know about what's going on.  He's not going to be happy."

Eric snorted.  "Happy?  That ain't the word for what Coach is gonna
be.  Happy is about as far away from how Coach is gonna feel as you
can get, I'd bet."

"Especially when he realizes he's gonna have to start Weasel in your
spot," added Anthony.

"Weasel?  Christ, I didn't even think about that," I said.  "And if
that little freshman dirtbag does start, he's not going to give up
that position without a fight."

"Hey!" admonished Kayla.  "Just because he's a freshman, doesn't
mean he's a dirtbag.  Watch your mouth, Mr. Porter, or you'll be
getting another fat lip.  After this one heals first."

"Listen, Luscious, he's not a dirtbag because he's a freshman.
Hell, I like freshmen.  Especially broiled.  With barbeque sauce."  I
smiled at her, to let her know that the present company was exempted.
She stuck out her tongue at me.  "Hey, don't point that thing at me
unless you intend to use it," I warned.

Kayla blushed furiously, but it didn't stop her from jumping back on
the couch and snuggling up to me again.  She put her mouth next to my
ear.  "So, you think I'm luscious, do you?" she whispered.

Now it was my turn to blush a bright red.

"Hey, leave the poor boy alone," teased Eric.  "He's in a delicate
medical condition, and can't take that kind of excitement."  He
pronounced it almost like three words, Dell-E-Kit, and managed to get
a laugh out of everybody.

"Do you hear that?"  I said to no one in particular.  "See the
respect I get around here?  And in my own home, too."

"Awww, poor Sean," was the nearly unanimous reply.

"Yeah, the Rodney Dangerfield of the high school set," added Jake.

"Hey, by the way, who's Weasel?" asked Kayla.

"A kid on the team," said Anthony.  "Do you know Adam Prince?"

Kay made a face like she was sucking on a lemon.  "Oh, him," she
said.  "He was a friend of..."  She glanced quickly over to me,
looking a little abashed.  "A friend of Brandon's."

"Oh?  And who's Brandon?" I asked.

There was a long pause before she answered.  "Just a boy I know,"
she said mysteriously.

"Ah," I said.  "Is he the kid you were at the dance with?"

She just nodded, her head down as if she was embarrassed.

"And he's the kid at the scavenger hunt party," I said.  The picture
was a little clearer for me now.

"Oops," said Jake.  He winked at his sister.  She didn't look like
she appreciated it very much, but I wasn't sure why she was
uncomfortable talking about him.  But she was, so I let it drop.

By the time my mom got home, there was still a houseful of kids.  My
little brother had gotten home from school, and was mixing with my
friends, loving hanging out with the high-school kids.  Tiny and Josh
had stopped by, and so had Austin and Tessa, and Toby and Ashley, and
Kevin and Mikey and Brett from the soccer team.  Trent and Danielle,
and a couple of others, had already left, but it was still a pretty
full house.

Mom stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, surveying the scene.
"Well, I guess pizzas are in order for dinner," she said with a
laugh.  She tapped Jake on the shoulder.  "Jake, would you be a dear
and run out and pick up some more sodas?  We must be just about out
by now."  She started rooting around in her purse.  "Here, take
this," she said, handing him a twenty dollar bill.  "Just buy what
you can.  And maybe some more snacks, too.  This looks like a hungry
crowd."

"Sure thing, Mrs. P.," said Jake.  He grabbed his coat and headed
for the door.

It was a good thing there wasn't a lot of homework assigned that
night.  Nobody wanted to leave to go do something as boring as
studying, and so the party went on.  Jake returned with fresh
supplies of pop and chips, and four pizzas were delivered.  By that
time, my older brother Michael was home from work, and Dad was there,
too.  Kids were coming and going, but the two constants all evening
long were my best friend Jake, and Kayla, who stayed at my side,
refilling my glass and making sure I was comfortable.  If I had to
get up to walk around, or go to the bathroom, she helped me to stand,
unwilling to believe me when I told her I was perfectly capable of
getting up by myself.  I believed her mothering instincts were in
full blossom, and there was no holding her back, so I submitted to
her help with as much good humor as I could muster.  Considering it
was Jake's sister, I found that I was able to muster quite a bit of
good humor.  To be perfectly honest, I enjoyed her help.  I never
would have put up with the same amount of fussing from my own mother,
but coming from Luscious Kayla, it was all okay.

Which, I was to discover later, was all part of the plan.





By the time everybody had left, I was wondering if I had fallen
through some sort of odd space warp.  Just 60 hours prior, I had been
a fit, happy and healthy athlete.  A day and a half later, I was
feeling like a truck had run me down, backed up, and aimed for me
again, and I had done practically nothing all day.  Jake and Luscious
Kayla were the last to leave, friends to the end, but I was so tired
I was cross-eyed.  I couldn't wait to drag my sorry carcass up the
stairs and fall into bed.  Because of the bandages, I hadn't been
able to take a shower since Saturday, and I was feeling pretty gross.
Mom helped me stumble into the bathroom, and I stood there, too tired
to be embarrassed, as my mother gave me a warm sponge bath.  She
wanted to wash my hair in the sink, just like she did when I was a
little kid, but I was not going to stay away from my pillow any
longer, so I managed to put her off to another day for that
particular dispiriting activity.

I was asleep practically before my head hit the pillow, and I slept
the sleep of the dead until midmorning the next day, waking to an
empty and quiet house.

My mom had left me a note, letting me know that she was at work, and
would be home before 5:00.  I had the day to myself, something that
was completely foreign to me.  For the first couple of hours, I
luxuriated in the idleness, flipping channels and discovering that
daytime television truly was the vast wasteland that Newton Minow had
declared in 1961.  No improvement in 20 years, no improvement in
sight.  I was looking forward to Jake and Kayla coming over, even if
it meant they were bringing homework.  And, surprisingly, I was
looking forward to going back to school.

Late that afternoon, the telephone rang.  I had had the foresight to
put the phone on the table next to the couch, so I didn't have to
struggle up to answer it.

"Sean?"  A familiar voice was making sure I was who she thought I was.

"Hey, Lori, how are you?"

"Well, I'm fine.  I guess the bigger question is, how are you?" she
asked, concern evident in her voice.  Obviously she had heard some
sort of story about the weekend.

"I'm doing okay," I reassured her.  "I'm just taking a couple of
days off from school, until I feel a little better."

"Sean, I heard about the fight... How badly are you hurt?"

I ignored the question for the moment.  "How did you hear about it?"
I asked.

She hesitated.  "Actually, Molly called me.  She said she wanted to
apologize for some things, and she said she missed seeing the boys.
She and I talked for a long time, Sean.  She told me some things...
about what she had been through... and she told me about what
happened Saturday night, how you got hurt protecting her..."

"Molly's got a skewed perspective about what happened that night,
Lori.  I wouldn't take all she said as the gospel truth."

I could almost hear her smile.  "She also told me you'd deny doing
anything at all," she said.

"Hey, I'm not saying I didn't do anything.  I got my ass kicked, and
I got my arm sliced up.  If some of the other people who were there
hadn't shown up, I'd have been in even worse shape.  Tiny and those
guys are the real heroes, not me, despite what Molly says."

She laughed a little.  "If you say so, Sean.  Anyway, I just wanted
to call and see how you were.  The boys ask about you all the time."

"Hey, why don't you bring them to one of the games?  Maybe I can get
them a gig as a ballboy or something.  They'd have a ball."

"That's a great idea.  Let me know when the home games are, and
we'll try to arrange it."  She paused for a moment.  "It's really
great to hear your voice, Sean."

"It's good to talk to you, too, Lori.  Thanks for calling.  I
appreciate it."

I no sooner hung up the phone, and it rang again.  I thought it was
probably Lori calling back.

"Lori?" I said, as I picked up the handset.

A gruff voice, with a heavy southern accent, said, "Uh, no, old son,
this isn't Lori.  My name is Cropper, Pickett Cropper.  Is this Sean
Porter?"

"Yes, Mr. Cropper, speaking.  What can I do for you?"

Cropper chuckled.  "Actually, I think the question to be asked is
what I might be able to do for you, Sean."




(Continued in Chapter 22)






_________________________________________________________________
The new MSN 8: smart spam protection and 2 months FREE*  
http://join.msn.com/?page=features/junkmail

-- 
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>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+