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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: soccer.txt (Mf, inc)
Authors name: Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
Story title : Soccer Boundaries
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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2004. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Soccer Boundaries
by Holly Rennick (jlrennick@yahoo.com)
***
Widen the field, and what happens to the scoring? (Mf,
inc)
***
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Perusing the Internet, I noted a
submission, "Soccer Mom". (OK, "football" to you non-
Americans, but you might not appreciate the phenomenon
of Saturday kids' sports.
Dad: "Come on, son. Run, goddamnit, run!"
Mom: "I brought them orange slices for halftime. Plus
some napkins."
Only later did it pop into my lagging wit how evocative
was the title. But I didn't go in search of the
original. Had I done so, wherever I might have marched
would already be charted. And I think it rather rude
("unprofessional", I'd rather say, but I don't get
paid) to hijack a title. So how about "Soccer Dad" to
expand the perspective? Not about the jerk who wants to
boss his kid's weekends, but about one I'd like as an
assistant if I knew how to be a coach.
But then I went with "Soccer Boundaries".
COACHING
As it was Barb's job, the girls called her "Coach".
Carl was her assistant and the girls called him "Carl".
Barb knew soccer, knew how to make the kids work their
butts off and love it. Barb knew how to drop a corner
kick five feet from the net. Carl wasn't especially
athletic, but was happy to trot around, the encourager.
"Nice pass, Heather. Watch the out-of-bounds, though."
On the field, Barb was "Coach" to Carl as well. "You
bet, Coach," he'd confirm as he drilled his group on
crossovers. "Not until you see the ball in the air!"
said with certainty. He hoped the girls thought he'd
known that himself. Barb, ponytail pushed out the back
of her bill cap, gave him a thumbs-up.
Basically, Carl loved being out there with the kids,
cheering them on, talking about tournaments as if they
were so important. Win or loose, the girls were
learning about working hard, thinking ahead, seeing
themselves as winners. In three or four more years
they'd be college-bound, probably none to compete
intercollegiatally, but with what they'd learned at 14
as tools toward the arts, engineering, medicine,
wherever they aimed.
Schedule-wise, Carl made it fit. Two late-afternoon
practices a week plus Saturdays plus Sundays when they
did tournaments just meant balancing his projects.
His daughter Kathy and Barb's Andrea were best friends,
but also happened to be the team's scoring machine.
Kathy could pass and Andrea had the footwork of a
coach's progeny. Long pass, fake, goal! But as much as
coach and assistant wanted the points, they also
ensured everybody's playing time. Sometimes a girl
who'd never scored got her skills together and dribbled
one right in.
Barb and Carl plus a clutch of eighth and ninth graders
together made for good soccer.
Carl might have phrased it in light of helping the
girls, or maybe even staying in shape himself, but the
fact was that he truly enjoyed working with ("for,"
he'd concede with a grin) Barb. They knew each other
well. Did they not know each other so well, he
realized, they might come to know each other too well,
the "so" vs. "too" distinction being significant.
The elements were obviously there for boundary
crossings. Divorced female. Divorced male. Excitement
of the game. A hug. Needing to talk. Forget a playing
field's sidelines and the game ends up behind the
bleachers.
The elements were there for boundary crossings except
for two who didn't want to ruin their friendship. Barb
knew all about crossing lines. Her divorce, she said,
was because, treated casually, such lines fade. "Don't
let that shit happen," as she bluntly put it, "without
thinking way ahead."
Probably some folks thought that the two did have a
thing going. What's to stop two adults? They don't go
to church or anything. So what? But folks who presume
it tend to be the same ones screwing up their own
lives. Coach and Assistant Coach knew that boundaries
have reasons.
But Barb also knew the frivolity of a boundary. A
little raunchiness, never intense, never perpetuated,
works well if both sides know the rules. Familiarity,
sure, but in-bounds familiarity.
Carl, in turn, knew that their companionship worked
because he was careful. For tournaments requiring
overnight stay, for example, he'd have his own room and
Barb would end up with however many of the team could
pack into hers. Hotels never cared about their extra
sleeping bags, as any number of girls causes less wear
and tear than just two from a boys' team. But parents
don't want their girls rooming with a male, even a
trustworthy one.
Once after dinner (Sizzler, the girls had voted), Barb
had brought her paperback to Carl's room to escape the
hyper-teenage cluster. When she dozed off on the other
bed, he'd fetched some of the team to wake her, not
wanting to be in the position of being alone with her
sleeping. Stupid? Uptight? Not one bit! That's why it
worked.
Carl could have crowded against Barb in the huddle, but
he'd scrunch the other way. They might crawl over each
other a bit when cramming gear into her van, sure, and
she'd not act violated. It wasn't that he didn't like
the push of a breast across his arm. But deliberate
brushing, he realized, could become a habit. For a male
coach in a girls' league, that sort of thing is
noticed.
Barb had even once said, "There's no reason mine need
the damn thing, but a guy's eyes never stop wandering,"
going back to her van to slip on her sports bra under
her Hawkeye sweatshirt. It had been his eyes, he knew,
though he'd tried to avert them. She'd seemed even a
little amused, as if, "What say I go topless, good
buddy, because they're not much and then we'll work the
girls on zone defence?" She had that sort of ease about
her. We're sexual, sure, but not going to let it
overwhelm camaraderie. We're a team that's out to have
fun playing soccer.
Carl figured himself to be smart enough to avoid the
obvious pitfalls. The sex he needed he got with his old
right hand, he told himself. Not that often, but
enough. Wendy, his ex, implied he was a wimp for not
jumping up to fuck every time she felt a little bored.
She knew how to get better sex elsewhere and to hell
with him!
But Barb knew Carl maybe better than Wendy had. "You're
not gay. Shit, you and Wendy made a baby. We could
compare notes, maybe," making him blush. "You're plenty
curious about my underwear, right? Ohmigod, did I
forget mine?" feigning horror, laughing and adding,
"You get burned; you back off. Makes sense to me. Hang
in there, buddy."
The girls had given Coach the Iowa Hawkeye shirt,
despite her protest that she was an Iowa Stater, a
Cyclone. It was because she never missed seeing
anything. Carl agreed.
Carl and Barb shared the tribulations of raising
strong-willed girls, PTA, Bluebirds, science fairs,
orchestra concerts with no two violins tuned quite the
same. Soccer was the girls' passion now, but as
parents, they'd probably be comparing notes on dating
rules in a year or two.
"You know why things work between us?" Barb asked one
day.
"Respect, an exaggerated sense of what's ridiculous,
understanding of goalkeeping, lots of things, right?"
Carl actually did think he understood about what a
goalie should do -- charge against a one-on-one
breakthrough, etc.
"Sure, but why do things stay solid?" she followed.
"Why?"
"Boundaries. We know ours."
Carl thought. "Yeah, I guess we do." He knew good and
well to what she referred. He'd felt her breast when
they were loading the van.
"We do," she laughed the laugh he loved. "But shit, you
know what? You're so rulebook that you think mine is up
here," drawing a line at her forehead. "But maybe it's
here and you never figured it out," she flustered, not
a Barb sort of thing to do, and moved the line to her
neck.
"For some lucky guy, maybe."
"But just so you know, I know that you know that I'm a
girl." She wrinkled her brow. "Too many 'knows',
maybe?"
Barb picked up the ball bag, "So here's a question for
a math-boy."
"Fire away."
"Say this field is 50 by 100 yards. So if the area
remains the same and we move the touch lines to 60,
what happens to the distance between the goal lines?"
To Carl, they were the "sidelines" she was widening,
but Barb knew the correct terminology.
"They get closer, but I'd need a calculator."
"Smart boy! And why'd there be more scoring?"
Carl envisioned X's and O's on a clipboard. "Because
the defence gets spread, I'd think."
"Two out of two! So in addition to athletics, in what
social activity is the objective also 'to score'."
Barb's grin tipped off Carl that he was being set up.
He laughed when he caught the gist. "You're terrible,
especially for a woman."
"It helps to widen the boundaries," Barb answered
herself. "To score more, I mean. Now why's that
terrible, us talking about soccer, Mr. Assistant?"
Carl could never josh around like that with another
woman.
THE PILL
It was later in the season. "Carl?"
He knew from Barb's voice that something weighed on her
mind. Had he gazed too closely at one of the girls? He
supposed he did some times, but Barb wouldn't put him
down for noticing, would she? She knew that he'd not go
anywhere.
Shoot, when he and Barb joked about a player "growing
up", it was usually in the context of physical
attributes. "Better get that one a bigger jersey," for
one filling out her figure. Or perhaps, "Better size
than one down," for a yet flat-chested one with top
loose enough to see soccer shoes from her neckline.
Barb knew he noticed. She'd even share tidbits gleaned
from Andrea, information to which coaches should be
sensitive. Lana, a halfback, they knew had "gone too
far" and was moody for weeks. "This isn't the time to
rag a girl about teamwork. She's thinking a bit closer
to home, for God's sakes. Scared she'll miss her
period." Carl better know what makes a girl tick, or in
this case, what might make Lana's ticking a bit more
complex.
Barb continued about her concern. "Kathy's your
daughter, not mine, and you're a good dad to her."
Carl looked at his friend. Did Barb read his thoughts
about even his own kid? Not thoughts, even, just
noticing. "It's nothing," he denied, thus admitting.
"It may be whatever," she countered, "but it's not
nothing," busying herself gathering the practice
jerseys, obviously not wanting to enumerate.
Barb waited till the two were walking to the parking
lot. "We notice them all, both of us. You're not some
sort of weirdo."
"I hope not," he agreed.
"She's not either."
Carl found this an odd twist. Kathy? But before he
could sort it out, Barb continued, "Sometimes you find
out something second-hand."
"Most everything I ever find out, actually," he agreed.
"Well, here's something that I think you better know...
Kathy wants to get on the pill."
"The pill?"
"You know what I mean. She doesn't want to get knocked
up."
"But she's just... How do you know?" realizing that the
"just 14" wasn't an argument.
"Andrea told me."
"Andrea?"
"My kid's sexually active, Carl." Barb's voice was
flat, almost masked. "We can't just ignore it, assume
it makes them all grown up."
Carl put his hand on Barb's.
She looked down, "All you can warn is don't fuck
somebody who doesn't respect you. Don't catch
something. Don't get pregnant. The guys can get
rubbers, but even still I told Andrea to get on the
pill. Sooner or later he forgets or it comes off or
some shit. If she's old enough, she better be old
enough to take care of things."
"Jesus," was all Carl could muster.
"Probably half the team gets stuff from that health
office. But if we marched in and raise hell, we'd just
deny them getting medical advice."
"With who? Kathy, I mean... I guess I don't have to
know, but she's my kid!"
"With nobody yet, but she's decided to."
Carl saw some light. "I'll talk her out of it. You can
help, I mean."
"Carl, now listen. Every one of them is going to start
some time or another. You don't talk these girls out of
something they know is going to happen. It never works.
It's about not rushing. You listen and try to hear."
"Hear what? That she wants to screw?" Carl was
frustrated.
"But here's where it's harder to explain," not
bothering to affirm his query. "I suppose you'll figure
out why it's me saying this sooner or later, but that's
not the point. She wants to have sex because that's
what girls do. That much makes sense?"
"Sure."
"And she wants to have it with somebody who loves her.
Is this weird?"
"No."
"OK, then." Barb swallowed and looked fully at Carl.
"She said she's going to sleep with her dad if he'll do
it."
Carl sat stunned. With him? Sure they loved each other.
Sure he found her attractive; how could he not? Sure
she'd probably idolized him at some time. But sexually?
Him? His daughter? He felt pale. Where had he failed?
"It's not that weird, Carl, for a girl to want that.
Shit, it's common as hell. Maybe usually nothing comes
of it; some puke-face boyfriend bangs her and she
halfway forgets. But sometimes, especially for a girl
who goes for what she wants, it happens. She sleeps
with dad a few times. That simple. Just a few times.
They keep loving each other."
"But Barb, she's just a kid. You know I'd..."
"I don't know crap sometimes about anybody. And
sometimes maybe you don't know squat about yourself."
"But even still..."
"So here's what I say. Take it for what it's worth."
Carl listened for the escape plan. Barb would know.
"The pill takes three or four weeks to get things
stable. She's got that much time to think." Barb
weighed her advice and frowned. "Like it's this big
thoughtful thing! Shit! So you've got a little time,
anyway. Pay attention to her. Getting ready is a tough
time for a girl, not like you zipper brains." She
smiled. "Be a real dad, OK?"
"OK." But that wasn't telling him where to go, he
realized.
Barb continued, "It's her thing to figure out what she
wants; it has to be. Maybe she says yes and you say no
and you deal with that." She smiled. "You know how to
say no. You're no zipper brain. No sirree."
Carl interrupted. "I've got to wait to say that?"
"We don't always know what we'll say."
"It won't happen."
"So don't spook her, then," Barb was emphatic. Letting
that much sink in, she seemed to back up. "She'll want
you to be the boss, the dad. Just don't. You'll hurt
her down there because you don't know."
"Just don't. That's what I just said."
"No, stupid! Don't be the boss. Let her move the
boundary at her own pace. She's not used to it, the
physical part... Fucking is serious shit."
"You're telling me?"
"You know how much I trust you? Enough to tell you
about having sex with your daughter, forgodsakes!"
Barb was saying that it would happen! Maybe in three or
four weeks!
No it won't.
PONDERINGS
Driving home, Carl was torn between shock and
confusion. Kathy? Sex? There was no pretending that
Barb had inferred otherwise. Barb would have held back
on thoughts not fairly nailed down. She wouldn't have
flown off projecting teenage fantasies. She'd talked
with Andrea and Kathy wouldn't lie to her best friend.
Barb had spoken with knowledge that such things occur.
Why shoot the messenger?
Fathers can't think this stuff about their kid, can
they? It's not natural. Well, maybe it's biologically
natural, but it's not supposed to happen. It's not
right! Everybody knows that. It's plain wrong to have
sex together. Sex is something...
Nothing would happen because Carl knew it wasn't right.
It's just so complicated. Sex is something...
Sure, Kathy might feel ready to become a woman (a
shallow view of it, anyway, he recognized, but she's
just 14), but why wouldn't it happen wrestling with
some 16-year-old boy with a driver's license? He
answered that one before he'd finished the question.
The kid believes in herself, in a future. She'd look at
the relationship. She probably already saw beyond what
a 16-year-old could return. Sure, he knew, she'd sooner
or later digress to a back-seat mentality, but maybe
she wasn't out to hurry it.
So what would she see in him? Well, a dad she could
trust. She'd probably picked up that she could flirt
with him, could get his attention. She'd noticed his
glance when she'd fly by in a towel. She knew he'd
smile after planting her good morning kiss. Sure, he
admitted, she saw someone who in turn saw her as a
young woman.
Was he handsome to her? Surely not, as she saw too much
of him. But then, how would handsome even fit into her
equation? He was safe.
At dinner that night, she was exactly the same. No
fluttery eyes or comments about being scared of the
dark. Conversation revolved around the school chorus.
She wanted out. Fair enough, he realized; she was
making more of her own decisions.
But looking at Kathy eating peas and chatting about
tryouts for Junior Rally next year, he saw things he'd
never noticed before -- the vibrancy, the sweetest
smile, the fuller face, the necklace. Shoot, he
admitted, he saw somebody whom in his own school days
he'd have wanted to know better.
When she took a second helping of fried onions, he saw
the cup of her bra. He'd seen his daughter's bra
probably that morning, but hadn't really seen it. It
was nothing of consequence. Now it was very much
pictured, a very pretty bra.
No, he told himself, it didn't give him an erotic
feeling. Her breast was just pretty, was all. He was
her dad, like Barb had said. He looked again; it looked
rounder, fuller than it once did. If he brushed against
her while clearing the table, it would be soft.
It was soft.
And this was just the first evening.
The four weeks rollercoastered, Kathy everyday giving
more signals. He'd tried not to see, but there they
were! Not that he'd not noticed Kathy's emergence
before, but her sexuality was now so apparent. Not only
her femininity, he realized, but her playful openness
with it for him.
At least he had a friend to help him deal with it. Talk
a little and it's easier to get perspective. If only
Barb could tell him how to stop it, but Barb stood
firm, "Let her think for herself. Butt into her world,
tell her what not to think, spook her and you know the
rest -- some pimple-face with a blister on his dick!
Save your venting for me, buddy. I've got the time and,
what matters, I care."
*** "She's kissing me different at breakfast. I can
feel it. You know it's not going to happen, Barb. You
know that!"
"Tongue? Hardly, right?" Barb answering herself as she
was prone to do. "Maybe she's just getting bigger lips
or something. Kids get bigger by the week sometimes.
Kiss her back like a dad should. Brush your teeth
first, though."
*** "She leaves her panties on the top of the laundry
pile!" He didn't add about noticing which color she'd
chosen when revealing above the back of her belt. Today
they were her pale blue ones. She was reaching for the
grapefruit juice when he saw.
"So just dump the laundry in the machine. If you know
how to tell, though, her panties might tell where she
is with her pills."
How would you tell, wondered Carl, but he didn't ask.
He couldn't see anything different.
*** "She doesn't even tighten up her bra half the
time."
Barb gave him her withering look. "So you say, 'Here
girlie, let me fiddle around with your strap?' God no!
Just don't get your nose stuck down there."
*** "Maybe I just don't know how to show her I love
her. She wouldn't want the sex to prove it.""
"What I know is that you're the dad that Kathy needs."
*** Once when Kathy pretended to steal his cap after
practice, he'd grabbed her, getting maybe goosed in
return. It was surely just an accident, an elbow maybe.
But that kid's so clever. He'd felt her breast with his
forearm, accidentally slid over it and them back down,
but he didn't tell Barb that part.
"You weren't hard or anything, right?" in Barb's
unabashed mode, as if they'd talked about erections
before. Of course not. "But afterwards?" she'd
continued. Well, not especially, at first anyway. "It'd
be normal as hell," she'd concluded, but then added,
"Plus getting that way remembering about it," but not
pursuing it.
*** When Carl had jogged around too much on the
sidelines (the girls ran 20 times more without such
wear), Kathy would rub his neck before dinner. She knew
he liked it enough that sometimes she wouldn't make him
even fib about having muscle cramps. Her fingers could
relax tendons several layers in. Is this OK?
"Your neck?" Barb twisted at it as a trainer might.
"I'd think so. Think she's planning on going lower?
Once those fingers get to walking, you're asking me for
the map?"
She laughed, "Tell you what though, if Kathy starts
getting fresh, you just come to me and I'll whack you
for a while."
*** A breast sometimes showed when Kathy wore pyjamas.
Hers were a young women's areole, not widened like
Wendy's had become by motherhood. Larger diameter for a
baby's target, Carl expected, would be the Darwinian
explanation. He tried to think of the scientific part.
Barb said that Kathy's boobs were totally normal, that
this was the age when the nipples started to pop out
more. He'd noticed that too.
*** Showering made Kathy's teasing pretty obvious.
She'd leave the door unlocked, suggesting "Sometimes
somebody has to pee." He'd of course never gone in, but
knew that the sliding shower wall wouldn't obscure
much.
When he at last succumbed, "Dad, is that you?" she'd
asked from behind the glass. "It's OK. It's foggy,"
she'd assured.
He'd almost backed out, but instead chimed, "Just need
to brush my teeth." He'd not planned to linger, though
he'd thought enough about the dilemma of Kathy asking
him to do her shoulders. She didn't, fortunately.
Though she was standing away from the partition, he
could discern the flesh tones of her figure. It was too
foggy to really see, but between her legs was dark.
"Shut the door, Dad. It lets in the cold." He'd exited
panicked.
When he admitted the encounter to Barb, she was
adamant. "Keep your slimy ass out of that bathroom.
She's not safe yet."
*** Sometimes father and daughter would watch TV --
"Mash", sometimes a movie. If the movie had an actor
servicing a bare-breasted actress (thus why the
subscription channels made money, Carl guessed), Kathy
wouldn't pretend not to watch while Carl pretended to
doze off. It wasn't porn because maybe the plot was
about a writer's life, just a life that included
breathy fornication. He'd listen to the sounds, knowing
that she saw the pictured.
"Could you see their organs?" Barb asked, as if the
actors played for a church service. No. Being Mr.
Censor would just tell Kathy to watch X-rated ones at
her friends', Barb agreed. Let the kid be honest about
her curiosity.
*** "Barb, this is sort of strange, but, you know, it's
just Kathy and me in our house. I could just be in her
room or something. Or she could come into mine. If
something like that happened and her pill's not working
yet..."
"So don't go in there to check on her window, or
whatever," Barb thought obvious. "Don't tell her
there's someplace more comfortable when she rubs your
neck. You got a sofa."
*** Watching TV together posed Carl a less-passive
challenge. Sometimes Kathy would drift off, and some of
those times she'd be almost against him.
"Like that time at the hotel, Carl," Barb remembered,
"when you got the girls to wake me up. Maybe I ribbed
you a little about not ravishing me, but honestly,
you're a real gentleman. So be that way with Kathy,
OK?"
He pointed out that there weren't teammates to call
upon.
"Carl, did you touch her?" Just where his hand was on
her side. "That's all?" Well, maybe a little more. "Did
you reach in, maybe?" No, he was adamant. He didn't add
how his hand had slid up her sleeve from where it would
have been so easy to slip inside to her collarbone. But
he'd not. He wasn't sure how it would have been, had
she been in a shirt with buttons. He'd imagined one or
two coming undone.
"Shit fire!" Barb started when she read Carl's mind.
"She could have woken up! Like she's wondering about
sex and she wakes up with dad squeezing her tit!
Goddamnit, Carl, you want me to run on you? Then keep
your act together! Don't spook her! You could go to
jail and get your butt fucked!"
Barb was shook, he could tell. She'd all but told him
she knew he'd end up doing it, and here she finds out
how nearly right she was. She's surprised? It seemed
strange to Carl, but not high on his "to solve" list.
But Barb was there for more than guidance about not
being seduced.
When Carl felt totally confused was when Barb did her
best coaching. It was usually pretty simple. "Women get
frustrated. Men get frustrated. Same thing. We deal
with it. We got to clear our systems. Shit, if the two
of us decided to be lovers, that's what we'd do. But we
got the boundaries we agreed on. So do you and Kathy.
She's not ready yet, the pill bit. You still deal with
it, but maybe more on your own. Shit, it's how we're
wired. You don't tell me crap, OK, but just blink your
eye or something so I'll know."
The two managed a smile. Barb added, "You won't go
blind or anything."
PLAYOFF
"Carl, we got to talk." Coach and Assistant Coach were
on the sidelines, watching the girls jog their final
lap. They'd practiced well.
This was playoff time, Carl knew, the real one. Barb
wouldn't "got to talk" about a soccer game. Kathy was
ready to go through with it, her choice only too
obvious. But himself? It wasn't about being able or
wanting to. God, did he want to! He'd gone to sleep too
many nights picturing Kathy. She'd pull him to her on
the sofa. She'd strip. Naked, she'd crawl upon his lap,
facing, her breasts pressing, virginity yielding,
closing around him. She'd be in charge, like Barb had
said. When at last his seed satisfied her, they'd kiss.
Carl would drift off in the fullness of it. Having done
a good job. Her being so happy!
But still he wanted Barb to steady his resolve. To give
him the assurance that he'll do OK, be a loving dad. To
tell him again that it's for Kathy. Barb knows.
"I'm ready," he agreed. "I love the kid, but I needed
these weeks to get here, too. Like you said, I'll let
her set our pace. Maybe we just start out cuddling.""
Barb spoke slowly. "Carl, it's like the grass is
listening. Can we go someplace?" turning to at a bench
some yards behind.
"Yeah. Not on the field." The two waved the off team
and sat down. "It's time, right? She told Andrea it's
time."
"No, Carl. She's not."
"Not?"
"She stopped the pill and isn't going sleep with you."
"She isn't?" Carl felt the emptiness before he could
deny it. She didn't want to?
Barb took his hand to warm it. "She knows she's too
young."
"She's almost 15. Lots of countries, that's when they
get married!"
"Well, she's not there, I guess." Barb rubbed the back
of his knuckles. "You're OK?"
"I guess," a mumble.
"You guess. Carl, damn it, you guess? Look at me!
You're goddamn ready to cry!"
"No, I'm not."
"Well, be a dumbass then and act like a statue. You
want Kathy to take you down on your damn sofa! You
think I've been nowhere?"
"I don't know... It's just that she's so ready."
"Like you aren't?" as if to wake him. "Like who's
seducing who?"
"Does she love me still?"
"Shit yes. She's just not ready. Maybe she should wait
for somebody her own age," Barb suggested. "Sex not
working out; it's regular shit, Carl."
"Oh, God, Barb. It has been working out, Kathy and me,
you know, together."
"Oh, hell," he heard her groan. But she didn't let go
of his hand.
A minute ago he'd been building a life around Kathy.
Maybe it would look odd, father and daughter living
together, but people would get used to it. They'd have
their two rooms. Maybe they could have a baby and say
she adopted it or something. Consummation would lead to
everything.
Now nothing. When he'd divorced, he'd at least had a
little girl to plan for. Now what? A teenager who gives
him a fly-by kiss and runs off to rally practice.
"Like it's lonely all of a sudden?" Barb interrupted
his thoughts. " But Carl, it's not over if a friend is
still there."
He looked more closely at his companion. She was close.
"That's you. You've been with me," he realized.
Somehow, she looked like Kathy, even.
"Kathy's the one who did the work, who you almost made
love to. You need to make love, Carl, a lover, over and
over. You do. I'm not Kathy, but I'm me."
"You're you."
A kiss was how they sealed it.
Barb looked up, then behind, "Look back there, Carl.
See that basketball hoop? He looked. "You know, Carl,
my dad was my basketball coach." She thought a moment.
"And Ms. Griffin, we called her Claire, was his
assistant. So it was different than now, but it was the
same.
"And I loved my dad. Always have. Maybe it was a dumb
decision, but maybe it wasn't. Anyway, it was my
choice. Shit, after that I fucked my way out of every
boundary there ever was, but at least I figured it out.
"And hell yes, Dad and Claire got to be lovers. It must
have been at a barbecue or something where I saw them
wander toward the garage and I knew sure as shit. There
they were, holding hands, just like us. I skedaddled,
already knew the rest. Claire's my step-mom now,"
brightening at the outcome.
"Any way, like I said," Barb returned to the more
personal, "I fucked things up for myself, hadn't
figured out about limits. We always have them." She
raised his hand and got him to see her eyes. "But a few
yards wider, maybe?"
Carl reflected. "How would I know?"
"I'm not your coach, just maybe a partner."
Carl nodded, paused and squeezed her hand. "Why me?"
"Because we've been teammates for a hell of a long
time, good teammates." He'd always loved they way she
laughed, didn't expect more of him than he could do,
but asked maybe more than he sometimes evidenced.
"But," almost forgetting about Kathy, "you've never
seen me play."
"So we just do a try-out," resting her hand behind his
elbow and looking around. "Maybe not here, though."
Without allowing himself a chance to doubt his
instincts, "One-on-one?" his decision.
Barb reached behind him, as if for some unseen object,
and Carl stilled as her breast drug across his arm.
"Shit! We had that damn boundary somewhere, but it just
got away. I guess it will turn up, you think?" she'd
explained, not needing an answer.
SEASON'S END
Barb told the team that this would be her last year.
They'd been an inspiration, given her confidence in
herself. Some of them would keep playing, she hoped,
but what she really knew was that they'd all do
positive things. Some might move up and some would find
new options to check out. "Heck, girls. I went to
basketball after mean coaches yelling for years to keep
my hands off the ball." They'd laughed. Carl was always
amazed how she'd say "heck" to them when she meant
"shit".
She'd admitted to Carl afterwards, "Coaching's no snap.
How a season turns out is sometimes more about what you
tell them than it is about moving the ball. You tell
them what they need to hear to be winners. But
sometimes you don't tell them all the same stuff."
Why Kathy had backed so suddenly away from sex with
him, Carl never figured out. Teenagers can just change
directions so fast. It was almost as if she'd never
been on the pill. He took Barb's advice, of course --
Don't ask, not with your kid, anyway. It made things
easier, just acting like nothing ever occurred, he'd
admit to Barb's smile.
If Barb hadn't been there to hold him together when
Kathy backed away, what would he have done? If he'd
learned that he was ready to make love, that was
something important to know, she coached.
Andrea and Kathy had the offensive skills to stay with
soccer next year, but they'd made their minds to move
on. Volleyball, maybe. Drama where they could sing?
After the team's final huddle, the two walked home.
Walking meant, let's talk.
"It was weird, Andrea, that month, my dad and all,"
reflected Kathy.
"Well, Mom said that it's pretty regular for a dad to
see his kid a little differently when she's changing."
"Like stumble around, looking like he wants to have sex
with her?" wondered the other.
"It's a middle-age crisis thing, she said. They don't
do much, unless they're shit-heads."
"Well she's right on that, just bumped my tits a few
times and tried to see me naked. Masturbated like hell
sometimes. Like he doesn't even think who does the
laundry?"
"Mom says it's not their fault," ruled Andrea. "Like
she said, if you let 'em solve it themselves, it's
done. The best ones just take longer. Make a big deal
and shit hits the fan. I'm glad you listened to her
about not spooking him, even if she's just my mom."
"So I'm about ready to tell the counsellor he's a
pervert, and all of a sudden, I'm just his little girl
again. Back to those forehead kisses! I didn't mind him
noticing a little, you know? Well, like your mom told
me, keep my mouth shut."
"Don't be a dumb-ass about the why. We saw them making
out by the soccer field. Good thing only Mom looked
up."
"They weren't making out, just kissing," corrected
Kathy.
"See Mom do his arm? When she says that then was their
first kiss, I believe it, actually. Now they're fucking
like your hamsters. Like we can't hear? Think we'll be
step sisters or whatever?"
"Probably," agreed Kathy. "I'm pretty good on knowing
where my dad's head is."
"Hey, you know that Gary is going to take his driver's
test next month?"
"Really?"
"Shit, if I could just get curfew upped to 12:30, he'd
take me out," mused Andrea.
"And pop your little cherry, right?"
"Gotta pretty soon, right? Maybe I should get on the
pill or something?"
"Probably. Lana says they're OK. So maybe we could
double, you in the front, me in the back!"
"No way! I don't want you watching."
"OK. So here's how to get better curfews. I tell Dad
that yours is changing to 12:30 and you tell your mom
the same about me. Then they'll both think it's OK.
Those two are so big on limits! Like the world has
limits?"
"The old different-stories-to-different-people trick?
Mom probably knows it," guessed Andrea.
THE END
Holly on the Web
Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to
the server. My problem is that I've no systematic way
to update the various servers. As literary errors (or
just poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll
repair that which is salvageable on
http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/. My website's not
much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native
language.
You can contact me via the site's message form, that
HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.
I won't be changing the story significantly, so if you
didn't like it before, that much will remain the same.
But if you did like it, an update may read a bit more
cleanly.
Holly
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 27