Message-ID: <59874asstr$1264896606@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} repost "Heart Ball" part 6 -- (Uther)
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Date: Sat, 30 Jan 2010 19:10:06 -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 5:
Continued from Part 4


"Tell Mrs. Green," Wayne told his daughter the next day after
lunch, "that school is back in session.  She can't have Wednesday
*and* Saturday.  Why don't you two just agree on Saturdays,
anyway?  It's better for school.  Or some Fridays?"

"Well, she can get permanent second shift; but she can't get
permanent choice of days."  Besides, Fridays and Saturdays were
date nights.  But Mrs. Green *had* agreed to a limit of one
day a week -- way back in the fall.

"I don't want to seem selfish; I don't think I've opened it in
a decade.  But when is Steven bringing the Shakespeare back?"

"Bringing it back?  Isn't it where it belongs?"  They looked,
and it was on the shelf.  "If that's not where you keep it, it's
my fault.  We didn't get to the footnotes last night.  We didn't
get anywhere near the amount of studying done that I had hoped
for."

"Spend too much time kissing?"

"Didn't get near the amount of *that* done I had  hoped
for either."  If her dad didn't want to know, Shannon figured, he
shouldn't ask.

"When is the next meeting of your committee?" her mother
asked. "Is there any preparation you have to do?  Shannon didn't
think so.  It was hard to see where the plans were going, and she
hadn't thought of it since walking out of the door of the school.
Her mother's question, though, gave her an idea.

"Well, there is one thing I could do, Mom."  She called up
Heather Swenson, the girl who had been holding out about the
decor she wanted to use.  "Look, Heather, this is Shannon Bryant.
I'm on the dance committee with you.  You know those cupids you
want to use?"

"And Ken ignored my idea completely.  I campaigned for that,
that..." (Heather obviously had parents within hearing range) "I
carried the junior class for him.  He called it a return favor.
But when I have an idea different from his, see who doesn't
return favors.  Just watch!"

"Thing is," Shannon didn't know whether calm reason would
penetrate that sort of anger, "I can't see how we would make
them.  They might look great, but people aren't going to vote for
something when they have to do it and they can't see how.  Do you
see at all what I mean?"

"You're against me, too."

"I'm not against you, not really against your idea.  But you
could bring in a couple of examples and tell us how you made
them.  I might vote for it then.  So might a lot of others."

"You think so?"  Heather sounded a lot less attached to her
design plan than she had been attached to the idea of being
persecuted.

"Can't hurt.  And Heather..." Shannon had seen some odd
looking cupids in her time. "make them decent.  Know what I mean?
That Mr. Babaian talked like an awful prude."

"I'm not like Ken.  Anyway, thanks."


At half-past three, She rang Mrs. Green's bell.  Her
employer  handed her a check on the way to her car.  Once the
demons were in bed, she wiped up the worst of the mess on the
kitchen table before having a second helping of the dinner she
had fixed them.  She left the kitchen neater than it had looked
when she arrived.  She scooped up the loose toys in the dining
and living rooms, dumped them in the toy box, and managed to
force down the lid.

She spread out her homework on the dining table and filled out
her own cards.  A little before Steve was due, she ducked into
the downstairs john to remove her bra.  She rebuttoned the shirt,
tucked it back into her jeans, and checked herself out in the
mirror.  But Steve didn't come.  Well, she had told him not to if
he hadn't finished the homework.  Still, she was worried; that
edict had been supposed to motivate study, not prevent the
visit.

An hour after she had given up hope, Steve rang the doorbell.
"Sorry," he said, "Mom's car wouldn't start."

"You walked here?"  The snow and slush made bicycling
impossible.

"Only from the garage."  The guy had driven out a new battery
in the tow truck.  Steve had hitched a ride back with him.

But he still would have to walk home, she thought.  Maybe she
could prevail upon Mrs. Green to drive him.

Meanwhile, he had shed his coat and a sweater.  He took her
hands in his and kissed each of them.  Then he kissed her left
hand as elaborately as he had kissed her right the night before.
He kissed her palm, licked it, kissed up the inside of her arm,
finally licked the inside of her elbow.  Not until she shivered
and pulled her arm away did he pull her into a real kiss -- mouth
to mouth.

Shannon was flustered.  The shivers from Steve's kisses
weren't only because his face was cold against her arm.  When he
kissed her, she opened her lips; but he ignored the invitation,
licking her lips until she pushed her tongue to meet his.  Then
he pulled her hips forward until her groin pressed into his leg,
and she could feel his hardness against her stomach.  Letting
that grip and her own hands around his neck support her, she
slumped against him.  Her sensitive breasts were pressed against
his chest by her weight.  His big hands were opening and closing
on her jean-clad hips.  Conscious as she was that he could bring
her no relief tonight, she was deeply turned on.

Steve finally broke the kiss because he had to breathe.  Then,
however, he headed reluctantly for the john.  Shannon's
responsiveness had been a joy, her tongue's reaction to his
teasing no less than the hardness at the end of the softness
against his chest.  Her jeans were probably a message, but she
had worn no bra under a blouse that could be unbuttoned.  As he
waited for his erection to soften enough to use the facilities,
he removed his own shirt and undershirt.  His shirt was buttoned
and neatly tucked in when he came out, but he carried his
undershirt in his newly-warmed hands.

"Put that in your backpack," Shannon told him.  "We have a
play to review."  Shannon drilled him on the first two acts
sitting in a chair halfway across the room from his place on the
sofa. "And 'wherefore' means what?" she asked.

"It does?  I thought it meant 'why?'"

"It does.  I meant, 'What does "wherefore" mean?'  You are
right. It means 'Why are you Romeo?'  She loves him.  Her love
would be easier without that name."

"Okay."  They'd covered that in class, and less confusingly.
When they had covered the first scene in Act Three, however, he
rebelled.  "Just because I did these at home doesn't mean that I
don't get a reward."  He walked behind her chair.  He kissed the
top of her head before pulling her chin upward to expose her face
to his.  While they kissed upside down, his hands cupped her
breasts outside her blouse.  The nipples firmed into his palms in
the way he loved so well.

"Hey," she said when he moved his kiss to her ear.  "If that
is just for a scene, what reinforcement will you want for a whole
act?"  He pulled his face back to give her a leer.  "Well, you
can't have it!"  He pulled a dramatically sad face and pouted.
The faces were ridiculous upside down.  He kissed her forehead
while unbuttoning the second button of her blouse.

For Scene Two, he repeated the performance.  Her breasts were
so soft against his hands that he had to hold himself back from
crushing them.  When he unbuttoned the next button, she pulled
the edges of the blouse forward, letting him see her hard
nipples.  Somehow, he resisted the impulse to grab them.  While
he returned to the sofa, she rebuttoned the one he had unbuttoned
the first time.

The small gap from that loose button was more disturbing than
the direct sight of the naked breasts.  He swallowed and managed
to go on.  When they reached the fifth scene, she had only one
button holding the blouse closed over her breasts.

"Boy!" Steve said.  "He's as bad as TV.  All those dirty jokes
in the beginning, and then he deals with the love scene by having
them come out early in the morning."

"You just have a dirty mind."  Did he really believe that she
hadn't thought about love, their love, in terms of a bed?  She
wanted that, she would have that, just not quite yet.  And Romeo
and Juliet had been married by that time, too.

They finally returned to studying and agreed on the
information conveyed in the last scene.

Steve unbuttoned his own shirt while approaching slowly.  She
held both her hands towards him.  He kissed each knuckle before
helping her up.  He pulled her blouse out of her jeans, undid the
last button, and swept both of their shirts open.  They were
skin to skin for the next kiss, the first time since summer.

His hands were on her warm back, technically not an erogenous
zone.  He had sworn, however, to make love to all the parts he
had neglected recently.  If their culmination was denied him
until the wedding night (and he was in no position to argue about
that) he would rehearse the first act of that night until she
felt as deprived as he did.  The feel of the skin stirred some
memory.  When she broke the kiss to catch her breath, he
scratched gently over that lovely warmth.

Shannon sagged against him.  Her breasts warmed by his naked
skin, her mouth explored by his warm tongue, even her back
scratched by his nails, she was equally conscious of what was not
happening.  Her freely exposed breasts had not been grabbed --
for one thing.  She had no objection to Steve's attraction to her
sexy bits; on the contrary, she regretted that the messiness
below would limit their making out.  But Steve was interested in
*her*.  Feeling that, she grabbed his face between her hands
to kiss him again, kiss him fiercely and possessively.  She
kissed him, in fact, the way she'd just been grateful that he
hadn't kissed her.

If Shannon's kiss was even partly a response to her back being
scratched, Steve was willing to scratch forever.  He ran his
fingernails up either side of her spine, then spread his hands to
the corners of her shoulder blades.  As the intensity of her kiss
waned, he moved her towards the couch.  He brushed his notecards
onto the floor.  To hell with the play, he thought.  He had the
real Juliet.

He eased Shannon down and back.  Then he knelt among his
spilled cards to kiss her.  He started on her forehead and
eyebrows. continued to her temple and ear, and reached her neck
before she pulled his face into a mouth kiss.  During that kiss,
he smoothed his hand down her belly to her belt, slid it up again
to cup her breast.

Then he kissed her in the same way he ate caramels; he feasted
on the smooth skin of her neck and ribs and belly, but he mostly
resisted the greater attractions of her breasts.  Even when he
yielded to that temptation, he kissed the slopes lightly instead
of sucking on the peaks.  He chose his spots like caramels from a
bag, too, spending some time on each spot, but choosing the next
one arbitrarily.  He loved her, all of her.  He wanted all of
her, too.  Tonight, the top half was his; and he was claiming it.


Shannon read some part of those feelings from his actions.
She felt loved; he was kissing her everywhere.  She also felt all
tingly; the extra sensitivity of her breasts (she'd actually
started the evening afraid that she would have to call off the
making out) made these light kisses the more exciting.  She felt
dominated.  At no time had his will clashed with hers, yet Steve
was running this show in a way that he had never seemed to run
any previous one.

Steve kissed the bridge of Shannon's nose, and then returned
to her mouth.  Her tongue greeted his eagerly, and the swirl of
his desire almost made him forget to move on.  He went all the
way to her navel, where she wriggled provocatively to his kiss.
When he moved his mouth up a little, he stroked her legs with his
nails. He used the same nails-reversed stroke on inside of her
thigh as he'd used on her back, figuring the denim would provide
the gentleness.

"My belt is buckled," Steve said.  "So is yours."  He climbed
between her legs on the couch and kissed her navel once more.
This time Shannon's wriggle threatened to dump them both.  She
quieted as he kissed up her body.  He was ready for his darkest
caramels, her nipples.  "Tell me when I am too rough," he said.
He only used gentle licks and tiny, tentative, sucks on them.
When his passion grew beyond that limit, he thrust his face
between her breasts to suck the firmness there.

She shook as he kissed and licked her breasts.  They felt a
little sore, but the kisses felt a *lot* sexy.  She took his
kiss between them as an expression of gentle care combined with
wild passion.  When he kissed her mouth, his elbows barely on the
cushion, his hardness pressed against her groin, she accepted
him.  Her hands stroked his back, her thighs hugged his, her
mouth opened wider.  It was finally Steve who broke the kiss.

He dropped back until his butt hit the armrest.  He kissed her
mound through the jeans, first at the zipper and then on either
side of it.  "Aren't girls' jeans supposed to have a zipper on
the side?"

"Some do."

"You can't guess what I have."

"What?"  Please, she begged silently, not some protection.
Her first time wasn't going to be on Mrs. Green's sofa.

"I have notes on the *fourth* act," he said.

"I need a break," Shannon said

"Don't tuck your blouse in, please," he asked.  And, while she
took her break, he did a little adjusting of his own clothes in
the kitchen.  He retrieved the tissues from his coat, then
returned to find his note cards a mess.  They looked as if some
fool had tossed them on the floor and then knelt on them.

She changed her Tampax, straightened her clothes -- obediently
leaving her blouse out, and looked closely in the mirror.  Once
she'd cleaned up around her eyes, she looked a little strange but
not too bad.  Why messing around affected her eye makeup, she
couldn't figure.  Lipstick, sure, not that she wore lipstick to
babysit, but why eye makeup?

She decided to leave it off.  It would only get messed up
again. And if Steve was going to run screaming when he saw her
without makeup, she had better learn that now.

Steve didn't even seem to notice.  After each scene, he would
turn her so her back was to him, lift up her blouse to hold her
breasts in his hands, lick and nibble some part of her that he
could reach from that position.  It was nice, sometimes it was
very exciting; but when had he taken charge of the
reinforcement?

When they had compared their answers for the last scene, he
turned off the lamp next to his side of the couch.  "We are ahead
of the class.  I can't believe it."  He stowed his notecards
carefully this time.  Then he kissed her from behind once
again.

"Lean over," he said, "there are still parts of you I haven't
kissed."  She leaned on a table while he pushed up her blouse.
He sprinkled kisses all over her back.  His position was awkward,
but hers evoked some memory.  He straightened and pushed his
groin against the bottom of her jeans.  When he scratched her
back, she pressed back against him. Only the very bottom of his
cock felt the pressure.  "It didn't matter when I said that my
belt was buckled.  I should have said that my fly was zipped." He
slipped his hands around her sides to hold up her breasts. "We
could make love just like this."  Well, he thought, not like
this; her legs were awfully short.  She would stand on something
or kneel on a sofa.  "Your pants down, but mine just
unzipped."

She stood.  Moving his hands to hold the bottoms of her
breasts instead of the peaks, he pulled her back against him.
"Not the first time," he continued very softly.  "Our first time
will be the full monty.  Not standing, not the back seat of some
car." He had a sudden vision of the back seat of his mother's
Civic. "Not even the Cherokee.  Y'know how, at the end of a
wedding, the groom lifts the bride's veil, he kisses her, and
they sort of roll the credits...."

She sidestepped his grasp, then turned to face him.  She
needed a bit more room.  "Lutherans might roll the credits.
Methodists have a recessional and then head for the reception."
Not that the weddings that either of them had seen broke down on
denominational lines.

"That's what I meant.  Anyway, what it is is a symbol.  In
front of everybody, he removes one piece of clothing and kisses
what is revealed.  Once they get privacy....

"But that's not tonight.  Tonight, that stays buckled."  He
reached out to tap her belt buckle.  "Right?"

She nodded.

He took a deep breath.  He so wanted her hands on him.  "Well,
one belt should.  English is done for tonight.  The question is
whether you want to study math..."  He tried to sound casual.
"... or biology."

Did she, Shannon thought, want to see it again?  She could
still remember it jumping within her hand.  And she needed to get
back in control.  He was watching her intently.  She smiled and
nodded.

He stripped off his shirt and then his shoes.  Lying down on
the sofa, he unbuckled and unzipped.  He pushed his undershorts
down to the base of his cock before covering himself again with a
flap of his jeans.  He'd lost some firmness during the pause in
their playing, but now he was so hard in anticipation of her hand
that he was afraid that he would shoot.  "Want to explore?" he
asked.

She used the weight of the belt ends to keep the fly wide
open. So this was what he looked like: a head that looked a
little like a heart -- more than she did really, a shaft that was
the same thickness from the head to his groin, some blood vessels
were visible in the shaft and one pale vein seemed to run its
length. His thing was arched a little above his lower belly and
his groin.  The groin was covered with hair.  None of this was
really surprising.  It wasn't as if she was some sort of
Victorian girl; she'd seen pictures in sex-ed.

What was different from the illustrations in the books was
that this was the bottom part.  Things like the cleft in the head
with the big vein running into it.  She pulled it up between
finger and thumb and moved her head to see the top.  It jerked
back. "Don't do that," she said.

"It's not my fault!"  She was lucky that he hadn't blasted her
in the face.  "Or were you talking to him?"

"I was talking to you.  Why do you treat it as if it were
different?"  She could almost see it as different, though.  As
some separate live animal.  And, as she petted it gently, it
jumped for her.

"He has a mind of his own; that's a fact.  And he loves the
way you touch him.  Do you think you could give *me* a kiss
before you bring this to a close?"

She adjusted her position and gave him a deep kiss.  Their
tongues played in a far sexier activity than the one she'd just
left.  "I like being kissed," he said as she raised her head.
Well, she liked being the one kissing him, too.  She attacked his
right nipple with a sucking kiss.

His response would have surprised her; he murmured something
and hugged her head to his chest.  Except that her own response
shocked her; there *was* something sexy in being the one
giving the kiss.  Her nipples got almost as hard as his did.

The break wasn't relaxing Steve's cock as much as he had
hoped, but he no longer cared.  "Oh Shannon," he sighed.  "Oh
Shannon, I love you."

"Nope."  She rested her head on his chest.  In this position,
she could hear his heart thump.  "Tonight, I'm loving you."  She
sniffed.  He'd worked since showering, walked in the freezing
weather, been chilled and overheated.  He didn't smell bad, just
a touch masculine, maybe a little Steve.  His penis looked like
it was lying down more; maybe she could see the top part.

When she tried, she could get it straight up away from his
body, using her thumb and forefinger.  The top part was no
surprise, not heart-shaped at all -- maybe like those shields in
old time history.  But it stiffened while she was holding it, and
she could hear his heart speed up.

It had been so hard that first time, and hot.  Well, it was
hotter than the rest of his skin now.  She moved her fingers up
and down the shaft.  Again the skin moved on top of something
harder.  It was something much harder now, and his heart went
"Kabump."  But the shaft escaped her fingers to lie further
towards her.  She wrapped her whole hand around it.  His heart
was louder for another beat.

"I hope your father doesn't make you clean his guns," Steve
said.

"He hasn't gone hunting in years, and he won't let me touch
them."  She thought girls should be allowed to handle guns, and
she thought this an odd time to bring up the subject.

"Because you are staring straight down the barrel now."  Oh,
that.  Steve laid a tissue down on his belly.  "I have some more
in my hand.  I'll catch it, but you won't see me come from that
position."

"How long do I have?"  She probably should watch it shoot.
After all, he wanted to do that inside her.  On the other hand,
listening to his heartbeat every time she made his penis jump was
fun too.  She squeezed a little and moved her hand back and
forth.  It sort of pushed back at her squeeze, and his heart
jumped again.  "What should I do?"

"Why ask me?  It responds much more to you.  The most
sensitive part is on the bottom, just under the head."  'Bottom'
and 'under' weren't the clearest words just then.

Guessing, she brushed her fingertips over the notch in the
heart. The reaction of both penis and heartbeat showed that she's
been right.  Having decided that these experiments were fun, she
brushed other parts at random.  His breath was starting to come
rapidly, too.  Before getting into position to see the whole
show, she kissed the nipple she hadn't kissed yet.  His breath
hissed at that.  Too bad that she couldn't listen to his
heartbeat while doing that.

Steve's hands were clutching the sofa cushions on both sides
of him.  Sometimes, he had tried to make it last.  But even in
the summer before Shannon's, when that had been his usual morning
preoccupation, he had never treated his cock the way Shannon had.
It was glorious; it was agony.  "Anyway, when we do it for real,
you will be around me, gripping me all the way from top to
bottom.  What I usually do," hint, hint, please! "is try to
imitate that, moving my hand up and down."

Shannon knelt in a good position to see.  She tried to do what
he had said, holding it down on the base.  However light her
grip, however, her fingers seemed to bring the skin with them
instead of sliding over it.

Steve was in heaven; Steve was in hell.  Shannon slid her hand
up to the top and tried again.  The same thing happened, and --
anyway -- the thing was jerking around.  She took a firmer grip
and pumped a little harder.  "Oh Shannon.  Now.  Now.  Now!"  And
it was now; and Steve, feeling his whole body pulse out through
her hand, reached the tissues out to catch it.

The sight of the drops squirting out didn't impress Shannon,
especially as Steve was catching them very close to the source.
What *was* impressive was the sight of his body as he
clenched every muscle and rose off the couch.  His head and feet
must have touched, but Shannon saw -- even felt -- his belly and
groin rise.  His face looked odd as well.  A minute later, all of
him relaxed.

The part in her hand relaxed so much that it got some of the
goo on her fingers.  Babysitting had taught her not to mind
bodily wastes.  She dropped it and looked into Steve's smile.  "I
love you, Shannon," he said.  She moved back to her old position
where she could hear his heartbeat.  It was strong, but slowed
while she listened.

Steve had never come like that.  And, in the aftermath,
Shannon cuddled him where he lay.  This was love; this was bliss.
After a while, though, he had to get up to wash the mess off.
That was fairly clumsy.  He got to the bathroom with a lot of wet
tissue in his left hand while holding up his pants with his
right.  When he came out, it was time to go home -- past time
really.

He'd come to a decision, though.  "When we really do it, I'm
going to cuddle you all night afterwards.  This having-to-leave
bit sucks."

"I'll miss you, too,"  she said.  "Can't you stay here and let
Mrs. Green drive you home?"

"What if she won't?  What if she does, and then says, 'Steve
was a real burden last time; he can't visit you any more'?
Besides my mother expects me home.  They don't set a curfew like
your parents do, but they do have their limits.  Dad said once
that your having a curfew was enough to get me home.  Anyway,
where do you sleep here?"  If they could share a bed, even fully
dressed, it might be worth the hassle.

"She has real trouble finding babysitters.  I doze on the
couch."

"I've walked it before.  Just don't get dressed any more until
I go.  Do you want to see it limp?"

When he got it out, however, it was partly firm, angling down.
"It's limp as a string most of the time," he said.  "Just not
around you."

He finished dressing: undershirt and shirt, shoes, and
sweater. For their last kiss, he tightened and loosened his hands
on her hips while pulling her against the near-firmness of his
organ. He put on his coat, had one more brief kiss, and walked
out into a serious snowstorm.

She shivered in sympathy, made sure that the door was bolted,
and went into the john to get her bra back on.  Dressing fully to
go to sleep, she thought, was a silly act.  She checked on the
boys, who were -- unfortunately -- perfectly safe.  She repacked
her backpack, adjusted the lights, and pulled her coat over
her.

After flicking a brief prayer upward about Steve's immediate
future, she thought about his -- and her -- immediate past.  How
had he got control?

She remembered all his kisses, his tender holding of her
breasts. Beyond kisses, she recalled those nibbles with his lips
on the back of her neck and the corner of her shoulder.  She
shivered once again.  What had he said about her rules?  No, not
yet, not now.  Well, the jeans were a 'not now'; and he had
conquered her by showing all his love to the parts above her
waist.

You would never cast Steve as Romeo.  He was more a can-do
kind of guy.  Configure Shannon's computer?  Steve could do that;
had done that.  Reduce Shannon to a puddle of lust?  That seemed
one more task he could do. And, if he needed to do it without
going below her waist, that only made Steve's problem more
difficult.  Or, she thought suddenly, did he think of that sort
of problem as 'more interesting'?  She'd heard him use that
term.

Yet she *had* exercised control at the end.  He always
claimed that she made his heart beat faster, and now she had.
With the hospital not far out of town, there must be some place
you could buy a stethoscope around here.  She wondered how much
one cost.


Why did her alarm clock suddenly have a bell?  She slapped
out to shut it off and almost fell to the floor.  She was on a
couch; the ringing was a doorbell; She was at Mrs. Green's.  She
staggered to the door and peered out.  It was Mrs. Green.

"Damn lock froze.  I'll check the kids while you get dressed.
The car's running."  She trotted down the hall while Shannon
struggled into her coat and gathered up her backpack.  "Took you
long enough to answer the bell.  What if kidnapers had broken
in?"

"You wish!"  They walked out into a blizzard, the snow coming
sideways at them.  Steve!  He'd walked home in this.  "My
boyfriend visited tonight," She said as they got in the car.  "I
told him that you would be glad to give him a ride home."

"In this?  Why don't you put him up?  Where is he?"

"Walking home... in this!  Dad says to remember that I can sit
for only one night a week."  They were there.

"Get home.  I'll call you in a few minutes."  Shannon had to
struggle to open her door as well, but she was inside and
standing on the hot-air grate when the phone rang,

"Bryants'.  Shannon Bryant speaking."  Her mom had drilled
telephone technique into her long ago.

"Hi.  This is Mrs. Green.  Look, I have a social life, too.
What about if you sat for a few hours, not all night?"

"Eleven o'clock is my curfew, firm.  And *I* have a
social life, too.  But I'll ask my dad.  And we have a dance
coming up this Friday.  The big one is February. 10.  And, of
course, other customers can always get there before you."
Driving Steve home in this weather would have been a *big*
favor, but that didn't make Shannon happier about the refusal.
She was glad to give her all the bad news she could think of
right then.

She couldn't sleep without knowing that Steve was safe.  She
couldn't call at one in the morning.  Well, there were only two
choices.  She called.

"Hello."

"Mrs. Anderson?  I'm really sorry to call so late, but I just
saw the storm outside.  Steve walked home through that, and I
have to know that he made it."

"A little late to worry.  Yes he made it, and I gave him a
piece of my mind.  Shannon, the two of you haven't a brain cell
between you.  Normally, I wouldn't scold you, but you did call me
up, What time is it anyway?"

"A little after one.  I'm really sorry to call at such a time,
but I had to know that he was safe."

"Well, I can understand that.  Good night, Shannon."

Before she could respond the phone clicked.

And now Steve was really going to hate her for calling.


                              - = -


"Steve!  Steve!" Rachel Anderson shouted outside the door of
her son's room.  She opened the bedroom door halfway.  "Oh,
Steve."

At that point, he would have screamed if he were even half
awake. She marched up to the head of the bed.  "Oh, Steven," she
called in a saccharine voice, "time to wake up."  She squeezed
gently on the soaked washcloth she held.  The falling water
splashed off his forehead.  He pulled the covers higher.  Pulling
them back down until his total face was out in the light, she
squeezed harder.

"Holy hell!" said Steve.

"Shannon called this morning.  Said she was worried about
sending you out in the blizzard."

Shannon on the phone?  Steve started to pull himself out of
bed, then realized that he was stark naked under the sheets.  He
pulled the covers back up again.  "Mom!  Tell her I'll be there
in a minute."

"Tell who?  Shannon?  She called about two.  I told her that
her concern was a little after-the-fact."  Steve was probably
awake now, but a little more effort now could save her from
another wake-up in three minutes.

"Dammit, Mom."

"That's 'Mother dearest' to you."  His concern over the nudity
taboo was silly.  She'd seen all that he was hiding, washed the
poop off a good bit of it.

"Mother dearest, maternal source of my very being, would you
please grant me the favor of a little privacy?  Before I wet the
bed!"

"If you do, you'll clean it up."  She waved goodbye from the
doorway, but she shut the door after her.  When she did, Steve
clambered out of bed, pulled on the jeans he'd left on the floor
the previous night, and hurried into the bathroom. After
showering, he returned to his room and dressed.

He logged on.  Nothing from Shannon, something from Dad.  He
wrote Shannon,







Dearest,
Don't concern yourself about me. The storm
is messing everything up, of course, but
not causing me  any trouble personnaly.

L&K*10**9"







He was never sure that Shannon would keep his e-mails out of
her father's hands.

His dad wrote that he had stopped in Mattoon, and also that he
had written Mom separately.  He, despite a good amount of
computer literacy, had a blind spot about carbon copies.

"Dad wrote," he told his mother on his way to the kitchen.
"You'll have a copy in your mailbox."

                              - = -

The snow had stopped falling by the time that Wayne and
Shannon Bryant left church Sunday noon, but it was still blowing
around. "Isn't it silly that the one waiting on the sidewalk
wears special boots?" Wayne asked his daughter, "And the driver
has to get by with simple galoshes over office shoes?"

"Well, they make practical dress boots for men.  Let me drive,
and I'll go get the car for you."

"And let the whole congregation decide that I'm a cripple?
Tell you what, we'll walk out together.  You can still drive."
Shannon wasn't too skilled a driver in the snow, he thought, but
she had to learn.  Today was extreme in one sense, but nobody was
going fast enough to make a collision really dangerous.  "And my
clothes budget doesn't run to fancy boots."

"Look, Chick," he continued while they stumbled over the
covered ruts in the ice, "if you have decided that you
*won't* go to Albion, keeping your mother in suspense is
really pointless."

"Absolute secrecy?"

He hated that, but he had brought the subject up.  "My lips
are sealed."

"Steve may still be accepted at IIT," Shannon said.  "If he
is, and he accepts, then I *do* want to go to Albion.  It's
no farther from Chicago.  But choosing Albion *because* of
Steve...."

They reached the car at that point.  "Let it warm up," he told
her when they were both inside.  "You know. most people
*don't* end up marrying their high-school sweethearts."

Unless they married them right after high school, but Shannon
didn't want to do that.  "Dad, do you think that I don't know
that?  Do you think that we don't?  Look at this hand; notice
that there is no ring."  She revved the car once and then
relaxed.  "We never quite say the word -- well, almost never.
We've spent a year together, if you can call that 'together' --
and you and Mom treat it as if we spend every minute with one
another.

"Anyway, I haven't quite stopped changing *physically*.
We're going off to college where everybody is supposed to change
mentally.  Steve and Shannon love each other now, but what will
be left of Shannon and what will be left of Steve in four years?
And then, of course, it doesn't really stop.

"I can't see to drive," she finished suddenly.  Her eyes were
full of tears.

"That's okay.  I got gas yesterday."

"Thing is.  What did the preacher say about God last
month?"

"Talks a lot about God.  What in particular?"  If she wanted
to change the subject, he would let her; although it was a long
time since they had talked this way.  He missed that.

"He makes people with free will because he loves free will.
Well, one thing that I love about Steve is that he is changing.
If he stopped changing it would be a change for the worse.  Does
that make any sense?"

"Plenty of sense.  And you're changing too; even if he
stopped, it wouldn't guarantee a match.  You love Steven
desperately, but...."

"You think it's puppy love."  She didn't think it was puppy
love.

"Not at all.  It's just that he might be out for something
else."

"That doesn't change things.  Yes, Steve wants into your
baby's diapers, but it's *my* diapers; he wants to make love
to Shannon. That's my one gift from Curt."

"Must you be crude?  And I didn't know you got anything good
from Curt."  Concern for your daughter doesn't stop.  He didn't
think of her as a baby, she was just the woman who *had*
been his baby.

"Nothing he intended.  Curt told several stories about me,
after we broke up.  But, even to the guys who wanted to think the
worst, one thing was clear:  He tried to get something from me,
he didn't get it, and he made me walk home.  So, when Steve asked
me out, he wasn't looking for a quick lay.  He may want my body,
but he didn't choose me because he thought that I was an easy
target.

"Anyway, we talk.  We don't talk nearly enough since the
summer, but we talk about things.  Lots of things, not only that.
There is no way that Steve would talk the way he does if he only
wanted one thing from me.  And, as I said before, if he only
wants one thing, he could find plenty of places to get it more
easily. Even now, though it's awfully late, he could probably
break with me, find another girl, and get her into bed.  So, if
getting Shannon into bed was his only goal -- which it isn't, it
would still be about Shannon.

"Does that make sense?"

It made quite enough sense that Wayne didn't want it explained
any more.  Okay, Steven wanted -- beyond the obvious -- a
sympathetic ear.  When Wayne had been his age, he'd have taken
any sympathetic ear offered.  And, if they didn't *only*
talk about "that," pretty clearly they talked a lot about "that."
On the bright side, while he wanted to thrash Steven for daring
to want to get into Shannon's panties, the wording implied that
he had failed.

Shannon, of course, was guileful enough to use that wording
deliberately.  If that was the case, what was he going to do? If,
weeks before her eighteenth birthday, their daughter was still a
virgin, Allison and he were luckier than most.  Hell, they had
Shannon; they were luckier than most anyway. "Meanwhile, you help
Steven on his English."

"And he helps me in math."  Having said that, she hoped Dad
wouldn't ask when.  "Really, he wasn't doing so bad until
Shakespeare.  Now, I think he's got it."

"How long do you have?"

"The test's Friday-after-next.  Coming week's Act Four and
start of Five.  Week after ends the play, then review, and the
test."

"And you got through what the other night?  Act Two?"

"But Steve got the idea.  He's worked more since."

"But how do you know that he understood the later part?" Wayne
didn't really want Steven to fail English.

Blabbermouth! she thought.  And she just hated to lie,
especially since she hadn't talked with Dad like this in ages.
"We talked on the phone."

"Well, if you want to have him over again, I'll speak to your
mother."  Not that Allison would object, but this conversation
was under seal.

"Thanks, Dad."  She put the car in gear.  "By the way, you
know you said only one night for Mrs. Green?"

"Yes?"

"She wants to know whether that applies to shorter
nights?"

"How will she manage that?"

"Well, she dates sometimes.  If she gets home before eleven,
does that count?  I don't see that it should, but I said I'd
ask."

"Do you want me to say yes or to say no?"  Sometimes kids
deserve the excuse, 'my parents won't let me.'

"What do you mean?"

"I thought that those kids were monsters.  And she won't pay
so much for shorter hours."

"But I'll start later too, so I won't see the kids so much."
Shannon said.

"I know that you can study during some babysitting times, but
you need to study more; and you need to enjoy yourself, too.  I
was afraid that you were going to cut way back on babysitting
when you figured out the size of your surplus.  You seem to be
going out of your way to get more."

"I like to see money coming in."

"And a penny saved?"  He wondered suddenly whether Shannon had
ever heard that term.

"Is just sitting there.  It's only real when it is coming in
or going out."

"I haven't talked to your mother about this."

"You said you wouldn't!"

"I'm changing the subject.  I haven't spoken to your mother
about this suggestion which I am about to make.  You know all
this talk about your babysitting money.  I'm going to propose
that you set up a budget for the next year, what's coming in and
what's going out.  I think that you should calculate special
expenses and regular expenses -- some mad-money too.  Then I
think that your mother should dole out the money according to
that budget."

"An allowance."  Shannon had *not* enjoyed those
days.

"Not quite."

"You want to put me back on an allowance, only an allowance
that I have earned.  And you are nice enough to mention it to me
before you and Mom decide."

"No!  This will be much harder on you than that.

"What I'm suggesting," Wayne continued, "Is for you to decide
this allowance.  I want you to budget it.  I'll ask your mother
to help; I suspect that I'm not the best choice for knowing what
a girl will need her first semester in college."

"Can I think about the idea, or are you going to tell Mom
now?"

"Think away.  Now, let's go in; she'll think we've died out
here."

                              - = -

Rachel's e-mail ran:


Dearest,

I couldn't out run the storm and got stuck here.  It was a long
night -- much too late to call.

The phone here is  217-677-1116 The extension is 236, which since
the room #  is 36, must be direct-dial in.  It's direct-dial out,
so call me, and I'll call back if you hit an operator.

I'll want to make the rest of the run in the early afternoon.
So call when you can get privacy and we'll chat.   Only local
trips for the two weeks after this swing.   I keep telling
myself.  And home Wednesday.  Keep that in mind Until then,
kisses everywhere.

Roger, WLY


She looked out Mallory's window to check the sidewalk.  It was
buried nice and deep.  Steve was coming up the stairs carrying an
ice-filled glass of root beer.  In January!  She shivered.  "Well
dear, your walk home last night must have worn you out terribly.
Maybe you should stick to essentials for the next week."

Steve knew the drill.  Either he was exhausted and needed to
cut back on his dating, or he was full of pep and ready for any
chore.  Probably it was shoveling the walk.  "Oh, I think I'll
recover by tomorrow."

"Why don't you test your recovery with the snow shovel?
Now!"

"Let me log on and finish this drink."

"Okay," she said.  "Fifteen minutes."  If only all
negotiations were so easy.

Half an hour later, Steve pressed the shovel into the first
bit on the top step.  From the door to the street was a pleasure;
it was  untouched and fluffy from the cold.  He didn't mind the
exercise, really.

His mother had the special phone with the headset in her room.

"Hello?"

"Roger?  It's Rachel."

"Darling!  Give me a minute."  She lay back and adjusted the
headset so the earphones were comfortable.  The sound quality
wasn't quite so good, and she did love the sound of Roger's
voice.  But, really, talking to your husband was a two-handed
job.

"So," she said, "you'll be home on Wednesday.  Before school
lets out?  Your son will be home for dinner."

"That's strange.  I was planning to eat at the Y."

"After two weeks away from home cooking?"

"As an appetizer for home cooking," he said.  "God bless old
Hauksbee!  And where is Steve right now?"

"Shoveling the walk."  While she was here in the warm bed
stroking her own smooth breasts and wishing that they were
Roger's hairy arms instead.

"Unnatural mother!  Sending your poor son out into the cold so
you can listen to dirty phone calls."

"Your poor son walked home," she told him, "apparently across
town from Shannon's house, at the height of the blizzard.  Got
home near midnight.  He crashed.  Then she called me up at one-
thirty -- I checked.  Said that she hoped he got home all right.
Gertrude had battery problems.  Earlier in the night, I
mean."

"He walked there, knowing he'd have to walk back?"

"He's your son."  She'd wouldn't mention the garage man; the
story was long enough as it was.

"You sure about that?"

"Absolutely, totally positive.  We came home tipsy.  You drove
the babysitter home while I checked on Mallory.  And you came
back just drunk enough.  You lasted and lasted and lasted.  I
came, and then I came.  And when I was climbing again, I reminded
you that I was open for your seed...."

"And you held my nuts to show what seeds."  His voice showed
that he was in it, too.

"And you shot and shot and shot.  I felt that you'd filled me
twice over.  First you, then your seed.  That was the night. That
was the fuck."  The memory excited her.  His cock had rubbed her
right there, where her finger was now, and rubbed there
forever.

"Talking dirty are we?  Did I fuck you then?  Did I screw you?
Did I dick your cunt?  Make love to you?  Swive you?  Put the old
sausage in the hole?"

"No," she said.  "You Rogered me.  You drove me up the peak,
and over.  Not once, not twice, you rogered me to climax
*three* times.  Oh Roger!"

"Is it on?"

She flicked the switch on her magic wand.  "Is now."

"Rub it over my favorite creampuffs.  First the left one....
Now the right."  She brushed the wand over her breasts to his
directions.  The rush was building, she felt her skin get warmer
under the cold sheets.  "Don't touch the strawberries until...
Now!  Are they nice and puffy for my lips?...  Are they straining
upwards for my teeth?"  He had never actually bitten her there;
neither of them wanted it.  But the *idea* of teeth slicing
into her nipples drove her wild.  She dialed up the speed on the
wand, which drove her wilder as she stroked those nipples.

He crooned to her over the phone lines.  She wanted more; she
needed more; if he didn't speak, she would break away to get
more.  "Now your thighs.  Let them carry the vibrations to your
lips. You haven't touched your lips yet, have you?"  She hadn't,
but it was a struggle.  The vibrations shook her thighs, which
shook her lips, which shook her clit; but she needed more, more
force, more directly.

"Put the vibrator on your right knee, slow it down.  Is it
there?"  It was, and the slower vibrations shook her whole leg.
"Now draw it towards you, slowly, slowly, more slowly yet as it
gets closer....  Tell me when it touches your labium."  As she
drew the wand downward she lost all consciousness of anything but
those vibrations.

And then the wand touched her groin.  Fire sprang though her,
fire filled that lip, fire burned her clit.  "Oh yes!" she
said.

"Now take it up to the left knee and move it downward again.
More slowly this time."  She tried to keep it moving slowly.  It
sure *felt* like a longer time; it felt like damn-near
forever. She was on the edge, so close that she couldn't catch a
breath.

"That's me you're holding, Rachel" he said.  "Turn it down
now; turn it down, and put it in."  He didn't have to tell her to
do this part slowly; she was stabbing herself.

But she did ease it in.  She did feel those vibrations fill
her. "Tell me," she gasped.  "Oh Roger, tell me."

"I love you, Rachel.  I love all of you."  The wand was almost
filling her.  She let go to clutch the sheet.  "I love your
luscious cunt.  I love your daring spirit."  Her body lifted
itself, thrusting the wand's handle towards the ceiling.  "I love
you.  Oh, darling!"  She was spasming now.  He kept cooing over
the phone, "Come for me,  That's it.  Come again."

She spasmed, spasmed again and again.  Finally, she pulled the
wand out and almost flung it away.  Roger, who had been
encouraging her the whole time, said a final, "I love you, all of
you; and I always will."  Then he left the phone while she tried
to gather her breath and then her mind.

Roger returned to the phone.  "Yours?" she asked.

"No hurry," he said.  "You almost carried me with you.  The
lotion is too hot, anyway."  Well it would cool fast enough on
his hand.

                              - = -

Steve took a ten-minute break to warm himself when the walk
was more than half-way shoveled.  When he came back the second
time, his mom greeted him.  "Did you get it all?" she asked.

"Not that the wind won't cover it over."

"My hero."  Just because she had to reach up to kiss his jaw,
just because it was a little bristly when she did, didn't mean
that he wasn't still her little boy.  Steve moved back to unzip
his coat.  These demonstrations embarrassed him, and he suspected
that his embarrassment only added to Mom's enjoyment.

"Don't like my kisses?" she asked.  "Now, I know how to get
you some you'll prefer.  Save one of your brownies for
Shannon."

"Brownies?"  He could manage Shannon's kisses on his own,
thank you.  On the other hand, a pan of brownies -- with both Dad
and Mallory out of the picture -- were worth shoveling a walk any
day.

"After lunch.  They aren't even done yet."  But she was
laughing when she said that.  She didn't act like this often,
especially when Dad was gone; but she did have these funny moods.
She looked excited, with a high color.  Of course, that could
simply be from the heat of the stove -- or the heat of the
shower, he could tell she'd taken one from the smell of her
special soap.

"Going somewhere tonight?"  he asked.  Why shower in the
middle of the afternoon?

"Tonight?  Those guys are lucky I'll show up for work
tomorrow! Speaking of which, you'll never get home and back to
Hauksbee's on time.  Do you want to pack a dinner?"

"I'll get something in town."  He had taken a bit extra out of
his paycheck.  Unlike Shannon, he didn't need to be spending
money to enjoy it.  On the other hand, learning that much of his
check wasn't available to him had been something of a shock.  An
extra thirty dollars in the back of his drawer would cover
emergencies like a gift for Shannon's birthday.

Lunch was great.  It wasn't really Sunday dinner with Dad
away, but the stew was plentiful.  He only had room for two
brownies afterwards, so he carried a plateful up to his room.

                              - = -

The bus took forever to get to school, and he totally missed
Dave that morning.  He was late for English, too; but he took
another minute by his locker to shuffle Shannon's cards and get
the book into his hands.  "So, Steve," Mrs. Foster said, "finally
honoring us with your presence?"

"The bus was late."

"Sarah was on the same bus, and she beat you here."  The girl,
who still had her coat with her, gave him an apologetic look.

"I stopped at my locker, Mrs. Foster.  I had to do it
sometime."

"Perhaps you could tell us what is going on in the play."

"Which scene?" he asked.  "I just walked in through the
door."

"Act Four, Scene Three."  Her tone implied that knowing the
scene wouldn't help him.

"It's a very short scene," he said.  "First she gets rid of
her nurse.  Then she comments on all the dangers of the poison --
fake poison, but she's not sure of that.  Then she drinks
it."

"What are those dangers?"  Mrs. Foster was using a much
gentler tone, but he could tell he wasn't out of the woods
yet.

Carefully, he kept his eyes on her.  He knew this wasn't on
the cards anyway.  "Well," he said, "she's not sure that Father
Lawrence didn't give her a real poison to hide that he'd married
her."  That didn't sound right.  "Her and Romeo.  And maybe the
potion wouldn't work at all.  And maybe she would wake up locked
in a dark tomb surrounded by the corpses of her family."

"Very good, Steve.  I just hope that you'll read the rest of
the play, now that you know you can."

Steve brought out three brownies at lunch.  He cut one of them
in half and passed the whole lot over to Shannon.  She took the
two halves.  "You can have more, really," he said.  "I'm saving
two for supper."

"Two brownies apiece.  Just that mine are smaller.  Really,
Steve, that's not an adequate dinner."

"Yes, Mama.  I'm eating at Terry's Diner.  That's just
dessert. Mom thinks I couldn't get home and back in time.  I
agree."

"Want company?" she asked.

"Love it."

"I felt like kissing you in front of the whole English class,"
she said  "You did great!"

"Well, we could find another time.  Anyway, I didn't do
anything. It's all your doing.  Almost said so, but she might not
have liked hearing that you cleared up the play for me when she'd
left me totally in the dark.  You're the one who deserves
kisses."

"Well, I'm sure that we could sort out that problem.  Get my
message about babysitting?"

"What's this about not wanting to see me?"

"Ask me there, okay?"  She suspected that what was bothering
Mrs. Jensen was nursing Peggy in front of Steve.  She could
understand her embarrassment; heck, Shannon didn't want to
discuss this in the lunchroom.  Even though, she thought
suddenly, it was about lunch.

That flicker of a smile accompanied by downturned eyes and a
half blush got Steve every time.  Phil could have Tanya.  Shannon
was sexier.  She never explained what had caused those looks, but
he'd triggered them a few times himself.


Dave caught him as he walked out the door with Shannon.
He gave back the disk on the sidewalk across the street from the
school.

He ordered the chili-mac with a side order of hashbrowns when
they got to the diner.  "Cherry pie if you have it," said
Shannon, "a cup of coffee -- plenty of cream, and a separate
check."

"Come on Shannon!  You're my guest."

"I suggested the whole thing.  If you'd let me, I would pay
your way too.  Don't fight about this, and I won't ask what's
going on with Dave."  Not that she, and most of the girls, didn't
know about Dave's little porn game.  Boys had the weirdest taste!
Even Steve.  She saw that she had won.

"You're as bad as my dad," she continued.  "You know the money
that I saved up from babysitting?"  She decided that amounts
would embarrass Steve; she made more than he did.  "Anyway, I
made a good deal more than I've spent.  He wants that money doled
out to me like an allowance again.  Instead of seeing something
and buying it, he wants me to budget everything ahead of time."
She looked over at Steve for sympathy, forgetting that this was
Steve.

"You want polite?" he asked, "or you want true?"  She turned
her hand up.

"Look.  Look down the road a few years.  You're married.
Maybe not to me, but to somebody.  You make a salary; he makes a
salary.  You say to him, 'Don't worry about me; I'll pay for my
clothes and such.  All you have to do is pay the mortgage,
groceries, car, insurance, things like that.'  Do you see a
little problem there?"

"I'm not as selfish as you think I am."

"Shannon, there isn't a selfish bone in your body," he said.
"The problem isn't selfishness.  The problem is that everybody is
on a budget.  Somebody is going to control what you spend.  It
can be you; it can be someone else.  We could set it up so that
you get so many dollars a week, even so many dollars a day.  When
that's spent, it's gone; and you wait for the next amount.

"But you already have two parents, and that's not what I want
to be.  I don't think anyone else is looking for that job either.
Will you try out a budget?  Just try it for me?"

The waitress saved her from answering.  When she sipped her
coffee, Steve said:  "That would keep me awake all night.  I
don't know how you do it."  He was going to let the question
drop, which somehow pushed her more than insistence would
have.

"Somehow doesn't go with cherry pie," she said when he offered
her another brownie.

She went home to a real dinner.  He went off to work.

                              - = -

Shannon spent a good deal of thought on the budget issue in
her spare time over the next day.  In the first place, she'd been
right when she told her dad that Steve was thinking about her as
a wife -- well, that wasn't quite what she'd told Dad, but close.
That was very nice to know, but it was not so nice that he was
thinking about her in a wifely role where she didn't meet the
standards.

She was far from as stupid as people seemed to think she was.
She knew she was irresponsible about money; half the fun was
flaunting her irresponsibility about money.  Besides, she was
responsible as a driver and as a student.  She was quite
responsible answering the phone, which was important to her mom
and an area in which Steve was simply awful.  She was responsible
in managing the business of babysitting, and -- especially --
responsible in how she dealt with her tiny charges.

If you were responsible about *everything*, what was the
use of being seventeen?  And she wasn't one tenth as irritating a
daughter as her parents were irritating to her.

But Steve had raised an important point.  She was quite
prepared to go on as a flibbertigibbet daughter for the next four
years; she had no interest in becoming a flibbertigibbet wife.
And there were two side issues.

In the long run, if she did end up married to Steve, she wanted
to be the one buying his clothes.  Wives did that, and it wasn't
as if Steve cared.  It was more that he bought the first thing
that fit.  Lots of wives bought their husband's clothes, but
probably not many wives who couldn't be trusted with the family
money.

In the short run, it was the white wedding thing.  She would
never say, "I went on a budget to please you; stop there to
please me."  Steve would probably change his mind about budgets
*fast*.  But making a few sacrifices to keep them together
set a pattern.  More accurately, *never* making the
sacrifice set a pattern.

She was fairly certain that she could operate within a budget
if she had to.  Right now looked like the time to prove it.
Besides, if she found it really hard, her parents would give her
more leeway if she had proposed the plan herself.  Steve, also,
would be a lot happier with a plan that she had accepted because
he asked it than with a plan her dad had forced on her.

She thought this out during TV commercials, while walking to
school, during class, and other spare moments.  She broke it to
Steve when classes ended on Tuesday.  They were on their way to a
dance-planning meeting.  "You win.  I'll talk to Dad about
setting up a budget."

"It's not exactly winning," he said.  She looked at him.  "I'm
not on his side against you.  I'm on your side against the world.
I just think that this is something that you really should do.
And I told *you* so.  But we're not all ganging up on you.
I'll never gang up on you."

"You think that I should do it, but you don't think that I
should do it because you want me to?"  She could almost see that.
There were things she wanted like that; his phone calls for
instance.

"Oh, it's perfectly all right that you do it because I want
you to.  Better if you do it because it makes sense, but I'll
take what I can get.  It's just that I didn't *win*
anything. Certainly not win anything against you."

"Well, you and one part of me beat another part of me.  I
really enjoyed being a spendthrift."  Her mournful tone was
mostly a joke, but not quite all of it.

He caught the tone and the past tense.  "Well," he glanced
around, "this isn't the place to kiss the spendthrift goodbye.
Tonight?"

"Tonight."

They got to the meeting after it had already begun.  Heather
Swanson was talking and holding up a picture of a Cupid.  "Well,
Shannon -- oh there she is -- asked me to make one and find how
long it took.  This took me five or six hours for just one.  So
I'm withdrawing my suggestion.  It's way too much work."

"That's a problem," said Ken, "but it's not the problem that I
saw."  Shannon saw Mr. Babaian wince, but Ken ignored that and
went on.  "Heather can draw this, and it is beautiful.  Who else
thinks that they could make one?"  There was only one hand raised
in the whole meeting.  "So we can't have a lot of them.  On the
other hand....

"Heather, could you make one more?  A reflection in the
vertical line, but not quite?"  Heather looked pleased but
puzzled.

"I so move," Steve began, "that the committee ask Heather to
make another drawing and to let us use both of them in our decor.
The drawing could be a mirror image, and she can ask for
suggestions from anyone she wants to."

That passed.  "Do I have a motion to go with the hearts as our
main decor?" asked Ken.  Several people moved that, and that
carried as well.

"Now," said Ken, "how many slow dances?  I'm going to assume
that everybody wants some percent.  Lets vote with our feet this
time. Mr. Babaian, will you be our midpoint?  Everybody who wants
more slow dances than fast come to this side of Mr. Babaian, and
everybody who wants more fast dances go to the other side of
him." By having people move past the advisor, Ken got the
committee to show that slightly more than half wanted more than
65% slow dances, and a solid majority wanted fewer than 70%
slow.

"Well, can I have a motion to play 65% slow dances?"  Shannon
made that motion, and it carried.

"Work session the next three days after school," Ken said.
"Make two of them."

Gary had a ride for both Ken and Steve, "if you're leaving
right now."  Still on school property, Steve and Shannon said
good bye without a kiss.  Ken and Gary were both surprised how
brief that parting was.

"I'll call you, Heather" Ken shouted.

"I owe Shannon big time!" Ken said in the car.  "You can tell
her so."

"What happened there?  We got in one minute late."

"Heather's been bugging me about her decor scheme.  Much too
fancy.  Instead of telling her why it wouldn't work, Shannon
called her up and asked her to show how it would.  I'm supposed
to have the brains in this school.  But, anyhow, Heather tried it
out, figured out the hours involved, and could see that it
wouldn't work.  But isn't it a work of art?"

They agreed that it was a work of art.  Ken got out first, and
then Steve.


Continued in Part 6
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2001/02/07
2003/01/25
2010/01/30

The index to all my available stoies:
/!Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
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