Message-ID: <59866asstr$1264644609@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} repost -- "Heart Ball" pt. 3 -- Uther
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Date: Wed, 27 Jan 2010 21:10:09 -0500
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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, 2001, 2003, 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.

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.


                           #  #  #  #
                           HEART BALL
                       by Uther Pendragon
                     nogardneprethu@gmail.com



Part 3:
Continued from Part 2


Babysitting for Mrs. Green had several advantages (none of
which compensated for the kids being monsters).  She was not
going to come home early, she was not going to come home drunk,
she paid by check at the beginning of the evening, and she had no
interest in finding fault with how Shannon had behaved.  The last
point was becoming more important to Shannon.

By the time Steve showed up at the Green house, he had done
some planning.  He was glad to see Shannon in a skirt again.  He
kissed her slowly and sweetly while they were still standing.
After loosening her bra, he led her to the couch and eased her
down.

Shannon's first thought was that Steve was going to try to do
it. When he knelt beside the couch, however, she relaxed and let
him renew the kiss.  She noticed that he kept his hands outside
her clothes much longer than had become their habit.  When he did
push up her sweatshirt, he took his time on her breasts before he
reached their peaks.  "Help me," he said, and pushed up the cloth
to give his mouth full access.  She raised herself enough to
allow the sweatshirt to bunch under her arms.  She felt his
kisses everywhere, beginning on her stomach, before finally
reaching her nipple.  He stroked her leg, and then her mound,
from outside her skirt.  He put his other hand on her head and
raised himself up so that they were looking each other in the
eye.

"I love you, Shannon," he said.

Then, still gazing into her eyes, he stroked down her leg and
under the skirt, luckily a wide one.  He gave her one short kiss
on the mouth and then bent to her nipple.  It was her left breast
this time, and his chest was pressed onto her right one.

Shannon felt every shift in Steve's position as an arousing
movement against her stiff nipple, and his tongue and lips on her
other nipple were even more arousing.  The overwhelming source of
her arousal, though, was the back-and forth motion of his hand on
her thigh.  His palm was firm on the top, but his fingers trailed
lightly across the inside.  One finger occasionally brushed the
inside of her left thigh as well, sending tremors upward into her
belly.  Steve's hand was moving back and forth, but it moved
upward more on every cycle.  Finally, one finger touched her
through her panties.  She wanted more, she wanted his whole hand
on her as it had been last time.

Steve felt her panties with one finger, but it was a finger in
a critical position.  Even without pressing against her, he could
feel those mysterious folds through the cloth.  He wanted to
clasp her there, he wanted to explore those folds, he wanted to
see that heart shape which he had only seen once, he wanted to
plunge into her depths.  He knew that she wouldn't allow any part
of what he wanted.  He abandoned her breast to tell her one
percent of his feeling.  "Oh Shannon," he said.

Without any conscious decision on the part of her mind, her
knees raised and spread.  She thought that he looked almost
shocked, but he kissed her before she could really read his
expression.  It was a warm, gentle, kiss; Steve licked her lips
rather than invading her mouth.  When she finally sought his
tongue with hers, she felt his hand slowly move to cup her
mound.

Steve had been shocked speechless when he felt her legs open
for his hand; but not, luckily, shocked kissless.  Once touching
her center, he could neither leave it nor keep still.  Instead,
he compulsively petted her pantied crotch.  He wanted to seize it
and clasp it tight, but he was frightened of the violence
involved in his desire.

The way he petted the cloth between her legs reminded Shannon
of petting a cat.  It was exciting, then it was excruciating; she
pulled his arm to get more pressure.

Steve had tried to be very gentle until Shannon grasped his
arm. She's going to shove me away, he thought.  She's going to
push me away and send me out of this house, and I'll never touch
her this way again.

Then she pulled him tighter.  He knew that this was her
acceptance of his desire for her and her expression of her desire
for him.  Everything was all right.  "Shannon," he said.
"Love."

She heard his words and felt him bend to her breast again,
sucking on it and pressing it with his tongue.  Steve sucked her
sweet breast and stroked her sweet center.  His own arousal was a
tightness and a torment, but he had no hand to relieve that
torment.  It was too much for Shannon, then it was not enough.
And then it was just right, and she flew away.  When his beloved
responded to him in a way that, even to his gross ignorance, was
clearly a climax, Steve was in heaven, sharing her joy and
experiencing his own pride.

When Shannon came back to the couch, it was suddenly all
wrong. She shoved his hand away and curled up to cry.

"Shannon," he said.  It had been marvelous, feeling her and
seeing her react to him.  And then she had rejected him.  And
*then* she had cried.  Had he hurt her?  Had he offended
her? "Did I hurt you?  What did I do wrong?  What do you need?
I'm sorry if I was too rough.  Shannon, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she finally managed to say.  "You didn't do
anything wrong, just hold me."  So he held her, hugging her head
with one hand and her knees with another.  She felt his chest
crosswise on her back.  Steve cuddled her from a very contorted
position, but happy that she accepted him again, he was glad for
the connection.  Finally, she straightened and relaxed.  Then she
said, "Let me get up."  He moved back, accepting that she always
pushed him away to put herself together.  She sat up and
refastened her bra.  She would have liked to straighten her
panties, too, but didn't want to do it in front of him.

Logically, the brief glimpse of breasts that he had kissed and
caressed minutes before shouldn't have stimulated Steve; but
logic had little to do with his feelings.  Needing a little
relief, he headed up the stairs to the bathroom.

Shannon watched Steve leave her, and then she remembered
having seen Mrs. Green's diaphragm on the top shelf of the
medicine cabinet on a previous evening.  If Mrs. Green didn't
hide it when she knew Steve was going to visit, Shannon probably
had no obligation to do so.  Still, she felt that it was a real
invasion of her hostess's privacy.  "Steve," she called, "can't
you use the bathroom down here?"

Steve's reason for going upstairs was to place as much
distance as possible between himself and Shannon while he
relieved the ache.  Explaining that was worse than using the
bathroom a few feet from her.  He went down the few stairs that
he had climbed and shut the door.  After his experiences that
evening, Steve found that freeing his cock from his Jockey briefs
was harder work than bringing it to climax.

He sniffed his right hand, which still retained Shannon's
odor, for a few seconds before beginning a vigorous stroking over
the toilet bowl.  He cleaned up the spatters, used the facilities
to piss as well, and washed his hands.  The latter was a matter
of real regret, but he could hardly keep his hand dirty just to
have something to sniff at odd moments.  Besides, he was afraid
that others would be able to smell it, too.

Each of them was dressed neatly, if in rather high color, when
he came back into the living room.  They actually got a little
studying done before he began to yawn.  Their kiss good night
left them a little more mussed, but it didn't necessitate any
rearrangement of underwear.

Steve dreamed of Shannon that night; Shannon was considering,
rather than dreaming.

                              - = -

Shannon remembered something about positive reinforcement from
a Social Sciences course in tenth grade.  She hoped that
attending church with Dad would reinforce whatever effort he was
exerting behind the scenes about Albion.

Anyway, she generally tried to fulfill parental expectations
the mornings after she saw Steve.  "Well," she could say, "you
never asked if Steve was there, and -- after all -- the study
evening didn't interfere with me getting up and going to
church."

Besides, Miss Olson, a member of the church, had been Dr.
Wyatt's office nurse since Shannon had been his patient.  "Miss
Olson," she started out, "could I speak to you privately?"

"All right, Shannon," she said, "what did you want to
discuss?" She kept her voice neutral.  This could be anything
from business for the women's group, of which Miss Olson was
currently treasurer, to a request for a secret appointment with
Doctor.  Shannon had been a patient when she came to work for the
Doctor.

"It's little Amy Jensen.  What's going to happen to her?"

"And what makes you think that I know?"  Information about
patients was confidential.  Shannon really shouldn't ask.

"She's a patient of Dr. Wyatt.  She has asthma bad.  Every
time I go to babysit, I see Dr. Wyatt's phone number on the pad.
She's such a sweet kid, and so young!  Couldn't you ask Dr.
Wyatt?" Shannon felt like crying.

Miss Olson patted Shannon's shoulder.  Curiosity was one
thing, sympathy was another.  "She is a lovely child, isn't she?
But you know the parents.  They know the prognosis; ask them.
I'm sure that they'll be glad to tell you."  Which, without quite
breaking confidentiality, should let Shannon know that the long-
term prognosis was good.  "But Doctor doesn't like me talking
about his patients, don't you see?  I think that your father is
looking for you."

In fact, Wayne had seen Shannon and was waiting for her to
join him.  Happy to have his daughter to sit with him, he wished
he had his whole family.  Raised a Presbyterian, he was now a
Methodist because Allison had insisted.  She, more committed to
denomination than to faith, missed more services than she
attended.  He and Shannon found seats just as the prelude was
ending.

                              - = -

The theme of the ball before Christmas break was going to be
Santa's reindeer.  Ken approached Steve about working on the
committee.  "I don't think so, Ken.  I'm putting in all those
hours at the store and trying to keep my grades up."

"Come on, Steve.  Every senior should be on one dance
committee, at least.  It gets you a free ticket, too."

"Maybe later."

"I'm thinking of something like 'Be a Dancer or a Prancer at
the Donner Party.' How does that sound?"

"Fine Ken, but not good enough to get me on the committee.
I'll come to the dance, though."

                              - = -

The weather, which had been unseasonably mild up to then,
turned vicious.  Steve reluctantly stored his bike in the garage
and took the bus every day.  The bus wasn't all that reliable
either, but you never got into trouble when the school bus made
you late for class.

That meant that Steve couldn't walk Shannon home, couldn't
even stay after school to chat with her.  On many Wednesdays, he
could borrow the car.  Those days, he could drive her home but
not stay and talk.  Wednesday afternoons he had to rush home, eat
in an indecent hurry, and get to Hauksbee's.

                              - = -

"Shannon," Mr. Jensen asked over the phone, "are you free next
week?  I know it's getting close to Christmas..."

"What day next week?"

"Your choice.  She won't trust any other babysitter but you.
You reacted so fast to the pill matter.  We figured that we would
ask you first."

"One thing, you said that you didn't mind Steve visiting."

"Of course."

"I'd like him to meet Amy.  I don't want her coming down the
hall and seeing a man that she has never met.  How about Tuesday,
he's off that night."

"Of course.  And we'll make it early."  They didn't need to do
that for Shannon, but she knew that this was a lost cause.  Mrs.
Jensen was still breast feeding Peggy, and expressing one bottle
was her limit.

                              - = -

Steve showed up, by design, well before Shannon.  Peggy looked
a lot like a warm lump to him, and one who didn't smell that
nice. Amy, on the other hand, was as bright as Shannon had
suggested. Besides, Peggy wasn't going to report any wrongdoing;
they didn't need her good will.

Amy was used to playing second fiddle to her new sister.  When
Steve's attention concentrated on her, she responded tenfold.  He
used a histrionic voice for reading her books, and Amy was
charmed.  She was getting in serious lap time when Shannon showed
up.  Shannon's arrival, which always heralded her mother's
departure, was bad news.  Ten minutes after her parents were out
the door, however, Steve was reading *Horton Hatches an Egg*
for the third time.

Shannon didn't know whether to be jealous of Amy for capturing
her boyfriend's attention, or of Steve for having a lap that Amy
clearly preferred to her own.  Then Peggy needed attention, and
each of them had a kid to deal with.  "Okay," Shannon said when
Amy's bed time rolled around.  "Do you want to walk to your room,
or do you want me to carry you?"

"Teef!" Amy said, and triumphantly rode down the hall in
Steve's arms.  Shannon did most of the work, but Steve did the
lifting and tucking in necessary to put Amy to bed.  They both
kissed her good night.

"And what," Steve asked when they were again in the living
room, "do Mommy and Daddy do when their kids are tucked in?"

"They check their watches because the four-year-old is going
to want a glass of water in five minutes."  That wasn't really
true of Amy, though, and Shannon didn't mind spending the time
kissing, so long as that was all they did.  They broke to put
Amy's books back on her shelf, but ten minutes later Shannon was
lying down with Steve kissing her.  When he reached for the
bottom of her skirt, she grabbed his arm.

"Do you know when to stop?" she asked.

"When you tell me to."

"What if I set a limit now?"

"Are you telling me to stop, now?"  And, he wondered, what is
stopping?  Does she want my hand outside her skirt?  If so, why a
skirt?

Instead of answering, she hiked up her skirt.  It was tight.
She didn't have many full ones that weren't also too dressy for
babysitting.

"Are you telling me to stop?" Steve asked.

"Not yet.  Just establishing that you will."

"You are weird, Shannon.  Beautiful but weird."  He was quite
happy to go back to kissing her, though.  And his lips and hand
brought her to her crisis once again.  This time, when she pulled
his hand from between her legs, she brought it to her mouth and
kissed it.  That made him feel much better.  He knew about
wanting the stimulation to stop, and didn't mind that she felt
that way; he just didn't want her rejecting him.  He cradled her
as much as the awkward position allowed.

They stayed like that until Peggy's cries interrupted them.
This time she was wet and messy.  Shannon changed her and gave
her a pacifier, but Steve was holding her when the Jensens came
home.

Mrs. Jensen shed her coat and recaptured her baby in one
continuous motion.  She gave Steve an odd look before hurrying
down the hall.

Mr. Jensen drove them home.  "Was Amy all right?" he
asked.

"She was perfectly sweet," Steve said.  "Shannon was right
about her."

"Humph," said Shannon.  "She tried to steal my boyfriend.
There wasn't a sign of the asthma, though.  That's what he was
asking, Steve."

                              - = -

Steve normally got paid on the third and the eighteenth of
every month.  Conscious of his employees' needs, Hauksbee got the
payroll done by Saturday the sixteenth.  Steve got to the bank in
the last half hour it was open.

"I'm sorry," the cashier said.  "This account needs two
signatures for withdrawal."  Steve knew that, but it wasn't a
withdrawal.

"I'm making a deposit.  This is a check.  I've done this twice
a month for more than a year now."

"I *know* that it is a check, sir; but, technically, you
are depositing the check and withdrawing the cash.  We don't
enforce that rule when the cash is a trivial amount, but you are
asking for more than half the check in cash."

"I need that money for my Christmas shopping."

"Well, I can't give you more than seventy-five dollars."

He took it.

                              - = -

The ball that night was called "Reindeer Ramble."  They both
enjoyed themselves greatly at the dance, Steve enjoyed himself a
little less afterwards.  The parking time was spent more in
talking than in making out.

"I'm not saying no to you, Steve," Shannon said.  "I'm saying
no to the time and the place.  You do see that?"  She'd have to
remember this, though, when she bought a dress for the
Valentine's Day Ball.

"I see it, Shannon.  I love you.  Look, I want things that I
can't have.  I'm willing to wait for things I can't have
*tonight*.  Besides, although I shouldn't admit it to you,
dancing with you in my arms is a sexual experience."

"You're right," she said.  "You shouldn't have admitted it. I
just thought that you had brought a sausage in your pocket."

"Shannon!"  Steve was a little bit shocked.  He was also
amused and aroused.  "Can we -- at least -- kiss?"

They did, until it was time to take her home.  After they
parted at her doorstep at precisely eleven, they made their
separate preparations in their separate houses to ready
themselves for their separate beds.  There, finally, they met
again -- but only in their separate imaginations.

                              - = -

Steve knocked at the Bryants' door the afternoon of the next
day.

"Hello, Steven," Mrs. Bryant said.  "Shannon's not here.  The
church youth group is rehearsing carols.  I'm surprised that you
didn't know."  Shannon seemed to know, Allison thought,
*Steven's* every move.

"That's why I'm here.  Could you sneak that under the tree
before your family opens presents."  He handed her a bag
containing a box.

"Come in a moment, won't you."  She searched up the present
Shannon had bought Steven.

Looking at the gorgeous wrappings, Steve felt guilty.  "I had
the store wrap hers," he said.

"Probably just as well."  Kids, she thought as she watched him
walk to his car, had such tender egos.

"I gave Steven your present," she told Shannon when she got
home. "He came by."

"What did he want?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy."  But Allison was not willing to live
with her daughter's worrying for a week about whether Steve would
get her a present.  She would be bad enough wondering what it
was.

                              - = -

Steve's father advanced him the cash for the rest of his
Christmas shopping.  Steve would sign over his check next payday,
and get his dad's check for the difference.

Over the Christmas break, Steve and Shannon got to see each
other occasionally and to talk on the phone a lot.  Most of their
meetings were, however, in public and in the light of day.
Mallory was back from college, and Steve's parents insisted that
the family do things together.  Besides, she hogged the phone and
accused Steve of doing that himself.

                              - = -

Saturday, Shannon had another baby-sitting job from Mrs.
Green. Steve had previously promised to work that night,
relieving Mrs. Thompson, but he could stop by afterwards.

That was the only thought that kept her sane while the little
monsters were awake.  When she finally got them to bed, however,
they slept the deep, dreamless sleep of the conscienceless. Mrs.
Green had, indeed, moved her diaphragm from the medicine cabinet,
making Shannon's earlier worries unnecessary.

That checked, she put her frazzled spirit back together,
finished the dinner she'd abandoned when the boys had finished
theirs, and cleaned up the worst of the mess.  She checked on the
boys one last time and settled down with one of Mrs. Green's
bodice-rippers to prepare herself for Steve's visit.

Their first kiss was brief.  "Brrr," she said.

"Well, let me get this coat off," he replied.  That
accomplished, he kissed her again.

"Your hands are still cold as ice."

"Cold hands, warm heart," he claimed.

"And what do cold lips demonstrate?"

"That I'm a healthy dog?"

"That's a cold nose, silly."

"I have that too," he said.  "I remember now.  Cold lips are
an infallible sign that the sufferer hasn't been kissed enough by
Shannon."

"Does that mean that I should stop kissing you when your lips
get warm?"

"Warm lips are a sign that the sufferer hasn't kissed Shannon
enough."

She wouldn't let him put his hands on her, though, even over
her clothes.  He broke the foolishness to use the bathroom.  He
washed his hands afterwards, rinsing them for minutes under the
hottest water that he could stand.

"Much better," she said when he came out and cupped her face
for another kiss.  Soon, she was lying on the couch with him
kneeling on the floor beside it.  Their tongues played together
while he slipped his hands under her blouse and up to her
breasts.

She relaxed into the familiar pleasures, only shaken when he
first kissed her breasts.  His face was still a bit chilly.  His
hand was not, however.  It slid up her leg and then stroked
down.

Steve found her breasts marvelously warm as well as soft.  Her
nipple puckered firmly for his mouth even more rapidly than
usual.  Convinced that he would be allowed access to her pantied
mound at the culmination of the evening, he tantalized himself,
and (he hoped) Shannon, by approaching this treat very slowly. He
got into a rhythm of moving his hand upwards well above her leg
and then resting it on the skin to stroke down her thigh. The
smoothness of the soft curves under his hand was hypnotic, and he
had to remind himself to switch breasts.

Shannon wallowed in the sensations coming from the licking and
suction on her breast and the gentle caresses on her thigh.
Steve's slow and gentle approach reminded her that she could
trust him and relax.  Moreover, since he was doing it, she didn't
need to think of what to do next.  After a bit, however, she was
ready for a next stage which seemed slow in coming.  When he
leaned across her to reach her other breast, she expected the
clasp of his hand.  It didn't come.  She raised her knees and
spread them as much as the couch allowed.

Despite the discomfort in his groin, Steve felt that he could
go on stroking Shannon's soft curves forever.  Then she adjusted
her position in clear invitation.  For one moment, he was tempted
to climb between those welcoming thighs.  Then his common sense
kicked back in; Shannon might be in the perfect position for his
joining her, but that was obviously not her intention.  With that
picture still dominating his thoughts, he tickled her other leg
on the way to her panties.  Once there, he stroked his fingers
over the smooth, damp cloth.  He tried to read the configuration
of her mystery through the constraining panties.  Needing to
straighten up on his knees to adjust his erection, he took that
opportunity to kiss Shannon's mouth once more and to switch
breasts after that.  While he moved, he rested his hand on
Shannon's mound and clasped her groin with his fingers.

Shannon felt that clasp with a rush of excitement.  Steve's
strokes in the new position were firmer and more exciting.  "Yes,
Steve," she said as he pressed more firmly against her labia.
"Oh, yes," she said as he rubbed her more rapidly.  She pulled
his hand tighter against her and moaned "Yesss!" as the climax
finally took her.  This time he kept stroking until she was done.
When she pushed his hand away, he kissed her immediately.

"I love you Shannon," he said.  "You are wonderful."  Then he
kissed her again.

Steve really meant that Shannon was wonderful, and he thought
that she had been especially wonderful for the previous few
minutes. She had always seemed sexy and desirable to him.  It had
also been clear for many months that she thought him a nice boy.
But only recently had he seen her respond as a desirous woman,
behave as though she thought that *he* was sexy.  This
increased his arousal a thousandfold.  He felt he should hug and
kiss her forever in gratitude for this gift; on the other hand,
he really felt the need to escape her presence so that he could
do something about that arousal.  He kissed her forehead and
whispered, "I'll be back."

Shannon listened to his footsteps head toward the downstairs
bathroom.  She sat up, refastened her bra and buttoned her
blouse.  Steve had only undone the bottom buttons; the top two
were still in place.  She stood to tuck everything back in place.
She needed the mirror in the bathroom to check herself out,
though.  She smiled at the idea of breaking in on Steve.

Then she thought, Why not?  He's seen me.  What he's doing is
no secret.  She took a deep breath to gather up her courage and
walked to the door.  No inside door in the Green home had a lock
that the kids could use.  She turned the handle quietly.

Steve had his cock out and cooling a bit while he sniffed the
Shannon-odor once more.  He wondered what Shannon would think if
he used a handkerchief to rub her down there.  He could keep it
in a test tube with a stopper and only open it at night in his
bed.  On the other hand, there were already too many layers of
cloth between his hand and her mystery this way.

Shannon saw Steve standing in front of the toilet with his
penis pointing up; he had his hand against his mouth as if he
were stifling a yawn.  A little after she entered, he glanced
towards her in shock, and turned towards her.  "Shannon," he
squeaked.

"You would have preferred Mrs. Green?"

Conscious of his erection in plain sight, Steve turned his
back. Shannon could see Steve's blush creep across his neck.
Maybe it was anger instead of embarrassment, but she wasn't going
to stop now.  She glided behind him so close that he could feel
her firm breasts press into his back.  Her hands slid around his
waist and toward his groin.  Somewhere in his forebrain he was
scandalized and horribly embarrassed.  None of this was
communicated below his waist.  There, her hands were touching
him, holding him.

When she touched it, it jerked in her fingers.  The skin moved
with her fingers, although she tried to stroke it gently. Beneath
that loose surface, however, she felt something much firmer and
hotter.  "Tell me what I should do," she said.  He didn't answer,
but that was soon irrelevant as it jumped in her hands and shot
out pulse after pulse.  The first ones hit the raised toilet
seat; only the last pulses went inside the bowl. His hips moved
back and forth within the circle of her arms, and he was sort of
grunting.  Then her right hand had some of the goo on it.

All Steve could think was that doing it himself had never felt
like this.

She washed while he stood there.  All in all, she thought, it
had been interesting -- even a little arousing, but not in the
least romantic.

Steve used the facilities when she had left.  Then he cleaned
up his mess and washed himself.  He blushed scarlet when he had
to leave the bathroom at last.

Shannon had decided to put that experience on the back burner
until she could think about it in private.  She was deep into her
math book by the time he came out.  She wanted to get all the
studying out of the way before the New Year's rush for
babysitters.

Steve had taken advanced algebra and trig the previous year.
Still, he stammered when she asked him a question about it.

"I'm serious," she said.  "What's this business with
amplitude?"

"Simple enough.  You're just asking the wrong question first.
Where is the middle line of that function?"

"Here?"  She sort of sketched a line across the book with her
finger.

"Good enough.  Y equals negative three.  Now how high can the
function get?"

"Positive one."

"And its minimum?"

"Negative seven."

"Okay," he said.  "The difference between positive one and
negative three is four.  The difference between negative three
and negative seven is four.  The amplitude is?"

"Four...  Or eight?"

"Shoulda stopped while you were ahead.  The standard sine wave
looks like this."  He sketched it out.  "Max value, positive one;
minimum value, minus one; amplitude one."

"I know that."  Steve was good at math, but that was no reason
for him to patronize her.

"Right.  This is math; we start with what you know.  Wait till
the teacher gets to the part that you don't know and you'll get
lost every time."  He'd been saying that since the beginning of
the school year.  It seemed to him that she ignored him every
time, and that she got lost nearly every time.

"Anyway," he continued, "the distance from the center line to
the maximum is the amplitude of this function.  So that is the
amplitude of any function.  Or the distance from the center line
to the minimum, they had better be the same."

She went back to her book, and he opened his English book.  He
kept hoping that reading Shakespeare one more time would make
"Romeo and Juliet" clear.  Half an hour later, they kissed good
night.  It was a warm kiss, with lots of tongue; but neither of
them brought the passion to it that they had experienced earlier.

                              - = -

Shannon took a job babysitting on New Year's Eve, while Steve
and Mallory were designated drivers at their parents' party that
night.  Steve drove the guests home in their cars, and Mallory
followed after in the Civic.  Steve would climb into what he
considered Shannon's seat and ride back.  They participated in
the party until they were needed, but not in the main
activity.

"You each can drink as much as you want Monday, though," their
father promised.  At one point, Steve doubted that the guests
would leave anything undrunk in the county, let alone their
house.  As he couldn't go into Hauksbee's with liquor on his
breath, he'd have to do his drinking on Monday night.

Steve did grab an unopened bag of caramels from the candy
stash. He hid it in his coat pocket and ate them in his old
style.  The light-colored ones, which he liked well enough, he
ate first.

"Give me a couple," Mallory said.

"Get your own.  We'll be back at the house in a few minutes."
But he dug into the bag to find a few.  He passed her the two
light-colored ones, dropped two of the three dark ones back into
the bag, and started to peel the third for himself.

"Come on.  Give me one of the dark ones.  You have lots."

"Get your own.  I have lots of dark ones because I eat the
light ones first."

"You're a puritan.  My little brother is a puritan even about
eating candy."

Entering the house through the kitchen, as the family always
did, they surprised a couple making out more heavily in a half-
lit corner than Shannon would in a dark closed car.  The man and
his wife -- not the woman in the kitchen -- were his next
passengers. "Seeing the big world, little brother," Mallory said
as he got back in their car.  She liked to pretend to be a woman
of the world dealing with an innocent hayseed.

"I'm not surprised it happens," he said.  "I just expect that,
when *I* am married, I'll stick to my own woman, and my own
house for that matter."

"And meanwhile, you stick to your own hand.  Don't try to
bullshit your big sister.  You'd take it if it were offered. It's
just that nobody would want you."

On a later return, he really was shocked.  His father was
pressed against a woman bending over one of the kitchen counters.
"Dad!" he gasped.  Then they moved apart, and he saw that the
woman was his mother.  All Dad had been doing was scratching her
back.  He did that lots, although they probably wouldn't have
dodged out of their own party for it if either one had been
sober.

"I hope," he told Mallory in the car later, "that Dad forgets
that incident.  It must have been clear what I thought he was
doing."

"He had his groin pressed up against Mom's butt.  What could
you possibly have thought he was doing?"

"Well, I didn't know it was Mom at first.  And what he was
really doing was scratching her back."

"Someday, little brother, you should take lessons from Dad in
backscratching.  Mom started offering to do my back, instead of
him, soon after they decided that I couldn't sit on his lap.  And
she definitely doesn't know how."

Steve had never bought his sister Mallory's woman-of-the-world
schtick.  On the other hand, she *was* a girl.

In bed that night, he experimented on his own thighs.  Done
right, it was arousing.  He slid his nails very lightly down his
inner thigh pretending it was Shannon's.  The combination of
sensation and imagination hardened him.  She would lie like this;
she would tremble like this; she would spread her legs like this.
Then he turned sideways and grabbed a Kleenex.  That friction was
enough to bring the explosion.

                              - = -

Steve took Shannon out for a drive on the second.  They necked
as well as talked, but they had become nervous about the lack of
privacy in the car, especially with the better places full of
snow.  Besides, it was cold in the car, and he had a
hangover.

Steve hadn't heard from IIT yet, but he had received
acceptances from both Albion and U of I the week after
Christmas.

"This news is supposed to make me jump for joy," he said.

"Yeah," Shannon said.  "Me too."  The U of I had come though
for her, too.

"The admissions offices aren't going to make our decision for
us. Financial aid just might," she said after a minute of
two.

"I don't know.  They all say that they give aid to all
students who really need it.  And I don't think that either of us
is going to get a great scholarship based on our academic
record."

"I'm scared of telling my mother that I'm choosing a school to
be with you."

"I'm more scared," he said.  "It's unlikely to cost your
parents any more, probably less."

But Shannon was thinking it less and less likely that the
college for both of them would be Albion.  The question was
whether there would be a college for both of them.  And Steve
might still be accepted into IIT.  She couldn't go there, but she
could find another college in Chicago.  She didn't want to,
though; Champaign-Urbana was quite large enough a town, thank
you.  If Steve wouldn't give up his plans for her, why should she
give up her plans for him?  The thing was that Steve hadn't asked
her to. And he hadn't really said that he wouldn't give up his
plans, either.  She wanted to be with him.  And his plans, after
all, were lifetime plans.

Could they keep a long-distance romance going for four years?
That was four times as long as they had been dating.

                              - = -

Her parents scheduled an attic cleanup for Saturday morning.
As Steve was working then, she made no objection.  But they
didn't start until after ten, took a long lunch which was devoted
to "remember when," and finished grungy at nearly five.

Steve called, but he wasn't really free then either; and
Mallory wanted the phone after only fifteen minutes.  "E-mail,"
he said. She did, but she never felt the same about these.  She
logged on later to read two.  They were nice, but she missed
Steve's voice.


 Sweetheart,
 It was nice to hear your voice.
 Mallory is being a bitch, but she has loads of
 practice.

 Well, she'll be gone soon, if not soon enough.  I'd lose
 any fight right now.

 Anyway, I just wanted to say that I love you.
 I love you.
 Steve loves *Shannon.*
 *Steve* loves Shannon.
 Steve *loves* Shannon.
 I can't say how much.

 > Steve,
 > I don't see what good this is.
 > I want to hear your voice, I want to talk to you.  There is
 > nothing particular to say.
 > Anyway, I have both acceptances.  I'll send one form in
 > in plenty of time, I just don't want to give my mom more to
 > complain about right now.

 Sweet Shannon,
 It's your call.
 I mean the college thing.
 I can understand about keeping your mom happy.
 Sometimes I think that half my time is spent
 keeping my parents happy.  The other half is
 spent keeping my teachers happy.  I don't have
 any time for pleasing myself.

 Oops!  This ignores dealing with Hauksbee.  Not
 that I've ever seen the old man happy.  Keeping
 him from flying off the handle is more like it.

 Love, no adore you,
 Steve.

                              - = -

The Bryants all got to church the first Sunday of the new
year.

The financial secretary had the records of giving piled on a
table when they got out of service.  Shannon opened hers in the
back seat of the car.  She was three weeks behind at the end of
the year.  "Mom," she asked "is there enough to pay the back
offering next week?  It's fifteen bucks."

"Sure," her mother said.  "But give me your babysitting money
when we get home.  I'll finish last year and start this. Nobody
wants to show houses with the Christmas lights still on them and
the ice dripping down."

"Shannon!" she called half an hour after they got back.
"Where's the money from the Savages?"

"They paid in cash," Shannon called from her room.  "I spent
it at the after-Christmas sales.  I only used your card for the
big stuff."

"Then tell me the amount.  I need to know cash amounts for
keeping these books, and I'm starting the books for the new
year."

"Why," Shannon asked in a perfectly reasonable voice, "does
the new year change the rules?  I kept the cash just as I did
last year."

"Shannon!!" her mother screamed.

"Let's," her father shouted from downstairs, "get all this in
one room and keep it to a dull roar."

But he sided with her mother when the matter was laid out.  "I
work for the hospital; it's the county's money.  But every penny
which comes in, and every penny which goes out, has to be
reported to my office.  It may be your money, but it is your
mother's *books*.  And you should be damn grateful that she
keeps them for you.  Maybe she shouldn't."

Luckily, Shannon kept records of appointments, expected
starting and ending times, and -- since she wanted the warning
before she went there again -- any late return or underpayment.
She went over them with her mother in excruciating detail.  For
some reason, this required another column in the accounting
record.

"And he paid me fifteen dollars, and that was the first time,"
she finally said.  They had been working backwards.

"Did you finish up this year's books?" Shannon asked at
supper. She'd cooked supper to pay back her mother for the extra
effort on the books.

"No thanks to you.  Honestly, Shannon!"

"So how much was my balance brought forward to the new
year?"

"Well, you bought things at the sales.  And you'll really owe
taxes this year.  The theater withheld, but nobody else did. Mrs.
Green could get in trouble for that."

Shannon hoped that she wasn't as transparent when *she*
was evading the subject as her mother was.  "How much was my
balance brought forward?"  Her parents exchanged looks.

"Two thousand four hundred thirty-eight dollars and fifty-four
cents."

"Two thousand dollars!!" she screamed.

"Remember the four hundred thirty-eight dollars and fifty-four
cents."

"Two thousand dollars! And you didn't want to tell me!  What I
could have done with that."

"You could have wasted it," her father said.  "What did you
want that you didn't buy?"

"I could have got Steve something really nice for Christmas
and his birthday."

"We went over that," her mother said.  "The limit was what
Steven would feel obliged to spend on you.  He was embarrassed
that your wrapping of his Christmas gift was better than the job
that the store did on yours."

"There is another point that you need to consider," Dad said.
Shannon felt that they were double-teaming her; but there was
none of that nonsense about good cop - bad cop.  "We'll pay your
way to college.  We've said so.  We'll pay tuition, books, room
and board.  It's only fair that you pay for your clothes and
entertainment.  Certainly, if we have to pay for them, you will
be on a much tighter allowance than you spent this year."

"You've been talking about this.  It's my money, but you've
been talking about it behind my back!"

"We didn't talk about it."  Dad was using his explain-the-
obvious-to-the-retards voice.  "Didn't need to.  Back in the
summer, you were getting $162 a week from Mrs. Green.  How much
from the theater?"

"Almost ninety."

"Not take home," her mom said.

"Nobody," Dad said, "not even Imelda Marcos, could spend two
hundred and fifty dollars a week on clothes.  Not in this
town."

"And," Mom added, "you were with Steven almost every moment
that the stores were open."  Which was a gross exaggeration; so
was Dad's.

"So," Dad finished up, "I knew that you were accumulating
money without watching the amounts.  Your mother knew that you
would accumulate more through the summer before it even happened.
Why did either of us have a duty to point that out to you?  It
wasn't as if you missed one, single, opportunity to spend money.
I didn't actually talk to your mother.  But I sympathize with
her."

"You know, Shannon," Mom said, "you haven't the faintest idea
what the style details will be at college.  Every time you buy
something now which may be appropriate for the next few months,
you decide that you won't buy something next year -- maybe
something which you will actually need."

Continued in Part 4
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2001/01/18
2003/01/22
2010/01/27
All my available stories:
/~UtherPendragon/index.htm
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