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From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Radar_1-F" -- Uther -- MF wl
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Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2010 21:10:01 -0400
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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, 2010, 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.

If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them to
me at nogardneprethu@gmail.com.

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.


Radar_1-F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

MF wl


"Our future." George raised his wine glass to her.

"Our future." Sylvia Foster drained her glass. *She* wasn't
driving. And the future was looking rosy. Now that his future was
looking rosy, now that she would be back to substitute teaching,
might be the time to suggest having another child. She'd been
considering this for some time, but she didn't want to bring it up
when George had more uncertainty about his future than he could
handle comfortably. Now that Northwestern had said yes, the
future looked more stable. But the restaurant wasn't the place in
which to raise that question.

George helped her on with her coat, a formal gesture he ignored
when they weren't in public. He paid, and they went out to the car.

"Northwestern," she said while he was driving home. The word
still tasted good in her mouth.

"Tenure track," he replied. "You'll have to start over, though."
Well, sure. The school-teacher wife of a professor may have a
job, but she doesn't have a career. He has to move too often.

"Told you once, whither thou goest.... Anyway, does this make us
rich?" Could they afford another child without her paycheck?

"Certainly comfortable. We can easily live on my salary; yours is
for extras and luxuries. The trust payments have been paying
nothing more than their taxes. What do you want to do? Buy a
house? Quite possible." George, who had never scrabbled for a
living, thought her economic hesitations were foibles. Could they
live on his trust income? Not comfortably. But he treated it as if
they could.

"Well, maybe.... But, now that Kim is old enough, I thought that
we might try for another baby." Now, she'd said it. Now he would
bring up worries.

"You cut out the Pill?" As if she would do such a thing. They had a
marriage -- a joint project.

"Nope. This is a joint decision. I just thought you might like it."

"Well..."

"Think about it. I have. This news is just the occasion." Pressing
George wasn't the way to get his agreement. His father had
pressed until George had learned to resist all pressure.

"And a weird occasion it is. This means we'd have to pay for
delivery." *Now*, he was bringing up the money. Well, it
might be a real worry.

"If we can't afford it..." George had never worried about money,
not except in the quite immediate present -- whether he had
enough in his wallet. She'd never seen him actually worry about
that, either. She obviously spent more pocket money when she
was teaching, but not all that much more. They didn't seem to have
more in their bank account in years she taught, though. She never
figured where their money went, which was one reason to worry
about where they could cut if she weren't teaching. Well she'd said
she would leave the responsibility to George, and a good marriage
meant trusting your spouse.

"We can afford it. Monetarily, that is. The problem is whether your
body can afford it."

"And whether you can bear to be deprived of that body.
Awkward positions, another child intruding on your favorite
playground." He denied it, of course. And the accusation was a
little unfair. They'd reached home without any resolution. Which
was fine. She didn't even want to stop before this month's supply
of pills was used up. What would that do to her system?

"You deal with Kim. I'll drive Susan home. We'll continue this
some other time." And they would.

"How was your evening?" she asked Susan, who was reading in
the living room -- apparently doing homework.

"Kim's fine. She left half her carrots. I ate them and her pudding.
Hope you don't mind."  Not having finished her vegetables, Kim
hadn't been entitled to a desert. Susan started to put on her parka.

"That's fine. Was it after she was in bed?"

"Yeah. 'Since you don't get it, I do,' would have been mean.
Anyway, she fussed about bed for three minutes max, then
dropped off."

Sylvia put her own coat and boots in the closet. Susan left for the
car, and Sylvia went upstairs. Kimberly was crammed into the
upper far corner of her cot with the blanket pulled in front of her.
Her butt was sticking out of the covers, as usual. Sylvia tucked her
in more securely. She kissed her forehead. Maybe Kim smiled,
but she didn't waken.

She visited the bathroom and then sat in front of her vanity
removing her face. She'd brushed her hair and removed the top
layer of clothes by the time George got back. He visited Kim's
room before getting to theirs.

"You didn't tell Susan why we were celebrating?" he asked
suddenly. He hadn't suggested that it was a secret. Anyway, it
couldn't be for very long.

"It didn't come up. We talked about Kim. Why?"

"Well, I haven't told Vrooman yet. He deserves to hear before the
grapevine does." Okay. She'd not mention it. She couldn't think of
a place where it would come up, anyway.

She got into her nightgown and into bed. When George got back,
he got into bed without his pajamas. No great surprise. Dinner and
wine were flourishes; his basic idea of a celebration was sex. Well,
a sexual celebration with George was a worthy celebration. And
his stripping her was part of that celebration. If he wasn't there to
take off her clothes, she always wore a nightgown.

"Not done celebrating?" she asked when his kiss turned into a
grope to her butt.

"Celebrating something different. Not a future job, but a present
marriage -- marriage to a sexy lady."

"Wrong on both counts." She wasn't sexy, she was a
schoolteacher and a mother. On the other hand, pointing out that
motherhood was the opposite of sexiness wouldn't win his
agreement on the second-child issue. And being called sexy,
however inaccurately, was a turn-on.

And, when they'd taken off her nightgown, he treated her as if she
were sexy, too. He kissed mouth, neck, chest -- the tickle of the
beard a foretoken of the sexier tickle of lips and tongue every step
of the way. He kissed around the base of her right breast before
kissing her left nipple. Soon he was stroking her pussy while
alternating nipples. By the time he got to her clit, she was aroused.

"I love you, Sylvia Jennings Foster." She was so aroused that it
was obvious to George. Well and good. She lay back to enjoy his
attentions. When she needed more, she reached between his legs.

"George," she begged quietly. He let her take his 'nads in her hand
before moving between her legs.

"Mommy!" Kim called, and called from the hallway. She switched
from wife mode to mommy mode in an instant.

"Coming, dear." She slid from under George, who was moving
back. Once on her feet, she pulled the nightgown over her head
while searching for her slippers with her feet.

"Radar. The girl has radar," George said. He was feeling
frustrated. So, for that matter, was she. She glanced over to see
that he was decently covered while pulling on her robe. Then she
went out to deal with Kim.

The problem was obvious. Kim's pajama bottoms were soaked.
The bed would be, as well.

"It's all right, dear. Go into the bathroom and take them off. I'll be
along in a minute." Kim did as she was told. When the sheets and
blanket were off the bed, the problem was minor. The pad which
passed for a mattress was plastic on the outside. Sylvia wiped it
off, remade the bed -- the blanket was only damp, but she got out
a new one. She got a new set of PJs for Kim and went into the
bathroom.

"I'm *really* sorry, mommy."

"I know you are, dear. Now climb up on the toilet and make sure
that you are empty." She nearly was. Sylvia wiped her daughter off
with her washcloth and then dried her with a towel. She put the
pajama bottoms in the sink to soak and the sheets in the tub. She
wrung everything out and then hung them on the curtain rod.

Kim dressed herself in the new pajamas with only a hint about
which was the front of the tops. When she'd climbed back in bed,
Sylvia held her hand for a minute.

"I know you don't mean to, darling. It's just that there are things
you can do to make it less likely. Always use the toilet just before
going to bed -- after brushing your teeth. Make sure you are quite
done before climbing down. Even so, you'll have accidents."

"You don't. Big girls don't."

"Well, no. Big people wake up when they have to go to the
bathroom. You'll do that when you're older." They didn't say
anything else, but she stayed there a few minute longer. When Kim
let go of her hand and turned on her side, she adjusted the covers
once more and went back to George.

"The girl has radar," he said. "I thought we were quiet enough."
Kim had reacted to her own problems, that it caused problems for
him was a coincidence.

"Paranoia. She wet her bed and wanted her mommy to make it all
better and tell her she wasn't a terrible girl." George was almost
never serious, but she couldn't tell whether he was annoyed by the
interruption or jealous that Kim always called for her. He needn't
be, she wanted her daddy when it was time for a roughhouse.

"And I wanted my wife to tell me I'm not a terrible man." George
didn't pout convincingly. He could blow occasionally (and Kim
was his daughter there and, at nearly four, less occasionally) but he
didn't really sulk.

"But *she* actually isn't a terrible girl."

"Your faith in me is underwhelming." But he was laughing. "Come
here." He sounded impatient, and she decided that starting with the
nightgown on would be too much. She hung it back on the
bedpost before getting between the sheets. He'd sounded
impatient, but he started on top. Tongues played with tongues
while he caressed her left breast.

She could lie there and accept his lovemaking. He'd be ready
when she wanted him -- randy when she wanted him; it would be
no kindness to crank up his engine and then tell him to wait. So her
contributions were merely motions to accommodate his petting
and inward attention to the feelings he was so artfully arousing.

When his hand stroked down towards her pussy, she spread her
legs. The reward was warmth spreading from her center to meet
the warmth spreading from her breast. He later moved his hand
over to tug on her left hip. She rolled towards him, but raised her
left knee.

He was stroking her clit and sucking her nipple while she spiraled
upward in arousal. She didn't want to leave him behind, though.
When she felt she was more than ready she turned on her back.

"George." she asked.

"Yes love." He moved into position but said, "Put me in." He
wasn't quite hard enough for that. She fingered him with both
hands until he was. Then she moved him to where he was needed.
His smooth bulk spread her lips, entered her, filled her. The slow,
steady, strokes lifted her higher and higher.

Apparently, he thought he was higher than she was. He rolled
them over until they were at 45 degrees. The hand he had on the
bed could hold and caress her right breast. He put a hand between
them to increase her stimulation. Then his strokes resumed. Each
one fed her warmth and tightened her feelings. She was close, so
close, but she held there on the edge until he pulsed in her pussy.

"Oh, Sylvia," he said, and that took her over. She came under him
and around him. The position required some effort from both of
them to maintain, and they suddenly didn't have the will to maintain
it. He slid out of her, and then she fell onto her back. He lay
beside her, but spared one hand to keep them together.

"Love you." The hand was such a romantic gesture.

"Love you. Did the interruption dissuade you from your idea."
He'd *said* he would think about it; he'd *said* they
would talk about it later. This was, after all, later. It wasn't,
however, a particularly romantic time. However, it was an issue
that she'd raised; it was one with which she would deal.

"Not in the least. You love Kim, even if, don't you?" Even if Kim
interrupted some sex sessions, she meant.

"Well, yeah." The words were grudging, but the love was not.
She'd seen them together often enough to know that.

"You'll love another as much."

"Future. Have you decided, then?" Perceptive bastard. Wasn't the
male supposed to roll over and go to sleep.

"It's our decision. My vote is 'yea.'"

"Well, it's your body. You changed more diapers, but that wasn't
the real imbalance. I'll vote 'present.' Your vote carries it." The
weakest way he could possibly say yes, but he'd said yes. George
quibbled and bitched, but he didn't welch.

"You are silly. What Northwestern sees in you, I'll never know."
What she saw in him, on the other hand, was a loving man and a
good sex partner. But she also saw an egotist who shouldn't be
told this too often.

"I think that they might be judging me as a teacher and researcher,
not as a bedroom conversationalist."

"You think? What odd criteria!" Well, that was one issue settled.
They should sleep now. No, there was another.

"What will Dan say?" George knew his department chairman much
better than she did. Dan Vrooman's opinion was, in one sense,
irrelevant. Northwestern had accepted George, and they would be
gone in the fall. On the other hand, the appointment at Regina had
been a God-send when it came. They didn't want to look
ungrateful.

"Not much. Nobody in the department will retire in the next
decade. Only Vrooman in the next. He needs new blood, and
there isn't anyone left who is bad enough to fire. He really did too
good of a job in the beginning. The only way he'll get room is by
resignations. Besides, there'll be people getting bachelor's degrees
at Northwestern who'll be looking for a grad school. I can tell
them what I know about Regina."

"Which is?" It was bitter cold, sometimes. Not having to worry
about illness driving you bankrupt was a plus -- but did young,
single, people worry about that?

"Great if you want to study Amerinds, especially if your Spanish
ain't so hot. Those in the US have been studied to death, and
Regina is closer to the northern tribes, and Vrooman has the
contacts with the authorities. We teach the entire spectrum of
theory, but we're better at field trips to the first nations." George
was still thinking about the University, not the city. Well, probably
the people he talked to would be too.

This was the last question. She turned and nestled back into him
for the cuddle into sleep. He molded himself to her back and
reached over to hug her and hold her breast.

"That's why you resisted," she teased. "You don't want another kid
usurping your favorite playground."

"Not my favorite." He stroked down to her pussy, but soon
returned it to its proper place. Lying like that, they drifted into
sleep.

The end

Radar_1-F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2010/10/28


These same events from George's perspective, can be read in:
/~Uther_Pendragon/Gjt/fos_09m.htm
George's experience

The first adventures of Sylvia with George:
/~Uther_Pendragon/Gjt/fos_01f.htm.htm
"Missed - F"

Another story about another couple getting back together after
childbirth:
/~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/forays.htm
"Forays"


The index to almost all my stories:
/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
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