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HEART E sucked and licked her left nipple
"Heart Ball 17-19" (mf pett rom MF cons m-solo f-solo toys)
Heart Ball
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
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, 2002, 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
anon584c@nyx.net
Chapter 17
Steve took two "lunches" with him in his backpack Wednesday
morning. Another student was talking to Mrs. Foster in the hall,
but he and Shannon had both taken their seats already. He turned
towards her and mouthed "I love you." She smiled at him just
before the bell rang. Then Mrs. Foster came in, and they had to
talk about library research.
They exchanged disks at lunch. Some of her friends joined their
table, but they were more friendly to him than they had been
before. He knew his glumness wasn't helping Shannon, but he
didn't want to tell her about the problems with the motel -- not
that he could mention a motel in present company -- until it was
in the past. What if Mr. Jensen wouldn't give him the money?
- = -
Roger was due home for a late lunch. Rachel took off her bra and
inserted the diaphragm during a pause in lunch preparation. She
had the table set when Roger walked in the back door. They
kissed.
"Mmm," he said, touching her through the blouse.
"Lunch first." She thought of the meatloaf warming in the oven.
It would dry out in ten more minutes, much less a pause long
enough for lovemaking. Besides, this was his last day at home
for nearly a week, and Steve was out of the way for hours; she
didn't want a quickie.
They sat opposite each other in the kitchen. Occasionally, his
ankle rubbed up her calf. Two could play that game, and her
shoes were easier to remove. They quickly put their dishes in
the dishwasher, working together with the benefit of years of
practice.
"Save room for dessert?" she asked, heading barefoot into their
bedroom.
"Dessert? What's for dessert?"
"I am."
"I always have room for that." He was working on her clothes by
this time. She started on his. Still, he was wearing an awful
lot of them. When he got her blouse unbuttoned, she broke to
take it off and hang it up. He took the time to remove his own
shirt and undershirt. He pulled her against him for the first
kiss with his skin warming hers. She felt his hands grip her
bottom cheeks and his erection press the zipper of his trousers
against her belly.
He felt her nipples against his chest. He'd never doubted she
wanted this; the flirting over lunch had only confirmed their
pattern before his trips. Still, the evidence was welcome. And
the actual feel aroused him. He licked her lips. Her tongue
welcomed his. Her buttocks flexed under his clasping hands.
Rachel fan her hands up and down her husband's back. She did
enjoy the feel of skin. Then she pushed him back. Long married,
she knew better than to attack his trousers before his shoes were
off. He sat down on the bed and she knelt to untie his shoes.
He ran his nails very lightly over her back while she did this.
She pulled off his shoes and then the socks one after the other.
She pushed herself up with a hand on his thigh. He stood to kiss
her again. He smoothed his hands upwards, stepping back to get
access to her breasts. She stood looking at his face and
enjoying the sensations of his playing with her breasts. When he
bent to kiss them, she pulled his face against her. Then her
hands strayed to his belt. He didn't straighten until his
trousers had puddled around his ankles.
Then he unbuttoned the waist of her skirt and pulled down the
zipper. He was in his jockey shorts, but she was completely
naked. "Dessert," he said. He stepped forward, leaving his
trousers lying on the floor and bending his right leg between
hers. He pulled her against him in a tight hug. When he
straightened, he was holding her up off the floor. Her thighs
clasped his thigh tightly, and her weight pressed all her
sensitive parts against his leg. She enjoyed the rubbing that
generated as he took the few steps to the bed.
He kissed her forehead. "Dessert," he said. He lowered her to
the bed and kissed her nipple. "Dessert." He kissed a line down
that and up the other. Then he kissed down her belly. He
kissed an elaborate circle all around her navel, then thrust his
tongue into it. When she writhed at that tickle, he kissed
further down.
He spared only one close-mouthed kiss for her mound. His
attention to her thighs, in contrast, were wet and seemed to go
on forever. Finally, she tugged his hair until his mouth was
where she needed it.
He parted her outer lips with his thumbs. He licked up the edge
of her inner ones. The taste was delightful. He licked harder
and was rewarded with more of her fluid. Only the tip of his
tongue touched her clitoris, and that was as gentle as he could
make it. Still, she shivered.
He lifted his head to say "real dessert." He kissed her thighs
again, slowly zeroing in on her lips. She spread her legs,
wanting him at her center *now*, knowing that his slowness would
ultimately enhance her pleasure. She hadn't wanted a quickie,
but Roger's schedule might drive her crazy.
Finally, his tongue licked between her lips again. He tasted one
side, and then the other. He moved his arms upwards until his
hands could reach her breasts. He cupped each with a
hand, taking the nipples between thumb and forefinger in each
case. He timed it so that he squeezed her nipples very gently
just when his tongue reached her clitoris.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Yesss!"
Rachel was slightly puzzled that Roger wasn't using his finger
yet. She stopped thinking, however, about what he was doing --
much less what he was not doing -- to enjoy the sensations that
were coming her way. She was burning hot in the cool room.
There was a fire in her belly, a hotter fire between her legs.
That fire flared through her body, controlling it, moving it.
He enjoyed her writhing under his face and within his arms. When
she convulsed, he clamped his open mouth over the top of her
genitals and inhaled. Still sucking, he closed his lips slowly
until they were on either side of her clitoris.
The fire consumed her utterly. When it left, it took her with
it.
The tense, writhing, body under him suddenly went limp. Roger
abandoned all contact except to lie with his face on her mound.
She gasped under him; he gasped over her. His deep breaths
brought the aroma of her arousal through his nose. Minutes
later, he moved up in the bed beside her. He hugged her gently,
being careful that he was neither touching the sensitive parts
nor interfering with her breathing.
When Rachel came back, she felt Roger lying against one side and
his hand on her other shoulder. She was contained in his arms,
and in his love. She reached up and squeezed the hand on her
shoulder.
"I love you," he said. "I'm sorry I have to go away." Well, he
had to.
"I'm not sure I could survive another few days of that."
"'Of that!' Woman, we haven't begun."
"Well, I'll die happy."
He kissed first her shoulder, then her face, then her mouth. By
the time he broke that kiss, she was out of breath again. He
kissed a slow trail down her neck towards her breasts. While he
sucked and licked her left nipple, his hand strayed between her
thighs. He kissed a trail over to her right nipple while his
hand was massaging her mound.
She was expecting his entry soon, but his kisses went lower
again. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Getting another helping of dessert."
But the sweetness was all hers to taste. He licked the insides
of her thighs, then her inner lips. When he stopped short of her
clitoris, she spread her legs and lifted herself towards his
tongue. His fingers entered her. *That* was what she had been
missing.
Roger rubbed over the top of her tunnel until he felt the little
bump which was her most sensitive point. He kept the pads of two
fingers there while moving the fingers in and out
microscopically.
"Ah," she said very softly. Ten years of murmuring into
telephones and nearly twenty of keeping her voice low to avoid
the kids' ears had trained her voice. Still, he knew her
responses. Inaudible outside their bedroom, that exclamation
told him that she was very close. He reached one hand up to
touch a nipple. He licked her clitoris as lightly as possible.
He pressed upwards with one enclosed finger, and then the other.
"Oh!" she gasped. She writhed under his arm and his face. Then
her tunnel clenched at his fingers. Again, and yet again, she
clenched him. When a spasm ran through her, he stopped all
motion. As she relaxed back against the mattress, he removed his
hands.
He moved up the bed beside her. He kissed her panting frame. "I
love you," he said. "I loved my dessert."
"You too," she managed to get out. While they lay there, he
occasionally kissed her shoulder or forehead. When her energy
returned she kissed him. He on her tongue, and then broke
the kiss. He kissed down her neck and shoulder. He spent lots
of time on both before he got to her left nipple. The
gentle suction aroused her. When he kissed down that and
up the right one, his hand went to her mound. After the last
one, she'd felt that she had been satisfied for days, weeks,
maybe the rest of her life. Now, she wanted more of his hand.
She wanted him, really, but she'd learned to wait.
Finally, she couldn't wait any more. He was kneeling between her
legs and on her breast. She tugged at his shoulders.
He was loving her response, and loving the taste of her nipple.
When he felt the pull on his shoulders, he abandoned her
for her mouth. Her tongue met his outside her lips. He covered
it, explored her mouth. He felt her hand on his cock. He moved
his own hand out of the way as she pulled him into her.
She was smooth, and warm, and running with liquid. She let go
when he passed within her gates. He pressed forward until he was
totally contained. Her hands gripped his butt. He moved his to
cuddle her breasts. Her nipples, still firm, pressed into his
palms. He rubbed over them, exciting them both.
When she rested her feet on his calves, he began the in-and-
out motion. He tried to move slowly, but she pulled his
buttcheeks whenever he was going in. They sped. When he felt
her convulse around him, that triggered his response. He slammed
into her and erupted. They lay together panting for minutes.
He fell to her right and hugged her. She turned on her side and
pressed into his lap. They must have dozed like that. He woke
chilly everywhere he wasn't touching her. He got off the bed and
pulled the covers up over her.
When he had finished his shower, she was awake. She watched him
dress without getting up. He checked his wallet the last thing.
"Spare any money?" he asked.
"Sure. Leave me the singles." He took her wallet out of her
purse and took a ten and a five out of the wallet. He put the
wallet back down beside the purse.
After he had dressed in outdoor wear, he picked up his suitcase.
She followed him to the kitchen doorway. The windows onto the
back lot were uncovered. He set down the suitcase and hugged
her. His hands traveled over her naked back. "Love you," he
said. "I'll try to drive back Friday night."
"Love *you*. Have a safe trip. Come home if you can, but don't
take risks."
He picked up the suitcase and went out the door. She waited
until the sound of the Jeep had merged with the other traffic
sounds. Then she shivered and ran back to the bedroom. She
crawled back into bed.
Chapter 18
Shannon spoke with Steve for a few minutes between the end of
homeroom and the beginning of the committee meeting. He was
obviously distracted. Was he tired of their relationship,
limited as it clearly was? Was he developing an interest in
another girl? She couldn't tell, and -- short of blurting out
the question -- she couldn't think of any way of finding out.
"I've got to get to the bank before it closes," he said. "I
still haven't gotten my money for the next two weeks." He left
without touching her. Of course, this was school; he wasn't
allowed to touch her. Still, she couldn't tell whether he wanted
to.
She spent the meeting with her hands busy cutting out hearts and
her ears and mouth attending to other matters. Still, this was
less fun than the earlier ones had been. She was careful to
finish up the hearts she had been working on; this was her last
meeting before Saturday. The kids around her talked of the
coming dance and their coming dates. She knew she wasn't going
to the dance; what she didn't know was whether she would have a
date.
Walking home, she started to feel that the grounding her in
ways she hadn't realized before. It seemed to her that it had
been a contest up to then: her had kept her from having
fun, and she had caused them as much trouble as she thought she
could get away with. They had ruined her business after she'd
put so much work into it, but that was a business that wouldn't
have lasted after September anyway. Now, though, she had to deal
with Steve in privacy. And she didn't have any privacy, nor any
chance to get any. Well, not until Saturday, anyway.
She was a little surprised about her feelings. Usually, when
people didn't like her, she *really* didn't like them. Steve, if
he was getting tired of her, she still liked. For that matter,
she had been saying no to Steve for an awfully long time.
Recently, of course, it hadn't been her no; it had been her
parents'. Still, she thought back to the summer when she'd
pulled her shorts up. He'd been saying that she was beautiful --
she'd treasured his expression. Why had she cut it short?
She would need to read his letter; maybe he was worried about
something else. She remembered his problems when she'd got her
period. That had had nothing to do with him, but he'd taken it
personally.
When she got home, however, her was there and wanted to
supervise Shannon's cooking immediately. She didn't get to read
Steve's letter for hours. Almost as bad, she had to all
her anger about that. Shannon *had* to talk to Steve Saturday;
so her *had* to let her go; so she *had* to follow the rules
as they were invented minute by minute.
- = -
The part of "Romeo and Juliet" that had resonated most with
Steve was the speech about "parting is such sweet sorrow."
Usually he didn't want to leave Shannon for any reason. Even
when he left her arms to go to the john for a little relief, he
had left reluctantly. Parting at the end of class or lunch
period was worse and parting at the end of school was usually
much worse. Usually.
Today, however, he wanted to get to the bank. He wanted to get a
lot closer to Shannon than school rules allowed, and that was
likely to cost money. Not having enough money to pay the motel
and to pay for daily expenses was worse in a way than not having
enough money to pay for the motel at all. How long could he get
away with buying nothing in the cafeteria? A lot longer than he
could get away with not buying gas, probably.
But, damn it, not telling Shannon was worse. He kept talking
about, and writing e-mails about, being to her. Well,
married people talked about their money. He saw that at home
often enough. When people got as as his and
stopped having sex, that is what they did share. He wanted a
life with Shannon. That meant that he wanted a life sharing with
Shannon.
Besides, when her dad put her on a budget, she had shared with
him. She'd been a little surprised at where Steve came down on
that one, but she had told him about it. Well, Steve would share
with her. Besides, if Mr. Jensen came through, it would be
because of what Shannon had done. She would deserve to know it.
When Steve came into the bank, however, Mr. Jensen wasn't at a
teller's window. Steve couldn't see him anywhere. After
looking around a bit, Steve approached the woman at the reception
desk.
"Is it possible to see Mr. Jensen?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, he isn't in today."
"Will he be in tomorrow?" If so, how was he going to get the
afternoon off? He could cut class. Telling his that he
would need to stay after school another day would raise all sorts
of questions. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to do things like
that, it was that he needed a good explanation. It was, frankly,
that his dad and were nosy.
"Not for the rest of the week." The answer was in a frosty tone.
He was a customer, but she was an adult. "If you have bank
business, there are plenty of other tellers who can help you."
"Well, I have bank business. Otherwise I wouldn't come in. But
I also know his baby. His elder daughter, really, Amy. I wanted
to ask how she was doing."
"Oh!" the woman's tone was much warmer. "That's why he took a
vacation at this time of year. They're at the Mayo clinic with
Amy. They think that the clinic can help her greatly."
"Thanks. I'll tell my girlfriend. She's Amy's babysitter.
Well, I still have bank business to do. Thanks."
"You're quite welcome. Is that how you know Amy?"
"Yeah. I had to drive her to the hospital once." Steve saw that
the teller who had already turned him down once was free. He
walked over to the line slowly enough that another customer got
her. Then another teller was free.
He handed across the check and a deposit slip asking for $120
back. He could use more, but that was the least he could get by
on. "I'm sorry, sir," the said "but this account requires
two signatures for a withdrawal."
He'd had this conversation before. "This is a deposit."
"So it is. And I can accept the check as a deposit easily. But
I couldn't give you that much money back. The money you get back
is the same as a withdrawal."
He had already made out the other deposit ticket. The teller
gave him a funny look, but she counted out the seventy-five
dollars back. Now, all he had to do was go two weeks on fifteen
dollars.
The hell of it was that he could have done it if he'd saved up
cash in his drawer (he had saved up in his bank account) for a
few months.
- = -
Shannon got a break after the preparation for dinner. She rushed
to her room. Steve might prefer to tell her goodbye in an e-
mail. He certainly wouldn't tell her in school. Was this his
goodbye? Had she said no too often to him. The letter didn't
really say. And there was a fantasy.
>> I'm glad that you liked my gifts,
She read. Maybe he'd figured out that she was already costing
him too much. Still, she hadn't asked for them. She hadn't even
thought of the brownies.
>> although I'm sorry that they were all you got this year.
>> I've told you before. I'm on your side. Sometimes, I think
>> you might have made the wrong decision (not about this, about
>> other things long ago.) but that doesn't mean that I'm on the
>> side of people against you.
Well, that didn't sound like he was thinking of leaving her.
About his stories, he'd written:
>> Well, these are my fantasies. I don't say that you should wear
>> your wedding dress on our honeymoon. I just have it in the
>> story. As to the blue panties, what is wrong with a blue
>> garter? Or something?
She hadn't said she *wouldn't* wear white panties. Some things
were her choice, but she could be reasonable. If white
were important to him, and if he could hold back so she could wear
a white dress, she could wear white panties, too. They weren't
important to her.
>> See the story.
And she did.
>> Slowly, he undressed her until she stood before him in her
>> last garment. It was a pair of white panties. He kissed her
>> ardently and eased her down on the bed.
The went on and on. Finally, it got to the critical part.
>> He raised himself up to look her in the eyes. "I love you,"
>> he said.
That was wonderful.
>> He entered her with one forceful shove. She felt him fill her
>> up.
That wasn't.
She had been grabbed once, thank you. And however personally
she had taken it, it had been a good deal less personal than a
"forceful shove" would be just then -- and just there. Steve had
been patient. Steve had been gentle. That was one of the things
she liked about Steve. Maybe he was coming to the end of his
patience, but right at that time?
And a fantasy, too. She might have understood his losing his
cool just at the wrong time. She might even have forgiven him,
maybe. But in writing out a fantasy? In cold blood, describing
it as a forceful shove.
Then her dad arrived downstairs. She took out the disk and
turned off the machine.
- = -
"At the end of tonight," Steve pointed out to Mr. Hauksbee during
a quiet time, "you'll owe me about half of the next paycheck,
right."
Hauksbee just looked at him with an eyebrow crooked up. "Could
you advance me some of that in cash," Steve asked, "say fifty
bucks?"
"Well, maybe I could. But I won't! You knew the pay and
conditions when you hired on."
"I'm not objecting to the pay and conditions. I do the work --
you know I do. I'm just having a little trouble getting the
money out of the bank."
"Your pay is an expense. If I started paying in cash, Uncle Sam
might just audit me. Look, I'm not your parent. If you're
having money problems, go to your parents." If Steve did, of
course, his would want to know what he wanted the money
for.
That night, his picked him up at the store. She stopped at
the gas station on her way home. "Look," she said after the gas
was already pumping, "I seem to have forgotten my wallet. Can
you pay for the gas? You did stop at the bank, didn't you?"
"Yes." Fat lot of good it had done him.
"Well, could we settle up your car expenses when we get home?
You are a couple days late on paying them. No sweat! I haven't
hounded you and I'm not going to start. It's just that I may be
a little short of cash. Your took mine, and I didn't get
to the bank. Could we settle up when you get home? Want to
drive?" They changed places.
After he'd paid for the gas, he only owed her $8.23. She didn't
even charge him the mileage for that night's trip. With the money
he'd stashed in the back of the drawer, he now had $73.26. The
cheapest motel cost $57, and he thought -- on admittedly
inadequate evidence -- that "cheap" was a good word for that
motel.
If he had to fill the tank once in the next two weeks, he
wouldn't be able to afford to. And every time he stopped for
gas, he filled the tank. He didn't have to, but his would
wonder why he hadn't. And she had come to depend on him for
filling the tank; that's why he had owed her so little this time.
There were eight school days until his next payday -- that day
was off -- and four work days. But that gas could be paid out of
his next check, and he didn't *have* to eat school lunches; he
didn't even have to buy desserts.
He'd made fun of Shannon's spendthrift ways, but he didn't really
have many places he could cut back. He could make it, maybe.
Still, he needed to be honest with Shannon.
> Darling
he wrote,
> I have good news and bad news.
> First, the good news. They've taken Amy to the Mayo clinic.
> According to a woman at the bank, they think that she'll be
> much better when she gets back.
> The bad news concerns the motel. I have enough cash to pay
> for it, but that will leave me short until the next pay. I
> wouldn't bother you with that EXCEPT that if I run out, my
> will want to know why. IF I run out, and I'll try not to, and
> IF she asks why, I'll make up something.
> Still, you should know that the secret is a lot less safe than
> I would like it to be.
> Pray for snow. I hate to say that, Dad would probably try to
> drive home through it.
Having written that, he opened up her letter. It was a fairly
short one.
>> I think I'll be able to get out Saturday.
He read. That news was great, just not as great as it would have
been a day or two earlier.
>> says that it's a matter of being nice to her and Dad.
>> Which means that they can pull the plug any time they want,
>> but they always could. Look what they did over your visits.
>> Anyway, I'll be on my best behavior. Whatever I think up, I
>> won't try 'til Sunday. For that matter, I'm getting tired of
>> this grounding. I just might give them whatever they want.
That would be a smart idea. He just couldn't tell Shannon that.
If he counseled surrender, which was the only sensible counsel by
now, she would take it as HIS surrender. And, while he certainly
missed his times with her, she was the one suffering.
>> If I can figure out what that is.
>> Anyway, I'm on for Saturday. Wherever we can be.
Which meant that she would join him in the motel if he couldn't
guarantee that his dad would be gone. For that matter, she would
join him in this house. Would she come to this room? He
pictured it, pictured her sitting here in his lap. He had things
to do before he could complete that picture.
>> The was nice. I've told you before,
>> that you don't have to tell only about a
>> couple.
Did that mean what he thought it meant? How far would she go?
No, that wasn't what she'd said. Still....
>> Shannon loves Steve, too.
>> Oh how I love you.
> I love you,
he wrote.
> I really love you.
Then he got to the less important stuff.
> You might want to reconsider Saturday because of what I told
> you above. It's your risk, so it's your decision. But I *do*
> want to get together with you. Not just in school. And I
> can't see another time.
Did that sound like he was only interested in petting? Well,
yes. And it wasn't the *only* thing he was interested in. But
he couldn't think of another way to say it.
> Wouldn't Ken be surprised if we end up actually decorating the
> gym?
> Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love you.
He did something on his homework, but his heart wasn't in it.
He stroked himself in the shower thinking of Shannon in a motel
room, Shannon undressing, Shannon allowing him to touch her.
There he stopped.
In bed, though, he pictured Shannon in that very room, in that
very bed. He pictured her allowing him to remove her clothes,
pictured her allowing his hands to roam over her, pictured her
hands roaming over him. On that thought, he erupted.
He tossed the Kleenex towards the wastebasket, turned over, and
was soon asleep.
- = -
Shannon reread Steve's letter when she awoke to the sound of the
radio, the radio he had bought for her, the radio she hadn't paid
him for yet.
The letter didn't really *sound* like he wanted to dump her. It
didn't sound like he was looking at another girl. And, if he was
picturing "one forceful shove" into another girl, good for
Shannon.
Still, she had decided that she'd said no to him enough times.
She would be gentle this time.
> I love your fantasies, you know I do.
she wrote.
> One thing I love about them is that I can the two of
> us in the you tell.
> I can us as a long-married couple making love after
> putting up the for our child's first Christmas.
> I can't you with that "one forceful shove." *My*
> fantasies are always fantasies of your being gentle.
> I certainly can't see *me* involved like that.
> As far as white go. It's your fantasy. We have
> *MANY* steps before these are our reality, we've talked about
> that.
She went back and changed "steps" to "blocks."
> We have
> *MANY* blocks to overcome before these are our reality, we've
> talked about that. But that isn't one of them.
> So, if you want white in your fantasy, or a bride
> going to the hotel room in her wedding dress, go ahead.
> I find those fantasies you write exciting, too.
> And if you want the white in our reality, just ask.
> The wedding dress worn after the reception might be a good
> deal harder to arrange. And, of course, getting any wedding,
> let alone the dress, would be harder yet.
> Still, *I* am not saying no to you. I'm just pointing out the
> ways your fantasies don't go along with reality.
She reread the letter. It did sound like she was saying yes to
sex with him, and she didn't want to sound like that. On the
other hand, she had said no to him quite enough times, and she
had to say no one more time about the shove.
For that matter, she didn't want to say yes to sex with him --
not in an e-mail, certainly. But she didn't want to say no to
it, either. She might have said no to him too often, but she
deserved some persuasion for the ultimate yes.
And her and dad hadn't left her any friends. And they had
punished her for doing what everybody did. So, if Steve insisted
that they go all the way, that was the price she'd have to pay
to keep the one friend she had left. But no forceful shoves.
And, schoolwork almost ignored, Shannon returned to bed to
picture Steve being very gentle. Gently, he caressed her;
gently, he kissed her; gently, just before her finger brought the
climax, he entered her.
- = -
When Shannon got to her locker before the first period class,
Steve was there. He handed her the disk with his letter. "This
contains good news and bad news," he said. "The good news is
that Amy is at the Mayo clinic. Her took her there.
They really think they can help her. I don't know any more than
that."
"And the bad news?"
"It's in there. It's too long to tell."
So she figured that he'd grown tired of her. Still, he walked
with her to class. Mrs. Foster went on and *on* in class.
Luckily, she asked almost no questions, and none of those were
directed towards Shannon. Shannon would almost certainly have
noticed if she had.
She spent the next few periods worrying. What was Steve doing?
If he really liked another now, he shouldn't be waiting at
Shannon's locker. How would he behave at lunch? How should she
behave at lunch? Luckily, it was Tammy's birthday celebration.
She sat with her friends; he sat with his friends.
- = -
Steve was almost relieved when Shannon went to a table of all
girls. He didn't know what to say to her until she'd read his
message. What would he do if she decided not to go with him on
Saturday? He shouldn't have told her. On the other hand, if she
went with him and they were discovered, that would be the end.
In the best of all possible worlds, she would go with him in
spite of the danger. In the best of all possible worlds, he'd
have enough money.
He ate the meal he'd brought from home. He got neither a soft
drink to eat with it nor a dessert to eat afterwards. It was
possible to eat that way, if not terribly pleasant.
Just before the end of the lunch period, he went over to
Shannon's table to pick up her tray. "Thanks, Steve," she said.
It was almost as if she hadn't expected it. Maybe she was
talking so the other girls, or some particular other girl, would
notice. did that a lot. It seemed to Steve that they
didn't have friends, they had rivals. Still, he liked people to
know that he was her boyfriend, too. Maybe after she read the
note, she wouldn't want the relationship known. Not really, it
wasn't as if it was his fault.
- = -
After Steve had gone with her tray, Shannon tried to figure out
where they stood. He clearly hadn't dumped her. Maybe that was
in the letter. Still, if he was seeing another girl, that
wouldn't like Steve paying attention to Shannon. Just perhaps
the felt pity because of Shannon's grounding.
Really, Steve was hurting himself by breaking up with her now.
She would have gone all the way with him on Saturday, really she
would have. And he had given her that expensive gift.
She spent the rest of the day stewing over his behavior. Her
mom would have been overjoyed to see the way she rushed home
through the falling snow. Her wasn't home to see, though.
Shannon ran up the stairs to her room and locked the door. She
popped the disk into the computer.
The bad news wasn't about his having found a new girlfriend,
although his willingness to give up the motel was suspicious.
There he had a chance to go all the way, and he told her she
could back out. At this point, her came in the door and
called her downstairs. She took only enough time to hide the
disk.
She cooked the dinner and set the table. When they were done
eating, she hurried to load the dishwasher. Then she went back
upstairs to her "homework." She ignored her actual school
assignments, though. Her only priority was reading Steve's
letter again.
>> Darling
>> I have good news and bad news.
>> First, the good news. They've taken Amy to the Mayo clinic.
>> According to a woman at the bank, they think that she'll be
>> much better when she gets back.
Okay, she could deal with that. She needed to contact somebody.
Mr. Jensen's was the best bet. Either her or Miss Olson.
No, Miss Olson had told her not to ask. Mr. Jensen's was
named Foster. There were only a million Fosters in the phone
book. She certainly couldn't call them all, maybe not even one;
leave that to Steve.
Would he do it for her? Well, sure. The rest of the letter
didn't sound like he had decided to break up. It was more like
he was getting tired of her.
>> The bad news concerns the motel. I have enough cash to pay
>> for it, but that will leave me short until the next pay. I
>> wouldn't bother you with that EXCEPT that if I run out, my
>> will want to know why. IF I run out, and I'll try not to, and
>> IF she asks why, I'll make up something.
All this was silly. She had money; Mr. Jensen had paid her a
hundred dollars. For that matter, she'd told Steve. Or maybe
she hadn't. Even if he was tiring of her, she loved what he
could do to her feelings. They should go to the motel.
>> Still, you should know that the secret is a lot less safe than
>> I would like it to be.
So it was worth paying so that she could be sure that everybody
wouldn't find out. His had sounded cool, but that might
be only their mood right then. Parents' moods could change; look
at her parents. Anyway, she remembered what had happened with
Mr. Jensen. He'd told her because he had good news; he'd
been sure that her would be happy to learn that Steve wasn't
in trouble.
>> I love you,
>> I really love you.
Which didn't sound like he was tiring of her. Certainly, it
wasn't something he'd say -- hell! he'd written it down -- if he
had another in mind.
>> You might want to reconsider Saturday because of
>> what I told you above. It's your risk, so it's
>> your decision. But I *do* want to get together
>> with you. Not just in school. And I can't see
>> another time.
>> Wouldn't Ken be surprised if we end up actually
>> decorating the gym?
That was a thought. It would take care of her mom's suspicions,
that was for sure. But she hadn't had Steve's hands on her for
the longest time. She could bring herself off, but it wasn't the
same.
>> Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love
>> you.
That sounded a little better. And her "friends" would have been
sure to tell her the news if he was paying attention to another
girl. Secret admirers weren't in style. She could sneak off
with Steve, but that relationship wasn't secret. The details
might be, but he danced with her and took her tray back to the
dishwasher in front of half their class in the cafeteria.
But, and this was a big but, he hadn't included a fantasy.
Still, it took something to write "I love you." He had sexual
fantasies about Jennifer Lopez. She wasn't supposed to know
that, but she didn't mind.
Whatever. She wanted the date. Maybe she wouldn't take the
last step, since he was tiring of her. Maybe she would. She was
a bad now; since she was having the punishment, she might as
well have the fun.
At this point, she went back to the homework. She'd write him
after her were asleep.
- = -
Steve missed the bus to go to the committee meeting. It finished
up some bits and moved all their material to the gym. They broke
up early with nothing to do the next day.
There were two inches of snow on the walks when he got home.
Since it was still coming down, he was in no hurry to shovel.
Still, the more he got now, the less he would have to deal with
later. At least, the wind wasn't bad; there was nothing worse
than shoveling a walk clear and then having the wind fill it up
again.
Before he could go out, however, his handed him mail for
him. the envelope was from IIT. "They said no," he said after
he had opened it and read it. He handed her the letter.
"It isn't quite 'no,' dear. You've been put on a waiting list.
If all the they've admitted die off in a smallpox epidemic,
they'll take you. I must say that you're displaying remarkable
equanimity."
"I'm devastated, okay? Smallpox epidemics are quite rare this
century. I think I should write the U of I."
"I think you should, too. I must say that you *look* remarkably
undevastated."
"The U of I has a great engineering school."
"And they have places for education majors, as well."
He had better not spend all his money and come to her for more.
She could see right through him. "Shannon will probably major in
history."
"Sorry."
He shoveled before dinner. There were three inches by then.
He and his ate alone at dinner, and he went back for
seconds on everything, even the green beans. In the first place,
he was hungrier since he'd skipped dessert after lunch; in the
second place, snow shoveling worked up an appetite; in the third
place, his liked to see him eat her cooking -- veggies as
much as anything, which was weird considering how little effort
she put into cooking green beans. He might need her approval if
he ran out of cash.
"Does the say how deep it will get?" he asked.
"Looks like snow through tomorrow." He'd traded shoveling
during this storm and the next for brownies. Did he want more?
"I hope dad doesn't try to get home through this just because of
me."
"I think he'll be sensible." Although she didn't know why she'd
said that. She loved Roger -- she loved Steve for that matter,
but neither one of them were likely to act sensibly.
"I hope so." For all of Steve, his dad could stay away all
weekend. He had done so often enough.
Rachel hoped so too. Although Steve was getting thoughtful
rather late in the day. He'd asked Roger to come back, after
all.
Steve went to his room to read Shannon's letter.
>> I love your fantasies, you know I do.
He read. He was glad. Then he realized he hadn't written one
last time. That was important, and he enjoyed them, too.
>> One thing I love about them is that I can the
>> two of us in the you tell.
. . .
>> I can't you with that "one forceful shove."
>> *My* fantasies are always fantasies of your being
>> gentle.
Shit! Couldn't she see that the "forceful shove" was to
minimize *her* pain. But he couldn't point that out; he didn't
want to put the idea of pain in her head. Didn't know
these things? The in Mallory's bodice-rippers might be
surprised, but that was history, before the days of sex-ed.
>> As far as white go. It's your fantasy. We
>> have *MANY* blocks to overcome before these are our
>> reality, we've talked about that.
. . .
>> And if you want the white in our reality, just
>> ask.
All right! She was thinking of him on their wedding night, too.
Still, she hadn't read his message yet. He did want white
panties in his reality. Much more important it would be *their*
reality. She'd said it.
>> The wedding dress worn after the reception might be a
>> good deal harder to arrange. And, of course, getting
>> any wedding, let alone the dress, would be harder yet.
>> Still, *I* am not saying no to you. I'm just pointing
>> out the ways your fantasies don't go along with
>> reality.
He took that as a starting point.
> Well, they're fantasies. And taking off your wedding
> dress was more going along with your fantasy.
Maybe that was the wrong word for her dream of a white wedding.
Maybe it was accurate, but not what she needed to hear. Maybe it
was what she needed to hear. He decided to leave it in.
For that matter, her objection to "one forceful shove" was an
objection to it in a fantasy. If she wanted the fantasy of his
going in the first time with no resistance, he could give that to
her. She'd said that he didn't have to write about them being
married. Should he write a fantasy about their having sex before
they were married?
Not just now. Let her decide about the motel without that
pressure. They would pet at the motel, and maybe go farther when
they got to Champaign-Urbana. Long before this, he'd decided
that he could wait until she was ready. He hadn't believed that
it would be until their marriage, but -- if she wanted to believe
that -- then he wasn't going to fight. If actually getting it
wasn't worth a fight, her facing reality sure wasn't.
For that matter, as long as she wasn't going to have real sex
with him, petting was easier if she knew she didn't have to keep
her guard up. And actually getting it was maybe worth a fight;
it was just that he wasn't going to get it even if they did have
the argument.
On the topic of Champaign-Urbana,
> I got a turn-down from IIT today. Officially, I'm
> devastated. Even noticed that I didn't look
> devastated. I'll write the U of I today or tomorrow.
> Actually, I'd decided against IIT, but their decision
> will be easier for and dad to accept than my
> decision would have been.
> As for white panties, yes it means to me what it meant
> in the fantasy. Still, I don't want to choose your
> clothing. Just, if it isn't something which matters to
> you, it does matter to me.
Actually, he did want to choose her clothing. It just wasn't a
priority worth fighting over. He absolutely hated pantyhose, for
example. He would rather take pantyhose off her, though, than
have her resent wearing something else.
Still, it was worth mentioning. He closed that file and opened
the file. He killed the entire from two days before,
and started over.
> The reception was at a hotel. After seeing their
> friends off, they went to the elevator. They were all
> alone in the hall when they got to the door of their
> room. They kissed for a long time before he used his
> key.
> When the door was open, he kissed her again and then
> picked her up. He carried her into the room and set
> her down beside the bed.
Should they have bathroom breaks? After a reception, and food,
sure. He'd need to brush his teeth even if -- slight chance --
he didn't need to piss. In a fantasy, no. Let's cut to the
chase.
> He returned from locking the door to kiss her yet
> again. With his mouth still on hers, he began to
> unbutton her blouse. When he removed it, he kissed her
> neck. He kissed her all the while she turned, ending
> on her shoulder as he unsnapped her bra.
> He kept kissing as she turned back, but the first sight
> of her that day took his breath away. "They
> are beautiful," he said. "You are beautiful."
> He held them very gently while he kissed her. Then he
> bent to kiss each of them on their tips.
> When she unsnapped her skirt, he kneeled down to take
> it off. That gave him his first sight of her nylons
> and the sweet innocence of her white panties. He
> kissed her legs above the nylons.
> She sat on the bed, and he removed her shoes. He
> kissed down each leg as he removed that nylon. One
> kiss between her belly button and the hem of her
> panties, and then she rolled over and lay down on the
> bed.
> "I love you," he said as he quickly stripped. When he
> lay beside her in the bed, he kissed her for the
> longest time, their naked bodies hugging each other.
> Then he kissed down to her naked breasts. His mouth
> traveled all over the smooth surfaces until he arrived
> at a nipple. There, he until she gasped.
> "Do you still need these?" he asked, his hands on the
> elastic of her panties.
> "No." She raised her hips to allow him to slide them
> off. He took one moment to admire the lovely sight.
He reminded himself to avoid mentioning the lovely aroma.
> From his viewpoint, her hair down there looked like a
> valentine's heart. Its point was towards her belly
> button, and its two curves were on her lips.
> "You," he said, "are so beautiful." He kissed her
> again.
> Slowly, his kisses traveled down to her breasts. He
> kissed her left breast, then the nipple there.
> When she gasped, he moved until he was kneeling between
> her legs.
> He kissed from the tip of her left across the
> valley up her right breast. Then he on that
> nipple for minutes.
> When she raised her legs and spread them more, he
> kissed up her chest to her neck. His cock
What was a good word for "cock"? There really wasn't one.
> her chest to her neck. He was poised just at her
> entrance.
> He kissed her mouth once more. As his tongue entered
> her mouth, he began to enter her below.
> Slowly, gently, he pressed inward.
Sure, and a virgin has no maidenhead? Well, it was the fantasy
she wanted.
> Slowly, gently, he pressed inward. When he was all
> the way in, he broke the kiss to speak.
> "I love you," he said.
> "I love you, too," she said.
> He began moving. Soon, he was moving faster and
> faster.
> She responded, pressing against him. Suddenly, she
> felt a strange feeling overtake her. She convulsed
> silently.
> Before she had finished, he followed her.
> Slowly, he withdrew and lay beside her. "I love you,"
> he said.
> "I love you, too," she said.
> Hugging each other, they fell asleep.
Great, no mention of pain. Shit! He'd forgotten the rubber.
Well, this was a word processor. He went back to:
> her right breast. Then he on that nipple for
> minutes.
And typed:
> He applied the condom.
That would do it.
After rereading, he closed that file and hid the disk in his
backpack. He got out his homework. This part of English was
easier than Shakespeare, but who looked things up in books these
days? Mrs. Foster did deal with the Internet, as well; but it
seemed like little Amy trying to teach him to walk. Mrs. Foster
could use the Internet if she had to, but she wasn't at home
there.
- = -
Shannon woke to the sound of her radio. Steve's letter!
Sometimes sleeping on a problem gave you the solution, but maybe
you had to sleep the whole night. She sure didn't have much of a
solution.
Well, she'd make one up as she went along.
>> First, the good news. They've taken Amy to the Mayo
>> clinic. According to a woman at the bank, they think
>> that she'll be much better when she gets back.
> Can you find out more?
She wrote.
> Can you find out more? Mr. Jensen's is named
> Foster. They live out of town a little ways, past
> the hospital -- I remember that. Could you call her?
>> The bad news concerns the motel. I have enough
>> cash to pay for it, but that will leave me short until
>> the next pay. I wouldn't bother you with that EXCEPT
>> that if I run out, my will want to know why. IF I
>> run out, and I'll try not to, and IF she asks why, I'll
>> make up something.
The bad news concerned Steve. If he was willing to call the
motel off, he was willing to call the relationship off. She knew
Steve -- she was surprised he didn't want to go to the motel with
her anyway, and call it off afterwards. Still, he wrote:
>> I love you,
>> I really love you.
>> You might want to reconsider Saturday because of what I
>> told you above. It's your risk, so it's your decision.
>> But I *do* want to get together with you. Not just in
>> school. And I can't see another time.
> Steve,
> Money is not the problem.
Was money ever the problem? But that was Steve. He worried
about money a lot. She could remember his pushing her about her
budget, and how silly that looked now!
>> Mr. Jensen paid me in cash. Plus a bonus. A $100
>> bill. I still have it. Where have I had a chance to
>> spend money since?
>> So I will pay for the motel room. You still have to
>> provide the transportation.
>> Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love
>> you.
She hoped he still loved her. Did he? Would she know
if he didn't? For that matter, would he?
> I love you, too.
And, strangely enough, she did.
- = -
Steve set his alarm earlier than usual Thursday night. The snow
was piled deep over their sisidewalks when he woke up. He pulled
on his clothes from the night before and went out to shovel it.
Rachel thought she was had slipped into the *Twilight
Zone* when she woke up Friday morning. Her son was already
outside and working. "Are you feeling well?" she asked when he
appeared, fresh-showered and dressed, at the breakfast table. He
hadn't shaved, but -- then -- he didn't shave every day,
especially since he wasn't having any more dates.
"I feel fine. I shoveled the walk. Not all the way across, but
it's still snowing."
"Do you want a ride to school?" He probably wanted more
brownies, maybe something else. Steve was transparent, but
negotiations with him were more fun than negotiations with
Mallory had been.
"That would be great. If I don't have to wait in this weather,
I'll shave. Somehow, a scraped face feels the cold worse."
Roger, who usually shaved every morning, had made the same
complaint. "Fifteen minutes."
And fifteen minutes later he was waiting at the kitchen door.
He didn't even ask to drive. "Thanks, mom," he said before he
slammed Gertrude's door at the school. Rachel remembered
of changelings she'd read long ago.
- = -
Shannon didn't see Steve until English class. Well, he hadn't
stopped at her locker very often before, either. That day, Mrs.
Foster was droning on about research on the Web. She wished she
could invite Steve over to her house to explain it.
They swapped disks at lunch. "I remembered to write another
story," he said. "I hope you like it."
"I'm sure I will. You write such nice fantasies." She wondered
if he had written a fantasy about their time in the motel. Well,
she'd see. Besides, there were people all around. Most of them
were kids she only knew slightly. Still, you didn't say "motel"
in front of them. What did you say?
"I have a solution to the money problem. Mr. Jensen paid me in
cash. I still have it at home."
"Your cash isn't a solution." Still, he thought, it might be.
He couldn't borrow from anyone because they would ask what he had
done with it. Shannon would know what he had done with it; he
could pay her back.
"You don't want to go?" Damn! Every word they said could be
heard.
"I want to go," he said. "Do you?"
"I want to. That was never the question."
"The weather might change our plans." Actually, he thought, it
might change his dad's plans. "We'll talk tomorrow."
"Fine." They needed to talk, she thought, almost as much as
they needed to do other things. "What's with this stuff in
English class?"
He laughed. "You were so much help to me. To bad you're
grounded; I might be as much help to you."
"Well, someday I won't be grounded."
"Someday, we might be at the same university. I sent back my
acceptance last night. Ooops! Well, I wrote it out. I'll mail
it tonight. I had a lot of shoveling to do."
"Poor guy! You're overworked."
"Well, first of all, I promised to do the shoveling for this
storm and the next one in exchange for your birthday brownies.
Not, I'll admit, that I wouldn't have to do the shoveling anyway.
But that made it worth it.
"And, second, somehow I don't mind the snowfall this time." If
the snow kept falling, his dad wouldn't come home this weekend.
They could have the house to themselves. He quirked a smile at
her.
She was glad that he still seemed happy about the brownies. He
was a nice guy. Indeed, her friends were still a little
impressed with him. "It's not the right time for me to send in
my acceptance."
"I don't care when you tell the U of I (as long as you meet the
deadline). I'm waiting for what you tell me."
"If you're going there, so am I."
"That's what I wanted to hear. PDA."
"PDA," she echoed. Actually, she was looking forward to private
displays of affection.
Shannon was much happier about their relationship when she left
the cafeteria that noon.
- = -
Rachel actually touched her son's forehead when he came in from
shoveling the walk that night. It told her nothing. Being still
cold from the outside air, it wouldn't show that he was running a
fever.
Now, Steve wasn't a lazy kid. He went to work quite dependably.
Indeed, she worried more about his occasional crazy expenditures
of energy like his walk home from Shannon's house in a blizzard
than about his turning into a couch potato. He did his household
chores quite faithfully, really. It just wasn't like him to do
them without complaint.
"If dad doesn't get back, do you think I could borrow your car
Saturday morning? I'd drive you to work." he asked as she felt
his forehead after dinner. Rachel was satisfied on two counts.
First, her son wasn't burning up with a fever. Second, she knew
what he was after now. He wasn't sick, he just wanted to borrow
her car.
"Gertrude?" she asked "You couldn't get as much in there."
"Well, it would transport people, or something small." His
excuse for borrowing the Jeep was looking like a worse idea all
the time.
"I don't see why not. You'd pick me up too? And I'd have to
get there on time."
"Sure." He got to school on time; he got to work on time; why
his didn't think he'd get her to her job on time, he couldn't
see.
Steve opened up Shannon's letter when he got to his room. He
already had the important information. She would go to the
motel. Now, for the details.
He set the machine to add one more quote, and then he read:
>>> First, the good news. They've taken Amy to the Mayo
>>> clinic. According to a woman at the bank, they think
>>> that she'll be much better when she gets back.
>> Can you find out more? Mr. Jensen's is named
>> Foster. They live out of town a little ways, past the
>> hospital -- I remember that. Could you call her?
Shit! There must be hundreds of Fosters in the local phone
book, and with his luck he'd get his English teacher. Still,
when he met Shannon in the morning, success would put her in a
good mood.
And, if success was unlikely, he could report some effort. For
that matter, getting Amy to the hospital was the first thing
Shannon had ever asked of him. (Steve had completly forgotten
the medicine.) She'd been grateful, and -- if that gratitude
hadn't got him anything -- it just might have influenced her
decision to go to the motel. He got the phone and unplugged his
modem. Then he plugged the phone into that jack.
He started on the top of the Fosters in the phone book. They
took more than a column.
"Hello," the phone was answered.
"Hello. I'm trying to locate the Mrs. Foster who is to
Bill Jensen."
His only reward was a click. Some people didn't answer at all;
others had answering machines. His fourth live contact gave him
a different response.
"Hello. I'm trying to locate the Mrs. Foster who is to
Bill Jensen."
"What's your interest in her?"
"Mr. Jensen took his daughter, Amy, out of town for
medical treatment. I can't contact him, and I'm trying to find
out how Amy is doing."
"Tell me your name and telephone number. If she wants to
contact you she will."
"My name is Steven Anderson. My friend is Amy's baby
sitter. I drove Amy to the hospital once." He gave his phone
number, and the hung up. The phone rang immediately
afterwards. "Hello?"
"Is this Steven Anderson?"
"Yes."
"Did you just call asking about Sandra Foster?"
"Yes." Actually, 'Sandra' was extra information.
"Just checking the phone number. Thanks."
It was a couple of minutes later that the phone rang again.
"Steven Anderson, please." It was a woman's voice. He didn't
recognise it.
"Speaking."
"This is Sandra Foster. You had some questions."
"Yes. I wanted to know how Amy is doing. My friend is her
regular babysitter, and she's been worried about her."
"Are you the guy who drove Amy to the hospital that night?"
"Yes. The Jensens were at your place."
One hell of a lot of Jensens were at her place that night, but
Sandy knew who he meant. At this point, she dropped all her
doubts about talking about Amy. Bill was one thing, he'd been a
pain since they were in grade school. Theresa was something
else. She had even been sweet about Bobby's behavior, but....
Between Bobby's and the guy who got Amy to the hospital,
Sandy knew which one Theresa would choose. She wouldn't blame
her either.
"Yes, Steven. What do you want to know?"
"Basically, how Amy is doing. I heard that they took her to the
Mayo clinic. Did it do any good."
"They think she'll be much better." She gave him all the
details and told him her phone number if he wanted to ask more
questions later. "And I have your number, too. Do you want me
to call you if I get any more news?"
"Please."
"I will, then."
Now for the rest of Shannon's letter.
>> Steve,
>> Money is not the problem.
Shannon never saw money as a problem.
>> Mr. Jensen paid me in cash. Plus a bonus. A $100 bill.
>> I still have it. Where have I had a chance to spend
>> money since?
>> So I will pay for the motel room. You still have to
>> provide the transportation.
If they were going to be going out, he would pay for it. That's
what did.
On the other hand: (1) She did say she would come. That was the
important part. (2) There was no way he could reach her before
tomorrow morning. (3) He might have to borrow that money. (4)
It was one place to spend a $100 bill. So he ought to be glad
that she would bring the money. Then he could give her back
smaller bills.
>>> Whatever happens, whatever you decide, I still love you.
>> I love you, too.
And that was the other important thing. He could leave
answering the letter till later on the weekend. He needed to
figure out the practical part.
They were going to check into a motel, so he would need a
suitcase. He had one. Getting it in the Jeep would be a
problem. What should he put in it? Somewhere he had heard about
putting phonebooks in a suitcase to fool a hotel clerk. Well, he
didn't want to do that. His bookbag should do for weight.
Did he want to take the box of condoms? He knew damn well that
Shannon wanted to wait until marriage. On the other hand, he
didn't have to tell her. And maybe "white wedding" was her way
of telling him that she wasn't ready yet. If so, he was glad she
used that method. If she said "I'm not ready yet," he would
either ask each time whether she was ready, and thus he would
become a pest; or he would not ask, and thus he would demonstrate
a disinterest which was really false.
So, taking the condoms was just-in-case. He didn't need to show
them to her. He'd bought two shower caps on the same basis.
Maybe sex would be messy; how was he supposed to know? Anyway,
Shannon might want to shower. Even if they only petted, she
might get all hot and sweaty; he did. And, just maybe, if they
decided to shower, she might be persuaded to let them shower
together.
He packed those in the bag. He put the box of condoms in one of
his socks, and packed that in there. Then he put in his
backpack. When that didn't feel heavy enough to him, he put in a
couple of pairs of shoes. He hid the bag in his closet. Then he
took the phone and phone book back to the hall stand where they
normally stayed. After plugging the modem back in, he set his
alarm to an earlier-than-usual time and went to bed.
Chapter 19
Shannon saw no reason to write Steve. She could do that after
they had spent the time together. But she did want to read his
letter. As soon as the dishes were in the dishwasher, she went
upstairs and put the disk from Steve in her computer.
She had written:
>>> Still, *I* am not saying no to you. I'm just pointing out
>>> the ways your fantasies don't go along with reality.
He had responded:
>> Well, they're fantasies. And taking off your wedding dress
>> was more going along with your fantasy.
Well, that was blunt. Steve, for all his lovely stories, was
more often blunt than not. A white wedding was a fantasy. Of
course, she could still dream of it. But, clearly, if she was
going to marry Steve, it wasn't going to be as a virgin. Did she
want to marry Steve?
She really didn't know. "As long as you both shall live" was
scary. But she wanted Steve now. At least, he hadn't grabbed.
The next little bit was better, even if he had already told her.
>> I got a turn-down from IIT today. Officially, I'm devastated.
>> Even noticed that I didn't look devastated. I'll write
>> the U of I today or tomorrow. Actually, I'd decided against
>> IIT, but their decision will be easier for and dad to
>> accept than my decision would have been.
She wasn't sure that Steve had decided before he got that
letter. Still, it was nice of him to say so. Steve was nice --
that was a good description of him. She was, if not worth
trading his whole educational future for, worth telling her she
was worth that.
>> As for white panties, yes it means to me what it meant in the
>> fantasy. Still, I don't want to choose your clothing. Just,
>> if it isn't something which matters to you, it does matter to
>> me.
Well, if it mattered to him, he should get it.
The letter was short, but he enclosed another story. She
opened it wondering if he would sketch out their time in the
motel. It had still been snowing when she had come home. Maybe
his dad wouldn't make it back. Would he still want to go to the
motel, then? Would they have the chance? For that matter, his
house was a *long* walk from the school.
>> The reception was at a hotel. After seeing their friends off,
>> they went to the elevator. They were all alone in the hall
Well, Steve had been a little less blunt. It wasn't
quite a motel. It was a hotel.
>> When the door was open, he kissed her again and then picked
>> her up. He carried her into the room and set her down beside
>> the bed.
>> He returned from locking the door to kiss her yet again.
Great! They were in the dark, and nobody had turned on a
light. Still, the got hot.
>> That gave him his first sight of her nylons and the sweet
>> innocence of her white panties. He kissed her legs above the
>> nylons.
Well, he knew what he wanted. Did she have nylons she
could wear tomorrow? She had already decided on the white
panties.
>> "I love you," he said as he quickly stripped.
Steve did have an imagination, these showed it. But his
imagination had limits; he couldn't see that she might like
taking off his clothes, too. Well, that was better than an
egotistical of how impressed she was by his body.
>> From his viewpoint, her hair down there looked like a
>> valentine's heart. Its point was towards her belly button,
>> and its two curves were on her lips.
That comment was lovely. He still remembered from the summer.
And the summer had been so much nicer, their time.
>> He applied the condom.
Well, he could make requests, but he still made guarantees, too.
Of course that condom had appeared from nowhere, but it had
appeared.
>> Slowly, gently, he pressed inward.
And he could listen. If he had turned down her request for a
white wedding, he had listened to her about the nonsense -- the
possible pain -- of the "forceful shove."
>> She responded, pressing against him. Suddenly, she felt a
>> strange feeling overtake her. She convulsed silently.
Right! A climax was a "strange feeling." Steve didn't know of
the times she had spent in bed alone, but he had petted her to
climax more than once. Still, it was a nice story. And it was
sweet of him to tell her what he wanted (and -- even more
important -- what he would provide) in a story.
Well, she had her choice. Would she go with him to a motel?
Was that what she wanted?
Really, it was things she wanted. She had also wanted the
white wedding; she still wanted the white wedding, for that
matter. But she couldn't have them both.
Yes, she would go to the motel with him. He'd promised to be
gentle; he'd promised to take care of the contraception.
Besides, it really wasn't her time. Her period would start in
less than a week.
She hid the disk before selecting the clothes to wear the next
day. She had found some separate nylons and a garter belt. What
was this thing with and pantyhose? She didn't think Steve
was the only one. Maybe it was access. Would Steve want to make
love with her still wearing the nylons? Of course he would want
to; he wanted to make love standing up, for heaven's sake. But
would she let him? For her first time? Well, she would see if
he insisted. Then, it would depend on how she felt. One thing
was that a good certainly wouldn't do that, and Shannon was
finished with being a good girl.
Steve had specified what he wanted; her expected her to
wear work clothes to decorate the gym. Between their conflicting
expectations, there wasn't any space for Shannon to make her own
selection. Which was unfair; it would be a special day for her.
Still, that was the way things were.
She took the library book to bed and turned out the lamp when
she got tired. shows were worth staying up for; books
weren't.
- = -
Allison checked that the light was off in Shannon's room.
Then she went back downstairs. "I need to buy some groceries,"
she told Wayne. "Want to drive me there?"
The way the snow was piled in the driveway, it would have been
hard for her to take her car out. Besides, his car had more
space. "Sure."
"Does it seem to you that Shannon is starting to come around?"
she asked when he had the car started.
"Maybe. Do you want to end her grounding? It looks like it
is taking as much out of you as out of her."
"Not quite yet. But I've been thinking. I don't know how far
she's gone with Steven, but I *don't* want her left with a
memento. I'd like to make an appointment for her with Dr.
Lewis." Dr. Lewis was her gynecologist.
"I don't know. It seems like we would be giving permission.
Are we really going to the store, or did you just want to have
this conversation outside the house?"
"Both, really. I do need groceries." She waited while he
backed out into the street and started towards the store. "I
wouldn't tell her I wanted her to get contraception. I would
mention to the doctor that she was going off to in a few
months. He knows enough to bring it up himself. For that
matter, I could mention to his nurse that this was one of the
things he should check."
"Well, better safe than sorry. Do what you think is best."
"Thanks. And, while I don't think you wouldn't, wait till
she's kept the appointment before you ease off the grounding."
"I would never cancel the punishment before discussing it with
you." They were a team. He might wish they were more of a team
about some things, but he would never undercut her with Shannon.
- = -
Rachel waited for Steve to bring the phone back to the
front room, then she waited for his light to go out. When he was
safely asleep, she took the phone into her room. She retrieved
the headset and plugged it in.
"Marriott Carlyle."
"Roger Anderson, please." And, she prayed silently, don't
tell me he's checked out.
"Hello."
"Roger? I hope I didn't wake you." And she *really*
hoped she hadn't interrupted him in packing to go home.
"Some calls are worth waking for. I wasn't really asleep, not
even in my night clothes yet."
"Well, I can wait while you get undressed. And do you have
the lotion warm yet?"
"I don't need it," he said. "I'll be home tomorrow."
"Roger! It is still snowing." Well... it had been snowing
before dinner, which was the last time she'd checked.
"It stopped more than an hour ago around here. The
interstates will be clear by morning."
"Even if you drove at the limit, and even you aren't crazy
enough to do that..." Which was what she hoped, but she wasn't at
all sure that he wasn't that crazy. "... you won't get here
early enough. Steve is borrowing my car. It will be enough."
"I'll get there about noon. And I won't push it.
"Well, I'll be glad to have you home. Just make sure that you
don't become a statistic."
"I won't. You know, I gave you two kids. You could confine
your mothering to them."
"Fat chance." At this point, Mallory was gone, and Steve
reacted to her advice worse than Roger did. "Anyway, I don't
want you as another kid. I just want my husband for a few more
years."
"Don't know why."
"You should have figured it out by this time, she said. "I
like what you have between your legs, but you are even sexier
between your ears," she said.
"Only you would regard thinning hair as sexy."
"Grass doesn't grow on a busy street. But I meant the gray
matter between your ears. I bet it's ticking away right now
figuring what it's going to say to me tonight."
"I'll be home tomorrow night," he reminded her.
"And I'll be ready for you. But I want you tonight. Get the
lotion ready."
"I'd rather save that for tomorrow night."
"You can do both. Besides, I don't want you feeling
frustrated if the weather does you wrong or the state doesn't
plow the roads. Come on, I'll take care of it tomorrow night.
That's a promise. How long has it been since I danced for you?"
she asked in her sexiest voice.
"Too long."
"Well, that's a promise I won't hold you to. But I want it
long enough."
"Woman, you are impossible." But he was laughing now.
"Go undress and put the lotion under the hot water."
"You still there?" he asked a little later.
"I'm here, in bed. How about you?"
"I'm under the covers. All undressed."
"Did you pack your pajamas?" she suddenly asked.
"Sure! But I didn't put them on. Nice and warm in this
room."
"You're incorrigible! Remember when the paper knocked?"
They'd been eating a late brunch in the kitchen. He'd been
stark. The had been collecting. She had invited the in,
closing the door on the cold. Then, she'd realized that she
didn't have any money, and had needed to fetch Roger his pants so
he could get out his wallet. The only way from the kitchen to
the bedroom led through the living room past the paperboy.
"It was worth it," he said, quite sincerely. That had been in
the heady days before Mallory. They had made morning love, dozed
together, awakened for an encore. There was a reason that they
had been eating the first meal of the day well after noon.
"I suppose," she said, "that when Steve goes off to school,
you'll want me to forget about clothes at home, too." Not that
she would, not that she ever had -- outside the bedroom.
"Well, I can hope."
Roger was a dear. At her age, with her younger child about to
go off to college, she would need to wear clothes. Naked Rachel
wasn't sexy any more. Still, it was nice that her husband
thought of her that way.
"I'm naked now," she said, "but there's nobody here to
appreciate me. So, I'm covered up. There is nobody to see my
breasts, nobody to see my naked ass, nobody to see my naked legs,
nobody to see between them when I spread them as I'm doing now."
"I can see you. I might not be there, but I can see you in my
mind's eye." She was sure he could; that was why she'd said
that, after all.
"Can you see me spread my lips? Can you see my little woman
peeking out?"
"Yes."
"Well, she can't see you. She's looking all over for you.
There's nobody to kiss her, no finger to rub her. I guess I'll
have to do it for myself. But it's not the same."
"Yes, love. But don't do it yet. Stroke your thighs. Just
feather light strokes. Touch the insides just below your knees.
Then draw your fingers towards your pussy, very lightly. Stop
now. Go back to your knees. Do it again."
Rachel followed his directions while she could stand the
teasing. Finally, when she couldn't resist any longer, she rubbed
directly over her clitoris. She gasped.
Clearly, he could hear her.
"Have you been a bad girl?" he asked. "Has my Rachel been
touching herself? Stealing a little relief before it was time? I
should hang up now, just to show you."
"No don't."
"I won't. I'm a forgiving sort. Just to show I forgive you,
I'll let you turn on your magic wand now. Is it on?"
"Yes." She held the wand next to the mouthpiece of the
headset so he could hear it.
"Now bring the wand back to your right knee. Stroke it down
your thigh slowly.... Now bring it to your left knee." In
silence, she stroked the buzzing vibrator down her thigh until it
touched the outside of her lip.
She was panting by the time Roger changed the pattern. "But
you've been neglecting your lovely breasts. I've always liked
those. Back when I could only guess at the shape, I guessed at a
shape I liked." Roger now claimed he'd obsessed about her
breasts in class before he'd got up the nerve to ask her out on a
date. Got up the nerve? she'd nearly thrown herself at him
before he'd even noticed her. Anyway, that was long ago and --
however long it had felt back then -- a brief period. Once he'd
had access to them, he'd always seemed to enjoy that access.
But she was chasing a side comment. "Bring your wand to the
side of your left breast," he said. "Circle it at the base. Now
slowly -- slowly -- bring it up towards the nipple. Don't touch
the nipple." That direction was too late, and it felt heavenly.
The vibrations went all through her.
Slowly, very slowly, she moved the wand back down her breast.
"You did touch the nipple, didn't you?" he asked. However
unclear the sounds from the wand were at his end, her mouth was
right next to the microphone. He could hear every gasp.
"Before you said not to."
"Yeah," he said. "I could hear that. Don't rush, my love.
You'll get there. Just enjoy the trip." And, of course, the
longer the trip took, the later he'd get to sleep, the likelier
he'd delay his start until a reasonable time.
"Bring the wand back to your left knee," he continued. "Now,
*slowly*, ease it down the inside of your thigh. Put your
left hand on your thigh just above the lips. Stop the wand when
it touches your hand." She followed all his directions. She was
aroused to the point of needing more, needing direct stimulation;
but this was arousing as hell, and his words were almost as good
as his being there.
"I'm completely turned on. I can feel the juice leaking out
on my hand."
"That's great. I can well believe you're turned on. And I
love to hear about that juice. Not as much as I love to see it,
and feel it, and taste it. Still, I'm not there. I'll take what
I can get."
"I'm lying on my back," she said. "I'm so wet that it's
soaking all the hair on my lips. But that's only a little of it.
It's streaming down my crack."
She could hear his breath sounding rougher over the phone.
She had to hold off, it would be better for her -- and he would
sleep deeply. She did hold off for minutes more. Then she had
to say, "I can't resist any longer."
"Yes, my darling. Rub the wand down your right leg all the
way. Feel it against your lips? Now turn it off for one moment.
Slide it in. Does it go in easily?"
"Oh yes. I'm so juicy, it slides right in."
"That's me. That's me in you where I've been so many times.
Now turn it on."
And she did. The vibrations took her away and she spasmed
around the wand again and again. Finally, not able to bear the
sensations and nowhere near coordinated enough to turn it off,
she pushed the wand out of her to buzz alone on the bed. It must
have been minutes later that she summoned the energy to reach
between her legs to turn it off.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm great." And she was. That had been much stronger than
usual, stronger than many orgasms when he was present. "Now it's
your turn."
"I'll be home tomorrow night."
"So you will." She hoped that the mention of night indicated
he was rethinking his starting time. She didn't want him on the
slippery just-plowed roads. "And I'll have my way with you then.
Do you think I won't be able to get you up tomorrow night."
"Woman, you could get an erection out of a statue."
"Well, I'm not going to practice on a statue. But I've lots
of practice on you. Maybe I'll dance for you; maybe you'll
undress me; maybe you'll take one article of clothing off me
every time I pause in the dance. Is the lotion warm enough?"
"I'm not even warming it."
"Well, go put it under the hot water. I'll wait."
"I'm back," he said after a little while.
"Do you remember the first apartment?"
"Fondly. It was a horribly cramped space, but I enjoyed
living there more than any other place I've ever had."
"Remember how we used to dance?" she asked.
"I remember what we used to wear."
"There wasn't enough to remember."
"There was lots of skin, he said. "That's what I remember
about you, your skin. Seeing your skin, touching your skin,
holding your skin, kissing your skin."
"Enjoyed that, did you? And here I thought all these years
that what you enjoyed was when I kissed you."
"Oh yes! I can remember your mouth on me, but I can remember
my mouth on you, too. You were so responsive -- still are, of
course."
"But you decided that you wouldn't come tonight because that
would mean that tomorrow night I might need to use my mouth. Am
I that bad now?" she asked.
"Oh no!" He'd been gone too long; the sounds of her orgasm
over the phone had raised too graphic pictures. He'd already
been nearly hard when he'd come back from the bathroom. This
conversation had increased that hardness to the point of pain.
"Are you ready for me?"
"God, yes!"
"Too bad the lotion isn't," she said in a teasing voice.
"I'll bet it isn't even warm yet. You'll just have to lie there
and remember my mouth around you back then -- imagine my mouth
around you tomorrow night. You'll just have to wait, just as you
kept me waiting a few minutes ago. I so wanted to come, but you
made me delay it as long as I could. Do you feel the desire to
come."
"And how."
"By your own hand, tonight. By my mouth tomorrow -- or in my
cunt? We have some time, we might as well decide this now. Which
would you prefer? Tomorrow night, after I have danced for you
and you have stripped me, should I suck you 'til you're hard and
then take you into my cunt? Or should I just keep 'til
you shoot your wad into my mouth? Or would you like to do both?"
"I'd like both, but I'm an man."
"You're not that old," she said, partly to reassure him --
partly to reassure herself. She didn't feel enough to have
an husband. "I bet I could get you up again. 'Course, after
that you wouldn't shoot so fast, you'd lie atop of me and drive
in me and do it for hours and hours."
"Woman, you're torturing me."
"Now that's an idea. I could tie you up and suck you hard.
*Then* I could dance for you. Of course, I'd have to remove
my own clothes in that case. But, that's just part of the
torture. I'd remove my panties, and you could see my mound while
I did it. But then I'd drop my skirt and hide it while I danced
around. We could start early, but some of it we couldn't do until
we knew that Steve was sound asleep. Sooner or later, though, I
could get to the point that *I* needed to get off. I could
use the wand, since it would be too early for you to get off.
'Need' doesn't have anything to do with it. I would be nice and
juicy by that time.
"Speaking of juicy," she continued, "do you think the lotion
is warm yet?"
"It should be," he said. "I'm feeling awfully hot, myself."
"Strange. You might want to complain to the office. If you
do, I'll hang up and call back later."
"Woman! I'll get the lotion."
He got it, and lay back on the bed with the covers beside him.
"The lotion is ready," he said.
"Now spread it over your hand. I think, as a first step, I'd
just kiss your cock. Touch it, don't enclose it. Touch it at
the base, in the middle, and just under the head -- that nice
place where there is that cute crack. I always like to kiss the
skin of the shaft where it goes up there."
"Oh yes!"
"Then I'd enclose it, but just the tip." She could hear his
breath his over the phone. "Slowly, very slowly, push your hand
down to cover the head. That's my mouth. Remember how my mouth
feel there, make your hand feel like that. Then go down the
shaft a little bit. Not all the way, maybe an inch. Now, back
up to the head." She could hear him panting.
"Now, suddenly, drop it down to enclose the whole shaft. Are
you at the base."
"Yes."
"Too bad you can't enclose everything. Down there, I'd have
my throat tight around your head. Well, come up slowly. Here,
again, you can't lick the underside as you come up. I would. I'd
lick everything; then, I'd lick that special place right at the
base of the head. Then come down again. Now, very slowly, come
up. All the way up. I'd tighten my lips around the tip as I
left it."
"Oh Rachel!"
"Now I'd be over you. And I'd steal a kiss from you. One
kiss on my left nipple, one kiss on my right. It would be a
minute before I'd slide down your body to find what I'm looking
for. Then, I'd stop with my just touching your cock. Is
your hand there?"
"Oh yes."
"Just the little finger, now. Just the beginning of a touch.
Then I'm slowly, slowly, sliding down your cock. I'm enclosing
all of it. Then I'm moving up and down, up and down, all around
you. I'm grasping all of you with all of me. Do it!"
She could hear him panting. Then the unmistakable sounds of
his orgasm.
"Yes, Roger. Shoot in me. Shoot as you have so many times
before. I'm spasming around you, clasping you tightly as you
come."
Minutes later, he said. "Woman, the talents of your mouth
aren't limited to kissing."
"But they include kissing. Get a good night's sleep. I'll
need you rested. And when you get home, rested, restored, we'll
see about the kissing. I'll kiss your mouth, since I've missed
you; and maybe I'll find other places. I've missed a lot of you."
"You're wonderful."
"So are you. Good night."
And, after they had hung up, she did miss him. She looked at
the wand speculatively before putting it away. She'd been
intending to turn him on, but it had affected herself as well.
But Roger would be home the next night. She'd save it all up for
him.
- = -
Allison was trying to get herself ready to drive her
daughter to school. Even though Shannon was preparing her own
breakfast, there were too many things to do; and she was still in
a morning fog. It didn't help that she was far from sure that
this preparing for the dance was a good exception to Shannon's
grounding. Then the phone rang. However she felt, clients
deserved a helpful response.
"Allison Bryant speaking. How may I help you?"
"May I speak to Shannon Bryant please?" It was an adult man's
voice. She recognized it vaguely. A teacher? Should she let
Shannon talk about the preparation? Well, she could relent later
or pass on a message.
"I'm sorry. She can't come to the phone." She didn't quite
use the word, 'grounded.'
"This is Bill Jensen. I'm calling from Minnesota. I'm
to Amy, one of the kids Shannon sits for. She was interested in
Amy's condition." Sure she was. Amy had been sick when she
babysat. Still, it was an odd reason for an early-morning long-
distance call more than a week later.
"She still can't come to the phone. I'd be glad to relay a
message, though." Allison was trying to balance two feelings.
This Jensen guy had let Steve visit Shannon in his house without
even considering Shannon's and their opinion of that. On
the other hand, he was the parent of a sick kid; she'd been
there, and didn't want to add to his problems. Not that Shannon
had ever had anything like what seemed to bother Amy.
"Well, it's too long to put into a message. But we think the
treatment was a success."
"Treatment?"
"She's at the Mayo Clinic. I'm calling from there ... near
there. Shannon probably knows." Allison was willing to bet that
Shannon didn't know. Hadn't Jensen been told about the
grounding? Probably forgotten; had a sick kid after all. Even
so, as far as Allison could remember, all he'd been told was that
she couldn't babysit.
"Well," she said, "thanks for calling. I'll tell her that the
treatment seems to be a success."
She went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Shannon,
clearly on her best behavior, didn't even look towards the clock.
They'd be late; Shannon should be glad she was getting out at
all. "That was Mr. Jensen, your employer. His daughter, Amy,
is being treated at the Mayo Clinic. They think the treatment
was a success." And, now that she thought about it, that
explained the phone call. He probably just received the
prognosis and was full of the good news. He was probably calling
everyone who he thought would be interested.
"Well," said Shannon, "that's good news." It wasn't much
news. He'd probably was prepared to tell her a good deal more.
On the other hand, anything more might well require medical
training to understand. She'd ask Miss Olson about it tomorrow.
Let her object in front of the whole congregation to asking
about a sick girl. Besides, that would be after the date with
Steve; she could handle the extra restrictions then.
- = -
Steve had the whole timeline figured out. He'd get his
mom to work a few minutes early. She had a key, and -- having
bugged him about being late -- she couldn't raise any questions
about being early. Then he could stop back here to grab the
suitcase. Then he would get to school at the same time as
Shannon. No sense in letting her get chilly. Everything was
going according to plan.
Then the phone rang.
"Hello."
"I'm calling Steven Anderson."
"Speaking." If this was a salesman, it would be the shortest
call of his day.
"This is Bill Jensen. I'm Amy's father, calling from
Minnesota. I hear that you asked about her."
"Yes, Mr. Jensen." And Shannon had asked for this news. It
wasn't all that much. Mr. Jensen either didn't remember the
medical names of the treatment or was sensible enough not to tell
Steve. Basically, they didn't expect a cure; they did expect an
improvement.
"And," said Mr. Jensen, "we always expected that the condition
would get better as she got older. These doctors reinforce that
expectation."
Steve thanked him for calling. The conversation had eaten up
all of his lead time, though. "Sorry about that," he told his
mom. "Remember the baby I took to the hospital? That was her
dad. They took her to the Mayo clinic."
"Well, I can't expect you to ignore that sort of call. Just
don't have an accident on the way to the office; we have enough
time." She had enough time; Steve was running late. Still, he
got back to the house, loaded the suitcase in the trunk, and
drove to the high school at a safe pace. He couldn't afford
another delay.
- = -
The call woke Roger from a deep sleep. He was tempted to
leave another call, turn over, and catch another hour. Bad idea.
He got up stark naked and rather sticky. By the time he got out
of the shower he was awake. He dressed, packed carefully, and
shaved. After a breakfast with three cups of coffee he felt
awake enough for the trip.
The roads were clear by now. The local roads were drivable,
and there was more salt than snow on the surface of the
interstate. Still, he kept his speed down to the point where he
was passed by more cars than he passed. Rachel would be at work
and Steve would be decorating the gym whenever he arrived.
- = -
"Brrr," said Shannon when she got in the car. "I didn't
know where you were. Still, I'm glad you weren't here when
dropped me off." Steve hadn't thought about that possibility;
he'd expected Shannon to walk. He started the car, driving off
sedately in case somebody who could recognize them came this
early to decorate the gym.
"Phone call. I'll tell you later. Now, here's the situation.
I'm driving Gertrude instead of the Jeep because Dad is somewhere
on the interstate heading in this direction. We could risk my
house; I'd really rather not."
Shannon wondered why Steve kept bringing that up. Too many
things could go wrong. Did he have second thoughts about making
love? The white wedding had been her idea for so long. She sure
wasn't going to go all the way while worrying about his dad
coming in the door any second. "I don't want your dad to find
us. I brought the money; didn't I say I would?"
"That's another thing. I've enough to pay for the room. I'll
be a little short until my next paycheck, but I'll make it."
Unfortunately, if he didn't make it, this petting session might
be something his figured out. For that matter, they
might even share their suspicions with *Shannon's* mom.
"Look, maybe this is something I don't want you to do to me."
"Huh?" Steve couldn't see what she was talking about. He'd
always stopped when she asked him to. "But you agreed. If
you've changed your mind..."
Shannon couldn't see why Steve was insisting on paying for
this. She couldn't even see why *she* was insisting. But
how could he insist that she surrender her virginity at this
session and object to her contributing a little money? "I agreed
to something we would *both* be doing. I thought that was
what we were. Shannon and Steve together. You seem to think
it's something you're doing to me." Or something he was taking
from her.
"Look. I always pay for the dances. It's just something
do."
"Your works. Is it her money or your and dad's
money?"
"Sort of both." It was his mom's money, just as this was her
car. But he'd heard one them say something like 'I'm short; do
you have enough?' to the other a million times. And he was
short, and Shannon had the money.
"Well, they're a couple. Are we a couple?" Which was, after
all, the real question. Would she be doing this if they weren't?
"We're a couple. I've missed you."
"And, much as I've enjoyed the letters, I've missed you, too."
"So why are we fighting now? Anyway, you're probably safer if
I don't go broke. We'll go halves. That'll leave me with
enough."
"Here." She'd the bill inside her bra. She unzipped
her parka and reached up under the sweat shirt. A moment later,
she held the bill out to him. He took it and put it inside his
coat, tucking it into his pocket. They hadn't quite gotten
to the interstate when he turned in to the motel.
"Stay here." He walked towards the office.
"Do you have a vacancy?"
"How long?"
"Until checkout time."
"That's one p.m. You have less than four hours."
"That's long enough. I don't want to fall asleep at the
wheel."
The gave him the strangest look. But he also gave him a
key. He inspected the hundred carefully before giving him the
change. The room was near the end of the row. Steve started the
car again and backed near the door. "Keep your hood up."
Shannon didn't want to be seen; still Steve made this sound
furtive. She waited while Steve pulled a suitcase out of the
trunk. What did he have in there? When she had followed him in
the room, he switched on the light. The room wasn't dirty or
shabby, but it didn't look like a home, either. There were two
beds, filling most of the space. On the other side from where
they were standing, there was a door which had to lead to the
bathroom. There were lots of windows on two sides; light from
the sun was streaming in those on the far wall.
Steve had imagined removing a veil from Shannon. The hood
wasn't a very good imitation, but it was what they had. He
pulled the string opening the bow at the neck of her parka. Then
he pushed back the hood and clasped his hands behind her head. He
kissed her first with his lips closed, then opened them and
thrust his tongue into her mouth.
Just as his lips touched hers, Shannon figured out the
symbolism. It was much better than wanting to hide her face. His
hands were cold, and his face was colder. But the thought was
warm. She hugged him during the kiss.
Steve removed her parka and leaned over to kiss her again, if
a little clumsily. He hung her coat, and then his own, in the
closet. He pulled off his sweater and put it on the shelf. When
he came back, the kiss was a little warmer and lasted longer.
Their tongues tangled. He caressed her butt. She wrapped her
arms around him.
"This is fun," he said, "but I should give you the money now.
We're going halves, right?"
One bill in her bra had been scratchy enough. Besides which,
she didn't really expect to be wearing the bra much longer. "I
don't really have a place to put it. Can't you hold on to it
'til later?"
That sounded sensible. "Later, then. And I should tell you
something before we get to the serious part."
Shannon was disturbed. They were where they'd schemed to be,
and he kept wanting to talk. What about the letters? What was
so important? Had he found another girl?
But he went on talking. "I got a call from Amy's dad this
morning."
Oh, that. "So did I," she said.
"Then you already know."
"I don't know anything. intercepted the call."
"Well, I don't know much. The treatment seems to have been a
success. I don't know what treatment. Doubt if I would if he
had described it. Anyway, they think she'll get better as she
grows up."
"That makes sense. That's your news?"
"That's it. Oh, and I sent the acceptance to U of I."
"Poor Steve. IIT doesn't see your worth. Well, I do." She
kissed him.
He laughed. "In the first place, I was happier getting the
rejection. I was going to U of I anyway. This just makes it
easier at home. In the second, I doubt that IIT was considering
quite the same merits you are. But I'll take the kiss anyway."
He kissed her quite lightly.
"I don't think it's time to send my acceptance to the U of I
yet."
"Fine," he said. "You have more problems at home than I ever
had. I don't want to be another problem. I'm not laying demands
on you."
She thought that was funny, considering where they were. He'd
laid plenty of demands on her, just not about schedules.
Concluded in Chap. 20
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2002/12/17