Message-ID: <59908asstr$1265677809@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} repost "Heart Ball" part 9 -- Uther
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Date: Mon, 08 Feb 2010 20:10:09 -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 9:
Continued from Part 8


Freshman girls occupied the front seats of the bus Steve rode,
well away from the freshman boys in the back.  When the bus
paused for a slow freight, one of the girls approached Steve
shyly.  "Are you the Steve who saved Amy Jensen?" she asked.

"I'm the Steve who drove her to the hospital," he answered.
"Shannon saved her, Shannon and the doctors."  The girl went back
to her seat and whispered to her friends.

"What's this, Steve?" one of the few juniors on the bus asked.
"Robbing the cradle?  She looks like she has a crush on you."
Steve, unable to come up with a sensible response, gave no
response at all.  The crossing gates began to clang, ending the
incident.

Steve hurried to English class.  Shannon got there a minute
before the bell.  Steve grinned when he saw her, and she returned
that smile with interest.  They traded disks slowly enough for
each to feel the other's fingers, but quickly enough to be in
their own seats before the bell had finished ringing.

Mrs. Foster saw some of it, but decided against commenting.
Students were always exchanging things; this exchange was
technically outside of class time and didn't stretch the PDA rule
much.  She'd make a comment if either showed that they hadn't
read the assignment.

They were both on top of the material, of course.  Steve, who
hadn't many other chances to shine in front of his girl, had
moved English from his last homework priority to his first.

The next chance to see her was lunch.  By the time they had
transferred the clock-radio from his backpack to hers, she was
joined by two of her friends.  They had heard of Shannon's
grounding by now, and they were being supportive.  Steve wished
that they would be supportive some other time.

To top it off, Heather joined them.  "I heard about your
grounding," she said.  "That sucks."

"We were looking forward to the Ball, too," Shannon said.  "Now,
it looks like we won't be going."

"Ken and I will miss you two," Heather said.  "We owe you a lot."

"Ken and you?" Steve asked.

"Yeah.  He asked me to be his date to the ball.  And that
wouldn't have happened without Shannon."

Shannon picked up her own tray when he picked up his, they -- all
knowing he would normally take her dirty dishes back with his --
guessed that she wanted the moment alone with him.  The two of
them left the others still sitting at the table.  "Love you," he
said as they walked towards the wash area.

"Likewise," she said as they were suddenly surrounded by a mob of
kids moving in the opposite direction.  Then they parted for the
rest of the day.

                              - = -

Steve couldn't read Shannon's letter until after he got home from
work and shoveled the walk.   When he did read it, he was
devastated.  She didn't want the talk about their future sexual
activities, and most of his last letter had been just that.

He wrote a heartfelt apology. But he did end up with a set of
questions:


 > We've said that we might get married, and we'll
 > talk more about that when we know what it means.
 > Well, if we did, we'd have to settle some questions.
 > I'm not trying to settle them right now, I'm just
 > taking an opinion poll.

 > Where would you like to live?  A chemist can live in
 > lots of places, just not all places.  They live in
 > cities and small towns.  Not, as I hear, the
 > *nicest* small towns.  And in all sections of the
 > country.  I couldn't make a living here.

 > Do you want children?  When I see you taking care of
 > kids, I can tell how good you'd be with your own.
 > Anyway, I do love you and want to be good to you.
 > I'm just not totally clear how.


                              - = -

It had been harder to get to sleep at nine o'clock than
Shannon had expected, and it was harder to wake up at two-
thirty.  She'd read Steve's letter as soon as possible, but
turned to homework and the housework her mother assigned her
right afterwards.

Now, she decided to put off her excursions into the rest of the
house and only deal with the letter.  She wanted to save the
fantasy and, after thinking for a minute, decided to save the
entire letter onto a disk she could keep.

It had been awfully fresh of him to sneak the kiss down there
into the letter.  On the other hand, it was sexy to think about.
It was a little dirty, too; but Shannon was feeling a lot happier
about being dirty these days.  Look where being a good girl got
her, after all.

Still, that didn't mean *Steve* got to decide whether she would
permit that.


 > 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 wish you were, too.
  You're sweet.


The whole letter was sweet.  She didn't grade Steve on his love
notes, whether being called a naiad was really a compliment.
Intent was more than enough.  And his intent was clear.


 > 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.

  Mr. Jensen paid me $100 in cash, I've got it hidden in my
  room.  So I'm in fine  shape. And don't you even dare *think*
  about going to the dance.

 > 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.


That was a little weird.  Boys were a little weird.  But still,
she answered him.


  It does a little for me, the bare skin, but
  you in your pajamas and robe??  I'm wearing a
  nightgown, robe and slippers.  The nightie and robe
  are both warm.  No panties, if you like that.

  I usually take showers.  8:30 or so these days.  P.M.


She hoped he liked that.  She wanted him to think of her as
sexually desirable -- maybe not sexually available, but sexually
desirable.

Did she want him imagining her taking her shower?  What was sexy
about taking a shower?  Boys, she told herself again, were weird.

Weirder still was the bit about the store manager embarrassing
his wife.  He couldn't enjoy making her blush like that could
he?  Would Steve embarrass her in front of other people because
he liked to see her blush?

On the other hand, she liked the fantasy and would tell him
so.  She couldn't expect him to write her fantasies -- or
anything, really, if all she told him was the parts she didn't
like.


  You men!

  Don't you ever do anything like that to me.

  But your fantasy was *Hot!*
  I loved it.

 > kissing her all over, Steve picks Shannon a beauquai
 > (My spell checker doesn't have that word.) of

  "Steve!
  Bouquet.  B O U Q U E T"


Some times he was so smart, and other times he acted like
such an idiot.


 > 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


That was the problem.  Would she let him?  Her mother
wouldn't tell; the bodice rippers made it out to be so special;
but the idea was so gross.  Whatever, it was her body and her
decision.  He couldn't say that they would.


  You can't sneak that in that easily.  I haven't
  decided about that.  You can't just say that I will
  just because it's your fantasy.

 > 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.


His tanned back would get burned, what about the insides of her
thighs?  Still, it was his fantasy and his sunburn.  Wouldn't do
to admit that, though.


  And what about my sunburn?  Seems to me that it
  would be worse.

 > "I love you," he says.  "I know," she replies.

  "I'd say "I love you too."  I always do."

 > Anyway, that's MY fantasy for tonight.

  That was *lovely*.
  It will be my fantasy for tonight, as well.  Too bad
  it is Sunday for you and Monday for me.

 > And I love you in reality as well as in fantasy.

  And I love you.  The real you and the loving husband
  in the fantasy.


And she did love them both.  It didn't hurt that he was
fantasizing about being married to her, either.

                              - = -

Tuesday morning, Steve checked with his mom about inviting Ken
home with him.  "Of course," she said.  "We haven't seen him for
a while."

Steve got a big smile with his disk.  He was puzzled as well
as apologetic.  But there wasn't time to talk.

"Must you two pass those disks around during class?"  Mrs.
Foster said.

"No, ma'm.  We'll wait until lunch next time," Steve
responded.  Mrs. Foster hadn't been asking, and the answer
communicated to Shannon.

All they could trade was 'love you's as they left class.

Neither Shannon nor Steve had been at all reticent about
Shannon's grounding and the reason.  The story had spread, as had
Mrs. Jensen's version.  In the way of stories, complicating
details had been lost.  A few kids, on the distant ends of two
different communications chains, learned two stories.  In one,
two seniors had saved a baby's life by rushing it to the
hospital.  In the other, a babysitter and her boyfriend had been
caught stark naked fucking on the living room rug when the
parents got home early.

Most of the stories had them discovered by the child who came
out feeling sick.  No student, not even the occasional virgin who
had herself snuck a boyfriend into homes when she was
babysitting, was willing to consider anything short of naked
coitus.  The story demanded that much.

One oasis of disbelief consisted of Shannon's close
friends.  Diane summed up the consensus.  "Steve might get her
into bed, but he's not getting her onto some sofa or rug in a
stranger's house.  Not Shannon!  Matter of fact, Steve probably
should start saving up now for the silk sheets."

Most of Steve's friends didn't believe that there were any
virgins (except, in some cases, themselves) in the senior
class.  But among that group Ken's question made some
impression.  "Let's see.  Steve, Shannon, and the baby are
there.  That's all.  Steve's not telling this; Shannon's not
telling this; the baby couldn't tell this.  Who's telling
this?"

"Ken," Mr. Babaian had said after hearing that response, "I
foresee a great future for you in abstract math.  But I'll never
understand either your success in student politics or your
interest in it."

Meanwhile, the subjects of all this gossip met for lunch.  "Sorry
for that letter," said Steve.  "I hadn't read yours about not
pushing yet."

"Well, you shouldn't have pushed anyway," Shannon answered,
thinking about the genital kiss.  "But I loved the rest of the
story anyhow."

And, before Steve could figure that out, they were joined by
another two of her friends.  "Don't you wish that you could come
to the committee meetings, at least?" Steve asked.

"I'd kill for that," she said.

He looked a little odd at that remark, but neither of them
pursued the subject.

"Look, guys," Steve said after a little chatter, "I think we're
all agreed that Shannon's parents were way out of line.  I
certainly think so, but Shannon gets to brood on that 24 hours a
day.  Can't we talk about something else?"

For a minute they couldn't.  Then one of the girls started
talking about the digital camera she had and the pictures of the
group that she had taken.  The pictures were on her web page.

"That's another restriction," Shannon said.  "I can't browse the
web except for homework, and my mother watches to make sure.  Can
you send those pictures to Steve?  Steve, would you pass them
on?"

"Sure!  Just put 'Shannon' as the first word on the subject line.
I'm on a few spam lists, and I might toss it otherwise."  He
wrote down his screen name for the girl.  Then the two of them
passed out a few more copies for anyone who might want to write
her.  "It takes a long time," he warned them.  "You'll see her
before she gets the disk, let alone reads it."  Still, getting
mail again was a little more freedom.

"I have other friends, though.  With you guys, I don't really
need e-mail.  But my dad cut off my computer from the phone
lines.  I can't access that account at all."

Steve clamped his jaw to keep from correcting her.   'Not in
front of her friends,' he kept telling himself.

Joyce wasn't so reticent.  "It doesn't work that way.  Tell
her, Steve."

"You can connect from anywhere.  My dad connects from all over
the state.  Well, half over the state.  That's why you use a
password."

"Could you?" Shannon asked.  "I mean connect from your
computer?"

"I couldn't.  I don't know the password.  But *you* could."

"Why don't you know the password?  You gave it to me."

"You didn't change your password?  I told you to."

"I didn't see the sense," she said.  "Besides, I liked what it
said."  Steve buried his head in his hands.  By now, he was sure,
the entire table knew the password was stVlvSshN.  Well, maybe
his trick of capitalization hadn't been spilled yet.

"She trusts you, Steve," Joyce said.  "Not that she has any
secrets to keep.  Honey," she turned to Shannon, "you don't share
your password with anybody.  Even if you don't have any secrets
there, it's just a bad habit.  And you should have changed it
more than once since then.  I bet Steve has changed his."

"Since September? Three times,"  Steve said.  Shannon was
taking this lecture from Joyce a lot better than she would have
taken it from him.

"As for the rest of us," Joyce said.  "We can bring our own
disks to Shannon.  Going through Steve would only complicate
things."

"But you could download my mail?"  Shannon asked.

"I'll download your mail.  And I'll change your
password.  Just be a good girl, or I won't tell you what the new
one is."

She stuck her tongue out at him.  If they had been truly alone,
off school property, he would have kissed it.  The memory of
doing so started to harden him.  Luckily, the girls were
chattering so much that he could just listen for a while.

After the committee meeting, he and Ken caught the same ride
to their neighborhood.  "My mom said that I could invite you
over," he told Ken.  "Want dinner tonight?"

"Sure!"  It had been a long time since Ken had visited Steve's
family.  At first, he'd been so embarrased by the last visit he'd
turned down some invitations.  Then, Steve had stopped asking
him.

Steve's mom commented on the length of his absence.  "Steve
prefers Shannon's company to mine," Ken said.  "I can't blame him
at all."

"Well, you're welcome here.  Don't you have to call your mother?"
Actually, he didn't.  But the phone call was much easier than
admitting to Mrs. Anderson that he didn't.

At dinner, Steve's parents complimented Ken on his selection by
the U of C.  Steve had told them about early selection, the
scholarship, and everything.  Ken didn't mind telling it again,
and they were generous in their praise.

"Chicago made the only decision it could," Steve said suddenly.
"All the suspense was whether they would see you for what you
are.  What I want to know is what Heather sees in you."

"Steve!" his mom said.

"It's all right, Mrs. Anderson," said Ken.  "When you find out,
Steve, tell me."

"You aren't as hard to like as you think, Ken,"  Mrs. Anderson
said.

This was too close to the comment which had led Ken to
embarrassing himself on the earlier visit.  He clamped his mouth
shut, and the conversation moved away from him.

Afterwards, they went off to Steve's room.  "You said once that
you owed Shannon big time.  I figure that the debt has only grown
bigger."

Ken raised an eyebrow.

"You can sic that famous brain of yours onto people when you want
to bad enough.  Figure out a way to get her mother to allow
Shannon to come to Committee meetings.  Come on, I know the
woman; she is not as bright as her daughter is.  She sure isn't
as bright as you're supposed to be.  Figure out a con.  You said
it, man; you owe Shannon."

Ken looked at Steve.  Did he really think that Ken owed Shannon
that much?  Did Steve really think that Ken would do something
for Shannon that he wouldn't do for Steve -- that he wouldn't do
for Mrs. Anderson's son?  Maybe not.  He hadn't asked in school;
he had brought Ken home for a meal with his parents before asking
the question.  "I'll try," he said.

Soon after he got home, he tried.  "Mrs. Bryant?  This is Ken
Dalton.  I'm the student-council president at Shannon's high
school."

"I'm sorry, Ken.  Shannon isn't permitted to receive phone calls.
We've restricted her social life."

"Yes ma'am.  You are the person I wanted to talk to.  You see,
when you restricted her social life, you excused her from an
obligation she had made to the school.  Shannon was on the
committee to plan and work on the Valentine's Day ball.  She
participated in the planning; her opinions got into the mix.  Now
that there is work to be done, she is grounded."

"You meet after school, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am.  That's the only way to get a group from across the
school together.  We've been meeting after school.  Of course, we
don't expect every student to show up every day.  But we do
expect three days a week from every member of the committee for
work projects, as well as the Saturday morning before the ball.
And committee members sign up under that understanding.  Now,
you've taken one of my committee members away.  And another
committee member has already begged off work on the Saturday
morning."

"Well, you can blame someone else for that," Allison said.  She
didn't know why she was still listening to this boy.

"Blame wasn't on my mind, ma'am.  But I don't think Steve
Anderson would have backed out if you hadn't acted.  Steve was
willing to lose a payday to take Shannon to the ball.  He isn't
willing to lose a payday to prepare for a dance he won't attend."

"But he stays after school?"

"He did tonight.  He doesn't Mondays and Wednesdays.  You do know
that he works at Hauksbee's don't you?"

Had Shannon's parents been deaf, they still would have heard all
about Steven's work schedule.  The discussion went back and
forth.  Allison was quite surprised to find that she had agreed
that Shannon could stay after school the next day and also Monday
and Wednesday of the next week.

"I'm very grateful, ma'am.  And you'll keep Saturday morning in
mind if Shannon behaves well for these days?"

"I'll think about it."

"That is all I ask," said Ken.

Allison had second thoughts, although riding herd on Shannon had
been as hard on her nerves as it had been on Shannon's.  She
waited until Wayne was in bed to broach the subject.  "I did tell
him I would let her," she said.  "But now, I don't know.  I do
know that I should have asked you."

"Well," said Wayne, "really this is only permission until she
misbehaves the first time.  I don't mind that you decided for
us.  I've told you before, I trust your instincts."

"After what she pulled on us for half the year?  You trust my
instincts?"

"Well, dear, I don't really trust them.  I just trust them
much better than my own.  Besides, that's three days when you
don't have to ride herd on her so early.  You can leave the
realtor's office at the normal quitting time.

Since Shannon seemed to be sleeping longer hours to avoid
them, Allison waited until morning to tell her.

                              - = -

Steve was watching TV with his dad and mom when 8:30 came.  He
couldn't remember a thing about the upstairs bathroom at the
Bryants'.  So he pictured Shannon getting into the tub at his own
house.  He hardened at the image of her removing bra and panties
to stand there in her glory.  He pictured her raising her arms
and turning to let to let the spray hit under her arms; her
breasts, high and firm when she stood normally, rose and pointed
when she did that.  At that point, however, he needed to either
pay more attention to his cock or less attention to her body.  He
went back to watching TV.

When he did go to his room, he downloaded his mail, and then
Shannon's.  He figured that luV%ewE was good enough for her new
password.  Then answering her disk was the first priority.  He
had already read it as he ran the new margins.  Shannon hadn't
understood what he'd said about that, and no wonder.


 > Just keep on the way you have been doing.
 > It works just fine.

 >> It does a little for me, the bare skin, but you in
 >> your pajamas and robe??  I'm wearing a nightgown,
 >> robe and slippers.  The nightie and robe are both
 >> warm.  No panties, if you like that.


 > I LIKE that.
 > I'll dream about Shannon lying next to me with no
 > panties on.  I'll dream about pulling up the
 > nightie.  You don't wear the robe to bed, I'm sure.

 > And I'll wear nothing at all.  I've decided that, if
 > we are only going to have fantasies for the next few
 > weeks, I'm going to leave off fantasies about the
 > winter months.  Dec. excepted.

 > Wouldn't want to miss Christmas.

 >> I usually take showers.  8:30 or so these days.
 >> P.M.

 > I'll be picturing you.  At least when I'm not at the
 > store.


 >> Your fantasy was *Hot!*
 >> I loved it.

 > IM glad.  I'll try to keep thinking them up.

 >>   You can't sneak that in that easily.  I haven't
 >>   decided about that.  You can't just say that I will
 >>   just because it's your fantasy.

 > We don't have to do it.
 > I've said that I won't push.  But the couple in the
 > story were MARRIED.  You wouldn't stop your husband
 > from kissing you anywhere would you?"


Confused about what she allowed and didn't allow in these
fantasies he sent her, he decided to put it in a separate
file.  He finished the letter, spell-checked it, and saved
it.  Then he tried to be hot again.


 > They are visiting friends and go to bed in the spare
 > room.  He's wearing PJs for once; she's in her
 > concealing nightie -- after all they are in someone
 > else's house.  He pulls up the skirt of her
 > nightgown and opens the pajama pants so that he is
 > lying against her bareness.  After he caresses her
 > for a while, she turns and kisses him.  The springs
 > squeak when she turns.

 > Her nightie rides higher, his hands roam lower.

 > They are both getting very hot.  She turns onto her
 > back and spreads her legs.  The springs squeak.
 > "Shhh!" he says.

 > He leans over to kiss her mouth in the new position.
 > The bed squeaks.  "Shhh!" she says.

 > She wants him inside her, finishing what they have
 > started.  He wants to enter her, aches for the
 > feeling of her around him.  They both know that the
 > squeaks will be heard.  Can they lie without moving?
 > Can they move without the rhythm?

 > Finally, he has an idea.  He climbs out to a pattern
 > of squeaks.  He leads her out and over to a desk
 > across the room.

 > Getting the idea, she rests her head on the desk.
 > He stands behind her in his PJ shirt, his hands
 > under her pulled-up nightie.  He plays with the
 > nipples on her breasts.  He moves one hand to her
 > even-more sensitive parts.  Finally, she can't stand
 > the waiting.

 > She reaches back and guides him inside her.  Then
 > they move back and forth.  He strokes inside her,
 > she grips around him.

 > They both come, suppressing their groans.  She sinks
 > down onto the desk, he leans on it as his knees
 > almost buckle.  They are pressed against each other
 > as much as they ever are in bed, but the parts which
 > touch are different.

 > Slowly they recover and stand up.  He puts the
 > pajama pants back on before they curl up together in
 > the bed.

 > "Love you," he whispers.

 > "Love you," she replies.

 > He nuzzles her neck as they fall asleep.


Steve spell-checked the story and buried the disk in his
backpack.  He did what he had to on his homework, distracted by
flashbacks to his fantasy.

                              - = -

Shannon found it easier to go to sleep that night, and easier
to wake up when the music came on softly.  She turned the radio
off as soon as she was awake, and lay for a minute listening for
any motion from her parents.

She would have been glad to turn over and go back to
sleep.  There were things to do, however.  She put on her robe
and slippers.  Once she got downstairs, she knew what she wanted
to do first.  She got the glass from the kitchen and poured an
inch and a half of creme de menthe into it.  The bottle was half
full, and her father might notice any greater depletion.  She
took it back up to her room for the first phase of her
misbehavior.

She took a generous swig from the glass, and almost spit the
bitter stuff out of her mouth.  A little creme de menthe had
added complex flavor to a large serving of ice cream.  Taken
straight, it tasted awful.  She poured the rest down the toilet,
rinsed her glass twice, and used the facilities.  She brushed her
teeth to get rid of the last of the taste.  Whether she had got
rid of the penetrating odor, she couldn't guess.

The bourbon hadn't tasted quite that bad, but it had tasted
bad enough.  She decided not to sample it again.

Here she was, up when her captors were asleep, free to do
almost anything.  Except that almost everyone else was asleep,
too.  It was winter, and she had no desire to wander the empty
streets.  Her first choice for being a bad girl had tasted
awful.

The most fun thing she could imagine was answering Steve's e-
mail.  All alone in the house, and her best temptation was
answering mail.  If the devil was the tempter, as some Sunday-
school teacher had said, he sure wasn't interested in
Shannon.

And Steve's letter was much less tempting than his previous
one had been.

He was very apologetic for the pushing, but a little confused
about it too.


 >> All talk about anything down to here.

 > I'm sorry, darling.  And my last letter was far
 > worse.  All I can say is that I hadn't read this
 > then.

  Your last letter
  wasn't bad at all.  (Except for the kisses in my
  private place.  And even that wasn't as bad as the
  pressure.)


  It wasn't as bad as you make it sound now.

  I do know that you  love me.  And having your
  support is a  consolation.

 > Okay!
 > I won't write any more about that.

 > I'm serious about that.  I'm not saying that I
 > don't WANT what we aren't going to discuss after
 > this letter.  I am saying that I want a lifetime
 > with Shannon.  I won't throw that chance away for a
 > night.

 > Again, I'll follow your rules, but I'm not terribly
 > clear what those are.

  I'm not terribly clear either.
  I can feel them, but I can't say them clearly.

 > Anyway,
 > We aren't talking about that right now.

 ;-)  ;-)  ;-)

 > Where would you like to live?  A chemist can live
 > in lots of places, just not all places.  They live
 > in cities and small towns.  Not, as I hear, the
 > *nicest* small towns.  And in all sections of the
 > country.  I  couldn't make a living here.

  I don't know.  I don't want to live in a city;
  that's for sure.

 > Do you want children?  When I see you taking care
 > of kids, I can tell how good you'd be with your
 > own.

  I keep thinking of myself with one daughter.  Not
  that mothers  get to choose.  But that's because of
  seeing Mom with me.  Yes, I  do love kids.  I want
  at least one.

 > Anyway, I do love you

  And I love you.

  This has been a bad day,
  even though I got to see you.  I had this thing all
  planned out.  I'd get up at 2:30 and have the house
  to myself.  Well, I have the house to myself, but
  what is there to do?  I prided  myself on being a
  good person, on resisting temptation.  Now, I can't
  find the temptation to yield to it.

  And, no, I'm still not going to yield to *that*
  temptation, keep your dirty mind to yourself.  Not
  that I could get you in  here, anyway.

  On second thought, I'm still not going to yield to
  that temptation, but I like your dirty mind more and
  more.  So keep those fantasies coming.


She packed the disk away, and wished that he had written
something hot for her the previous night.  She got out the disk
of the earlier story and read it twice.  She brushed her nipples
through the cloth of the nightie while she read it.

This didn't really count as being a bad girl.  Her mom had
stated quite definitely that masturbation was natural and
acceptable.  On the other hand, her mom had been embarrassed
saying so; that might have been the peak of her embarrassment
during that very embarrassing Talk.  And she wouldn't have liked
to know that her daughter was sitting at the computer reading
something addressed particularly to her while stroking
herself.

On the other hand, the room was cold.  The time it took to
shut down the computer rather broke her mood, but Shannon relived
the story again when she was safe in bed.

She could remember his kissing her nipples for real, and that
helped that part of the story.   He'd had his lips on her
insensitive shoulders and neck, and they had responded.  Her
thighs would respond more.  She stroked her valley and its little
clit while imagining him driving in and out of her.  She could
feel that she was about to come; this brought to mind the pulsing
penis she had twice felt in her hand.  It would pulse like that
inside her.

And, on that image, she climaxed.

She wasn't quite ready for sleep, even so.  She lay there
thinking about Steve, and sex, and the meadow.  She smiled at her
memory of how he had felt in her hand, and how she had felt in
his hand and against his mouth.  And, on the thought that the
books did make that kiss out to be wonderful, she drifted off to
sleep.

 Her awakening was much less pleasant.  At breakfast, however,
her mom did tell her that she could go to the committee meeting
that night.  Steve wouldn't be there, of course.  Still it was a
place that she could talk to others.

"Thanks, Mom," she said.  There was no sense in spoiling this
relaxation just because they were at war over the other
rules.

                              - = -

Steve didn't really think that Ken could persuade Shannon's
mother.  Still, it was the sort of thing you had to try once
you'd thought of it.

On the off chance that Ken might have pulled off his miracle,
Steve tried to borrow his mom's car that morning.  "I've got
things to do this afternoon.  Besides, if you want that advance
you asked for, I'll have to get to the bank.  Do you want me to
pick you up at school?  Then you could take the money out of your
account.  You could drive to Hauksbee's after dinner."

They settled on that.  Which wouldn't get Steve to the
committee meeting, after all.

And Ken had pulled it off!  Shannon was waiting outside his
homeroom when he got there.  "I can go to the Ball committee
meetings.  Only Monday and Wednesdays.  How did you manage
*that*?"

"Ken managed it.  Persuasive critter when he wants to
be.  Anyway, he owes you.  Owed."

"Well, I owe both of you.  But he won't get what you will when
I can see you off campus.  Still..."

The bell rang.  Mr. Worth shooed Steve into the room, and
Shannon was late.

English class was review, and both of them managed to keep
their wandering minds from wandering far enough to embarrass
either.  Mrs. Foster helped by concentrating on the kids who had
missed the information the first time through.

"I can't stay today," Steve told Shannon after class.  "I
tried to get the car, but Mom's picking me up.  Enjoy talking
with the others, though."

Shannon really would.  Steve, after all, communicated by
disk.  She needed to talk to her friends too.

"You," Steve told Ken after calculus class, "are a genius.  We
owe you.  But Shannon says that she isn't going to give you the
smooch that she'll give me."

"That's a real pity.  Still, Heather would have objected."  He
would enjoy a smooch from a pretty girl, but an obligation from
Steve was better.  An obligation from Shannon was better yet;
Steve would feel that obligation more firmly.

"The only problem is that I can't come tonight."

"That might be for the best in the end.  I haven't thought
this out, but I'll tell you later.  I've got to go."

When Shannon's pals joined their table at lunch, she shooed
them away.  "Look, this is my only time to talk with Steve.  You
wouldn't hang around after a dance."

"Whooo!" said Daphne.  "Watch out for the lunchroom
monitors."  They crowded to the other end of the table,
though.  This gave Steve and Shannon more privacy than sharing
the table with underclassmen would have.

She gave him her disk.  "Did you write one, too?"

"Sure," he said digging through his back-pack.  "I didn't
think that Ken could bring it off."  He handed it to her.

"Include a story?"

"Is that okay?"

"Well, how can I tell?  I haven't read it yet."  She smiled
though.

"You want another story tomorrow?"

"Oh yes.  I need something to get me through the night.  More
about that on the disk."

Well, he thought, they didn't have that particular problem any
more.  Still, he was never going to understand Shannon.

Most of the rest of their conversation was about Ken's freeing
her for the committee meetings.

"Thanks for choosing me over the hen pack," Steve said when he
picked up the trays.

"Always will," she answered.  "But they've been a help on this
too.  And they like you, really.  But I'll have to spend lunch
with them on Monday.  PDAs."

"I don't mind that," he said.  "That might be the only
birthday celebration you'll have this year.  PDAs."  And they
didn't see each other until the end of the school day.

Allison Bryant found that her decision to allow Shannon to stay
after school hadn't freed her of any responsibilities at all.
While Shannon wouldn't be in the house to sulk at her, she was in
her mind to haunt her even earlier.

When the student parking lot was emptying for the day, Allison
was among the line of parents who drove in to make pick-
ups.  She, however, pulled out of the line to park.  As the
school doors swung open, she caught a glimpse of Shannon in her
distinctive skirt.  The next time the doors opened, she saw
Steven standing beside her.  Committee meeting, hah!.  She left
her car to grab her daughter.

The drafts were too cold for Shannon where they were
standing.  And the radiators were probably too hot for Steve in
his hooded jacket.  She knew they couldn't say anything private
in this crowd, which included teachers.  "I wish ..." she
said.  Then she let her eyes do the talking.

Steve's eyes were talking back.  Focusing on her.  The waves
coming off Shannon had him sweating more than the radiators did.
The idea of finding an unused classroom was sounding better and
better -- damn the PDA rule.

The only way that Allison could get to the door was to slip
between two cars in the parental pick-up line.  They'd stopped
longer than usual, and one car up ahead was beeping its horn
repeatedly.

Slowly that beep penetrated Steve's consciousness.  His mom
was there, standing on the driver's side pushing the horn button
again and again.  He looked back at Shannon once and ran to the
car.   Some of his fellow-students hooted at him, and others
laughed.

Allison spared one glance towards the head of the line.  She
could picture the blockage ending suddenly just as she was about
to dart between two of the cars.  She recognized the offending
car, and then she recognized Steve approaching it.  As Allison
stood back, Steve crossed in front of the car.  He was clearly
headed for the driver's door.

Steve got behind the wheel; his mom was already sitting on the
right side.  He got them out of there, his ears
burning.  "Parting," his mom said, "is such sweet sorrow."

"Now, Mom!"

"Shakespeare, isn't it?  Isn't that what you've been
studying?"

Once on the street, he could glance at her face.  It was red
from suppressed laughter.

Allison returned to her car.  Steve was leaving, just as the
boy had told her.  When she looked for Shannon, she was no longer
visible through the doorway.  For that matter, the crowd had
thinned out in this short time.

She was glad that she hadn't confronted Shannon in public as
she had intended.  When she pictured her again, she had been
carrying her coat rather than wearing it.  Steven, on the other
hand had been dressed for the outdoors.

To be picky, Allison had given Shannon a little more time with
Steven with her concession.  Still, she and Wayne were just
getting used to the idea that Shannon was totally unworthy of
their trust, but that didn't mean that they should treat her
contemporaries so suspiciously.  The boy who had called was an
officer of the school government, probably just trying to do his
job.

Since her daughter wasn't trustworthy she was justified in
checking up on her.  It was wrong for her to feel so sneaky and
ashamed.  Ashamed of herself for what she had done, and ashamed
of Shannon for the behavior which had made her do it.

She drove home very thoughtfully.

                              - = -

The Anderson car was silent until they got to the bank.  "It
isn't funny," said Steve.

"I wasn't the only one laughing.  You'll see her in the morning.
I part from the one I love for a lot longer than that, with no
sympathy from you whatsoever."

Steve knew that there was no comparison.  But his sexual desire
was a big part of the difference.  And he sure wasn't about to
mention that to his *mother*.

"That's not true," he said.  "I miss Dad when he's gone, too."
Then he asked himself how much of Dad's time with him he'd trade
for one hour with Shannon in private.  Mom hadn't asked that
question, although she probably thought it.  Besides that, she
had moved over to let him drive -- not important tonight, but
something he would have wanted most evenings.  He smiled at her.

She took that smile for the signal it was.

"Peace?" she asked.

He appreciated her quirky sense of humor more often than he
resented it.  This trip was entirely so he could take out cash
for Shannon's present.  And, as parents went, she and Dad could
have been worse.  He could sulk through dinner and still drive
her car to his job.  On the other hand, knowing that would make
him feel guilty about taking that advantage.  "Peace."  It
sounded grudging to him, but she took it at face value.

He withdrew more than enough for his gift for Shannon.  This
business of requiring his mom's signature annoyed him.  He
intended to keep a stash of money at home.

                              - = -

Shannon concentrated on cutting the fancy hearts out of the
red paper for ten minutes.  When she had the mechanics down, she
joined in the chatting around the table.  For once, she wasn't
the focus of the conversation; and she enjoyed that.  Then Ken
asked her to join him at a table a little apart from the
group.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am," she began.

"Not grateful enough, Steve tells me, to show it with a
kiss."  For a moment, she thought he was serious.  "Well, you'll
have to give my kiss to Steve.  Then he'll owe me even more."

"I don't know when I'll be able to do that."

"I can wait," he said. "Maybe you two can't, but I can wait.
Enjoying yourself?"

"I only wish that Steve could be here."

"Look.  Some things I know; some things I feel; other things I
feel are maybe true...."

She cut one side of a heart while he paused.

"Look," Ken said finally.  "This is a guess.  I hate acting on
a feeling, but...."

"But...."

"But, if I was your mother -- you know what I mean.  If I was
your mother, I'd check one of these afternoons.  She knows that
Steve's not supposed to be here Mondays and Wednesdays."

"And she'd crack down."

"She just might let you come here Saturday morning.  Of
course, that is the only time that we really need workers, any
more.  I knew that she wouldn't agree if I asked when we were
talking, so I left it open.  You know her better than I do.

"This is your gamble," Ken continued.  "If she finds you've
both been at a committee meeting, she certainly won't let you
come on Saturday.  She might not let you do that, anyway."

"So," Shannon asked, "what are you saying?"

"If you play the afternoons straight, she might let you come
on Saturday to decorate the gym.  If you cheat on one of these
meetings, and she finds out, then you're dead meat on
Saturday.  You might consider how much you want a little more
time with Steve and how much you want that Saturday...

"But," he finished, "I can't guarantee anything."

"Do you really think that she would let me come on Saturday?"
Shannon asked.

"I really think that she *might*.  But I can't guarantee
anything.  It's probably less than a fifty percent likelihood,
anyway."

"The thing is," she said "that I'm done being a good girl.  If
I keep Mom's rules, and then she *doesn't* let me come
Saturday, then they've won."

"Look Shannon," Ken said.  He took another breath.  "You guys
are my friends, both, not only Steve.  It's your life, and Steve
would say that stronger.  You decide what you're going to
do...."

"But," he continued, "they are going to win.  That's what
parents do; that's what adults do.  They want certain things from
you, and they will get them.  They set the rules and are the
judges as well.  They are going to get what they really
want.  But that doesn't mean that you lose.  You want certain
things, yourself.  How do you get what you want while they get
what they want?  Anyway, I'm talking too much.  It's your
life."

"Thanks," she said.  She didn't really know for what, beyond his
miracle the night before.  He went to deal with something else,
and she added her paper heart to the completed pile.  She joined
yet another table after that, talking about the lousy call at the
basketball game the previous Saturday.

It was dark by the time she left school.  There were more cars on
the streets, and they had their lights on.  Dark came early in
January; it wasn't really that late.  Still, it was the first
time that she'd been out after dark in more than a week.

It may have been just her own feelings, but talking with Mom was
milder torture, too.  "Did you leave school precisely at five?"
her mom asked.

"It doesn't work like that.  The janitor lets us out and then
chains the last door.  I think *he* leaves precisely at five.
And, then, it takes a little longer to walk home with the streets
full of cars."

"Well, just be careful about crossing the street."  That hadn't
been what Mom had told her about getting home right after school
on other days.

Her chores hadn't eased, and she hadn't expected them to.  She
still cooked dinner with instruction from Mom.  She still washed
the dishes afterwards.  But she had cooked a lot of meals before
this, and loading the dishwasher wasn't exactly hard labor.

She took the dining room table for her homework while her parents
were watching TV.  Her room might be a refuge, but it had become
a prison cell as well.

When sports came on after the news, Allison went into the kitchen
for a glass of water.  They'd stopped buying snacks which were
really intended to be treats for her daughter; still, Shannon had
always been good about leaving some for her parents.  And the bit
she left for them was nice at times like these.

Allison poured herself some Cheerios.  Dry, they were better than
crackers.  And it had been Shannon who taught her that, 16 or 17
years before.  Thinking of Shannon-the-toddler, sitting across
from Shannon-the-teen, she couldn't avoid having a little of her
fondness for the first spilling into her attitude towards the
second.  Her suspicions this afternoon *had* been unfounded,
after all.

"I suppose," said Shannon, "that calling Steve with a question
about algebra is totally impossible."

"Right the first time.  Still, you could ask your father.  We're
here to help you.  We're just restricting your social life."

"I just might ask Dad.  Where neither of you can help is on
'Romeo and Juliet.' I understood it better than Steve did, and I
figured out how to make it clear to him.  That's much more help
than someone who can explain it to you."

That was an insight which shook Allison.  Her little girl had
grown up in so many ways.

Later, when she and Wayne were each in their own beds, she tried
to explain that to him.

"I think I know what you mean," he replied.  "She isn't at some
level.  She's betwixt and between.  That comment about getting
clear by explaining something to a person who doesn't have a clue
-- that tells something to me I didn't know, or at least I didn't
see clearly.

"On the other hand, leading us on about Steven -- that's being
a little girl.  She was more honest with us at seven."

That was what she had meant.  Well, it was clearer than she could
express it.  As newlyweds, she and Wayne had planned on a girl
for her and a boy for him.  After Shannon, they had delayed and
then abandoned their plans for another child.  Shannon, in so
many ways, had turned out to be Wayne's daughter.  Allison often
wondered whether the boy would have taken after her.  But, of
course, a second child might have been a second daughter or a boy
like Wayne.  And did she really want a boy like her?  She turned
to look at Wayne, and -- pondering that question -- fell asleep.

                              - = -

Being at work, Steve didn't even try to picture Shannon in the
shower.  He did remember her birthday and buy the fanciest card
he could find.  This wasn't a time for funny cards.

He figured that his gift for her should be physically
small.  She could hide it from her parents, who might object to
any celebration.

When he got home, he answered her disk before starting his
homework.


 >>
 >> Your last letter wasn't bad at all.
 >
 > I'm glad about that.  Maybe its OK if its in the
 > distant future.  That isn't pressure.
 >
 > And, I think you should ask yourself if -- just
 > maybe -- you might have been changing your mind the
 > tiniest little bit.
 >

 >> (Except for the kisses in my private place.  And
 >> even that wasn't as bad as the pressure.)
 >
 > I said in my last letter.  I'm not pressuring you on
 > that.  You own your body as the health class put it.
 > But in the story, they were *married*.

 >> It wasn't as bad as you make it sound now.  I do
 >> know that you love me.  And having your support is
 >> a consolation.
 >
 > That is what I want to hear.  That you can see my
 > love.

 >> bit.  Anyway, we're not engaged.  We are (I am, at
 >> least) in love.
 >
 > I love you.  I guess that we are in love.  This news
 > is going to shock Diane and Jeff and them.

 >>> opinion poll.

 >> I don't know.  I don't want to live in a city;
 >> that's  for sure.
 >
 > I'll keep that in mind.  But we really have until we
 > graduate to decide.


 >> .  Yes, I do love kids.  I want at least
 >> one.
 >>
 >
 > That's great.  See fantasy.
 >
 > I love you.


He spent more time on the fantasy than on the actual letter,
although he'd been playing with the idea whenever he could.

He was especially proud of the name, "Brosna."


 > It's the first Christmas
 > which their daughter, Brosna, is old enough to
 > anticipate.  [What year old is that?  You're the one
 > who knows kids.]

 > Anyway, they are going all-out this year.  The
 > packages are hidden, and they don't go under the
 > tree until little Brosna is fast asleep.  They have
 > a real mantel, and they put up three stockings.
 >
   . . .

 > Good night, and I love you.
 >
 > Steve.


Then he turned to his homework.

                              - = -

Shannon woke to the music from the clock radio.  She'd saved
Steve's disk for this privacy, and that was the only thing which
got her out of bed.  It was *cold*.  She pulled a pair of
knee socks on and wrapped an Afghan around her outside her robe
while she read his disk.

She read the story first.


 > They are visiting friends and go to bed in the spare
 > room.  He's wearing PJs for once; she's in her
 > concealing nightie -- after all they are in someone
 > else's house.

  First
  I want to thank you again for freeing me for the
  three committee  meetings.

  I was having so much fun at the first one that I
  barely missed  you.  It was great that they were all
  talking about other things,  too.

  Ken thinks I might get out on Saturday, too.  That's
  *MIGHT*.

 > Nuzzle, nuzzle, nuzzle.
 > A million kisses.

  Only a million?
  You used to send a billion.  I'm locked up for less
  than a week, and your love has decreased 1/1000.

    ;-)

  I love you, too.

 > As long as we have that, we'll lick everything
 > else.

  Yes, but the battle is still a battle.

 >> I'm not going to give up.  I'm not going to give
 >> them the satisfaction.
 >
 > It's your decision.

 > And I mean that.

  But Ken said something about parents always winning.
  After the stunt he pulled, I'll listen to him.  Sort
  of have to.

  He thinks they might let me out for Saturday
  prepping the gym.  If they do, I'm not going to
  spend my time in the gym!!!  Where  could we go?


Where could they go?  Steve's mom wouldn't be at home.  Would
his dad?  Did she want to go to Steve's house?  How far did she
want to go with Steve?  He wasn't the sort of guy who would show
her the door if she said "stop."  Still, saying "stop" was easier
when he was in the place by her invitation.


 >> I'll think about that.  I have my own plans.
 >
 > Gonna share?

  Well, I'm awake and it's the middle of the night.
  But still, there's only so much you can do.  Did you
  know that Creme De Menthe tastes awful by itself?

  I wish that we had a pet.  The things that you could
  do with a cat locked away from its litterbox.

 >>  No panties, if you like that.
 >
 > I LIKE that.  I'll dream about Shannon lying next
 > to me  with no panties on.  I'll dream about

  Boys are weird.


 >> I usually take showers.  8:30 or so these days.
 >> P.M.

 > I'll be picturing you.  At least when I'm not at the
 > store.

  I'm not sure that I like that.  Boys are *really*
  weird.


She decided not to tell him that she'd showered well after
nine this night.  That helped her feel a little less weird. She
teased him about his spelling for a bit and then:


 > We don't have to do it.  I've said that I won't
 > push.  But the couple in the story were MARRIED.
 > You  wouldn't stop your husband from kissing you
 > anywhere would you?

  I just don't know, Steve.  You're almost pushing
  again.  And it's sort of gross.

 . . .

 > In my fantasy, you say that you KNOW that I love
 > you.

  I know that you love me.  Haven't I said that
  before?

 > Anyway, I don't quite see what you want and don't
 > want in these letters.  (You couldn't be changing
 > your mind  a little bit between posts, could you?)

  Moi?
  Change my mind?
  I think I am a little.  I don't know.  Being a good
  girl hasn't got me anything.  The best thing which
  happened to me in HS is you.  Heck!  Most of the
  good things involve you.

 > I'll write a
 > fantasy, but in a different file.  When you don't
 > like what's there, you can stop reading.  There
 > isn't any  letter, just a story.

  I just glanced at it.  But that's *not* about not
  liking it.  That's about saving it for last.


  And it's a very nice fanasy.

  Not as nice as the first one,
  but it's hard to be as nice as the first one.  I'm
  coming back after reading it.

  And I have it on another disk.  So I'm copying it
  back to this  one, and cutting almost all.

 > and kisses him.  The springs squeak when she turns.

  :-)

 > Finally, he has an idea.  He climbs out to a

  You think that you're the one who will think of
  everything.

 > She reaches back and guides him inside her.  Then
 > they move back and forth.  He strokes inside her,
 > she grips around him.

  You really want to do it standing up don't you?  We
  haven't even done it the regular way, and you are
  dreaming of doing it different ways.  Boys are
  weird, but I think you are weirder than
  most.

 > "Love you," he whispers.
 > "Love you," she replies.
  That's right.

 > He nuzzles her neck as they fall asleep.

  I don't think we'd fit quite like that.  You'd be at
  my shoulder or something.  Right now, I wish that we
  were trying it out,  though.

  I love you.


And she did love him, weird as he was.  Back in bed, she
thought about standing up with him moving in her.  She'd seen him
standing up, after all, and it jutting out.  When she'd felt it
jump in her hand, he'd been standing up.  If she bent over, and
he put it in, would it jump deep inside her?  Would it pulse like
that?  Could she feel his warmth there if he was in her?

                              - = -

Shannon woke easily when the regular alarm went off.  With the
shortness of the interruption, she had slept a total of nine
hours.  She hurried to school, getting there just as the doors
opened.  She enjoyed the conversation of the first kids in, and
was waiting -- ready for her first classes -- at Steve's locker
when he got there.  They exchanged their disks and talked a
minute.  Then she had to get to home room.

Still, Steve wasn't the only one she enjoyed talking with.

"One of the questions on the test will be a mini-essay," Mrs.
Foster told the English class.  "It will be a general question
about the play as a whole.  You can prepare for it, although
you'll have to actually write it in class -- and I won't allow
notes.  It counts for a quarter of the test grade."  Not that
anyone hadn't heard about it from the previous year's
students.

They spent that period on reviewing the whole play.

"I wish we'd had more time for Shakespeare this week," Shannon
told Steve at lunch.  "My parents think we didn't do anything but
make out, but I really learned a lot from the studying we did
together."

"*I* wish we'd had more time for making out.  And I
learned a lot.  You saved my rump."  They were in school after
all.  "But you knew it all, already."

"Not really."  It wasn't really true, and it didn't do a boy
any good to think that his girl was better at things than he
was.  Still, it was nice of him to say so.  "I knew more, just as
you know more about algebra; but explaining and talking about it
got me much clearer.  If we both go to U of I, do you think we'll
have the same classes?"

"It's an idea.  We'll mostly have different classes,
though.  Things like English should be the same.  And we get to
make our own schedules."

"I bet we're the only kids in the school planning how they can
*study* together next year."

"No bet."

They talked between bites.  Some of her friends came
over.  Then it was time for him to take the trays back.

                              - = -

Shannon hurried home to meet the schedule.  She needed to ask
her mom about the birthday cake to share with the girls at
lunch.  She wanted to have the best possible relationship when
she asked it.  There was a note telling her to vacuum the living
room before starting dinner prep.  She worked to make it a
thorough job.  That should contribute to the best possible
relationship.

Then, being all alone, she read Steve's story.  She'd save the
letter until she could answer it without danger of
interruptions.


 > It's the first Christmas
 > which their daughter, Brosna,
 > is old enough to anticipate.  [What year old is
 > that?  You're the one who knows kids.]
 >
 > Anyway, they are going all-out this year.  The
 > packages are hidden, and they don't go under the
 > tree until  little Brosna is fast asleep.  They have
 > a real mantle, and they put up three stockings.
 >
 >
 > It's late when all the preparation is done, early
 > Christmas morning actually; and they are tired.
 >
 > Still, it is Christmas, and they deserve a
 > celebration.  She  lies on top of him while he
 > pushes up the warm nightie and caresses her breasts.
 > They kiss for a minute, she  moving higher in the
 > bed than he is.  She, who always  kisses upwards
 > when they are standing, enjoys this  change.
 >
 > In that position, he strokes the insides and backs
 > of her thighs.  He cups and squeezes her hips.  He
 > kisses the side of her neck.  Like this, she makes
 > the decisions.   When she moves farther up the bed,
 > he pulls the nightie up her body until he can kiss
 > her breasts.  She moves them back and forth over his
 > mouth so that each gets equal time.  She lets
 > herself down when she wants kisses over all of them,
 > and raises herself up when she wants only the
 > nipples sucked.
 >
 > She is kneeling on the bed on either side of his
 > chest, which opens her to the touch of his hand.
 > His attention starts at the top of her thighs, but
 > it slowly moves inward.  He loves the feel of her
 > secret parts, and she loves what his fingers do
 > there.
 >
 > When she can't resist that excitement any more, she
 > slides back down his body.   He grabs the rubber and
 > putts it on.  Neither of them can see what they are
 > doing, but they have years of experience at this.
 >
 > He puts himself right at her entrance, she eases
 > herself down.  He is inside!
 >
 > She moves up and down on him, exciting herself as
 > she excites him.  His hands cup her breasts and play
 > with  her nipples.  "Love you," he says, letting her
 > know  that he is close.  His hands move to her hips
 > to pull  her closer.  "Oh yes!" she says.
 >
 > They come at the same moment.  She feels him throb
 > within her.  He feels her clutch around him.
 >
 > She raises herself off his cock, then stretches out
 > on top of him.  They lie in a hug.  Soon they are a
 > sleep.
 >
 >
 >
 > "Mommy-Daddy," Brosna yells from the door to the
 > room.  "Mommy-Daddy, come look.  Santa's been here."
 >
 > "Yes, dear," she tells Brosna.  "Go see how many
 > stockings there are."
 >
 > Brosna scurries downstairs, leaving there bedroom
 > door open.  She raises herself off him.  Somehow,
 > her nightie is tangled under his head.
 >
 > Good night, and I love you.
 >
 > Steve.


Weird!  It was sexy, but still....  A kid almost seeing her
parents make love.  She knew that happened, but was it healthy to
think about such things?

And Brosna?  Where did he get that name?  Did he really think
that she'd let him inflict that on an innocent baby?

At this point, her mom came home.  She slipped the disk out of
the machine, and put it at the bottom of a short stack of
disks.  Then she went down to make dinner.

Continued in Part 10
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2001/01/18
2003/02/03
2010/02/08
The indewx to all my available stories is:
/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
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