Message-ID: <15226eli$9809110211@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15226.txt> From: Alden Bradley <zzztopper@aol.com> Subject: Soccer Mom "M/F ROM" Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii X-Authentication-Warning: news3.mco.bellsouth.net: news set sender to moderated-news@ec-mail.bellsouth.net using -f Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <35F6C0EA.6E6080A@aol.com> Title: Soccer Mom Author: Alden Bradley Copyright: September, 1998 My son has been in his soccer league for two years. His mother enrolled him before she left to live with her boss. She had left our son in my care and occasionally called to talk to him. They saw each other every other weekend, except during soccer season. I would take him to practice and games. While he exercised, I would sit in the stands with about eight other parents. We would pass the time watching our sons and making small talk about our lives and kids. This season, the new boy and his mother started coming to the practices. We found out her name was Molly and she was a widow. Her husband, a cocaine addict, had killed himself about four years before. Molly was, in my estimation, a knock-out. She had jet-black hair, usually confined in a long braid. She had incredibly deep-blue eyes. Her skin was the color of cafe au lait. She was a native of New Orleans, she said, and had moved to our city to escape the memories of her tragedy. As the season wore on, our sons became friends. Molly and I were thrown together as the boys planned and schemed to eat pizza together, or go to the movies, or visit the local game arcade. I was always a little uncomfortable around Molly. She was so absolutely stunning and so very quiet. One Friday night, when our two 12-year-olds had nagged us into taking them skating, Molly surprised me. The din in the rink was overwhelming. She put her hand on my arm and asked me to walk outside with her. I could hardly refuse. I could hardly make my legs move. We walked out into the night air, a little crisp in the middle of October. Molly preceded me and found a spot along the wall of the building where two benches had been placed. She sat down and patted the seat next to her. I joined her. "That music was getting to be a bit much," she said. "I was starting to get a headache." "Can I get you something?" I asked. "No, thank you. I'm fine. "Can I share something with you?" she asked me. "I'd consider it a privilege," I replied. "I think you're a nice man," she said. "Thank you. I'm flattered." "I've been having...thoughts," she was almost whispering. "About New Orleans?" "No. Not about New Orleans." "Oh." I decided let her to reveal only she wanted. "Well, the mind does strange things, sometimes." "Yes. It does. I thought you should know, though. About these thoughts." She was speaking very softly, but in a jerky manner, as if each phrase had to be forced out of her. "Molly. One of us has to be brave, here. I think you've done your part in bringing us out here where we can talk. So, let me be vulnerable now." I took a deep breath. "Can I dare to hope that these thoughts of yours are similar to the ones I've been having? About you, I mean." She looked at me with those royal blue eyes. I sank into them. "Have you? Really?" "Thoughts. And dreams, too." Tears began streaming down her face. "I am so lonely. I thought it was just that, you know, the loneliness. But, you know, the boys are such good friends." "This is not about the boys, Molly. Of course, that is important. But, this, this is about you and me." "I am so scared," she said. "I've built this wall. I don't want anybody to get inside where they can hurt me." "I understand." "But, I find myself wondering, you know. If I could ever, I mean..." "Don't push this, Molly. Don't hurry. Just take it easy." "How do I do that? I don't know what to do," she said. "We do it one tiny step at a time. You don't have to do anything. Whatever we do, we will do together. All right?" She nodded. "First, we become friends. We're on the road to that, don't you think?" "Yes. I know I like being around you." "And I like being with you. Now we begin to build a relationship. We have a tremendous amount of talking to do. I want to know about your life, your plans, your dreams, what you think and how you feel. I want to get to know you. And I will share those same things with you." "I'm afraid you won't like me." "What's not to like? You're obviously a good mother. Do you have some mysterious secret, mental illness or wildly radical political ideas?" She laughed. "No, no. It's nothing like that." "What is it, then? Is there something about you I wouldn't like? If you think there is, then you should tell me now. Let's see if it amounts to anything, or if it's just your fear." "You could be right. It's just, you know, I'm a widow with a 12-year-old son. It's hard for me to believe anyone would want to put up with that." "And, I'm divorced with a 12-year-old son. In fact, because I have an ex-wife, I bring more baggage to this relationship that you do. If you're willing to explore that, I'm certainly willing to explore a relationship with the mother of my son's best friend, who is, by the way, a fine kid." "I'm willing if your are," she said. I stood up and turned toward her. "I've got plenty of enemies, Molly. I could sure use another friend." We became inseparable. The boys gave us plenty of excuses to be together. While they played, we explored each other, talking for hours on end, sharing the very essence of who we were. We talked of plans, of dreams, mostly for our boys, but as our relationship deepened, for ourselves, as individuals and as a couple, and as a family. I shared her hurt over the suicide of her husband. "I wanted him dead," she said, "and then he was." She shared my devastation at being left for another richer, more powerful man. "It makes you wonder about your own worth, your value," I admitted. After about three months we sat down with the boys. Mine, Robby, fidgeted in his chair. Hers, Tony, looked like a miniature version of his mother, sitting quietly, waiting. "We want to explain some things to you," I openned the session. "What's to explain?" my Robby asked. "We're thinking about becoming a family," I ventured. "Yeah, so? You mean Tony would come live with us?" "Yes. And his mom." "Cool," Robby said, stretching out the single syllable word. "Are you guys, like, in love?" Tony asked. I looked at Molly, and she at me. In all the time we had spent together, that one word had never been expressed. "As a matter of fact," I said, looking straight into her warm blue eyes, "I love your mother very, very much." Molly just stared at me. I was wondering now if I had over-stepped the boundry. "I would have to say, 'yes'," Molly said very quietly. "We are in love with each other." My heart leapt in my chest. We had chosen the perfect time to express our love for each other. We had done it in the presence of the two sons we both held so dear. "Well, then," Tony said, "I think we should make a family." And that was that. "Can we go to the arcade tonight?" Robby asked. The crisis was over. To the two boys it was the natural evolution of their relationship, and ours. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>