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.