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Subject: {ASSM} -RP- Playing the Game II, Playing to Win, Ch. 36-40 by Rev. Cotton Mather
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Just a little something for those of you who are just catching up with the adventures of my good friend Sean Porter...
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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.
(Copyright 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 36 -
SENIOR YEAR TRYOUTS
Stephen was home and in his room by the time I got back to my house.
My parents had already gone to bed, and Michael was out. I knocked
on Stephen's door, and opened it before he could even answer. He was
standing at his dresser, and he spun around when he heard me come in.
"What?" he asked, already on the defensive.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked angrily.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he tried bluffing.
I wasn't buying whatever bullshit he was peddling. "Jake recognized
you," I said, sitting down on the edge of his twin bed.
He folded right away. He knew he wasn't going to be able to bluff
his way out of this, and tears started filling his eyes.
"Damn it, Sean. Why me? Why can't good things happen to me like
they do for you?" He came over and sat down on the floor by my feet
and leaned back against the bed. What did he mean about good things
happening to me? What good things?
"What's going on, Stevie?"
"Fucking Tommy," he mumbled. "Gets me in trouble all the fucking
time." The tears were running down his face now.
"What did Tommy do now?" I asked. I wasn't feeling very sympathetic
right about then, and his display of emotion didn't touch me at all.
He sighed, his breath hitching. "Listen, don't let Mom or Dad know
about this, okay?" He looked up at me, beseeching, but I didn't say
or do anything. I wanted my options open. I had the feeling this
was going to be a
doozy of a story.
He paused, but when I didn't make any move to agree, he just shook
his head. "Fuck it, then," he said roughly. "Get out of my room."
He shoved at my leg, but I didn't move. He was pretty half-hearted
about moving me out, and he gave up after just that one shove.
"Tell me," I said quietly.
He stayed quiet for a long time, as if he was mulling over whether
to tell me about it or not. Finally, he took a deep
breath, and he started.
"There was a dude a couple of blocks over who was doing some roofing
work or something," he began. "Anyway, he left his ladder in his
back yard, and Carlos found it. Him and Tommy dragged it over to
Tara's house the other day. I think they were planning on sneaking
into her room that night, or something, but they didn't. Anyway,
they stashed it behind the garage over there."
"At Jaimie's house? I mean, Tara's house?"
"Yeah. It was mostly hidden behind some bushes and shit, so nobody
found out about it."
"And?"
"And, well, we knew that Tara was like totally grounded, but she
still got around it a lot, you know?"
"Like at the carnival the Fourth of July weekend?"
"Yeah," he agreed. "Like that. Anyway, you know she's... uh..."
"She's a real piece of work," I said.
He smiled just a little. "Yeah, a piece of... work. She likes to
shake her ass around, you know?"
"So I've heard," I said dryly.
"Okay, so she's skanky. But a guy gets horny, you know? She's been
jacking me off or giving me blowjobs for a long time, and once you
get used to gettin' it pretty regular..."
"Okay, I get the picture," I said. "Have you fucked her?"
"Sure," he admitted. "Tommy got her first, and then Carlos ripped
off a piece, but she wouldn't give it up for me. Only handjobs and
blowjobs. And then, one time last spring, we were all in the woods,
me and Carlos and Tommy and Tracy and Tara. Tommy brought some weed,
and Tracy had a pipe, so we passed it around. Before I know it,
Tommy and Tara are rolling around on the ground, and she's got her
hand down his pants yanking on him and he's pawing at her tits, and
pretty soon they're pulling clothes off of each other, and he bangs
her right there, in front of everybody."
"No shit?"
"No shit. And then Carlos decides he doesn't want to be left out,
so he grabs Tracy, and her top comes off, but she doesn't want to
fuck, so she starts blowing him while he's got a finger stuck up her
twat, and he's finger-fucking her, you know?"
"And what are you doing while all this is going on?" I asked.
He had the good sense to look a little ashamed. "Tommy dumps a load
in Tara, but her motor's still running, 'cause, you know, Tommy's
kinda quick on the trigger, you know?"
I just nodded. Of course he was; he was young and selfish and
stupid, and he was just looking to get his rocks off.
"So she motions to me, so I crawl over to her, and she grabs my
shirt, and pulls me down and kisses me, and then whispers, 'Hop on
and give me a ride'. So I did."
"Yeah? Just like that?"
He wouldn't look at me. "It's not like I'm in love with her or
nothin'," he said. "I just wanted to get laid in the worst way." He
glanced up quickly, and dropped his eyes again. "And I think I did."
"Did what, Stevie?"
"Got laid in the worst way," he said.
"Yeah," I agreed. "Maybe you did. So then what happened tonight?"
"Oh, yeah. Well, we had this ladder, see? And we knew Tara would
be sent to the house after dark, but she said to stick around, and
she'd try to sneak us in somehow. Like, a signal with her bedroom
light, or something. Tommy and her fixed it all up. Anyway, Carlos
had to go home, so when we saw her bedroom light come on, Tommy says,
'Help me hoist the ladder up there', so we each grab an end and we
put it up on the side of the house by her window, and by now she's
got her window open, and she's hanging out watching us, and Tommy
shimmies up the ladder and crawls into her room through the window,
and then he motions me to come up. So I climb up the ladder and
practically break my freakin' neck falling through the window into
her room, and I look up, and already they're lip-locked, and Tommy's
got his hand stuck down inside her panties, fingering her, and she's
got his shorts down around his ankles and has his wang out, and she's
yanking on it like she wants to pull it out by the root, you know?"
He looked up at me again.
It didn't sound very romantic. In fact, it sounded painful. I
nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"So, anyway, they break apart for a moment, and she pulls her shirt
off, and she's not wearing nothing underneath, and Tommy, he kneels
in front of her, and pulls her panties off, 'cause that's all she's
got on, you know? He pulls them off, and she puts her feet apart for
him, and he starts jabbing his finger up her cunt again. She puts
her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, you know, she's looking
like she's really starting to get off on all this fast and furious
shit, and she's got her head back, and she's moaning and groaning and
almost bouncing up and down on Tommy's fingers, 'cause he's using two
or three fingers on her now. And when she's done coming, or
whatever, she just pushes him away, pushes him backwards, you know?
And Tommy, he falls down, he's so surprised, but he stands up again,
and yanks his shorts the rest of the way off, and his boner is
stickin' way out. Anyway, Tara, she backs up until she's by the bed,
and then she just lays down, her legs spread and dangling over the
side, and Tommy climbs on, and Tara grabs his thing, just takes hold
of his cock, and pulls it, pulls him over on top of her, and he just
slides home."
He looked up at me in distress again. "It was really gross, Sean,
and at the same time, it was really a turn-on, you know? I mean,
being in the same room with your best friend while he's banging some
bitch, only it's a girl I've known since forever." He squirmed a
little, remembering. "Anyway, he's humping away at her, and she's
taunting him, you know? Like telling him he's got a little dick, and
he don't know how to use it, but he's in another universe, and pretty
soon I hear him grunt, and he pulls out and shoots all over her
stomach and her tits. When he was done, he just drops to his knees
and kind of rolls out of the way, and Tara, she's just laying there,
her legs spread wide and her pussy just winking at me, and she just
watches me. So I dropped my shorts and grabbed my cock and guided it
in, and took up right where Tommy left off. I didn't want to hug her
or kiss her or anything, 'cause Tommy's splooge was all over her, so
I just kind of leaned up against the bed and balled her, and she had
this smile on her face like she knew I didn't want to kiss her, and
she moved her hips around on me, and before I realized it, I was
shooting off inside her."
He looked up at me again, his eyes ten years older than they were
just a few minutes ago. "I didn't mean to, Sean. I really didn't.
But she's got to be on the pill, right? I mean, a skanky slut like
that, she wouldn't take the chance, would she?"
I wished I could reassure him at that point. I knew only too well
the terrors that came visiting when you were worried about such an
unfortunate mishap.
"I don't know, Stephen. Maybe she is, but I don't know."
"Because Jaimie and Kayla are, so Tara probably is, too," he said.
I looked at him, dumbfounded. "How do you know about Jaimie and
Kayla?" I asked suspiciously.
"Tara knew," he replied. "Tara told us one time that they were."
Hoo boy. That was not good news. One step closer to the parents
finding out about the girls being on birth control. The more people
who knew, the more likely the word would get out to the wrong people,
namely moms and dads. And here, the four of us thought we had kept
that particular bit of information a secret.
He sniffled, and wiped his eyes roughly with his palms.
"What am I gonna do now, Sean?" he asked miserably. "What's gonna
happen now?"
"I don't know, buddy. I'll find out what I can." I stood up and
looked down on him. I knew there was a scowl on my face, and I hoped
it would put the fear of God into him. "You're going to have to
stand up and face whatever comes, though. You can't run away and
hide from it."
He just stared up at me, his eyes tearing up again. There were high
spots of color on his cheeks, and his nose was red and streaming.
Finally, though, he nodded, and looked down to stare at nothing,
contemplating a dreadful future.
The next day, I called Jake, first thing.
"Hey," I said. "What's going on with Tara and her family?"
He kept his voice low and spoke very quietly into the telephone. "I
don't know for sure. By the time I got back there, Mr. and Mrs.
Jacks were home, and I only got to talk to Jaimie for a second this
morning when I called over there. She told me she threw Tara into
the shower to get cleaned up, but I don't know if she told her
parents about it yet." He paused for a moment. "I took that ladder
down and carried it into the back of the field last night, just in
case."
I slapped my forehead. "Great thinking, dude. I completely forgot
about the ladder."
"Sean? Was Stephen one of the guys?"
I sighed. "Yeah. And it's a real dirt sandwich." I gave him the
condensed version of what had happened.
"Jesus H. Fucking Christ," he muttered. "What is the matter with
that little girl?"
"Well, not only that, but what is the matter with these little
boys?" I added.
"Yeah, that too. Why is it that guys are so easily led around by
their dicks?"
I laughed uncomfortably. "I don't know, Jake. If you can figure
out the answer to that, you'll be a millionaire."
"We might have another little problem," I said. I told him about
Tara spilling the beans about Jaimie and Kayla being on birth control.
"We'll fix that right away," he said. "School starts in another
week, and all these kids involved are going to be freshmen. We'll
put the fear of the Senior Class into them right from the get-go."
"You want to wait that long?" I asked worriedly.
He chuckled. "I don't think a whole lot is going to happen between
now and then. Between the four of us, we ought to be able to sit on
these little dickheads without too much trouble."
"Five of us," I said.
"Five?"
"Yeah. Mikey Evanson is gonna have to be informed about his little
sister, and it's not going to be pleasant. He'll help."
"Mike graduated. He won't be there," said Jake.
"He's going to community college for a year, living at home. He'll
want to know about this."
"Okay, five of us. Good. So, I guess I'll see you later."
"Call me if you hear anything more," I said before hanging up. Even
if Jake didn't call me back, I knew I could get more information that
afternoon. Luscious was coming over and staying for dinner.
When she got to my house, she was carrying a gym bag, and wearing
gym shorts and a baggy tee shirt, along with her running shoes.
"Oh, no," I groaned.
"Come on, you lazy bum," she said. She reached and pulled me up
from my very comfortable slouch. "I don't want you getting all
flabby. Besides, an older guy like you needs to take care of
himself." She giggled and stepped easily out of the way when I tried
to tickle her for that remark. She pushed me toward the stairs. "Go
change," she commanded. "I'll be out in the back, stretching."
Well, that was a sight I really didn't want to miss, watching my
Luscious stretch out, so I hustled upstairs and threw on an old shirt
and slipped into my running shoes, and took the stairs back down two
at a time. I would tie them when I got back outside, where the view
was much better.
Kayla was bent over double when I stepped outside, her knees locked
and her palms flat on the ground. She looked around her legs and
held her position as I stopped and admired her form, and she smiled
at me, knowing full well what she was doing. I almost missed the
bottom step because I was looking at her ass as I came down the
stairs.
She raised herself up gracefully. "Come on, clumsy," she said. She
gently pushed me back so that I was sitting on the concrete step, and
she knelt and began tying my shoes. She glanced up at me and smiled
again, and leaned forward just a little more to concentrate on her
work. Of course, when she did that, the neck of her tee shirt
gapped, and I got just a glimpse of the top swells of her breasts,
along with the edge of her white bra. As much as I was fascinated by
the sight, I had to look away after a moment. It would be
uncomfortable, and more than a little embarrassing, if I had to run
with a hard-on tenting my shorts.
I stretched out my hamstrings, and figured that was good enough for
an easy run, and we started out, going down the driveway and heading
over toward the park.
"How are Jaimie and Tara?" I asked.
She scowled a little. "It's a real mess over there," she said.
"Jaimie got Tara cleaned up and into bed before her parents found
out, but she's really afraid Tara's going to do something like that
again."
"She can't very well nail the upstairs windows shut, can she?"
"No. She really doesn't want to tell on her sister, but she's
thinking that might be the only way to protect her from herself, too."
We were jogging at an easy pace, breathing regularly and able to
converse without gasping. We ran around the perimeter of the park
and headed out through the surrounding neighborhood, intending on
swinging around and coming back to my house by running past Kayla's,
about a four-mile loop.
I gave her the sanitized version of what Stephen had told me, and
also told her about my conversation with Jake.
"Will that work? Confronting those kids like that?" she asked, a
little worriedly.
"Sure it will," I assured her. "They're just punk kids. They'll
listen up." I hesitated for a moment, and then jumped in to see if I
could help Stephen out. "Sweetie, do you know if Tara is on birth
control pills?"
She glanced over at me. "I don't know, but I'll see if I can find
out," she said.
By the time we got back to my house, our conversation had turned to
more pleasant subjects, and I felt great. That run was just what I
needed to clear my head of jumbled thoughts.
Everybody was home by the time we returned, and Mom was fixing up
platters of bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches, cut into triangles,
along with cut-up fruit and sweating glasses of soda and iced tea.
Kayla grabbed her bag and ran upstairs to take a quick shower while I
helped Mom lug the food out to the picnic table in the back yard.
When Kay came back down, she insisted on helping while I got cleaned
up. It would have been a lot more efficient if we had been able to
shower together, but I didn't think my parents would be very
accepting of that suggestion, so I didn't even mention it, except to
Kayla as we passed each other in the hallway.
"I would have preferred to take my shower with you," I whispered.
She gave me a smoky smile. "We'd have run out of hot water," she
murmured.
I came back from my shower just as my dad and my brothers were
sitting down at the picnic table. Mom and Kayla were opposite the
men, and I slipped onto the bench next to my Luscious, and we all dug
in.
Tryouts for the school fall sports teams were held beginning Monday.
Soccer tryouts were scheduled for Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday
afternoons, and the team lineups would be announced after Wednesday's
session. Full team practices began on Thursday, and our first game
was to be a week later on Friday, during the first week of school.
Coach Neville met with those of us who had been starters on the
previous year's team for an hour before tryouts were to begin on
Monday. I looked around the room as we settled into desks in one of
the health classrooms. It would be strange not seeing Kevin Soranno
playing in front of me, or Mikey Evanson and Robert Anderson in the
middle, but it was a shock to realize that Trent Abbott wouldn't be a
part of this team. All had graduated, and Trent had left for college
on Sunday. He had gotten a soccer scholarship at South Carolina, and
we had speculated excitedly all summer long on the prospect of
playing against each other in another year.
On the other hand, our entire defense, with the exception of Mikey,
was returning. Jorge was a junior, and Anthony Rogers and I were
returning as seniors. Eric Johnson and Javier Perez were returning
seniors for our offense, and Jimmy Brooks, our right forward, was a
junior. We only had to fill four starting positions lost because of
graduation, an enviable position for a ranked team.
"Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?" Coach Neville
smiled as he surveyed the classroom. "As you all know, these next
three days will be open tryouts. All positions must be earned, no
matter what your successes or awards in previous seasons. That said,
I anticipate that the seven of you, unless your games have somehow
gone horribly wrong during the past several months, will be returning
to your customary positions on the field."
Brett spoke up. "Coach, do you have any idea who you might like to
see in the forward and midfield spots that are open?"
His smile was tight and knowing. "We'll have to see how the tryouts
go," was all he would say.
He handed out schedules, and talked about what drills he had planned
for tryouts. He wanted us to meet with him again on Wednesday
morning, so we could give him some input on what we saw during the
tryouts. He emphasized, however, that the final decisions on the
makeup of the team were his, making sure we all understood that.
We spent the entire Monday session running and conditioning. We ran
laps around the track; we ran 40-yard sprints, 60-yard sprints, and
100-yard sprints, all timed. We ran 1-mile races, timed again, and
then ran more laps.
It was brutal. There were maybe 100 kids trying out for the soccer
teams, and of those, maybe half made it through the running phase in
halfway decent shape. A number of kids ended up on their knees,
tossing their lunches along the fence, at some point during the
festivities. Even the couple dozen or so of us who had known what to
expect, and had prepared over the summer, were pretty much beaten
down by the pace.
At the end of the first day, those of us who had been on the Varsity
team the previous year were sprawled around one of the benches on the
side of the field. Eric, Jimmy, Javier, Anthony, Jorge, Weasel,
Rich, and a couple of other subs were all there, sucking down water
and trying to summon up the energy to walk a little to cool down
before the muscles started tightening up.
Coach Simonson came over and harangued us to get up and move around.
Moaning and complaining the whole time, we all finally managed to
drag our weary asses up off the bench or up from the ground and take
a one-lap walk around the track.
Rich Ingrams moved up to walk with me. "Hey, Sean, I hear you were
running a clinic for little kids over the summer," he said.
"Yeah, I heard that, too," said Weasel from behind us. "That must
have been boring."
Eric turned around and stared at him. "Maybe you should have signed
up, Weasel. Might have been able to teach you a thing or two."
"Why do you say that? You weren't there, were you?" One thing
about Adam Prince the Weasel. He was sure to get his motormouth
going before he dropped his brain in gear.
"Actually, yeah, I was there. And it was fun. And educational.
And it helped me to stay in shape. How you feelin', dipshit?"
Weasel actually made it through the first day pretty well. He was
limping a little, and he looked pretty washed out, but most of the
guys looked worse. Eric, of course, looked nearly fresh, even with a
bright gleam of sweat on his dark skin. His breathing had already
normalized, and he looked like he was out for a stroll on the track.
"I feel all right," Weasel said rather defensively.
"Good enough to go one-on-one for a spot on the starting lineup?"
Eric asked.
Weasel stopped and glared at Eric. The rest of us stopped and
looked at the two of them. "What do you mean?"
"Simple," said Eric. "Full net size, you and me one-on-one. You
get three chances to try to stop me from scoring, then I get three
chances to stop you. Most goals wins."
"Wins what?"
Eric thought for a moment. "I win, you don't issue any challenges
all season long. You win, me and Porter will recommend you for the
sweeper spot in the starting lineup."
"Really? You'd do that?" Prince looked a little uncertain, as if
he didn't believe we would live up to our end of the bargain.
"Sure. You beat me, you're good enough to start, far as I'm
concerned. But here's the catch, Weasel. Just because we recommend
you, don't mean Coach will listen. All we can do is whisper in his
ear."
Weasel turned to me. "Do you agree to this, too?"
I shrugged. "Sure," I said. "You beat Eric, I'll let Coach know
you want the sweep, and I'll give it my endorsement."
I could almost see the light shine in his eyes at the thought of
starting in the middle.
"Hold on there, sport," I said. "If you win - and that's a very big
if - and if you get the starting spot - another very big if - you
listen to your keeper, your stopper, and your two defensemen. Listen
and act as if your life depended on what they said. When Jorge says
'jump', you start jumping, and you don't stop until he tells you to
stop. Got that?"
"Sure, but..."
"But nothin'. Agree to it, or you don't even get the chance to win
the one-on-one. Okay?"
His face got red, but he must have been working on his anger
management, because he didn't say another word. He just tersely
nodded.
"Okay, good. As soon as Coach dismisses us, we'll grab a couple of
balls and do it." I turned around and resumed walking around the
track, and the others followed.
When we got back to the locker room, I quietly let Coach know what
was going on. He tried to be serious as he listened, but I could see
amusement dancing in his eyes as he let me know he would be in his
office for another hour, going over the day's events with Coach
Simonson.
The word must have gotten out, because there were about 30 kids
hanging around the field when I got back out there for the challenge.
Almost all the guys from last year's Varsity and Junior Varsity teams
were there, sitting around and anticipating the contest, and there
were a few kids from the summer clinics, incoming freshmen who knew
Eric and I, and were intensely interested in what was going on.
I walked out, holding two soccer balls under my arms, and Eric and
Adam got up and joined me.
"The full half field is in bounds," I said. "Play on, unless you
hear me blow my whistle. Offensive player gets the opportunity to
bring the ball up from the midfield line, and just about anything
goes after that. Once the defenseman either kicks the ball out of
bounds, or takes over control and dribbles away, or knocks the ball
more than 10 yards behind the offensive player, that turn is over,
and you restart. Each player gets three opportunities on offense.
Understood?"
I got nods from both players.
"Okay, who goes on offense first?" I looked at them both.
"Let's play our positions first," suggested Eric. "I'll take the
first offensive set against the defensive specialist, here." He
jabbed his thumb in Weasel's direction.
"That okay with you?" I asked Adam.
He shrugged. "Sure, I guess," he said.
I set them up, and blew my whistle to get them started. Adrenaline
was working in Weasel's favor for the first point, and he managed to
knock the ball away from Eric's feet and out of bounds pretty
quickly. Just that small exertion, however, had him huffing and
puffing. The day's excesses were going to take their toll on him
quickly.
On the second point, Eric juked him badly, and got enough of an
opening to pound the ball into the net. Eric walked nonchalantly
back to the midfield stripe and waited for Weasel to retrieve the
ball and toss it to him. Eric let the ball drop to his feet, and
immediately took off at a dead run. Even I was impressed that he had
that much speed and energy left in him, after running so much during
tryouts, and there was no way that Adam was going to be able to
backpedal and stay with him. After three tries, Eric had scored
twice, and Adam had made one stop.
They switched positions. Adam rested a moment, hands on his knees
and sweat dripping from his nose as he tried to catch his breath. He
looked up at Eric, who was standing hipshot on the 18-meter mark,
waiting patiently, arms crossed and looking relaxed. Weasel sighed,
took a big breath to fill his lungs with oxygen, and started out.
He was skilled with the ball, but there was no way he was going to
be able to outrun Eric to the goal. He tried his best to feint
around him, but Eric, from years of pulling stunts on opponents, knew
what he was doing, and could play a defensive set very well. He kept
his eyes focused on Weasel's stomach, letting his peripheral vision
track the ball. The feet, the arms, the shoulders, the head, even
the hips could be used to fake out an opponent, but the midsection
has to go where the body goes, and Eric was well aware of it. He
kept watching Adam's core, and simply moved in the same direction his
midsection moved, and Adam was forced to concede the point.
On his second trip down, Weasel tried lofting a pass over Eric's
head. Eric simply ran backwards a half-dozen steps and kneed the
ball out of bounds, for the match. The only reason to play out the
last point was for pride, and Weasel was out of gas, pride
notwithstanding. He just waved his hand at Eric, conceding as he
walked over to the sideline, clutching his side and blowing hard.
Eric came jogging over and took Weasel's arm. Weasel stood up
straighter, perhaps anticipating having to take some shit from the
victor, but Eric simply said, "Nice game, Prince. You played your
hardest."
Adam looked startled. He searched Eric's face for a possible
punchline, and didn't see one, so he nodded. "Thanks," he said
hesitantly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eric just
nodded once at him, and let him go, walking over to get his bottle of
water out of his gym bag.
The crowd dispersed, clumps of players walking off together, no
doubt talking about the one-on-one challenge they had just watched,
and speculating on what it all meant. Eric, Jorge and I gathered up
our stuff and headed back to the door into the locker rooms, and
knocked on Coach's door.
"Enter," said Coach Neville, and Coach Simonson opened the door for
us.
"How'd it go?" asked Coach Neville.
"About what you'd expect," I said. "But Prince showed some guts out
there, Coach. And quite a bit of restraint." I turned to Jorge and
Eric. "What do you guys think?"
Eric just nodded, only now allowing himself to look as tired as he
had to have felt.
Coach looked at Jorge.
"If you want to start him as sweep, I t'ink we can work with him.
You agree, Sean?" asked Jorge.
I nodded. "Yeah," I agreed. "He's a more mature player than he was
last year. I think we can play with him."
"Thank you, boys," said Coach Neville, giving nothing away. "See
you tomorrow." And, with that, we were dismissed.
On Wednesday, after practice, Coach tacked up two pieces of paper on
the bulletin board in the locker room. One had the names of the guys
who had made the Junior Varsity team, the other contained the names
of the Varsity players. All 7 of the freshman players who had
attended my clinic made the JV team, I was glad to see. As far as
the Varsity list was concerned, there was only one surprise,
considering the number of returning players we had. That surprise
was that the two sophomores who had been on the JV team last year,
and had attended my clinic, were both on the roster. I was
unaccountably pleased about that.
On Thursday morning, at our first team meeting, Coach would announce
his starting lineup. Who would fill the four vacant spots? We all
had to wait for one more day before we would find out.
(Continued in Chapter 37)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.
(Copyright 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 37 -
HER TWO BEST FRIENDS
Coach scheduled a team meeting after our Thursday afternoon practice
to announce the starting lineups, and to hand out practice and game
schedules.
Paco Ochoa, Kristina Mendoza's boyfriend, was going to be the
starting midfielder on my side of the field. I had been watching him
during tryouts, and he was a good ball-handler. And he was fast,
maybe even faster than Eric. It was a great choice for that position.
As I pretty much expected, Weasel was given the starting sweeper
position. When Coach announced his name, he looked like he had been
hit with a brick. He had already resigned himself to coming off the
bench again this year. He looked around gratefully at Eric, Jorge
and me, but we stayed carefully neutral. No use making a big thing
out of it. Everybody knew, even the previous year, that he had the
skills to play at this level. All he needed was a little tempering.
In Trent's spot, left forward, Coach assigned one of our solid bench
players from the previous season, a junior named Alex Spivak. He was
a solid, if relatively unimaginative, player. I thought he would do
a decent enough job with the ball, but I had the feeling most of the
scoring duties were going to shift to our midfielders, instead of our
forwards. As long as the defense held, I didn't care if we didn't
have the offensive firepower we did the previous year. Winning by
one or two goals, instead of by six or seven, still counted as a win
in my book.
The biggest surprise was the appointment of Hap Olson as our
offensive center midfielder. Hap was a sophomore, one of the kids
from the J.V. team who had attended my summer clinic. His skills had
improved a great deal over the summer, but it still took me by
surprise that our coaches thought enough of him to put him into a
starting position.
We had a 3-hour practice scheduled for Friday, and a marathon 5-hour
block scheduled for Saturday, beginning at 9:00 in the morning,
something we had never had before. I asked Coach Neville about it,
as it seriously cut into my plans to sleep in every morning. He gave
me a funny look.
"It's your own fault, you know," he said with a smile.
"Huh? My fault?" I didn't want the team thinking I was responsible
for this long practice session on a Saturday.
"Of course. If you hadn't proved to be such an influential player
on the field, we would never have found ourselves in this position."
"Sorry, Coach," I said. I was confused. "I still don't understand."
He laughed out loud, deriving genuine pleasure from my confusion.
"Don't be sorry, Sean. I'm just enjoying the moment. Allow me to
explain. We've gotten so many requests for interviews that we had to
schedule a media day. We'll be just doing a fairly light practice,
two hours or so, and then the team will shower and change into their
game uniforms, and let the media do their interviews. We'll take the
team picture for the yearbook then, too, since we'll have all sorts
of professional photographers on hand, and we'll have a catered
buffet lunch set up in the cafeteria."
"You're kidding. A media day?"
"We'll have newspapers and magazines represented, and there will be
quite a few scouts and representatives from colleges and universities
here. Most of those will be from the surrounding states, but our
preseason ranking has generated a lot of interest in the team. And,
of course, your reputation has fueled a lot of that interest."
"I hope those scouts aren't coming to see me, Coach. I've already
committed to Florida."
"Oh, they are well aware, Mr. Porter. Many of them are coming to
see what they missed, and to take a look at some of our other
players. Mr. Johnson, for instance, seems to be a hot commodity
right now, since he hasn't chosen a college as of yet."
I knew that Eric had been contacted by some schools, and I didn't
think he had decided on where, or even if, he was going to go to
school. I was glad to hear he might be able to go on an athletic
scholarship, and the more exposure he could get, the better off he
would be.
"And, of course, it's not too early for Mr. Mendoza or Mr. Brooks to
start thinking about furthering their careers, either," Coach
continued.
That was right, both Jorge and Jimmy were juniors this year. These
high-school years were flying by. Is this what happens to grown-ups,
too? The thought was startling.
So, on a sunny and hot Saturday morning, we went through our usual
warm-up laps and stretching, only this time we had an audience, and
we got to practice on the main field. There were more than 100
people in the stands, and more were coming in as the morning
progressed. The word had gotten out in town, and a lot of kids from
school were there, no doubt as curious about the festivities as we
were. I could see Dr. Osgood, our school principal, working the
crowd, moving up and down the bleacher aisles and introducing himself
to the reporters and scouts.
Around 10:00, as the coaches were setting us up for 3-on-3
scrimmages, there was a sudden commotion outside the gate. We
stopped and watched in amazement as a television crew from one of the
local stations pulled up and began to unwind spools of cable and
snake it under and around the bleachers. Coach Neville must have
really put out the word, I thought.
By the end of the day, I was all talked out. I had interviews with
all of the local papers, including the Metro Times, and
representatives from American High School Soccer Association and its
magazine, "Youth Soccer Today". I talked to a bunch of recruiters
and scouts, and pointed them toward Eric, Jorge, and Jimmy. Right
after practice, and then again during the luncheon, I did a
television interview, and I saw Dr. Osgood and Coach Neville also
being interviewed. I was told it was for an upcoming prep soccer
program, one of their weekly high-school sports shows that they
broadcast on Sunday mornings.
At one point, I had about four scouts surrounding me, talking to me
about their schools. I tried to get them to go talk to one of the
other guys, but they didn't seem to take the hint. Another man came
up to our group, and his voice cut through the buzz around me.
"Mr. Sean Porter, I presume?"
We all turned to look at the newcomer. He was about 30, slim and
clean-cut, balding a little, but looking pretty fit. He looked like
a soccer player to me.
"Yes, sir," I replied. The other scouts backed off just a little,
apparently recognizing him.
He stuck out his hand and smiled. "I just thought I'd stop by and
introduce myself," he said. He glanced around, nodding to a couple
of the others, as if he knew them. "I'm Stan Harvard from the
University of Florida, Sean. Pick Cropper wanted me to stop by and
say hello."
I leapt up and pumped his hand. "Well, Mr. Harvard, I'm very glad
to finally make your acquaintance," I said.
"It's great to meet you, too, Sean," he said, moving in next to me.
He managed to maneuver us away from the crowd with a polite but
quite firm "Will you excuse us for a few minutes, gentlemen?", and we
stepped over to a quiet corner.
He chuckled, glancing over to where the four others were shuffling
around, unsure whether to wait for us to return or to go off in
search of some other potential player.
"They weren't about to give up easily, were they?" he said, shaking
his head.
"No, they weren't," I said. "I tried to tell them I was already
committed, Mr. Harvard..."
"Oh, I know that, Sean. And call me Stan, please. I know those
guys, and they know you've already signed your letter. They just
were picking your brain a little, probably seeing how set you were on
becoming a Gator."
"I thought once a letter of intent was signed, I couldn't change my
mind," I said.
He looked a little scared when I said that. "Why, Sean? Were you
thinking of changing your mind?"
"Oh, no, sir," I hastily assured him. "I'm Florida bound, and happy
about it. I just thought you couldn't back out of it, once it's been
signed, that's all."
He relaxed a little. "Oh, nothing's irreversible," he said.
"You're right, it's a legal contract, but there are always provisions
for voiding it. Both sides agreeable, and all that. But it's rare,
even so."
We chatted for a few more minutes, as the time allowed for the media
interviews wound down. Finally, Stan and I strolled toward the
gymnasium door.
"Well, so long, Sean. I'll see you next fall, in sunny Florida," he
said, shaking my hand.
"I'm looking forward to playing there," I said.
"By the way," he said softly, looking around a little
conspiratorially. "I've got a bit of news for you. It's still
pretty premature, but you might like to know."
"What's that?"
"See those people over there?" He pointed toward a group of three
men and two women who were talking to Coach Neville.
"Sure, I talked to all of them at one time or another," I said.
"They're from AHSSA."
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Yup," he confirmed. "And what do
you suppose they're talking to your coach about?"
I shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine," I said.
His smile grew even bigger. "I don't have to guess," he said.
"They're talking to him about their short list."
I must have had a blank look on my face, because he laughed out
loud. "See you later, Sean," he said, and he left me there, confused
as usual. What did I care about what they were talking to Coach
Neville about?
Coach had given us Sunday off, but we were back on the field on
Monday, our last day of freedom. The first day of school was
Tuesday. Fortunately, it was only scheduled to be a half-day, just
long enough for us to find our classrooms and collect books. We were
scheduled for a full three-hour practice, beginning at 1:00.
Tuesday, however, was a dark and rainy day, with thunderstorms
rolling through the area. Coach called us together before we changed
out of our school clothes.
"The practice fields are soaked," he informed us. "The
groundskeepers won't allow us to practice out on the game field, so
our practice today will be in the gymnasium. Change into your gym
clothes, with shin guards, but wear your gym shoes."
There was a collective groan. Indoor practice meant running,
especially numbing inside. As we filed out, Coach Neville announced,
"Mr. Porter, Mr. Mendoza, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Oldman, Mr. Perez, and Mr.
Rogers, please wait a moment."
The names he called were all the juniors and seniors who had started
last year. We waited until the rest of the team left, exchanging
puzzled glances.
"Please sit for a moment," requested Coach. "Do the six of you feel
like you need to run laps for conditioning?"
We all looked at each other, shaking our heads.
He smiled tightly. "I thought not," he said. "I have confidence in
your abilities on the field, gentlemen. Instead of running in the
gym, I would like you to spend an hour or so in the weight room.
When you are finished, you may leave." He scowled at us. "No
shirking, now," he warned.
Our little group was in a much lighter mood walking out of that
classroom than our 15 teammates had been, just a few minutes before.
About 90 minutes later, freshly showered and feeling loose and free,
I was driving home through the downpour, when it occurred to me that
I had a free afternoon. More importantly, so did Luscious. Maybe I
should surprise her.
There was a strip shopping center not too far from school, so I
turned in that direction. There was a florist's shop there, so I
wheeled into a parking spot and sprinted from my car to the overhang,
and opened the door.
The sweet nectar smell was so strong, it was almost an assault. I
stopped just inside the door for a moment, acclimating myself to the
bright lights and the odors. I ended up buying one large red rose,
and the salesgirl put a little bulb of water on the stem and wrapped
it carefully in tissue paper to help protect it for me. I ran back
out to my car, and headed toward heaven, which was, in this case,
Kayla's house.
I parked on the street, and ran up to the front door. I knocked on
the door and waited for a moment, and then rang the doorbell.
Finally, I saw my Luscious peek out the window to see who was there,
and she smiled and opened the door for me.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, smiling.
I whipped the rose out from behind my back and presented it to her.
"What's this for?" she asked, breathlessly surprised.
"Just because," I said as she stepped aside to let me in.
"Because? Because why?"
"Because I love you," I said. It must have been the right thing to
say, because her eyes filled with tears of happiness, and she melted
into my arms and kissed me.
Still holding me tight, she whispered, "What happened to practice
today?"
I told her about Coach sending us to the weight room.
"Lucky me," she said with a smile. She took my hand and pulled me
into the family room, where she had set herself up to do some
studying.
"Did you get homework assigned today?" I asked. I hadn't, wonder of
wonders.
"Just a little," she said. We're supposed to read this book, 'To
Kill a Mockingbird', and I thought I'd get an early start on it."
"Wow, you're ambitious," I said, flopping down on the couch. "I
don't read anything until it's assigned."
She looked at me in amusement. "I know you don't," she said. "But
it helps me." She held her rose up to her nose and inhaled. "Yum."
She smiled at me. "I need to find a vase for this. Be right back."
I watched her walk toward the kitchen. Did she put a little extra
hitch in her walk for my benefit? Maybe.
The rain picked up in intensity, running in sheets down the big
picture window. There was a flash of lightning, and a few seconds
later a deep rumble of thunder rattled the house. The light in the
kitchen flickered for just a moment as the power grid seemed to
tremble, and then it flicked off. Kayla stepped into the doorway,
holding two glasses of soda. She had stripped down to her bra and
panties, and struck a pose there, one knee bent, holding one glass to
her lips as she stared at me.
My throat was dry, but I wasn't thinking about sodas just then. I
sat there on the couch, staring at her and lusting for her, unmoving.
She came over and set the drinks down on the coffee table, and then
leaned over me and kissed me softly. I put my arms around her and
worked at the hooks of her bra as we kissed, and the straps slid down
off her shoulders once I got it loose. She lifted her arms off the
couch and let it drop, her breasts dangling enticingly near me.
She broke our kiss and whispered, "We have this unexpected
afternoon. What shall we do to keep from getting too bored?"
My voice was a croak. "Well, we could read 'To Kill a Mockingbird'
to each other," I said.
She rained soft and feathery kisses down on me. "Yes," she
whispered in between kisses, "we could do that..."
"Or... um... we could work on our geometry..."
"That's a possibility," she whispered.
"Or... Physics? Biology? Sex Ed?"
"That would be... nice..." She lifted up just a little, and put her
rosy nipple just out of reach of my lips. I tried using my tongue to
coax her lower, but she stayed tantalizingly out of my range. As she
teased me she continued, "I've heard that making love is a good
aerobic exercise."
"Really?" I tried lunging up to capture her bud with my lips, but
she was too quick, sitting up just enough to pull her breast out of
my reach. She was kneeling on the couch by now, straddling me, so I
couldn't move very much. I found I liked being Kayla's captive
audience.
She backed off and kissed me lightly again, on my lips, my cheeks,
my nose, and my chin. "But I forgot. You just got done in the
weight room, didn't you? So you probably don't want any exercise..."
"But it wasn't an aerobic workout," I reminded her.
"Good point," she conceded, and she kissed my lips, mashing herself
against me. I had my arms around her, and I lay there and enjoyed
the feeling of her breasts pressing against my chest and her lips
moving on mine.
I felt the tip of her tongue against my mouth, and I opened and
accepted her, my own tongue darting out to meet hers in a teasing,
tasting frenzy. As we kissed, I reached up and pulled the elastic
keeper out of her hair, and ran my fingers through her soft mane,
letting the strands flow through my fingers like silken water.
She was practically humming with happiness, little sounds of delight
escaping her and vibrating within me. She started kissing and
licking my neck and the tender and very sensitive spot behind my
ears, heating me up quickly. She sat up and reached for the bottom
edge of my shirt, and pulled it roughly up my body. I struggled to
sit up enough so that she could pull it off over my head, while still
trying to reach for her delectable breasts, but I was hindering her,
so she slapped my hands away long enough to complete her task. Once
she had my shirt off, she took my wrists and placed my hands back on
her boobs for a moment, smiling at me lovingly. I rubbed both
nipples with my thumbs, encouraging the blood flow into them so I
would feel them expand to capacity, and she moaned softly at the
signals being sent through her from my manipulations. She dropped
down to kiss and nibble at my neck, slowly lowering herself until I
lost contact with her soft fleshy mounds, and her lips found my
nipples and began teasing them, licking and biting them, teasing me
just like I loved to tease her.
She moved lower on my body, until she found my belly button. My
stomach muscles were quivering in anticipation as she explored my
navel and the arrow of hair that pointed down my stomach. She used
her hands to open the snap of my cut-offs, and slowly pulled the
zipper down. My hard cock was putting an extra strain on the
material, which made that task a little more difficult, but she
managed, her fingertips rubbing lightly along my length as she
lowered the zipper. There was a wet spot on my underwear from
leaking pre-cum, and she let her fingertips explore that area just a
little before grasping the elastic of my briefs and pulling them
down. I lifted up my butt a little to assist her, and she shucked my
shorts and underwear off my legs before kneeling back down on the
couch, straddling me at my knees, bent over so she could examine my
throbbing cock and aching balls.
She ran just her fingernail up the underside of my thick rod,
tickling me nearly to distraction. She did the same thing to my
scrotum, teasing me by her soft touch until I thought I would cry out
in frustration. She rubbed very lightly along the sensitive skin
encasing my balls, along the sides of my legs, and around the base of
my throbbing cock.
Finally, she took some sort of pity on me, and she grasped my stalk
at the base and squeezed it just a little, and another bubble of
moisture escaped the end. She stuck her tongue out and lapped at it,
spreading the moisture around the sensitive tip of my cock. With her
other hand, she hefted my balls, her fingers spread and gently
massaging them. The fist around my cock began to pump me, and her
tongue explored my length, from the leaking tip, around the sensitive
ridge of the helmet, and down the shaft to her fingers.
She held my cock straight up and pressed the head against her closed
lips, and pressed her head against my cock, slowly forcing me between
her clenched lips until the head popped in. She paused and sucked
hard on me, her tongue working around on my flesh, and then she
slowly dropped down on me, taking me as deeply into her hot mouth as
she could.
I watched, goggle-eyed, as her mouth spread open to accommodate my
girth, and her lips moved down my shaft until they met her fingers,
still holding me tightly. She moved up on my rod, until just the
head was still encased in her mouth, and then she repeated the
action. Her saliva provided lubrication, and she began bobbing her
head faster, her lips and tongue in constant motion against my
fevered flesh, her right hand working on the base and her left hand
flexing and hefting my balls.
She took her right hand away, and she dropped down as far as she
could on me, trying to get all of my cock into her mouth. I felt the
tip against the back of her throat, and she gagged just a little, and
picked her head up. My cock flopped out of her mouth and bounced
against my stomach as she gasped.
"Sorry," she whispered. She bent back to her task, this time
perching up on her knees and bending down over me. She bared her
teeth and held them for a moment against my cock, pretending to bite
me. She glanced up at me, a playful look in her eye, and then,
making sure I was watching, she slowly closed her lips around me. As
the heat from her mouth surrounded my cock again, and her lips sealed
around my flesh, I reached down and was able to just reach her boob
and its distended nipple. I used my fingertips to play with her, and
she moaned her pleasure against me. She worked on getting me deep
into her mouth again, and held me there, the head of my cock against
the back of her throat and her tongue working its magic on my length.
When I pinched her nipple, she began humming, her voice climbing the
register and then dropping, louder and then softer. The vibrations
emanating from her throat, directly into me, were enough to send me
off, and my hips involuntarily bumped up, and the tip of my cock
slipped down her throat just a little. That extra pressure on my
sensitive head, combined with her humming and the work of her tongue
and lips put the hydraulics in motion, and I squeezed my eyes shut as
I shot off, directly down her throat.
She coughed and backed off, but she never lost her seal around me as
she sucked out everything I had. She put her hand back on the base
of my shaft and jacked me, working the pump and accepting my seed
into her hot and willing mouth. I felt her swallow reflexively, and
that put even more pressure on my cock, and I squirted again, five
times, then six, until, finally, I was dribbling the last I could
give her. Still she sucked on me, concentrating on coaxing every
last drop from my overtaxed system as I collapsed back, my tensed
muscles finally easing.
She didn't give me any respite, but continued to suck on my cock. I
felt it soften just a little, relaxing its tension, and then it
filled back up again, regaining nearly all of its previous hardness.
She felt it, too, and finally released me from the pressure cooker
of her mouth once I had regained my full rigidity.
"It went down, and then got hard again," she said in wonder. She
still had a firm grasp of me, and she was bending back down to lick
at my cock some more. I took her by her shoulders and coaxed her up
to be by me, and she came willingly. I kissed her softly on her
salty lips, and then flipped her over, so that I was on top of her,
and she was lying back on the couch. I took one of her nipples
between my lips and nibbled on it, setting her hips in motion as I
lay between her legs, my knee nestled up against her leaking pussy.
I sucked in as much of her breast as I could, working my tongue over
her nipple the way she had worked her tongue along my cock just a few
minutes before. She moaned in pleasure again, and held my head to
her breast with both hands. I played with other her soft mound with
one hand while I sucked on her, reveling in tasting the distended nub
of her nipple against my tongue as I drew in her flesh. I felt
inexplicably grateful that two of her hot spots were the breasts I
loved so much.
Finally, I relinquished her left breast, and gave equal treatment to
the right one, sucking and biting on it until it, too, was flushed
and swollen. I licked and kissed my way down her body, until I
reached the waistband of her bikini panties. I could smell her
emanations, and the blood surged within me as the signals sent by her
drooling pussy were received by my receptors.
Her hand was on the top of my head as I chewed and sucked on the
cotton panel of her bikini panties. I pressed the material against
her, letting it soak up more of her lubrication. I ran my tongue
along the seams of the legs of her panties, teasing her, while at the
same time I used my fingertips to lightly run up and down her covered
slit. Her hips had set up a fluid, rhythmic motion, and her hand was
coaxing me to do something more, but I was content to tease her just
a little. I kissed and licked my way down her inner thigh, nearly to
her knee, as my hand doodled with the hot and damp area around the
elastic near her crotch, sliding underneath the leg band to feel her
moisture and the short, sparse hair, but never settling into her
center.
I worked my way back up her other leg, taking my time to make sure I
tasted the entire expanse of skin before me. I could feel the big
muscles of her thighs tensing and loosening as her hips kept up their
movement, a layer of soft, incredibly smooth skin overlaying strong,
flexing musculature that helped to give her those graceful lines I
had come to love so much.
I could hear her moaning and whispering to herself as I played with
her. Her hands went to the waistband of her panties and started
pushing them down. I put my hands on hers to stop her.
"Sean? Please..." She sounded almost as if she was in pain.
"Please what, Kay?"
"Oh, God... take them off... take them off... I need you to..."
I held her hands and put my mouth directly on the soaked cotton
panel and chewed on it. She started thrashing around at the
onslaught, still trying to remove the intruding barrier of her
underwear.
"Please... please... please..." she chanted, trying without success
to climb that mountain and throw herself off the precipice.
She pulled her hands out from underneath mine and ran them up her
body to pinch and squeeze her breasts and nipples. I used my
fingertips to slide the edge of her panties over, exposing her
swollen lips, and I used the tip of my tongue to separate her folds
and release the well of moisture that had been trapped, feeling the
hot oils bathe my tongue as I delved into her flooded hole. I then
allowed it to travel up, through the sensitive tissues, to find and
circle her distended little clit.
Her movement and her breathing got ragged. I took the opportunity
of her impending orgasm to pull her panties off, and she readily
complied, still concentrating on the signals being generated by her
overheated pussy. I tossed the soaked garment to the floor, and
gently pressed against the insides of her thighs with my hands, to
spread her legs so that I could be between them again.
I began to lick up her juices again, resuming my task, spreading her
lubrication all around, and used my fingers to spread open her folds
so I could have better access to her most sensitive tissues. I took
my middle finger and plunged it roughly into her. It was unexpected,
and she gasped and her hips jerked upward at the intrusion, wanting
more, so I pulled out of her and used two fingers on her, plunging
back in ruthlessly. At the same time, I tried to capture her clit
between my lips, my mouth pressed against her, sucking up her juices.
I twisted my fingers as I worked them in and out of her, and after a
few times working her in this way, the combination was enough to
finish her off. She breathlessly screeched, her eyes open wide but
unseeing, and her hips began humping up against my face and my hand
as she gave herself over to her orgasm. I kept at her through her
climax, my fingers acting as pistons for her engine, and my tongue
lapping up the overflow. As she came, her cunt gave me that special
lotion that she exuded during her climaxes, and I felt the tangy
fluid flow across my tongue as I continued to work her.
Her body gave her no respite. Just as she started to relax from her
orgasm, the signals being sent from her core revved her up again, and
in just a few moments she was bumping her pussy against me again,
already fast approaching a second climax.
She held her breath, her entire body tensed in anticipation, and I
lifted up my head so I could watch her. My thumb found her
oversensitized clitoris, and rubbed it as my fingers continued their
work, and she squeezed her legs together tightly, trapping my hand,
as she came for a second time.
My hand was trapped in her pussy, unable to do anything. She
reached down, her legs still clenched together, and grasped my wrist
to pull my hand away from her.
"No more... I can't... no more, Sean..." It took a real effort just
to squeeze those few words out as she gave herself over to the tidal
wave washing through her. She clutched my hand with both of hers,
pulling my arm up so that she could hold herself together, pressing
my hand and hers to her chest.
As the sensations slowed, she rolled onto her side into a fetal
position, her eyes closed as the fireworks inside her slowly faded to
occasional random firings, and I scooted up behind her and held her
to me, molding my body to her. My hard cock nestled itself between
the cheeks of her ass quite comfortably, and I put my arm around her.
She quite naturally took my hand and pressed it to her breast, her
swollen nipple dimpling my palm delightfully.
"Mmmmm," she hummed contentedly. "That was very nice..." Her voice
trailed off, almost as if she was falling asleep, but I didn't think
that was happening.
After a few minutes, I squirmed a little, trying to work myself into
a more comfortable position with my rod sticking out in front. She
squirmed back at me and pressed my hand a little more firmly to her.
"My two best friends," she murmured. "Sean Porter, and Sean Junior."
"Sean Junior?" I asked, puzzled.
She lifted up her top leg just enough to reach down between her
legs, and grabbed my hard cock. She hunched herself forward enough
so that she could point it straight out, and then she moved back
against me again, with my cock nestled between her legs, against her
pussy.
"This 'Sean Junior'," she whispered. I could hear the smile in her
voice, even if I couldn't see it.
The tip was sticking out from between her legs. I could tell she
was looking down at it, maybe imagining herself as a boy, and she
started playing with it with her small hand. She held it in her
fist, coaxing out a little pre-cum, and she used her thumb to spread
the moisture around.
Her actions got my heart rate boosted up a little, and my cock began
to throb with my heartbeat, bobbing up and down just a little as she
watched. She giggled at the sight, but she stopped when she felt my
hips start to bump against her involuntarily. My hard cock began
rubbing back and forth across her sensitive pussy lips, and I could
feel her temperature rise in concert with my own.
We both started breathing a little harder, and her hips joined in
with mine, so that the sawing motion against her tender folds was
greater, more sustained. I squeezed her breast as she continued to
hold my hand against her, my manipulations rougher, transmitting a
greater need.
I felt the head of my cock starting to plow through her furrows as
our hips flexed in time, her juices flowing once more, transferring
lubrication from her pussy to my cock. I felt the tip find her
heated hole, nestling itself into its home, and both our hips stopped
their motion on that hot and wet contact. I rested there for just a
moment, and then hunched up toward her, pushing my cock into her.
She felt me enter her, and she pushed back, wanting more. She bent
forward at the waist just a little more, offering herself to me, and
I pushed against her, feeling my length being squeezed by her giving
walls. She bent one leg up to facilitate our joining, and I pushed
toward her at the same time she pressed back against me until I was
fully inside her, the base of my cock against her ass.
"Oh, that's so wonderful," she groaned softly. "I love feeling you
inside me."
We lay there on the couch together, content to move slowly with each
other, stroking easily, pausing occasionally, building a perfect fire
that would, we knew, eventually consume both of us.
I held her tight, sometimes resting my chin on her shoulder, other
times kissing her ear and the back of her neck. Occasionally she
would turn her head in an effort to kiss me back, but the position
didn't allow for it very comfortably. She accepted my kisses, and
promised to reciprocate with kisses of her own another time.
Our hips stayed in slow, fluid motion. Sometimes I would shorten my
stroke a little, teasing her by refusing to plumb her depths; other
times, I stayed buried to the hilt, flexing my hips to try to drive
just a millimeter or two further. Kayla, for her part, practiced
flexing her vaginal muscles against me, alternately squeezing me
until I could barely stand the heat and the pressure, other times
relenting and allowing me to slide within her, our contact
facilitated by our mixed lubrications.
Finally, I could hold back no longer. I started shafting into her,
all the way in and all the way out on each stroke, setting up a
dedicated rhythm. Kayla's skin was hot to the touch, and she was
huffing each time I bottomed out in her, exhaling in a rush before
drawing in another laboring breath. Moisture was leaking out onto
both our legs as my pistoning action drew more lubrication out of her
pussy on each stroke.
At the last, I pushed into her as far as I could go, and I grabbed
onto her hips to hold her in place as the fuse lit and the machinery
engaged. I could feel my cock trying to expand against her
constricting walls, the pump reacting, and I constricted reflexively,
and sent my seed to splash within her, spurt after spurt.
Whether she felt the warmth and the wetness of my semen as it
sprayed inside her, or her vagina felt the expansion of my cock, or
some other stimulus, Kayla was thrown into her own orgasm. Her whole
body tightened, and a wave of heat started at her center and spread
throughout her as she slipped into ecstasy, her passions escalating
until they were spiraling out of control. She wailed through
clenched teeth, her hands clutching my palm to her breast, and gave
over to her own orgasm.
I held her there as my own orgasm wound down, helping her through
her climax. As she calmed down, I felt happy to be there for her,
happy to be buried deep within her. My cock was softening, but I was
unwilling to pull out of the warm sheath, so I stayed as I was,
caressing my Luscious.
We stayed just like that for a time, each of us content to be in the
company of the other, my body possessing hers and her body accepting
mine, basking in the afterglow.
I lifted my eyes as another flash of lightning raced across the
stormy skies, and in the aftermath of the flash, just as the rumble
of the thunderbolt rolled across the sky, the image of a face was
imprinted on my retina, a face outside the pane of glass, between the
house and the bushes lining the front of the house.
Somebody was spying on us.
(Continued in Chapter 38)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
story is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or
downloaded for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for
anyone to download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as
long as there is no intent to charge money or barter for the
privilege of acquiring this material.
(copyright 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 38 -
AN ASSEMBLY
By the time Kayla and I scrambled off the couch and threw some
clothes on, it was way too late to discover who it might have been
outside looking in.
And, as it turned out, it didn't really matter at all. The person
outside had bigger problems than the minor threat represented by
Kayla and me. When nothing came of our mysterious peeper over the
next couple of days, we did our best to put it behind us, and we
quickly fell into the routine of school, practice, and homework that
we had worked out the previous year. Kayla came over to my house, or
I ended up at hers, and we did our homework together. Josh joined us
most evenings, and Jaimie came along occasionally, too, when she
wasn't being her sister's jailer.
At soccer practices, Jorge, Eric and I made sure that Weasel
understood his position on the team, and Coach Neville reinforced our
lessons. Weasel was being observed at his new starting position, and
we would not put up with any dissension from him on anything. If
Jorge signaled him to shift to the left, he shifted, no questions
asked. He might not have liked it, or he might have disagreed about
why Jorge was telling him to shift, but he did it, which was more
than we had really expected from him. Then again, Jorge or Anthony
or I didn't move him around on whims, either; Weasel understood very
quickly that we were concerned with defense, and not thinking about
making him look bad or play badly. The game was everything, and once
he figured that out, he was much calmer, and much more cooperative.
He had the skills to play the game, and to play it to win, and he was
learning the patience it took to help the team to play at the highest
levels to which a high school team might aspire.
Our first game of the season was an away game against one of the
traditionally weaker teams in our conference, and we came home with
an easy win, 2-0. In watching the tape of the game the next week, I
noticed that the plays we had designed over the past couple of years
for Trent and Eric didn't work very well with our current lineup.
After we had been dismissed, I knocked on Coach Neville's office door.
As he opened the door, he was looking back toward his desk, staring
at the papers strewn around the desktop. "Yes, what is it?" he asked
gruffly.
"Coach, can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked.
He looked over to see it was me, and he loosened up and smiled a
little distractedly. Maybe he had been expecting somebody else.
"Come in, Mr. Porter. Your timing is excellent." He crossed back
over to his desk and sat down. I could see he had field charts
spread out, and it looked like he had different names plugged in to
different positions on each chart.
"Uh... Coach, while we were watching the film, I noticed something
that..."
"Ah, you saw it, too. Good." He took his glasses off, and set them
down on his desk and started pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've
been toying with the idea of switching Mr. Brooks and Mr. Ochoa.
Paco's speed might serve us better up front as a scoring threat. But
I'm afraid that might expose our middle too much."
I hadn't considered the possibility of switching Jimmy and Paco, but
the more I thought about it, the less I liked it. I could tell Coach
wasn't that keen on it, either.
I sat down and rested my chin on my hand, my elbow propped up on his
desk. "I don't know that it's the guys in their positions, so much
as it is the plays we've got don't work so well without Trent."
He looked up at me. "Go on," he said.
"Maybe we need new plays... Well, that's not what I mean, either,
exactly..."
Coach was watching me, keeping his face neutral. "What are you
trying to say, Sean? I know we need new plays, but I'm still not
happy with the way the entire offense works."
I stood up and began pacing in his small office. "I understand
that, Coach. What I mean is that I think we've got good players up
front, and I don't think you should change the lineup. But instead
of relying on our forwards to provide our scoring, why not take
advantage of the speed we have in our midfield, especially Eric and
Paco, and let them attack the net? Use your forwards to advance the
ball up the sidelines, and move Eric, Paco, and Hap up as your
scorers."
He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his neck,
his elbow sticking out like wings. He gazed at me for a moment, and
then he smiled.
"Herb suggested the same thing," he said.
"Coach Simonson? He said that?"
"Yes," said Coach Neville. "He thinks I'm just being stubborn about
not wanting to give up on the perfectly good plays we've been using."
He gave a short, humorless bark of a laugh. "He's probably right."
He stood up suddenly, the springs of his chair complaining with a
squeak. "Tell you what, Sean. I want you to get together with Coach
Simonson and design a few offensive plays. Use your imagination.
Nothing's too outrageous to at least try in practice, okay? We'll
plug the best of them into our playbook, and surprise the hell out of
our opponents." He strode over and clapped me on the back, and
steered me toward the door. "Can I count on you to come up with
something outlandish?"
I smiled. "You know you can," I said.
He looked at me affectionately. "Yes, I can," he said.
I learned two good lessons that day, lessons I try to keep in mind
even today: head coaches are human, too, and subject to fallibility;
and the best coaches are willing to listen to others, even lowly high-
school players.
I found Coach Simonson in the equipment room, putting away the cones
and nets. I told him about my conversation with Coach Neville, and
then suggested that Eric might be able to help us out, too.
"Okay, let's plan on getting together tomorrow after practice, and
the three of us will work on the problem," he said.
Eric, Coach Simonson and I worked out the bare bones of a few ways
to take advantage of our strengths in the middle, and Coach Neville
worked with us on implementing them during the next couple of
practices. We didn't have time to perfect them, but no set play
works exactly as planned during a game situation, anyway. Eric, as
our offensive co-captain, made sure his players on the attacking side
of the field understood the importance of improvisation on the field.
At the same time, since I was defensive co-captain, I let my guys
know that they could feed all the way up to our forwards when the
opportunity presented itself, so they needed to pay attention to the
entire field, and not just their immediate surroundings.
At our game that Friday, our offense still struggled, but we could
all see some improvement in our methods. We won the game by a score
of 4-1, but the writing was on the wall. Another week of practice,
and we would be back to being a scoring machine.
During the first week of school, Jake and I roamed the halls and the
lunchroom until we found Stephen's friends. Since freshmen weren't
allowed to leave the building during the day, we concentrated on
checking out the lunchroom during the lunch periods, and almost right
away we found Tommy Allenton and Carlos Abbinante sitting next to
each other, with Stephen across from them, eating together at a
crowded table. We walked up to them, and I moved to stand behind
Stephen, while Jake moved over to the other side. Jake stared
silently over at the kids sitting next to Carlos. Everybody at the
table had stopped eating, and was watching either Jake or me, their
eyes darting from us to the boys and back again.
Jake growled and shoved the kid who was sitting by Carlos, and he
scrambled to get out of the way, pushing against the kid next to him,
until, in a chain-reaction, the kids on the end of the bench stood up
and moved away. The kids on Stephen's side of the table all gathered
up the remains of their lunches in a panic, slid down the bench and
found different places to sit, their lunches forgotten as they
watched us avidly.
As Jake swung his leg over the bench to straddle it, Carlos decided
that flight was the better option, and he started to stand up,
pushing himself up with his arms. Jake put one big hand on Carlos'
shoulder, and pushed him back down. I saw Carlos try to strain
against Jake, thinking he could use his legs to power himself out of
Jake's grasp, but it just wasn't going to happen. Jake's years of
football and weight training allowed him to easily keep Carlos pinned
to the seat.
Stephen watched the whole proceedings nervously, not knowing what
was happening, but sure it was tied to the conversation he had shared
with me. He glanced over at me a little fearfully, and then looked
over at Tommy, who looked like he was ready to fly out of there, too.
Stephen gave him a little shake of his head, and Tommy stared at him
for before resigning himself to whatever fate held in store at that
moment.
Jake glared at Carlos and Tommy, and spoke to them through clenched
teeth, just loud enough for them to hear.
"I hear you two faggots think you know something about some friends
of ours," he grated.
"What do you..." started Carlos. Jake's paw tightened its grip on
his shoulder, and he shut up.
"I'll let you know when it's your turn to talk, pinhead. Right now,
your job is to listen. Your continued good health depends on it.
Okay?"
No response from Carlos, who was staring straight ahead. Jake
squeezed his shoulder again, and a spasm of pain rippled through
Carlos' face.
"Okay?" Jake asked again. Carlos nodded tightly.
"Good. Now, this information you think you know, it's about a
couple of girls. Information you might have gotten from your good
friend Tara Jacks. As of this moment, you no longer know that
information. Am I clear?"
Carlos hesitated only a second before nodding again. Jake squeezed.
"I can't hear you, faggot," he said.
"Yes," said Carlos.
"Yes what?" asked Jake.
"Yes, sir, I understand," gritted Carlos.
Jake glanced around Carlos, looking at Tommy.
Tommy sounded almost panicky. "Who, me?" he asked stupidly.
Stephen must have kicked him under the table, because he jerked, and
quickly stammered, "Yeah, okay, I understand, I don't know nothin'."
I turned to Stephen. "Here's the deal," I informed him. "Either
Jake and I can find your buddy Richie, or you can talk to him about
this. What's it going to be?"
He didn't look happy about it. "I'll talk to him," he said sullenly.
Jake and I stood up. "Big brother Mike is going to be talking to
Tracy," I said, looking down at each of them. "A word of advice for
you all. Don't let him see you hanging around his sister. He's a
little... how would you describe it, Jake?"
"I'd say he's angry, Sean."
"Yeah, that's about right. He's angry right about now."
The three of them sat there with their heads hanging down, unwilling
to look up at us. Meanwhile, the entire cafeteria had gotten very
quiet, with everybody watching what was going on at their table.
Jake and I walked away and out of the lunchroom, and we could hear
the sudden buzz of speculation rise up like a dome of steam from a
suddenly uncovered boiling pot of water.
I didn't like bracing them like that, especially in such a public
place, but I hoped the embarrassment would help them to keep their
mouths shut. Freshmen, especially during the first few weeks of
school, were easily cowed. I was trusting that it would be enough.
The next week, for our Wednesday practice session, Eric, Coach
Simonson and I devised a new practice drill. On a full field, we
pitted the starting offensive lineup, the three forwards and three
midfielders, against the five starting defensive players. We also
divided the bench players according to their typical offensive or
defensive assignments, and Coach Neville subbed one player every five
minutes on both sides, so that everybody got a chance to be worked
and a chance to rest.
We had rearranged our offensive priorities, trying to take advantage
of our speed in the middle. During games, Eric, Paco and Hap would
have to cover both offensive and defensive assignments, but for this
scrimmage, we were concentrating on getting their scoring potential
going.
It was 6-on-5, and it turned into a vicious and brutal workout. The
offensive side always had at least one player open, and usually two,
since the defensive side had one player, the keeper, who couldn't
roam and mark an opponent.
The drill was designed to work on two things simultaneously. First,
it gave the offensive team an opportunity to practice using the speed
of the midfielders, working the ball into open space and letting Eric
and Paco run it down. On the other side of the field, we had to find
a way to keep them out of the net while playing a man short.
The first few attempts to bring the ball up, the defense was able to
nullify the man shortage by concentrating on blocking up the passing
lanes, taking away their opportunities to move the ball in toward the
goal. It didn't take them long to figure out how to pass around to
the open man, and work to create opportunities by utilizing the open
spaces. Defense had to pick up on their thoughts, anticipate the
passes, work angles, and run harder to try to minimize spaces big
enough to allow the speedsters to gain steps on us. We managed to
stop them six out of the first 10 attempts, but then, as they got
better at moving the ball around us, our stopping percentage dropped,
until it leveled out at somewhere between 20 and 30 percent.
Considering the competition, we were happy we were able to stop them
at all.
After 90 minutes, you could have wrung us out and hung us up to dry.
Everybody was fatigued and dehydrated, and most of the defensive
players, me included, were stretched out on the ground, feeling like
we'd been beaten up and left for dead. The guys working the offense
didn't look much better, which was small consolation. Coach Neville
and Coach Simonson stood off to the side, watching us and looking
pleased as punch. We were too tired to care much.
On Thursday, I was still tired and sore. All my teammates that I
saw in school looked the same as me, walking gingerly and dragging
our sorry selves from class to class. Practice was going to be
miserable.
Coach surprised us, however, and we had a light workout. We jogged
a couple of miles on the track, and then did some ball-handling
drills before being released early.
"You guys worked hard enough yesterday," announced Coach Neville
when he called off practice a half-hour early.
That Wednesday torture session proved its merit at our game on
Friday. We felt strong, fit and confident, and the hapless Lakewood
Huskies probably felt fortunate to be able to limp back home, licking
their wounds, and taking small solace that they managed to score one
goal against us, losing 8-1. Eric, Paco and Hap had found their
rhythm, and our defensive unit stopped everything cold, aside from
one penalty kick that was awarded the Huskies on a hand-ball
infraction that was called on Brett inside the box, when the ball
popped up on him and inadvertently brushed against his arm.
The next week, we were to travel to Lincoln Valley to play one of my
favorite opponents. I was looking forward to renewing my
acquaintance with Bozo One and Bozo Two. I sincerely hoped they
hadn't been seniors last year.
Before the end of school that day, however, there was a last-minute
assembly called. The team was scheduled to leave school before the
last class, as Lincoln Valley was over an hour away by bus, and the
assembly was gathered in the hour before we were to leave. The
entire school population filed into the gymnasium and squeezed into
the bleachers. Teachers, administrators, and a few students had to
stand, and they gathered at the ends, by the sets of doors. Coach
Neville and Coach Simonson stationed themselves by the doors and
grabbed members of the soccer team as we entered with our classes,
until the entire team was standing to the side of the podium, where
Dr. Osgood was waiting patiently for everybody to come in and find a
place to either sit or stand.
Finally, looking around at the packed stands, he tapped on the
microphone to make sure the sound system was working. The thumps
that reverberated through the room also had the effect of quieting
down the noise, as everybody turned toward him, wondering why this
assembly was called on such short notice.
"May I have your attention please?" Dr. Osgood paused, and most of
the chatter stopped as his voice echoed off the concrete walls of the
gym.
"I have three items of interest to the school," he continued.
"First of all, I want to congratulate the football team on their
season. In today's Metro Times, we are ranked at twelfth in the
state."
The football players whooped and yelled, and the student body
followed suit. Football was the money sport, and when they did well,
everybody felt good.
"Thank you, thank you," said Dr. Osgood as a way to get the crowd
back to order. When the noise level had dropped sufficiently, he
continued. "I also have it on good authority that one of our
players, who has already accepted a scholarship to Ohio State
University, is slated for All-State honors. Stanford Harrison, would
you please come down here?"
Tiny stood up, looking a little surprised, and worked his way down
from the bleachers to stand at Dr. Osgood's side. He towered over
our principal, and his huge hand completely engulfed Dr. Osgood's.
"Let's hear it for Tiny Harrison!" cried Dr. Osgood, caught up in
the moment.
Tiny waved to everybody, clearly embarrassed to be singled out, but
enduring the cheers anyway. As he walked by me and my teammates, we
all held out our hands, and he slapped them all in good-natured
acknowledgment on his way back to his seat.
"The next order of business is to introduce our soccer team to you.
Coach Neville? Would you come up and do the honors?" Dr. Osgood
stepped aside, and Coach stepped up to the microphone.
He cleared his throat as he leaned in toward the microphone, and the
rumble bounced off the walls. He stepped back quickly, and turned
his head and smiled sheepishly at us.
"Sorry," he mumbled as he moved back within the microphone's range.
"Anyway, the Metro Times has come out with their statewide rankings
today, and I'd like to introduce our starters on the team ranked
number one in the state."
Another cheer went up. He went on to the team introductions,
starting with the forwards. "Starting in left forward, we have a
junior, Alex Spivak. At center forward, a senior, Javier Perez. Our
right forward is a junior, Jimmy Brooks."
As each player was named, they stepped forward and stood behind
Coach. There were pockets of cheering from friends of each player
scattered around the gymnasium, and polite but relatively
unenthusiastic applause from the rest of the students.
"At left midfield, we have a senior, who was an All-Conference
selection and a second-team All-State player last year, Eric
Johnson." There was considerably more applause for Eric. He was due
the respect, and the kids knew it. His game was good.
"I'd also like to take this opportunity to announce that Eric has
accepted an offer of a full scholarship from the University of
Maryland," said Dr. Osgood, stepping up and leaning in toward the
microphone. "Congratulations, Eric." Eric had a big smile on his
face. I knew he was relieved that his college decisions had been
finally reached.
Coach Neville continued his introductions. "At offensive center
midfield, we have a sophomore, Hap Olson. On the right, we have
another junior, Paco Ochoa. Our sweeper, otherwise known as our
defensive center midfielder, is sophomore Adam Prince."
Somebody in the crowd called out, "Weasel!" and there was a lot of
laughing and clapping. I could see Prince flush, but he controlled
it. Eric leaned over and whispered something to him, and I saw
Weasel nod tersely.
Coach continued, "On defense on the left side, I would like to
introduce a senior, Anthony Rogers. Our stopper, the man in the
middle, is also a senior, Brett Oldman. In the net, our starting
goalkeeper is a junior, and also was an All-Conference selection last
year, Jorge Mendoza."
There was a lot of yipping and high, wavering ululations from
Jorge's friends as he joined his teammates, giving each of them a
high-five. I was the only starter left standing with the reserves.
Coach looked over at me, leaning in sideways to talk into the
microphone. "I have one player yet to announce. Most of you know
him by now, but let me introduce him, just the same. Playing right
defense for us is a senior who was chosen last year as an All-
Conference player, and as a first-team All-State selection. He was
also chosen by the American High School Soccer Association as one of
the top players in the country last year, and I'm proud to announce,
today, that, for this year, this player has been awarded the AHSSA
first-team All-American honors. Mr. Sean Porter!"
The room erupted, but I hardly heard it. I was stunned; did I hear
him correctly? Me? Couldn't be. But there Coach was, stepping over
to me with his hand held out. I automatically shook it, and he
pulled me over to the podium, and we stood there, waiting for the
noise level to subside enough so that he could continue.
Finally, he was able to carry on, his amplified voice overriding the
noise in the gym. "Congratulations, Sean. I take it we pulled off
our little surprise."
He pulled the microphone out of the stand and thrust it under my nose.
"Uh, yeah," was all I could stammer. I was completely unprepared
for this, and a sudden case of nerves made me clamp my mouth shut
before I said something really dumb.
Coach pulled out a fancy framed certificate, verifying his
outlandish statement. I looked at it, seeing my name written there
in fancy calligraphy, and still believed it was some sort of
elaborate test to see how gullible I really was.
I don't really remember much else about the assembly, other than my
teammates gathering around and congratulating me. I remember that
Molly and Tessa came up and gave me a hug, and Kayla jumped up into
my arms, wrapping her legs around me as she gave me a big, sloppy
kiss on my cheek. Coach Neville and Dr. Osgood both watched us, and
they were trying to hide their grins as Kayla dropped back to her
feet and went running back to rejoin her class. Even Kristina came
up to me and solemnly congratulated me. Paco's arm was around her
shoulder protectively, perhaps lending her strength, as she shook my
hand. Finally, the gymnasium emptied out, until it was just Dr.
Osgood, the two coaches, and my teammates left.
"Congratulations, Sean, it's a well-deserved honor," said Dr. Osgood.
"It should go to the whole team," I said. "This isn't an individual
sport at all. I couldn't do what I do on the field without the other
ten guys, or the coaches, or the players coming in off the bench with
fresh legs, or anything."
"Well, that's true, son," said Coach Neville. "But the converse is
also true. If you weren't the player you are, this team wouldn't be
as good as it is. Sure, there are some very talented kids on this
team, Sean, and you all play very well together. But it's your team.
You are its leader. Where you go, everybody on this team follows."
"That's not how it's supposed to..."
"Oh, I know all that, Sean," Coach interrupted. "That's all great
in theory, but theory doesn't win many matches. Collectively, this
team is playing better than they should, given the individual
strengths and weaknesses of the players in each and every position.
And yet, here we are, ranked first in the state, fifth in the nation.
Why? Because players like Mr. Johnson, and Mr. Mendoza, and you, Mr.
Porter, make everybody else play better. In fact, Eric Johnson and
Jorge Mendoza play better because of you, and you play better because
of them."
"Well, okay, but..."
"And that's what makes it a team sport, Mr. Porter. And that's what
individual honors try to recognize." He smiled, and put his arm
around my shoulder. "Now, I have just one more piece of advice for
you, Sean."
"Okay," I said. "What is that?"
"Shut up and enjoy it. Glory days don't last forever."
The bus ride over to Lincoln Valley was raucous, and the coaches
just let us go. They weren't too worried about Lincoln Valley's
chances, and everybody was in such a great mood, it was bound to
carry over to the game.
We tumbled out of the bus, gear bags slung over our shoulders, and
walked onto the field and over to the visitor's benches. Eric and I
dropped our bags and began our ritual jog, only this time, the entire
team followed us, still talking and laughing as we warmed up.
Eric and I quickly moved ahead of the pack, and Paco and Jorge moved
up to join us.
"Sean, I got to apologize to you, man," said Paco.
I glanced over to him, surprised. "Apologize? What for?"
"Earlier, at the assembly," he said. "Kristina didn't want to go up
to you by herself, you know? But she wanted to let you know she was
happy for you."
"Yeah, that's okay, but what are you apologizing for?"
"I might have give you the impression that I was treating her like
she was my property or somethin', you know? But it ain't like that,
man."
"Hey, Paco, that's between you and her. I don't have anything to do
with it."
"I know, man, but you two got a little bit of history, and... I just
feel better if I know that you know that I didn't mean nothin'
against you, see?"
"It ain't nothing, Paco. It was a long time ago. You've been going
out with her for a year, man, you got nothing to apologize to me
about."
He shrugged. "I just wanted you to know," he finished.
He and Jorge dropped back a little. I glanced at Eric, and he just
smiled.
"He young, he in love, he truly fucked up," he said. "She got him
so fucking whipped, it's a wonder he can wipe his own ass without her
okay."
"As opposed to us?" I asked, looking at him out of the corner of my
eye.
He shrugged. "I can wipe my own butt. I may be whipped, too, but
the biggest difference is Keisha makes sure I am well compensated. I
bet you are, too, Porter. But Paco?"
He let the rest of that thought dangle out there.
We passed by the Lincoln Valley team, but they studiously ignored
us. I was pleased to see both Bozo Brothers there, stretching and
getting ready to play.
The next lap around, as we passed them, I heard one of them shout.
"Hey, you! Vanilla!"
Eric and I slowed down. I glanced over and saw Bozo One pointing at
me.
"Yeah, you. I know you, don't I?"
"You prob'ly don't know him," said Eric. "I don't think his story's
made it down to the comic book level yet."
That made most of the rest of their team look up at us.
"Nice going," I murmured as we slowed to a walk.
"Hey, I'm just trying to get them interested in you, that's all," he
answered quietly.
Somebody said something to Bozo. He glanced over at his companion,
and then looked back over at us.
"Who? Sean Porter? What the fuck's a Sean Porter?"
By now, the rest of my team had come to a stop around Eric and me.
Brett stepped out in front. "I'll tell you who Sean Porter is,
meatball..."
I pulled him back. "Come on, Brett. Forget about it. Let's just
let our game show them who we are," I said. "It's just trash talk."
We walked off amid jeers and comments from the Lincoln Valley team.
Quite a few of my teammates were grumbling. I tried to keep them
calmed down, without losing their edge.
"Take it out onto the field, guys," I warned them. "They aren't
that good. Let's keep them scoreless, and show them what fast
midfielders can do to their defenders."
We got ready to play, and we took up our positions on the field. As
visitors, we got the opening kickoff, and the first thing we did was
pass back to Weasel. Our forwards headed up the sidelines, and our
midfielders spread out behind them as Lincoln Valley's forwards
advanced to try to take away the ball. Weasel lofted a pass up to
Eric, who headed the ball up to Alex. Alex moved a few steps with
the ball, until he was only about 20 meters off the end line. As
soon as Eric got rid of the ball, both he and Hap charged toward the
net. Alex juked his flat-footed defender, and crossed a high pass
about 10 meters out from the net. Eric knew he didn't have a chance
at it, but he leapt up anyway, which created a diversion for both the
stopper and the keeper, who halted to defend against Eric's feint.
The ball sailed just over Eric's head, and Hap, about 10 feet away,
let it hit his chest. The ball dropped down to his right foot, and
he rocketed a shot past the startled keeper's diving body, and into
the back of the net. One minute into the game, and Lincoln Valley
was already playing from behind.
By the 25th minute, we were up 7-0. Eric had scored three, Hap had
two, and Paco and Jimmy each had one goal. The ball barely had a
chance to get down into our end of the field. All their attacks had
been to our left side, and all had been easily rebuffed. The only
touches that Jorge had on the ball were when one of us passed it over
to him, so he could kick it back upfield. The Lincoln Valley
defenders were blowing hard, having been overworked already, but
their forwards still looked pretty fresh. Of course, they hadn't
done much, including helping out their defense by trying to plug up
our passing lanes in a bunkering maneuver.
Even so, every time they ventured down into my territory, both Bozo
One and Bozo Two had something to say to me. I ignored them as best
I could, content to let them vent. After all, trash talk seemed to
be the best part of their game.
Near the end of the first half, Bozo One was jogging back and forth
along the sidelines as the ball was being worked by our midfielders
on their side of the midfield stripe. He looked over at me.
"You ain't so special, Mr. All-State," he jeered.
I stopped and put my hands on my hips, shaking my head at him. "No,
I'm not," I agreed. "But at least I'm not pacing the sidelines
because I don't know what to do."
"What? I know what to do," he retorted.
"Sure you do, sport. You're doing your team a favor by staying the
fuck out of the way."
"Hey, asshole, what's that supposed to mean?"
I sighed. "Here, I'll show you."
Our midfielders were still playing keep-away, biding time until the
halftime whistle. I called up to Hap and Weasel, and told them to
pass the ball back to me at their next opportunity. A few minutes
later, the ball came back to me. I trapped it, and tapped it over to
Bozo One. I heard Weasel behind me.
"What are you doing, Porter?"
I just waved at him, indicating that he should hold his ground and
keep their centers out of the play.
"Do something with it," I said to Bozo One.
"What?"
"Show me your game, Bozo. You got a game? You know what to do?
Let's see it." I was balanced on the balls of my feet, about 4
meters from him, giving him a little bit of space to make some sort
of move.
His face hardened, and he started moving down the sideline. I paced
him, and stayed even with him all the way down. In the meantime,
Bozo Two had moved down, but Paco was harrying him, staying between
him and the ball, not letting him make a move toward the net, and
Weasel and Brett kept their assignments well covered. Bozo One kept
on moving down the field along the sideline, until he was penned into
the corner.
"That's it?" I asked. "That's your game?"
"I ain't done," he growled.
"Yes, you are," I said, and I took three strides in and took the
ball away from him before he could even react, knocking it between
his legs and picking it up behind him when I stepped around him. I
started running up the field with the ball, picking up steam as I
went, feeling good about finally getting the chance to run all out as
I dribbled. Bozo Two stepped back and away from Paco to try to
challenge me, so I tapped the ball over to the wide-open Paco, and
kept going at full speed. Paco passed me the give-and-go as I blew
past Bozo Two, and headed for their defenders. Hap was pacing me
down the middle, and as their right defender and their sweeper
converged on me, I used the outside of my left foot to move the ball
over to him. The two defenders skidded to a stop and tried to switch
direction, and I ran right past them. Hap gave me a hard pass, and
their stopper came out to try to stop me. He was caught by surprise
when I let the ball go past me, over to Jimmy Brooks, who scooped it
up and moved in toward the goal. The keeper moved out to cut off his
small angle, but by then both Hap and I were inside the stopper, so
it was very easy for Jimmy to knock the ball over toward us. I took
his pass and powered a shot off my shoelaces into the top left corner
of the net. It was only my second goal of the season, but I never
considered myself to be a scoring threat, except to Lincoln Valley.
Even Jorge was a scoring threat to them.
As we trotted back for the restart, Bozo One was walking the other
way. "All-State piece of shit," he growled.
"Hey!" I said. "That's MISTER All-State piece of shit to you, Bozo."
Paco came up just then and looked at Bozo One disgustedly. "You got
that wrong, anyway, dick breath," he said to Bozo. "That's Mister
All-American piece of shit to you, bruddah." We started laughing,
and my teammates around me who happened to hear the exchange started
laughing, too. By the time we got reset, everybody on our side of
the ball had heard about the exchange, and we couldn't stop laughing.
The referee, instead of restarting, blew his whistle to signal the
end of the half, giving poor Lincoln Valley a brief respite from the
bloodbath.
Coach took pity on them for the second half, and he sat Eric, Paco,
and me for the entire half. Even so, we walked away with a 12-0 win,
our most lopsided victory ever. It was fun to play in, it was fun to
watch. I didn't feel sorry for them at all.
After the game, the Lincoln Valley head coach, John Caruthers, came
over to shake my hand. I remembered him from last year, and greeted
him by name. He just laughed, shook his head, and thanked me for the
show.
"It's too bad you couldn't do something about that kid," I said.
"He's the best I've got for that position, Sean," he replied. "I'm
just sorry I didn't have anyone to give you a little competition."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Coach," I said. "Kids are
picking up the game younger now, and by the time the 10 and 12 year
olds get to high school, they'll play well for you."
He just smiled. "Playing well for me is one thing," he said.
"Playing well against a defender like you is something else entirely."
"Don't believe it," I told him. "Kids coming up can run rings
around me."
"Now, that frightens me," he said. "Congratulations, Sean."
"Thanks, Coach. See you in the playoffs."
He laughed. "You trying to give me indigestion?" he asked. He
waved as he walked back toward his bench.
The rest of the regular season went pretty much the same way. When
everything's clicking, it all seems so easy. Our average margin of
victory from that game on was 5 goals, and we never had more than one
goal scored on us in a game during the regular season. We were
waltzing into the playoffs as the team to beat, and we felt we were
ready for any challenge. Coach Neville was also very pleased with
our progress. He continually had to look to the future, and what he
saw with our team and the prospects beyond this season were good.
After this season, he would lose five starters to graduation, but the
flip side of that was that six of his starters, including an All-
Conference keeper, would be returning. From his perspective, it was
a great foundation upon which he could build.
We prepared for the playoffs as confident as a team could be, but
our success on the field, nor the success of our playoff-bound
football team, didn't rate as the hot news of the fall at our school.
Someone else was grabbing the attention of just about everybody,
attention that was very much unwanted.
One of the kids from the freshman class was in trouble, and it was
striking close to home. As soon as I heard about it, I knew whose
shadowed face I had seen outside the window that first day of school,
watching avidly as Kayla and I made love on the couch.
(Continued in Chapter 39)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
story is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or
downloaded for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for
anyone to download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as
long as there is no intent to charge money or barter for the
privilege of acquiring this material.
(Copyright 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather)
E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy! I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 39 -
PLAYING THE GAME
One Sunday afternoon late in October, Kayla and I were in my family
room. This time, we actually were doing homework, instead of merely
pretending to. Stephen was in his room, presumably doing his
homework, though in actuality, he probably had his headphones on and
was zoned out, listening to his new Van Halen album.
The telephone rang, but before I could struggle up from the floor,
my mom answered from the kitchen.
"Sean! Telephone!" She waited until she heard me pick up, and then
she hung up her phone.
"Sean? It's Jaimie. Is Kayla there?"
"Yeah. You want to talk to her?"
"No, it doesn't matter. I was just making sure you guys were
together. I need to talk to both of you, I think. Can you meet Jake
and me at Mike's Pizza in about an hour?"
I glanced over at Kayla, who was looking back at me quizzically.
"Sure," I said.
"Okay, see you there," said Jaimie, and she hung up.
I shrugged as I stepped back over Kayla's outstretched legs.
"Jaimie and Jake want to meet up with us," I said.
I walked over to the kitchen and saw my mom cutting up vegetables
and putting them in a big pot.
"Mom? I don't know if it makes a difference with what you've got
planned for dinner, but Jake and Jaimie want us to meet them at
Mike's, so we'll probably eat there. Is that okay?"
She looked over her shoulder at me. "That's fine, sweetie. I'm
just making a big pot of stew. We'll have lots of leftovers." She
smiled at me, and turned back to her work.
Luscious and I worked for a little while longer, and then we packed
up our stuff and I carried her backpack out to my car. When I came
back in the house, Kayla was in the kitchen, saying goodbye to my
mother. I stood in the doorway and watched my girlfriend and my mom
together. They had come to really like each other over the past
year. It was the oddest thing: I couldn't see how I would ever be a
pal to Mr. Lehigh, but here Kayla was, with my mom, who was treating
her like one of her best friends.
We got to Mike's a few minutes late, and Jaimie and Jake were
already there, sitting in their favorite booth. They had soda
fountain glasses filled with ice and Cokes on the table in front of
them. As we slid in opposite them, I couldn't help but notice that
Jaimie looked very worried. She held out her hands toward me, and I
naturally took them in mine.
"What's up, Jaimie?" I asked.
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Tara's pregnant," she said quietly.
"What?" I was shocked. "How did it... Ah, forget that, what I mean
is, she's been grounded since last spring. When?"
"We don't know for sure," she said. "She won't talk about it much."
"We all know she's found... opportunities," said Kayla. She looked
as shocked as I felt. "Didn't she use any protection?"
Jaimie looked disgusted. "She must have fallen asleep during Sex
Education," she grumbled. Now that the bad news was out there,
shared among her friends, her grief over this family misfortune
seemed to be lessened. "She said she thought she was too young to
get pregnant."
"Too young? You'd have to be pretty young not to be able to be
knocked up, a lot younger than her," said Jake.
"And thank you very much, Mr. Sensitivity," shot Jaimie.
"Sorry," Jake mumbled, abashed.
"So, who's the guilty party?" Kayla asked.
Jaimie looked down. She was acting like she was feeling a little
bit responsible about all this, but I didn't see how any of it could
have been her fault.
"She doesn't know," she whispered.
"What?"
"She refuses to even talk about who the father is to my mom and my
dad," Jaimie said quietly. "But she told me she doesn't know who it
is."
"How could she not know?" asked Jake incredulously.
Jaimie favored him with a look that said, You really didn't say
that, did you? She turned back to face Kayla and me.
"Sean, she did tell me that Stephen was one of the boys she'd been
with," she said.
My heart fell into my stomach. Of course he was. Didn't Jake and I
chase him out of her room that night of the picnic and scavenger
hunt? And then there was his confession the next morning. I didn't
think Jaimie knew anything about that.
"But he's not the only one, I would guess," I said.
"No. Tommy, Carlos, Richie, Stephen. They seem to be the prime
suspects. But she also mentioned three other boys she'd fooled
around with one time or another during the summer."
"Man! When did she find the time to boink..." Jake stopped, and
counted the names on his fingers. "What is that? Seven? For a girl
who spent all summer grounded, she really got around."
"Boink?" Jaimie looked at him dangerously. "Is that how you think
of it?"
He backpedaled swiftly. "Uh... no, sweetie, I just... uh... I mean,
obviously she didn't take it very seriously... and..."
She ineffectually slapped at his hand as the tears started again.
"Oh, never mind, you big oaf. I know you didn't mean anything by it.
I'm just a little upset right now."
He put his arm around her and gently pulled her to him, kissing the
top of her head lovingly. "I know, sweetie. I'm sorry."
Jaimie sniffled and reached for a paper napkin from the chrome
dispenser on the table. She wiped her nose delicately, and dabbed at
her cheeks and under her eyes to blot up the tears.
"Anyway," she said, after regaining her control, "do you guys
remember the first day of school? That half-day Tuesday?"
Kayla and I glanced at each other.
"Sure, you do, don't you? You guys were being... naughty, weren't
you?" She smiled at us. "I know because Tara told me she watched
you."
"Ah," I said, that dim light bulb finally flickering on inside my
thick skull. "The face in the window. It was Tara!"
"Yes," confirmed Jaimie. "She came home on the bus, but I had to
stay after school to look stuff up in the library, so I didn't get
home until later in the afternoon. Tara was home, but she was
soaked. Remember? It was raining that day."
"Very stormy," murmured Kayla. She put her hand on my knee, and I
dropped my arm below the table and put my hand on top of hers. She
turned her hand over, and our fingers naturally intertwined.
Jaimie looked at us, a smile twitching the corners of her mouth.
"Apparently. Anyway, I found out later that Tara saw you that
afternoon. By then she already thought she might be pregnant, so she
was wandering around in the storm, worrying herself sick. Anyway,
she saw movement, and she slipped between the bushes and watched you
two." She started sniffling again, remembering her conversation with
her sister. "She saw how much you two... cared... for each other
while you were..."
"Making love?" suggested Kayla quietly. She glanced quickly at her
brother to gauge his reaction, but he was focusing on his girlfriend.
"None of her experiences were even remotely like... making love,"
continued Jaimie. "It was always hard, quick, almost violent, she
said. She thought that's how it always was. So when she saw you,
she... she got mad. I think she's been angry ever since."
"So now what's going to happen?" Kayla asked.
"My parents wanted to have every boy she could name arrested,
charged with rape. They were so angry, they drove her even further
away from them. She refused to tell them anything. They were
screaming at each other. Tara absolutely refuses to even consider an
abortion. She wants to have the baby, raise it herself. She won't
talk about giving it up for adoption, or anything."
"Do any of the boys know anything about it yet?" I asked. Stephen
hadn't been acting any differently that I could tell.
"No, I don't think so," said Jaimie. She sighed. "I don't even
know if she's planning on telling them."
"It's going to become a little obvious pretty soon," said Jake.
"Yes, but she's got several weeks before she'll really start to
show," said Jaimie. "Hopefully, by then she'll have made some sort
of intelligent decision about this baby."
The pizzas that Jaimie and Jake had ordered for us arrived, and we
spent the next hour or so chewing over the Jacks family problem while
we consumed large quantities of sodas and pizza.
Finally, Jake sat back and patted his stomach. "I do believe that
pizza is the world's most perfect food."
"How do you figure?" asked Kayla.
"Easy," he said as he reached for one last tidbit of pizza. "You've
got your bread in the crust. You've got your vegetables of various
colors, tomato paste and onions and mushrooms and peppers. You've
got your meat, with the sausage and pepperoni. What are you missing?
It's a perfectly rounded meal."
"Oh, I get it," I said sarcastically. "A perfectly ROUNDED meal?"
I indicated the empty pizza pans.
"Well, you know what they say. Mathematicians don't have all the
answers. After all, they think 'pi r square', when everybody else
knows that pie are round. Including pizza pies."
Kayla and I both threw scrunched-up napkins at him for that.
Jaimie said, "Pizza is missing at least one ingredient. Without it,
no food could rationally be called 'perfect'."
Jake looked at her, smiling. "And what's that, sweetie?"
"Chocolate, of course."
Just the thought of that made me a little queasy. A chocolate
pizza? Maybe not.
The next weekend was Homecoming. Because of all the trouble the
previous year, float building was still not allowed, so the parade
was not going to be very exciting, in anybody's mind. All the fall
sports teams were going to walk the parade route in their uniforms,
and the middle school teams would all be there, too. The marching
band would be in the parade, and convertibles carrying the mayor and
other local politicians were going to be interspersed.
The Homecoming King and Queen candidates would also be in cars in
the parade. The student body had held elections a couple of weeks
before Homecoming, separated by class, to choose class
representatives for the King's and Queen's Court. Two boys and two
girls from each of the three younger classes had been chosen, and
three had been chosen from the Senior Class, the theory being that it
would be seniors who would be selected as Homecoming Royalty.
Partly due to her association with me, but mostly because she
deserved to be there, Kayla was elected as one of the sophomore
representatives. Ashley Horvath was chosen as a junior member of the
Queen's Court, while both Molly O'Toole and Keisha Prescott were
selected as seniors. For the King's Court, both Eric and I were
picked as seniors, and Jorge was one of the elected candidates from
the Junior Class. The final selection of the King and Queen would
take place at the dance on Saturday night.
We all went to the football game after the parade, and on a warm and
sunny afternoon, we watched as our team bettered their record to
eight wins and one loss. Kay and I sat together in the stands,
surrounded by most of the rest of the student body, enjoying the day,
though I couldn't help but think about all that had occurred the last
time our school was celebrating a Homecoming.
At the dance that night, we all once again gathered in the same area
of the gymnasium, though this time around there were some
differences. Molly's date was the red-haired math whiz, Alex
Baumgartner, and my date was the luscious Kayla. Tiny was there,
with Erica Frost, and so was Jake and Jaimie. Jorge was still dating
Marissa Montoya, and Paco and Kristina stayed near them. Eric and
Keisha were there, of course, as were Anthony and Ayesha, Tessa
Navarrone and Austin Graves, Toby Mueller with Ashley Horvath, and
Josh O'Toole and Andrea Coulter. We were a big, loud, boisterous
group, and the combination of the loud music from the disk jockey and
being surrounded by my friends kept most of my melancholy thoughts
away.
Early on, Dr. Osgood stepped up to the microphone on the raised
platform at one end of the room, and introduced the King's Court and
the Queen's Court. He called each of us to come up by him, and we
stood there as he ceremoniously tore open the large envelope.
"The Homecoming Queen for 1982 is... Molly O'Toole!" He tried to
make his announcement sonorous, but he couldn't help smiling as Molly
was crowned.
After she had received her scepter and sash, Dr. Osgood stepped back
up to the microphone. "Our Homecoming King is... Eric Johnson!" We
all applauded as Eric moved up to join Molly, a huge and bright smile
lighting up his face. They stepped down, Molly's arm tucked in his
elbow, to take the first dance as Homecoming Royalty, and the DJ cued
up a cassette recording of our school's orchestra playing our school
song. It was corny, and it was completely memorable. Soon, the rest
of the King's and Queen's Courts followed suit, and by the second
song, the rest of the kids at the dance joined us, and the ceremonial
part of the evening was done. It was back to having fun again.
Kayla, Molly, Keisha, and Tessa kept me out on the dance floor most
of the evening, and I didn't mind at all making a fool of myself. It
was a wonderful evening, and when the dance ended, everybody streamed
out of the school doors and moved as a crowd into the parking lot.
We piled into our cars and headed out for a late night dinner to
finish the evening, giving hardly a second glance around as a
precaution against the previous year's mischief.
Of course, it wasn't long after that weekend that the entire school
found out about Tara's condition. Speculation and rumor raced up and
down the halls for weeks about the whos, the whens, and the juicy
details. Stephen, and his buddies were found to be the prime
suspects, so life within our little community became very difficult
for that entire group. Tara didn't want anything to do with Tommy,
Richie, Carlos, or Stephen, and did her best to distance herself from
them. Tracy Evanson stayed at Tara's side most of the time, trying
to be the best friend she could, while the four boys banded together
and stayed away from everybody as much as they could.
It was very unsettling for me, as Stephen's older brother, but it
must have been sheer torture for him. Having a popular older
brother, and having teachers expecting him to be more like me, only
added to the pressure. I tried to talk to him, but for much of that
fall he brushed me off. I was so busy with soccer and school that I
didn't press the issue. I hoped that after our season ended I would
be able to spend a little more time with him and try to help him
through this. For the time being, however, our fall season was what
was taking up most of my time and energy.
In November, we entered the playoffs as the only undefeated soccer
team in the state. Our national ranking had moved up to third,
mostly because of the scoring firepower we were able to unleash out
of the middle. Everybody was gunning for us, and we welcomed the
challenges.
For the regional playoffs, the team seeded eighth had to play us,
the top-ranked team, on our home field. That was the unlucky Lincoln
Valley Bozos. They gave up about halfway through the first half, and
we ended up playing all our bench players for a lot of the game,
winning 9-0. Each successive game was against tougher opponents, but
we still breezed through, winning 6-1 and 5-0.
David and Lori brought the boys to every game, and Davey and Kip sat
on the bench with me during the Lincoln Valley blowout. Coach Bill
was there for every game, too, and there were quite a few of his
players and their parents who attended at least one of the playoff
games. A number of my summer students were there, too, especially
from the competitive group. I talked to a bunch of them before each
game, and they were practically salivating at the thought of playing
varsity soccer at some point. Many of them were even more rabid
about the game than I was.
After our victory over Lincoln Valley, the Metro Times released
their All-Conference selections. Eric, Jorge and I were selected,
and so was Paco. Hap got an honorable mention, as did Weasel. Three
first-year starters on the list was startling, even to Coach Neville.
Coach gathered the team together at the end of practice on Monday.
"Congratulations are in order," he said. "We have some new players
who have been receiving some attention, it seems."
There was some good-natured cheering from our teammates.
"Hey!" Adam's voice cut through the noise. "Does this mean I can
get a new nickname now?"
We all laughed. Eric put his arm around Adam's shoulder. "Sorry,
man, but you're stuck with it now."
"Shit," mumbled Adam. "I hate being known as Weasel."
"You want us to call you 'Weasel-icious' instead?" asked Brett.
"It'll just be shortened down, anyway."
Adam shrugged. "Nah," he said. "I guess I kind of earned it last
year. So, I guess I'll just have to be... I don't know... maybe
tenacious as a weasel on the field?"
"Yeah, that'll work," said Eric with a laugh. "We'll let ol'
Hartigan know that's what it stands for, next time he comes around
for interviews."
On Wednesday, I got home after practice and settled in to do some
homework. Kayla had told me at lunch that she had an appointment
after school, so she didn't know what time she would be able to meet
up with me. I had gotten my assignments for the rest of the week,
since the team was leaving the next day to go downstate for the
tournament, and I wanted to take the opportunity to work ahead a
little. My full ride to Florida was all but assured, but I still
didn't want my grades to slip during my senior year.
Mom came home from work and started on dinner. She poked her head
into the family room.
"Where's Kayla?" she asked.
"She had something to do after school," I replied. "She might be
over later."
"Should I set a place for her at the table?"
"I guess not," I said.
She gave me a funny look. "Is everything okay with you two?" she
asked.
"Yeah, fine. Why?"
She stood up and leaned against the doorframe, a spatula in her
hand. "It's not like you to be so unsure about whether she's eating
here or not, that's all," she said.
"It's nothing, Mom. She has other stuff to do besides be with me,
you know."
"I know, dear, it's just..." She paused, watching me, and then
sighed. "Never mind, then," she said, and she turned back into the
kitchen.
What's up with parents? I shook my head. First, they're concerned
that you're spending too much time together, and then, when they see
you alone, they worry that there's trouble brewing. You just can't
please them, no matter what.
Michael and my dad got home at about the same time, and I went up to
get Stephen for dinner. I knocked on his door, but there was no
answer. I tried the knob, and it turned.
Stephen was lying on the floor, his eyes closed, his feet keeping
time and his legs moving to the music pounding out of his headphones.
Even from where I stood, I could hear Joan Jett snarling about how
much she loves rock and roll, the heavy bass beat thumping into the
floor.
I kicked his foot, and he scrambled up, pulling the headphones off.
"What?" he gritted.
"Dinnertime," I said.
"Don't want any. Go away."
A big part of me wanted to be obstinate. I sat down on his bed.
"No," I said.
He just shrugged, and put his headphones back on. I stood up and
hit the power button on his tape player. He scrambled to his feet,
yanked off the headphones, and stepped up into my face.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he said loudly. He had
to look up at me. He was just hitting his growth spurt, but I had a
few inches on him. I grabbed him by his arm and pulled him over to
the chair by his small desk, and pushed him down into it. He slumped
there, the fight already flowing out of him.
"What do you want, Sean?" he asked miserably.
"You're my brother, Stephen. I want to help you, if I can."
"You want to help me? Stop being so fucking perfect," he said
heatedly.
"What?" I looked at him in surprise. Perfect? Me? Didn't he even
know me?
"Yeah. You think it's easy being your little brother? 'Hi, I'm
Stephen Porter. Yeah, I'm Sean's brother. No, I don't play soccer,
too. No, I'm not a fucking All-American athlete. No, I can't get
good grades like Sean. No, I can't get the prettiest girls in
school.'" His voice was derisive and bitter.
"Nobody's asking you to be just like me, Stephen."
He looked at me like I was the stupidest creature to grace the
earth. "Oh, yeah? Spend a day in my shoes, Big Brother."
I was getting a little angry. "You think I'm living a charmed life?
Well, maybe right now I am, but I worked pretty fucking hard to get
here, Stephen. Sure, I'm good at soccer, but I started out as a
crummy player, just like everybody else, but I worked at it, because
I liked it. Easy being me?" I gave him a bitter, humorless bark of
a laugh. "I've had my ass kicked more times than I like to think
about. Last year I got beat up, kicked in the gut, and knifed, right
there in the school parking lot." I pointed to the scar snaking down
my left arm. Even with my summer tan fading, the scar was stark
white.
"Yeah, while you were coming to the rescue of Miss Homecoming Queen."
"You're kidding, right? Stephen, she rescued me. If she hadn't
stopped Jilly, he would have skewered me. Molly put herself in
danger because I was down on the ground, getting the shit kicked out
of me." I really didn't want to relive that night, that humiliation,
but I had no choice now. "If it weren't for my friends," I said
roughly, "I might not be here now. Molly, and Tiny, and Eric, and
Josh, and Kayla, they all had a hand in saving my butt. You think
that was fun? You think I felt like Sean Porter, Big Man on Campus,
then? Shit on a stick, Stevie." I wiped my cheeks. Somehow they
had gotten damp.
"Sean, I..."
"And, yes, I'm dating the prettiest girl in school. Was it my idea?
Stephen, I'm probably even more dense about girls than you are.
Kayla nearly had to hit me over the head with a two-by-four before I
figured out that she would go out with me. She was my best friend's
sister, for God's sake! I had already fucked up two or three
relationships. I thought I was dead in the water when it came to
dating. Who would want to go out with me? I was poison."
"Yeah, okay, but still..."
Mom's voice drifted up from the bottom of the stairs. "Are you boys
coming?"
"Yes, Mom, we'll be right down," I called out.
I stood over him, looking down into his eyes. Stephen was still
sitting there, a little slumped over, but looking up at me. I hoped
he saw me a little differently now.
"I've worked hard to try to improve myself, Steve. I've succeeded
in some areas, and I'm still working on other parts. Be pissed off
at me if you want, but don't be pissed because you think I've had
everything handed to me. Sure, I've been lucky. But you know what
luck mostly is, Stephen? It's a lot of hours of sweat and worry. A
little bit of being in the right place at the right time helps, but
I've found that the harder I work, the luckier I get."
He didn't look like he believed me much, but at least he didn't bat
my hand away when I reached down and held it out for him. He
hesitated, and then took my outstretched hand, and allowed me to pull
him up out of the chair.
"You've got problems. I know you do. But don't think you're alone
in any of this. I'll help as much as I can, Stephen, but most of the
hard work to fix these problems has to come from you."
"Yeah, I guess," he reluctantly agreed.
"Let's go eat, before Mom comes up here and tries to figure out
what's wrong."
He shuddered theatrically. "God, please no," he said. Then he
smiled. A good sign, I thought. Maybe things would work out okay
for him.
We went downstairs and sat down with the rest of our family. I was
gratified to see Stephen fill his plate. Maybe our little talk had
helped, after all.
As we were clearing the dishes from the table after dinner, I heard
a car pull into our driveway. I glanced up when the back door flew
open, and Luscious came running in, a huge grin on her lovely face.
"Sean! Come with me!" She was very excited about something.
"Hello, Kayla," said my mother, a twinkle in her eye. "Would you
like something to eat? We just finished up, but there are some
leftovers."
"Oh, no thanks, Mrs. Porter," she said in a rush. "Sorry about just
barging in, but I've got to show Sean something." She didn't even
wait for my mom's reply before dragging me out the door.
"See?" she exclaimed, indicating her mother's car in the driveway.
"See what?" I asked, confused.
She looked at me, smiling excitedly. "What do you see, Sean?"
"Um, I see a car?"
"Yes," she said. "And what else?"
I turned to face her. "And nothing else," I said, confused as usual.
"Okay," she admitted. "Then, what don't you see?"
What didn't I see? I shrugged.
She slapped my arm. "An adult driving with me," she exclaimed. She
reached into her pocket. "I got it!" She was practically jumping up
and down as she showed me her brand new driver's license.
"You got it!" I repeated, finally understanding. I took it from her
and examined it. Why did her picture turn out so good, but mine was
so ugly on my license? Of course, I didn't think it was possible for
Luscious to have a bad picture taken of her.
"Where would you like to go?" she asked, pulling me toward the car.
"I'll go wherever you'll take me," I said, as I let her push me into
the passenger side. She skipped around to the driver's door and
opened it, sliding gracefully behind the steering wheel and reaching
around to fasten her safety belt.
"Okay, buckle up," she said as she started the car.
She drove us over to the Dairy Queen, where Jake and Jaimie were
waiting patiently, and we spent the next hour in a soft-serve ice
cream haze. She dropped me off back at home, and we spent a few
minutes making out in the front seat of her mother's car before she
had to go home, time very well spent kissing my luscious girlfriend.
The next day, the team left at noon for the long bus ride down to
where our final games of the season would be played. After spending
the afternoon on the bus, I was feeling cramped and lethargic. Eric
and I got permission from Coach Neville to go for a run before
dinner, so we quickly changed and headed out to pound the pavement.
We decided to run the same route we had done the previous year,
following the streets from our hotel to the practice fields, about
two miles away. It was cold out, the weak and dying sun casting long
shadows everywhere. We got to the fields just as one of the other
teams in the semi-finals was packing up after a practice. We ignored
them as we did a couple of circuits around the four practice fields
and the main stadium, where we would play the next day.
"You think our team will be back here again next year?" asked Eric
as we jogged easily along.
"I don't know," I replied. "They should be pretty strong, be able
to win their way at least into sectionals, I would think."
"Be kinda fun to come back and watch them, if they make it this far."
"Maybe," I said. "Be tough to sit there and not want to be out on
the field, though."
"True."
"Besides, I think we'll probably be too busy to be coming back next
fall."
"Yeah," he agreed. "NCAA tournament being played all through
November, and if your team of scrubs can make it that far, Maryland's
gonna kick your Gator ass."
He flashed me a grin, and turned on the afterburners before I could
react. He was already five steps ahead of me when I started after
him, but there was no way I was going to ever catch him. He stayed
seven or eight steps in front of me, and even taunted me by turning
around and running backwards for a few yards before he finally slowed
down and let me catch up. We had sprinted about a quarter of a mile,
and we slowed to a more leisurely pace so that our breathing could
stabilize as we headed back toward the hotel.
The next morning, we took the bus over to the fields for a short
practice. We did some passing drills, mostly give-and-goes to keep
us moving. It was very cold, the temperature hovering just above
freezing, even though the sun was shining brightly. Nobody wanted to
be standing around, getting cold. Everybody ran, just to keep warm.
We practiced for about an hour and a half, and then we piled back
onto the bus. Our driver had kept the bus running the whole time,
and it was wonderfully warm inside. We went off in search of lunch.
We were playing the evening game, under the lights, so we had the
afternoon free. "Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan" was playing on HBO,
so my roomies and I piled around the floor in front of the TV and
watched Ricardo Montalban eat up the scenery, until it was time to go
down for a light, early dinner.
The temperature had dropped when the sun went down. When we got to
the stadium, I walked out onto the field. The grass, still green
under the lights, was crisp and a little crunchy under my feet.
We were playing Forest Glen High School, a big suburban school. We
had never lined up against them before, but we had studied film of
their game. They played a similar game to ours, in that they
believed that strong defenses win games. While their defensive
players, including three All-Conference players, were very good,
their offense didn't seem to match up to ours. We were confident
that if we could hit them hard and fast, right from the opening
whistle, and make them play from behind, we would be able to advance
to the finals.
On their opening offensive set, their midfielders tried to move the
ball down the sidelines while their forwards angled in toward the
goal, trying to skate along the creases in our coverage. Paco
quickly covered the ball-handler, and managed to kick the ball off
the opponent's leg and out of bounds. I raced over and picked it up,
and rifled it downfield, hugging the sideline, before Forest Glen had
a chance to recover. Our right forward, Jimmy Brooks, picked it up,
and crossed the ball over to Hap, in the middle. Hap had three
choices: he could keep the ball and try to go past the sweeper, who
was coming up to challenge him; he could pass it back to Jimmy, who
by then was being covered by the left defender; or he could work the
ball over to our left, to Eric and Alex. He used his right foot to
square pass over to Eric, who one-touched it back into a little bit
of open space behind the sweeper. Hap stepped around his defender,
picked up the ball, and faked a shot on goal. The stopper and the
keeper both bit on the fake, and Hap tapped the ball back over to
Eric, who now had a clean shot at the near corner of the net. He
fired a hard shot into the top corner, and our game plan was in
action as we took an early 1-0 lead.
Forest Glen didn't get this far by being a team prone to panic, and
our quick goal didn't scare them off. Perhaps it was the cold, or
maybe it was tournament jitters, but they were a step behind us on
our scoring drive. They got warmed up quickly, however, and their
defense tightened up and started playing our midfielders tougher
after our goal, and the game played pretty even for the rest of the
first half.
At halftime, Coach Simonson called for our offensive players to
gather around. He motioned for me to come over and join him.
"What are you seeing out there, Sean?" he asked.
I looked around. I knew what I saw, but since I was a little
removed from the action on the offensive side of the field, I wasn't
sure how accurate my observations were. I turned to Eric.
"I'm seeing something, but you tell me what you know, from your
vantage point," I said.
He shrugged. "They're playing tight on us. If they was any closer
to me, we'd be sharing underwear. Their midfielders are gonna get
tired if they insist on playing such tight defense."
"Assume they've got a deep bench," said Coach Simonson. "They're a
big school, they're going to be able to insert fresh legs. Sean?
You saw it, let them know."
"Okay," I said, a little reluctantly. I didn't want to seem like I
was ordering them around, but Coach was insistent that I contribute
here. "They're on you hard, but that's okay. We're letting them
play close by staying a little too bunched up. When they're playing
that tight, they're leaving a lot of open space. We need to spread
out a little more, and work on getting the ball into the open
quicker, and relying on our speed in the middle." I turned to Paco
and Hap. "They're focusing on Eric, because of his reputation. That
means you guys have got to recognize when he's being suffocated, and
don't try to work the ball in to him. Find another outlet. There's
always more than one option out there."
They nodded in agreement right away.
Eric picked up on the suggestion. "Good, Porter. And another
thing, guys. Keep in mind that we don't always have to be advancing
the ball. I know that scoring opportunities come better if we're
aggressive, but passing back to Weasel, Porter, or Anthony isn't a
retreat, it's just a reset."
The players all nodded, the enthusiasm building again.
Coach said, "We've done a good job of keeping the ball in their half
of the field. Don't let up, but keep in mind that the open spaces
work in our favor, too. Okay?"
We just had time to grab a little more water before the second half
began, so our impromptu meeting broke up. A few minutes later, the
referee blew his whistle to get the teams back on the field, and the
second half was set to begin.
Our strategy session seemed to help us play a little better, a
little smarter. Forest Glen had made some halftime adjustments,
primarily in their offensive looks, but we didn't give them much of a
chance to put them into action. We started passing the ball back and
resetting our own offense, passing into space, utilizing give-and-
goes and relying on Paco, Hap and Eric to be able to run down leading
passes. The field opened up, and we got more good looks at the goal.
Their stopper and keeper stepped up their games, though, so we were
only able to convert two of those opportunities, but it was enough.
We advanced to the finals on a 3-0 victory.
The weather improved a little for the Saturday afternoon
championship game. It was sunny and warmer, though spectators still
were bundled up against the chill. For the players, it was almost
ideal playing conditions. South High School, and their star player,
Spencer Goldman, had advanced to the finals, also, so it was to be a
rematch of the previous year's championship game.
Spencer, Eric and I met up on the sidelines before the game. Eric
knew him from last year's championship game, and from the All-State
banquet.
"Well, here we are again," said Spencer.
"We said we'd be back," I said.
"But this year it's our turn," he reminded me.
Eric snorted. "Your turn? We ain't layin' down here, boo. It's
your turn to try."
Spencer smiled. "Fair enough. But be prepared, Johnson. I'm going
to run you all over the field today."
"You can run, but you can't hide," retorted Eric.
We shook hands and headed back toward our respective benches.
The game started out slowly, each team probing the other for
openings. South's coaches knew very well about our strength in the
middle, and did their best to keep the ball out of reach. The
problem they faced was working the ball from the back, all the way up
front, bypassing the midfielders. To do that, they had to rely on
longer, less accurate passes into the true strength of our team, our
defense. We were able to rebuff every attempt to penetrate, and
every time they gave up the ball to us, we moved it up to our
midfielders, exactly where South didn't want it.
Again, our game plan worked to our advantage. We were able to
control the ball better than South, and because their midfielders
were forced to bunker and play defense, their offensive sets were
ineffective. On the other hand, we, too, had difficulty moving the
ball into shooting range. South always made sure they had numbers on
their side, dropping their midfielders back to smother the field.
Toward the end of the first half, Spencer headed a high, long pass
upfield, and managed to knock it into open space behind Adam, who was
defending against him. Spencer moved around and picked up the ball,
and dribbled it up. Sensing an opportunity, South's left forward
tried to move around me along the sideline while Spencer threaded his
way along the seam of our coverage, between Brett and Anthony.
South's right forward kept Anthony's attention sufficiently to allow
Spencer to challenge Brett and Jorge, with his two forwards in
position to take side passes from him, and his middle forward weaved
around, trying to get open for a crossing pass. Weasel was coming up
from behind, but Brett still had to make a decision about whom he
should cover, and he opted to stay with the ball-handler. He came
out to challenge, but that left South's center forward open enough
for Spencer to get the ball over to him. The forward one-touched it
as Brett dove after the ball, trying to slide-tackle the ball away.
Spencer found the ball on his foot, with only Jorge blocking his
access to the net. He took a high shot, and the ball hit the top
rail of the goal, and dropped straight down. It hit Jorge on his
calf, and dribbled into the net behind him. For the first time all
season, we were playing from behind, as the half ended with South up,
1-0.
Once we got cups of water, Coach Neville had us huddle around him.
"There's no need to panic, gentlemen. We've been here before, and
we've come from behind before. Stick to your game plan." He pointed
at each of us, pinning us with his stare. "You got here by playing
smart. Continue to play smart, and capitalize on their mistakes."
"They aren't making many," grumbled Hap.
"They're making them," said Eric. "We're just not recognizing it
when they do."
"I've got an idea," I said. "Weasel, how are your legs?"
He looked a little puzzled. "Fine, I guess. Not tired, if that's
what you're asking."
"Okay, here's my thought. Goldman's their primary threat, right?"
Everybody pretty much agreed with that. "How about if we put Prince
on him? Adam, if you can stick to him like you're his Siamese twin,
maybe we can knock him out of his rhythm." I looked over at Anthony
and Brett. "If Adam is marking Spencer, he could be anywhere on the
field. That means we've got to fill in, expand our patrolling areas."
"I can mark him," said Weasel.
"Okay, good. Anthony, you and I will have to work into the diagonal
to help cover his ground. We'll take the sides, and Brett, you'll
have to cover more of the middle."
"That will leave us pretty vulnerable right in our midsection,"
warned Coach Neville.
"I know, but if we shut down Spencer, take him out of his game, I
think his forwards won't be able to cope very well. Adam, you mark
him, stay on him tight, and we'll double-team him wherever he goes.
The three of us will cover your turf, and one of us will help you
pick him up when he's trying to attack. That means that you guys in
the middle, Hap and Paco and Eric, are going to have to drop back on
defense a little more and cover any open men. Okay?"
"Sure, man, we can do that," said Paco.
"Last game of the season." said Eric. "No sense savin' up. Let's
leave it all on the field today."
Coach interjected, "If anybody starts to feel like they're losing a
step, signal the sidelines, and I'll sub you out for a rest as soon
as I can. Don't forget we've got some fresh bodies we can throw at
them."
We jumped up and ran out to take our positions on the field. Now
that we had a game plan, we were anxious to see how effective it
would be.
The referee started the second half, and we were off. Adam proved
the worth of his nickname. He was as obnoxious as a weasel, staying
in Spencer's face. He pushed against him, got in his way, stuck his
feet out and tripped him up when the ball was on the other side of
the field, and generally made Spencer's afternoon miserable. As a
result, Spencer wasn't able to handle the ball, and his teammates
eventually stopped trying to pass the ball to him.
We attacked whenever we could, worked on keeping the ball on their
side of the field, and Spencer dropped back to play defense, hoping
he would be able to get away from Adam for awhile. Weasel followed
him back deep into their half of the field, however, never giving him
a moment's rest. It threw South into a turmoil. They couldn't
recognize our weaker middle, because they couldn't control the ball
long enough to probe. By the 60th minute of the match, they were on
their heels, falling back under the slightest pressure, battling to
maintain composure. In the meantime, we had tied the game up on a
goal by, of all people, Alex Spivak, and we were getting more and
more looks at their net. Our energy level was climbing at a rate
similar to South's deterioration.
At the last, Spencer tried dropping all the way back, into their
stopper's territory, and Weasel was right there with him. Eric sent
up a high, arcing Hail-Mary type of kick, and Weasel leapt up, his
hand on Spencer's back to help give him some boost, and he headed the
ball toward the net. South's keeper dived for the save, and just
managed to knock it down. The ball bounced twice, right to Jimmy
Brooks, and he was able to hit it with his laces, rocketing a shot
past the kneeling keeper, and into the net, for a 2-1 lead, with less
than five minutes to play.
South reset, and tried to attack, but we were able to repulse it,
and we managed to play keep-away until the final whistle. We had
successfully defended our state title.
We piled up in the middle of the field, laughing and shouting and
deliriously happy. We managed to disentangle long enough to line up
and slap the hands of the South players, and shake hands with their
coaches.
Afterward, Spencer came up to me. "That was your idea, wasn't it?"
All innocence, I replied, "What do you mean?"
He laughed. "Yeah, I thought so. Nice going, Porter. It was a
good trick."
I laughed with him. "I hope you're not too pissed, Spencer. I told
you we wouldn't lay down for you."
"Yeah, you did," he said. "You guys won it, fair and square. I'm
pissed, but I'll get over it. See you at the banquet."
"Save me a seat," I said.
"Hey, and I'll see you next fall, too. Finally, I won't have to
play against you."
I looked at him, puzzled. "Why? Aren't you playing college ball?"
"Sure I am," he replied, chuckling. "At Florida. I can't wait to
take the field with you and Jesse Wilhoit. We'll have a team, won't
we?"
We shook hands on that. It was great news. He was a great player,
and a good guy. It was going to be nice having another friendly face
at college.
I trotted back to rejoin my teammates, who were still celebrating on
the sidelines. Everybody was happy, and both Coach Neville and Coach
Simonson looked very pleased. The most pleased of all, however,
especially when Coach Neville solemnly presented him with the game
ball, was Adam Prince, the weasel of the soccer field, and hero of
the championship game.
(Continued in Chapter 40)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
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(Copyright 2003, Rev. Cotton Mather)
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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II
by Reverend Cotton Mather
- 40 -
STRONGER THAN YOU KNOW
Tara Jacks absolutely refused to consider any option other than
keeping her baby.
By Christmastime she was starting to show, and she took to wearing
baggier tops and sweatshirts. The spotlight on her at school was
intense, but she was far stronger than any of us knew, standing up to
the pressure with her head up, willing to meet anybody's gaze
straight on. Whispered conversations followed her everywhere in
school, but she acted like she didn't care at all.
It was all a lie, of course. Jaimie told us in confidence that Tara
would come home and run up to her room every afternoon in tears.
Jaimie did what she could for her, comforted her the best she could,
but Tara had a huge burden to bear, and most of the weight she
carried alone.
Mr. and Mrs. Jacks had finally come to terms with their impending
grandparenthood, and reluctantly accepted Tara's unequivocal
decision. After the holidays were over, they began fixing up their
dining room for the baby, setting up a crib, a cradle, and a changing
table in place of their dining room set, which was temporarily
relegated to the basement.
Tara had two other friends who stepped up for her, and she ended up
relying on their support more and more as the winter wore on. One
was Tracy Evanson, who seemed to have taken some wisdom from the
harsh lesson that Tara was living. Tracy sat with Tara at one of the
long tables in the cafeteria at lunchtime, willing to be ostracized
from any of the "cooler" groups of kids by hanging out with the
pregnant girl. She spent as much time each weekend at the Jacks
house as her parents would allow, too, helping Tara with homework,
providing friendship to a girl who was sorely in need. On the
occasional mornings that Tara was too sick to come to school, Tracy
picked up her homework assignments for her, and made sure she got
them that afternoon.
Tara's other loyal friend was my brother, Stephen.
My parents nearly hit the roof when they found out that Stephen was
one of the suspected fathers. They cried, they wailed, they gnashed
their teeth, they grounded him until his twenty-first birthday.
They calmed down a little when Stephen finally told them that Tara
had already been pregnant when he had been with her in her room at
the end of summer. Tara had told him that she didn't think he was
the father of her baby, but he still shouldered some of the
responsibility. He knew his actions had been less than honorable,
and his upbringing, despite occasional setbacks, would not let him
duck out of what he considered to be his duty to Tara.
Michael and I acted as mediators between Stephen and our parents,
until all the angry words and hurtful accusations were behind us,
and some meaningful discussions could take place. Stephen insisted
on helping Tara as much as he could, and it was eventually agreed
that he could go over to the Jacks house, under supervision. Tara's
parents had to be there, no exceptions.
Stephen helped Mr. Jacks repaint the dining room and set up the
crib. He and Tara did homework together, sitting at the kitchen
table while Mrs. Jacks or Jaimie prepared dinner, and Tracy came
over to be with them when she could. Stephen goofed off with Tara,
told corny jokes, and helped to remind her that it could be fun to
be a kid. Tara was learning one of life's harder lessons as she
trod the path toward her own parenthood at the age of 14, but she
wasn't alone. Her two friends, her parents, her sister, and her
sister's friends did what they could to ease her way.
By our school's Spring Break, the last week of March, Tara had
gained nearly 30 pounds. For a girl who stood just a little over
five feet tall, and who probably only weighed around 100 pounds
normally, it was a huge change. She lumbered around, seeming to take
up even more room than her expanded hips and tummy demanded. Both
Jaimie and Stephen told me that Stephen would massage Tara's feet
and calves almost every evening, trying to bring a small dose of
comfort to her complaining muscles and joints, doing what he could
to make her feel better, physically and emotionally.
Tara didn't return to school after our break. By the first week of
April, she was eight months pregnant, uncomfortable in her body and
uncomfortable enduring the continuing stares in the hallways.
Stephen wanted to stay with her at home until she delivered, but both
sets of parents vetoed that idea, and he reluctantly went back to
classes with the rest of us.
In the weeks after we had won our second consecutive state
championship, my teammates and I were treated like royalty at school
and in town. Pick Cropper called to congratulate us, and I talked to
Jesse Wilhoit several times. He had first called when he learned of
the AHSSA All-American honors, and we talked every couple of weeks
or so. Jesse and his sister, Anna, came up and spent an evening
with Kayla and me when he was home for Christmas break, and we made
plans to get together during the summer, so he could let me know
what to expect when I got to Florida.
Jesse was going to try out for the Under-20 National Team in the
spring. I was planning on running my summer clinics again after I
graduated. I knew, from the response I had gotten the previous
summer, that I could fill three or four age groups without a problem.
Eric, Jorge, and Tessa had already agreed to help me out, and Trent
was also planning on being home most of the summer to work with me.
I thought I would also be able to get a couple of other kids, both
guys and girls from the school teams, to assist. I was excited
about the prospect of going off to Florida to play soccer and go to
school, but I really couldn't think in real terms beyond getting
through my senior year of high school, and planning for the summer.
By the tail end of winter, almost all of us were looking forward to
Spring Break and not having to think about school for over a week.
The weather still was not very consistent, but at least we could
spend some time outside. Kayla and I picked up our mileage on our
runs, since the soccer season, followed immediately by winter, had
forced us to cut down on the frequency we were able to get out. The
weather also curtailed our distances, since we didn't feel much like
running far when it was so cold out.
We also managed to find a couple of opportunities to make love, but
we were beginning to feel a little inhibited with each other. We
tried talking about it, but we were both uncomfortable even
addressing the problem. We each tied it, at least in our own minds,
to Tara's pregnancy, and to Stephen's continuing involvement.
For the Junior/Senior Prom, our plans were a little disjointed. I
had once again made reservations for ten couples at Delmonico's in
Monticello for dinner before the dance. Alex and Molly drove down
with us on a double date. When we got to the restaurant, Josh and
Andrea, along with Tiny and Erica, were already there. Eric and
Keisha, doubling with Anthony and Ayesha, came in right behind us.
Austin and Tessa were driving down with Jorge and Marissa, and they
came in a few minutes later. The busboy was just filling our water
glasses when Toby and Ashley came in.
"Where's Jake and Jaimie?" I asked. They were supposed to be with
Toby.
Toby shrugged. "Jake called about a half an hour before he was
supposed to pick us up," he said. "Something came up, said they'd
be late."
"I wonder if it has something to do with Tara," murmured Kayla.
We carried on without them, and we ordered our dinners. There were
a couple of other prom tables scattered through the large dining
room, so we cruised back and forth between courses, visiting with
friends and classmates. We got some sour looks from some of the
other patrons and families who had chosen this unfortunate evening
to go out for a nice Italian dinner, but our mood was jovial and
exuberant, and attitudes from fogies weren't going to bother us at
all.
After dinner, the restaurant pretty much emptied out, as all the
prom parties headed out, packing into cars for the drive downtown to
the dance.
We got to the ballroom in the hotel fashionably late, and we joined
the rest of our schoolmates on the dance floor. I even managed to
coax Mrs. Neville out to shake her booty a time or two. Coach
absolutely refused to be persuaded, even by somebody as irresistible
as my Luscious, to join us. Personally, I didn't see how he could
refuse the prettiest girl in school, but he managed, contenting
himself to watching his wife and me gyrate to the music.
In the middle of dancing to Billy Idol's "Hot in the City", there
was a small commotion as a big body came swarming through the
dancers. Kayla and I stopped and watched as Jake, pulling Jaimie
along by the hand, came bullying his way through the crowd. He
stuck out his hand, clutching a bunch of chocolate cigars.
"Congratulations, Porter! We're uncles!"
"What?" I asked.
Jaimie was practically jumping up and down. She was so excited, she
was nearly bouncing out of her low-cut dress. "Tara had her baby!"
she cried. "It's a boy!"
Kayla squealed, and leapt up into Jaimie's arms. "How wonderful!"
They squeezed each other tightly, sharing the news as best friends
should. Kayla dabbed at her eyes, wiping away small tears of joy,
once she let go of Jaimie.
"Well, maybe we're step-uncles or something," I said.
"Yeah, whatever," said Jake, obviously enjoying the moment. He
handed cigars to Tiny and Eric, who happened to be near us when Jake
came barging in. "Anyway, that's why we missed dinner, because
Jaimie's folks were taking Tara to the hospital."
"And I didn't want to miss it, even for Prom," said Jaimie.
"Right," agreed Jake. "So there I was, half-dressed already when
Jaimie called."
"Which half was dressed?" asked Eric with a smile.
Jake grimaced. "You probably don't want to know," he said.
"Anyway, so I hurried, and Jaimie and I stopped at your house on the
way, but you guys had already left, so I picked up Stephen, and he
went with us to the hospital."
"Really? Stephen was there, too?" I guess the news didn't really
surprise me all that much.
Jake looked at me kind of funny. "Of course he was," he said.
"It turns out that Tara had been in labor most of the day, but
didn't tell anybody," continued Jaimie. "She thought it was false
labor or something, she said. I think she just was in a little bit
of denial, personally."
"So by the time we got there, she was already in the delivery room
with her mother." Jake picked up the story. "We were only there a
few minutes when Tara asked if Stephen could come in and be with
her."
"Really?" That surprised me. I thought Stephen would be too
squeamish to want to be in there. I certainly would have been,
especially at his age.
"Of course she did," said Kayla, giving me a look that said I was
being dense again.
"Okay," I said doubtfully. Why did everybody else know more about
my brother than I did?
"So we stayed there until Mom came out and made the announcement,"
continued Jaimie. "A boy, eight pounds ten ounces, Kyle Allen
Jacks, born at 7:39 PM on May 13, 1983." She stopped, her eyes
bright.
"Oh my God, I'm an aunt," she whispered, almost to herself. "My
little sister's a mom."
Much later that night, Kayla and I were in one of the quiet rooms at
the YMCA, during the all-night post-Prom lockdown, sharing a Coke.
"You know, when we start having children, you're going to have to be
in the delivery room with me, too," she said. There was a glint of
humor in her eye.
"Yeah, I know," I said a little defensively. "I was just a little
surprised about Stephen, that's all... I mean, it's not even his
kid."
"Maybe it's not his kid," corrected Kayla.
"Okay, maybe," I conceded. "Tara didn't think it was his."
"But Stephen thinks it is," she pointed out. "And Tara's just not
sure. She's willing to take the love and support that Stephen is
offering, though."
"So maybe I really am an uncle," I said in surprise.
She smiled at me. "Maybe you are," she agreed.
We went off in search of entertainment, and found Eric and Keisha in
the hallway, looking a little furtive.
Eric smiled. "Come with us," he said, motioning for us to follow
them.
He led us confidently past the locker room doors, and through
another, unmarked door. We came to three closed doors on our right,
and Eric reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He
smiled, and selected one key off the ring. He looked up at us as he
slid the key into the lock.
"Good to have friends in high places," he murmured. He gestured us
into the room, and closed the door behind us, leaving Luscious and
me alone in one of the massage rooms. There was a low massage table
in the middle of the room, and a lounging couch along one wall. A
stereo was on a shelf above the couch, and on the other side of the
room was a locked cabinet.
I looked at Kayla. "It's good to have friends who have friends in
high places," I said.
She smiled, and reached up and switched the stereo on. Soft,
relaxing music came out of the speakers mounted in the corners of
the room.
"Would you like a massage?" I asked, indicating the table.
"I don't know," she said. "I've never had one."
"Well, then, you're in for a treat, ma'am," I said. There was a
stack of towels on a rack next to the cabinet. I took one and
handed it to her.
"Here you go, miss," I said, trying to be all business. "Kindly
remove your garments, and lie down on the table, face down, and
cover yourself with the towel."
She smiled at me, and pulled her sleeveless shirt off over her head
as I busied myself with putting another towel down for her on the
table. I kept my eyes averted as she took off her jeans and
underwear, and boosted herself up onto the table. She put the towel
across her like a blanket.
"Are you ready, miss?" I asked.
Her voice was muffled. There was a padded hole in the table, and
she had her face resting in it. "Yes, but aren't you a little
overdressed?"
"Ah, the madam would like to experience our patented Naked Massage,
I see," I said in my most proper tone. "That can be arranged."
I stripped off my tee shirt as I wedged my shoes off. I sat on the
couch for just a moment so I could yank off my socks, and then I
stood and shucked off my jeans and underwear. Kayla had her head
turned on the table, watching me the whole time.
There was some body oil in a squeeze bottle on top of the cabinet.
I grabbed it and squeezed a dollop onto the palm of my hand, and
then rubbed my hands together. I gently pulled down the towel
covering my girl, baring her back, and ran my hands along that long
expanse of flesh, spreading the oil across her body.
I hopped up on the table and crouched on her thighs so I could work
better. My balls nestled against her legs, and my cock stretched
out and rested against the towel covering her ass.
"Mmmmmm," she hummed as I began working the oil into her skin,
applying a little more pressure, starting to knead the muscles of
her back and shoulders. I worked up and down along her spine, from
her neck down the slope of her back to her waist. I pushed the towel
down a little more, and worked the oil into the top swells of her
buttocks, and then worked my way back up again, running my hands up
along her sides to her shoulders, kneading the big muscles there, and
then working from her neck back down to the valley of her lower
back. My thumbs played along the ridges of her vertebrae, bumping
along as my palms pressed harder along the connective tissues.
After working on her back up and down, I slid down off the table.
Standing to the side, I started working across her body, from her
backbone down and around her side, rolling her a little on the
table. I could feel the swells of her squashed breasts, and my
fingers tended to linger there, relishing in the feel of her
marvelous body. Once I had worked all the way down her body, from
her shoulder blade to her waist, I stepped over to the other side of
the table and worked the right side of her back the same way, slowly
manipulating the musculature just beneath the softer layer of skin.
Kayla was making occasional soft sounds of appreciation as I worked
on her. As she was relaxing, though, I was tensing up. Just
looking at her flawless, pale skin, knowing she was naked under that
one small towel, was enough to get me hard. Added to that were her
soft moans, and my temperature was rising.
As I worked across her back, I also worked from her shoulders down
her body. My hands reveled in the soft feel of her along the small
of her back and across her tiny waist, and I kept on moving down. I
slid my hands beneath the towel and kneaded the globes of her ass,
from her crack to her hip, still rolling her body slightly as I
worked. Finally, I threw the towel down to the floor, leaving her
naked and beautiful on the table, and I worked on her thighs,
kneading and manipulating her flesh, and occasionally allowing my
thumbs to delve between her legs just a little as she parted her legs
for me. I was gratified to feel moisture there, and though the
temptation to abandon my massage in favor of more carnal pleasures
was great, I steeled myself to continue what I had started with her.
I worked on her legs from her butt to her ankles, refilling my palms
with the body oil as I went. I massaged her feet, paying special
attention to her arches and her cute little toes. When I was done
with both feet, I picked up the towel and draped it over her calves
and feet for warmth.
I moved up to the front of the table, and started again on her
shoulders. I hadn't heard a peep from her in several minutes, and I
thought that perhaps she had fallen asleep. As I leaned over her to
massage her shoulders and neck, I felt her hand reach up and touch my
thigh. I ran my hands through her hair, giving her a scalp massage,
and her hand slid up my leg to my balls. She hefted the weight, and
then moved her hand up further to grasp the base of my hard cock. My
hips involuntarily hunched forward into her hand, and she tugged on
me a little, making me crouch so that I could flex my hips. She was
able to pull my cock over to the hole in the table, and was just able
to lick the head of my steel-hard dick as I continued to use my
fingertips against her temples and her ears.
I stopped to enjoy the sensation of her tongue on my cock. She held
the base in her fist as she treated me like I was an ice cream cone,
lapping up the bubbles of pre-cum that were oozing from me. My
mission of imparting a nice, relaxing massage was all but forgotten
in the wake of her active tongue and hand upon my rampant cock.
Eventually, I wanted more. I wanted to give her more, and I wanted
to experience more, so I gently extricated myself from her grip, and
moved back down to the foot of the bed. She turned her head to
watch me as I grasped her ankles, and pulled her toward me, until her
legs were dangling straight out, off the table. Still holding her
ankles, I spread her legs, and bent down, resting my elbows on the
table. I lowered my head down and licked slowly, lovingly along her
drooling pussy, eliciting a moan from her.
She allowed her legs to spread even more, opening herself up to me,
and I concentrated on using my lips and tongue to lap up all the
lubrication I could find, dragging the tip of my tongue through her
folds and into the well of her oils. I stuck my tongue as deeply
into her hole as I could, and ran it along her sensitive tissues,
working it under her to diddle with her hooded clit, and then delving
through her engorged outer lips, to circle her flooded opening again.
I licked and spread moisture up her soft and trembling ass. I found
her little rosebud of an asshole, and paid attention to it,
moistening her tender skin, reveling in the tangy taste of her.
She folded her left arm up underneath her and was clutching at her
swollen breast, and she brought her knees back up onto the table so
that she could lift up her butt, giving me greater access to her
pussy. I took advantage, and worshiped her the best I could, using
my lips, my tongue, my fingers, and my thumb to pleasure her. I
could feel her muscles quivering as she climbed closer to the
precipice, and I nibbled at her clit with my lips as I stuck two
fingers into her vaginal opening, and finger-fucked her to her first
orgasm.
Her breath came in hitches as she was carried over the cliff wall,
and she had trouble holding herself up in that same position. As
her emotions carried her away, her body took over, and the
electrical pulses firing within her hit the proper sequences, and a
tiny flood of extra lubricant was exuded by her pussy walls, and my
tongue was there to receive it.
In the meantime, my own body was receiving the stimuli that were as
old as mankind, the pheromones entering my system through my taste
buds, through my nose, and through my fingertips, directly into my
bloodstream. My cock twitched in anticipation of feeling firsthand
the heat and moisture she was letting loose, so I lifted up, and
pulled her off the table a little more, until she was bent at the
waist, her torso still resting on the table, and her feet were firmly
on the floor. I stepped up behind her and grasped my straining
cock. I aimed it directly at her middle, rubbing the head against
her pussy lips to spread moisture around, and then nestling it
against her overheated opening.
She groaned, and moved back against me just a little, and the head
of my cock popped into her. It was all the stimulus I needed. I
plunged fully into her, rocking her body against the table as I
thrust as deeply as I could. Kayla huffed when she felt me bottom
out in her, and I started pumping in and out of her, fucking her
hard.
She rocked back and forth on the table as I worked her, and she was
panting and breathlessly screeching every time I felt myself hit
against her cervix. Her walls were very tight against my cock, and
the combination of the heat, the pressure, and the oily lubrication
coating my shaft were having an effect on me. I was sliding in and
out of her easily despite the tightening of her sheath, and I could
feel the tip of my cock scraping along the sensitive tissues of her
vagina on every thrust.
I held her by her hips as I pounded into her, pulling her back onto
my cock as I flexed to push my sword into her scabbard. More than
ever, I could see the narrow pinching of her waist flaring out to
the feminine swell of her hips beneath me. I could look down and
watch her ass as my cock moved in and out of her, the fleshy globes
quivering each time I bottomed out in her, or I could look at her
face contorting as she concentrated on the sensations firing along
her nerves like lightning bolts, from her overstimulated pussy,
connecting through her sensitive nipples on the way to the overtaxed
pleasure centers in her brain. I leaned onto her for a moment, and
worked my hands beneath her body so I could squeeze her breasts for
a moment. She groaned as I pinched her nipples, and wiggled her ass
on me. I stood back up, and took her by the hips again, and thrust
into her as hard and fast as I could.
Finally, she cried out, and pinched her own nipple hard, and her
walls involuntarily clenched down on me, squeezing me so hard my
movement was constricted. Her orgasm hit her, and her pussy
contracted even more. Her extra lubrication coated my shaft, and I
pressed against her, wanting to be as deep inside her as I could
possibly be when I shot off. My cock expanded against her
contractions, and the hydraulics kicked into action. I felt my
balls tighten, and I spurted into her hard, the intensity of my
orgasm turning me practically inside out. I felt my rushing semen
splash against her walls, and she must have felt it, too, because
she hunched back against me hard, trying to fuck herself on me just
a little more, dragging out the sensations that were washing through
her. Five times, six, and seven times I felt my release, and
finally I collapsed down on her back, giving in to the sensations.
We stayed that way for a time, as our breathing began to stabilize
and our pulse rates retreated out of the red zone. My cock lost
very little of its firmness, buried as it was within her tight and
welcoming pussy.
At long last, she groaned.
"Porter? Can you get off me for a minute?" she asked tiredly.
It was an effort, but I slowly pulled out of her. Mixed fluids
seeped from her once my plug had been removed, and I stood up as she
shimmied up to lie on the table. I used the towel to blot up our
combined spend, and then tossed the soiled towel into a corner of the
room. She motioned for me to join her, so I lay down next to her.
She turned onto her side to make room for me, and we put our arms
around each other and touched foreheads together.
"That was pretty incredible," she whispered, her eyes smiling.
"You liked it that way?" I asked.
She gave the question more consideration than I thought it deserved.
Of course she liked it. She came hard, didn't she?
"I liked it a lot," she said seriously. "I've never felt...
fuller... than that time. You hit places inside me..."
I rubbed her back, and watched her marvelous breasts quiver a little
as she took a deep breath.
"How can I describe it?" She was almost talking to herself. "It
was great sex, but it was... recreational. It wasn't the same as
when we make love." She looked up at me, a little imploringly.
"Don't get me wrong, Sean, I really, really enjoyed it. It was
spontaneous, and different, and... Obviously, I liked it a lot. I
don't think I've ever come that hard before. But I prefer being able
to kiss you, to see your face, when we... I like the loving, the
tenderness, even more than I like the climax..."
I hugged her to me. "So do I, baby," I reassured her. "So do I."
I left it at that, and she smiled at me, one of her patented
thousand-watt smiles, and I felt suffused with love for her.
We dozed for a few minutes, and then she showed me what she meant,
by taking my recovering cock in her hand as we lay side by side,
kissing as I gently played with her wonderful breasts. When my cock
returned to its full hardness, she rolled over onto her back, and
pulled me over onto her. Her hand, still wrapped around my rod,
guided my cock to her heated pussy. She rubbed my head against her
wet slit a few times to spread our moisture around, and then placed
it against her flooding hole, and let go as I shafted into her. She
kissed me hard, her tongue probing deep as she moaned into my mouth
while she felt me plumb her depths, and she wrapped her legs around
me, crossing her ankles in the small of my back.
As we made love, she broke our kiss, and looked into my eyes. She
was smiling happily.
"See? Isn't this nice?" she whispered.
My brain was occupied. Being male, I couldn't be in the throes of
sex and, at the same time, make intelligent conversation, so I just
nodded.
She giggled, making her pussy tighten against me momentarily, and
gently pulled my mouth down to her distended nipple. I gladly took
the proffered morsel into my mouth. After all, I was male, and
could handle two similar tasks such as these at once. I paid homage
to her left breast, and then kissed and licked my way over to her
right breast, and gave it equal attention. When I felt my impending
climax, I used my hand to pinch her left nipple, and at the same
time, I bit down lightly on her right. The additional stimuli set
her off, and we humped at each other hard, both rushing toward our
finish lines.
I felt my cock expand against her constricting walls, and at the
same time, she cried out softly. Additional heat and moisture
coated my invading cock as we both came, my cock spilling my seed
deep inside her for the second time, as her own orgasm took her by
storm.
I lifted up my weary head and kissed her softly, and she held me to
her by the back of my neck as she gently returned my affectionate
kiss. Her legs dropped to the table, and I pulled my shrinking cock
from her. She didn't want to let me go, however, for when I shifted,
intending to lay beside her again and get my weight off her, she
moaned, shook her head, put her arms tight around me, and put her
feet around my calves to keep me in place.
"I'm afraid I'm going to crush you," I whispered.
She held me to her. "He ain't heavy, he's my lover," she said
quietly. I could hear the smile in her voice.
"And besides, she's strong," I said.
"That's right," she agreed. "Stronger than you know."
Of course, we had no idea at the time, but that strength would be
tested.
(Continued in Chapter 41)
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