Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
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Playing To Win: Playing The Game IIChapter 37: Her Two Best Friends free porn video
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 anybody's 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 three-hour practice scheduled for Friday, and a marathon five-hour block scheduled for Saturday, beginning at nine 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 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. 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's right, both Jorge and Jimmy are 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. We also got to practice on the main field, a rare occurrence. There were more than one hundred 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 ten o'clock, as the coaches were setting us up for three-on- three 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 thirty years old, 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 do I care about what they're 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 one o'clock.
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 fifteen teammates had been, just a few minutes before.
About ninety 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 florist's shop in a strip shopping center not too far from school, so I turned in that direction. 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. She smiled and opened the door for me.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking as happy as I felt.
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. 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. I 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. Her lips found my nipples and began teasing them, licking and biting them, teasing me just like I loved to tease her.
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