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WARNING: This is a story for adults. If you are under 18, please stop
reading immediately.

This story may be archived but is not to be distributed without the
name of the author, changed in any way, or sold. Please make any
comments on the newsgroup "alt.sex.stories.d" with the subject
"A.S.S.D.: Janey's January." The e-mail address is a fake.

JANEY'S JANUARY by Janey


PART II					

Life went on. Beth told me Steve was out of the country again,
floating around Asia. I'd hate to have a husband gone as much as Steve
was, but it didn't seem to bother Beth. Thinking about it, it seemed
to me my husband spent a little too much time in medieval Europe.
Anyhow, Steve was Beth's problem. But about ten days later, on a
Tuesday morning, I came out of a morning counselling session and found
a note from the secretary telling me to call Steve with a phone
number. That had never happened before. Being cool and calm as always,
I ran back in my office, sat down and passed out. Well, not really
out. I shook a lot. My face got hot. Somewhere considerably below my
waist got sort of warm. I figured I must be excited. So I sat there a
while reading department notices until I got back to room temperature.
That took maybe ten minutes. My next appointment was coming in another
ten minutes, so I went to the women's room and then got a drink of
water and came back to the office. Then I called the number. 
   
I got a snooty secretary, but she deigned to connect me to Steve's office.

"Steve Walters," I heard.

"Jane Urquhart here," I said, primly.

"Oh, Hi, Janey," he said. "Uh, . . . I was just wondering if we could
have lunch or a cup of coffee or something. I could come down your
way."

He didn't sound the way I felt. Maybe just a little bit hesitant. I
held the phone at arm's length and took three big deep breaths. "I'm
honored," I said. "I have to catch the train in time to be home at
three, so lunch is o.k.  if you want. I'm free from about 11:30 till
12:45. You know where Newbury street is? I can get there by 11:45 and
we can have a quickie--I mean a quickie lunch, at the Trident
bookstore. It's not too crowded on Tuesday."

"Great," he said. "I'll be there. Uh, where is the Trident? I don't
get down there too often. Do they serve lunch at a bookstore?"

"Yeah, they do. It's between Hereford Street and Mass Ave. Just up
from Tower Records."

"O.K., I'll take a cab. See you at a quarter to twelve."

"OK, see you. Bye-bye."

He mumbled something and hung up. I very carefully put the phone on
the hook. I was delighted with myself. I had enunciated clearly and
crisply. I had not sounded like a high school girl. I had just made a
lunch date with my best friend's husband. Oh, God! I pulled myself
together and started reading the notes for my next interview. I
decided it probably wouldn't ruin the kid's life if I was a little
unsettled when I prattled on about test scores. After I saw the client
I was sure he would ruin it satisfactorily without my help. What's
more, I got rid of him fifteen minutes early-- legitimately--and had
time to dive into the ladies for a minor overhaul before I had to
leave.

Lunch was unusual. For instance I had a cheese sandwich instead of the
omelette. Steve said it was so cold he'd almost rather be in
Indonesia. I said sometimes we went to Florida during the college
breaks. Hot stuff, huh? Finally, after we had finished eating and  I
had succeeded in pouring a second cup of lousy weak tea, Steve reached
out and took my hand.

"Listen," he said. "I'm no good at this. No practice. But I think
about you all the time. I have a bad case on you. What am I going to
do about it.?"

My hand was red hot. My face was kind of pink--I could tell because I
felt each blood cell as it rushed up past my neck. I was full of witty
repartee, so I said, "I don't know." Neat, huh?

Steve took a deep breath and said, "Would you consider joining me some
afternoon for a little experimenting? My company has this suite at the
Four Seasons where we put visiting VIPs, but it's usually empty. I'm
the guy with the key." He put his other hand on my knee under the
table.

My heart was going like a triphammer, whatever that is. I found that I
was answering him.

"Yes. Ten o'clock Friday morning."

 Then Steve looked like he was the one who might faint. I smiled and
reached under the table and put my hand on his. 
	
Now the next part was really romantic. He took both hands back and
dragged a little black book out of his pocket and opened it to where
there was a little ribbon. I watched, fascinated. I put one hand on
his knee just to see what happened. Nothing did.

"I'll be there before you get there. Room 607. OK?"

"Have something strong for me to drink," I said.

We got up--I left the tea--and he paid the cashier. He helped me on
with my coat and this time his hand brushed my nipple hard. My knees
didn't buckle, they just felt like the were going to. Outside the
store he took my arm, pulled me close and gave me a little tiny kiss.
He grinned. I blushed again and smiled.

"Bye, Janey," he said. "See you Friday."

He scurried off toward Mass Ave and I stood there a minute collecting
my wits. I finally started picking my way through the ice chunks
toward the scene of my helping endeavors.  All I could think of was
Room 607. Room 607. Room 607. Room 607. I got back to my office
without getting run over.

				-----------------

I succeeded in putting Room 607 out of my mind the rest of the
afternoon.  When I got home, however, I got supper, got the kids off
to do their own things, and found myself with time to think. All of a
sudden this thing was real. 

Bob was involved with some book. Normally I'd have left him alone, but
I wanted to talk to him. I still had time to call up Steve and call
the whole thing off. Did I want to? Yes, I did. No, I didn't. 

"Hey," I said, "I want to ask you something."

He looked up in a daze and said, "Sure. What's up?"

"Do you still love me?" 

He got this funny what's-she-on-about-now look he gets. I read it as
saying that I'm some kind of weirdo, probably retarded, and certainly
an emotional basket case. It's not an uncommon look. It always made me
feel weird, retarded and emotionally a basket case. Usually I sort of
dry up and drop whatever subject produced the look. I resolved to be
resolute.

He finally spoke, looking back down into the book. "Of course I love
you!  What's gotten into you?"

Nothing yet, I thought. "Well, you haven't given me a real kiss since
last summer. Occasionally you take me to bed, or, rather, once we're
already in bed you grab hold and we have sex, but you haven't really
made love to me since last summer, either. If then. Maybe I've done
something wrong, I don't know. I just want to know what's going on."

"Oh, God, Janey, nothing's going on. I just got tenure, now I've got
to produce. On top of that I'm on the Faculty Senate, as you well
know, and I have to sit on at least five committees. I'm working
harder than I did while I was in the Navy. It doesn't have anything to
do with you. I married you, and I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I know you're busy, and I know you worry a lot. But we don't have any
fun. I work, I take care of the kids, we go out now and then, but you
don't talk to me and you don't make love to me." By now I was looking
off into the distance--that is, not at him.

He put the book down, got out of his chair, came and stood alongside
me and put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Janey, I really am. I
just get so involved I never think about anything but the next
problem. And I don't think you really understand how important all
this is. I'm doing it all for you and the kids. One of the these days
I'll be a full professor and we'll have more time."

"You said that when you got your Ph.D. we'd have more time. Then you
said when you got tenure we'd have more time. Now it's when you're a
full professor. Maybe when you retire?"

"I don't know how to please you, Janey. I do my best."

"I guess you do," I said. Then I opened the book I'd brought to read
and turned away from him, sniffling a little.

"I wish I could make you happy, Janey, I just don't know what else to
do. I really do love you."

"Yeah," I said. "OK." I'd stopped sniffling. He patted me on the
shoulder and stood there a minute. Then he went back to his chair and
started reading. I closed the book and got up, saying, "I think Ill
get on the computer and check my mail."

He didn't hear me.
 
When I got back into the little room we keep the computer in I just
sat there for a while. Thinking maybe I won't cancel Steve. But I
didn't think I wanted a full-blown affair--maybe a one-morning stand?
I didn't know. I knew I was getting in over my head if I went to the
Four Seasons at all. I didn't know anything about sex except what I'd
done with Bob about 400 times and a very few others before that
weren't much. I've read a lot of books, but they weren't very helpful.
I sure as hell didn't want to end up like Emma Bovary. On the other
hand, some of the books had some scenes in them that were hotter than
anything I'd ever done. Maybe I could learn something from this. Might
as well enjoy it.

So I got to thinking maybe I'd better learn a little before I ever
went to the Four Seasons. I had two whole days. Well, minus the usual
round of stuff I had to do. I clicked on the news button and got a
page that showed me Bob was subscribed to some medieval history.
group. Show all groups, I told the damn machine. Went down the list.
Clicked on alt.sex.stories.  Ugh! Eight thousand ads. Great stuff like
"Want to see my pussy?" Actually, I didn't. Back to the news group
list. "Alt .sex.stories.moderated." Maybe it would be better. It was.
A long list. I skimmed one on some little kid getting seduced by his
mother. Ugh! Then one that said "MF, rom." Not so bad. I was getting
the hang of this thing. It was about some guy rescuing a woman who
wrecked her car in a snowstorm. Oh, yes, he rescued her all right! At
this rate I'd take a long time to find very many stories that would
teach me anything. But the snow story was sexy, so I read a couple of
others. They made me feel sexy.  Maybe I learned a few things. My God,
I couldn't believe there were so many. I got  started on one where he
was getting ready to tie her up. Not me, buster. People have some
strange tastes.

The next day I went back to the Trident at lunch and bought a little
book I'd seen on the cashier's desk the other day--The Pocket Kama
Sutra. It was more to the point. Indeed. I took it home and examined
it carefully. Nice pictures. I kept it in my pocketbook all the time.
What if I put it away and somebody found it? But what if I was in an
accident and they looked in my purse to find my name and address? This
whole thing was getting more complicated by the minute and I hadn't
even done anything. Except make a sex date with my best friend's
husband. Well, I was getting prepared, anyhow.

				---------------- 
	 
Maybe you don't understand this, I don't myself, quite, but as those two
days passed I got more excited but calmer at the same time. The decision
was made; no more thinking about that. I finally tried to look at myself
and understand what was going on and I concluded that basically, I was
just needy. Physically. The kids touched me all the time. But Bob didn't. I
wanted to be touched--thoroughly. Wrestled with by a man. OK, I was a
pathetic creature. Yes, I was being totally reckless, taking a chance on
wrecking my marriage to a good husband whose only real failing was that
he was a workaholic. So be it, I thought.

Then I started picturing what was going to happen. I had never been in
a room at the Four Seasons, so I couldn't picture the room very well.
But a bed is a bed, and I figured the room wasn't going to be squalid,
not at the prices they charge. But would it warm enough? I wear
sweaters at home all the time in the winter. I could see myself hiding
under the covers trying to keep warm while Steve scrambled around
trying to find me. And I couldn't imagine how we were going to get to
the bed. Was he going to offer me a drink and chat a while, or would
he leap on me the minute I got inside the door and poke himself in
before I got my clothes off? In the latter case, would I be ready?
Riding the train from Needham does not usually stir me to heights of
sexual anticipation. I went to Victoria's Secret and bought new
underwear--nothing fancy, just new. I stewed.

				--------------

I have this habit of getting everywhere early, but on Friday I showed
up at Room 607 at 10:20 a.m. EST. If anybody was going to stand around
waiting, it wasn't going to be me. My heart was racing. Steve opened
the door. We stood there for about ten seconds. Then he took my hand
and gently pulled me into the room. He shut the door. He turned and
took my hand again.

"Hi, Janey," he said. 

"Hi," I said. At least he hadn't thrown me on the floor and ravished
me.  Heck.

"Let me help with your coat," he said.

"Thank you," I replied, starting to shuck the gear. I was wearing a
fur hat, a wool muffler, and a beautiful white parka I didn't wear
much because it got dirty so easily. It was clean. I was so clean, top
to bottom and inside out, that I would have glowed if it had been
dark. Under the circumstances I had decided not to wear my wooly
knickers, so I was cold, but I didn't notice it because I was so hot,
if you get what I mean. We got the coat off and he put it in a little
closet by the door. I reached down and one at a time pulled off my
boots. This was not graceful, but it was necessary. I was wearing a
beige wool jersey dress that clung to me like skin with a little blue
scarf at the neck and a little gold bird pin. And a diaphram. No
shoes.

Steve came back and held out his arms, then he kind of lurched forward
and I was getting the hug of my life. I bent my head down a little and
kissed him on the lips. He kissed back, hard. I could feel his tongue
searching around so I opened my mouth a little. The tongue entered,
the hug got tighter, I opened my mouth some more and enthuiastically
tangled my tongue up with his. I started feeling the most
extraordinary bulge gouging into my belly.   
  
That kiss lasted a long time. I had my arms around Steve's neck, and
he had one arm around my waist and the other on my neck. I could feel
my nipples pushing into his chest, and I was beginning to get these
tingles between my legs. He broke it up, then put his hands on my
sides and kind of rubbed up and down. His thumbs came out and pushed
into the sides of my boobs. He looked solemn, so I smiled.

"Oh, God, I'm glad you're here," he said. "I was beginning to wonder .
. . ."

"Nice you waited," I said.

One hand came up and cupped my right boob. My knees got weak. I still
had my arms loosely around his waist. I pulled him close and kissed
him, with passion. He got my nipple between his fingers and squeezed.
It hurt a little, but it felt good. Very good. He pushed me away and
grabbed my hand.

"Come on," he said. He pulled me over toward the bedroom door and kind
of shoved me through. Once inside, standing behind me, he put each
hand on a breast and just held them there, kneading, while he nuzzled
my neck. I leaned back onto him, quietly going nuts. I could feel
myself getting very wet. I broke away, turned around to face him,
reached down and gradually pulled the dress over my head. Then I just
stood there and looked at him.

"You're beautiful," he said. If this relationship was going to be
built on lies, that was one I liked to hear.

"Take off your clothes," I said. Sometimes I like to come on strong,
like the guy in that Czech movie.
 
The trouble with me is that I see the humor in everything. Watching
him get undressed was like watching a Buster Keaton movie. It was like
a standing hundred-yard dash. He had trouble getting his jockey shorts
down over his uh, well, penis. It was standing there at present arms
ignoring everything. (I was the first woman in the Army ROTC in
college.) Clothes flew through the air. I can see myself standing
there with this little smile on my face. Once bare, he came close and
held onto me for about a tenth of a second, then started trying to
unhook my bra.

I leaned my head back enough to say, "In the front, dummy."

His hands were shaking, but he got the hook loose and slowly opened up
the bra. What isn't there in quantity doesn't sag, anyhow. He backed
off and looked at me again.

"You're beautiful," he said. I still liked it.

Then he took hold of the waistband of my pantyhose and, bending his
knees, pulled them down to my feet. I shivered--it wasn't quite as
warm as I'd hoped. Panties followed. I took one foot out of the pile
of underwear before he pushed me down onto the bed, which he had
thoughtfully turned back before I got to the hotel. He climbed in
beside me and was sucking a tittie before I realized I was horizontal.
All this seemed to be happening rather quickly, but what the hell? At
first he just pushed his tongue around and around. I could feel the
wet part getting wetter. 

Then he began actually to suck on the nipple. I thought of the little
babies I'd suckled, but it felt different. This time it was shooting
shocks of pleasure all the way to my toes. But he stopped just as I
was beginning to relax into the whole thing. He reared up and came
down on top of me. It turned out that his being shorter than I am
didn't interfere in any way at all. Seeing as how he was in this
all-fired hurry I helped him get where he wanted to be, and he quieted
down for a minute, just resting on his elbows and looking at me. His
dick (I have to call it something) was a nice size. It slid in fast
and I loved the filled up feeling it gave me. He leaned down and
kissed me. I was melting fast. Oh, my, I had him inside me and it felt
really, really good--what can I say. No words for it. Exquisite?

Then he started moving in, and out, and in, and I responded, pushing
my hips up like I was trying to unseat him, but I was just beginninng
to get that creamy feeling that women get sometimes. I was being a
good girl and helping him. He was moving fast--I don't know how long
this lasted, but it seemed like seconds when started shouting, "My,
God, I'm coming!  I'm coming." Since he was shuddering like Mt. St.
Helens, I had already figured that out. He nearly squeezed the breath
out of me. Then he toppled off like he'd been shot and landed on his
back What the hell?

He flopped back on to one side and looked at me, smiling this loopy
smile.  "How was it for you?' he said. I was flummoxed.

After a little bit, I turned my body to face him and said: "Pretty
good as far as it went."

His face went all concerned and he said, "Huh?"

I smiled. What else? Then I said, "Look, sweetie, we are having this
illicit love affair, right? I think maybe you haven't heard, but often
there's a little bit more to it than  this."

"You didn't come," he said accusingly.

"Actually, I didn't," I said, still smiling, "but that can be
rectified."

He looked a little bit more relaxed.

"What did you have in mind?"

I looked down at his exhausted-looking member (I read Victorian smut
sometimes). Then I smiled some more and said, "I want to you go way
down to the end of the bed and gently stroke my right ankle."

He looked at me like I was crazy, but I knew this time I wasn't, and
anyhow, only my husband seems to be able to make feel the way he looks
like he thinks I am.

"Your ankle?"

"Yes, please."

Dutifully he got on his knees and crawled down to my feet. He put one
hand on my ankle (the wrong one, but I didn't think it was time to
start complaining). He kind of rubbed at it.

"Gently, please," I said, sighing in what I sincerely hoped was a
voluptuous manner. 
 
He stroked gently, sometimes just with his fingernails. It felt good. Quick
learner. After a minute or so, I said, "It's OK to move up a little now and
then, just don't hurry. You could kiss me down there, if you like."

"I think I'm getting the idea," he said.

I was enjoying the strokes. "You are, " I said, "you are."

Gradually he approached my upper thigh and stroked not only the top,
but the inside. I could tell he liked that almost as much as I did
because the flagpole was not looking so much like last night's
spaghetti. There was hope.

"You might use your left hand to gently caress my breast while your
other just keeps on with what it's doing." You can see that in the
heat of passion I even split infinitives. Good thing he wasn't an
English prof.

He plopped his hand down on top of my nipple. I gently picked it up
and moved it over to the extreme edge of  titty land. "Right here,
first, then approach gently."

I have to admit that I was getting a little impatient for more action,
but I am a dedicated teacher, and what he was doing he was learning to
do quite well. I wasn't cold.

"Kiss me now," I said. And he did. Gently. Then, all on his own, he
started kissing my forehead, and cheeks, and ears. Oh, a very good
pupil.

I reached up finally, put my arm around his neck, and pulled him down
for a long, involved, tongue-twisting, wow of a kiss. I reached down
while this was still going on and felt for Roger. Roger was turning
into a little soldier again. When the kiss broke, I smiled langorously
and said, "May I call him Roger?"

"I don't care of you call him Ephraim," Steve said, "as long as you
keep your hand right there."

Steve stopped stock still while I gently fingered his Roger, stroking
every so softly right under the little slash. Roger responded
beautifully. Then, reluctantly releasing my new little friend, I
gently pulled Steve's head down to my neck

"Kiss me there," I said. "I like Roger, but I need my hand. I won't
forget him."

He did, and all this was beginning to affect deeply what I had just
discovered was my little Earlene. "Continue downward, please, but not
too fast."

He got down into the valley between my breasts, and I began to shiver
just a little. Not the cold. Then he kissed the right nipple, then the
left. He lingered there and once more sent big shivers down toward my
toes. This was getting really exciting, and I liked it a whole lot. I
was beginning to love Steve just a little. I wasn't "in love," but I
was sure loving what this guy was doing.

"Take your time," I said, "but feel free to go further down."

He took his time. Maybe just a bit too much, but  you can't nitpick
when a good pupil is doing reasonably well.

When he got down to my mound he stuck his nose in my pubic hair and
just wiggled it back and forth. I jumped. It tickled.

"I love your enthusiasm," I said, 'but remember--be gentle." Tickled
or not, I found my legs slowly opening up.

Then I felt his tongue, just on the edge of Earlene's little lips, and
that turned me on--a lot. I kind of squirmed. He looked up and smiled
beautifully. Then he went back to work. He kind of brushed over the
significant part a couple of times without stopping. "Easy," I said,
"You might pay a little extra attention to the hard little nub down
there." He did.  He kept that up for a nice little while, even sucking
on little Earlene until I found myself  practically hyperventilating.

"Goddamn it, get in there!" I shouted. He complied. Now he was the one
getting the breath squeezed out of him. He was so spooked he kept
trying to be gentle, so I said, "Stop being so gentle! Screw me!." He
had the nerve to look me right in the face and laugh.

I felt the orgasm coming. I was meeting him halfway and we were going
like bunny rabbits. (Sometimes in the heat of passion I get trite.)
It felt like a train was coming. I had time to think, "Oh, God,
Freud!" before it hit me, but when it did I didn't think anything at
all except maybe something like, "Whee!" Now I was the one shuddering
and bucking and digging my nails into his back and generally having a
hell of a time. Great gusts of  tingling pleasure swept through me,
radiating from that little place between my legs. I found myself
shouting, "Yes, yes!" as if I were watching a fencing bout. 

It took a long time for me to come down. I wasn't there yet when he
came, too, and it was all a big fracas. I was getting wrestled with
just like I'd wanted.

This time instead of rolling off he stayed on top and ol' Roger just
quietly melted away. 

Finally I gave him a shove and he moved up tight alongside me. I
lifted my head and he put his arm under my neck. It was cozy.

"Thank you," I said, turning my head to look at him. "Was it worth the
effort?"

"I'm speechless," he said. "I've never had an experience anywhere near
this. You are not only beautiful, you are remarkable and wonderful."

"Learned it all out of a book," I said.

					-------------


We did this caper twice more, on the following Tuesday and Friday.
Then, right at the end of January, I got this call from Beth. She
didn't waste time.

"What the hell did you do to my husband?" she screamed. I held the
receiver away from my ear a little, and started to talk.

"Well, you told me to encourage him, so I did. Turned out he didn't
need too much encouragement."

"Listen," Beth said. "I don't mind your taking him to bed at all,
that's fine.  But he's gotten so gentle, so slow! He wants foreplay,
for God's sake! I married this he-man wham-bam-thank-you-mam guy and
you turned him into a pussy!"

"I'm sorry," I said in a little voice, once more gobsmacked. "I just
taught him a few little things I needed him to know."

"Oh, I guess it's all right," she said. "I can retrain him, and maybe
I'll get old and like it your way. But the way he is now I'm afraid
he'll want to move to Cambridge and read poetry!"

"Maybe he could teach you something?" I said.

"Huh," she said. "I know about fifty times as much as you do about sex
and I also know what I like, so you leave him alone."

"Yes, ma'am." I said in my little girl voice.

When she heard that she started laughing and wound up asking me if I'd
like to go to the Four Seasons for lunch.

"Oh, I don't think I'd like that," I simpered. "That place is so full
of memories."

She laughed again and we agreed to go back to the Trident.

				----------

On the night of February 1 I was sitting there reading a romance about
some dim woman travelling through time to meet her six-foot-Scottish
lover when I was astonished to hear Bob say, "Hey, I want to talk to
you."

I looked up and there he was, looking pained. Oh, my, I thought
retribution time. "Sure," I said. "Talk away."

"Well, I'm ashamed to tell you this, and it's taken me two days to
work up the nerve."

I got up, went over to his chair and sat in his lap, feeling ever so
much more cheerful. Whatever it was, it wasn't the irate husband bit.

"Tell Mama," I said. "I love you and I stand by my man no matter
what."

"I've been sleeping with Beth," he said, looking down into my lap.

"How was she?" I asked.

He looked shocked.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, on a scale of one to ten, how do you rate her as a bed
partner?"

Now, Bob is six-feet-three, and when I sit on his lap he can look
right into my face, unlike others who shall remain nameless. So he
looked at me, and I could see relief sneaking into his eyes. But
puzzlement was right there with it.

"I never thought about that when I decided to tell you," he said, "and
I haven't much to go on, but . . . compared to most people I'd give
her about a seven, and compared to you a zero."

"Well, Bob was certainly no more than a two when I started with him,
but he's easily an eight now."

If he'd been sitting in my lap, he'd have fallen out. But I had him
pinned.

"Do you mean what I think you mean?"

"Yep."

"Oh, God, what a mess!"

"No, I don't think so," I said. "We can just forget all about this.
We're both terrible unfaithful people, but I still love you." All of a
sudden I panicked.  "You haven't fallen in love, have you?" 

"No, no, no! All I want now is out. She's eating me alive. And
besides, I really love you and always have and always will."

"That's the nicest thing you've said to me in at least a year," I
said. "I guess I'll call her up and thank her."

Bob hugged me like he hadn't in years, and he cried a little, almost.
I could see the tears in his eyes.

"OK," he said. "We forget about it."

"Wait a minute," I said, "I have one more question: Where did you go
for these get-togethers?"

"The Park Plaza, why?"

"Oh, goodie!" I said, bouncing up and down and nearly crushing the
poor man. "The Four Seasons is much better!"

				--------------------

Next time I ate lunch with Beth she said she had a confession to make.

"You see," she said, "I really love you to death, I wouldn't hurt you
for the world. So when I got this yen for Bob, I knew I had to handle
it just right.  So I invented a crush for ol' Steve, and with your
help he promptly got one. I knew you were ripe, anyway. That way, when
you found out what I was doing with Bob, you wouldn't be all that
upset."

"Well, shit!" I said. Then I ate some more raisins.

				--------------



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