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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm really sorry, mommy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"George." she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You'll love another as much."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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