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Message-ID: <51139asstr$1115741405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP - Playing the Game by R.C. Mather 29/30 (mf soccer)
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Date: Tue, 10 May 2005 12:10:05 -0400
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I have been remiss in posting.  Are you all breathless in anticipation?

Rev. Cotton Mather
Senior Pastor,
Church of the Erotic Redemption
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ReverendCottonMather/www
http://www.storiesonline.net
www.ruthiesclub.com

Would you like to be notified when I post new chapters or stories?  Sign up 
at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/RCMStories/join

**If I had to do it all over,
I'd do it all over you**

<1st attachment, "PTG29.txt" begin>


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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 2001, 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 THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather



- 29 -

RESPECT



On Friday night, Michael drove me over to pick up Kristina.  We were
meeting Josh and Andrea at the mall, and then we were going to go see
a movie.

I knocked on the front door, and Mr. Mendoza opened the door.  He
stepped inside, gesturing me in.  He was not very tall, but he was
substantial.  I could see just how Jorge would look in 20 years,
looking at his father.

I stepped into the hallway.  Mr. Mendoza held out his hand, and in a
heavy accent said, "Welcome, Sean.  Kristina will be here in uno
momento."

The smaller Mendoza children, four all told, were peeking at me from
doorways, whispering to each other and giggling.  I felt like I was
on display.

Jorge came out of the kitchen, his mother trailing behind, and came
over to me.

"Hey, Sean," he said with a smile.

His father turned to him and said something in Spanish.

Jorge turned back to me, a grimace on his face.  "My father has
asked me to translate for him.  He says that he is very glad to meet
you.  He also said he wishes to say something to you."

"Okay," I said, suddenly apprehensive.  This was a new one on me.

Mr. Mendoza looked at me as he spoke, and I stayed facing him as
Jorge translated.

"He says that Kristina is his oldest daughter, and so is very
special to him, just as his oldest son is special to him."  Jorge's
voice was expressionless as he spoke.  I saw Kristina, dressed in a
simple black sweater and cotton pants, just coming in from the
hallway.  I glanced at her and smiled before turning back to her
father.  She looked a little embarrassed, but said nothing.

Her father glanced back to see her standing in the doorway, and then
turned and continued.

"We have tried to raise our children to respect all others, even
when we ourselves have not been shown that same respect," Jorge
continued translating.  "It is a sad fact of life that not all people
have been taught how to respect others."

Jorge stopped, firing off a burst of Spanish to his father.  It
sounded like a question, or maybe a complaint.  His father answered
back implacably, and Jorge, resigned, continued translating.

"He says that he expects you to treat his daughter with all the
respect she is due.  If you do not, he will know, and he will have
words with you about it."

He did not look like a man I would want to have "words" with,
particularly alone in a small locked room.  Still facing him, I
composed my reply before opening my mouth.

"I give you my word that I will give Kristina every consideration I
can.  I think of her as a good friend, and Jorge is a good friend,
and I would do nothing to harm either friendship."

Jorge translated for me.  Mr. Mendoza nodded, held out his hand, and
shook mine to seal the deal.  He smiled then, and turned and held out
his arm, as if presenting his daughter to a crowd.  Kristina came up
to him, kissed him on the cheek, and we headed out the door to
Michael's car.

It's always awkward when you have to be driven around because you're
too young to drive yourself, and picking up a date is even more so.
We solved the problem by squeezing into the front seat with Michael.
It was crowded, but I certainly didn't mind, and Mike didn't feel so
much like a chauffeur, either.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that with my father," Kristina said
as we started down the street.

"Hey, it's just fine," I assured her.  "I know he worries about you,
and wants to protect you, and all that..."

"Yes, well, he's decided that the best way to get his point across
is to speak Spanish, and have Jorge translate.  In reality, he speaks
English nearly as well as we do.  He's just trying to make an
impression on you," she said with a smile.

"Oh, he made an impression on me, all right," I said.  "He scared me
a little," I added.

"He'll be glad to know that," she said with a laugh.  She shifted a
little, and the contact I felt with her, up my side and my arm, from
my hip and down my leg, got just a little more substantial.  We
stayed in unacknowledged close contact with each other, just like
that, all the way to the mall.

Once we met up with Josh and Andrea at the mall, thoughts of the
punishment Mr. Mendoza might be planning to wreak on me if I got too
improper were banished, and we had a great time together.  When we
got to the movie theater, we settled in with popcorn and sodas, in
one of the side rows of the auditorium, Andrea and Kristina sitting
between Josh and me.  By the middle of the first reel of film, our
hands had found each other, and we spent the rest of the movie in
awareness of each other, maintaining contact with clasped hands and
knees just touching.

On the way home, Kristina and I once again squeezed into the front
of Michael's car, and Andrea and Josh climbed into the back.  We
dropped off Andrea first, and Josh walked her to her door, giving her
a long kiss goodnight before trudging back to the car for a ride back
to his house.

Kristina's house was our next stop, and I walked her to her door,
also.  I wondered if Mr. Mendoza was watching through the curtains,
making sure I treated his daughter properly.  I looked at the windows
nervously, and I think Kristina guessed my thoughts, because she had
a small, secret smile on her face as she stood there, waiting for me
to make up my mind about what to do.  Finally, she took both my hands
in hers and turned me to face her.

"Good night, Sean.  Thank you for a very nice evening."  She leaned
in toward me just a fraction, watching me.  I bucked up my courage
and bent toward her, and our lips touched softly for just a moment.
She turned toward the door and opened it, flooding the landing with
light from the hallway.

"Kristina?" I suddenly asked.  She turned around and looked at me
quizzically.  "Did you really have a good time tonight?  What I mean
is, would you go out with me again?"

She smiled her secret smile again.  "Yes, Sean, I would love to go
out with you again."

The pressure I had been feeling, but had tried to ignore, dissipated
into vapor, to my immense relief.  I headed back to the car, my feet
barely making contact with the sidewalk.

The whole next week at school, I didn't have much of a chance to
talk with Kristina.  I kept on telling myself that it was just one
date, not a lifetime commitment, and to chill out about it.  It
didn't help.  I called her on Tuesday evening, but her father said
she couldn't come to the phone.  I called her on Wednesday, but she
wasn't home.  I called her on Thursday, now very near panic, thinking
that I had done something wrong, that she didn't want to see me
again, that she was evading me.  She answered the phone on the second
ring.

"Si, hello?"

"Kristina?  Hi, it's me, Sean."

"Oh, Sean, I was hoping you would call," she said.  She sounded
happy, not upset.  Did I worry all week for nothing?

"You were?" I asked before I could think about it.  "I thought maybe
you didn't want to talk to me."

"Why would you think that, silly?"  She sounded amused.

"Well...ummm...I called the other night, and then again last night..."

"Oh, that," she dismissed.  "My father just told me tonight that you
had called.  He wouldn't let me call you back.  He says it's not
ladylike to be calling boys."

"That's okay," I said, relieved.  "I just wasn't sure if I was
making a pest out of myself or not, that's all."

She giggled, a tinkling sound that sent shivers up and down my
spine.  "You can be a pest, if you'd like," she said softly.  "I
won't mind."

"Um, would you like to do something this weekend with me?"

"Of course.  What did you want to do?"

"Well, Eric and Keisha were thinking about going out to the bowling
alley on Saturday night.  It's something about using glow-in-the-dark
pins, or something.  Would you like to try it?"

"Okay.  What time?"

"I'll call Eric and find out and call you back," I suggested.

"No, don't call back tonight.  Just tell me tomorrow at school, or
call me tomorrow night.  I'll ask my parents if it's okay, but I'm
sure they will say it's fine, as long as I don't stay out past 11:00."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, then.  Bye."

"Bye, Sean.  Thank you for calling."  The telephone clicked in my
ear as the connection was broken.

Eric, who had just gotten his driver's license, picked me up
Saturday night for our dates.  It was so wonderful having a little
more freedom, instead of relying on older brothers or parents for
rides.  My birthday was coming up soon, and I could hardly wait to
take my driver's test and get my license.

We picked up Keisha, and then drove over to Kristina's house.  I
thought I must have passed some sort of test with her parents,
because she came bounding out the front door and down the sidewalk,
waving back toward the house as she headed for our car.  I didn't
have to go through a grilling from her father this time.  Maybe he
figured he had scared me sufficiently that first time, which was
true, or maybe he had come to trust me a little bit.  I hoped to be
trustworthy, not only in his eyes, but in Kristina's, too.  She
climbed into the back seat with me, and as soon as we were down the
street and out of sight of her house, she scooted over to sit next to
me.  I took her hand and held it in mine, glad of even that little
touch.

At the bowling alley, most of the lights were out, and there was a
disco ball rotating above the alleys, a spotlight shining on it and
scattering shattered rays of light all over the interior.  Some of
the bowling pins had been painted with fluorescent colors, and there
were blacklights shining down from the pinsetters, making the pins
glow at the far end of the dark alleys, and giving the place a
surreal feel.  There was loud music, and the pulse of the bass was
thumping, reverberating through the floor and into our bodies.

Kristina was a terrible bowler.  She had only gone bowling once
before in her life, and the challenge of trying to knock the pins
down in the dark was beyond her.  Nearly every time she whipped the
ball down the alley, it ended up in the gutter, usually within about
ten feet of the foul line.  She didn't care, though, and neither did
the rest of us.  We were laughing and joking about how awful we all
were at this game.  On the rare occasions when Kristina actually
managed to knock a few pins over, she would jump up and squeal
excitedly, hands in the air in triumph, and then she would run over
to me and jump into my arms joyfully.  I loved it every time she did
that, being able to hold her tightly like that, with a crowd all
around us.  It really felt special to me.

On the ride home after we finished bowling, we snuggled up in the
cold back seat, her arms threaded through mine as we waited for the
heater to kick in.  Keisha and Eric were pointedly ignoring us, so I
took the opportunity to lift up her chin and lean toward her.  Her
eyes were wide and solemn, an infinitely deep pool of brown and
black, and her lips were slightly parted in anticipation of this
moment.

I kissed her.  Softly, oh so softly and gently, I paid homage to her
soft and sensitive lips.  Her eyes closed, and she pressed toward me
for more.  I turned in my seat and slipped my arm around her waist as
we continued kissing.  I was getting very warm, but it had little to
do with the car heater.  I was hoping she was feeling the same.

She was wearing a long coat that buttoned down the front with four
large buttons.  I stopped kissing her and gazed into her eyes as my
hand found the coat button near her waist and fumbled to open it up.
I wanted to be closer to her, but I didn't want her to be cold.  I
just wanted to slide my arm inside her coat to hold her closely.  I
finally was able to push the button through the buttonhole, and as I
slipped my arm inside her coat, my fingers accidentally brushed
against the bump of her breast, barely hard enough to feel.  But I
saw her eyes widen, and she jerked a little.  By then, of course, my
hand was on her waist, and she understood that it was an accident,
but I was afraid the damage might be done.  She relaxed, though, and
moved to kiss me again, a soft and tender touching that washed away
all worry.

We stayed just that way, until we pulled into her driveway.  We
walked to her front door, but this time the light didn't come on.  I
pulled her to me.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly.

I think she might have blushed just a little.  "Of course I am.  Why
wouldn't I be?"

"Um... well, it's nothing," I stammered.

"Look, Sean, I... There was a boy I liked, when we lived in Texas."
She paused.  "I was only 13, almost 14.  We... he and I... he is the
only other boy I've ever kissed, Sean, besides you."

"It's okay, Kristina..."

"No, I just want you to know... that I have no... experience... in
this."

Tears were just starting to well in those deep, dark eyes.

"So," she continued hesitantly, "I'm a little frightened sometimes,
Sean.  If you don't want to see me anymore, I understand... but..."

I was devastated by her words.  "Don't you want to go out with me,
Kristina?  I thought you liked me."

She hugged herself to me.  I instinctively held her tight, trying to
understand what she was saying.

"I do like you, Sean, and I do want to go out with you.  It's
just... I mean... I can't... you know... I can't be like some of the
other girls, and... if you don't want to be with such
an... inexperienced... person..."

"Hold on a minute," I said.  I pushed her away from me a little, so
I could look in her eyes.  "You think I won't like you, just because
you're not like Molly or someone?"  She didn't move, but her eyes
told me the truth.  "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever
heard you say, Kristina.  I like you because you are YOU, not because
of anything you might or might not have done in the past, or for
any...um...favors you might give in the future."

"Really?"  The tears started spilling, but I thought it might be
from relief instead of sadness.

"Really.  Don't get me wrong here, Kristina.  I would love to share
something beyond a few kisses with you.  Hell, I'll come right out
and tell you that I lust after you."  She finally smiled, a very good
sign.  "I would jump your bones in a heartbeat, if I thought you
would be willing.  But I know you're not, and it's all okay.  I like
you for who you are, and your innocence is all a part of you.  If you
want to wait, I'll wait.  Maybe some days I'll be a little impatient,
but just tell me to back off and lighten up, Kristina, and I promise
I will.  And that's no lie."

She sobbed and crushed herself to me, holding me as tightly as she
possibly could.

"Hey," I said.  She looked up at me, her head still against my
chest.  "Would you go out with me again?" I asked.

Eyes shining, she lifted up and kissed me, pressing hard against my
lips with hers.

"Yes, of course," she said happily.  She gave me one last quick kiss
before turning to the door.  "Thank you, Sean.  Thank you for
understanding.  Call me?"

"Maybe even tonight, when I get home," I threatened, even though we
both knew I wouldn't.  Her parents would never let her talk on the
telephone this late.

I don't think my feet touched the sidewalk at all as I strolled back
to Eric's car.

Over the course of the next week, I called her so we could chat in
the evening a couple of times, and she even managed to call me once,
a very short, whispered conversation.  I was impressed, since she
apparently managed to sneak that call in to me, a huge accomplishment
considering there were seven other family members in her house at the
time.

In the back seat of Eric's car the next weekend, we were snuggling
and sharing small kisses again.  This time, when I brushed against
her as I put my arm around her waist, she didn't flinch or look upset
at all.  In fact, she kissed me hard, and opened her mouth just a
little, allowing her tongue to slip out and brush lightly against my
lips.  Encouraged, I let the tip of my tongue touch hers, and the
contact was electric.  Her mouth opened a little more, her tongue got
a little more daring, and she was making small noises deep within her
as she felt her passions begin to escalate.  As we kissed, her body
turned slightly away from me.  My hand at her waist was moved from
her side to her tummy, over her sweater.

I was so involved in enjoying the new development of our new way of
kissing, that her body language didn't register with me at first.
Finally, one of those odd contact switches in my brain clicked, and
it occurred to me that this was her silent signal to me that it was
probably okay to take our physical relationship up another step.  I
slowly, cautiously allowed my hand to move up the outside of her
sweater, ready to call an instant retreat at the first sign of
discomfort.  I felt the nubby cotton of the knit of her sweater, and
then I could feel the harder edge of the bottom of her bra beneath.
Still no sign of hesitation came from her; in fact, her kissing got
hotter and wetter as my hand moved further up, finally cupping her
small breast through the layers of clothing.  I caressed and lightly
squeezed her, and then slid over to pay attention to her other
breast, treating it the same.  I could just feel her expanding nipple
under my palm as I pressed my hand against her, squeezing and rubbing
and stimulating.

Unfortunately, it was a short ride to her house, and we arrived way
too soon for my liking.  But arrive we did, so we scooted out of the
back seat and I walked her, as usual, to her door.

This time, her goodnight kiss held quite a bit of heat, no doubt
left over from our activities of a few moments before.

"You are a surprising young lady," I said as I held her there.

Again I thought I could detect a blush.  "I don't want you to think
I'm cold," she whispered.

"Hey, I've seen you dance.  You are anything but cold, sweetie."  I
kissed her again.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," she said.  "My momma taught me a
dance..."  She stopped talking abruptly, and this time I knew she was
blushing fiercely.  It made my blood race a little faster through me,
let me tell you.

"Will you dance it for me?" I asked teasingly.

"Oh, maybe some day," she replied coquettishly.  "If you're a very
good boy."  She pecked me on the lips and turned to the door.  "Good
night, mas querido.  Sleep well."

Sleep well, she said.  It would be a very long time before I could
get the image of Kristina Mendoza, her cinnamon skin naked and
glowing as she danced alone just for me, out of my mind enough to be
able to fall asleep.  By that time, my hand was sore, but
satisfaction was still a long, long way away.



(Continued in Chapter 30)
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