Message-ID: <59884asstr$1265065810@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} repost "Heart Ball" Part 6 -- Uther
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Date: Mon, 01 Feb 2010 18:10:10 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


The last segment posted was part 5. I mislabeled in the subject line as part
6.
Sorry for any confusion.


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 6:
Continued from Part 5


"About this budget idea," Shannon asked at dinner, "what did  you have
in mind?"

"Well, we're springing it on your mother, for which I apologize. My
idea was to take your income -- including current surplus -- for the next
eighteen months, subtract extraordinary  expenses, and break the rest into
seventy-eight equal amounts.   Then your mother would dole out those
amounts and the budgeted extraordinary expenses as well."

"Sounds awful complicated," Shannon said.

"Sounds a little complicated to me as well," her mom said.   "The budget
at college is the problem, and there is no sense  deciding that now.  Why
don't we set up a budget to the end of school?  We can figure out where
that causes problems, and do another for over the summer.  You'll really
need less when you aren't buying school lunches, dear."

Her dad loaded the dishwasher while she and her mom figured things out.
Some things, Mom pushed her to pare back; but  others, like desserts at
school and snacks elsewhere, she insisted would cost more than Shannon
thought.  They had everything down on the list when Dad got back.  "And
what for incidentals?" he asked.  Shannon thought that there couldn't be
incidentals -- they had covered everything.  "Would five dollars  a week be
enough?  And put the church pledge down, too."

"Shannon remembered that," her mom said.  "Four-twenty-three  will even
the total out."

"Is four dollars and twenty-three cents enough for incidentals?" her
dad asked her.

"I don't understand you guys," she responded.

"Look, Shannon," her dad said, "you have to learn to live on  your
budget.  Someday, you'll need a new pair of pantyhose."

"Pantyhose is on the budget."

"So it is, but you'll need one more pair than has been budgeted. So
that week you won't have incidentals, or you won't join your friends for a
soda after school.  I don't care what, so  long as you don't starve
yourself at lunch time.  The time is  coming when you'll have to live on a
*tight* budget, but that isn't today. Let's take one step at a time.
Talking of which, what are the extraordinary expenses which you can
foresee?"

"I'll get the expenses for the pictures and that sort of stuff tomorrow
if I can.  The yearbook's going up, butI forget how  much.  And then there
are the dance dresses.  Not the regular dances but the balls."

"The yearbook, cap and gown, that sort of stuff, we can put on the
budget just under their names," her dad said.  "We'll need more
information later, but you'll go through the graduation formalities.  It
will cost, but we'll fill in that amount later.  Do you really *need*
a new dress for every ball?"

"She needs one for the prom," Mom said.  "She has enough for  the other
dances."

She had worn a prom dress her junior year.  Wayne didn't see why she
couldn't wear it again, but he wasn't going to fight that battle.

"I need a new dress for this coming ball," Shannon said.  She  needed a
front-clasp bra, too.  "I might need one more."

"So," her dad said, "we're cutting out what? Two dresses?"

She counted the remaining balls in her head.  "Yes, two.   Anyway, can
we put dollars on that another day?  I want to get  some things done before
babysitting."

When she got to her room, the panty-liner was virtually clean.  Still,
she wiped herself, inserted a new tampon, and donned fresh  panties.  The
last thing she wanted was to have Steve touch some of her blood.  She
dressed in a loose skirt and a worn flannel shirt which had been her dad's
until the sleeves had to be cut short. A sweater over that was all the
preparation she made until Mr. Jensen called that he was on his way.

"We'll get you home by eleven," he told Shannon when she got  in his
car.  It was later than she had ever started an evening for them, but
nothing extraordinary for most of her other customers.  She had told him of
her babysitting curfew.  Telling  him was her duty, since Mrs. Green had
already used up her late night.

"Well, if you run late, call and warn me.  You do have a phone
machine?"  Once she was there, she couldn't do anything until they did get
home; and she didn't care.

"Well, Theresa -- and Peggy -- are going to be less permissive  than you
are.  She's feeding her now, though."

"You don't mind about Steve?"

"Not when you're taking care of the girls.  Just when she is."

Amy was already in bed, and Mrs. Jensen was at that end of the  house.
Mr. Jensen kept his coat on while he checked her out once again.  "We'll
be at my sister's house, Sandra Foster.  Here's the phone number.  It's
her wedding anniversary, so ask for Bill or Theresa.  The place will be
crawling with Jensens."

They stood there awkwardly.  Shannon didn't feel she could ask  about
Amy's future, and couldn't think of another subject.  Suddenly Mr. Jensen
spoke again.  "You're willing to take a check  aren't you?  I should have
asked that before."

"I'm willing, especially from you; but I prefer cash."  After  all, she
wasn't quite certain about this budget business. "Checks  are fine, but if
somebody asks about using me as a babysitter don't tell them that."

"Well, we probably have the cash between the two of us.   You're right,
though, my employer frowns on writing rubber checks more than other
employers.  And knows about it faster."

Shannon hadn't meant that at all.  The Jensens had always treated her
fairly.  She trusted Amy's father, Mrs. Jensen's concerned husband, the
guy who waited in the car until she was inside her door, not the bank
teller.

Mrs. Jensen came out.  "I was only able to express half a  bottle this
afternoon.  She's going through a growth spurt.  Even so, she should sleep
a good long time, but you won't be so lucky after the next feeding.  Call
me when it's done.  We're going to be at a family party, and they know
I'll need to come home."

Theresa Jensen had bottle-fed her first child.  More bottle- fed babies
developed asthma, and she knew -- whatever Dr. Wyatt  said -- that this was
the cause of Amy's illness.  That wasn't going to happen to Peggy, and she
actually found the nursing restful sometimes.

On the other hand, having people see it, even talking about it, made
her feel like a cow.  Her sister-in-law, Sandra, had fed her baby in front
of the whole world, or at least family of both sexes; Theresa hid from
Shannon, and was bothered by having Shannon's boyfriend even in the house
while she did it.  Anyway, it was time.  "I'm ready, Bill; let's go."

                                   - = -

"I thought that you were going out tonight," Rachel Anderson  said to
Steve.  It was not that she didn't enjoy the  company of her son, not that
she wasn't pleased to see him  studying this early in the evening.  It was
just that she felt  safer talking to Roger when she was *certain* that
Steve  wouldn't impulsively pick up the phone.

"Shannon is babysitting.  The Jensens said they don't mind me  coming
over, but they don't want me to until after they leave.  Honest!"  Sounded
kinda weird to him, but it was true.

Rachel didn't worry about that.  Steve was perfectly capable  of making
up a plausible story; implausible ones were likely to  be true.  "Is she
breast feeding?"

"Shannon said something about that, but she leaves bottles in  the
fridge."

"You make formula as you go.  Must be her first child."

"No, the second.  I told you about Amy.  Peggy's the baby  sister."

"Strange.  I was rather shy about Mallory at first; but by the  time you
came along, I'd whip it out in front of anybody."  She  almost laughed
aloud at Steve's evident discomfiture.  At the  time, he'd been quite in
favor.  "Anyway, you're a guest in their  house.  If it bothers her that
you are there, you leave  immediately.  Is that clear?"

"Sure."

"I'm serious about that.  We let you run about at all  hours...."

"That's the deal.  I keep my grades up.  So long as the  results are
satisfactory, you don't decide the methods."

"But you have to do what we say.  And I won't have a son of  mine
embarrassing some lady generous enough to let him visit her babysitter.
I'll tell you this, I never let a babysitter have guests in my house."
Although at least one had.  Which, after all, might have persuaded this
woman.  She knew Steve's name, knew where he lived.

"It's Shannon.  People trust her, and with good reason."  At this
testimonial, the phone rang.

Steve got the phone before the second ring.  "Anderson  residence.
Steven Anderson at your service."  Damn it!  He'd  forgotten the
'Esquire.'

"Steve?"  It didn't sound like Shannon at all, but he had been  so sure
that it was.  "This is Heather.  What did you mean about  asking for
suggestions?"

It took him a minute to figure out the context.  "Ken has some  idea.
What I meant was that you could ask him about it.  He was  really impressed
with your art.  Last time I saw him that  excited, genuinely excited, was
about Abelian groups."

"More exciting than a beel-whatever group.  What every girl  wants to
hear."

"Well, I think you're more exciting than Abelian groups.  I  wouldn't
even mind Shannon's hearing that.  But Ken's thinking that you are more
exciting than Abelian groups is a whole  different story.  It was really
your Cupid.  He kept saying that it was art.  Anyway, your Cupid gave him
an idea.  Listen to it;  Ken's ideas are always worth listening to.

"On the other hand," he continued, "what the motion said was  that you
could *get* suggestions from anyone you chose.  It  didn't say that
you would follow Ken's suggestions."  Ken's ideas were always worth
hearing; they weren't always worth following.   He'd been to the
principal's office twice learning that -- to say  nothing of the tee-shirt
that they'd tried to make into  guncotton.

"You guys go back a long ways, don't you?...  I'll give him a
call."

The phone rang again almost immediately.  "Yo?"

"Steve?  This is Shannon.  You can come over now if you want."

"Quarter hour."  But he made it to the Jensens' doorstep in just about
ten minutes.

"Your phone was busy" was Shannon's greeting.

He kissed her briefly.  His coat was in his way.  "I was  talking to
another woman,"  he said as he stripped off his outerwear, including his
shoes.  "Talking to her about Eros, telling her that she was hotter than
an Abelian group."

"Am I supposed to be jealous?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"All right," she said.  "I'm too jealous to kiss you.  And I won't give
you my news."

"It was Heather whatsername, the junior.  Eros is another name for
Cupid, and we mostly talked about Ken.  Your news can wait."

She held up her hand.  "What about saying she was so hot?"

"I told Heather that Ken got as excited about her Cupid as he'd gotten
over anything since Abelian groups.  Those are math thingies which Ken
explained to me several times.  It didn't take.  She didn't think it was
much of a compliment.  We joked  about that.  I'm sorry I mentioned it.
Now can I have my kiss?"

She figured that his face would have warmed up a little bit,  and he
might have learned that making her jealous didn't pay.  Anyway, it was time
that *she* got a kiss.

This kiss was for real.  Her mouth opened for his tongue, and  her breasts
were soft against his chest.  Her butt was firm under  his hands, and then
softened as she leaned against him.  He  turned her in his arms.  He kissed
the backs of her ears while  lifting her soft breasts.

"My news is that Ken says he really owes you one," he said.  "What's your
news?"  He brushed his fingers over her nipples, hardening below in
response to their hardening.

"I talked to Dad about budgets.  It's too complicated for  words, but they
don't seem to want to cut out all my pleasures.   They put in everything,
and then money for 'incidentals.'  I  thought that they would cut me way
back."  This was an odd way of  talking, but rather pleasant.  Steve talked
into the back of her  head -- she could feel his breath blow her hair --
and then  kissed her ear while she spoke.  "I can't think of anything which

hadn't been already counted in the budget."

"How about buying coffee and pie to share a table with your  boyfriend?"

It wasn't the best position for thinking, but she went through the budget
categories.  "You might be right!  Anyway, Dad said something about your
being welcome for another study date.  He  said that on Sunday."

"Not instead of dancing, I hope."  He pulled her back against him.
They really should do dances this way, with him holding her front instead
of her back.  "Speaking of which, might I have the pleasure of your
company at the dance this coming Friday?"

"Well, you can have my company.  The pleasure is your own
decision."

"Having you in my arms is always a pleasure."  He touched his  finger to
her face.  "Still too cold?"

"Yes.  Why don't you wash your hands?"

They kissed good bye to compensate for the two-minute separation.  Her
hands went to the buttons on her shirt.  "Don't  unbutton it," he said.

He came out with his own shirt unbuttoned, though, and with  his
undershirt in his hands.  He opened his backpack on the table, stashed the
undershirt in a plastic bag in the pack, and took the opportunity to
spread out the evidence of his studying.

He took her hand in his warm one and kissed the inside of her  wrist.
From there, he trailed kisses up to the inside of her  elbow.  She
shivered.  It was ticklish and a bit sexy, not like  when he teased her
breasts, but a little bit sexy nevertheless.  "Why do you do that?" she
asked.

"You are sexy, sexy all over.  I just decided that I was  missing out on
parts of you."  He kissed her mouth, then the  bridge of her nose.  "Do you
mind?  Does it bother you?"

"It bothers me, but not in a bad way."  She felt his tug on  her
shoulder like a dance signal; she followed as she would a dance signal
until her back was snuggled against him.  He cupped her breasts again,
then began to unbutton the shirt.  He kissed her right ear. "Isn't that
why you kiss me?" she asked.  "Like that especially?  To bother me?"

"Only half the reason.  I enjoy kissing you.  I've seen you  kiss the
kids.  Are you trying to turn Amy on?  Peggy?"

"She's just so cute," she said.  It was different, but she  couldn't say
how.  Steve was holding her breasts in his hands, now.  It wasn't a time
for deep thinking.

"And so are you."

He spun her to his front again.  Carefully spreading each  shirt, he
pulled her against him for a long kiss with her breasts pressed into his
hairy chest.  She was conscious of that touch, of his tongue exploring her
mouth, of his hands squeezing her hips.  Last, but quite strongly, she was
conscious of his hardness pressing into her stomach.  Finally, he broke
the kiss to grab her head with both hands; he kissed her on her
forehead.

"You are a sexy woman," he said.  "You look like a woman; you  feel like
a woman; but, somehow, you are just the way those  babies are."  Needing
protection, he meant, something like that.

                                   - = -

Bridge had been Theresa's life once, she and Bill had been  cut-throat
partners for the bank's bridge team before they had  any real dates.  There
were two bridge tables at the party, and  a couple of Jensens yielded their
seats gladly to Bill and Theresa.  They were playing Jerry and Michelle
(Mike) Foster who had taken a little too much pleasure in their edge in
skill, or -- perhaps -- been just a little too open about that
pleasure.

"I may have to leave early," Theresa said.  "If the babysitter  calls,
I'll just go."

"You don't have to do that for us," Jerry said.  "When you've  lost your
limit, just tell us.  We'll let you go."

Bill looked at Theresa.  She nodded.  They weren't going to  say
anything; their entire response would involve the play.

                                   - = -

"Lie facedown," Steve said when they reached he sofa.  First, he
scratched her back.  Then he moved down.  With one arm across her hips and
the other across her lower calves, he kissed the inside of her knees --
first a little suction on the right, then a tickling lick on the left.  She
kicked a little against his grip.  The feeling was somehow sexy, and she
didn't fight hard. When he started kissing up the inside of her thigh,
though, it felt much too sexy suddenly.  The arousal was all wrong, and she
turned over.  He didn't resist much.

He brushed her hair off her forehead and kissed her there.  He  kissed
the bridge of her nose.  Then he settled into a nice long  kiss, tongues
playing with tongues while he cuddled her breasts  with his hand, first one
then the other.

"What's with this business of kissing everywhere, anyway?" she  asked.
Now this, her left breast in his hand, his thumb brushing  the nipple
occasionally, turned her on.  But that was a  comfortable feeling.  She
could hardly remember when it had been  almost as disturbing as the kiss on
her knee was now.

He shifted so that he could hold one breast in each hand, then  kissed
her nipple in promise.  "Well, really, you started it.  I  used to imagine
making love to you; but it was sort of the  highlights, if you know what I
mean.  I wanted you; you wanted  me; I would go inside you.  And then all I
imagined was moving  back and forth until I came -- which was usually damn
soon."  Was  he really discussing masturbation details with Shannon?  Well,

after all, she had -- in a fashion -- been there.

He glanced at her face.  She looked interested, rather than  disgusted.
"Anyway," he continued, "you got off on this kick of  being virgin on your
wedding night."

"Wedding day," she corrected.  All this emphasis on the  wedding night
was Steve's.  Not that his version wasn't sexier.   Really, that decision,
while she was still determined to keep it,  had seemed the opposite of
sexy.  Steve, however, had turned it  into an erotic dream.

"Were you really planning to have a quickie before the  reception?" he
asked. She hissed and moved his hands away from  her breasts.  "If not, you
were planning to be a virgin on your  wedding *night*."  He put his
hands back where they  belonged. She didn't resist.  He kissed each nipple
until it  hardened.

"Anyway, you started me thinking about the wedding night --  and our
first time.  Starting at the sex doesn't really work.   'Shannon wants me,
too,' isn't really enough.  So I started  picturing taking that white stuff
off you, and kissing what I  uncovered, and other stuff.  You have rules,
and I follow them.   Well, I want our first time to be slow, and private;
and I want  to hold you to me and kiss you again afterwards."

He went back to kissing her breasts.  His hand brushed her  skirt down,
and then up.  "And I want to see all of you," he  said.

                                   - = -

Wayne Bryant shook the last of the can of diet ginger ale over his
glass.  It wasn't enough mixer for another drink.

"Do you really need another drink, Wayne?"  Allison said.  He mixed
them weak, but the whiskey bottle had dropped more than an inch that
night.

"Well, if I had someone in my lap, I wouldn't be able to get to the
kitchen?  Now, would I?"

She came over to sit on his lap.  She was an old married woman, for
heaven's sake.  "You are an insatiable letch."

"You, on the other hand, are a sexy blonde."  He shifted her weight and
cuddled her by her arm, not even touching her breast.  They watched the
next segment of the show like that.

She muted the sound for the commercial.  "I'm sorry that I  screwed up
your plan for Shannon's budget, it's just...."

"It's just that it was totally over-complicated," he said.  "I  should
have run it by you, I would have run it by you.  But I mentioned it to
Shannon first, and she asked for some time to think about it.  I was going
to run it by you when she first babysat next week.  Who could have dreamed
that she was actually thinking about it?"  Sitting like this, he could
feel her laugh all through his body.

"Anyway," he continued, "the reason she needs a budget is next  year,
and I was right.  But the time to learn to budget is this year, and you
were right.  Shannon got to see her father make a blunder, but it's not as
if that was a shock to her.  She thinks it happens even more often than it
does."  That earned him a kiss on the forehead.  She got up after that
kiss, but still the cuddle was well worth the lost drink.  He shouldn't
drink when Shannon was babysitting, anyway, any more than he should when
she was on a date.

                                   - = -

Steve prolonged the milder making out as long as he could stand, but the
thighs he stroked were drawing his hand towards their juncture.  The
breasts he kissed were drawing his lips toward their peaks.  He kissed her
on the mouth and drew his hand down her thigh as slowly as possible.  When
he reached her panties this time, he stayed there.  His hand cupped her
mound while his tongue licked the underside of hers again.  When he
abandoned her mouth for her nipple, his fingers began stroking her.

Shannon had been feeling trembly for some time.  Already warm  under the
sheer cloth of the panties, her groin heated when  clasped in Steve's hand.

The strokes there heated her whole  body; the suction on her nipple pulled
that heat upwards until  her face was on fire.  Her knees raised and
spread, her belly  tensed for what she knew was to come.  Suddenly, the
motions  stopped.

Shannon's position was too suggestive.  Steve climbed between  those
spread legs.  He kissed the other breast.  "Hug my waist,"  he said.  "Hug
it with your legs."  When she did put those lovely  thighs around him, he
moved forwards tentatively.  With her legs  pushed back by his body, he
moved his groin back and forth across  hers.  He kissed her chin on the top
of those strokes.  The  friction, even through the layers of denim, drove
him closer and  closer.

She felt the position was totally awkward, then as she shifted  her body
and tightened her legs, totally natural.  He was rubbing  across her almost
as excitingly as his hand had.  But the idea  was more exciting.  They
were, but for a few pieces of cloth,  doing it.

Close to coming in his pants, he had to stop.  He climbed  back, kissing
thighs to right and left.  Back in the kneeling  position, he kissed her
breast yet again.  He sucked the nipple  while his hand returned to her
pantied mystery.  Her responses  made him think that his gymnastics had
ruined her edge, which was  understandable.  A minute later, however, she
was moving as  sexily as ever.

She felt herself burning and freezing.  Feeling her belly  tense against
his arm, he began stroking her panties with the  backs of his nails.  The
sensation made her gasp.  He sucked  harder and licked the top of her
nipple.  He inhaled half her  breast, then let it pull out of his mouth,
tightening on the  nipple as it left.  Fire burned her belly, the pain in
the nipple  only one spark of it.  The fire pulsed, lifting and twisting
her  torso each time.  He claimed her other nipple, sucking each time  she
gasped.  His hand tried to ride her mound, abandoning regular  strokes to
respond to its motions.

Her gasps became moans; her twists became shudders.  She felt  herself
burn, convulse, and then collapse.  When she lay still,  he moved to cuddle
her.  Letting go of her panties, freeing her  nipples, he curled over her
with his head on her stomach a little  below her breasts.  From there he
could hear her heart slow and  her breathing even,  She pushed his hand
down below her waist, but there she held it.

They lay like that for a timeless moment, until Peggy cried.

She pushed him away.  "Warm the bottle, won't you?"  She'd had  to teach
him how to do that, but he was a help sometimes.

By now, Peggy was telling the world that she hadn't simply  turned over
in her sleep.  She was awake, hungry, almost  certainly wet, and demanding
to know what Shannon was going to do  about it. Shannon fumbled with her
shirt buttons -- they went the  wrong way -- as she walked down the hall.
All the strategic ones  were buttoned by the time she reached the girls'
room with its  distinct coolness from the humidifier.

Shannon found a pacifier clipped to Peggy's sleeper.  Slipping  it in,
she laid her on the changing table.  Working in the weird  shadows cast by
the night light, she opened the bottom snaps.  Peggy was dirty as well as
wet.  She got most of it with the  Pamper, most of the rest with a wipe.  A
second wipe cleaned Peggy right up, and then Shannon applied the
lotion.

"All I can find is an infant bottle," Steve said from the  doorway.

Mrs. Jensen had said something about expressing only half a bottle.
"That's right.  Use it."

Dressed in the fresh Pamper, with her snaps all closed again,  Peggy
still had to wait for her meal.  She wasn't used to that, and started to
fuss immediately.  Shannon got that response every  time.  She reinserted
the pacifier and cuddled Peggy in her arms.  Here, having Steve handle the
warming was a real help. She left the room in a sort of dance, turning
around as she went. Amy's breathing showed that she had slept through her
sister's noise, though Shannon didn't like the sound of it otherwise.

Anyway, Peggy was distracted by the movement.  Maybe she was just
entertained.  Shannon's breast was a bit tender where Peggy's head was
pressed against it, though.  Steve must have been rougher than she had
noticed at the time.  She missed a step, which was probably just a more
complicated dance to Peggy.

She handed the baby off to Steve, who held her against his shoulder and
danced the same three-step he danced with Shannon.  The milk in the bottle
was neither too hot nor too cold against her arm.  She took Peggy back,
settled her down, took out the pacifier, and replaced it with the
bottle.

Now that things were being done right, Peggy settled down to  her meal.
The speed of her feeding, however, threatened trouble when the bottle was
done before she was.  "Well, gal," Shannon  said, "you can be a demanding
kid.  Still and all, I'm glad you waited as long as you did."

"Speak for yourself," said Steve.  Poor guy, he'd been  cuddling her
when the siren went off.  Probably expecting something for himself.

"I was.  Anyway, if you want to take a break in the bathroom, you may.
We can keep ourselves entertained out here."  She walked over to the chair
which was most comfortable for this process. She eased herself down.
Peggy kicked at the disturbance, but didn't let go of the bottle.  The
kick hurt Shannon's breast and reminded her.

"By the way," she said, then paused to arrange her thoughts.   "I think
that you got too enthusiastic in your sucking back then.  I'm a little
sore."

Steve winced.  "I'm really sorry.  I know better.  I think I got
carried away."

"I'll forgive you.  I was too excited at the time to notice."

"Still I need to learn.  I can hardly expect to be less excited when we
do it for real."

"You know," she said, "you talked about 'our wedding night' once."  And
she still remembered that.  "Ever since, it's been 'when we do it for
real.'  Sometimes, it's 'our first time.'  You don't take my desire for a
white wedding seriously, do you?"

"Quite seriously.  And doing it for real is different from  doing it for
the first time.  Remember I talked about doing it standing up -- maybe you
kneeling.  That's not for the first  time, not by my plans anyway.  Things
are just more complicated.   I don't want you getting mad at me."

"Well," she said, "I have a feeding baby in my arms.  You  probably
won't get me more content than this."  Then, too, he'd  done a lot for her
contentment himself.

"Well, I'm a boy and you're a girl."  Which, she thought, was
convenient, but hardly to the point.  "We think about this sort  of thing a
little differently.  I've talked about my dreams for our first time, and
they are very real.  *But* if you said, 'I'm ready.  Let's do it on
Mrs. Green's floor the next time I sit there,' I probably would
agree."

"Not going to happen," she said.

"Good.  Not that I thought that it would.  Anyway, my dreams  are
negotiable.  I really have only one requirement."

"Birth control."

"Well," he admitted, "I probably have several requirements:  not without
birth control, not on the auditorium stage during a  pep rally, not lying
naked on a snowbank in the middle of a  blizzard. But those aren't real
requirements; you want them too.   My real requirement is that I have to
have your....  Permission  is the wrong word."

"Permission is a fine word."

"I want more.  I want your enthusiasm.  It's not enough that  you let
me.  I want you to want me."  She wasn't sure about this.   He didn't have
her permission ten minutes -- no it was closer to  a half hour -- ago.  She
had really wanted him, though.  "So," he  continued, "as long as a white
wedding is still your rule, we won't do anything until then.

"And, much as I want you -- want you right now -- the marriage  rule
does have one positive from my side.  Lots of girls don't  enjoy their
first time.  If we sneak an air mattress up to the  meadow this summer
before dawn, if we undress each other and I kiss you all over in the dark,
if you open yourself to me just as the sun is rising, if -- as I finally
enter you and fill you..."

"You've thought about this, haven't you?"

"Of course, I've thought about this.  I've dreamed about this.  And, may
I mention, several other versions including the wedding  night.  I love
you, which definitely includes desiring you.  Anyway, what happens if --
after all that -- you hurt horribly and get no joy whatever?  Would you
give me a second chance?"

"I think so," she said.  "After all, you don't sound like  you're trying
to hurt me."  He'd sounded, indeed, like he was  trying to be as romantic
as possible.

"Well," he said.  "You would be a lot more likely to give me a  second
chance, and third and tenth chances, if we were married.  You wouldn't
really have anywhere else to sleep, really."

"Well, keep that in mind.  They should have that in the  wedding
vows."

"They do," he said.  "'I, Shannon, take you, Steve, and give  you a
year's trial period to make intercourse as pleasurable as  making out has
become.'"

"Is that a proposal?  Because it sounds an awful lot like  taking me for
granted."

"That's the other side of it.  I can't imagine being married  to anyone
else.  But, the thing is... I can't imagine being  twenty-two either.  Can
you?"  He sure couldn't imagine being a  twenty-two year oldvirgin.  He
was aching to do it now.  But he couldn't see doing it with another girl;
Shannon would know, and she'd never forgive him.  But he couldn't really
see doing it with Shannon any time soon.

"It's scary," she said.

"Mommy!" Amy said.  "I'm sick.  I want my mommy."

"We'll get your mommy," Shannon said.  "She'll be home in a minute.  But
we need to get your medicine first."  She rose and put Peggy in Steve's
arms.  She headed into the girls' room.

Steve arranged Peggy in a more comfortable position and started to
search the kitchen cupboards for a glass.  A plastic monstrosity looked
like it was intended for Amy; he filled it with water and showed it to her.

"Is this your glass?"  Amy nodded and reached for it.  "Just a minute.
Wait till Shannon comes back with the pill."

Shannon brought back the pill and helped Amy get it down.  She'd also
brought back a blanket from Amy's bed.  She took the girl on her lap and
cuddled her for a minute.  "Steve," she said.  "Write down the time,
please.  On the pad by the phone.  Then, Peggy's bouncy seat is next to her
crib.  Can you put her in it and bring her back here?"

Steve did what she asked.  He could hear the flat we-are-not-in-a-panic
tone in Shannon's voice. The lack of affect was so different from her usual
exaggeratedly lively tone when dealing with kids that he knew this was
serious business.  He put Peggy in her bouncy seat and the pacifier in
Peggy's mouth.  She didn't look like she was terribly pleased, but she
didn't cry.  At that point, not screaming was satisfactory; at that point
not screaming was delightful.

"Want me to call?" he asked.

"Bring the phone here.  Damn!"  The Jensens' phone wasn't cordless.
"Please.  The phone number is by the phone.  Something Foster.  Ask for
Bill or Theresa Jensen."  She wrapped Amy in her arms and pulled the
blanket around them both.

He called and got a busy signal.  "Busy," he said.  He dialed it again,
carefully making sure that each number he punched was correct.  The result
was the same.

Shannon cuddled Amy for another minute while she thought about her
options.  Really, she trusted Steve.  The responsibility was hers, however.

Besides, Peggy still hadn't been burped. Watching Steve pat a baby's back
as softly as he would pat her head was great entertainment, but it wasn't
very effective. "Amy, honey, I have things to do so I can get your mommy to
come home.  Steve's going to hold you for a few minutes while I do those
things."

At the hint, Steve came over and lifted the blanket-wrapped bundle out
of her arms.  He sat down and cuddled her.  "Teef?" Amy asked.

"Yes honey," he said, "Teef."  Amy was either content with that or tired
from her illness.  She lay quietly in Steve's arms.

First Shannon checked the number on the pad to make sure that there
wasn't any possible confusion.  But each numeral had been drawn as
distinctly as a bank teller could.  Then she dialed the number again,
punching it slowly and carefully.  The result was still a busy signal.

Then she burped Peggy.  With Peggy wriggling in her arms, she pushed the
redial button.  Busy still.  Peggy's car seat had a rod across it with a
few interesting shapes attached.  With the seat on the couch where she
could see the others, with a pacifier in her mouth, with those toys to
shove across the rod, Peggy should be content for fifteen or twenty
minutes.  By that time, her parents should be home -- how long could a
phone conversation take, anyway?

                                   - = -

"Roger," Rachel asked when she was sure that she was connected to his
room, "are you comfy?  Do you want to heat the lotion in the sink?"

"I'm saving up for tomorrow.  How about you?  Got your friend with you?
Checked the batteries?  Sure that Steve isn't going to get his ears
burned?

"Your son is out tom-catting around."

"My son?" Roger asked.  "How could *my* son engage in such lewd
behavior?"

"Heredity.  Anyway, he tells me that they study together. Considering
how much studying he does at home, they must.  I don't ask him what else
they do."

"Good!  I hope I've taught him that there are things a gentleman never
talks about.  We couldn't expect him to tell you and not tell his
buddies."

"You could have told him that there are things that a gentleman never
*does*."

"You mean like spread his lady-love's legs and lap all the liquid from
between her lower lips?  Do you mean that a gentleman never slips behind
his sleeping woman and slides into her sluttish slot until she sluggishly
awakes totally possessed?  Are those things no gentleman would do?"

"Who said that you were a gentleman?"

"I rest on my elbows.  A gentleman rests on his elbows.  QED. Did I ever
tell you that the other ending in Euclid was QEF? That means 'Quite
Effectively Fucked.'  You put it at the end when they ask for an
erection."

"There's a difference between a construction and an erection."

"Who took Euclidian geometry anyway?" he asked.  "You took that modern
hodgepodge.  In geometrical proofs, I can lick you with both hands tied
behind my back."

"Should I get rope for tomorrow?"

"I don't even need the rope.  I can lick your ear and throat until
you're helpless with giggles.  I can lick your nipples until your legs
spread for me.  I can lick up your thighs until you can't lie still.  I can
lick you open, and I will hardly have begun.  I will lick you in the
bedroom, I will lick you in the living room, I will lick you in the
kitchen; and I will never surrender."

"Promises, promises."  But she took the magic wand in her hand and
scrunched down further towards the foot of the bed.  Roger did have a
wicked tongue, and she wasn't thinking of his sexy talk over the phone.

                                   - = -

It had been forty minutes since the pill.  Shannon pushed redial, and
then carefully punched the numbers again.  Neither process got through.
She pushed down on the bouncy seat on her way across the room to uncover
Amy, who didn't look one bit better. Could she have spit out the pill?  No,
the medicinal smell was still on her breath.

Dr. Wyatt's number was on the pad, too.  She dialed it.  After three
rings, she got:  "Oomph?"  And she had thought that Steve had bad telephone
technique!

"Dr. Wyatt?"  She could have got anybody.

"Speaking."

"I'm babysitting for Amy Jensen.  Your patient and she has asthma.  I
already gave her a pill, but she doesn't look any better."

"Just a moment."  There was a pause that she thought longer than could
fairly be called a moment, but the doctor's voice was stronger when she
heard it next.  "The patient is?"

"Amy Jensen?"

"You are?"

"Shannon Bryant.  I'm the babysitter."

"Yes, Shannon, used to be a patient of mine didn't you?"

"Yes.  Maybe five years ago.  I'm nearly eighteen now."

"Good.  Now. have you called the parents?  Theresa and William?"

"They left a number.  It's busy.  I gave Amy a pill forty minutes ago,
called them maybe five minutes after.  They haven't answered yet."

"All right, I want you to describe what Amy looks like." Shannon gave
him the description.  "How is her color?"

"Just a minute."  Shannon turned on another light and uncovered Amy
again.  "Does she look pale to you?" she asked Steve.

"Awfully.  But I don't often see her in a good light."  What he had
seen, as often as not, was a lump on the bed in the dark.

"Well, she looks awfully pale to me."  Shannon walked back to the phone.
"She looks awfully pale."

"This is what we are going to do.  You get her to the hospital. First,
you get her dressed or wrapped up for the cold; then you give her a second
pill; then you drive her to the hospital.  Even if she looks better, take
her to the hospital. I'll call ahead and come in as soon as I can get
myself dressed and my car started.  Get myself started, too.  Be
*sure* to tell them that you have given her two pills within the hour.
Tell them that I'm on my way and that I'm admitting her.  Take her to the
emergency room.  Nothing else is open.  Bring the pill bottle with
you."

"They have an old bottle by the phone.  Empty.  Will that do?"

"Excellent.  Leave a note for the Jensens if you have to, but call them
just before you leave."

"How," she asked Steve as she hung up, "are we going to get Amy to the
hospital?"  She picked up Amy still in the blanket. "Come on, honey.  We
have to get you dressed warmly."

"I'll get the car," Steve said.  He started by putting on his shoes.
Peggy complained, and he stuck the pacifier back in her mouth.  He sat
where he could bounce the seat with one foot while putting a shoe on the
other one.

"We're in a hurry," Shannon said.  Her voice started to show a little
bit of the fear that she had hidden so well.

"I'll call Mom.  That will get the car here."  He dialed his own phone.

                                   - = -

"Tell me, Roger," Rachel gasped.  "Tell me."

"I love you, Rachel.  Always" [Ticktickticktick-tick] "you, always will
love you.  I love your taste; I love your touch;  I love your luscious"
[Ticktickticktick-tick] "love your brave little clit -- always ready to
meet my tongue.  I love the sound of your voice and the smell"
[Ticktickticktick-tick] "and the smell of your juice and the clutch of your
cunt."

[Ticktickticktick-tick]  "Damn it to hell!" she said

"Didn't turn off call waiting?  Want to answer?"

"I" [Ticktickticktick-tick] "can't."  Tell me!"

"That's me in there.  Clutch me.  Hug the" [Ticktickticktick- tick]
"vibrator as you hug my rod.  Come, Rachel.  Come for me. Let me hear you
come."

And he heard her.  He heard her come despite the damn clicking, and he
almost came himself.  They each lay panting in their separate beds in their
separate rooms in their separate towns while the God-damned caller finally
gave up.  If they couldn't be united by the narrow link of flesh, they were
united by the much narrower link of copper.

And by a breadth of spirit.  Rachel, Roger thought, was sexier over the
phone than most women were lying beside.  He'd known her for nearly half
their lifetimes, and Rachel could still amaze him twice an hour.

"Yours?" she asked.

"I'm saving up."

"What is your schedule for tomorrow, anyway?"

                                   - = -

"Mom doesn't answer the phone," Steve said.  "I'll be back in fifteen
minutes if Gertrude is there."  Probably it would be, he thought, Mom
hadn't mentioned going anywhere.  She was capable of ignoring the phone
when she was showering, but she was also capable of driving off to buy
something she'd just decided she needed.  Hell!  She might be visiting a
friend for hours; tomorrow was her day off.

"Fifteen minutes?  Oh, Steve!  Could you drive Mrs. Jensen's car? It's a
Volkswagen."

"I can drive anything.  I can't hotwire a car, though."

"There are two sets of keys on the nail by that door."  He threw on a
coat and looked at the keys.  One set was labeled 'GM'; he took the other.
The car was a VW Golf.  It started right up.  He adjusted the seat and left
the engine running. Even the garage was damn cold.  Back inside, he tossed
his scarf around his neck and the pack on his shoulder.  He'd finish
dressing at the hospital.

"There is a car seat.  Do I put her in it?"

"At four?" Shannon asked.  "That's Peggy's.  I'll get her in the car;
you drive.  I have to stay here."  Peggy's screams emphasized her
point.

"You'll freeze out there.  Give her to me before she overheats."

"Here!  Take this bottle; it's Amy's prescription."  It wasn't worth
fighting about who put Amy in the car.  "Be sure to tell them that she had
*two* pills.  Promise me that!  And that Dr. Wyatt is on his way."

"I promise."  He shoved the pill bottle into his coat pocket. "Dr.
Wyatt.  Two pills."

"And take her to the emergency room."  Shannon turned, still talking.
"I want you to go with Steve, Amy.  Momma will be there."  Amy's screams
matched Peggy's, and she held on with what seemed like ten hands.  They
peeled them off and got her -- dressed in the sleeper and a coat, and still
wrapped in the blanket -- into Steve's arms.  Shannon turned to Peggy, who
-- she realized -- was in the draft from the door.

As the garage was lit only from the door, she moved Peggy to her room
rather than closing the door.  The garage door rumbled, then rumbled again
while she was changing Peggy.  The Pamper wasn't that wet, but that was the
only one of Peggy's problems that she could deal with at the moment.

Leaving Peggy in the crib, she went to close the door.  It was already
closed, though the kitchen was freezing.  She called the number once again.

It was still busy.  The cold kitchen wasn't the only reason that she was
shivering, but she could put her bra and sweater back on -- pantyhose, too.

Peggy was screaming, though, and she would deal with that problem first.


                                   - = -

The exhaust in the closed garage was just, Steve thought, what an
asthmatic child didn't need.  He carried her through it and inched open the
right-hand door.  He slung the backpack on the car's roof and managed to
get every bit of Amy inside the car. He raised the garage door manually on
his way back.  The wind was much colder -- who'd have guessed that a tee-
shirt helped that much?  Able to see in the light from outside, he slammed
the kitchen door.  Once in the driver's seat, he slung the pack under Amy's
feet.

He figured out Amy's seat belt and slammed first her door and then his.
"Steve's not real used to this car, Honey," he said as he backed out.
"This may be a rough ride."  He did find the automatic door closer,
however, and they were on their way. "Considering the time we've taken
already," he told her, "we don't need to speed."  Though he was talking to
himself, Amy seemed to settle down.

He knew where he was in town, and where the hospital was. Choosing the
streets was easy.  Once you were approaching the hospital, the path to the
emergency room was clearly marked. Weird that he hadn't noticed those
markings driving this route on other days.  "Dr. Wyatt is on his way," he
recited.  "Amy has already had *two* pills."  Shannon had never needed
anything from him before -- not really.  He wasn't going to fuck this one
up.

                                   - = -

Shannon remembered Mrs. Jensen's telling her that Peggy was going
through a growth spurt.  Peggy had been ignored, and she had been slung
around from room to room and seat to seat.  That had ruined her temper.
She had also had only half a meal, ending an hour ago.  She was quite
hungry and telling the world.

Shannon put a pacifier in Peggy's mouth and headed for her backpack to
change.  Peggy sucked twice, hard.  When that didn't work, she spat the
pacifier out and wailed again.  Shannon picked her up and held the pacifier
to her mouth.  She spun around a few times and headed out of the room.
Satisfied by the motion for the moment, Peggy started sucking again.

                                   - = -

Steve saw an ambulance ahead of him at the emergency-room entrance.  He
stopped well behind it, and went around to gather up Amy.  Leaving the door
on that side open, he carried her into the emergency room.  People were
rushing around; it took him a minute to see that other people were sitting
around.  If Amy didn't get treatment, if he joined the sitters, Shannon
would never speak to him again.  Besides, Amy was a sweet kid who trusted
him.  "Pardon me," he said to a nurse walking briskly across the room.

"Kelly?" she asked without stopping.

"No."  She turned away and kept walking.

He caught sight of the desk across the room.  One of the men there
looked at him when he got there.  "Dr. Wyatt told me to bring Amy to the
hospital.  It's a serious case of asthma; she's four and a half; the
doctor's on his way."

The man grabbed a form and started asking questions.  Steve couldn't
answer half of them, and the guy repeated the insurance question twice.
Then, when he told him that Amy had already had two pills, he didn't write
it down.  "Okay," the guy said.  "Sit down over there."  He turned to the
woman behind Steve.

Steve sat on the edge of one of the chairs.  Emergency room, hell! he
thought.  All these people cared about was getting the name of the
insurance company on their forms.  As he warmed, he took the blanket off
Amy.  She slipped to the floor, and stood between his legs.  Her color
looked ghastly, but -- he finally realized -- so did everyone's in the
lousy fluorescents.

                                   - = -

Bill Jensen glanced at his watch.  It was after ten, and they had
promised Shannon to get her back by eleven.  On the other hand, Theresa
hadn't enjoyed herself so much in a long time.  You could see the worry
lines melting off her face.  Well, the drives weren't that long.  He'd call
for the last deal at ten-thirty.

Theresa also thought that the silent phone was too good to be true.  The
breast pump had drained one side, and Peggy had drained the other just
before they had come here.  Now, her breasts were feeling comfortably full
-- not painfully full, but as if she could meet any demands tonight.
Hadn't she told the babysitter to call when Peggy's next feeding was
finished?  Well, it wouldn't be the first time that she had slept for
hours.  That just meant that she'd be *real* glad to see mommy.

And then they picked up the next hand and dropped into serious card-
player mode.

                                   - = -

It seemed to Steve that it had been hours, but the man who had been
sitting on his right when he sat down was still sitting there when a nurse
came out and called "Jensen?"  There was a scream of sirens outside.

"Amy Jensen?" she continued.

"Here!" Steve called.  He had to change his grip on Amy before he could
stand up.  He left the blanket on the seat.  "Amy has asthma," he told the
nurse when they met in the middle of the floor.  He heard a crash, and a
gurney came rushing in the door; the nurse motioned him back.  It was
followed by another crash, and another gurney sweeping by them.  "Amy has
asthma; she's had a bad attack and we gave her two pills.  Doctor Wyatt
told us to bring her in; he's coming here.  We gave her two pills."

"Two pills of what?"

He pulled the bottle from his coat pocket.  When he tried to read the
name of the medicine, she plucked the bottle out of his hand.

"Who's the fucking idiot with the Golf blocking the drive?" someone
shouted from the door.  Steve jumped.

"Come with me, sweetheart."  The nurse held out her arms to Amy.

Amy, who had complained so about coming with him, clung to him with both
arms.  "No," she said.  "Teef."

Despite her crying, Steve and the nurse peeled her arms off him.

"Who has the Golf?"  The speaker was an ambulance driver. "I've called
for a tow."

"I'm moving it," Steve told him while zipping his coat back up. He
grabbed the blanket.  "It was an emergency after all."

"Don't give me 'an emergency,' punk.  You're blocking real emergencies.
You never should have parked it there...."  He grabbed Steve's arm.

"Do you want me to move it?" Steve asked in a level voice, but one
clearly audible by half those waiting.  "Or do you want to tell me what a
bad boy I am?"  The guy had missed his calling as a monitor in a high-
school lunchroom.

It was bitterly cold outside.  Two ambulances were in front of the
little Golf.  Before Steve could get the passenger door closed, the rear
one pulled out and passed the front one without effort.  So much for
blocking the drive with a tiny VW.  He'd left the car running, and the gas
was a little low.  He'd worry about that later.

                                   - = -

"Mrs. Jensen?"  Shannon asked when the phone rang.

"This is Dr. Wyatt.  To whom am I speaking.?"

"This is the Jensen's home.  I'm Shannon Bryant, the babysitter."

"Yes, Shannon.  I was afraid that you wouldn't be able to get Amy to the
hospital.  Do you want me to call the ambulance?  They'll come when I ask."

He would guarantee payment, he meant.  And they knew that he was quite
capable of filing charges if one of his little patients was badly
served.

"My boyfriend was here.  He drove Amy to the hospital.  I haven't heard
from him.  Not Mrs. Jensen either."  Peggy squirmed in her arms, turning so
that her head bumped against one of her breasts. Peggy knew what that was.
Ignoring the flannel, she latched on and sucked as hard as she could.
Shannon gasped.

Dr. Wyatt figured that the gasp was Shannon's realizing that she had
told him that she'd entertained a boyfriend while babysitting.  "Don't
worry," he said.  If the Jensens complained, he'd read them the riot act.
Not that he expected them to complain, though.  The person who got Amy to
the hospital when she needed to get there was Mrs. Jensen's dear friend.
"I'm leaving for the hospital now.  If you hear from the Jensens, tell them
to meet me there."

It was all very well to tell her not to worry, Shannon thought. She
could trust Amy to Dr. Wyatt, but she had already trusted her to Steve soon
after they drove away.  All she had time to worry about now, was Peggy.
And Mrs. Jensen meeting the doctor at the hospital made that worse.

She pulled Peggy off her breast, shifted her in her arms, shoved the
pacifier back in, and hit redial while holding it in. She'd never criticize
Steve again.  He hadn't sucked her breast one tenth as hard as Peggy
had.

                                   - = -

The first entrance to a parking lot that Steve found required a hospital
personnel ID to get in.  Finally, though, he parked the car, tossed the
blanket into the rear seat, grabbed his backpack, locked the doors
properly, and got back to the emergency room. He was chilled to the
bone.

"Jensen," a guy in medical garb and a blue shower cap called out. "Where
is Jensen?"

"I brought the Jensen girl in," Steve told him.  "Is something
wrong?"

"Why didn't you stay here?  You shouldn't leave this location in case we
have a question."  The guy looked like he hadn't slept in the last day and
hadn't shaven in three.

"I was parking the car," Steve said.  He wished the authorities around
that place would make up their minds.

"Well you shouldn't have.  This prescription is more than a year out of
date.  If you gave her these pills, I have to find out whether the medicine
loses its efficacy over time.  Did you use a left-over bottle of
medicine?"

"The prescription is current.  *That* bottle was kept by the phone
so we could show it to you if we had to come to the hospital.  Kept empty
for a long time.  We gave her two pills."

"Yeah.  We heard that.  Anyway, stay here if there are more questions."
He went through a door.

Steve carried his pack into a bathroom.  Just after he'd put his tee-
shirt on, a cop came in to use the facilities.  He got an odd look from the
cop, and reddened a little.  It was probably obvious what he'd been doing
when Peggy interrupted them.  Properly dressed, he used the facilities
himself.

He half-expected to find the guy looking for him with another question
when he popped out, but nothing like that happened.

He settled down.  Too bad he hadn't anything in his backpack but a
notebook and a couple of disks.  At this point, his dullest textbook would
have been a relief.

But why was that cop giving him the fishy eye?  Even if he would hate
for Shannon's parents to know how far they had gone, he doubted that they
had broken any laws.  Kids caught making out in parked cars, screwing in
parked cars for that matter, were merely sent home with a warning.  And the
guy didn't have any proof.  So why was he looking at him like that?

                                   - = -

"Three hearts," Theresa bid.  Hearts was Bill's suit; three would make
game.  Her tone would have counted as table talk in any club in the world;
call it the marital convention -- Bill wasn't going to raise after that.
The other couple hadn't anything to raise with.

She dropped her singleton ace on the low-club lead, stacked her other
suits so Bill could get to them, and headed for the phone. She wasn't
really worried; her breasts weren't really overfull. This was just a
precaution.

She had actually dialed three digits before she got the receiver to her
ear.  It was howling like a banshee.  She took a minute to recognize the
sound of a fax.  She replaced the receiver and looked for Sandra or Ted.
She needed to tell them that she might have messed up an incoming fax.

"Okay," asked young Bobby Foster from the hallway, "who blew my internet
connection?"

"How long," his father answered, "have you been on the modem after your
mother asked you not to?"  He strode into Bobby's room and knelt by the
computer.

"I'll get offline," said Bobby.  "The program needs to be shut down in a
regular order.  Don't foul it up."

Ted Foster unplugged the phone cord from the wall jack.  "Take as long
as you want closing down.  But the next time I come in here, I'll probably
want the power cord, too."  He unplugged the other end from the computer.
"Your Aunt Theresa and Uncle Bill needed the phone.  If something happened
to Baby Amy, you'll shave before you're online again."

He went out to where Theresa was still holding the receiver in her hand.
He pushed the buttons down in the cradle.  "Give it a minute," he said, "to
get a dial tone.  Then make your call." The phone rang before he had
finished speaking.  Theresa handed the receiver to him.  "Hello.  Look,
could you call back in fifteen minutes we have a situation here...."

"No!" said Shannon.  "This is an emergency."  She held the phone out to
Peggy and pulled her off her breast for the millionth time.  Peggy screamed
what an emergency it was. Shannon put in the pacifier and took the phone
back.  "Please let me speak to...."

"Shannon," Theresa shouted into the phone, "hold on there. We'll be
there in ten minutes."  Her breast had started flowing at the cry of her
baby.

Bill put his hand down without even picking up the previous trick.
"Play my hand, Sandy," he called.  "Or somebody."  he headed into Bobby's
room to gather his coat and Theresa's.

"Don't come here," Shannon said.  "Amy's at the hospital. Steve took her
in to the emergency room.  Dr. Wyatt's meeting her there.  Probably there
by now.  We *do* need you, but take care of Amy first."

When Shannon heard the phone click from that end, she called her own
home.

"Bryants' home.  Allison Bryant speaking."

"Mom?  This is Shannon.  Listen, I'll be breaking curfew big time; but I
have to.  I'm at the Jensens'.  Little Amy was taken to the hospital.  Both
parents are there; I'm here with baby Peggy.  I don't know when they'll get
home, and it might be even later that they can drive me home.  This is
really an emergency."

"It certainly sounds like it.  Do you want me there?"

Did she ever.  But she still hadn't been able to dress.  And Steve might
come back at any moment.  "No,  That's all right."

"If they can't drive you home, and I can understand that, Dad will come
and get you."

"If it comes to that, Mom, I'll call again.  I just wanted you to know
that I hadn't been attacked by wolves.  Ouch!  Not that a hungry infant is
much better."  She hung up.

                                   - = -

Harry Stewart hadn't studied police science to ride in the right seat of
a state-police cruiser and interview accident victims. The problem was that
local police forces mostly paid even less than the state police.  In this
part of the state, the local forces didn't do all that much real police
work, either.

If his hands weren't tied, he could make some real arrests. But they
*were* tied.  Take that punk kid in the down jacket.  He was guilty as
hell.  Every time that Harry looked at him he squirmed more.  A simple
search would find drugs and -- just maybe -- a weapon.  But the courts
would throw out any search, and he looked like the sort whose family could
afford a lawyer.

The courts kept themselves in business.  If cops -- good cops like Harry
-- couldn't search the obvious criminals, if punks like that could hang
around hospitals until they made their deliveries, then the gangs never
would be broken and the lawyers and judges would have jobs forever.

Steve felt the cop's scrutiny once again.  By now, he'd figured out the
problem.  It wasn't making out with Shannon.  In the excitement and worry
over Amy, the only question he and Shannon had asked was whether he was
able to drive Mrs. Jensen's car. He'd looked at it like the cars of his
father's guests on New Year's Eve.

The difference was that Mrs. Jensen hadn't told him that he could drive
it.  She hadn't known that we would drive it, might not know even now.  Any
minute now, the cop would ask him how he had got there.  Should he lie?
There were probably fingerprints all over the car; people must have seen
him get out of the car; there were certainly witnesses to his statement
that he was driving the Golf.

But the cop didn't ask him anything; all he did was stare at him all the
time.  Maybe he could drive it back to the Jensen's, but the guy had told
him to stay here in case there were any more questions.  And, if he did
drive it back, he would have to face Shannon with the news that he had
chickened out.

"Steve?"  It was Mrs. Jensen.  "Are you Shannon's boyfriend?"

"Yes.  How's Amy?  What's next?"

"Can you tell me where the car is?  Show me, I guess; I'll have to get
you home, and Shannon home."  She felt herself falling apart.  She would
not fall apart.  She had to get the kids home; they'd done so much for Amy.

She had to feed Peggy; her breasts were leaking as it was.  *Then* she
could fall apart.  "They're keeping her in the hospital, but they think
she's passed her crisis.  I can't tell you how grateful I am.  Bill's
staying with her for a while."

They went out the door.  The cold was nothing compared to that cop's
eyes.  "Walk on my right," he said.  "It'll block the wind a bit."  She
gave him a hard look, but walked on his right.

He was still taking care of her, Theresa Jensen thought, shading him
from the wind.  Everyone had been so kind.  "Can you drive?" she asked.

"Sure.  You don't mind my taking the car?"

"For Amy?"  Did he want to borrow it later.  That would be a minor
reward, but she needed it to visit the hospital tomorrow.

"Well, that's what we thought -- Shannon and I -- and me.  But that cop
kept giving me the eye in there.  And I remembered that I had taken your
car without even asking.  I don't know the law."

"You will *not* suffer for taking Amy to the hospital."  If the law
said that he had to have permission at the start of the evening, he'd get
permission dated the start of the evening.  She was so grateful.  "I still
have to get you and Shannon home, but I have to feed Peggy first."  Sandra
had fed Bobby in front of everybody, probably including that awful Jerry.
Steve had been so good, she couldn't send him away.  Still, she felt like a
cow.

Steve remembered what his mom had said about not being present when he
wasn't wanted.  Not that he especially wanted to be present.  Mrs. Jensen
wasn't bad looking for an old lady; he wouldn't at all mind a peek at her
breasts.  Not with Peggy messing them up, however, and damn-well not with
Shannon able to see his interest.  Besides, it had been a long enough night
already.  "I can walk home.  It's not far from here."  For that matter, he
was driving her car for the second time tonight.  "Do you want me to drive
Shannon home?"

"Oh, could you?"  After everything else he'd done for her. "Drive
yourself home, too.  Leave a message on the answering machine about the
car."  Bill could drive her to pick it up.

Yeah, Steve thought, the gas is real low.  He started to tell her, but
thought better.  She didn't look like much was sinking in right now.  She
was right, leave the message on the answering machine and she could deal
with it in the morning.  Mention the blanket then, too.

They stopped in her driveway.  "I'll send Shannon out when I can. Thank
you *so* much.  Leave the car running so you don't freeze."


Continued in Part 7
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2001/02/07
2003/01/25
2010/02/01
The index to all my available stories is:
http://www.asstyr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
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