PART THREE d – The Deal

  I took my coffee into the living room. With the long medium switch. I swished it now and again. I used it to point with.

  "Fetch the things you see, that you know go into the garbage. I said fetch, I know that you know what that means. So do it correctly. Move it. I'll follow you around, and make sure it's done properly. You want this one used on you? Bend you right over the table in there, not a problem. Mommy's little talk table is all ready to go. Dare me."

  I pointed at things with my switch, and he picked them up with his mouth on all fours, then went and put them into the clean garbage can one at a time. It was only a couple things. When we were done, I reminded him.

  "Now then. Do I really need to tell you to take the garbage out? Its the only reason you have my shorts on. Move."

  "All right. Now? We can get to what we were supposed to be doing in the first pce, instead of wasting my time giving you a little talk you needed. Upstairs. Foot of the bed. You're going to dress mommy. We're going to have a little fun workout, like we should have been doing right now. Move. I'll just take this with me…"

  Nice couple swishes. Threat. Ritual.

  "Move. You can impress me, by doing a half decent job dressing me. If not? We'll undress me, every single item. And I'll expin it again. With this. Because that? Seems to get your attention. Go. I'm going to finish my coffee. You'll wait at the foot of the bed. Eyes down. You know how. Those shorts will be off too. You will only be dressed after me. Why? Because… I come first now. Go."

  I sat and finished my coffee, and smiled. Blushing bad. God, this was fun. New rituals. To go with our existing rituals. When I got up, and sat down on the foot of the bed, I got little kisses. I got thanked for what I had done. I got begged not to have to use the long medium one. Then thanked again some more. God, its a blushing good time.

  He did a fairly amazing job of dressing me. I let a few things slide, but I'm telling you it could have been worse.

  When he had fetched my practice clothes and dressed me, he got dressed in my shorts so I could show everyone he was my cimed, steady property. In my practice shirt, too. My mark on him to show the world that I had a steady boyfriend now, that wanted to show everyone he was already owned. By a numbered pyer that would not be crossed by another girl. I draped my knees over his shoulders, and gave him slow, wet, sloppy kisses.

  "Mm. You get to see mommy's ass dancing in front of you now. Ready to go watch my legs get a pump, watch me get all sweaty for you? You like that, don't you… mm…"

  He did. I knew it, he knew it. Ritual. He knew what to expect when we were done, and he was looking forward to it. Running his tongue all over me. Tasting me. Showering me and pampering me and bathing me. Then, the final long, hot soak for both of us. Where ritual now dictated, I would finally drop the stern mommy act, and we would talk and ugh and have normal time, like a normal couple.

  "All right. I want to run more ps. I don't run as fast as the girls? But I can keep the pace up as long as I have to. You like my leg muscles, I know. This is where they come from. Hmm. You like my legs now, in the off season? Wait till the preseason camp's over. I'm dropping weight, and over training at the same time. Long, double practices. Every day. I stay big, like you like? But… more cut. You like those veins on the Olympic girls, right? I get those, too. My calves show the split better. That third little leg muscle up top of the front of my thighs, that peeks out."

  "Oh god. I can't wait."

  "I'm gd. Not many men would look forward to it. I think most of the guys that even like us? Like the off season legs more. You? Well… you'll get more of a treat, every time you see my legs. The tan will slowly fade, but not go away completely by the end of the season. I hope you like it. Seeing me like that."

  "Like I said, I can't wait."

  "Well. More ps. You get to watch my dancing butt, and my legs. See me sweat. I'll let you know when we do a couple sprint ps at the end. Race me. Push me. Make me drop."

  I set off, and he followed me. Wearing my jogging shoes that fit him perfectly. My jogging shoes. My practice shirt with my number. My practice soccer shorts. My numbers. My marks on his ass too, but that was just for me to know what was under it all. Private, shared, secret markings.

  We ran more than twice or maybe even three times as many ps as yesterday. There were a few other girls out, too. Some, from other townhouses but from my team. A few from other teams. One was from the volleyball team. The one he had asked out and she wouldn't give him the time of day. I enjoyed her seeing him all numbered up in my stuff. You turned him down, how many times again? My groupie now. I snatched up on him. I was showing him off, letting the girls see he was numbered now. Mine. This groupie? Belongs to me now. My dirt bike. As we approached passing her jogging, I couldn't help but have some fun teasing him. I dropped back a step so only he could hear, and I winked just to make sure he knew it was just a fun joke. I had to pant out my line.

  "Eyes on me, mister… only warning you get…"

  A couple basketball girls were out in a tiny group jogging too. I don't think any of them were any of his previous attempts, before coming to me and my closing on his deal. But just as well. A new groupie all numbered up, is gossip. She'd hear about it. Toot had been cimed and numbered. He's living there now. The other girls, like him too. The girls would talk about how we were too sugary sweet, and they would surely make the little gagging noises for jokes. How they had found out he really wasn't at all what everyone had thought he was. The girl's gossip would see to that.

  They had all seen the boys working out in the yard, and that would get around as well. And who was out here with them, and how surprising it was. Mixed with the gossip of how sweet he was to live with, how sweet he was with me, well. They could scratch their fake hair on that count. Mine. You had your chance.

  "Its time…"

  We sprinted to failure, which ended up being three more. Feeling that burn that makes your legs feel like thick, hard tree trunks. Then a little break, and he could watch sweat roll down my skin. He makes me feel gorgeous when his eyes are on me like that. I can't get enough.

  He pyed high school soccer. So, we went up and down the "field", doing ground passes. I practiced my juggling myself. He wasn't kidding, it wasn't his thing. I had him feed me ground passes, and I practiced shots on the little practice nets. When I'm pying a forward position temporarily, the opportunity could come, and if I could capitalize it was a bonus. Passing off to Right or better yet Little Lightning, little miss two feet, was naturally the preferred option. I have power though, serious power. Just not the accuracy of the other three. I need to be closer to pull the trigger and have a chance. I need to be realistic. I can't afford to be a ball hog, wasting scoring opportunities. Unless I have to take one, I should just get the assist, and feed a star.

  I'm sure Little Lightning is the biggest star on the team, not much of a doubt there. Right isn't but a pinch behind her, and cks only some of the notoriety that comes from media clip exposure. Those are my team's stars. Most teams have but one, yet we're graced with two at the same time. University athletic teams, must be a lot like sor systems throughout the gaxy.

  You look out from far away, and you simply see the bright light, the star that's shining for all its worth. Just like living on the other side of the country, and seeing the brief clip of the dramatic winning goal, and a girl flying through the air getting hurt bad while doing it. You have to get up close to see that the star has a lot of stuff around it.

  Some sor systems even have two suns, two stars. Not the most common thing in the universe by far, but we have that. Our team can be seen from further away, because of the double light. Get far enough away, and the twin stars blend into what appears to be a single point of light. Come closer, this is really a binary star system. Come closer yet, there's more stuff around both of them.

  I'm not a star, I just feed my stars. I guess that makes me the ball of gas, the thing the stars feed on to get bigger and shine more. From any distance away, I'm invisible. Just like a cloud of gas. Yet, I'm responsible for making the stars shine brighter. Without me, they get dimmer. I wouldn't even know all this, but Wiz has a penchant for watching science documentaries and simir things on cable. Without realizing it, I now find myself tuning into what I used to tune away from, even when watching cable TV alone. He's changing me slowly, and I barely realize it unless I notice it over an epsed time.

  After another break, a longer one came where we could sit on the wall with my arm around his shoulder, saying hi to girls that came by. You know Wiz? Mine. Yeah, he's the one you saw manhandling the fighters up here putting on a meat show for me and the girls. I didn't have to mention it like any other girl would have done. I just smiled and that was enough. I know. They know. I know they know, and they know that I know it. Just the shit eating grin does it all. And all numbered up now. God, life can be good once in a while.

  I spent the longest time practicing clearing the ball, and empty netters. He had pyed fullback, I could see that. His one thing, was that he could put the boot to a decent clearing job. He had told me, he couldn't work the ball up to near midfield, then clear a feed to a forward, for a quick shot. No, he'd get out handled and out ran by another opposing forward, and now a star was in possession in the backfield. With one less fullback, and it would be on him. I quizzed him on this.

  "Honey, you want me to lie to you? I sucked."

  "How bad could you have been. You got wind, you can clear the ball."

  He chuckled.

  "You ever see a little kid, and they're moping around. Pouting. They look at you, and go… aw, I can't do anything right. Why bother."

  I smiled. Here comes a sigma specialty. The self deprecating humor. Hey, I'm no threat. Watch me tell you a funny story where I'm the asshole, so you can ugh at me. Hey, I'll ugh with you. I don't take myself seriously. So you don't have to take me seriously. Don't worry, I'm no threat… you don't have to watch out for little old me.

  And? That's how they do it, its that easy. Here it comes, I'm seeing this about him, this many weeks into knowing him and living with him.

  "Seriously, anything I did? Its wrong. Anyone else does the same exact thing? Oh, they're a hero. Example? Ball clearing. Now, as a fullback. I was taught that clearing the ball, to get the ball out of a hot kitchen? Was my number one job. Enemy is in your backfield? In your red zone? Clear the ball, job number one."

  "Hell yeah! And, I just saw you clearing the ball. You ain't pyed in years? You can still do it half decent. You couldn't have been that bad. Lay a boot on it."

  "That's just it. Anyone else cleared the ball? Oh, good job. They just saved the day. So? I wanna an at-a-boy too. Man, I'd come up and clear that fucking ball, get that damned pigskin almost to their red zone. There. I saved the day, right? Hell no. Best I can hope for, and I guess cause its me, not someone cool… I get that head shaking, disappointment and frown from the coach and assistant coach. Or even yelled at, I'm costing the team chances."

  "How?"

  "Oh. I'm just giving possession away. Why didn't I move the ball up some, then find someone to pass it to."

  I wagged my head.

  "Well… if you can move the ball ten yards first? Ten yards, is ten yards. I mean, let's say you contact the ball as fullback, and you're 70 yards from their net. You go up ten yards? Now you're 60 and closing."

  He looked at me, with his patented little smile and twinkling eyes. The soft voice is coming, this is going to be his sarcasm. He spreads sarcasm, like warm butter on toast. He's good with sarcasm.

  "You know. I never, ever heard that speech, from my own coach and assistant coach, not once? Gee. Thanks for enlightening me."

  I smiled.

  "Go on, then."

  "Well… now I get the ball, and I got a couple feet around me? I move the ball up. 10, 15… maybe 20 yards. Then pass sideways or forwards, to one of the good kids."

  "Okay."

  "No. Now? I get yelled at. Why am I being a ball hog. Do I py wing? No, I'm a fullback. I'm risking mixing it up with fast, slick wings coming in around me. They're gonna get possession, and I'm gonna be up, and they're gonna have an advantage, I shouldn't do that. Why didn't I just clear that ball, that's my job, my job is simple, why can't I get that through my head."

  I calcuted and answered.

  "Oh… well, that can be dangerous. Let's say, the other team's Light and Right were near you, but not on you? They're gonna steal your pass. You must have been near the other team's center and wing, and they were dangerous."

  "Well. What should I have done, then."

  "Hey. If you dragged the center and your side's wing, to you? You just created a great thing. You got a lop-side going on, temporarily. Capitalize. Lateral pass, sideways… over to anyone on the other side of the field. That side? Is weak for them. And if you clear the ball now? Yeah, you're just giving possession away, and screwing up that lop-side situation."

  He sighed.

  "That actually makes sense. But, question…"

  "Sure."

  "How the fuck am I supposed to know that?"

  "Your coach tells you this shit."

  "No. He doesn't."

  "Huh?"

  "Our coach, used to py professional soccer. Actually got paid. Way back when? Pittsburgh had a pro soccer team for a few years. Lot of big cities did, they tried having a league. So? He's definitely a former star. He? Works with the kids that look like he looks. Short, not real big. Really cut, really fast. Our wings and centers. He works with them. Assistant coach, who pyed college soccer? He works with us defensive-men."

  I looked at him.

  "Well. When you were practicing with… the wings? With that coach… you learn how wings operate then, so you know what to do against them."

  "The fuck was I supposed to do then. Trade shirts and wear a wing's number, so I could sneak into that end of the field, and learn the secret information I needed, to do my job and not get yelled at? Or… was I supposed to break into the coach's house and snap pictures of the secret pns, like a spy in a spy movie. Are you sensing my frustration, or… do I need to turn the sarcasm up."

  I just furrowed my brow, and let him go on.

  "So like I said, I do exactly like I'm told. Then? When I do what I'm told… I get yelled at."

  I started over again.

  "Did you py man to man, or zone."

  He looked around, frustrated again.

  "Here we go again. I get yelled at. That? Is your man. You stay on him. You run track, you can stay on his ass. Where he goes, you go. So? I stay on his ass. Then? I get yelled at for staying on him. My enemy wing coming down my side? Moved over to the other side of the field. I follow him, I get yelled at. Now. My other fullback? He comes over on my side… he's doing a great job, staying on his man. I do what I'm told? I get yelled at. Anyone else does anything? Great job, cool kid."

  "Well… man to man, shifts to zone… in this case? The other center, is in the center. They get you to stay on your man, go over… that center comes over your side open now. Now, they got a wing and a center, on a side not covered. Two run and gun shooters on the goalie? You're fucked. That's a goalie's worst nightmare."

  "Once again. How the fuck am I supposed to know this secret information."

  "Are you being serious?"

  "Yeah. I am. See, obviously you were one of the cool kids. Allowed to touch the ball. Anything you do? Oh, its wonderful. You move the ball up? Oh, see. You showed initiative. You were aggressive. Good job, cool kid. I try to move the ball? I'm a ball hog. I'm not one of the cool kids, allowed to touch the cool thing, the ball. Now, if I clear it? I should have passed it or moved it up. Why didn't I do that. If I passed it, well… I should have cleared it."

  I ughed, he had to be making a joke. From the look on his face, the way he was studying my own face… I stopped ughing. He wasn't kidding. He just got quiet. Studied my face, looked at my body. Christ. I'm getting the once over. He's studying my facial expressions, studying my body nguage. He's sizing me up. Its cold, its dispassionate. The MP, is deciding if I'm a "threat" or not. Seeing if I'm in on it. Making fun of him. He wants to know if I'm in on the big soccer conspiracy. I just immediately shut up, and turned off all body nguage as best I could. I suddenly felt like he must have… I have no idea what to do right now, and whatever I do? Might well be the wrong thing. He finally smiled warm and gentle, and spoke quietly.

  "See? You were one of the cool kids. You were passed the secret information you needed. Did you follow the rules, when you were given the secret cool kids information?"

  "What rules…"

  He smiled, and it was genuine. Back to making jokes about it.

  "Never share it with anyone we don't want pying with the cool kids."

  He ughed easily about it, he had his other sports. I'm fairly highly rated for my main job of fullback. For a girl, I get a great long clear. For control, you're supposed to use the instep on the ball. Not the toe like you're kicking a field goal, and even those guys mostly use the instep for control now. It didn't bother him if his girl could instep clear soccer style for control, as far as he could manage toe on football style, for the extra distance. I didn't have to pretend to be the little girl, and feed his ego. He wouldn't have that. He smiled and egged me on.

  He had his one trick though, I give him that. A still shot? He could take a few steps, and bury a toe shot and it didn't go wild, like you would expect. He must have practiced that a lot, and on his own time. For the extra distance when clearing. It surprised me, when it went over my head when he would do it. He said he did it in games, even though he wasn't listening to practice instructions. He just wanted a couple great goal to goal clearing shots, so he had something to call his own.

  "Let me ask you something, Wiz."

  "Anything."

  "Now… you're a bright guy. I figure you were a bright kid. How do you figure, everyone else has this… secret cool kids information, so they're allowed to py. And you don't have it. I mean, look at this from my point of view. Help me out here."

  He smiled. He turned to look at me, and was full of mirth.

  "Hun? If I could tell you that, don't you think I'd have known where to get the information everyone else had? I'm not making fun of you, just… try to be logical."

  I had to stop and regroup. What he said, made perfect sense.

  "Okay. You pyed… pee wee soccer."

  "Yeah."

  "What… did you do at practice."

  "Run a lot of ps. Coaches always said, that if your team runs more? The other team doesn't. You can smoke them, for being tougher. That fun coaches lose, and hard coaches win. So? We ran a lot of ps. And… we pyed all those little skills games. The squirrels and the nuts was one. You give the games cute names for the kids to py and learn."

  "Right. Basic skills. Then, you go to the next level of pee wee soccer, right?"

  "Naturally."

  "Where you learn more skills, and start to learn strategy."

  He smiled.

  "More ps. Juggling, for coordination. Passing accurately. How to py keep away, one on one. How to steal the ball, one on one. Yeah. I did… okay at all that."

  "Then… as you move up… when does this situation suddenly happen. You suddenly go from being allowed to py, doing fine? To… secret information and getting yelled at no matter what you do. I'm having trouble following this. Take me through the py levels. First pee wee, on up to high school."

  "Well. First grade? You're all out there bumping all cute into each other. There's more pee wee leagues. Then one day? No more little kids soccer. Couple years go by, we didn't have a junior high soccer team. Had to wait a couple years, to join the high school soccer team again. Then? Well… we know how that went."

  "What about the traveling team. Every town that has a gap like that, there's some intramural league to fill the gap. I pyed on the traveling team for a couple years, until I got to junior high."

  "Oh. That league. See, let me expin how sports go."

  "Yeah, because I don't know anything about sports…"

  He smiled, and it was genuine.

  "Do you want me to expin it? Or… I'm happy to just let it pass over. No harm, no foul. I? Am quite content, letting my girlfriend be one of the cool kids. Doesn't bother me, I have my own shit to do now. Stuff that all you… cool kids? Can't do. I'm adult about it, though. Here I am. Major university, big sports star jocks coming to get tutored. Do I return that favor, and keep the cool kids information from those same jocks like they did to kids like me? No. I freely share my cool information, with them."

  I was stopped cold. There it was again. He's studying me. I get that little shiver. I'm being gnced up and down, to see if I'm fucking with him or not. I ain't, but… there it is. I passed. He's smiling again, and quits studying me like I'm an insect under his magnifying gss. I both like and love him, and everything about him? And I still don't like that couple seconds of being studied. He loves and treasures me, so I can't even imagine what it would be like to be actually up to something, and get sized up like an opponent. Not a good feeling though, I'm sure.