Chapter 4: The Sleepover

In those pre-cellphone days, it was sometimes difficult to have a private phone conversation, especially in a full house like ours. There was one landline phone on the breakfast bar between the kitchen and living room, which wasn’t good for any conversations that you didn’t want to share with other family members. With three teenagers in the family, Trevor and Marge came up with a better solution. They had a second phone line installed, with phone jacks in each of our bedrooms, but only one phone for us to share. If I wanted to call Elsa, I had to find our shared phone, plug it into the jack in my room. I could talk to Elsa for as long as I wanted, or until Katie or Kiley wanted to use it. It was during one of those conversations that I asked her where she went to school, because I knew she didn’t go to the same school my sisters did.

“I go to St. Paul’s,” she told me.

“You’re Catholic? I asked. I was good at asking stupid questions in those days.

“You didn’t know that?”

“It never came up,” I told her.

I mentioned that to Katie later that night, and something about my reaction surprised her. “Geez, Ray, you got somethin’ against Catholics?”

“Nothing at all,” I told her, “but...”

“But what?” she asked. “Spit it out. What’s wrong with Catholics?”

“Nothing,” I repeated, “it’s just that some people say...”

“Some people, you mean, your friends? What do they say?”

“You know, that Catholic girls sometimes don’t wear panties under their uniform skirts so if they misbehave and a nun tries to spank them, she’ll get a surprise.”

“Geez, never underestimate the dirty minds of teenage girls,” Katie said. “What else have you heard?”

“They can do just about anything as long as they go to confession and say some Hail Marys or whatever.”

Katie grinned at me. “Don’t let Elsa know how ignorant you are about Catholic girls. You already know she’s kinda wild, but I really don’t think it has anything to do with her religion or bein’ able to confess her sins. She just really likes you. I’m glad we’re not Catholic, though. Think about how embarrassing it would be to have to tell a priest about all the stuff that’s been goin’ on between us.”

“I wonder if priests get together and talk about some of the strangest stuff they’ve heard in that little booth?” I asked.

“I think that’s against the rules or whatever. I don’t know that much about religious stuff either. So, you lookin’ forward to gettin’ to spend personal time with your sweetie, maybe give her something to take to confession?”

“We’ll see what happens,” I sigh, trying not to get my hopes up.

“You ever been to a sleepover before?” Katie asked.

‘Nope. Boys usually stop spending the night with their friends once they hit puberty.”

“You don’t sit around jackin’ each other off?” Katie laughed,

That was too on point. It only happened once, and we were just twelve. I wanted to tell her, but she had already gone into her room and closed the door.

The Stars game that Saturday was at 3:00, a change from the usual morning start. It was the last game of their regular season, and if they won, they would be the league champions. As if the munchkins weren’t keyed up enough about that, the team had a travel tournament coming up over Thanksgiving weekend, a first for them, which only added to their excitement as we drove to the game.

—-----.

That was the day I met Elsa’s parents. I’d seen them around, but we hadn’t been introduced. While we were waiting for the game to start, Marge took care of that. I tried to be mature and polite, but it made me nervous to look her father in the eye, wondering whether he had any idea what I thought of his daughter or had heard about our antics behind the Walmart truck. I very much hoped he wasn’t a mind reader.

If Elsa looked like a Viking princess, her dad looked like a modern-day Viking warrior. He had a big, bushy mustache and longer hair than most middle-aged men did in those days. He towered over me as we shook hands. Elsa was already on the field warming up while I was going through that ordeal, and when she saw what was happening, she gave me a quick grin. I think she was enjoying my discomfort.

The Shooting Stars usually played their games at a big soccer complex, with eight well-maintained fields, restrooms, and a concession stand, but that day the game was out in the boondocks. There was just one, worn-out pitch, and a couple of porta-potties. The girls had been lucky enough to have good weather for all their previous games, at least the ones I went to, but this day wasn’t so nice. A cold front was moving in, and even though in Florida, ‘cold’ is a relative term, it usually means rain. That’s what happened that day. It wasn’t a downpour, but the on-again and off-again showers meant that by the time their game started, the field was torn up and muddy.

I knew boys might enjoy playing in those conditions, but I expected the girls to complain and be grouchy. I was wrong. I still had a lot to learn about teenage girls. It seemed that the muddier and dirtier they got, the more they enjoyed it. Winning the game and the championship helped with that.

The plan was for Elsa to come home with us since she would be spending the night, but first, there was some cleaning up to do. Being an aggressive keeper, no matter the conditions, she had mud on her uniform, her legs, and even some in her hair. Her parents had been wise enough to bring her a change of clothes. The problem was a lack of any place where she could clean up and change.

Marge had brought some old towels (I guess it helps to listen to the weather forecast occasionally). She found a water fountain and wet one of them, and Elsa got most of the dirt off. My resourceful stepmother spread the rest of them out on the seats in her Explorer. She had brought some blankets too, and Elsa used one of them to sort of hide behind while she changed in the back of the van. The twins made sure that I didn’t try to peek, which was a little insulting. Did they really think I was such a creep that I’d want to watch her change? Okay, maybe they were right, given everything that had happened in the last few months, but still, their lack of trust hurt a bit.

After that, we piled into Marge’s SUV for the ride home. Marge was driving, and my dad was riding shotgun, a position he usually hated, but it was Marge’s car. The K’s had the middle row of seats, and Elsa and I were in the back. Her hair was a mess, with bits of dirt still stuck in it, and she had a speck of mud on her cheek that she had missed, but sitting next to her still made my heart beat a little faster.

It was a longer drive home than usual, close to an hour. For the first fifteen minutes or so, the girls were still psyched up about the game, talking and laughing like kids, which I guess they still were. After that, the twins settled down and made themselves comfortable under some of the blankets. Now that the cold front had moved through, the rain had stopped, but it was getting a little chilly. Elsa used one of the blankets in the back of the van to cover us. She leaned against my shoulder and snuggled up against me, and I loved it. It was like we were a real couple.

A few minutes later, I felt her hand moving under the blanket and over my lap. Elsa found the zipper of my jeans and soon had her fingers inside my boxers. When she finally managed to get a grip on my dick, a feeling went through me, like the static shock you might get from a doorknob on a chilly morning. I was only half-erect, but as her fingers began to play with me, that was quickly rectified. I couldn’t see her face, since she was lying on my shoulder, but I was sure she was smiling.

I wanted to return the favor, but because of how she was lying on me, I couldn’t get my hand in the right place. She was wearing sweatpants, so it would have been difficult to get my hand where I wanted it anyway. I did manage to get a brief, outside-of-the-shirt boob squeeze. Elsa didn’t respond, but her fingers got even busier, and she brought me to a fully erect state under the blanket. I was beginning to wonder what would happen if she made me cum, and how we would handle the mess. Fortunately, we didn’t have to worry about that, because before it could happen, Marge had to make a sudden stop to avoid what, according to my dad, was a “dumbass motherfucking idiot.” That caused everyone to wake up.