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Message-ID: <41711asstr$1049793006@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <RevCottonMather@verywarmpostalservice.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} -RP- Playing the Game, Ch. 16-20 by Rev. Cotton Mather
Date: Tue,  8 Apr 2003 05:10:06 -0400
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Just a little something for those of you who have not yet met my good
friend Sean Porter...


---------------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
story is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or
downloaded for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for
anyone to download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as
long as there is no intent to charge money or barter for the
privilege of acquiring this material.

(copyright 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------




PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 16 -

YELLOW CARD


That afternoon, the combined varsity and junior varsity soccer teams
drilled together.  It had turned into a cool, cloudy day, and I felt
like I could run forever.  We did really boring passing drills, we
did three-man weaves, we did 3-on-2 defensive drills, we did 4-on-2
offensive drills.  We ran laps around the field three times, once
during warm-ups, once just before our water break, and as a final
exercise.  The coaches called it a "warm-down", but we got sweaty all
the same.  Having played on two teams most of the summer, I quickly
got tired of drills and skills tests, and was anxious to scrimmage
and play games.  About half the varsity team, and a few of the guys
on the J.V. team, were of the same opinion, having played most of the
summer also, but the coaches were going to do what the coaches were
going to do, and no amount of interference from the players,
especially underclassmen, was going to change their minds.  

 From our point of view, certain players on the teams had played
together for such a long time, that they knew what to expect in a
game situation.   But the coaches, not having watched us all over the
past couple of years, were starting near ground zero, and had to
evaluate each player according to their position, their skills and
weaknesses, and their teammates.  The learning curve was much larger
for them than it was for us.  Even so, there were a substantial
number of guys that I was not familiar with, as far as their soccer
playing was concerned.  By the time we played our first game, still
more than a week away, I knew that I would have a good idea of the
strengths and weaknesses of most of the players on both teams.

During our lap runs, we tended to run with our classmates or former
teammates.  The juniors and the seniors tended to ignore us
underclassmen, clumping together as if for protection.  During the
drills, however, Skip made sure I was partnered with him most of the
time, and he kept up a running commentary on defensive maneuvers the
whole time.  It was his final year as a high-school player, and he
was being very generous in sharing his time and his experience with
me.  I knew most of the other guys at least by name, but after
practice ended Skip took me around to nearly all the upperclassmen
and introduced me to them.  Eric's eyes nearly bugged out when he saw
that, and he began laughing almost uncontrollably.  I shot him a
look, but he kept on laughing and making quiet comments to Jorge and
some of the other younger kids.

That evening I called Molly and talked to her for about an hour.  I
told her about the team party at Skip's house, and she put the phone
down to ask her parents if she could go.  She came back on the phone,
slightly breathless.

"They said I could go, but I have to leave the phone number with
them, just in case," she said.

"Great.  I'll get his number and give it to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay.  I can't believe that tomorrow's the last day of summer
vacation, Sean.  I'm not ready to go back to school."

"I'm not either.  I could live on summer vacation all year long."

"So, if tomorrow's our last day of freedom, can you come over?"

"I don't know, Molly.  I've got an away game in the morning, and
then team practice in the afternoon.  I'm going to be pretty wiped
out by the end."

"Too wiped out to see me?"  She sounded disappointed, and maybe a
little angry.

"No, no, not too wiped out to see you, but I'll probably have to be
home pretty early.  What did you want to do?"

"I don't know, maybe go to a movie or something?  Or we could just
watch TV or something.  I just don't want my last night before school
to be wasted."

"I know, I agree.  Tell you what.  I'll call you when I get home
from practice, and we'll figure something out, okay?"

"Okay, Sean.  Goodnight.  Dream good dreams of me tonight."

The huskiness in her voice sent sudden signals through my
bloodstream, connecting my ear to my inflating cock.  Her wish was
going to make it difficult for me to get to sleep that night, at
least without relieving some pressure beforehand.




The next morning was cool and rainy, one of those gentle summer
rains that gets you wet but doesn't make you wish for shelter from
the storm.  Our team all piled into cars and vans driven by our three
coaches, and we drove the 30 miles to our last game of the season.  I
rode in the car with Mr. Reyes, our head coach.

On the way, Eric Johnson kept on pumping me for details about why
Skip was having me tag along with him.

"Come on, Eric, I've told you all I know.  If you want to know more,
ask Skip yourself."

"Fat chance he'd even talk to a lowly scrub like me," he complained.
"Why you, Porter?  Are you the anointed successor?"

"Oh, give it a rest, would ya?  I don't know, I don't care.  I just
want to play the game, you know?"

"Maybe he don't like black soccer players.  Maybe he's got a thing
for your skinny ass.  Maybe he's just setting you up for some
elaborate joke.  Maybe..."

"Maybe you could just shut up about it, okay?"

He gave me a big, theatrical sigh and rolled his eyes, as if I were
the mosquito buzzing around his head, instead of the other way
around.  I mentally shrugged my shoulders and stared out the window,
ignoring everybody else in the car.

We finally got to the field, about 30 minutes early, and we all
scrambled out of the cars and unloaded our gear.  Balls were passed
out, and we all set up for warm-up drills without the coaches needing
to tell us what to do.  Another game was being played on the field,
and there was a good local crowd filling about half the bleachers
lining one side of the field.  There was some enthusiastic cheering
going on, despite the rain.

Just as the other game ended, we took off at a slow run to lap the
perimeter of the field once, and then picked up the pace for a faster
run for one more lap.  We then took the field and rotated around to
pass out to a player, who then took a shot on goal, warming up our
keeper.

The referee blew the whistle, and the starting lineups took the
field.  We had lost the coin toss, but with no sun, no wind, a light
rain, and virtually no lengthwise slope to the field, there was no
real advantage, other than psychological, to winning it.  Even so,
our opponents, named the Stingers, elected to take the ball on the
kickoff.  The timers started, the whistle blew, and the game started.

The Stingers tapped the ball forward, and then immediately passed
the ball back to their center midfielder.  It's a basic maneuver for
a kickoff, designed to keep possession of the ball (a key part of the
game).  If our opposing coaches and players understand the wisdom
behind the play, they will continue to pass the ball back or across,
keeping the ball and waiting for an opportunity to advance it up the
field.  If, however, they are performing it as a drill simply because
they know they're supposed to pass it back, we knew how to
counterattack.

It became immediately obvious to us that the midfielder for the
Stingers didn't understand the play.  He trapped the ball, looking
for an immediate pass up the field into our territory.  It was a
classic mistake we saw often from unsuspecting teams.  We had a play
designed for just this type of kickoff, a play that rarely failed
us.  Our forwards raced in a triangulation toward the hapless
midfielder with the ball, effectively cutting off any forward passing
lanes, while our midfielders moved down the field, switching with our
forwards, blocking any possible crossing passes to their defenders,
and confident that we would shortly have possession.  We defenders
moved up to cover their other midfielders, leaving all of
their forwards racing toward our goal with no ball and no prospects,
since if, by some slim chance, a pass was able to get through us to
them, all three of their forwards would be hopelessly offsides.

Their coaches were on the sidelines screaming at the players to get
back and regroup, but it was too late.  Our forwards stripped the
ball and lofted a pass over to Eric Johnson, who was on the left
sideline.  He trapped the ball, juked the defender, and crossed the
ball about 15 yards in front of the goal, and it was booted in past
the goalkeeper with no problem.  This all happened so fast that the
Stingers barely had time to react.  They were caught with five of
their players on our half of the field, while eight of ours were
attacking their goal.  Less than 20 seconds into the game, and we had
our first goal.

They were a good team, however, and not prone to panic.  Instead,
they got mad.  They controlled their next kickoff and started an
offensive set that was tenacious, if unimaginative.  They didn't get
a good shot off against us, but on the other hand, they didn't give
up the ball, either.  Every time one of their players got trapped,
they managed to pass the ball back, sometimes all the way back to
their defenders, only to start another offensive sequence.

Finally, at about the ten-minute mark, the ball came over to the
midfielder on my side.  We were kind of caught out of position, so my
midfielder dropped back to defend while I moved up to meet the ball
handler.  I dropped down, slide-tackling at the ball, but I missed
the ball and ended up cutting the midfielder's legs out from under
him.  I hopped up, wet and muddy, only to be faced with the referee
charging at me, fumbling at his pocket before blowing his whistle and
waving a yellow card at me.

"You're kidding," I said.  The ref scowled and reached for his
pocket, perhaps intending to pull out a red card, which would have
forced me to leave the field, and our team would have to play short.
I held up my hands to him and backed away, shaking my head.  Our
coaches, on the far sidelines, were going nuts about the supposed
infraction, while in the stands on the near side, the parents and
friends of the Stingers were howling for my blood.  I backed off the
required 10 yards, and the referee moved me back further before
allowing the free kick.  The midfielder tried to center the ball to
his forwards, but the small delay allowed us to position ourselves to
cover everybody, and we took possession of the ball and drove down to
the other end of the field.

The see-saw battle continued until about the 25-minute mark.  We
took the ball and got it out to Eric Johnson on the left side, and he
started running down the sidelines with the ball.  The ground was a
little slippery, so he didn't feel like he could run full out, and
the Stingers defender had the angle on him anyway.  The defender
caught up to him, lowered his shoulder, and knocked Eric completely
out of bounds and on his ass, skidding and rolling on the wet grass
of the sidelines.  The defender took the ball and moved it back up
the field, all the while knowing that the whistle that we fully
expected for the foul would never come.  Again our coaches and
players on the sidelines started yelling and complaining to the
referee, until he called a time-out, on our possession, and trotted
over to our bench.  He stopped in front of our head coach and pulled
out his yellow card and waved it in his face, calling him for a
violation.  We were dumbfounded, and Mr. Reyes looked like he was
going to have a stroke.  But he kept his mouth shut.  The referee
restarted the game, awarding possession to the Stingers on the
infraction, and the game continued, getting rougher and muddier and
less organized as time ticked on.

By the end of the first half, it was obvious that the Stingers were
focusing on Eric, apparently with the intent of getting him out of
the game.  They roughed him up at every opportunity, and by the
halftime whistle he was bruised, muddy and gasping.  One of our
assistant coaches jogged over to the referee as he was standing on
the sideline talking to one of his line judges, intending to lodge a
complaint about the rough and uncalled-for treatment that Eric had
put up with,
but to no avail.  He came back over to our bench, shaking his head
ruefully, and let us know what was going on.

"It's a hometown ref making hometown calls, boys," he said.  "Let's
whip their asses, then beat it out of town.  We are not going to get
any fair calls in this game, so don't look for help from any of the
officials.  Just play your game.  Got it?"

We all nodded.

"Eric," Mr. Reyes said, "do you want to sit out the second half?  I
know you have school practice this afternoon.  Maybe you'd better
just rest."

"No, sir," said Eric defiantly.  "I'm playing.  This is the last
game, and I am not going to let them drive me off the fucking field. 
Sir."

"Watch your language, Eric.  And get in there and play tough, if
that's where you want to be.  I'll sub you out for a rest at about
the 15-minute mark."

I looked over at Eric.  He stared back at me, a look of
determination in his eyes.  I nodded at him, and he nodded back. 
After a last pull from my water bottle, I stood up, held out my hand
to Eric to lift him up onto his feet, and we all trotted out to the
field even before the ref blew his whistle.

The second half of the game started out right where we left off,
rough-and-tumble, but we knew more about what to expect now.  The
first time Eric touched the ball, their midfielder came barreling
over to knock him down, but he was not expecting Eric to be as quick
as he was.  He did a neat sidestep, and the midfielder skidded out of
bounds, waving his hands to try to keep his balance, as Eric slid
right past the charging defender and ran full out at an angle toward
their goal.  Their keeper came spidering out to cut off Eric's
targets at the goal, arms out and head up, until suddenly he dropped
and dived headfirst for Eric's knees, intending to at the least knock
him out of the play, and maybe do some bodily damage in the process. 
Eric used the outside of his right foot to pass the ball neatly to
our center forward, and then he leaped high in the air, allowing the
keeper to slide underneath him.  He landed on his feet nimbly, goal-
side of the keeper, and watched with pleasure as our forward walked
the ball in past the last defender and touched it into the back of
the net.

That goal finally took the wind out of their sails.  We ended up
scoring four more times, and Mr. Reyes, true to his word, subbed for
Eric at about the 18-minute mark, and let him sit and recuperate for
the rest of the game.  During the last five minutes, the Stingers
managed to score a cheap goal on a corner kick that we deflected
right to a startled Stingers forward.  It bounced off his shin guard
and skittered into the corner as our keeper vainly dived for it.  By
that time, I was sitting on the bench next to Eric, watching the end
of the game from underneath a towel draped over my head.

At the end of the game, we lined up to congratulate the other team,
and the coaches all shook hands.  Mr. Reyes, our head coach, normally
a very polite, conscientious and somewhat formal man, pointedly
walked away from the referee without shaking his hand, a gesture I
had never before seen from him.  It probably didn't bother the ref,
since he didn't know Mr. Reyes or our team at all, but I know that
Mr. Reyes thought long and hard about the snub before allowing
himself to deliver it.

We stopped for lunch on the way home, and that revived everyone.  We
were soaked and muddy, tired and exhilarated.  It was our best moment
as a team.  It's too bad it was the last moment of that particular
team.

Mr. Reyes dropped Eric and I off at the school for our team
practice.  We were late, but it was obvious to our coaches why, since
we were still in our muddy uniforms.  We made it through that day's
practice, barely, finally holding each other up as we stumbled
through our final lap around the field at the end of the afternoon.

I had time to eat dinner and take a long, hot shower before getting
on my bike to ride over to Molly's.  The rain had stopped hours ago,
and the skies were clearing, promising a spectacular sunset.  Heather
and Josh were both home, too, so the four of us ended up in the
family room watching a movie on HBO.  Heather and Josh were on
opposite ends of the couch, and Molly and I were sitting together on
the floor, leaning back against the sofa.  Somewhere in the middle of
"An Officer and a Gentleman" I fell into an exhausted sleep.  My
friends let me sleep until the end of the movie, then roused me
enough to push me out the door.  I biked home and fell into bed, not
even bothering to take off my clothes or brush my teeth.




(Continued in Chapter 17)



---------------------------------------------------------------------

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 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------




PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 17 -

THE HOT LAZY SATURDAY



Saturday morning dawned hot and sunny.  Molly and I met Lori at Kip
and Davey's soccer game around 10:00 at the park where the boys and I
had drilled.  We all sat together on the sidelines and watched as the
boys tried out some of their newly learned skills.  We cheered and
hollered every time one of them touched the ball, shouting out
encouragement.  Kids that age tend to drift back into the habits of
the group, and Davey and Kip were no exception.  It was swarmball at
its ugliest, but everybody on both teams was having a ball, so it was
all okay.

At halftime the boys came over, carrying offerings of orange slices
from the team's halftime treat supply.  Davey crawled up onto Molly's
lap, and Kip, following his brother's lead, jumped into mine.

"Ow!" I complained good-naturedly.  "No bouncing, okay?"

"Okay, Sean," he grinned.  He gave me one last, small bounce for
good measure anyway.

"Do you guys know what you're supposed to be doing out there?" I
asked.

"Playing soccer?" replied Kip.

"Sure, playing soccer, and having a good time.  But how are you
supposed to be playing soccer?"

"Oh, yeah," said Davey.  "Move to where nobody else is, call for the
ball, one-potato-look and two-potato-pass."

"There you go," said Molly.  "Just remember what Sean has been
teaching you, and you'll have even more fun out there."

At that point, the boys' coach called his team over to give them
second-half instructions.  He read off his starting lineup to the
players, and as their names were called, they left the sidelines and
took their positions on the field.  Davey was playing center
midfielder, and Kip was right forward.

Just that little reminder at halftime was enough for them to recall
their lessons, and they stayed at their positions for the rest of
their playing time that day, instead of rushing to the ball wherever
it might be on the field.  It paid off for them toward the end of the
third quarter, when the ball squirted out of the pile of players into
Davey's  area.  He scooped up the ball, dribbled down the field for
about three steps, then passed it up to Kip.  Kip tried to take the
ball in to the net, but was caught up in traffic when he fumbled a
little on his trap, and he lost it in the scramble around him.  Even
so, I was happy to see them work on their positioning and their
passes during a game.  I hoped that they would be able to see the
worth of their drills, even at their young age.

After the game ended, the boys each grabbed a hand and dragged me
over to meet their coach, a man they only knew as "Coach Bill".

"I'm glad to meet you, Sean," said Coach Bill.  "Davey and Kip have
been bragging about you almost nonstop."

"Well," I said, somewhat embarrassed, "I've been trying to help..."

"No, no, don't get me wrong," Coach Bill interrupted.  "I really AM
glad to meet you.  You couldn't see it very well today in the game,
because none of the other boys have caught up to them yet, but both
Davey and Kip are light years better than they were in the spring. 
Some of that improvement can be attributed to being a little older
and a little bigger, but it's obvious that the time you've spent with
them this summer has been beneficial to them.  I especially liked
that play down by the goal, when Davey passed the ball over to Kip. 
Very neat."

"Yeah, I saw that, too.  Too bad it didn't work out to be a score,"
I said.

"Well, yes and no," he replied.  "At this age, the score of the game
doesn't really matter to these kids.  The parents care more about
wins and losses than the kids do, I'm afraid.  All the boys know is
they're out there on the field, running and having a good time.  A
goal is just that: a goal to aim for.  Scoring gives them a good
feeling right then at the time, but by the time they restart the game
afterwards, they've practically forgotten about it.  In a couple of
years it might start to matter to them, but for right now, it's just
one more thing for them to worry about.  And I'm all for giving them
less to worry about.  I'm happier when they execute a good pass, or
can clear the ball out of the pack, or make a good interception. 
That's enough for them to worry about at this point in their soccer
lives."

"That's true, Coach," I said.  "I've officiated games at this level,
and a lot of the time the kids are more interested in what the
halftime treat is going to be than in what is happening on the field."

Coach Bill laughed.  "Yes, and this team is no exception.  I just
wish the parents could have the same attitude.  Some of them get so
competitive through their kids!"

"It only gets worse as the kids get older," I said.  "I've got
friends on my rec team who are already getting pressure from their
parents about playing well so they have a chance for scholarship
money for college, and these kids are only 13 or 14 years old."

"Well, Sean," he replied, "Play the game for fun.  If you're good,
the rest will find its way to you."  He shook my hand, and then
walked over to talk to some of the parents.



Heather dropped Molly and I off at Skip's house that afternoon.  We
could hear sounds of the party wafting over the neighborhood as we
got out of the car and found our way to the back yard.  There was a
large wooden deck attached to the house off the kitchen, and Skip was
there, his girlfriend Maggie Wiggins by his side, holding court among
some of the members of the team and their girlfriends.  I knew all
the guys, and most of the girls I knew at least by sight.  I stopped
to say hello and introduced Molly to the group.

"I know you," said Skip.  "You're Heather's sister, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, but I prefer to think of her as the sister, not the
other way around," shot back Molly with a smile.

"Watch out, Sean," Skip said as he turned to me.  "You've got a
firecracker here."

"Don't I know it," I said.  I dropped our pack of sodas in a corner.

Most athletes tend to date athletic types, and soccer players are no
exception.  Most of the girls at the party played on one team or
another at school, or were members of the coveted groups such as
cheerleaders, student council, or poms.  The surprising exception to
this was the girl hanging onto the arm of Theo Jameson, a senior
forward on the team and one of Skip's best friends.  Her name was
Allison Moseley, and her main claim to fame was her voluptuous
figure, along with the way she flaunted it.  Even here, at a pool
party with lots of skin showing on lots of fit bodies, Allison
managed to draw attention to herself.  She wore a startlingly bright
orange bikini, maybe two sizes too small, so that her fleshy breasts
practically spilled out over the top.  To accentuate the effect, she
had grabbed on to Theo's arm and was squeezing her boobs against him,
creating an impressive amount of cleavage, reveling in the stares
from many of the boys on the deck.

Molly yanked on my arm and guided me toward the stairs leading down
from the deck.  

"You're going to start drooling in a minute," she said quietly.  We
headed for the coolest spot in the yard, the swimming pool.  We
jumped into the shallow end and waded over to where Jorge Mendoza was
lounging.  Surprisingly, he had brought his sister, Kristina, along
to the party.  Kristina was wearing a black one-piece suit that
really showed off her trim form, and made her darkly tanned skin
shine.  Beads of water seemed to glisten off the shoulders and arms
of both Jorge and Kristina.  We said our hellos, casually splashing
water on our shoulders to cool off.  I looked up at the crowd on the
deck, just in time to see Eric come out from the kitchen with Keisha
Prescott.  Eric's eyes practically popped out of his head when he
almost bumped into Allison, who giggled and squeezed even harder
against poor Theo.  Keisha grabbed Eric's arm and pulled him away. 
He stumbled a little, then spotted us watching him from the pool, and
stopped to say something to Keisha.  She glanced over, and they both
stepped off the deck and jumped into the pool by us.

"So, Eric, did you get an eyeful?" I asked.

"Oh, he got an eyeful, all right.  And pretty soon he's gonna get an
earful," said Keisha.

We all laughed.  Molly stood in front of me, about six inches away,
and said, "I noticed that you paid particular attention to her chest,
too, Mr. Porter.  What do you have to say for yourself?"  

There was a glint in her eye that warned me to be cautious, or I
could be expecting some pain.  I craned my neck around her to glance
up at the deck, then deliberately looked down at her lightly freckled
chest.  "You know, Molly, you are much more tanned than Allison is. 
In my eyes that means that she pales in comparison to you."

Molly smiled, a look of delight on her face, as she gave me a light
tap on the chest with her forearm.

"Nice save," murmured Jorge, next to me.

There were a few kids trying to get up a volleyball game out in the
yard, but it was just too hot, and the pool was too refreshing. 
Eventually we worked up enough enthusiasm to set up the net across
the pool so we could play water volleyball.  Even that, after a
couple of games, deconstructed into a free-for-all, with some of the
guys diving down, ostensibly to chase after the ball.  What they were
doing underwater, though, was swimming close to the girls, sometimes
swimming between their legs.  A few of the older, braver boys went so
far as to lightly brush up against a bikini-clad bottom with a hand
or a foot, furtively copping a quick feel as they swam by.  Molly was
the unhappy recipient of one of these touches by one of the guys. 
She jerked and jumped in my direction, glancing over her shoulder to
see who might have swum by.

"That's rude," she complained as she grabbed my arm.

"Come on," I said as I waded toward the side.  "Let's just go down
by the shallow end and sit on the edge for awhile."

Eric, Keisha, Jorge and Kristina all joined us, and for the rest of
the afternoon, and into the evening, the six of us lounged near the
shallow end of the pool.

Skip and Theo fired up the grill and threw hot dogs, bratwursts, and
burgers on to cook.  Maggie and Allison made trips out from the
kitchen with bags of chips, plates of sliced tomatoes, onions,
mustard and ketchup, and bowls of potato salad.  A real production
line got going, as everyone suddenly realized how hungry they were. 
Skip and Theo were kept pretty busy for the next hour or so, cooking
up grub for the rest of us.  Every so often either Allison or Maggie
would hand them cold cans of soda, and one time Maggie stuffed a hot
dog in a bun into Theo's mouth as he was flipping burgers with one
hand, and turning brats with the other.  He hardly missed a beat,
chewing and flipping hamburgers at the same time.

Just as we were leaning back in satisfaction, having downed an
impressive amount of food, the girls came out with a huge pan of
homemade brownies and a 5-gallon tub of ice cream.

It was an effort, but we all managed to clean all that up, too.  By
the time everyone was done, there were just a few brownie crumbs
left, and the bottom of the tub was barely covered with the last
melting remnants of ice cream.

It was starting to get dark out by now.  Skip lit some torches that
were placed around the yard, and turned on the lights in the pool,
then  turned off all the other lights in the back of the house.  The
swimming pool, now empty of activity, was a calm, iridescent
rectangle of blue-green liquid floating in the middle of the yard. 
The flickering light from the few torches, along with the reflected
light from the water, cast shadows everywhere, dancing and playing
across the furniture and bodies in repose around the property.

Skip and Maggie, their duties as cooks and bartenders done, made
their way around the deck and pool, stopping to talk for a few
moments with each group of kids.  When they got around to the six of
us, still grouped around a table by the end of the pool, Skip plopped
down in an empty chair in mock exhaustion.  Maggie stood behind him,
casually rubbing his shoulders.

"So, Porter, did you get enough to eat?" he asked.

Eric snorted in amusement, and Molly and Kristina laughed out loud.

"This boy eats more than I ever thought was possible," Molly said.

"Well, don't eat so much you're going to get fat, Porter.  Don't
forget you're riding the pines this season, not running your ass off
in the games," he said with a grin.

"Don't worry about me," I shot back.  "That's only true if you stay
in shape.  Don't forget who's gunning for your position."

"Hey, do I look scared?  You're good, Porter, I'll give you that. 
You're just not good enough yet."  Skip stood up, stretched, and
draped his arm around Maggie's shoulder.  "Come on, babe, let's
mosey."

The two of them wandered to the next group, and Eric muttered,
"'Let's mosey'?  Since when did we land in the Wild fucking West?"

Keisha laughed derisively.  "Yeah, what an arrogant prick.  And he's
gonna be captain of the team, right?"

"Aw, Skip's not so bad," I objected.  "He's just had a lot of press
lately about how good he's going to be this year.  I think he's
operating under a lot of pressure, much more than he's showing."

"Yeah, well," said Eric, "It's all right if you want to defend him,
since you've got to live with him during practices and all, but if
it's all the same, I'll just not be his best friend, okay?"  With
that, he reached behind him and pulled another soda out of the cooler.

After the brutal heat of the day, the air felt very cool after the
sun went down.  We all slipped on t-shirts and shorts, and started
gathering together our stuff.  Jorge and Kristina had already been
picked up by their father, and Eric and Keisha were leaving very
soon.  Molly went into the house to use the phone to call Heather to
pick us up, and then came back and started helping Maggie clean off
the remains of the food from the table.  I struggled up and started
picking up empty plates and soda cans and carrying them over to the
trash cans.  Keisha came over to say goodbye, giving Molly a brief
hug, while Eric genuflected to Skip.  They headed around the outside
of the house toward the front, giving us a wave as they disappeared
around the corner.

A few minutes later, we heard a car honking its horn.  Evan and
Heather were here to pick us up, so we thanked Skip and Maggie, said
goodbye to the stragglers still lounging around the yard, and made
our way around to the front, where Heather and her boyfriend were
waiting impatiently.

As we threw our gear into the trunk and climbed into the back seat,
Molly said, "Don't give me that look, Heather.  It's not like you
didn't volunteer to give us a ride."

"I know I volunteered," Heather said.  "I thought you'd be ready to
come home a lot earlier, is all.  We're going to miss the first part
of the movie."

"So what?" Molly spat back.  "You probably weren't going to see the
last part, anyway, were you?  I've heard about the back rows at the
movies, you know."

"Very funny, little sister.  Very funny."

The rest of the ride took place in uncomfortable silence.  When we
got to Molly's house, we clambered out of the car, popped open the
trunk, and grabbed our stuff.  Evan and Heather took off without a
word as soon as they heard the trunk slam closed, and we were left
there in a blue-white cloud of exhaust.  I looked at Molly.  She just
shrugged, as if to say, I don't know what's wrong with her, and we
headed for the rear of the house.

We put our backpacks and the cooler down by the back door, and Molly
slipped into the garage to grab a handful of blankets, just like
before.  We walked toward the woods, hand in hand, not saying a word.
I could feel that her hand was a little sweaty.  It was good to know
she was nervous, too, since I had butterflies doing bodily damage to
themselves inside my stomach.

We got to the opening in the woods and spread out the blankets.  I
lay down on my back, and Molly snuggled up in the crook of my arm,
her arm draped across my chest and her head nestled against my neck. 
I languidly ran my hand up and down her body, from shoulder to waist,
as we relaxed together.  Her hair smelled slightly of chlorine from
the pool.

I kissed the top of her head, and she lifted up to give me a soft
kiss on the mouth.  Her lips were pliant and warm, slightly parted,
as we held the kiss.  Without breaking contact, she twisted in my
arms, rolling over so she was laying partially on top of me, her leg
insinuating itself over my knee, and the kiss got harder and hotter. 
She reached up with her hand and held the back of my neck, pulling me
harder to her as her lips parted and her tongue flicked out to touch
the tip of mine.  I opened my mouth a little more, and she took
advantage of the breach and attacked all out, her tongue exploring
the recesses of my mouth, teeth to tongue, gums to palate.

This sudden onslaught had a real effect on other parts of me, as
well.  She was running her leg up and down mine, pressing her knee
into my crotch, then stroking down with her foot brushing down the
inside of my calf to my instep.  Every time her knee made contact
with my balls, my cock gave a jump and got harder, and my hips did an
involuntary grind against her knee.

I reached down and ran my hand up under her t-shirt, up her back,
and under her bikini strap.  Pressing the flat of my hand against the
middle of her upper back, I could feel the interplay of her muscles
and shoulder blades as she moved her arms and her leg.  The hem of
her shirt was rucking up under her, so she broke our kiss momentarily
and lifted herself up and pulled her shirt up around her.  She
dropped back down onto my mouth right away, unwilling to be denied
the heat and moisture she was finding so entrancing there.  I closed
my eyes, allowing her to take charge of the force of the kiss.  My
hand found the clip that held together her bathing suit top, and I
fumblingly managed to slip the cloth from its clasp.  The strap
separated, and Molly twisted her upper body around as my hand slipped
around her, giving me unobstructed access to her firm breast.  I held
her full against my hand, and felt her nipple warm and expand against
my palm.  I flexed my fingers against her, marveling in the buoyancy
of her flesh, and her tongue, in sympathetic reaction, thrust itself
into my mouth.

I felt her hand at my waist, searching for the hem of my t-shirt,
finding it at last, and stroking the skin of my belly, back and
forth, just above the waistband of my swimming trunks.  My stomach
muscles started spasming, quivering at the touch, and my hips, still
in motion from the stroking of her leg, hunched up higher, trying to
coax her hand lower and her knee higher.

Finally she took some pity on me, and slipped her hand beneath the
elastic waistband, her fingers brushing down to comb through my pubic
hair.  The back of her hand rubbed against my upthrust dick, setting
off the first set of fireworks in my head.  She continued to push her
hand down, her fingers separating into a V, the stem of my rigid cock
slipping between them, until she could go no further.  She bent her
fingers, lightly brushing her fingertips across the sensitive skin of
my balls, driving me nearly insane with pleasure.

I broke our kiss and gasped, hardly able to navigate through the
sensations racing up and down my nervous system.  Almost
unconsciously I reached down and sucked on her tender throat, and
then kissed and licked my way down to her swollen nipple.  I grasped
the turgid nub in my lips, and sucked as hard as I could, trying to
draw her entire breast into my mouth.  I heard her sigh, and her hand
slid up to firmly grasp my stalk in her fist.  She began a slow,
steady pumping motion, and I set up a tempo with my mouth on her boob
in time with her pumping: suckle and release, suckle and release, as
we prepared each other.

I ran my hand from her chest down to her hip, slipped beneath her
shorts, and felt the elastic waistband of her swimsuit bottoms.  I
let my fingers crawl under the elastic, feeling the heat emanating
from her center as I descended, across the firm globes of her butt,
to the moist and heady delta that was my destination.  Oily moisture
was oozing from her, soaking the crotch of her suit.  I rubbed my
fingertips through her swollen lips, releasing a flood of her
lubrication.  My fingers were quickly coated, and I carried that
moisture up through her flowered folds to the swollen nub at the top,
my fingertips circling, teasing, coaxing.

We were in a rhythm together, her hand on my cock and my mouth on
her breast, her hips surging against my fingers in her cunt, in
danger of sending each other over the precipice.  I could sense the
impending explosion within me.

"Molly...wait..." I gasped.  It was enough to make her pause.  She
looked into my eyes, a questioning look on her face, as we both
stopped our manipulations.

She let go of me and sat up.  She stripped off her shirt and bikini
top, and lay back down to shimmy out of her shorts and swimsuit
bottoms.  She lay there, naked and beautiful, unashamed as she
watched me take off my shirt, rip off my shoes without untying them,
and shed my trunks.  My handy little foil packet was in the zipper
compartment of my suit.  My fingers felt fat and uncoordinated as I
fumbled with the packet, anxious to continue with our play.  I
glanced over at her in consternation.  She was watching me, a small,
amused smile on her lips, unconcealed passion in her eyes.  Her chest
was flushed, her breasts and nipples swollen with desire, and she was
breathing deeply.  My subconscious brain picked up the scent of her. 
The sun-dried sweat of her body gave off a faint musky odor, and the
secretions from her drooling pussy was a tang that made my mouth
water.

Finally I managed to tear open the package and roll the condom on my
straining dick.  I crawled over to her and leaned over her to kiss
her again, my balls and sheathed cock waving below me.  Her small
hand wormed its way down my body to caress and fondle my balls, and I
groaned into her mouth in anticipation.

She pushed me back and over, so I was on my back, and swung her leg
over me to straddle me.  Her hand moved from my balls to my cock,
grasping it and positioning it against the heated opening of her
vagina.  She paused for a moment, just the tip of my straining cock
embedded within her, drawing out the anticipation, before she began
to crouch down on me.  Slowly, slowly she lowered herself onto me,
impaling herself on my blunt weapon.  Inch by inch I felt the heat of
her cavern engulf my cock, surrounding and squeezing me.  She pushed
herself lower, twisting occasionally to ease the accommodation.  I
wanted more than anything to thrust completely into her, but I
gritted my teeth and let her take charge of the initial penetration.

The latex covering was deadening the sensations for me slightly,
which kept me from coming immediately, so I was able to watch her as
she took me into her body.  She was balancing herself by pressing her
hands against my shoulders.  Her hair had half escaped from her
ponytail, and was arched over her forehead on one side, casting part
of her face in darkness.  Her eyes were slitted open, there was a
slight sheen of perspiration on her nose and upper lip, and her
tongue was just peeking out from between her teeth as she
concentrated on maximizing the sensation of seating me within her. 
When she twisted her hips, her boobs would jiggle slightly, swaying
provocatively above me.

Finally, she gave a sigh as she felt her pubic bone meet mine, and
she slowly let herself collapse into my arms.  The pebbled points of
her distended nipples brushed against my chest just before she
allowed her full weight to rest on me,  her boobs flattening against
my ribcage.  She rested there for a moment, reveling in the heat and
pressure of our connection, and then she began doing...something. 
I'm not sure, even to this day, what it was that she was doing, but
without any seeming effort, she was using her hips and legs, her
glutes and quads and lower back muscles, to slide her cunt up my
cock, nearly to the point where I was going to flop out of her, then
slowly slide back down upon me again.  She accomplished this without
moving her upper body a bit, her eyes now closed as she bent to the
task at hand.  I could just feel the bump of her engorged clitoris
rubbing against by cock as we moved.  She  continued to flex and
relax, flex and relax, occasionally giving her hips a little twist
when I was as fully inside her as I could get, giving her overcharged
clit another twinge.  Finally, just when I thought I could not hold
out against the onslaught any longer, I felt her shudder.  It started
with a spasming of her contracting cunt muscles, fluttering against
my cock, and worked its way up, through her solar plexus and into her
core.  She started gasping, arching up off me to try to draw air from
above us.  Her eyes were squeezed shut as she huffed and puffed and
let the walls come tumbling down upon her.  I could feel a small
flood of hot oily moisture leak out of her, around my upthrust cock,
trickling into the tangled mess of our pubic hair.

That was all the trigger I needed.  My hips bumped up against her,
trying in vain to drive my iron cock even deeper into her, and I
came.  The pump contracted and pulsed, contracted and pulsed, filling
the end of the condom with my hot seed.  I pressed my hands against
the small of her back, trying to get deeper into her than I had ever
been as I let loose jet after jet.

As my contractions weakened, so did hers.  She collapsed back on top
of me and let her head flop onto my shoulder as tried to catch her
breath.  For my part, I was luxuriating in the feeling of a warm,
naked girl completely covering me from crotch to neck, amazed still
by the contrast of soft feminine curves overlaying hard athletic
muscle.

Finally she lifted her head tiredly, looked me in the eye, and gave
me a soft kiss, all buttery and warm, both a thank-you and a promise
of times to come.  She rolled off me and we separated, my still
mostly hard cock plopping out of her.  As soon as the warmth of her
body was removed, it began to shrivel.  I reached down and pulled off
the full rubber and flung it into the woods.  I chuckled at the
thought of Jake out there, dodging another missile.

"What's so funny, Sean?" Molly asked languidly.  She was laying back
on the blanket, one knee bent, her arms resting behind her head.

"Nothing," I said.  I flopped down on my stomach next to her.  "I
was just remembering something somebody said once about finding stuff
in these woods."

"I'm glad our grove was empty tonight," she said.  "I'm kind of
surprised that Josh hasn't thought of it yet."

"Maybe he and Shayna have their own little spot already picked out."

She sat up.  "I don't think so," she said.  "There's still the same
number of condoms in his room."

I frowned.  "You go checking out his room?  How smart is that, Mol? 
If he finds out, he may just start checking out your room."

She laughed softly.  "Oh, he's already tried that, and gotten
caught.  When I was thirteen, and Heather was fifteen, Josh got
curious about girls, I think.  Anyway, Heather found him in her room,
pawing through her underwear drawer.  Mom and Dad never found out
about it, but Heather never let him forget it, either.  He still
breaks out in a cold sweat if he even has to walk by her closed door,
I think."

Ah, I thought to myself.  More ammunition, just in case I needed it.
But I didn't say a word about that to Molly.



(Continued in Chapter 18)



---------------------------------------------------------------------

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(copyright 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

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PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 18 -

THE BULLS




Our first varsity soccer game was at home on Friday against one of
the smallest schools in our conference.  They didn't have a very
talented team, according to our scouts, so I was hoping for a little
playing time in the second half.

The stands were not even half full.  Not many kids at school cared
much about soccer yet, but we hoped that would all change as we tore
through our schedule.  Even before our first game we were whispering
about going on to sectionals, and maybe even the state playoffs.  We
were cocksure, confident we could beat any other school head-to-head.
Only a fluke could keep us from our destiny, the playoffs.

And that fluke nearly happened during our first game.  The team from
Rockland High School won the toss, and elected to take the ball. 
They tapped the ball forward and passed it back to their midfielder,
who passed it over to their right midfielder.  He immediately
launched a booming pass all the way across the field toward the left
sidelines.  Our right midfielder, Kevin Soranno, went up for the
ball, intending to head it up the field.  At the same time,
Rockland's left forward also elevated.  Everybody on the field heard
the loud crack when their heads hit, and Kevin went down like a sack
of potatoes.  The ball went soaring back toward the middle of the
field, where it was picked off by a Rockland player, who trapped it,
dropped the ball down to his right foot, and launched a rocket at the
far right post of the net.  Our keeper was one step too slow in
following the play, but the ball hit the post and bounced back out to
our striker, who promptly cleared the ball out of bounds.  By that
time, Kevin was on his knees and holding his head with both hands,
and the Rockland player he collided with was about five feet away
from him, standing with his hands on his knees.  I know he was trying
to clear the cobwebs out, having just gotten his bell rung, but at
least he was on his feet.

The referee stopped the game and trotted over to check on the fallen
players.  Both of them shook their heads when asked if they wanted to
come out.  Kevin climbed to his feet and jogged a few steps, making
sure all the parts were in working order, then walked over to shake
hands with the Rockland player.

Rockland took the throw-in, and the game continued.  Neither team
wanted to test the right side of the field yet, so the ball pretty
much stayed away from Kevin and Skip for the rest of the half.  Even
so, by the time the half ended, we were up 4-0.  Rockland never got
close to our goal after that first unlucky shot.

We started the second half by playing a little more defensively. 
Our offense was powerful, but we didn't need to score on the hapless
Rockland team any more.  They were done for, and they knew it just as
well as we did.  Skip showed a little razzle-dazzle the few times he
managed to touch the ball, but mostly we were just playing keep-away
with them.  Finally, with about four minutes left to play, the score
was 6-0.  Our coach made some wholesale substitutions, so we
benchwarmers got to play the last few minutes of the game while Skip,
Theo, Kevin, and many of the other starters came out.

At the final whistle, we subs had hardly broken a sweat.  The team
went into the locker room to shower and change.  We were in a great
mood, that first win under our belts, glad to finally get the season
underway.

Our head coach, Mr. Neville, was a history teacher, so many of his
locker room speeches contained obscure references to battles and
soldiers from the past.  Half the time I didn't understand what he
was talking about, but that night we interrupted his speech several
times with good-natured cheering.



The next week school was back to being a full-time grind.  Some of
my friends were really smart at school, breezing through on a
combination of charm and native smarts, but I had to work hard just
to maintain a B average.  Molly and Tessa both seemed to get their
homework done fast, while it seemed like I struggled just to stay in
the same place.

Finally, on Tuesday, the last bell of the day rang.  The halls were
crowded with kids jostling each other, everybody anxious to get
outside while the weather still held.  It was a beautiful late summer
day, and it seemed like everybody, students and teachers alike, were
chafing at having to spend such a great day inside.  The physical
education teachers were the lucky ones on days like this.  They could
take their classes out to the track or to the football field,
enjoying the good weather while their co-workers were stuck in their
classrooms.

I met up with Jake and Josh on the way to the gym.  We were taking
the scenic route, leaving school by the front door and walking around
the building to enter the locker rooms from the outside.  We rounded
a corner of the school and saw a small gathering of some of the
rougher kids from our school, a group of about 7 or 8 guys with their
hair slicked back and greased up, leather jackets with the collars
pulled up, chrome chains and rings hanging from jackets and jeans. 
They were a group of troublemakers who called themselves The Bulls, I
suppose in homage to their leader, a tall, gangly kid with a bad
complexion named Richie Del Toro.  Richie and his gang were standing
in a loose semicircle around the wall.  Their body language spoke of
somebody inside their circle who was regretting being there.

The three of us stopped as we took in the scene.  We glanced at each
other, and silently agreed that we should take a closer look. 
Without a word, we started walking toward the group.  When we were
about 15 feet away, I could see two smaller bodies inside the
semicircle, their backs against the wall.  Between the gaps in the
crowd, I was surprised to see Jorge and Kristina Mendoza were the
ones surrounded.

Richie was the only member of The Bulls standing inside the group. 
He had a cowlick sticking straight up on top of his greasy head, an
errant lock of hair that refused to be controlled by anything Richie
put on it.  He was derisively known as Alfalfa behind his back, and
occasionally to his face.

"I'll betcha you're a hot little tamale, aren't you?  Are you a hot
one, Conchita?  Como esta blowjobs?" Richie was saying.  He
tentatively reached out toward Kristina, who flinched away.

"Leave her alone, you piece of dog shit," yelled Jorge.

"Close it, Jorge.  Whore-Hay.  What the fuck kind of name is that,
anyway?"  The group around them tittered as if they were witnessing a
star performance on "The Tonight Show".  Richie loved playing to the
crowd, I noticed.

"It's a better name than 'Alfalfa', Alfalfa," retorted Jorge.

Richie lunged at him, perhaps intending to slap the smaller freshman
around, but Jorge was too slippery.  He ducked under Richie's arm and
moved behind him.  Big mistake, I thought.  Almost immediately he was
grabbed by the arms by two of Richie's pals and held tight.  Kristina
was pressed against the wall, her hand covering her mouth, eyes wide
and scared.

This was just too much for me.  The three of us pushed our way into
the circle, and I grabbed Richie by the shoulder.  He was about six
inches taller than me, so I had to reach up to grab him, but at that
point the size difference between us didn't matter much to me.  I was
mad.

Richie whirled around as soon as he felt my hand on his shoulder,
intending to teach whoever was touching him a lesson in manners, Del
Toro style.

"Well, if it isn't the Three Musket-Queers."  There was that idiotic
twittering again, coming from his pack of hyenas.  "What the fuck are
you doing here, Porter?" he spat.  "Or do you want a little of what
we're gonna give to this puny ninth grade spic greaseball?"

"What have you got against ninth graders, Richie?" said Jake.  "You
seemed to like freshman year so much you went through it twice, if I
remember right."

The Bulls all got very quiet when they heard that.  Richie didn't
like being reminded of how he was held back, apparently.

"What did you say?" he asked dangerously, staring daggers at Jake.

"What's the matter with your hearing, Del Toro?  I heard him just
fine all the way back here," said a voice from beyond the fringe of
The Bulls.  Richie whirled around to confront this new intrusion, and
the crowd parted as Skip, Theo, Eric and Kevin all walked up.

"He asked what you had against ninth graders, since you seemed to
love it so much before," said Skip.  "Or are the crops you must be
growing in that dirt in your ears making you deaf?"

Richie's face turned an angry red, and he took a step toward Skip. 
Eric, Theo and Kevin on one side, Josh and Jake and I on the other,
all moved in closer to Richie and his gang.

Suddenly the odds didn't look quite so good to Richie and his
cohorts.  They began backpedaling away from all of us, muttering the
whole time among themselves.  They let Jorge go loose and pretty much
forgot about Kristina.  I walked over and put my arm around her
shoulder protectively.  She flinched slightly at the touch, but then
sighed audibly and hung onto me, grateful for the support.

When they were a safe distance away, Richie turned back to us.

"Don't worry, Conchita.  I'll be back for that el blowjob sometime
soon, okay?"  The group of them all burst out laughing at Richie's
sparkling wit.

Kristina burst into tears and buried her head against me.  Jorge
came over and hugged her from the other side.  I could feel him
shaking from the adrenaline rush that must have coursed through him
during the altercation.

"Thanks, guys.  You got here just in time, man.  I thought we were
goners."  Jorge looked around at all of us, the appreciation shining
through his dark eyes.

"We're a team, man.  We've gotta stick together," said Skip.  "I'm
just glad we spotted you when we were over by the corner."

"You've really gotta watch out for them guys," said Eric.  "They'll
always look for an opportunity, but they won't do anything if they
don't have numbers.  You know?"

Jorge nodded his head.  "I'll remember that.  Thanks.  I'll also
remember that I owe that greasy slimeball a big one."

"You can owe it to him, but don't go trying to pay it off by
yourself, Jorge," warned Josh.

"I won't.  I know better than that," said Jorge.  "Kristina, can you
stay on the sidelines while I'm at practice?  I don' want you walking
home by yourself."

"Good idea," I said.  "The group of us can all go that way together."

"Okay," she said.  "If you don't mind my watching you guys."  She
looked around at all the guys around her and blushed a little.

"No, of course not," said Skip.  We all started walking to the back
of the school.  It was time for us to be getting to our respective
practices.

The coaches were on the sidelines, going over their notes, so
Kristina walked over to one of the benches by them as we all filed
into the locker room to change.  She stayed there, studying most of
the time, but occasionally setting her book down to watch us
scrimmage.  Her eyes followed each of us in turn, the five of us from
the soccer team, plus her brother, who willingly stood up to her
tormentors.



A couple of days later, I was walking down the hall to my third
period class with Jake and Eric.  I saw Jorge and Kristina just ahead
of me, walking slowly in the same direction.  I didn't think a thing
of it, until I happened to see Richie Del Toro walking with a couple
of The Bulls toward us.  He was engrossed in his conversation,
oblivious to all around him.  Unlike almost all the other kids in the
hallway, Richie carried no books or papers, but instead strutted down
the hall with his hands in his jeans pockets.  It was to be his
undoing.

I saw Jorge move to Kristina's right side, so he would be between
her and Richie when they passed.  Richie was paying absolutely no
attention to anything going on around him, confident that people
would move out of his way.  As the two parties met, Jorge stopped for
just a moment and waited until Richie was two steps behind him.  He
whirled around, dropped to the floor, and swept Richie's legs out
from under him in a classic soccer slide tackle.  Richie's feet flew
up into the air, and he landed square on his backside, his hands
still in his pockets.  There was a loud thump as he hit, and an
echoing thump when his head met the tiles.  He started yelling in
pain.  His friends just stood there and goggled at him, too shocked
to take any action.  Jorge hopped up, and then knelt down on Richie's
chest while he was still flat on his back and grabbed him by his
greasy hair.

"Do you know why your eyes are so brown, Alfalfa?  It's because you
are so full of bullshit.  Do you hear me?" Jorge was so angry, I
thought sparks would fly out of his eyes as he talked softly to
Richie.  "We have a new word now in Spanish for bullshit, Alfalfa. 
We call it Del Toro Poo-Poo."

With that, he hopped up, looked quickly around, and grabbed Kristina
by the arm and walked swiftly away, never once looking back.

Jake, Eric and I all burst out laughing.  Soon the whole hallway was
clapping and cheering, just as a couple of teachers came out to see
what the commotion was all about.  Richie was still on his back,
groaning in pain, and everybody just walked around him, without
offering to help him in any way.  His two cohorts were nowhere to be
seen, having abandoned Richie to his own fate.  The three of us
ambled on, our day suddenly much more pleasant.

At practice that afternoon, the entire soccer team, varsity and JV
alike, gathered around Jorge and heard the story all over again. 
When he got to the part about Del Toro Poo-Poo, everybody whooped and
laughed.  Jorge was a little embarrassed being the center of
attention, but everybody enjoyed hearing about the fall of Alfalfa,
now better known as Del Toro Poo-Poo.

"So, what was Richie's reaction later in the day?" asked one of the
younger players.  "Anybody got him in a class in the afternoon?"

"I do," said another of the junior-varsity players.  "But he wasn't
there.  I don't think he went to any of his classes afterwards."

"That's odd," said Theo.  "I wonder why?"

"Maybe he was just too embarrassed to show his face," said Kevin.

"Yeah, maybe," I said.  "And maybe not.  Watch yourself, Jorge."

"I will, amigo.  Don' worry.  I'm a Latin lover, not a fighter," he
said.

We all laughed at that.  Just then the coaches called us back out to
continue with practice, and we all just kind of forgot about poor Poo-
Poo for the rest of the day.

The next day at school, I saw Richie first thing in the morning.  He
was moving slowly and carefully, like an old man.  He was a little
hunched over, and he was taking small, shuffling steps.  People were
not quite as careful about staying out of his way as they had been
just the day before, but he was concentrating so hard on his walking
that he didn't hardly notice.  There were beads of sweat on his
forehead, and his errant cowlick was waving all over the place.

Between first and second period, Josh came walking up to me.

"Can you believe it?" he said excitedly.  "Del Toro's got a broken
tailbone.  He can't hardly walk, he can't stand up straight, he can't
even sit down without hurting, and he's in pain, man.  It's just too
funny!"

"A broken tailbone?  No shit.  Well, I guess he won't be bothering
Jorge and Kristina anytime soon, will he?" I said.

And so Richie became known as Del Toro Poo-Poo, or Poo-Poo for
short.  And nobody was afraid to call him that to his face.  I
thought that our troubles with him and The Bulls were over.

I was wrong.



(Continued in Chapter 19)




---------------------------------------------------------------------

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 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------




PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 19 -

THE GAME OF LIFE



The next few weeks went by in kind of a blur.  There were tests and
quizzes to study for, there was soccer practice every day after
school, our games were every Friday after school, and my weekends
were taken up with watching Davey and Kip play soccer on Saturday
mornings, doing my chores around the house in the afternoon, then
meeting up with some of my friends Saturday night.  Sometimes Molly
and I would hook up with Tessa and Kristina and Jen and Sam and we
would go to a movie, or sometimes we would hang around and watch
television with some of our friends.  Other times I would get
together with Jake or Josh, and we would go to the mall to play video
games.  It turned out that Josh never did get to use his condoms with
Shayna.  She broke up with him right after he got them, and now she
wouldn't even speak to him.  It hurt him, I know, but he wouldn't
talk about it at all, and no other girl that we knew attracted him
much at the moment.  Let it run its course, I thought to myself.  It
will all work itself out.

Jake, on the other hand, pretty much walked around with a smile on
his face all the time.  He wouldn't talk about why, either, but I was
willing to wager hard-earned cash that he and Jaimie were finding a
way to use up the condoms he got from me.

Our soccer team remained undefeated, winning our games by an average
of 4 goals.  Scouts from Division 1 schools were showing up at our
games to watch Skip play, and as a nice side benefit, Theo started
getting some good mentions in the local press, too, so he was also
drawing some scouts to our games.

Coach Neville, always mindful of the future, played his subs as much
as he could toward the end of the games, when the outcome was
certain.  As a result, all of us got a little playing time each game,
including our tested tough freshman backup keeper, Jorge Mendoza.

By the time Sunday rolled around, I was usually pretty exhausted.  I
was able to sleep in, sometimes not rousing until noon or after.  My
dad, my brothers and I would sit around and watch football on TV, and
Sunday evenings would be catch up on homework time, from immediately
after dinner until bedtime.

Things changed, beginning on the last Saturday of September.



Molly, Tessa and I went to Davey and Kip's soccer game in the
morning.  Each time I watched them play, I could see the results of
our lessons taking hold.  More and more of their teammates were
starting to play positions on the field, and the swarmball mentality
lessened.  The most obvious result of this change was that they were
winning a lot of their games, now that they were able to control the
ball more.  Possession is a great offensive tool, Mr. Reyes used to
say, and he was right.  If your team held the ball for most of the
game, the other team couldn't score.  It was simple strategy, easy to
teach but very tough to learn.

Lori sat next to us on the sidelines.  She was looking a little
tired herself.  Molly was supposed to babysit for her later that
night, and I had been invited over to watch a movie with Molly and
the boys.  

Coach Bill came over after the game to chat with us.

"How's the team doing, Sean?" he asked.

"Undefeated.  I just wish I could get a little more playing time."

"You'll get your chance.  And I know you'll make the most of it when
you do," he said.  "I've got a favor to ask.  I'm going to be out of
town next Saturday.  Could you stand in as coach for me for their
game?"

"Sure, I'll be glad to," I told him.  I was surprised he didn't ask
one of the parents to do it, but it made me proud that he trusted me
with the team.

"We're practicing tomorrow afternoon right here.  Can you make it? 
I'll introduce you to the rest of the team then, and explain to them
what to expect next game day."

"Sure, that's fine.  Is it okay if Molly and Tessa come along, too?"

"Of course.  As a matter of fact, I was going to ask Tessa if she
could work with my keepers a little bit anyway, so that works out
great."  He paused.  "If that's all right with you, Tessa.  I didn't
mean to be presumptuous."

"That's fine, Coach," said Tessa.  "I'll be happy to help."



It was turning into a beautiful fall evening.  I rode my bike over
to the Wilkinson house after dark.  The leaves on the trees were just
turning into their amazing annual display of colors, and some were
just starting to fall.  I could hear the crunch of dried leaves
underneath my tires as I rolled along the street.

I dropped my bike on the front lawn and climbed the steps to the
front door.  I opened the screen to knock on the door, but it opened
before I had a chance.

"Hi, Sean!"  "Hi, Sean!"

The two boys were nearly identical echoes of each other as they
jostled to be the first to grab my hand and pull me into the house. 
The aroma of freshly popped popcorn came from the direction of the
kitchen, and I could hear the rattle of ice in glasses from there.

"Come in, Sean.  We're going to play Life!" cried Kip.

"What's Life?" I asked with a smile.  It was a line in an old song I
heard my mom singing occasionally.

"It's a game!" shouted Davey.  "Don't you know about Life?"

"I guess not," I answered.  "What's it all about?"

"Come on, we'll show you."  And off they dragged me, into the family
room where the board game was set up on the coffee table.

The three of us sat on the floor around the table.  Davey and Kip
had already chosen the pieces they would be playing with, and they
started running the little cars around the board, following the
painted road around and over the bridge and back to the starting
point again.

Molly came in with drinks and popcorn.  She favored me with a very
warm smile as she set out the glasses and cans of soda.  She put the
big bowl of popcorn on the end of the table, nearest the boys, and
sat down on the floor to my right.  She was wearing black jeans and a
baggy black sweatshirt that set off the golden red highlights in her
hair.

The next couple of hours were spent in the pursuit of careers,
families, education, and retirement funds as we played game after
game of Life.  We laughed and yelled and threw tiny little blue and
pink pegs at each other, and generally had a great time.

Finally, though, it was bedtime for Davey and Kip.  Molly hustled
them up the stairs to get ready for bed.  While she was supervising
brushing teeth and washing faces and hanging up clothes and putting
on pyjamas, I cleaned up the family room.  I carried the dirty
glasses and empty pop cans into the kitchen, threw out the remains of
the popcorn, and put the game back into its box.  I straightened up
the pillows on the couch and crawled around the room picking up bits
of popcorn from the floor.  By the time I was finished, she was
turning out the lights and closing the doors of the boys' rooms,
whispering a wish for a good night to each of them in turn.  She came
down the stairs slowly, walked over to the end table to turn off the
lamp, and collapsed onto one end of the couch.  As she slouched
there, she beckoned to me with one lazy arm, a come-hither wave to
her fingers.  I knelt on the couch next to her and leaned toward her.
Her arm, still hanging out there, snaked around my neck as I bent
down to kiss her softly.

"Mmmmm..." she said, her eyes closing.  I could see the cares of the
world washing out of her face as she relaxed and let the pleasures of
the evening begin to work on her.

"Come here," she whispered, pulling me down for another kiss.  As
our lips met, I felt her open her mouth slightly and her tongue dart
out to tease my mouth.  I let my tongue peek out to touch tips,
poking and teasing and tasting for a few moments.

I was still kneeling over her, so I shifted one knee between her
slightly spread legs.  I was leaning on my left elbow with my hand
resting on the top of her head, and my other hand was at her soft
throat, tangled in her hair.

She pulled me closer, and opened her mouth a little more, inviting
my tongue into her.  The kiss got harder and wetter, and my internal
thermostat kicked up several notches.  I had vivid memories of what
her leg had done to me the last time we were in the woods, and here I
was in an advantageous position to return the favor.  I settled in a
bit and began a slow ascent up the inside of her leg with my knee,
making sure my foot and ankle kept contact with her.  My knee stroked
its way up the inside of her thigh, and her legs moved apart to
accommodate me.  Simultaneously, my foot traveled up her calf and
stopped at the inside of her knee the same time my knee reached the
juncture of her legs.  I pressed against her just for a moment, and
allowed my leg to descend at the same slow rate.

When I pressed against her pussy, she moaned into my mouth and
squirmed a little under me.  She used both arms now to pull be even
tighter to her as we both heated up.  I let my right hand drift down,
caressing her ear, then her throat.  I felt the rough cotton of the
neck of her sweatshirt, and brushed down the top of her shoulder,
around to her back, and then down, slowly, slowly, to her waist,
where I let my hand rest for a moment.  At the same time, my leg was
continuing its own exploring of her lower half, stroking up, then
down, then up again, each time pressing just a little more firmly
into the seams of her jeans.

My fingers found the bottom hem of her sweatshirt and wormed their
way underneath to the soft skin of her lower back.  Her skin was hot
to the touch, burning with an inner fire I could only know second-
hand.  (The knee moves up, so slowly)  I played with her skin,
tinkling with my fingertips, letting her furnace warm my hand.  (The
knee presses against her, she thrusts her tongue into my mouth and
then retreats, daring me to follow)  My fingers spider-walked up her
back an inch at a time, acknowledging the play of the lateral muscles
they were encountering.  (The knee begins its slow move back down her
thigh, the foot caresses the calf from top to ankle)  Halfway up her
back I could feel her begin to quiver in heat, desire, frustration. 
My fingers tiptoed a little higher up her back.  Where I would
normally encounter a bra strap across her back, there was nothing but
unencumbered skin.  (The knee stops, pauses, and ascends to approach
the portal once more)  My heart rate quickened with the realization
that I didn't have the intricacies of the hook-and-eye maze of a bra
to worry about as my hand continued its upward journey, wrapping
itself around her bare shoulder in a digital hug.  (The quiver has
reached her center, just as my knee presses once again against her;
her hips now are engaged, pushing her heated cunt against me)  I
could wait no longer, and my hand left her shoulder to caress down a
little, to just under her arm, and around to the soft mound of her
breast.  (My knee, instead of moving back down her leg, presses
harder against her; I can feel her shaking in anticipation, and I can
faintly smell her excitement)  I squeezed as my hand completely
covered her breast.  I could feel the nipple heat up and expand
against the tenderer skin of the palm of my hand.  With an audible
smack, the contact of our mouths broke, and she threw her head back
in pleasure, sighing my name.  I bent down and kissed that hot spot
just below her ear, just in back of her jawline, and licked up into
her ear.  She squealed breathlessly and held me tightly to her, her
hips bumping up at my intruding knee.  Even through two pairs of
jeans I could feel the heat emanating from her there.

I tried kneading her breast, followed by tracing concentric circles
with my fingertips from the soft, sweet underside, around the outer
diameter, and in toward the turgid nipple, finally teasing and
pinching that swollen tip, then running my fingers across her chest
to her other breast.  I repeated my ministrations, not wanting to
favor one over the other, but treating them both like they were my
very best friends.  She reached down and found the edge of my shirt,
pulling it out of my jeans and running her hands up and down my back,
scratching lightly with her fingernails.  Shivers followed wherever
her nails scratched, giving me a hollow feeling inside of suspense
and anticipation.

I sat up and lifted up the edge of her sweatshirt.  She sat up a
bit, lifted her arms, and allowed me to shuck it off her.  Her hair
swept up with the movement of the sweatshirt as it popped off her
head, then fell back down in a swooping arc to swirl softly across
her bare shoulders.  Her chest was flushed, her freckles almost
dancing as she breathed deeply.  Her small breasts moved with her
breathing, the nipples red and swollen and inviting.  I bent down to
pay homage to her wonderful body, licking and softly biting at her
nipples and breasts, caressing and squeezing and worshipping.  She
pulled at my shirt, making me sit up while she pulled it over my
head, then settled back once again to accept more of my attentions to
her sensitive boobs.

After a few more minutes concentrating on her breasts, I dragged my
tongue down, from the valley between her tits to her belly button. 
My hands stayed on their prizes, her swollen nubs, while I licked
around and down into her sensitive navel, sending up a renewed
quivering in her stomach muscles.  Finally I trickled my hands down,
down to the snap of her jeans.  I pulled it apart, and grasped the
tab of her zipper and pulled it down.  Her jeans parted to reveal the
pale blue of her underwear, and the musky tang of her juices reached
my nose, sending another flare up my spine to reverberate in my
nearly empty skull.  I tugged on her jeans, pulling them down from
her hips, and grabbed the waistband of her panties at the same time. 
She lifted up her beautiful bottom and helped me push her pants down
and off, lifting up each leg in turn so I could remove them.  She
settled back down against the couch, legs akimbo, in anticipation.

I tried not to disappoint.  The tricks I had learned previously came
in handy now.  I bent down and applied tongue and fingers to the
task.  I licked, I probed, I suckled, I caressed.  I spread oily
moisture from source to fingertips, and brushed the oily fingertips
around and through her folds and crevices.  I found her tiny clitoris
first with a finger, then with a tongue, and played with it like it
was a favorite toy.  Her nether lips swelled and parted, opening the
way to her overheated cavity, and my fingers delved there for a time,
followed by a probing tongue.  Her body language told me what I
should do, from the quiver of her sympathetic muscles to the way she
grabbed my head to pull me tighter against her.  Her legs were
splayed out by now, one leg on the couch and the other on the floor,
and her hips kept up a nearly continuous undulation and hunching
motion as I pleasured her.  I tasted, probed, sucked, waggled.  I
used my fingers in places my tongue was ignoring, then switched
duties.  I was rewarded with an increasing flow of lubrication from
her, and I eagerly lapped it all up.

Finally, just as my tongue was tiring, she pulled my head up and off
her.  I looked up at her.  She was smiling, and her eyes were shining.

"Come here," she whispered.

I shimmied back up her, my hand still trailing behind to dip and
delve and keep the fire stoked.  She pulled me up and kissed me hard,
eyes open and an amused look on her face, her happiness and arousal
plain on her gorgeous face.

She grimaced.  "Is that what I taste like?" she whispered.

"Don't worry about it, it's much better direct from the source," I
replied.

"Yuck.  Well, as long as you like it..." she said.

"The elixir of life," I said.  Still, I wiped off my face and mouth
before kissing her again.

She reached for my belt, suddenly anxious to continue our pleasures.

"Did you bring any?  I brought one, just in case you forgot," she
said.

"Are you stealing from poor Josh again?" I asked.  She was bent
down, concentrating on the unfastening of my belt and jeans.  Her
struggles caused her perky tits to jiggle slightly, tempting me to
caress them again.  I reached down with one hand to hold one boob
lightly.

"He doesn't seem to be using them anyway, and I didn't want them to
get old and stale," she said.

My scrambled brain went suddenly dead for a moment as she parted my
jeans and reached in to grasp my steely rod.  What was I about to
say?  Oh, yeah.

"I think it takes a long time for them to get old and stale," I said.

"Can't take any chances," she muttered as she yanked my jeans down. 
They were down around my ankles by now, and she abandoned them in
favor of the prize still hiding in my underwear.  She grabbed the
elastic and pulled them down, her eyes wide and bright as she
unwrapped the gift standing straight and proud in front of her.  I
used my feet to fumble my jeans and underwear off.  She pushed me
back onto the couch and looked at what her hands were holding.   One
hand was wrapped around my rigid cock, the other was exploring my
balls.  I reached down to get the condom out of my jeans pocket,
holding it until she was ready.

It didn't take her long to get ready.  I handed her the foil packet.
She ripped it open with her teeth and removed the latex ring.  Now
that she was a little more experienced, she was quicker in rolling it
onto me.  I was unsure whether that was a particularly good thing,
having enjoyed her fumbling tries immensely on our previous
encounters.  Be that as it may, Molly was in a bit of a hurry for
herself, too.  She put her hands on my shoulders and swung her leg
over me.  She grabbed my latex covered missile and held it straight
up, pointed at the silo of her center.  She crouched down just a
little, rubbing the head up and down her flooded slit to transfer
some of her lubrication to the tip, giving herself a shivery moment
of pleasure at the same time when she bumped me against her swollen
clit.  She forced the head harder against her, pushing open her
flowering petals, until she felt the helmet rest at the opening to
her ready vagina.  She paused to prolong the feeling of anticipation,
and then dropped slowly, oh so slowly, impaling herself on me.  The
entry was tight and excruciatingly hot, the pleasure nearly
overwhelming as she dropped, lifted up to relieve the pressure
momentarily, then dropped more.  Over and over she lifted, dropped,
lifted, creating a delicious friction between us, until, finally, I
felt her settle down on me, completely imbedded.

She sighed, surrendering herself to the pleasure she was
experiencing from her center, and bent down to impart a hot, open-
mouthed kiss.  I put one arm around her neck, and the other hand
found its way to her soft breast.  When I pinched her swollen nipple,
she squealed into my mouth and hunched faster on my cock, instantly
sending bolts of heat through every nerve.  She broke the kiss and
stretched her head up in ecstasy, arching her back and pushing her
boob harder into my hand.  I reached up with my head and captured her
other nipple in my mouth and sucked hard on her.  I felt the tip of
her breast slip into my mouth, until the nub of her nipple was firmly
against the middle of my tongue.  I rubbed it back and forth, all the
while sucking more of her boob into my mouth, and she started
bouncing hard on me.  She let out a breathy moan as she lifted up,
paused, crashed down on me, and ground her pubic bone against mine. 
She was in high gear, gasping for breath, as both our heart rates
climbed into the red zone.

She rode me hard, there on the couch, wringing every last mote of
pleasure to be had from our joining.  Finally, she crashed down on
me, impaled to the hilt, and ground against me.  She kept on grinding
until she was swept over the edge.  She collapsed bonelessly on top
of me, surrendering to her climax, her hips twitching and her
sensitive walls pulsing against my iron cock.

That surrender took me to my climax with her.  I pushed up against
her hard, trying in vain to bury even more of me in her warm and
inviting heat, and that set the pump in motion.  I contracted until
my stomach and thigh muscles nearly cramped, and then shot stream
after stream of hot seed out of me and into the latex reservoir.  I
hunched and pumped, each one after the first few a little weaker than
the one before, until there was nothing left to give her.  I was done
for, and could have happily died right then.

I weakly put my arms around her, brushing her sweaty hair out of her
face, gazing at the lovely aspect of Molly, passive and staring ahead
at nothing, lost in the afterglow of her orgasm.  We lay there
together just like that, warm and comfortable as lovers should be,
until the end of time.  Well, at least until we started to cool off,
our sweat-slick bodies slippery against each other, my still hard
cock buried where it belonged.

She groaned and lifted herself off me, releasing me from her hold. 
My dick flopped down to rest like a defeated dragon against my belly,
the slippery latex frothy from the churning of her juices.  I slowly
sat up and slipped the condom off and stumbled over to the bathroom
to flush it away.  I heard Molly stirring, then I heard her talking
to herself.

"What is it, Mol?" I asked as I came back into the room.

"You've got to hurry up and get dressed," she said.  "Mrs. Wilkinson
will be home in about fifteen minutes, and we've got to straighten up
this room and check on the boys."  She was half dressed already.  I
watched with regret as she pulled her sweatshirt over her head and
down, hiding once again the vision of her perfectly formed boobs.  I
longed to kiss them one more time, but it was not to be on this night.

I grabbed my clothes and hurriedly dressed while Molly found some
air freshener and ran around the room, frantically spraying the air. 
I straightened up the cushions on the couch, and she ran upstairs to
make sure Davey and Kip were still fast asleep.

"Everything's quiet," she reported when she came back downstairs. 
We turned on the TV and settled back, finding an old Laurel and Hardy
comedy on a channel.  We snuggled up together, arms wrapped around
each other, giving each other small, soft kisses on cheeks and lips,
as we waited for Lori to get home.  She teasingly put her hand high
on my thigh and let her fingers tease up and down, causing me a
little discomfort as my expanding cock found itself confined in my
jeans, until I finally put my hand on hers and held it still.

Right on time, we heard Lori's car in the driveway, followed by her
key rattling in the lock at the back door.  We stood and came out to
the kitchen to greet her as she came in.  She looked very tired, but
she was smiling easily, something that was missing too often in her
life lately.  She paid Molly for babysitting, and bid us both a good
night as we headed out the door.

Molly and I talked of nothing on the walk back to her house, and I
left her at her front door after giving her one last kiss and an
embrace.  Those luscious boobs pressed against my chest, almost
getting me started again.  She turned and went in to the house, and
turned off the porch light as I got on my bike and rode home.

I was tired but very happy as I got home, thinking of Molly and our
evening together.  I still had three condoms left, so I felt like a
rich man.  I dropped my bike by the garage and tried to be quiet as I
opened the back door.  I stepped into the kitchen, and all the lights
were on in the house, something that had never occurred before at
this time of night.
  
"Sean?  Is that you?"  I heard my mother call out my name from the
other room, not a good sign.  Suddenly concerned, and too conscious
of the smell of sex surrounding me, I walked into the family room to
find my mother, my father, and my brother Michael sitting there,
staring at me.

"What's the matter?" I asked nervously.  I'm not sure I really
wanted to know.

"Son, there's a phone number here for you to call.  They said to
call as soon as you got home, no matter what time it was."  My dad
handed me a piece of paper with a telephone number written on it.  I
looked up at each of them, but it was obvious that they had told me
all they knew.  They were concerned, too, it was obvious, since they
had waited up for me to make sure I got the message.  But the
message, such as it was, was worrisome, to be certain.  I didn't
recognize the number.

I walked over to the telephone on the end table by the couch.



(Continued in Chapter 20)




---------------------------------------------------------------------

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 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------




PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 20 -

SKIP AND THEO


I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the slip of paper. 
An unfamiliar female voice at the other end answered after three
rings.

"Hello?  This is Sean Porter.  I got a message to call this number
when I got home."

"Just a minute, Sean," the voice said.  There was a thump as the
phone was set down on the other end.

"Hello, Sean?"

"This is Sean.  Who is this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry.  It's Coach Neville, Sean.  I've been on the phone
with so many people tonight, I forget who I've talked to and who I
haven't."

"That's okay, Coach."  I was puzzled.  Why was Coach Neville trying
to contact me this late on a Saturday night?  "What's up?"

"Sean, this is very hard."  He paused for a moment.  His voice
sounded gravelly.  "There's been a terrible car accident.  Skip and
Theo..."  He paused again, perhaps to collect himself.  My own heart
was beating like a triphammer, and my palms were suddenly sweaty. 
"Skip and Theo were on their way to pick up their dates earlier
tonight, when they got into an accident.  Another car was involved,
Theo's car got pushed off the road and into a tree..."  His voice was
rising.  He stopped to take a deep breath.  "Sean, Skip was killed
instantly, and Theo is in very serious condition at the hospital."

"What?"  My knees gave out, and I hit the floor with a thump.  "What
did you say, Coach?"

"Skip is dead, son, and Theo is very badly hurt.  I'm trying to
contact everybody on the team to let them know.  I've talked to
almost everyone by now.  I've been over to the hospital to meet with
Theo's family, and Skip's parents were there, also.  It's all so
unreal.  I don't think anyone realizes quite yet what's happened. 
Anyway, I've already talked to the principal at school, and he is
arranging to have counselors available to anybody on Monday morning. 
I would like you to get to school early on Monday if you can, and
we'll meet as a team, varsity and junior varsity, in the locker room
for a few minutes before school starts."

"Okay, Coach.  Is there anything else I can do?"

"Not right now, Sean.  Just pray, pray for Skip's family, pray for
Theo and his family.  I'll be at the hospital as much as I can
tomorrow."

"I'll be there, too, as early as I can."

"Thanks, Sean.  It's going to be a very sad week next week, I'm
afraid."  With that, he hung up the phone.  I sat on the floor, the
dead receiver forgotten in my hand, until the dial tone brought me
back to the here and now.  I struggled to my feet, hanging up the
telephone, and turned to see my mother and father, and my brother
Mike, all looking at me, concern on their faces.

"We heard sirens earlier tonight.  Is this something connected to
them?"  My mom stood up and came over to wrap me in her arms.

I nodded, not sure if I could speak quite yet.  My eyes were
burning, and my vision was blurred.

I sniffled a couple of times, and got myself under control.  I let
them know what had happened, and about Coach's plan to meet early on
Monday morning.  We sat up together, the four of us, for about an
hour, talking about the accident and how much our town was going to
be affected by the tragic news.

Finally, exhaustion set in, and I slowly found my way to my room and
shut the door.  I needed a shower.  I was hoping the hot water would
wash away the last hour, clean it up and present it again with better
news.  I spent about 20 minutes standing there, just letting the
scalding water rush over me.  The water started cooling as the water
heater ran out, so I finally turned the water off and stepped out to
dry off.  I flopped into bed, the lights off, but it was many hours
before I finally drifted off into a troubled sleep.

I was feeling pretty awful when I got up in the morning.  My sleep
was fitful and restless.  I couldn't remember any of my dreams, but
they left a bad aftertaste, a lingering sour discomfort.  I wanted
more than anything to cancel soccer practice with Coach Bill's team,
but since I didn't have any of their phone numbers, I steeled myself
to go and do the best I could.  I called Molly as early as I dared,
but their house was already up and aware of the bad news.  Heather
and Evan had heard about it almost immediately, and had ended up at
the hospital, where they stayed until the nursing staff finally
kicked them, and about half the rest of the senior class, out.  She
had come home shortly after I had dropped Molly off, and awakened the
family to give them the news.

Molly said she would call Tessa, and the two of them would meet me
at the park.  My brother Mike dropped me off at the park with my gear
about 15 minutes early, and said he would pick me up after practice.

The girls got there a few minutes later, and while we were waiting
for the team to show up, Coach Bill explained to us the drills he
wanted to work on today.

The boys on the team started straggling in to the park.  Some of
them walked, others were dropped off by parents.  Lori came with
Davey and Kip, and immediately walked over to me and wrapped me up in
a warm hug.

"I heard about the accident," she said.  "I'm so sorry, Sean."

"Thanks," I said, "but I'm not sure I should be the one to be
accepting condolences."

She kept on holding me tightly, as if the sheer strength of her arms
could hold off the relentless stroke of the clock.

"I'm sure," she said.  "Just because you aren't a blood relation to
those boys doesn't mean you aren't hurting right now.  They were
friends and teammates, and anybody that close is suffering."

"Maybe you're right," I said, and I hugged her back.  I did
appreciate her concern.

We set the boys up in a four-way criss-cross passing pattern around
one of the netless goals in the park.  There was a line of four boys
at each goalpost, and two lines about 12 meters out and 10 meters
apart.  The balls were kept at the posts and passed across to one of
the boys outside, who would trap it, pass it over to the other boy in
the other outside line.  That player would take the pass, dribble two
steps, and take a shot on goal.  There were three boys on the team
who divided up the goalkeeping duties for the team, and each of the
three took a turn in goal, with Tessa there the whole time to give
them tips on how to prevent the score.  There was mass confusion to
start with, and the outside lines tended to drift closer together,
but with Molly, Tessa and I coaxing them on, the drill started to run
smoothly, and the boys were kept moving from position to position,
sometimes passing and sometimes shooting.  

When that drill started to wear down, we set up a drill known as
World Cup.  We divided the team into groups of three, with one
keeper.  There were 16 players, so it worked out well for five teams.
We threw out four balls, and the five teams scrambled for a ball. 
The object of this drill was to practice moving into open space, and
communicating with teammates.  Any team that scored a goal came off
the field, and the remaining teams restarted with one less ball,
until there finally there were just two teams left, battling after
one ball.

By the end of practice, the boys were sweaty and puffing from the
drill, and feeling pretty good about how they had performed in the
World Cup drill.  Before Coach Bill let them go, he talked to them
for a few minutes about what we had worked on that day.  I hoped the
lessons would carry through to their next game day.

Michael picked us up after practice, and we dropped Tessa and Molly
off at their houses before going home.  I wanted to take a shower and
get something to eat before I went to the hospital to see Theo.

That afternoon, my dad willingly gave up his NFL jones to drive
Molly and me to visit Theo.  He waited in the lobby the whole
afternoon while we waited our turn to go in and see Theo.  The
waiting area was milling with teammates and school friends of Skip
and Theo, the boys standing around trying to be stoic and strong, and
the girls weeping and hanging onto each other for support.  It was no
surprise to me that Maggie, Skip's girlfriend, was not there, but I
did notice that Allison, the girl hanging on Theo's arm at the pool
party, also did not make an appearance.

When it was finally our turn to go into Theo's room, we found that
it was nearly as crowded as the waiting room.  His parents, brother,
two sisters, grandparents, and Coach Neville were all there,
surrounding the bed.  Theo was in a drug-induced coma, tubes running
everywhere, scary machines crowding the walls.  He was in traction
and had multiple internal injuries.  Coach whispered to me that the
long-term prognosis was favorable, but they didn't know if he would
ever run again until they could bring him out of the coma and get
going on his physical therapy.  Theo looked so small and frail there,
and Coach was sunk in on himself, keeping going by sheer willpower. 
I felt nearly as badly for him as I did for Theo's family.

Later that evening, we finally left the hospital.  Dad drove us
slowly past the spot where the accident occurred.  There were long
skid marks on the road, and the tree they had hit was badly scarred. 
There were dozens of flowers and candles, tributes to Skip and
prayers for Theo, scattered around the tree.  It gave the area a look
of peace and tranquility, a far cry from its reputation from that day
forward.

By the time I got home, I was completely wiped.  I barely had the
energy to undress before I crawled between my sheets and fell almost
immediately into a dreamless slumber.  The start of one of the
toughest weeks of my life was just ahead.



(Continued in Chapter 21)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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