Message-ID: <59902asstr$1265505008@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} repost -- Heart Ball" part 8 (Uther)
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Date: Sat, 06 Feb 2010 20:10:08 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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 8:
Continued from Part 7


Steve's parents were in their bedroom when he got home.
He got himself a quick snack of beef stew.  In his pajamas, he
checked his e-mail.  He had received two copies of the real story
of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, a reminder from Ken of the
work sessions on the next two days, and an inquiry if he still
played MUDs on-line.  There was nothing from Shannon.

"Thinking about you," he sent her, and signed it "An Unknown
Admirer."

When he went off-line, he slipped the disk from Dave into his
floppy drive and looked through the pictures.  Steve figured that
once a day was about right.  He could come more often than that,
but he wanted to exercise some self-control.  In the past forty-
eight hours he had lacked relief.  Not only that, he had been
making out with Shannon and almost at the limit when Peggy
interrupted.  This wasn't a time for dreaming of Shannon; this
was a time for something really dirty.

Dave had his own indexing system.  Steve looked through the
rear views until his cock demanded action.  Then he switched to
the pictures of rear entry sex.  At the fifth couple, he shot
into the Kleenex until it was soggy.  He dropped that in the
waste basket and took a last piss in the bathroom.  He removed
and stashed the disk, turned down the monitor, and crawled into
bed.

He'd do homework on the bus.  There was no sense trying to
stuff his head when it had turned itself off.

                              - = -

Steve woke to the alarm in the morning.  His recovery was
complete, except -- ironically -- the he had the firmest morning
erection that he had suffered in some months.

Dad being home, Mom cooked breakfast for everybody.  "Want
some spaghetaroni to take for lunch?" she asked.  "There doesn't
seem to be any stew left."

Instead of cafeteria lunch?  "Sure.  Thanks Mom."

"If you'll actually study this morning," Dad said, "I'll drive
you to school.  No 'just checking my e-mail.'"  Well, he had a
point; checking e-mail could take all the time available.  And
Mr. Babaian had all but told him that there would be a quiz that
day.

"Thanks, Dad."  He got nearly forty-five minutes in on
physics, and left in plenty of time for the start of school.

"Shannon impressed me as a really nice girl last night," his
dad said in the Jeep.

"I coulda told you that.  I did tell you that."

"I meant 'nice' as a person, not her looks."

Steve sighed.  His parents thought that he was so superficial.
"That's what I meant, too.  Look, Dad...."  This was as good a
time as any.

"Yes?"

"If you had the chance to change your life, you could have
gone to a much better school, gotten a better education.  Only,
it would have meant never even meeting Mom.  Would you have done
it?"  He seemed to be jumping back and forth in time.  Could Dad
hear what he was asking?

Roger Anderson could see where this was heading.  "You're not
really considering this Albino College?"  That couldn't be
right.

"Albion.  And no.  But what if IIT *does* accept me?
What if I want to go to U of I instead?"

"Well, it's your choice.  Your mother and I might think that
your commitment to Shannon is a little premature, but we're
seeing it from the outside.  Everybody always does.  If that last
sentence makes sense."

"Sure.  But you can see a little of it.  Shannon is a class
act, through and through.  Question is what she sees in me."

"Don't sell yourself short, son.  That's part of being a class
act, seeing your potential.  Just don't ruin all of that."

"Thanks Dad."  They were turning into the parking lot outside
of school.  The thanks could have been for the ride, the advice,
or the permission.  He didn't know.  It even could have been for
the approval of his choice of girl.  The approval wouldn't make
much difference in his relationship with Shannon, but it would
make his next eight months at home easier.

Shannon, who looked unhappy, sent him a questioning glance
just before the class started.  All he could do was shrug back.
It wasn't really during class time, but Mrs. Foster asked them
both to stay after class.

He'd decided to take the punishment in silence, however
unfair. Mrs. Foster graded mostly on tests, anyhow.  When they
got to her, though, she had something else on her mind.  "Look,
that baby you said you took to the emergency room.  What was her
name?"

"Amy Jensen."  Wherever this was going, he didn't see any
sense in lying.

"And," Mrs. Foster continued, "you were babysitting for
her?"

This was addressed to Shannon and she answered.  "Yes."

"Well, the party where the Jensens were?  The host was Ted
Foster. He's some sort of cousin, third cousin twice removed or
second cousin thrice removed, something like that, of my
husband's.  We aren't close enough to go to the party.  They'd
have to hold it in the gym.  *You* know."  The last was
directed at Steve.  There were larger Anderson clans in town, but
his relatives weren't all going to fit into one house either.

"But," she continued, "we're close enough to hear the gossip.
Ted's son, Bobby, was on the Internet when you called; he's been
grounded for life.  Ted's wife says that the mother thinks you
two walk on water.  I'd not go all that far, but I over-reacted
to Steve's comment yesterday.  I'm not taking those points.
Here's an excuse for each of you."

She handed them the slips which would excuse their lateness to
the next class.  They started in Shannon's direction.  "The kid
is grounded for life, is he?" Shannon said.  "I'll bet that his
grounding ends before mine does."

"Shit!"  Then he looked around, but no teachers were
listening.

"Didn't check your e-mail?"

"Last night after work.  I got a ride this morning if I spent
all the time on homework.  Dad approves of you."

"Can I come live at your house?  My parents definitely
disapprove of me."

"The last thing I want is to have you for a sister.  Even in
exchange for Mallory.  I gather that they found out about our
babysitting dates."

"You drove me home in Mrs. Jensen's car and didn't walk me to
the door.  Mom guessed the rest.  About five hundred percent of
the rest.  I poured my heart out to you in that e-mail."

"And I'll read it.  Can we finish this at lunch?"

"We'll have to."  And she continued while he turned around and
headed for class.

There wasn't a quiz in Physics.  At lunch, Shannon laid out
the rest of her punishment.  "Thing is," she said, "they probably
haven't finished yet.  Dad asked for my TV late last night.  They
canceled my birthday party, my *eighteenth* birthday party."
She wiped her eyes at that.  "I'd better tell people."  She'd
made short work of her lunch, being quite hungry that noon.

He offered her one of his brownies, then -- impulsively -- all
three.  She took one, then broke the other in half and took that
half.  She left him to tell her friends that there wouldn't be a
party.

There *was* a quiz in calc.  It covered enough that he
wasn't absolutely lost.  On the other hand, the grade on that
quiz wasn't going to do anything good for his GPA.

The hearts for the dance decor were much easier to prepare
than they had been the previous day.  He asked Mr. Babaian to
repeat his explanation, and it made sense.  His problems (except
for his share of Shannon's) were clearing up; hers had just
begun.  What hadn't happened, despite Mr. Jensen's visit to the
drug store, was that either one of them got any reward for their
good deed. Well, he'd noticed something similar often enough
before.

"Where was Shannon?" Ken asked him on the way home.  "Will we
see her tomorrow?"  He had specified two meetings out of
three.

"She's grounded.  I doubt that she'll get to another meeting.
I'm starting to worry about the dance itself."

"Grounded?  What did she do?  The dance is more than two weeks
from now."
                              - = -

Allison Bryant had arranged her schedule so that she was home
when Shannon was due.  "I said ten minutes."  It was nearly
fifteen minutes after school let out.

"Come on, Mom.  The busses don't even leave ten minutes after
the ending bell rings.  I had to get to my locker, arrange my
books, put on my coat, and then trot home.  You only count
walking home.  I'm not sure that I can make this schedule.  I
never did for Mrs. Green.  Of course, if I slip on some ice and
break a leg, that will cut out my social life for you."  The
walks along her path home were mostly clear, but there was sure
to be more snow.

"All right.  Fifteen minutes after the ending bell rings.
Tonight, you'll need to start dinner at four-thirty.  You can
study till then."  Shannon decided not to try her e-mail.  Steve
couldn't have replied; he was still at school.  She suspected
that her parents might block that connection to the outside if
they noticed her using it.

And she did want Steve's reply.  In the middle of the night,
despite how tired she had been, she'd awakened and hadn't been
able to go back to sleep.  She had written Steve about her
parents, and then about what he meant to her.  She'd never quite
said those things before.

Which meant that she was still tired.  She'd make an early
night tonight, what choice did she have?  And so it was time to
start on homework.  She did so until her mom knocked on her
door.

Some of the best times she'd had with her mom had been working
together in the kitchen.  This wasn't going to be one of them.
For one thing, Shannon did all the work.  Her mom supervised from
a chair.

"Let me guess," Shannon said.  "This isn't going to get me out
of doing the dishes?"

"You're right.  Look, one thing I'll give you.  Anything you
told me last night, you can change your story without penalty.
Anything you forgot to mention?"

"Not really."

"Then tell me one thing.  Steven called once when you were
babysitting.  He sounded very surprised at the news."

Shannon could feel herself blush.  Someday she'd laugh at that
mess, if she didn't die of old age first.  "Remember that I told
you that Steve was sensitive and picked up on things real
well."

"Something like that."  Allison remembered it very well.
Shannon's boyfriend was sensitive, unlike her mother.

"Well, usually he does.  But there are exceptions."  She told
the story of his being jealous about 'the visit from her
friend.'

Allison wondered where Shannon had picked up that euphemism.
Not from her mother, who had been careful to use the correct
terms. Anyway, despite Shannon's emphasis on the study and the
talk, messy genitals made the entire visit undesirable.  She
could believe her about the talk, on the other hand.  Those kids
could spend an hour a day on the phone talking about the e-mails
that they had already sent each other.

                              - = -

Wayne Bryant looked up Nurse Green on the roster.  She was on
orthopedic, scheduled to work that night, and -- as he already
knew -- on the second shift.  He called the supervisor of ortho,
and asked if he could speak with Nurse Green for a very few
minutes.

"This is Mr. Bryant of the finance office," the supervisor
told Nurse Green.  "He needs five minutes of your time."  Wayne
hoped to keep it down to three.

"More to the point," he told her on the edge of a wide
hallway, "I'm Shannon Bryant's father.  She's babysat for
you."

"Yes.  She's very reliable."

"Fine.  And you allow her boyfriend to visit while she's
there."

"Yes," she said.  "I suggested it the first time, then she
almost made it a condition.  I don't have any complaints, though.
She always gets her job done, and with two boys that isn't
easy."

Wayne had heard stories about those two boys, but that wasn't
who he was worrying about.  "Was Steven, the boyfriend, at your
place last Saturday?"

"Well, he's usually gone when I get home.  I get off at twelve
thirty, you know.  But last Saturday?  The big storm?  She told
me that he'd been there."

"Well," Wayne told her, "I'll let you get back to your duties.
But don't count on her for babysitting anytime soon.  She's been
grounded."  He turned to go.

"Grounded?  Why would you?  She's such a fine girl."

But Wayne was in no mood to discuss parenting with some stranger,
let alone such a failure at parenting as this one.  And seeing
that he was done, the senior nurse of the outgoing shift grabbed
Mrs. Green.  There was still a lot to do.

                              - = -

After dinner, Shannon filled and started the dishwasher while her
parents watched TV in the living room.  "Let's go up and make
some phone calls," Allison said when her daughter joined them.
"Which of your customers need a warning that you aren't
available?"

So Shannon followed her upstairs to make the calls.  She left
a message on Mrs. Green's machine, feeling a little relief when
she did so.  About having to make the next one, she felt unmixed
resentment. "Mr. Jensen, this is Shannon Bryant.  First, how is
Amy doing?"

"She's home now.  Did your mother tell you what I'd told
her?"

"Not really."

"Well, the attack didn't help, of course; but she's basically
recovered.  I hope your mother gave you the envelope if not the
report."

"Just a second.  Mom, did you get a letter for me?"

"I forgot!"  Allison went to get the envelope.

When she got back, Shannon was saying, "They don't need a reason;
they're my parents."  There was a pause.  "That might have been
it.  But I don't blame you."  Another pause.  "I'm sure that
wouldn't do a bit of good.  I'll just have to wait until they
change their minds."

When Shannon had hung up, Allison said, "Shannon!  We do have
a reason, and you know very well what that reason is."

"Do you want to call back and explain?  I'll give you his phone
number.  For that matter, do you want to make these phone calls?
It's not fun telling parents who have trusted you to care for
their children that your own parents treat you like one of those
little toddlers."  Shannon put the envelope in a drawer.  "I'll
save that for later, when I can read it in *privacy*."

Shannon figured that the customers who hadn't called in the new
year didn't deserve a warning, and she made the rest of the
calls.  Most didn't ask why she had been grounded.  For the
others, she stuck to, "My parents think I did wrong."  She gave
recommendations to a few customers, but most already had their
backups.

"Wayne," Allison called, "we're done."

He came upstairs at the next commercial and removed the phone and
the jack to the modem.  "You can keep the computer," he said. "It
was supposed to be for homework anyway."

"I use the connection for homework," Shannon pointed out.
"The Web is full of reference material."

"Well, dear," her mom said, "not every kid in your school is
connected.  Anyway, you can do research using my computer when
I'm home and not using it.  I'll need to check on you."

"I set up a new user name on AOL," her dad said.  It goes from
the computer in your mom's office.  It is *just* for homework."

Her parents watched television; *she* did homework.  There was
enough of it to do, Tuesday's not having been quite completed,
and Wednesday having passed in an emotional blur.  When she was
done, she read Mr. Jensen's letter.  The hundred-dollar enclosure
gave her ideas.  She hid both away, turned off the light, and got
into bed.  For a long time, however, she lay sleepless and
scheming in the dark.

                              - = -

Steve went to his computer and downloaded Shannon's e-mail as
soon as he got home.  He didn't really do the venison justice at
dinner, much less the conversation.

"Still not recovered from your long night?" Dad asked.

"Well, I chose to sleep rather than do homework last night.  I
still think it was the right decision.  But I'm running behind,
and Shannon got grounded for having me over when she babysat.  So
my body's recovered, but my situation isn't.  I don't know about
my mind."

"Anything that little isn't worth worrying about," Dad
said.

"Steve, really," Mom said, "helping Shannon break her parents'
rules is breaking our rules for you.  You should know that."

"It really wasn't breaking her parents' rules; she just didn't
mention that I would be there.  Now they are mad."  Of course,
what his mom had said was retroactive as well.  Still, she wasn't
threatening punishment.    "Please don't eat the daisies," Mom
said.  Dad nodded.  Steve didn't ask.  Shannon wasn't the only
one with weird parents.

He actually spell-checked his response to Shannon.  He'd spent
less time than he usually did for a paper for school, but one
hell of a lot more care.

What she would read on AOL would be:

 > Beloved,
 > I don't know what to say about the punishment, except that
 > it sucks.  And you knew that already.
 >
 >> And, the horrible thing is that they intend to hurt you,
 >> too. If nothing else, all the time that you've spent on the
 >> Valentine's Ball is lost.  Even if you want to abandon me,
 >> you'd have a hard time finding a girl worthy of you that
 >> soon.
 >
 > Don't worry about me.  Your the one who is suffering
 > directly.  I'll see less of you, and miss it awfully.  But
 > you're being cut off from everybody.  As for a girl worthy
 > of me, I already  have one I'm not worthy of.  I just can't
 > take her to dances right now.
 >
 > I'll probably finish what I'm committed to on the Ball
 > committee.  For one thing, I seem to have more free time and
 > less social life all of a sudden.
 >
 > I'm not being a martyr, that would be playing into their
 > hands.  I'll hang out with the guys as much, probably more,
 > not deprive myself because you're deprived of hanging out
 > with the ladies.
 >
 > But I don't WANT to dance with anyone else.
 >
 > Anyway, what they complain about is what WE did.  Any
 > injustice is to US.  If they have a case against you, they
 > have a case against me.  (And, really, they do.  They're
 > just being totally unreasonable about it.)
 >
 >> I don't know what we have.  I really don't.  Part of the
 >> reason that I confessed everything we did to Mom was I
 >> wanted to ask her questions.  You know, what's it like?  Is
 >> this marriage?  That sort of thing.  She's being totally
 >> unhelpful.  Shannon's been a *bad* little girl for the past
 >> few months, but never what Shannon might be in the future.
 >
 > I don't get this thing about the confession and your mother.
 >
 > I do know what you mean about not knowing what we have.  I
 > certainly can't imaging being married to anyone other than
 > you.  The problem is, I can't imagine being married AT ALL.
 > Oh, PARTS of it.  I can imagine our wedding night just fine.
 > But I don't know what marriage means.
 >
 > I can look at my parents (or at yours).  They're married all
 > right.  But they are also old and tired.  What did marriage
 > mean when there was a spark between them?  I'll admit it
 > makes me feel all funny to even think about it.  But I'm
 > here; for that matter, Mallory is here, or somewhere.
 >
 > And what does "engaged" mean (except for the ring, which I
 > couldn't afford)?  Anyway, the reason that I haven't
 > proposed is not some alternative in the back of my mind.
 > The reason is that I have no future in the front of my mind,
 > or anywhere in my mind.
 >
 > (One point WRT the future, I mentioned to my father the
 > possibility of my going to Champaign in spite of being
 > accepted at IIT.  He wasn't thrilled, but he said that was
 > my decision.  (What he actually said was that he and Mom
 > thought that my commitment to you was premature -- but that
 > was a view from outside.  And that the view from outside was
 > always that the commitment was premature.)  Anyway, there
 > would be nothing on my side of things comparable to what
 > your parents are doing.  Assuming we do that.)
 >
 >> You keep doing things.  I like making out with you. I *love*
 >> making out with you.  I don't want to have sex.  It isn't not
 >> wanting to have sex *with you*.  I simply don't want to do
 >> it.
 >>
 >> And I think that this is moving from making out to having
 >> sex.   I asked whether this is so, but Mom was on her "Bad
 >> Shannon" gig and wouldn't answer the question.  You're my
 >> only friend, don't try to trick me.  Is that what you are
 >> trying to do with all those nibbles and kisses on my ears
 >> and elbows?  *Elbows!*
 >>
 >> Anyway, couldn't you turn off that attack for a while?  I
 >> know that you want to go farther.  But I can't fight the
 >> whole Goddamn world.  Could we, maybe, put that struggle on
 >> the back burner until I have another friend in turn to?
 >
 > 1)   I don't think that we'll be having problems restraining
 > ourselves in the next little while.  I don't know when I'll
 > see you again off school grounds.
 >
 > 2)   I wasn't trying to trick you.  I want to seduce you,
 > you should know that.  But I haven't brought a rubber along
 > on a date for the longest time.  (For one thing, carrying
 > them in my wallet or pocket ruins them after a little.)  Get
 > clear on that, if you are suddenly carried away, I'm not
 > prepared.
 >
 > I want to make love to you, make love with you.  But I want
 > you to wake up the next morning saying, "Steve and I had a
 > wonderful time last night.  We expressed our love for one
 > another."  Even if it is not such a wonderful time, and I
 > hear that it often isn't for a girl's first time, I want you
 > to say, "Steve and I BOTH DECIDED to start something.  It
 > will get better as we gain experience."
 >
 > What I couldn't stand is your saying, "Steve tricked me last
 > night.  I won't trust him ever again."
 >
 > 3)   "Is this secretly the road to real sex?"  What do you
 > think I am?  "93 of the last 100 girls with whom I have had
 > sex got carried away when I kissed their ears"?  ALL my real
 > experience of making out has been with you.  I read, oh how I
 > read.  I look at pictures.  I study the techniques of
 > fictional lovers.  But I don't KNOW anything that you don't
 > know.  I know less about how girls react than you do.  I
 > know one *HELL* of a lot less about what turns *SHANNON* on
 > than you do.  And that's the question, really.
 >
 > When you decide that we'll do it, you can tell me what turns
 > you on most.  That's the real question.
 >
 > 4)   What happened with the kisses?  You controlled what we
 > could do.  As long as we did more fairly often, I wasn't
 > about to complain.  Then you said, "That's as far as we go.
 > That's as much as we do."
 >
 > Now, I'm not a rapist; I have to accept the first half.  (I
 > also learned a little from Curt.  A guy gets one grab at
 > Shannon.)  So that's as far as we go.
 >
 > But why is it as much as we do?  If we are only going so
 > far,  there are such lovely spots along the way.  Every
 > single bit of you is kissable.  Sometime I'll get you back
 > to that meadow when you think you must wear jeans.  You'll
 > let me take off your blouse.  I'll kiss parts of you that
 > you have forgotten exist.  I'll kiss your shoulder blades
 > and each single vertebra.  I'll kiss your fingers, and I'll
 > kiss your toes.  I'll kiss your elbows, and I'll kiss your
 > nose.  I'll send an  hour on your left arm and another hour
 > on your right.
 >
 > I'll take one whole morning on your breasts and another
 > morning (still above your belt) on your belly.  You have an
 > extraordinarily attractive belly, did you know that?
 >
 > 5)   You set the limits.  You always have.  You've stepped
 > back.  Remember when you wouldn't make out in the car?
 > All I need (far from all I want) is for you to express
 > those limits clearly.  I've managed to figure out that I
 > can kiss your mouth but not your mound.  If you want me to
 > kiss your breasts but not your ears, you'll have to tell me.
 >
 >
 > Look!
 > I LOVE YOU!
 > That's the bottom line.
 >
 > Steve.


He decided to print out a hard copy in case they had
confiscated her computer,

He even copied the file onto a disk in case they had cut her
connection but left her the computer.  He put extra quotes into
the file on disk so it would read the same (and so Shannon
wouldn't foul up the attributions).

                              - = -

Allison gave Wayne some highlights of her evening while
they were preparing for bed.  "And then she told him, 'They don't
need reasons; they're parents.'  I could have strangled her.
And, of course, the Jensens aren't going to listen to my side
when they've heard hers."

"Can't quite blame them," said Wayne.  "I mean, she asked
them; what do they care whether she asked us?  Mrs. Green feels
that we're overdoing it, too, though I don't think I told her
what our objections were.  There was no polite way to express my
opinion of her advice on parenting.  The boys are hardly a
recommendation."

"Shannon kept insisting that they didn't *only* pet.  I'll
believe that they talked.  Why does she think that we got the
second phone line?  And she says that they studied together,
too."

"Now, I'll believe they studied together.  Look, let me just hold
you."  She pulled back the covers in invitation, and he did hug
her.  He could speak much more quietly this way.  "Let me run
this past you.  What she did, beyond the particulars, the essence
of what she did, is this.  She constructed an elaborate scheme of
dates at her babysitting appointments, and hid them from us.  She
was clearly willing to lie to hide them.  How often she actually
lied doesn't really matter.  What matters is that she lived a
secret for months, and she was *willing* to lie about it every
day.

"Now," he continued, "I don't know how long this punishment is
going to go on.  Until she feels it, for sure.  Her birthday and
this next dance, the fancy one...."

"The 'Ball'?"

"Yeah.  Those are clearly within the punishment.  When those are
past and we see some contrition, then we can ease up on the
rules.  But I really want to see the contrition first.  What I
see now is dumb defiance."

"You see *dumb* defiance," she told him, "because you weren't
there to hear her describing our tyranny to babysitting clients.
She's verbal enough then.  And what do we do about her allowance?
She's sure to have some money in her purse."

"Good!  We want her to learn to budget.  Dole out precisely
what the school lunches cost.  She has some cash above that, and
no idea how long it has to last.  That'll teach her to
budget."

She grinned.  "I don't know about contrition, though.  Contrition
is awfully easy to fake."

"Well, we won't ease things much until after Valentine's Day.  By
then, I -- at least -- might be willing to settle for fake
contrition.  After all, that still establishes the consensus
reality.  As long as she is saying that she didn't do wrong, we
can't forgive her without agreeing with her.  But these are just
my opinions.  I'm not going to relent without talking to you."

"I know.  You just need to think these things out on a deeper
level than I do."

He hugged her back to his front.  "A different level.  I'm still
the guy who the hospital hired years ago to establish their
accounting procedures."  His hug pressed his semi-erection
against her thigh.

Immediately, she pushed off his arms and moved away.  "Wayne, you
said...."

"I meant it.  Look, different question.  What is there about
sex with me that you dislike so much?"

"It's not really dislike.  We do it almost every Sunday and
other times, too."

They did it maybe one Sunday in two.  Every Sunday unless she
was having her period, or was at the end of an especially bad
week, or was especially angry at him.  "Is it the mess?"

It was mostly that her body betrayed her with him.  It was almost
as bad as those talks he and Shannon had when they were away from
the constraints of her presence.  But the mess was one part of
it.  "Well, I have to shower before, and then I have to shower
afterward."

"You don't have to, especially before.  Couldn't you tell that
just now?"

"*I* have to."  She watched him climb out and into his own bed.
"Thanks for supporting me with Shannon."

"Always!" he answered.

                              - = -

Shannon was rested and had her homework done when she got to
school Friday morning.  What else did she have to do?  Mrs.
Foster was beginning Act Five.  Shannon and Steve weren't as far
ahead of the class as they had been on Act Four, but they were
clearly among those who knew what was happening.

"I used your questions," Steve said as they left the room.
"Only the first scene, but I can catch up over the weekend."

"They took my connection away," she said.  "Did you reply to
my old e-mail?  If so, I'll never see it."

"Talk at lunch," was all Steve could say before the streams
going in opposite directions tore them apart.

At lunch, Steve wasn't as desolate as she thought that the
situation deserved.  "First," Steve said, "I wasn't trying to
trick you.  Never about anything serious.  I'm on your side.
Second, what did they do to your computer?"

"They cut off the connection.  The modem is gone.  I have a
new connection to AOL.  But it goes through my mom's computer.
And I can only use it when she's watching, and only for
homework."

"And your old computer?  I mean the one in your room; I should
have something so powerful.  Does that still work?"

"Yeah, but it isn't connected.  I can use any programs but the
Internet ones, but I can't talk to you."

He held out a disk.  "Just don't let your parents see this.
Or anyone else, really."

"Did you read my e-mail?"  He'd said something about tricking
her, he must have read her letter.

"And answered it.  And saved the answer on disk.  Never mind
what the file is called.  It's not executable, and it's not a
game. Open it with your word processor, same as usual."

"You're making this all very complicated."

"I'm trying to make it secure.  Is your dad going to read your
e-mail."

"Nobody can!  It was connected to that computer.  Until he
reconnects the modem, nobody can use it."

"Shannon, it can be read from any computer which can connect
to AOL.  I installed that connection on both computers, but you
can connect from your mom's."

"Well, Dad's not going to read my mail."

"Anyway," he said, "You write your answer on that disk.  Monday,
I'll have another disk -- and another message.  You bring that
one, and we'll swap disks.  You put your answers on the scenes in
Act Five on that disk, and I'll have mine on the other disk.  We
can even keep studying together."

"It's not the same."

"It's absolutely not the same.  But it's the closest we can get.
It's us against them; and the more contact we can have, the more
points for our side."

"I want to hold you, and I get to read what you write.  It's just
not the same.  You're taking this awfully easily."

"I'm taking what I can get.  I have practice after all."

She did smile at that, a little ruefully.  "That's not the same."

"It's a lot more different from your end than it is from mine,"
he said.  She could see what he meant.  "Anyway, I'm doing what I
can.  You got Amy to the hospital; you didn't cure her.  Same
thing.  Figure out what would bring us closer -- what I could do
to bring us closer.  Then criticize me for not doing it.  So what
could I do to help bring us closer?"

She'd had an idea in her head since the previous morning, and his
question brought it forth.  "Could you buy me another alarm
clock?  My money, but I don't have the shopping time right now.
Hauksbee's carries alarm clocks don't they?"

"Loud and wind-up or low and electronic.   And the electronic
come with radios but are cheaper without.  Is Monday soon
enough?"

"Sure, buy it Monday and give it to me at lunch on
Tuesday."

"I can do that, but I meant delivery Monday.  You're not going
to tell me how it would bring us together?"

"Monday is even better.  Actually, it might help a little bit,
but I was thinking of helping me cope with them."  He gave a nod
which seemed to say that this goal was worth doing.  "I woke up
in the middle of night-before-last and wrote that letter to you.
I've thought since that I could go to bed earlier than usual, and
get up in the middle of the night.  I've plenty of experience
waking up when I was babysitting late.  It isn't too bad unless
you haven't had enough sleep anyway.

"Actually," she continued, "I could read and answer your
letters then.  So it would do something to bring us
together."

"Helping you through this period is reason enough.  It's just
that bringing us together was what we were talking about.  I'm on
your side, Shannon.  PDAs."

"PDAs."  Public Displays of Affection were banned on school
grounds.  Some couples ostentatiously crossed the street and
kissed or hugged at the end of the school day.  Steve and Shannon
had been among their number briefly.  Now, 'PDAs' meant what
kisses at the end of letters meant.  The speaker would like to
hug, kiss, or something, but wasn't allowed to.  And, since the
extreme of PDA was not defined, there was always something
suggestive in the use.  Shannon might have been saying that she
would like to squeeze Steve's hand right then; she might have
been suggesting that she would have liked to squeeze something
else.

Shannon had looked forward to the last bell almost every school
day since third grade.  Now she dreaded it.  But the end came,
and she rushed home to meet her mom's deadline.  Her mom wasn't
there.  The downstairs phone rang minutes after she got home.
"Bryant residence, Shannon Bryant speaking."

"Nice to hear your voice, Shannon.  This is your father.  Your
mother has an appointment.  As you know, that means we don't know
quite what time she'll be home.  You have a dinner to cook.  Tuna
casserole, asparagus for the vegetable.  The usual beverages and
the dining room table set as usual.  Ready for a meal at six.  I
might call from time to time, and your mother will be home when
she's done with her customers.  Is that clear?"

"It is very clear, warden."

Minutes later, she was upstairs reading Steve's letter.  Some
of it was delightful.  She needed his support just then.  But
much of it was pressure, and she already had more pressure than
she could handle.

When it was time to start dinner, she put the asparagus on to
boil immediately, and then started on the casserole.  Her dad
hated soggy vegetables.  Fifteen minutes later, with her mom
still not home, she got another phone call.  By now, she had
thought through her response.  "Yeah."

"Shannon, this is Dad.  Haven't you learned how to answer a
phone?  What if it had been one of your mother's clients?"

"What if?"

"You know, you are mad at her right now.  But she is doing
that selling to pay your college tuition.  You could at least
cooperate on that."

"You're absolutely right, Dad.  You're absolutely right.  I
*could*."

The conversation continued on that vein until she said,
"Something's on the stove.  Gotta run."

And she did turn off the asparagus as soon as she got back to
the kitchen.

                              - = -

"I have an announcement," Ken began the meeting of the Ball
committee.  "One of the obligations of committee members is to
sit at the entrance table for a while.  A chaperone sits there,
too, but the committee members are supposed to do the work.
Anyway, in the past, I've taken almost all of that assignment.
That isn't going to happen this time.  I'm sorry to tell you so
late.  I'll take one shift, but the rest of you will have to take
shifts, too."

There were murmurs at this, some resentful, some wondering
what Ken would be doing when he wasn't sitting at the admissions
table.  Anybody else would be dancing with his date, but Ken?

                              - = -

Wayne knew Steven's hours at Hauksbee's.  Still, he breathed a
sigh of relief that Steve wasn't somehow on the cash register
when he went in.  Hauksbee himself made no comment on his
purchase of condoms.  If Allison resented the mess, he would
control the mess.

Dinner was a disaster.  Whether it had been caused by his
phone call or not, he couldn't guess.  But Shannon looked much
too happy over the results to believe that it was a total
accident.

Shannon retreated upstairs as soon as she had washed the
dishes.  Wayne decided to skip his evening drink.  But there was
no chance that Allison would cuddle in front of the TV screen
with Shannon able to come down at any moment.

                              - = -

Shannon set her alarm for two a.m.  She answered Steve's
letter then.


 > Don't worry about me.  Your the one who is suffering
 > directly.  I'll see less of you, and miss it awfully.  But
 > you're being cut off from everybody.  As for a girl worthy
 > of me, I already have one I'm not worthy of.  I just can't
 > take her to dances right now.
 > But I don't WANT to dance with anyone else.

   You're a dear.  You really are.  I've been spending my
   days with two people who have nothing to say but what
   a bad girl I am.  And then you write such sweetness.

    *I* don't deserve *you*!!!  I love you.  Really I do.

 >> I don't know what we have.  I really don't.  Part of the
 >> reason that I confessed everything we did to Mom was I
 >> wanted to ask her questions.  You know, what's it like?  Is this
 >> marriage?  That sort of thing.  She's being totally
 >> unhelpful.  Shannon's been a *bad* little girl for the
 >> past few months, but never what Shannon might be in the
 >> future.
 >
 > I don't get this thing about the confession and your mother.

    After giving me the third degree about why you were at
    the Jensens' until I had confessed the entire scheme.
    (And it wasn't anything either of us had done.  Mr.
    Jensen visited and spilled the whole thing.  I used to
    think he was such a nice man.)

    Anyway, then Mom took me upstairs out of Dad's hearing
    and asked if we had done it.  I don't know if she
    believed me.  Then she got *very* specific about what
    we *had* done.  I told her everything; right then, I
    needed a mother.  Fat chance!  What I got was a
    special prosecutor.

 > I do know what you mean about not knowing what we have.  I
 > certainly can't imaging being married to anyone other than
 > you.  The problem is, I can't imagine being married AT ALL.
 > Oh, PARTS of it.  I can imagine our wedding night just fine.
 > But I don't know what marriage means.

 > And what does "engaged" mean (except for the ring, which I
 > couldn't afford)?  Anyway, the reason that I haven't
 > proposed is not some alternative in the back of my mind.
 > The reason is that I have no future in the front of my mind,
 > or anywhere in my mind.

   I never asked you for an engagement ring.  Well, I
   suppose that you don't say that I did.  I don't know.

 > (One point WRT the future, I mentioned to my father the
 > possibility of my going to Champaign in spite of being
 > accepted at IIT.  He wasn't thrilled, but he said that was
 > my decision.  (What he actually said was that he and Mom
 > thought that my commitment to you was premature -- but that
 > was a view from outside.  And that the view from outside was
 > always that the commitment was premature.)  Anyway, there
 > would be nothing on my side of things comparable to what
 > your parents are doing.  Assuming we do that.)

    Do what?

 >> Anyway, couldn't you turn off that attack for a while?  I
 >> know that you want to go farther.  But I can't fight the
 >> whole Goddamn world.  Could we, maybe, put that struggle on
 >> the back burner until I have another friend in turn to?

 > 1)   I don't think that we'll be having problems
 > restraining  ourselves in the next little while.  I don't
 > know when I'll see you again off school grounds.

    That's not what I mean.  Can you stop pushing, even in
    words?  It's nice to be wanted.  It's just that I can't push
    you off right now.

 > What I couldn't stand is your saying, "Steve tricked me
 > last night.  I won't trust him ever again."

    Okay.  I can see that.

 > fictional lovers.  But I don't KNOW anything that you don't
 > know.  I know less about how girls react than you do.  I
 > know one *HELL* of a lot less about what turns *SHANNON* on
 > than you do.  And that's the question, really.

    You seem to know a *lot* about what turns me on.  You
    keep doing things that turn me on when I would have
    honestly answered "no" if you had asked whether they
    would.

 > When you decide that we'll do it, you can tell me what turns
 > you on most.  That's the real question.

    Are you saying that we can stop where we are for a
    while?  That is what I would like.

 > 4)   What happened with the kisses?  You controlled what we
 > could do.  As long as we did more fairly often, I wasn't
 > about

    I never controlled *anything*.  You did, and I could
    say no.  But I didn't want to say no to you.  I wanted
    you, couldn't you see that?  So I was always faced
    with two bad choices.  You were the one in control.

    Could we just stop all of this:

 > But why is it as much as we do?  If we are only going so
 > far, there are such lovely spots along the way.  Every
 > single bit of you is kissable.  Sometime I'll get you back
 > to that meadow when you think you must wear jeans.  You'll
 > let me take off your blouse.  I'll kiss parts of you that
 > you have forgotten exist.  I'll kiss your shoulder blades
 > and each single vertebra.  I'll kiss your fingers, and I'll
 > kiss your toes.  I'll kiss your elbows, and I'll kiss your
 > nose.  I'll send an  hour on your left arm and another hour
 > on your right.
 >
 > I'll take one whole morning on your breasts and another
 > morning (still above your belt) on your belly.  You have an
 > extraordinarily attractive belly, did you know that?

    All talk about anything down to here.

 > 5)   You set the limits.  You always have.  You've stepped
 > back.  Remember when you wouldn't Make out in the car?
 > All I need (far from all I want) is for you to express
 > those limits clearly.  I've managed to figure out that I
 > can kiss your mouth but not your mound.  If you want me to
 > kiss your breasts but not your ears, you'll have to tell me.
 >

    I don't know.  But can we stop for a minute.  Well, can
    we stop for a month?  I sort of feel the pressure
    everywhere right now.

    Anyway, this is what I have on Shakespeare:


And she wrote him her take on the content for all the scenes
in Act Five.

                              - = -

Steve selected the clock radio before the doors opened
Saturday morning.

When he got home, he started on his homework.  After bringing
his other classes up to date, he turned to English.  He read the
entire last act and then went through it with Shannon's
questions.  He'd got the job done, roughly, when it was time to
redo his letter to Shannon.

The final version, both original stuff and insertions into
Friday's composition, looked like this:


 > S weetest girl in whole world.
 > H eart's delight.
 > A wesomely beautiful
 > N aiad of the
 > N uzzleble nape
 > O f the
 > N eck.

 > I'll do better when I've got farther in the
 > dictionary.   But I wish I were nuzzling your
 > nape right now.

 > I've set this margin very short.  Write what you
 > want.   I'll reformat and enter both quote marks.
 > That way  we'll see who said what when.
 > I love you.  That's the starting point.  Never
 > forget  that I love you.

 > The rest is practicalities.

 > One question is whether you want to fight fair
 > with all  flags flying.  Or do you want to give
 > them what they think they want? "Oh, mother I see
 > the error of my  ways.  I will only meet Steve in
 > the most public places  for the rest of my life.
 > I will preserve my reputation  of maidenly virtue
 > by following each of your rules as  if it was
 > cast in stone."
 > The odd thing, you know, is that you do have a
 > reputation for maidenly virtue.  Not that you
 > don't  deserve it.  But when my friends razz me
 > (about you,  they razz me plenty about other
 > things) it is always  about how little you give
 > me, not about how wildly we behave.

 > (And, of course, I smile and let them talk.)

 > Anyway, if you could stand it, what you should do
 > is  find a class in which you could do an extra-
 > credit  project.  One in which you might need to
 > search the WEB  for information for hours and
 > hours.  Of course, you  can only do that while
 > your mother watches you.

 > I don't want to make it too hard on you.  But it'd
 > make  it even harder on her.  And "But I'll NEED
 > extra credit in English.  I can't study with
 > Steve any more, and we  used to help each other
 > so much." would be an extra  aggravation.

 > Really, of course, all the help flowed  the other
 > way, but she doesn't need to know that.
 > More tomorrow.   I love you.

 > Friday night.

    -----------

 > Saturday.   I got the alarm clock!  You didn't
 > really say radio or not, so I got the radio
 > version.  You don't want to  play the radio in
 > the middle of the night, but I  thought that you
 > should have all the options.
 > As I didn't go to the dance last night, I'm
 > swimming in cash. Don't think about the cost of
 > the clock until YOUR cash flow revives.
 > I'm sitting here typing in my PJs, robe, and socks
 > (it's COLD). You wrote that I was suffering, too.
 > Well, one way that I am suffering is that I don't
 > get enough reality to feed my fantasy life.
 > If this doesn't bug you, write what you are
 > wearing  each time. What do you wear to bed,
 > anyway?  We have a  thermostat, but still my room
 > gets colder in colder weather.  (Parts of the
 > hall get hotter in cold weather, go figure.)
 > Anyway, I wear pajamas in  January, but I sleep
 > in my skin much of the year.

 > Of course, none of this does anything for girls,
 > does it? Anyway, write what time you bathe, too.
 > Shower or tub?  Then I can picture you like that.

 > I've got something on all of Act Five, but I'll
 > look it over tomorrow before sending my version
 > on to you.

 > Steve loves Shannon.

 > Sat.  11 pm.


Once in bed, he pictured Shannon in a nightgown.  It was
short and far too sheer for January.  The only response of the
vision to the cold, however, was nipple erection.  She soon took
it off, stepped into the tub and stood under the shower.  As she
stood there, ecstatically facing the rushing water, Steve
erupted.  He fell asleep still picturing her washing and rinsing
her erogenous zones.

The Anderson family went to church together the next morning.
They were all happy to be together again and enjoyed letting
others see that togetherness.

                              - = -

Shannon's family all went to church, too.  Shannon, who
enjoyed the Sunday socializing even when she was free to
socialize the rest of the week, was eager to go this week.  She
wasn't willing to make it easy on her parents to take her there,
however.  She didn't reset her alarm, for example.

Allison thought that the moral atmosphere would be good for
her daughter.  Wayne, who thought that they all should be there
every Sunday, wasn't about to pass up a chance for that ideal to
be realized.

The atmosphere at church was much less supportive of her position
than Allison had expected.  Miss Olson, Dr. Wyatt's office nurse,
came up to her and Shannon while Wayne was still parking the car.
"I'd guess that you have all the customers that you want during
the school year, Shannon.  But Doctor is ready to recommend you
any time."

"I'm not doing any babysitting these days, Miss Olson,"
Shannon said.  "I'm grounded."

"Why?"

Shannon pointedly looked at her mother.  "Well," Allison said,
"we had some limits on dates, we knew when she was going out, and
where, and with who.  Then we learned that she had been seeing
Steven every time she babysat."  Shannon had betrayed them,
anyone could see that.

But no one seemed to.  When Wayne got there from parking the car,
Miss Olson repeated her offer as if the grounding would lift in a
week.  After the service, another woman came up.  "Are you Amy's
babysitter?" she asked.  Shannon admitted it.  "Theresa can't get
over how well you acted.  She says that you and the boy saved
Amy's life."

Shannon was feeling a little better by the time they left.  Wayne
could see it in her face when she got in the car.  It was time to
drop the other shoe.  "Do you remember our little talk here last
week, Shannon?"

He was, Shannon was sure, going to bring up her statement that
she would only enroll in Albion if Steve went to IIT, Shannon
thought; they bitched that she didn't tell the whole truth, but
they would break a solemn oath.  "Yes.  So what?"

"I asked you when Steven was going to catch up on the play.
You had every chance to tell me that he had studied with you the
previous night.  It's not a matter of his visits not coming up.
It's not a matter of your being tired after your ordeal with the
Jensen girls.  You lied to me then."

"Dad, honest...."

"That's the problem isn't it?  We don't know that you're being
honest.  I've told you that.  So has your mother.  Lying is
immoral, of course; but it's also self-destructive.  Now, when
you tell us something, we have to ask if what you tell us is
true.  And it gets worse.  Right now, Steven got to be with you
because you lied to us.  I'm sure he approved.  But, somewhere,
somewhere deep inside, he knows that Shannon will lie to get her
way, or lie to smooth things over.  Sometime you will say to him,
'Please believe me.'  And that day he will remember that
Shannon's word isn't to be trusted.

"Anyway, that's the far future.  Usually, I would punish you
immediately for lying to me.  In this case, I won't.  I can't
ground you.  But what you really did wasn't lie to us one
evening, or lie to me one morning, though you did both.  But what
you did was construct a pattern of untruth.  Every time you went
out the door for babysitting, you lived a lie."

Shannon had thought about that attack, and her defense.  "And
when Mom told me there was 'plenty' in my surplus with her?  She
dodged and danced over that one.  Why was that different?"

"Because your mother was prepared to tell the truth.  We were
looking forward to the time when you would take responsibility.
You had handed her the responsibility, and you had to *take*
it back.  You, on the other hand, lied every time you had to
choose between lying and getting caught.  That makes the entire
period a lie.  So you are being punished for wrongdoing which
covered a period of months.  You still haven't even acknowledged
the seriousness of what you did.  And when you see that, you'll
see why this grounding isn't for one week.  But don't worry,
we'll be done by September; we'll let you go off to college, all
right."  The ball was in less than two weeks.  He said that they
would end the grounding in nine months!  A much-chastened Shannon
went up to her room.

A little later, she returned down to cook dinner as her
mother's assistant.  When she was done stacking the dishwasher,
she took the *Folger's* edition back up to her room.

                              - = -

The Jensens were at Ridge Baptist for the services.  When it came
time for prayers for the community, Pastor Richards mentioned
that Baby Amy had been through a rough week but was back from the
hospital.  The entire congregation had been praying for Amy and
her family since the asthma had shown up.  When Theresa rose and
said "Pastor," he nodded for her to add to his request.

"Pastor," she said again, "Amy was taken to the hospital by Steve
Anderson, her babysitter's boyfriend.  We'd originally told
Shannon that she couldn't have him visit, but he went out of his
way to bring us a prescription when Shannon thought we had run
out, so we gave permission.  Looking back, I see the hand of God
in his getting our permission then; because that was why he was
there Tuesday night.  I'd like to thank God for his presence
*studying* with Shannon when Amy needed him."

She sat, the pastor said "Amen," and the congregation echoed him.
Theresa figured that, having told the Lord that the two kids were
studying together, some of the people around her would think
twice before telling their neighbors that they were doing
something less benign.

Now, in the first place, Theresa had seen their books spread out,
and hadn't noticed Shannon's braless condition.  In the second
place, however, she might not have changed her words if she had
found a large puddle of their mixed juices in the middle of her
and Bill's bed.  There were only two sides in Theresa's world,
and Shannon and Steve were on Amy's side.

And her audience was easy to persuade.  The people around her
felt -- if not at all so strongly -- some shadow of her emotion.
The abstract moral question of whether teenage couples should
meet in private might compete with the abstract moral question of
whether it were meritorious to rush a sick child to the hospital.
(Although, even then, some parents might take the second question
personally.)  There was nothing abstract about Amy, however. They
would see her after the service, one of theirs; she was adorable
so often; it was so difficult to avoid interpreting her
cheerfulness as bravery.

                              - = -

Steve didn't wait for evening to finish his letter to Shannon.
Again, he put in the quotes when he was done.


 > It's Sunday.  We've been doing the family thing since
 > Dad got back on Wednesday.  We always do.  This morning
 > we went to church.
 >
 > There, Dad congratulated the new manager of the
 > supermarket we use.  His wife was right beside him.
 > The guy said something like "We figure that we can
 > afford a family now."  Dad said "Trying for a kid," and
 > the lady blushed a little.  The guy said "As of last
 > Wednesday," and the lady blushed a LOT.  She didn't
 > stop smiling, though.
 >
 > (The lady isn't particularly pretty (Well, not actually
 > ugly, but she doesn't have anything on YOU -- except
 > for maybe ten years and a few pounds) but I'll have to
 > admit that her BLUSH was pretty.)
 >
 > Anyway, this led to an entirely new fantasy.  Remember
 > that this is a fantasy.  It isn't anything which will
 > happen, or even that I want to happen.  It's just fun
 > to picture.
 >
 > Steve and Shannon have been married and working for a
 > few years.  But, having decided to make a baby, they
 > return during their vacation to the old home town,
 > staying in Steve's old room.
 >
 > On Shannon's first fertile day, they drive out to the
 > old meadow, which looks the same as always.  (That is
 > the REAL fantasy.)  They spread an air mattress down in
 > the shade of the treeline, and begin to kiss.
 >
 > They are soon bare above the waist, leaving Steve in
 > jeans and shoes, Shannon in only a skirt.  In between
 > kissing her all over, Steve picks Shannon a beauquai
 > (My  spell checker doesn't have that word.) of
 > wildflowers.   He kisses each breast for a long time,
 > checking the  progress of the rising sun.
 >
 > Then he moves to her delicious thighs, throwing the
 > skirt up to her waist.  He kisses them, strokes them,
 > kisses the backs of her knees and her sweet calves
 > before kissing up the insides of her thighs -- kissing
 > left and then right in turn -- to the place where they
 > meet.
 >
 > They have brought her climax in this fashion often in
 > their married life, but not this time.  He licks her
 > sweetness until she is writhing in desire, and then
 > they break to remove her skirt and his clothes.  He returns
 > to her mouth for a long kiss, and then he kisses down
 > to her breasts.  There he sucks her nipples to
 > diamond-hard attention, before slipping lower.
 >
 > He is lapping up the sweetness from between her lower
 > lips again when the sun breaks over the top of the
 > trees.
 >
 > Shannon squints into the greater brightness.  "Steve,"
 > she calls.  She spreads her legs still further.
 >
 > In the full light of the sun, he rises and moves into
 > her. They make love until they have a simultaneous
 > orgasm.  She clasps him to her, and they fall asleep
 > as his seeds soak into her fertile ground.
 >
 > Later that day, she sprays his back where the sun
 > burned it. She sees, brown of the old tan against the
 > brighter red, the prints of her hands where she had
 > held  him.
 >
 > "I love you," he says.  "I know," she replies.

 >       ------
 >
 > Anyway, that's MY fantasy for tonight.
 >
 > And I love you in reality as well as in fantasy.
 > I did reread the R&J, but I changed less than I had
 > expected. Anyway, here it is:

    ...

And, midafternoon though it was, he took that fantasy and two
pieces of Kleenex with him to bed.

The entire family were couch potatoes after supper.  His dad
finally turned the set off at 10:30, and they dragged themselves
to bed.

                              - = -

Shannon decided that she wasn't going to be able to transcribe
all the notes on Shakespeare that evening.  She went downstairs
and cooked supper as skillfully as possible.

"Well, dear," her mom asked after dinner, "do you remember our
discussion on budgets?"  Shannon nodded.  "Well, there are some
things in the budget which you won't be needing for some time to
come, but I do have your lunch costs for next week."

Shannon counted the money she had been handed.  It would cover
lunch, except for dessert.  "Thanks, Mom," she said.  Every
little bit helped.  "Did you put the offering in?"

"Well, that has to be your decision, money you control."

"How about I ask you to put it in or give it to Dad?  I do
control it, just not for another purpose."  Dad and Mom were not
quite in synch over church.  It was one more chink she knew about
in the enemy's armor.

"That's fine," Allison said.  "That's the way we'll do
it."

Wayne and Allison knew their Shannon.  This looked more like
the calm before the storm than it looked like surrender.

"Well," said Wayne when Allison had joined him in his bed,
"Friday's dinner could have been an accident.  Or she might have
reconsidered since; she hasn't done anything like that for the
last two days.  I did give her a stiff lecture over the phone;
and she did tell me that she had something on the stove."

"Wayne, I got home before the asparagus should have gone on
the stove.  And she was much too easy about the allowance.  She
accepted the allowance reduction because all is fair in war, and
she definitely is at war."

"Well, tonight," he said, "let's concentrate on the other."
He continued to share his thoughts, though, as he smoothed the
night gown over her skin.  "I know that this is almost as hard on
you as it is on her.  I did just a little supervision Friday
evening, but I can call home only so often.  We can only surprise
her by your absence very rarely."

"And you aren't the one to supervise her cooking," Allison
said. He could handle meals when it was absolutely necessary and
either the recipe was laid down for him or they abandoned her
meal schedule to let him make one of the few dishes he knew.

The mild pressure of his organ had been so offensive Thursday.
Tonight it was just a bit early.  Since he wasn't doing anything
about it, neither did she.

Wayne kissed her shoulder.  He had to whisper when he was so
close to her ear.  "I'll help where I can, though.  Don't
hesitate to tell me when you see something I can do.  One thing I
will try, I'll have a talk with Dr. Wyatt -- hopefully Monday.
Maybe he'll take a little of Mrs. Olson's pressure off."  He
stroked her breasts through her nightgown, hoping it wasn't too
early.  He felt her push back against him.

Allison was floating.  She appreciated the strokes, but her
body wasn't yet fighting for control.  He held her in the spoon
position, nibbling her neck and playing with her nipples through
the cloth.

"Really," he whispered, "these outsiders are pains in the neck
but a compliment, too."  He kissed her ear and then around her
neck to the back.  "Does talking like this bother you?"

"No.  Besides, I want to hear how they compliment us."

"Well, they look at what we believe is the nadir of what
Shannon could be."  Talking so seriously while playing with her
lovely nipples was weird.  He remembered his grandfather's
telling him that a guy who could steer a car while kissing a girl
wasn't paying enough attention to the kiss.  "And what they see
is one of the better teenagers of the town."  There was all this
cerebration on top, but his hardness was pressed into the
softness of her hip on the bottom.  "They are telling us that the
standards we set our family are ones they've abandoned long
ago."

Suddenly she sat up and pulled away from him.  He feared that
he'd talked too much and had lost his opportunity.  Instead, she
pulled the nightgown up.  He helped her take it off.  Lovely
naked Allison was revealed to his eyes and hands, lovely breasts,
lovely butt, exquisitely lovely mound.  "You're a delight to the
eyes," he said; and she was an even greater delight to his
hands.

"And the bit about the offering?" she asked.  This was
shameless self promotion; she knew that she'd done that right.
Still, he'd been talking about her, and she wanted to hear a
little more about herself.  He'd be talking about her body soon
enough.  "I wish I could have consulted you."

"Ah, but you did."  He kissed her near breast, on the side not
the tip.  "You carry a little bit of me inside your head after
all these years."  He wanted to mention the other little bit of
him that would be in her soon; the concept was clear, but the
words wouldn't come.  Maybe he should keep his mouth shut.
Mentioning all those years to a woman who thought that age had
dimmed her beauty hadn't been such a bright move.

He kissed her mouth while his hand played with her breasts.
Then stroked her belly while he sucked her nipples.  She was
responding to him, nipples rising, legs parting.  He reached down
to stroke her thighs, which lifted to welcome his hand.

Well, she'd had his attention for a good long time.  And her
body *did* carry her around with few troubles for her age.
She let go of her control; let them have their fun.  And from the
moisture down there, she could tell it would be fun indeed.

On the way from one nipple to the other, he kissed down the
side of one to the firmness between them.  He sucked there for a
moment while he brought both hands up to press the lush flesh
around his face.  He breathed in her odor then, inhaling until he
was inhabited by her just as he was surrounded by her.

As his mouth climbed the other breast, his hand strayed
downward to her cleft.   Parting the lips, he found abundant
moisture.  It had almost spread itself, but he rubbed and tickled
just to make sure.  And he so loved the feeling.  He felt her
tighten, her knees rise and spread, her breath quicken under his
mouth and roughen to his ear.  He'd almost forgotten the
rubber.

She was ready, readier than she usually was.  Then he left her
for a moment or two, while her excitement sank slowly.  He put
something on; was it one of those "tickler" things he had tried
once?  No.  It was smooth as he entered her.

The excitement climbed again.  He was stroking within her,
playing with her nipples.  She joined her body for a moment, or
an eon.  Fire struck her, passed through her, left her once again
apart.  But he didn't follow on to his own completion; he was
still moving, still exciting her.

This was paradise, if a paradise with which Wayne was
familiar. She clasped him as intimately as ever, even if the
friction was milder.  He stroked within her, not -- for once --
needing the slight changes of rhythm to delay his culmination.
She welcomed him; she pressed herself against him; she spurred
him with her heels; she spasmed around him.  And still he went
on, careful to press home on each stroke.

She was responding again.  "Oh love!" he said.  "Oh darling,
darling, darling, WIFE!"  And, on the last word, he thrust harder
than before.

She couldn't believe that he was still going on.  Still less
believable was that she was responding again.  This time she
joined her body well before it reached its peak.  She climbed
with it, felt its warmth -- and then its heat -- as truly hers.
Nearing the goal, she heard him speak, his usual praise for her
body and then the last word, "wife."  He loved her, not just her
parts!  And, too soon for her to complete that thought, the parts
took over.  She felt him reach his completion.  He drove into
her, gushed into her, collapsed on top of her.

He lay there, crushing her body which had collapsed at the
same instant.  She couldn't breathe, but it was her decision to
hug him.  She was his wife; he was, whatever his other desires,
her husband.

Finally, he could move -- and needed to move.  He managed to
keep the rubber on his rapidly shrinking phallus.  Then he
stripped it off and rolled it out.  He dropped it into the
wastebasket, and wrapped himself in a piece of tissue.  She was
still there when he turned back towards her place.  "Stay a
minute," he said.

She hadn't the energy to move, anyway.  And his arms held her
warmly without straying onto the sexy parts.  He pressed against
her down below, but not much; and he was wrapped in something to
keep the mess off her.  She nearly dropped off to sleep, and was
sure that he had.  She moved the blankets back.

"I'll miss you," he said.

Silly! she thought.  Her bed was only two feet from his.  She
appreciated his thoughtfulness as she walked to the bathroom.
Nothing was seeping out for once, but she still needed a
shower.

He barely woke when she returned, but he noticed that she lay
facing him from her bed.

Continued in Part 9
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2001/02/07
2003/02/01
2010/02/06

All my available stories:
www.asstr.org/~UtherPendragon/index.htm
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