LUSCIOUS GIRL DILEMMA

I knew that there was no way that Kristina’s parents would allow her to go to the block party with me, and I wouldn’t ask her to sneak around against her father’s wishes, so I decided to give Becky Steinman a call. After all, why should I be the only kid there without a girl to hang out with?

“Hi, Becky,” I said when she got on the phone. “It’s Sean.”

“Sean? Sean who?” she asked teasingly. “Not Sean Porter, is it? I thought he dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Nope,” I replied. “Just been busy, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she said. “And no telephones anywhere to be found, I suppose.”

“Hey, you could have called me, you know,” I said defensively.

“And what would you have thought of me if I had called? That’s not my style, to be so forward.”

“So,” I said, “let me get this straight. You’d rather do nothing than risk having someone think you are too forward?”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. “I guess it doesn’t make a lot of sense when you put it like that, does it?” she said. “Okay, next time I’ll call. Do you want me to sigh and swoon for your benefit, too?”

I laughed. “Sure,” I said. “You’d better practice first, though. I get the feeling you’re not very good at sighing and swooning.”

“I don’t have anything worth sighing and swooning over. Not yet, anyway,” she added coquettishly. “I’m afraid that, even with practice, I wouldn’t be very convincing in the swooning department.”

“I think you’re right, Becks. You’re just not the swooning type, I’m afraid.”

I told her about the block party on Saturday, and asked her if she would like to go there with me.

“Be still my heart,” she sighed. “I think I might swoon.”

It was almost too much to take, and we both started laughing.

The next day, I was working with Davey, Kip and Justin at the park. We did some passing warm-ups and some stretching, and then I took them over by the baseball fields. We jogged around to the outfield fence, a wire fence about five feet high.

“Okay, men, here’s the drill,” I instructed. I took them out so they were about 15 feet away. “I’m going to go to the other side of the fence, and I want you to kick the ball over the fence to me.”

“Why, Sean?” asked Kip.

“Because, stupid,” retorted his brother, “the fence is in the way. You can’t kick it to him without going over the fence.”

“Don’t call me stupid!” cried Kip.

“That’s right, don’t call him stupid,” I admonished Davey. “He’s asking a good question.”

“Okay, then, why?” asked Justin.

I lofted my ball over the fence, and then leapt up, grabbing the top bar, and hoisted myself over the top, dropping to the other side. I ran over to retrieve my ball, and tossed it back over the fence to the boys.

“I want you to learn how to pass the ball through the air, not just on the ground,” I said. “There will be times in a game when you might want to pass the ball over an opponent’s head, for instance.”

“Or hit him in the head!” laughed Davey.

“Nope,” I said. “Never deliberately kick the ball so that somebody nearby might get hurt, Davey. Okay?”

“I was just kidding, Sean,” said Davey, by way of apology.

“I know you were, buddy,” I said. “Anyway, can you think of any other reason why you might want to kick the ball into the air, instead of on the ground?”

“I know!” yelled Kip. “To kick it really far!”

“That’s right,” I said. “The ball goes further in the air than it does on the ground.”

We were at the limit of instruction by talking, so I got them going on booting the ball over the fence. The three boys started out just kicking at the ball, with no sense of where it was going, and only about half the time the ball made it over the fence.

“Okay, hold up a minute,” I said. I had three of the four balls on my side of the fence, so they couldn’t continue, anyway. “The object of the game is not only to get the ball over the fence, but to make it a pass to me. Everybody got it?”

“Okay!” “Yep-sirree!” “I got it, Sean.”

With a little more practice, and a little more concentration, they started being much more accurate about their drill. Most of the balls were making it over the fence, and quite a few were in my vicinity, as much or more than I could have hoped for on our first try at this drill.

After about 15 minutes of lofting the ball, I called a stop to it. I tossed the balls back over the fence to the boys, and hopped back over to their side. We started dribbling back over to our gear.

“There’s one more time when you might want to get the ball off the ground a little,” I said. “Anybody care to take a guess at when that might be?”

They thought about it for a few moments, and then Justin said, “When you’re shooting?”

“Right you are, buddy-boy,” I said. “The best places to shoot for when you’re attacking the goal are the four corners. Most keepers your age can’t defend a shot aimed at the high corners. If you can practice lofting the ball accurately, you’ll score more goals.”

“All right!” shouted Davey enthusiastically. “Score more goals!”

“But,” I admonished, “it has to be an accurate shot, otherwise it’s just another wasted opportunity, and you’ve ended up giving the ball back to your opponents.

“Okay, Sean,” said Davey.

I informed them that practice was just about over. “Okay, guys, I want two laps around the outside of the soccer field. First lap use just your right foot, second lap just your left foot. Ready? Go!” And off they went. I trailed behind them, also using only one foot to dribble the ball. If it was good enough of a drill for them, it was good enough for me. I never wanted to be the kind of coach who wouldn’t do the exercises that I assigned to my players.

As we were finishing up the last lap, I saw Wendy pull up to the curb and park her car. She walked over toward our gear as we jogged up to her, each of us dribbling the ball with just our left foot.

“Hi, Mom,” called out Justin.

“Hi, Champ,” said Wendy. “Davey and Kip, your mom asked if I could give you a ride home. Okay?”

“Sure, Mrs. Marcus.”

“If Mom says so, it’s okay with me, I guess,” said Kip.

“And you’re okay with that?” she asked, turning to me with a smile.

“Sure,” I replied. “I guess you and Lori know each other well enough, how could I object?” I rummaged around in my gear bag for a towel to wipe my face with.

Wendy sent the boys off to the car. She stepped up a little closer to me.

“Careful,” I said. “I’m pretty sweaty and smelly.”

“I like the smell of healthy sweat,” she said. There was a little trace of hunger in her voice. “It’s kind of sexy.”

“Sexy? I don’t think so,” I said nervously.

“Arthur’s working late tonight,” she said quietly. “Lori would be glad to keep the boys for dinner. I’d be home, all alone. I might enjoy some… company,” she continued.

“Uh,” I mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. “Look, Wendy, I…”

She glanced around quickly. There was nobody else nearby, and the boys were involved in choosing who got to ride in the front seat of the car, paying no attention to us at all. Wendy stepped up to me, her large breasts pressing lightly against my chest, and reached down and ran her hand smoothly up my thigh, letting her fingernails lightly scratch me under the leg of my shorts. I could feel my cock beginning to rise, and the recognition of that fact was clear in her eyes. I stepped hurriedly away from her, and crouched down by my gear bag, pretending to look for something that wasn’t going to be found there.

“Look, Wendy… it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer… or the attention, you understand… but I don’t think…”

“I’m not asking you to think, Sean.” There was an edge to her voice. I glanced up at her. She was standing there, hands balled into fists, fists perched on her hips, staring at me. “A simple yes or no will do. Do you want to fuck tonight, or not?”

Hearing her talk like that made up my mind for me.

“Nah,” I said. “I guess not.” I went back to packing my bag. She stood there a moment, no doubt shooting daggers at me, and then she turned and, without a word, strode back to her car.

On Saturday afternoon, Becky and I got to the field behind the Lehigh’s house fashionably late. The softball diamond had once again been set up, and a tee was standing in front of home plate. The little kids were playing tee-ball, encouraged by their parents. We walked over to the tub that contained the sodas in ice, and each grabbed something to drink. Most of the teenagers were sitting or lying down on the grass in the outfield, waiting for the tee-ball game to end. Jake waved to us as we wandered over toward them. Jaimie was also there, in the crowd and not too close to Jake, in deference to her parents, I was sure. I also saw Kayla, and the kid who I supposed was her boyfriend, a stick figure of a boy with spiky hair and acne on his chin. There were a few of Jake’s football friends there, some with girls I knew from school, and there was a whole gang of younger teens, apparently led by Jaimie’s younger sister Tara, who moved as a herd. I was surprised to see my younger brother Stephen among the group, following Tara around like a wounded puppy.

And it was no wonder he was panting after her. If I had been his age, I might have been on her scent, myself. For a girl who had just recently turned thirteen, Tara was acting and dressing way beyond her years. She had on denim cutoffs that were cut short, so that her ass cheeks were peeking out, making her slim legs look very long. She also wore a tube top that was tight enough to mash her small boobs together, giving her some cleavage showing from the strapless top. The clingy material molded itself to her, her nipples evident through the cloth. Her brown hair had grown out, and she had put some blonde streaks in it, but it was still an unruly mop, and she wore too much makeup. She looked hot and ready for action. I wondered at the disparity of Mr. and Mrs. Jacks allowing their younger daughter to run around looking like she did, while keeping such a tight rein on Jaimie. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me.

“Hey, Sean,” said Jake, by way of greeting. “Hey, Becky.”

“Hey yourself,” I answered. “When’s the softball game start?”

“Pretty soon,” he said. “Just waiting for the kids to finish their game. Dad’s cooking up hot dogs for them, so they’ll eat while we’re playing. Gonna be kind of an assembly line meal today, what with all the people here.”

And there were a lot of people in the back yards and in the field. It was a much bigger gathering than last year’s. It looked like it had expanded beyond the houses on this block. As I was looking around, I saw Mr. and Mrs. O’Toole come around the corner of a house. Heather and Josh were with them, and so was Josh’s girlfriend, Andrea. They spotted us immediately, and headed over toward our group. Becky walked over to meet them, and she, Heather, and Andrea went off to join another group of girls over closer to the woods.

“What’s up, Josh?” I asked.

“Nothin’ much,” he replied. “My parents wanted to make this some sort of family outing, but Molly took off this morning with that asshole Joey, and nobody knows where they are. Mom and Dad are really pissed off over her disappearing act.” He spotted Tara and her group as they sped by us. “Whoa, who’s that?” he asked, giving a low whistle.

“That’s Jaimie’s sister,” said Jake. “I think she’s a Molly-in- training.”

Josh whipped around to stare at Jake. I thought it was an unfortunate remark, too, and so, apparently, did Jake.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he offered by way of apology.

Josh just shook his head, as if he had gnats flying around his ears. “Aw, shit, that’s okay, Jake. I’m just a little uncomfortable knowing others are seeing the same thing in my sister that I’m seeing lately, that’s all. It’s not the kind of confirmation I was looking for, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m sorry my big mouth got going before my brain dropped into gear anyway,” said Jake.

The tee-ball game broke up, and the parents guided the younger kids toward the grill, where Mr. Lehigh and Mr. Jacks were busy setting up plates of hot dogs. Us older kids, along with some of the other parents, started extending out the bases, collecting bats, and discussing team rosters. The girls came over, and the team captains were chosen. In the interest of fairness, the husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends were going to play on the same teams as couples. Becky and I were on Jake’s team, and we walked out to center field to play the position together.

By about the third inning, most of the girls had gotten bored with the game, and they sauntered off the field to look for other amusements. The softball game got more serious, now that it was mostly the jocks and would-be jocks playing.

During the sixth inning, one of Jake’s friends from the football team stepped up to the plate. His name was Stanford Harrison, but everybody called him Tiny, because he was anything but. Tiny was about 6-5, and had to weigh over 300 pounds. He anchored our school’s front line, and was nearly impossible to move off his position by less than two opponents. All the outfielders moved way back when Tiny crowded over the plate, the softball bat looking very twig-like in his meaty hands. He swung at the first pitch, and there was a funny, soft sound as the ball ricocheted off the bat. The ball blooped over the shortstop’s head, and landed with a plop in short right field. As Tiny lumbered around the bases, the right fielder raced up to pick up the ball. He reached down, but what he picked up didn’t resemble a softball very much any more. Tiny had crushed the ball so hard the seams had split, and the stuffing was leaking out of the ball so badly, it couldn’t be thrown. Everybody gathered around to stare at the ball in amazement, and Tiny kept on running around the bases until he reached home plate. He wanted to make sure he got the home run before jogging out to see what everybody was looking at.

“Well,” said Josh, “I guess that’s the game.” He handed the ruined softball to Tiny. “Here you go, Tiny. Another trophy for your mantel.”

Tiny bowed low, as everybody broke out in applause at the feat they had witnessed.

Josh and I walked over to where Andrea and Becky were sitting, and the four of us headed over to fill our plates. We took our food and drinks over to one of the tables set up across the back yards.

By dusk, the smaller kids were running around, trying to catch fireflies, and Mrs. Lehigh was getting the supplies for the scavenger hunt ready. Floodlights came on in the backyards, illuminating the tables and patios, and leaving the field and woods behind seeming nearly impenetrable in the deeper shadows.

“Scavenger hunt time!” called out Mrs. Lehigh. She gathered all the participants around to explain the rules. “I have a list of items you must collect,” she said. “Everybody take one of these paper bags to hold your items. The Lehigh Drug logo on the bag will help identify you to the neighbors. No going beyond the neighborhood. There’s a map on the back of the items list showing the boundaries. Everybody has to go out with at least one other person, so nobody wanders around all alone. Does everybody understand?”

“How long do we have?” asked a voice from the back.

“One hour,” answered Mrs. Lehigh. “There will be prizes awarded, so do your best and hurry back. Any other questions? No? Okay, on your mark, get set, go!”

And the race was on, but I had other plans. I figured that I would probably find the front door of Jake’s house unlocked, so I took Becky’s hand and quietly told her to wait for a few minutes, until the teams had left the immediate area. She looked a little puzzled as I led her away from the lights in the back yards, and peeked around the corner of the house. It looked to be all clear. I could see a few kids a few houses away, running down the sidewalk, but they were moving away from us. I pulled her around the corner.

“What are we doing, Sean?” she whispered.

“Ducking out of the scavenger hunt,” I replied quietly. I led her up the stoop to Jake’s front door. Sure enough, it was unlocked. There was light spilling from the kitchen, but the front of the house was dark. Putting a finger to my lips to indicate we needed to be silent, we tiptoed through the house to the basement door. We slipped down the stairs. Becky was moving hesitantly behind me, unsure about the steps, but I had been here hundreds of times, and knew the basement almost like I knew my own. I guided her confidently across the room to the corner furthest from the stairs, and we slid down the wall to the floor, sitting next to each other. Faintly, somewhere in the basement, I heard a faint ticking, but I couldn’t identify what it was, or even where it was coming from. I ignored it. Probably the furnace, or something, I thought. It was pitch dark, Becky’s presence felt through warmth, rather than sight.

“What…” she whispered. She wasn’t able to finish her sentence, because I put my arm around her shoulder, and pulled her over and kissed her. As our lips pressed together for our first kiss, she squealed in surprise into my mouth, but then relaxed and kissed me back with enthusiasm. We stayed just like that for a few moments, our lips moving slightly against each other, getting accustomed to each other’s ways. I felt her lips parting slightly, a clue that she was enjoying it, so I brushed my tongue very softly around her lips, letting just the tip gently caress her. She moaned, and her tongue darted out to meet mine, hesitant at first, but getting a little bolder as she welcomed the contact. She broke the kiss so she could plant little kisses around my mouth, her hand slipping up to grasp me around my neck to hold me close to her. We heated up, our lips finding each other again, and our mouths opened wider, and the kiss got hotter and wetter. As our tongues writhed together, she pressed herself closer to me, bending her knee and resting her leg on top of mine as we sat there, and twisting her body for more contact. With one arm around her shoulder, my other arm slipped around her waist, and she put her hand on my shoulder, pulling me around toward her.

We stayed like that for a long time, letting our mouths and tongues learn of each other, kissing actively and holding each other fairly passively. I felt her upper body twist just a little, and my hand on her waist slid to her tummy. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt with lace at the hem, and I could feel the filigree of the lace against my palm. She began rubbing my upper arm, up and down, elbow to shoulder, as we kissed and sucked on each other’s tongues. I was breathing heavily, and Becky would occasionally whimper or moan, especially if I unexpectedly thrust my tongue deeply into her mouth for a moment. Before long, she was rhythmically rubbing my arm from my shoulder down my forearm, and back again, sometimes in concert with the jabbing of her tongue against my mouth as we kissed.

I must have been dense in picking up on her signals, because, finally, she ran her hand down my arm, grasped my wrist, and slowly pulled my hand up from her stomach to her covered breast. She held my hand there, pressing it against her, and moaned into my mouth, her desire evident.

I had learned from my past mistakes. I accepted her cue, and let my hand squeeze her breast, feeling the spongy firmness through the layers of cloth, detecting the nipple as it filled and expanded with my manipulation. She continued to press my hand against her, wanting firmer contact.

My own desire was painfully evident, standing up there in my shorts, as I explored the shape of her breast through her clothes. I could feel her nipple hardening as I kneaded her flesh, pressing through the layers of her clothes and announcing itself against the palm of my hand. I slipped over to her other breast, squeezing and pinching that distended nipple, as she passively allowed her hand to rest on my flexing wrist. I reveled in the shape of her, the way her body sloped from her chest to the swells of her breast. I hefted the small weight of each breast, nesting them in the palm of my hand. Even through her shirt and her bra, it was an extremely erotic moment.

I tried brushing my hand back down to the lacy hem, so I could feel the soft skin of her middle and get closer to her, but she pulled my wrist back up to her boob, wanting nothing more than the contact we had already established, so I continued to manipulate the soft flesh of her breast, capped by the rubbery hard point of her distended nipple, through her clothes, happy for even that much liberty.

Becky still had her hand on my wrist, in a tacit approval of my actions, as I fondled her boobs over her shirt. Our kiss was now very hot and wet, no subtlety at all in the movement of our tongues in each other’s mouth. Even with all these sensory pleasures, though, I could still detect, just at the periphery of my hearing, that annoying ticking sound.

Becky was sliding down the wall, and I was laying over her, still pressing my mouth over hers, tongues dancing, and still clutching her boob through her clothes, when, jarringly, a high-pitched chime rang three times. It broke our concentration, and we both sat up quickly. It took a moment for the sound to register, and by the time I recognized it as one of those wind-up kitchen timers, I could hear other rustlings and sounds of movement from two other directions in the dark basement.

A light clicked on, over by the stairwell. It was indirect enough to cast only a dim light around the room, but compared to the total darkness it was banishing, it seemed harsh. I glanced over toward the light, and saw Kayla there, her long white-blonde hair tousled, holding her boyfriend’s hand as they moved quietly toward the stairs, apparently unaware that Becky and I were in the far corner. As I heard them go up the stairs, I saw Jake’s head peek up from behind the couch. He jerked in surprise when he saw us sitting on the floor, looking at him. He shrugged sheepishly, and stood up. His shirt was off, and his cutoffs were unbuttoned. He reached down, and helped his companion to stand up. Jaimie was trying to straighten out her tee shirt and refasten her bra strap as she struggled to stand.

“How long have you guys been down here?” asked Jake. “I didn’t even hear you come down the stairs.”

I chuckled. “I think you were probably a little busy, and not paying any attention to us,” I said.

Even in the dim light, I could tell Jaimie was blushing a bright red.

“Ah, hell,” said Jake. “We’re all friends here, anyway, right?”

Becky and I stood up. Fortunately, considering the circumstances, we didn’t have a lot of clothing to readjust, having a much milder make-out session than Jake and Jaimie had.

“Yup,” I agreed. “Nothing but pals here in this room.”

“Who set the timer?” Becky asked.

“I saw Kayla come down here with it earlier this afternoon,” replied Jake. “I kind of figured what it might be for, so I made sure we were down here and behind the couch before she and her boyfriend got down here.”

“We’d better get back out to the party,” said Jaimie. “We don’t want them missing us, and wondering where we’ve been.”

“You’re right, sweetie,” agreed Jake. “Besides,” he continued with a smile, “we’ve scavenged all we could for tonight, anyway, haven’t we?”

Jaimie hit him hard on the arm as Becky and I laughed.

As Becky and I headed up the stairs, hand in hand behind Jake and Jaimie, some troubling thoughts were starting to rumble around in my otherwise empty head. I really liked Becky, and obviously she liked me. But I was still powerfully attracted to Kristina.

Just because it’s a luscious girl dilemma, doesn’t mean it’s any easier to solve.