When she got out of the first-year lecture she attended so she would know what the discussion section had heard, Carolyn Pierce had some free time. She decided to see if her papers from last semester had been graded yet. They were supposed to be, but professors are no more prompt than the rest of us, and have many fewer consequences for their delays than students do.

"I was a little disappointed," Kindle said, as he handed her back her paper. "You did a perfectly acceptable piece of work, but it seemed shallower than your usual. Did the marriage preparations take too much of your time?" Well, the grade was A-, which didn't look all that disappointing.

"Well, it was a busy period," she said.

"As I said, it was a perfectly acceptable piece of work. Your class participation, however, shown in a way that this did not. Well, I shouldn't be too harsh. That paper from many of your classmates would have pleased me no end. You got an A in the course." Kindle never said what he gave you, only what you earned. As far as she could tell, he thought that way, too.

"Why thank you, Professor Kindle." Walther was in the History department, and his office was half-way across campus. She'd scamped his paper to put more effort into Kindle's, and she wasn't taking the rest of Economic History. So, she'd look contrite and tell him that she'd try harder. Instead,

"Miss, Nolan. Come in. Here, I have your paper. The best that anyone in the class turned in. I see that you're not going on. You really should; the later 20th century shows much more development."

"Well, Professor Walther, I'm a teaching assistant this semester, and something had to give. It was Economic History."

"I gave you an A for the course, as well. Probably what you expected. Students, however, always want to know. Excellent paper. If you want to continue publishing after you get your degree, consider economic history." She took the paper, a piece of chaff she'd ground out in a hurry because the man had assigned it so late, and went on her way.

When she got outside, the sky -- which had been threatening rain all day -- delivered on its threat. She got her umbrella unfolded and open, but not before she was fairly wet.

On the bus going home, she read the paper again. It hadn't developed any brilliance in the time it was out of her hands. On the last page bibliography, Walther had marked the two memoire's she had quoted. "Original sources," he had written, "very good." Well, she supposed that Historical Statistics of the United States didn't quite qualify as an original source. It was a collection of figures the government had published originally long ago -- about a century ago, for the figures she had used. On the other hand, those figures were solid, and each memoire only reported one woman's experience. It may not have been typical; it may not even have been accurate for her.

Kindle, on the other hand, had commented on her citation of freight charges. "A steel mill represents an enormous, nearly permanent, investment. You need the history of those freight charges, and since ca. 1960, the ocean-freight charges influence the west coast."

To add to her feeling of bafflement, the wind caught her umbrella when she got off the bus. It blew it inside-out. She used it for what little protection it gave when pointed straight into the wind until she got to the downstairs door of the apartment. She changed her clothes from the skin out, got the umbrella back in shape, and began cooking. Still, she gave more of her attention to Walther's weirdness than to the stove. Nothing burned, for a wonder.

Even when Bill came home, as wet as she was, she was still wondering about the grade and the comment.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked her at the start of the meal. She unloaded.

"Remember that bastard, Walther? When he assigned us a paper late in the semester? I decided blow him off -- submitted a trifling paper that fit his public criteria. The other papers were more important, and I figured I could take the C."

"Yeah." He may have remembered. He might be encouraging her to talk until he caught up.

"I got the paper back today."

"Is it going to cause you problems, hold back the degree?" He did remember. Well, she'd really blown her stack back then.

"No. That's not it." She got him the paper and showed him.

"Well, that's wonderful. I'd been worried." And it was, sort of, wonderful. The grade wouldn't have much effect, but an A not having much effect was happier news than a C not having much effect. It was more puzzling than pleasing, though.

"I got an A- on my paper for Kindle. He told me he knew I could analyze more deeply than I had done. Still got an A in the course, though. Money and Banking was a B in the course. I haven't got the paper back yet."

"That's wonderful. Is there something else you're not telling me -- something for which all this is merely compensation?" He was still worried. Well, he could read her mood.

"Nope. That's my news."

"But you don't seem pleased."

"I'm pleased, but I'm more bewildered. It was a shallow paper on a shallow idea. It was scantily sourced. I can't understand it."

"Well, the grades call for a celebration." That was Bill. He didn't really lack curiosity, but curiosity didn't drive him. "I wouldn't recommend going out in this weather, though."

"Trust Bill. We need to celebrate, but we can't go out. We really must celebrate in here. I wonder what we could do to celebrate. Maybe hold the celebration in bed?" Not that she objected to celebrating in bed, but sometimes, she felt that his thinking always with the smaller head deserved some teasing.

"I could go out for some ice cream or something." That was also Bill. Celebration was eating out, and he was generous enough to go out so that she didn't have to.

"I'm only teasing you. I -- in case you haven't noticed -- enjoy our celebrations in bed, too. And, whatever your other faults, you make sure that I do." And he did, too. Bill would be perfect if he used his mouth only for kissing.

"I have some stuff to do, though," she told him. Her first discussion group as a teaching assistant was the next day.

"I need to do the dishes, too." He was good that way. He thought the chores he had done before she moved in were still his chores -- dishes and breakfast. When she thought of the stories she'd heard about women who worked full time and came home to be a full-time homemaker, she counted Bill among her blessings. He had his faults, but laziness wasn't among them. Well, enough of musing on her marriage -- she had work to do.

When she rose and stretched, she got her papers together. She got her stuff out of the bedroom, and took her face off, dealt minimally with her hair, and did her other bathroom chores. When she got into bed, Bill was already in the bathroom. She turned on the lamp. When he came in, he turned off the overhead light.

He hadn't mentioned the idea of celebration again, but he started off much more elaborately than his usual. Mr. Foreplay kissed all over her face before kissing downward. He'd shaved, too. instead of zooming in on her breasts, he gave them only a few kisses -- none on the nipples. He spent more time on her belly. He didn't get between her legs for the ultimate kiss, though. During his progress, she'd been half expecting it.

Instead, he returned to the top of the bed to kiss her mouth. He continued that kiss while his hand went where his mouth had preceded it. As their tongues met, he held her outer lips lightly between his fingers. He rubbed them against one another. Since the days when boys had regarded reaching her clit as the ultimate triumph of making out, her dates had always gone there as soon as they could. Bill, alone, regarded the journey as important as the destination. And this journey was delightful.

She was close before he reached her clit. Once there, though, he stayed there, stroking it gently as she got closer and closer. She flew. Even then, he continued the stimulation and continued the kiss.

"For the B." If that was in celebration of the B, what could he do to top it?

Well, he was obviously going to try. Already he was kissing her right breast. His hand, which had been resting on her delta went to work again on the lip-stimulating business. Her arousal grew again. It spiraled upward when he stroked her clit at the same time that he first sucked her nipple. She was close again, and he make no interruption in his caresses. She flew again, and again he continued the stimulation.

"For the A," he said when she'd finally relaxed.

But he wasn't allowing her any respite. It took him only a moment to switch to her left breast. There was no journey, this time, no kissing a path towards the nipple. He sucked on it while she got close again. Then, he did pause, but only to move his body over hers.

"Yeah," she said when his penis was ready to enter her.

"For the A+!" And he entered her, stretched her, filled her. His eyes were boring into hers as his penis bored into her. She couldn't help but rise to meet it. And her body undulated against his as he drove into her again and again. She got closer and closer. It was just beyond her reach... Then she flew.

"Yes!" And Bill throbbed deep within her. He lay heavy on her, despite his elbows on the bed, but it was a welcome weight. She hugged him.

"You are a delight," he said, "and not only in class." Well, he was a delight, too.

"It's our own classroom," she replied. "And you're the teacher."

"Then you never get a grade lower than 100%." He gave her a kiss before getting off and to his side of the bed. There were a lot of folds in the sheet and blanket on that side, and he took a bit of time digging through them and straightening them out. Then he hugged her again. It was a nice hug, but she was till lying on the wet spot.

"Move back." He not only moved back, he rolled over to turn off the lamp. When he was in position, she got into the spoon position with her hips on his side of the bed.

"My celebration. You have to hold me." And, he held her -- with a hand cupping her breast -- until she was asleep.