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From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Forgive the Delay (Uther) MF wl
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Date: Thu, 17 Dec 2009 17:10:04 -0500
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This material is copyright, 2009, by 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. Any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.


Forgive the Delay
Uther Pendragon
nogardnePrethU@gmail.com
MF wl


Bob Brennan picked up Cat and her friend, Conchita, at school.
Conchita came to the apartment with them for soup. It was the sort of
blustery March day on which a bowl of cream-of-tomato soup tasted
good. Bob ignored the mailbox until they'd taken Conchita home.
When Cat and Bob came into the building again, he checked the box.
It was empty.

"Maman must be home," he said.

"Goody," said Cat, running up the stairs. She was happy enough in
Bob's company, but she never made a secret of which parent she
preferred. Bob was as anxious to see his wife as Cat was to see her
mother, but he had less energy. He walked up.

"And I love you, too" Jeanette greeted him. She'd just exchanged "Je
t'aime"s with her daughter. Bob kissed her. That was rather brief, since
Bob was still wearing his coat.

"And I love you, delightful woman," he said while hanging it up. "Cat,
bring me your coat." Cat took off her coat and handed it to him to hang
up. She then handed him the scarf and hat which completed her
outerwear. She was too short to reach the hangers and too forgetful to
have gloves that weren't tied to a string threaded through her coat
sleeves.

"Your mother wrote," Jeanette told him. "Shall we read it together?

"D'accord," said Cat. She climbed onto one end of the couch. Her
mother sat next to her and her father sat next to her mother. That left
rather a lot of couch unused, but not even Cat expected Bob to sit
more than touching distance from his wife.

"It's the Christmas letter," Jeanette said. "Regarde, mon Chat, c'est ton
image." When Cat had seen that her picture headed the letter, it was
passed to Bob. Since he had provided the snapshot, he merely glanced
at it and handed it back. "The handwritten part says, 'Thanks for all that
you did.' Really, after all the Christmases she's hosted, one isn't so
much to ask." Then she read the printed letter:

"Sorry this is so late. If any of you don't know, Russel passed away this
summer. I fell apart. It was hardly unexpected, but it was a shock all
the same. Still, I can remember his praying to live to see his children
graduate from high school. He saw, not  only that, but them graduate
from college and receive doctoral degrees. He held Bob's daughter in
his arms and walked Katherine Violet down the aisle at her wedding.
All those were gifts, and he received them as such.

"He wouldn't have complained -- in the event, he didn't have time to --
but I was devastated. You think of yourself as an independent woman,
but you find that you are really half of a couple. I still think, 'I'll have
to
tell Russ about that,' Then I remember that I won't. Where he is, I
won't need to. I hope you forgive the delay of this letter.

"Anyway, I was devastated. I wasn't even able to teach this year. I plan
to go back next year; I'm even substituting a few times by now. When
Vi called me up to mention  Christmas, I said something like. 'This year,
dear, I don't think I can.' Her response was, 'This year, you don't need
to do anything. Jeanette is hosting it at her place. Do you think you can
get the train by yourself, or should Charles and I drive down to pick
you up?'

"The offer was ridiculous -- sweet but ridiculous -- they live in
Philadelphia. I took the train to spend a night with them, and then we all
took a plane to Chicago. The celebration was held in Jeanette's
apartment, but she provided every ritual of the Brennan Christmas. My
adorable namesake, whose picture graces the head of this letter, gave
up her bed for me. I was assigned her cot, and she went to sleep on a
mat on the floor. When she woke to go to the john, though -- how she
has grown up since I used to change her diapers -- I asked her to join
me. I'm not yet used to sleeping alone, and cuddling with the small one
almost compensated for not having Russ beside me. When Jeanette
came in that morning, she asked, 'Whose idea was this?' She accepted
that it was mine..

"Anyway, that was Christmas. Surrounded by my loving family by day
and surrounding my loving granddaughter by night. I still cried, but I
laughed, too. The weather bureau may not agree, but that Christmas in
Chicago was the warmest time I'd spent since August.
"I've written of only two events, but anything else would make this letter
later than it already is. Actually, those are probably the only two events
I'll remember from last year."

"Well," said Bob, "that was nice. Of course, I hadn't known that this
was your place. I'll have to rethink paying the rent."

"Ton papa," Jeanette told Cat, "plaisante."

"Plaisante il?" Cat asked. She often had problems with adult jokes.
"Est-ce que sa observation est comique?"

"Non, mais nous simulons." This was a game Cat enjoyed. She laughed
loudly and rolled off onto the floor.

Bob, given the choice of being offended or being silly, laughed twice as
loud and rolled off after her. Soon, the two of them were engaged in a
tickling match on the floor. The adult in the household went off to the
kitchen to fix dinner. Bob was good about doing the cooking whenever
asked. It was just that Jeanette rarely wanted meatloaf, tomato soup, or
macaroni and cheese. She never wanted PBJs for dinner. He had,
however, started the rice. She removed the last package of the stew
she'd prepared a month ago from the freezer and put it on low heat.
When the timer rang, she turned off the rice, turned off the timer, set it
again for ten minutes, and called into the living room.

"Lavez les mains."

Bob took his left hand out of his pocket -- Cat got a handicap -- and
levered himself off the floor. He offered a hand to Cat. She, perfectly
capable of picking herself up but glad of the contact, took it. He lifted
her until their waists were level and then lowered her to the ground. She
went to the bathroom before washing her hands. When she came out,
he did the same.

The table-setting ritual was well established. Bob handed Cat three
place mats one at a time. She put them in their proper places. They
repeated the ritual with plates, napkins, forks, spoons, and knives. Bob
took the dish of stew and then the asparagus, and set them on trivets
which stayed on the table. He provided water for them all and brought
in the salad bowl Jeanette had prepared. Jeanette, who'd been fluffing
the rice as her family set the table, brought that in last.

Bob said grace and then served Cat. She didn't have to suffer the
temptation of food on her plate while her father prayed. When the
adults had food to eat, they asked her about school. She reported on
the doings of first grade.

"Et maman?" she finished.

Jeanette reported on her own day in school. Since her only classes
were in French and English lit., Bob had no comment. His report was
last and briefest. Then they talked about what had happened in the
world. This talk was full of names which meant nothing to Cat, but
she'd had her turn. Bob, as was his custom, finished the food in the
serving bowls. Jeanette -- who had begun worrying about his waistline
soon after restoring hers -- had found that the easy way to curb his
eating was to serve only enough for the three of them. Bob was too
thoughtful to eat what either she or Cat wanted. Dessert was ice cream,
and Cat had to wash her face and hands after enjoying it.

Dishwashing was a ritual almost the opposite of setting the table. Cat
took one thing off the table and carried it to her father; he rinsed it and
put it in the dishwasher. He fetched the serving bowls off the table and
dealt with them. Meanwhile, Jeanette had been gathering her study materials.
She set them at the end of the table that they hadn't used for eating.

"Peuve-je  m'assoir, Maman?" Cat asked.

"J'etude." Cat couldn't play around her mother when her mother was
studying. The rule was firm.

"Moi aussi." Cat brought her homework and sat as close to her mother
as the two piles of paper permitted. Bob, merely grading homework
rather than doing it, took the other end of the table. Still, he gazed
fondly at his family  before starting to work. Whatever the frustrations in
his life, and he taught two sections most of whose students were in them for
the distribution credits, the balance was quite positive. When Cat had a
question, Bob put aside the answer he'd been reading to an essay question.
In the first place, Cat wasn't going to learn that her homework was
important if her father treated it as not important enough to deserve his
attention; in the second, he didn't want her bothering Jeanette. The
question was about Spanish, and Bob reached for his Spanish-English
dictionary. He managed to translate the question, which gave him -- gave any
adult -- the answer; and Cat went back to her work.

Jeanette felt she didn't deserve the consideration her family was
showing her studies just then. Instead of reading about the Lake poets,
she was recalling Christmas. Katherine had offered to help in the
kitchen: "Just tell me what to do, dear. I've ordered you about in my
kitchen often enough." Jeanette was intimidated. Katherine would never
criticize her short-cuts and bought food, but Jeanette didn't want such
an expert cook watching. Luckily, she had the perfect alternative.

"You're on childcare," she said. The two so enjoyed each others'
company that Cat didn't even come in for a snack. Katherine, who had
reported in the letter that she had fallen apart, had managed to give
quite thoughtful gifts to each person in her family. She'd sobbed during "A
Child's Christmas in Wales," though. That recording meant her
husband in a special way that not even her children had predicted.
Jeanette shook herself and went back to reading.

Bob, having seen that the essay didn't make any more sense on second
reading, gave it a 5 out of 20 and reached for the next paper. When he
had this section graded, he'd stop for a drink of water. Snacks were a
bad idea while Cat was awake. Before he'd finished the section,
though, his mind drifted off towards the Christmas week. He and Vi
tried to keep their fights down in respect for their mother's loss.
Besides, fighting Vi in front of Charles was less fun than fighting her had
been before. He liked the guy and respected his need to defend his
wife. Jeanette, somehow, didn't feel the need to defend him. Actually,
she'd defended him from Dad like a tiger. She regarded his fights with
Vi as entertainment; which they mostly were. Charles seemed to think
of Vi as someone delicate. In Bob's experience, she wasn't. Still, she
was nice to Jeanette and an adoring aunt and godmother to Cat. The
family had grown without becoming less close. But he still had four
more exams to grade before he could get up.


Cat finished the work she needed to do in Spanish and started her
work in English. This should have gone more quickly, but she lost track. She
remembered Memere's visit. Sharl and Tante Kathleen were there, too, but
Memere stayed in Cat's room. They slept together. She flushed remembering
her accident on Christmas Eve, but Memere invited her back into the bed the
next night.. Aside from that, though, Christmas had been great fun. Memere
read to her as often as she wanted, and told her quiet stories about Pepere
until she fell asleep. She cried sometimes while telling those stories, but
she said that the crying was good for her. When Cat cried, it was never good
for her -- whatever Papa sometimes said. The memory of the accident made her
get up and go to the bathroom. When she came back, she headed for her
homework again.

Bob finished the last test from the first section just as his daughter took
the bathroom. He poured his glass of water first, and set it at his place.
He stretched and then stood watching Jeanette. That was one of his favorite
occupations, anyhow. Favorite, at least, when closer contact was
contraindicated. His restraint didn't work for long. Jeanette looked up.

"Work fascinates you," she said, implying he could watch it for hours.

"You fascinate me. I was just taking a break and waiting for Cat to
vacate the facilities. I was feeling virtuous 'cause I wasn't kissing you."

"Not with your lips. With your eyes?" Actually, there were worse things
than a husband who kissed you with his eyes. Really honestly, she
couldn't read another word without some downtime. Had Cat been
asleep, she'd have taken the real kiss. But Cat, who had seen her
parents kiss often enough, needed the example of people resisting all
temptation when they were doing homework. She was too young,
maybe too Brennan, to learn about moderation in yielding to
temptation. Cat came out.

"As-tu fini, ma fille?"

"Non maman. J'ais laver les mains." Cat held out her wet wrists to show
that she had remembered.

"Bien." Jeanette savored a minor victory over Bob, who disapproved of
all euphemisms. His daughter  had invented one of her own. Cat had
certainly washed her hands; why she had needed to was left unspoken.

"Je maintenant," said Bob. Living with these two, having visited France
twice, having taking French in high school, he'd never really mastered
the language. When he got back, his family was setting him a good
example. He dug into the other section's tests.

When Cat finished her work, she remembered Christmas again. She
couldn't play while sitting next to Maman, but nobody questioned
whether she was doing homework if she sat quietly. Christmas,
however, led to memories of her new dolls. The new ones and the old
ones had taken to having tea parties together, and she hadn't held one
this week. They'd be expecting her.

"Papa?" He nodded. She took the work over.

"You've finished? Tell me about it." Bob hadn't the faintest idea what
Cat's assignments were, but he could figure out whether she'd done
them sloppily. He hoped that they would hear about it from the school if Cat
started omitting assignments by simply not mentioning them. So far, however,
she was a remarkably honest girl -- defiant sometimes, but not sneaky. She
seemed to have done the homework decently. If she
was a bit sloppy, she was much neater than her father had been in first
grade. Then, she was a little Jeanette in some ways; and Jeanette had
always been -- was still -- much neater than he was. "Fine. What are
you going to play?"

"Tea party." It wasn't play, it was duty. It was what her dolls expected
from her.

"One hour," he showed her his watch and circled a finger all the way
around it. "And ten minutes." His finger made the shorter motion. "Then
you have to get ready for bed."

"Maman read?"

"If you are ready on time." Bob didn't enjoy being second choice for
the story-reading time, third choice if he counted his mother. On the
other hand, it kept Cat on track getting ready for bed. An argument
then could keep her awake for hours.

He went back to his grading. He set himself the deadline he'd given
Cat. He should pack this briefcase -- he used two, another for
Mon-Wed-Fri, this for Tue-Thurs classes -- by the time he needed to
go remind Cat that her tea party had to end.

Jeanette watched Cat pad off to her room. Then she got up and
stretched. "I couldn't have kept sitting for five more minutes," she told
Bob.

"Neither she nor I kept sitting the whole time. Wait there." He started to
get up, but Jeanette shook her head. She walked over to where he was
sitting. If sitting had bothered her, her butt probably needed a rubbing. He
gave it one. He rested his head between her breasts. Even with bra, blouse,
and sweater in the way, it was his favorite place to rest.

Jeanette was loath to bend over just then. Her back ached a little. But
she held Bob's head against her breasts for a few moments. Then she
backed off.

"Cat's done," she said. "We're not." Nevertheless she drew herself a
glass of water before returning to the study.

Bob, reminded of his reward for having no work to do once Cat was
asleep, returned to his grading with fresh vigor. He packed his
Tues.-Thurs. briefcase with minutes to spare. He knocked at the door
of his daughter's room.

"Eight minutes."

"Come in, Papa."

Bob stood watching while Cat put the doll dishes and then the dolls
away. Wot, Cat's oldest friend, was gently put on her dresser. She no
longer slept with him, but treated the once-plush elephant with
fondness. Bob supervised Cat's evening preparations. She got through
them without delay, which meant she was entitled to stories until her
absolute bedtime of eight-thirty. When Cat had climbed into bed and
kissed him, he walked back to the dining room.

"Ready to read?"

"And how! Y'know, this double-major stuff looks great on the face of
it. After all, I took so much distribution stuff when I was in evening
school. But taking both French lit and English lit makes for one hell of a
lot of reading."

"And, now, for your break, you get to . . . read!"

"That's okay. Tintin is more interesting than Sartre."

Bob, who considered the phone book more interesting than Sartre,
kept silent. He'd been the intellectual in the family for so long, guiding
Jeanette's reading in history and current events. He didn't want to make
comments which could be construed as ant-intellectual.

Jeanette, as Cat always wished, read the first story to Wot, "Horton
Hears a Who," his own book. Wot was a bilingual elephant, with two
Horton books and a Tintin book in his personal library. Then Wot and
Bob faded off into the background. Jeanette read in French to her
daughter, moving closer and lowering her voice at each new story.

"T'endormis, ma fille," she finished."Je t'aime." Cat kissed towards her and
settled deeper into the pillow.

"Eight-thirty two," Bob commented when they were far enough from
Cat's room. "You, my dear, are a magician."

"So, tell my professors that. I have nearly an hour more to go."

Bob, taking the hint, showered. Then he cleaned up the mess he and
Cat had left. He got into pajama bottoms; the tops were for Jeanette.
He got into bed and read the latest "English History Review" until
Jeanette came in from her shower.

"You look ravishing, ma femme."

"Don't feel it. Don't even feel ravishable. Wasn't your mother's letter
sweet?"

"Delightful. You notice that she mentioned Cat's getting up on the 22nd. She
never said that she didn't on the 24th." Bob had a point somewhere in his
mind about his habit of telling the truth but not the whole truth. If it
were inherited from the woman Jeanette admired most, it was unfair of her to
object to it.

"Tell her mailing list? She wouldn't have told me if she'd known how to
get the sheets to the laundry room. As I said, she's a nice woman."
Jeanette took off her robe and got into bed wearing only the PJ top.
She snuggled into Bob's arms. One nice thing about Bob was that --
once told she was too tired for sex -- he could hold her that scantily
clothed without making advances. His erection might press against her;
but, if she ignored it, so would he.

"I have a nice mother, a nice daughter, and a very nice wife. I'm a
grumpy male surrounded by nice females."

"And a nice sister."

"I wouldn't go that far. Vi is nice to you, I'll admit. But then, how could
anyone resist a person as sweet as you are?"

"I could mention a few professors who resist quite easily."

"One thing that French professors can do which history professors
cannot." He was silent for a few minutes savoring Jeanette's closeness
and softness. He thought back on how much he owed her. "I've never
expressed how glad I am that you reconciled me and Dad before he
died."

"You've said it."

"But I can't express it. You said once that I'd regret it forever if he went
to his grave with us still enemies. You were right. . . . As you so often
are."

"You thought of him as a great success."

"He was. More before you knew him, but even after the heart attack,
he was president of one of the largest employers in town. Anyway, he
said nice things about my successes, the doctorate, the tenure at
Northwestern. But he never seemed particularly proud. And he kept
picking."

"But he saw himself as a failure."

"Which wasn't fair. After all, if the standard he set was family, we didn't
do so badly."

"You did very well. Two educational successes, two financial successes
out of two. Considering the black sheep Dave is, I think that your
family has far outclassed mine. You and Vi look better than Greg and I
do, but not by as much. Taken as a whole, the Brennans are quite
admirable. And both you and Vi enjoy returning to the family bosom."
She shouldn't have used that term, Bob started to caress her breast.
Still, it felt nice now; Bob was on warning that it wouldn't go all the
way.

"But you made me see that."

"And he didn't worry that you hadn't matched his success. He was
desperately afraid you would fall into the trap he did. Which was,
really, unfair. You have always acted thoughtful towards me."

"Except when I didn't. And he was indifferent to my tenure at
Northwestern." Bob's mind was on the conversation. Some other part
of his attention was on the breast in his hand. So soft, except for the
nipple, which was growing less soft all the time. Was Jeanette really
unwilling? Well, she'd said she was. He wouldn't push.

"Not actually indifferent. Just not surprised. He'd always expected you
to succeed intellectually; he was just afraid you'd fail emotionally."

"And that was the other part of your bringing us back together. You
know, impressed as you are by Mom, she wanted to do that -- bring us
together -- and couldn't see how. Anyway, blase' as he might have
been about tenure, you and Cat impressed him tremendously."

"You're slighting yourself. Really you are. Much as he loved Cat, the
change in his approval came from how good a parent you were and
how good a husband you were. He certainly didn't have any reason to
like me, although I'll say that he always treated me kindly even when I
was taking digs at him." He had been a sweet man, despite his many
faults. After all, he was Bob's father. More than genes were involved in
that. And this discussion was so much better than an analysis of nausea.
Maybe she was getting interested in Bob, but saying so would be
teasing.

"He approved of you. Loyalty was Dad's number one virtue. When I
was fighting him, you belonged on my side. He couldn't disapprove of
anything you did for me, whether it were against him or not."

"You understand him. You're so like him."

"I spent years at his table listening to him -- and, as he would have told
you, ignoring him. That's why I understand him; I am in no way like him."

"The first Christmas after Cat was born, I remember how similar the
way he treated her was to how you did. Then, I understood that you'd
learned from watching him." But what he'd learned was the means for
being  gentle. Bob was gentle by nature, and smart. He had a saying
which fit his resemblance to his father, "What do you say about
Marxism and pizza?"

"The opposite of Marxism isn't a slice of pizza? The word 'opposite'
only makes sense in a specified category?"

"That's it. You are the polar opposite of your father, but only in a
restricted sense. You're an intelligent man interested in the world and
caring about your family. Loyal, too. You're so dedicated to not making
his mistakes, but you couldn't keep up that track record if you weren't
so much alike. I'm glad I'm married to you." And, being married to a
guy who could be gentle, maybe gentle sex would settle her for the
night.

"And I'm glad I'm married to you, too."

"I didn't lock the door." They tried to model for Cat that one's room
was private space; but they knew that she, having a lot to learn, could
forget anything she was taught -- rules even more often than facts. They
locked their door before getting seriously involved because sex was one
thing they didn't want her to learn yet.

"You said you're too tired."

"Can't a girl change her mind?"

"That way? Always! I'll go lock the door." Bob snapped the lock and
shed his pajama pants on the way back. Jeanette took off the top and
laid it on her night stand.

"Love you," Bob said. He loved her, and liked her, and respected her
mind, and lusted after her body. Just now, the last took precedence.

"You, too." Bob could take a no. He could take a yes after a no, and
still like her. She lay down flat on her back.

Bob took the invitation for what it was. If she'd been tired earlier, this
was not the night for gymnastics. He started his kiss at her mouth, then
went on to kiss he forehead fondly before approaching the sexier regions. On
the other hand, she was tired; she wouldn't want an hour of foreplay. He
kissed a path down her throat and chest. When his mouth reached her breast,
his hand went to her mound.

"Oh, yes," Jeanette said when his finger found her clit and his lips found
her nipple at the same time. Heels together, she raised and spread her
knees. Bob knew her so well; he should have full access. Then she gave her
attention to the sensations.

Resting on his right elbow, Bob stroked and stirred his wife with his left
hand while he licked and sucked her breast with his mouth. He left the
breast for a minute to kiss her mouth again. The touch of their tongues
firmed his erection. It softened, though, when he gave it nothing to do. He
was watching Jeanette's belly. He could see the progress of her arousal in
the tensing of her abs.

Jeanette was enjoying Bob's mouth. The sensations from his finger were
even better. Now, she felt ready for the main event. But, tonight, she
didn't want to bear up Bob's bulk. Still less did she want to provide the
movement. She had another option.

"A la foret?" she asked. She rolled away from him

"Dear girl." Bob loved his wife, truly he did. But. perhaps, less
passionately than he had loved his bride long -- was it seventeen years? --
ago. Then, in the forest where they were camped, he had had his first
experience of being inside her orgasm. The rear-entry position had special
meaning for him ever since. He held Jeanette's hip and waited for her to
back against him.

Jeanette moved back until her hips touched Bob's stomach. Then she
bent her knees and raised the left one. She reached between her legs
for Bob's erection. She held it for a moment while it hardened
completely, then she spread her labia with her left hand and fitted him
between them.

"Darling," Bob whispered as he pushed his phallus into her vagina.
When he was totally held, he returned his left hand to her clitoris.
Jeanette squeezed her vaginal muscles once for a greeting, and then
pressed back against him to feel as much of his warmth as this position
allowed while he took her to her peak.

Bob eased out from and into Jeanette to keep his firmness. Then he
stroked her moisture across her clitoris. He took one passage in and
out for something like every seven strokes of his finger. He kissed her
where her neck met her back. In this position, he had less sense of
Jeanette's level of arousal, but his arm across her belly reported a
growing firmness there. They were being quiet because of Cat, but Bob
began to murmur nonetheless.

"Darling woman . . . sweetheart . . . love you . . . so warm . . . so
sweet." He kept his voice to a whisper.

Jeanette pulled the pillow to her mouth. As her inner muscles clutched
around Bob, she groaned into the pillow.

"Yes," Bob whispered, "yes, darling." He pulled his hand to her hipbone
and began to move rapidly within her last flutters. "Oh!" he exclaimed
as he pushed deeply into her and pulsed. A minute later, he relaxed
against her back. He moved his hand from her hipbone to her breast.
He kissed her once more.

"Love you," he whispered. She was so warm, so good, so sexy!

Jeanette clasped her hand over his on her breast. She was silent for a
minute. Then, "Goodbye," she whispered as she felt him slip out. The
fierce joy was over, and the part which brought it had gone. But the
warm comfort was still there; his hand on her breast and his solid body
at her back were what provided it. She fell asleep.

Bob felt her legs stir as she did. He held his sleeping love in his arms. "I
don't deserve you," he murmured so low he could hardly hear himself, "but I
won't let you go despite that."


The end.
Forgive the Delay
Uther Pendragon
nogardnePrethU@gmail.com

Thanks to Denny for proofing this.
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