"Friday" {Uther} (MF best preg) 

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law 
to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do 
something else. 

This material is Copyright, 1998, Uther Pendragon.  All rights 
reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading and 
keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as 
this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous 
permission. 

If you have any comments or requests, please E-mail them to me 
at nogardneprethu@gmail.com. 

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental. 
 
                             = == =
 
                             Friday 
                       by Uther Pendragon
                    nogardneprethu@gmail.com
 
 

Whole modules have been written over crash weekends.  (And 
many of them have been rewritten over the next month, but that's 
another story.)  Never, however, in the history of the world has 
anyone who is going to leave the office at five p.m. on Friday 
written a line of code after noon.  The department works enough 
midnights, it doesn't sweat the small stuff.  So, when I walked 
out a little before 11:30 and two minutes after Mary, no-one 
would have dreamed of clocking my time. 

Ironically, Mary caught an elevator before I got there, and we 
rode down separately.  I slowly caught up as she walked north. It 
was an even day of the month, so she went first.  Easy to 
remember, she has two; I have one.  She turned into a building 
which we hadn't visited in months.  We rode up without speaking 
and I followed her off on the eleventh floor. 

She hit the down button.  No one was waiting with us, which 
gave her a little advantage in her preparation.  The elevator was 
nearly full, but they made space for the two of us. 

"Anyway," she said in a quite low voice, "the stuff around the 
door keeps the drafts out, but it creates a seal for the whole 
apartment.  If the door opens while you're taking a shower, the 
shower curtain blows inward." 

"Probably," I said, "even if you're not taking a shower."  I 
didn't know where this was going, but it was the obvious 
comment. 

"Maybe," Mary said, "but you notice it more when it's coming 
towards you.  Anyway, there we were.  At first, he'd been 
scrubbing my back.  You know how the dead skin accumulates back 
there where you can't quite reach it." 

"I use a loofah on a stick," I said. 

"That can't get the right pressure, but I'll bet it gets your 
back clean before it wants to do your front.  Anyway," she said 
in a rising voice, "I wasn't using a loofah; he wasn't using a 
loofah; he'd just abandoned the washcloth, for that matter.  Then 
the curtain blew in on us.  Someone had opened the outer 
door." 

"My God," I said, "Your husband?" 

"Worse!" 

"Worse?" I exclaimed.  "How could it be worse?" 

Mary looked around the elevator.  Our fellow riders tried to 
pretend that they hadn't been listening.  "I'll tell you later," 
she said. 

We left the building with the crowd and continued about two 
blocks north.  I led her east a block, and then into the large 
office building on the north side of the street.  We rode up in 
the elevators serving the middle set of floors. 

We walked along the hallway while those waiting got the down 
elevator.  Unfortunately, others came along while we were waiting 
for the next one.  "You live in an apartment," I told her.  "That 
makes a difference." 

"I think so," she said.  "Making a difference, I mean.  I 
certainly live in an apartment." 

"Well, you've seen my place," I said.  "But I've made changes 
since then. I've put up a fence.  I still keep the front lawn 
well-mowed." 

"I'm glad," she said.  "I like a nice-looking lawn." 

"And so does she," I said as the elevator finally came.  "She 
likes a good-looking house.  And she's never denied that I keep 
up the property, and that is a lot of land to keep up. 

"I want you to understand this," I continued after our group 
had crowded on the elevator.  "I would never try to keep a sheep 
in an apartment." 

"Wouldn't be practical," she said. 

"At least without consulting my wife," I said. "But, out 
there, we have such a large back yard." 

"Yes." 

"That it did seem practical.  And then there's AIDS. 

"I would feel despicable," I continued in my most sincere 
voice, "absolutely despicable, if Sally were infected by some 
disease that I brought home from an encounter with a 
prostitute." 

"I'm sure that you would," she said.  "And you wouldn't feel 
particularly happy for having it yourself." 

"No," I said.  "But the child would be the worst.  So, you 
see, the sheep was the logical choice.  But I wanted a woman's 
opinion.  I think it's just the pregnancy talking, but if it's a 
man-woman thing I should make my peace now.  She said that I 
should have consulted her.  I felt that she had been effectively 
consulted when she said 'no' so often when I.... 

"Uh, let's continue this in more privacy."  And I glared at 
the rest of the people coming off the elevator with us. 

The rest of the walk to the hotel was in silence, though she 
shook with laughter once or twice.  She took out her card without 
any discussion as we approached the desk.  I'd won that one, and 
Mary is always a good sport.  


     The End 
     Friday 
     Uther Pendragon 
     nogardneprethu@gmail.com
     1998/01/11   
     2000/02/16
     2001/08/30
     2002/03/11
     2004/04/23
     2010/08/16

For another story involving another couple, 
see:
windmill.txt 
"Windmill Saga"  


This story is coded (MF best preg).

The code, best, means: Bestiality, sex with animals.

For more on the story codes and how to use them to find the 
sorts of stories to interest you:
/~Uther_Pendragon/code/scfr.htm
"Story codes for readers" 


This story is indexed at:
games.txt 
Games 

The index to almost all my stories:
/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm