"Simmer Time - M" {Uther} (MF)

Simmer Time - M
by Uther Pendragon
[email protected]

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, 2012, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission.

If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them to me at [email protected].

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.

Simmer Time - M
by Uther Pendragon
[email protected]

Complacency was a mood foreign to Andy Trainor's makeup. He was much likelier to be worried. Yet, he was almost complacent as he drove up the interstate from Champaign towards Chicago in the spring of '77. Though he kept his eyes on traffic, he was constantly aware of Marilyn riding shotgun beside him. She wasn't a passenger; they were a couple.

Okay, they were a dating couple, not a married couple. They weren't even engaged, and they couldn't be until he was a hell of a lot closer to being able to support her. But, seeing them from outside the car, you wouldn't have been able to tell that. And, she seemed willing to continue as a couple.

She'd even had sex with him. The immediate sensations had been overwhelmingly delightful. What he took away in the long run was that she had accepted him. Marilyn wasn't the sort to have sex casually. Even if she hadn't revealed that he'd been the first, he'd have known that she didn't choose sex partners lightly or frequently. If they weren't married, they were on the road to being married. All he had to do was to keep their relationship developing along that track.

School, if he hadn't received the grades for the last semester yet, also felt like it was on track. After the distribution courses and preparatory stuff of the first year, he'd taken real engineering courses. And they'd felt like they'd gone okay. You could always really blow an exam without knowing it, but up to the finals almost all of them had felt okay. He was worried about Drafting, a real engineering course but not his cup of tea. The rest, always allowing for unseen disasters, had gone well. At the very least, he'd learned the content. Even if he had somehow failed to show it on the last exam, he had that learning. Even Phys Ed had been fun -- the first fun he'd had in a gym class in his life -- and now he could swim. Which, since Marilyn enjoyed swimming, could be important.

If he hadn't accomplished any of his three goals for his four college years after the first two, he was on track. He had always known that becoming an engineer would take four years. Marriage to Marilyn, which he hadn't allowed himself even to dream about for the first two years he'd known her, depended on his being able to support a family. That depended on his being an engineer. His final goal, independence from his Dad, had to wait for the first two. Dad paid his tuition. Intellectually, he knew that he had to wait, although dependancy grated.

He got past the on-ramps and exits. The traffic -- mostly trucks this time of day -- was flowing freely. He could pay attention to Marilyn again. He'd already heard her grade predictions, he'd go to her sorority little sister.

"Did Beverly tell you how she thought she did?"

"She wasn't afraid of any failures. She doesn't have your standards, you know." And so they went on until they stopped for lunch. After that, it was a pleasant drive until they got to Chicago and the spaghetti bowl of interchanges. From there, it was east to the Outer Drive and then Sheridan to Evanston.

He drove up to her street and backed in to her drive. He left more room in front of the garage door so he could get her suitcases out of the trunk. She opened the door, and he put her luggage down in the entryway. She went up two steps on the stairway to compensate for the 14 inches difference in their heights. She turned to him, and he kissed her. It wasn't really goodbye; they'd see each other all summer. Still, it was a long, warm kiss.

"Marilyn!" It was Marilyn's mom. He took his hands off her, in case her mom was looking as well as calling. Marilyn didn't pull her arms from around his neck, although she did break the kiss to answer.

"Yeah. Later. I'm busy now." She went back to the kiss, and he cooperated to the extent of chasing her tongue with his. His heart wasn't really in the kiss, though.

"Is that Andy?" That did require an answer.

"Yes, Mrs. Grant. Hello. I brought Marilyn home."

"Come upstairs now." That clearly wasn't directed at him. Well, the kiss had been nice while it lasted.

"Love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," she said loudly. She'd said it before, and he believed she did, but this was for her mom to hear.

At home, he used his key but gave the family's two quick rings to let Mrs. Bryant know that someone else was in the house. She came out to greet him.

"Andy! You hungry?"

"Well, we stopped for lunch. Let me get my bags." He hauled his stuff in from the porch and carried the actual bags upstairs. Back downstairs, he resisted the special homecoming meal until Dad could join him at regular dinner time. He did have some of Mrs. Bryant's good chocolate-chip cookies.

"Well," Dad asked after dinner, "think you passed any courses?"

"Not until the teachers grade them. Anything can happen to blow a test, but otherwise I'm happy with most of them. I'm worried about Drafting. It would take a miracle on the last test to get me an A. But I'm virtually certain to pass Phys. Ed. The very last gym class I'll ever take."

"Was it that painful? Swimming wasn't it?"

"Yeah, no. Swimming was rather fun after a while. The guy told you what to do; you did it; after some practice it moved you through the water. And, too, Marilyn swims. We might go to the lake this summer."

"Ah, Miss Grant. Always an important consideration. You don't want to look incompetent in front of Miss Grant."

"You're teasing. Anyway, I'm competent in all sorts of things."

"And so you are. Unfortunately, she's unlikely to see you solve differential equations, or know what you've done if she did see."

"Yeah, but she understood dean's list."

"And that impressed her? She impresses me. The coeds of my day were more interested in men with a gentleman's C."

"Being impressed by her is one thing we agree on."

"So it is. I'll even pretend that your impression extends beyond the gonads."

"It does. I won't pretend that I'm not sexually attracted...."

"That's fortunate. Five minutes in your joint company would tell anyone that you're sexually attracted."

"But she has many good qualities beyond that."

"I don't doubt that. I was only dubious that you saw beyond your lust." But, really, Dad was only arguing for the sake of argument. Dad was quite happy to show up at church a little early so that he could wait for Marilyn while Dad took his usual place. While he was standing at the top of the steps, the Pierces drove up. Mr. Pierce stopped right in front in the unloading zone. Mrs. Pierce hurried downstairs while Mr. Pierce unloaded the twins. While he walked them upstairs, he left the rear door of his car open.

"Can I leave them with you, Andy?"

"Of course." The kids were cute, and it wasn't as though he was going to go far. Mr. Pierce put one hand securely in his and then the other, reciting the kids' names as he did so. He ran down to his car and drove away to park it. By now, he'd have to go blocks.

The kids tugged him towards the stairs.

"Down," said John.

"Please," said Paul. It was either struggle with them at the top of a long flight of concrete steps or walk down. They walked down, the boys clearly enjoying themselves. When they got to the sidewalk they turned around, taking a lot of space to turn the three of them. He wasn't about to let go of a hand. They started up assuming his agreement. On their second trip down, Marilyn came up with her family.

"The Pierce twins," he said. "Wait for me in our pew, will you?" He'd rather have gone in with her, but the kids couldn't turn around where they were.

"Of course."

"Andy, you're a worse sucker than I am." Mr. Pierce had come back and was behind them. The boys looked around and tried to jerk their hands loose. When Mr. Pierce passed him, they started up the stairs after their father. He wasn't as much a sucker as Mr. Pierce, not by an order of magnitude -- not by two orders of magnitude.

When he joined Marilyn, she snuggled up to him a little closer than they were used to sitting in First Urbana. When her dad looked back at them, she snuggled closer yet. He loved the warmth against his hip. He'd have preferred thinking that it was an expression of her desire for him instead of her rejection of her parents.

After church, was coffee hour. The kids already back from college gathered at two adjoining tables. Some schools weren't out yet. Marilyn, former MYF chair, was one of the foci of the group. As her guy, he was a bigger part of it than his one year of attendance before college would have justified otherwise. Mr. Schmidt stopped at the table with his wife as he went out. He greeted the kids, who'd been his charge when they were in MYF.

"Think you can make it in at 8:45 tomorrow, Andy?" Mr. Schmidt asked him.

"Of course." After he left, the Pierces came up the stairs. The rest of the choir had been up for some time, but they probably had something to do for the twins.

"And here, my dear, is a worse sucker than I am," Mr. Pierce said to his wife. Not by two orders of magnitude. But he'd have to say that in a way the half-educated would understand.

"Not by one percent, I walked the twins up and down twice. How many trips have you made with kids who wanted to climb stairs?"

"You have to understand, Andy," said Mrs. Pierce, "that being one percent as much of a sucker as Bill still makes you a huge sucker." She stayed around with the kids while her husband went for the car. The twins were the center of attention, and they looked used to that.

As the coffee hour was breaking up, Dad came over.

"Are you riding with us, Miss Grant? Are you ready to go?" He asked.

"Certainly."

"Do you think you'd like to repeat the seating arrangement with my daughters when they are here later this summer?" She looked at him.

He was fine with that arrangement.

"Sure," she said. Dad immediately handed him the keys. Well, he knew where the car was parked. Apparently, he was driving today. When he got back, dad handed Marilyn in to the front seat before he could go around. Dad got in the back.

"Take Miss Grant home first," Dad said. "We're going to a restaurant. I'm sorry, my dear. You'd be welcome to accompany us, but your parents would have objections -- deservedly so -- on your first Sunday back from school." Dad was always appreciative of Marilyn and warm towards her -- the "Miss Grant" until she called him "Jim" excepted. Still, he always treated her asDad's guest and him as a stray when they were together. He drove Marilyn home.

"Backing in?" Dad asked. Was he going to supervise his driving, now?

"Gets Marilyn closer to the door." Which Dad should have been able to figure out for himself.

He got out. A lady, she waited for him to open her door. He walked her to her porch and stood the usual two steps down. They had a kiss, even an open-mouth kiss. Still he could feel that she was conscious of Dad's watching. He heard the car door slam. Still, when he got back, Dad was in the passenger seat. He was still the driver.

"Get your voyeur kicks for the week?"

"You know, when somebody sneaks around and peeks in your bedroom window, you have grounds for complaint. Even when he peeks in the car window when you've parked seeking privacy. When you do something on the front porch in broad daylight, you have no grounds for complaint that others are in view. And, when I want voyeur kicks, I'll choose among stronger fare than a good-bye kiss, thank you."

"So, where are we going?"

"Well, if you're in the mood for an argument, we have plenty of left-overs back home. Mrs. Bryant really cooked up a storm for you."

"I'm done."

"Bread Box." So he drove to The Bread Box. Despite its name, it served full meals, standard fare, but tasty.

"So," Dad began. "Have your summer mapped out?"

"Sorta. I'll be working at the hardware store again." Dad, who had picked up the app and mailed it to him, was aware of that, but you started a description where the audience was. "I don't know the specific hours, of course. I brought the book for PDE. Figured I'd read a little ahead."

"PDE being."

"Partial differential equations."

"I thought you studied differential equations this past year. Was it only the impartial ones?" He gave Dad a smile, a thin one but better than the joke deserved.

"Let's say you want to lose weight by exercise. You burn 3,000 calories, which are really kilocalories, in one exercise session. But you eat food containing 4,000 calories after the session because it made you hungrier. Your partial derivative of weight over exercise is the negative of whatever weight 3,000 calories represents. Your partial derivative of food intake with respect to exercise is 4,000 calories.

"Well, that situation, while not continuous and, thus, not really dealt with by derivatives, represents a common physical situation. Z is a function of X and Y; Y is a function of X. The partial derivative of Z with respect to X represents what would happen if Y were held constant. I really need paper -- or a blackboard."

"You really need an audience which is up to speed on that. Remember what happened with your AP calculus?"

"Don't remind me."

"You performed perfectly honorably. Your high-school teacher didn't do what the course description claimed it would do. You fell behind in college. You learned what you needed to know by yourself. But you needed to know a fraction of a semester's work. To follow that description, I'd need to have taken -- and remember after decades -- entire college courses I never touched."

"Anyway, PDE is a course different from Diffy Cue. And, if I were interested, I'm sure that there is a continuation of each somewhere in the University catalog."

"'Of books and the making of books, there is no end.'"

"Well the number of courses in the catalog is quite finite. I, however, will never come to the end of them. For that matter, the number of books in all the libraries of earth is finite, as is the number of sub-atomic particles in all those books."

"Andy, you are a literalist."

"Marilyn made the same accusation."

"Well, if Miss Grant says so, it must be correct. And, in your case, it's not an accusation; it's an observation."

"She introduced Beverly as her 'little sister.' Beverly isn't tall, but she's much taller than Marilyn -- as who isn't?"

"There is that, but she's using the term metaphorically. Not even that. Sorority girls use it as a technical term. I must say, that if Miss Grant exceeds my memory of coeds, she overwhelms my memory of sorority girls."

"She doesn't like you calling her that, you know."

"Well, she is Miss Grant. I'll change when she calls me 'Jim.'"

"She doesn't want to call you 'Jim.' You're not her contemporary, you're the father of her boyfriend -- the stuffy father of her boyfriend."

"Now, is that your opinion or hers?"

"It's an observation."

"Touche'."

Monday, he was in the hardware store, in his place, and with his week's schedule well before the store opened at 9:00. There weren't a flood of customers, and he was the only one on a cash register. When there weren't customers, he figured out what would be convenient for evenings. Now to see what would be convenient for Marilyn.

When he called that night, they agreed on movie dates Tuesday and Wednesday and a day at the beach Thursday. It was a damn sight harder to find decent parking spaces in the northern suburbs than it had been in Champaign. Forget Evanston itself. But he found the places and Marilyn was sexy as hell.

Sometimes, after the dates, he felt guilty. Marilyn was quite forceful about what she thought about men using women exploitatively, and here he was exploiting her all the time. Her writhings in his lap were among the sexiest experiences he'd ever had. Certainly, they were far sexier than any experience he'd had before he met her. Sure, she enjoyed it, too. In a way, he was enjoying her enjoyment. Still, he was using her, and he was always afraid she'd catch on.

Thursday, she bared almost all her beauty to him. (And to the world, but he didn't really have a claim to exclusivity yet.)

"Sexy," he said of her bikini, or, maybe, of the parts it didn't cover. They covered each other with sun screen. Kneading it into her skin was fun and arousing, but he stuck to the parts the sun could actually touch. She put her fingers way up the leg hole of his suit. When he turned on his face to hide his erection, she grinned. It wasn't as though this was the first erection of his that she'd evoked, or -- even -- among the first hundred.

Soon, although oiled so thoroughly, she wanted to swim. He could pace her, and when she wanted to rest in the water for a bit, he tried out his breast stroke away from her and then a backstroke towards her. He took the last slowly in fear of a collision. They swam and sunned. When the sun started to sink, they headed back

"Y'know," she said then. "This business of not seeing the movies is starting to scare me. My roommates teased me about that. We fooled nobody, but they were only teasing. I don't want my mother, much less my brother to know. Ya think we could see a couple so I have something to talk about?" And, too, her period would be starting soon. She didn't like to talk about it, but she cut down their making out for those days.

"Sure." If he really had his choice, they'd be together, naked, in a bed for the rest of their lives -- period or no. He didn't have his choice, and it would have been silly to refuse what was on offer. Sitting beside her in a movie theater was exciting, all by itself. When his day off was Saturday and her period was over, he might get more. First, though, he had to get dad's approval of his use of the yard.

"All we want to do is sunbathe." He'd explained why he wanted Marilyn to be his guest Saturday.

"I'll believe that that's all Miss Grant wants to do. Are you actually trying to tell me that you don't have much stronger desires?"

"You know what I mean." The old man was playing with him.

"You're courting a future English teacher, boy. Learn to express yourself clearly. All right, what you do, as you're always quick to tell me, is your business and not mine. But what you do, what anybody does, in this house is my business. Fine, I'd be glad to have her as my guest in a way. While the two of you are in the back yard, I won't put a foot in it. I'll even stay away from the back windows. But...

"But, I'll expect something of you, too. As long as she is in the house, you will not put a foot above the first floor. Use the downstairs toilet, if you have to. Deal?" Well, they certainly weren't going to have sex, or even a kiss, in his room while Dad was in the house.

"Sure."

"Fine. Then pizza for lunch? Miss Grant is a lady. Would she expect silverware and vegetable and salad courses?"

"Marilyn is a lady, not a refugee from Victorian England. She eats pizza like a Chicagoan."

"I propose our usual toppings, give her a veto, let her choose two more." The old man might be a fussbudget, but he was generous -- especially generous where Marilyn was concerned.

"Sounds great." Then he had to convince her.

"The beach is likely to be jammed on a Saturday. Want to get your sunshine in my back yard?" he asked on a Tuesday date.

"Sounds good."

"Good morning, Miss Grant," Dad said Saturday. "Pizza at one acceptable?" She nodded. "Let's select the toppings before you go back there. I'm not going back for anything." She saw nothing wrong, or said she saw nothing wrong, with onions, pepperoni, green pepper, and shrimp. Her choices were beef and anchovies.

They were mostly decent when they slathered on the sun screen. The houses on either side could look into the yard. The garages and trees mostly sheltered them from the houses in back. He enjoyed covering every inch of skin which showed. He even enjoyed her covering the parts of his skin which were covered by the suit. It wasn't the first erection he'd had back here. Anyone seeing a clothed erection from the windows was using binoculars. They chatted and dozed.

During her later doze, he feasted his eyes. Sure, he'd seen a little more, but he couldn't take his time then. Now, the combination of the sun screen and her perspiration raised a sheen all over her body. She had the decent beginnings of a tan already. He didn't, and with sun screen, he never would. Still the choice between vitamin D and watching Marilyn sleep was an easy one.

"Pizza's here," Dad called from the doorway. True to his promise of not stepping in the yard, he was well back in the doorway. Well, if he couldn't watch Marilyn sleep, he could watch her eat.

"You guys probably should wash your hands in the sink," Dad greeted them when they came in. "sun screen can't taste good." The kitchen chairs were covered by towels and there were more towels for bibs.

The toppings tasted delicious to him, and Dad cut it into eight pieces instead of four. The combination of temptations led him to take three pieces before he stopped. Dad took two, Marilyn only one. Dad had already cut one piece in half, and he offered one of those halves to Marilyn, but she still declined.

Dad dominated the conversation, but he did keep it centered on Marilyn. She told him of getting 2 A s and 3 B s.

"Very good! Andy had told me. He was quite proud of your accomplishment."

"You know that Andy got 3 A s and 2 B s?" Marilyn asked. Dad knew; probably she realized that Dad knew. She was just reminding him of his accomplishments. They might have been flawed, but she'd been lavish in her praises anyhow.

"And the B in drafting was in an engineering subject." That was obvious, but he wanted both of them that he acknowledged that weakness.

"It'll be one more time on the dean's list," she said.

Dad drew her out about the sorority.

"And," she told him out of the blue, "most Sundays, Andy and I attend Urbana First UMC." Well, Dad already knew that she was a good influence. But there was another side to that story

"After," he said "a long period of church shopping. What did we visit, Marilyn, eight congregations?" Poker-faced Dad ignored that point.

After a discussion of how much more was in an eight-inch pie instead of a 6-inch one and a quick trip to the downstairs john for each of them, they returned to the sunlight. She lay on her back, and they had a nice kiss. Kisses when you were oily and couldn't hug were another sensation. Then she turned on her face and toasted the other side. At her request, he pulled the thin strap holding her top together down so that the tan could cover that area. Then he admired her back.

The back itself was smooth and arched and glistening. The rump was lovely and something like half covered. He could see the swells arise from the small of her back, especially when she rested on her elbows and arched like that. He could see the creases where the rump turned into the legs. He'd kissed them once, and wanted to again, despite the sun screen. He was certain, though, that she wouldn't like that out here. Most of the bottom half of her rump was visible, with only a narrow band covering the crack. That band pressed her labia together between her legs, which were spread enough to see the effect.

Sometimes, he liked to press them together, too. He could rub them against each other with his thumb and forefinger. More often, he enjoyed spreading them apart. The narrow band of redness in between was so pretty, and so slick. And, in the part that was hidden now by her body as well as the band, was the incredibly responsive clitoris. Now, he had a real erection, pressing the trunks out so anyone could see. He lay on his side so only she could see if she chose to look. There was a sense that the erection belonged to her; it was entirely a response to her.

Later, she didn't want even the half piece of pizza. Still later, she got dressed again and he drove her home.

They sat together at church Sunday. He drove Dad home first and then Marilyn.

Tuesday, they saw another movie. The plot didn't interest him that much, though it seemed to intrigue Marilyn. The music was nice, though, and he watched her profile in the changing lights from the screen.

Again, she took her jeans and panties all the way down. Again he had her naked body writhe in his arms three times. Even in the dark car, you could see the extra paleness of the parts covered by the bikini.

"Y'know," she said once they were in the front seat, "nobody has asked me about the movies yet. You?"

"Nobody but Dad knows I go out on dates with you. Really, since I have my own car, he only knows I leave the house." Not that he had any doubts about where Andy was going. He'd only have been wrong about a couple of expeditions to check out the night-time parking possibilities of some neighboring 'burbs.

"You think we could go back to skipping the movies?"

"It's your family. It's your judgment." He'd like that, but not enough to influence her decisions. Nights they started making out earlier, they also ended earlier.

"Let's. You really don't tell your dad anything? Do you think you could arrange some time for him to be out?" Well, he told Dad next to nothing. But that last was impossible. At that point in the conversation, he backed into her driveway, but they had some more talking to do.

"That's one step too far. If you're in the house, I can't be upstairs. What we do is our business, and he says he trusts your judgment if not mine. What we dochez Trainor, he regards as his business. I have to admit that I see his point. If my actions are my decisions because I'm an adult, then adults provide their own space." That sounded arrogant. "Not to say that my actions with you are only my decision -- they're your actions, too, and your decision -- it's only in relation to him that they're my decision. We can't get a bed in my dorm or your sorority, either. We're adults; we're on our own."

"Andy, I know you. I know that you're not going to ignore me, even if you express it that way." She was so sweet and understanding.

After the kiss at her door, he went home.

"Come in, won't you?" Dad called from his room. "And how was the excellent Miss Grant?"

"I'd just told her that you don't pry into my business."

"I wasn't prying. I was expressing an interest in a mutual acquaintance. You could have answered 'quite well.' I didn't ask what the minimum of clothing she wore during the evening. I asked if she were well. And the way I asked it allowed you to answer as informatively or uninformatively as you wished. If she has a sunburn or a toothache, you might wish to tell me. If she has a personal struggle, you might wish to keep the secret you pledged. Either is your choice. I merely expressed a friendly interest."

"Well, she does say that you always are more positive than her parents are."

"Her perspicacity is not universal."

"Well, you do approve."

"How do you mean? I certainly approve of her. Who would not. I don't approve of your relationship with her."

"What's wrong with it?"

"You mistake me. I don't disapprove. And, I will confess, that there are some young women of whom, despite your expressed will that I stay out of your business, I would disapprove. But she is far from that type -- any of those types. So, if I express no opinion, it's because you have made very clear that I should butt out."

"Her parents are more negative."

"Well, I'm the father of two girls. So, let me explain to you. Let's leave individualities out of it. But parents of girls worry about some more things. To be blunt, girls get pregnant and boys don't."

"But we..." He couldn't quite issue the denial.

"We're keeping individualities out of it. Once a girl has her first period, more after she starts going out on dates without parental escort, the parents worry about that. They worry that the girl might go too far. They worry that she might be a victim of date rape. There are enough worries about boys, but not those particular ones.

"Then, too, after a girl has sex with some number of boys, a number not culturally specified but in some cases for some observers as low as one, she becomes a slut. After a boy passes another number, again vague, he becomes a stud. The first description is much less desirable.

"Now, the elder Grants trust their daughter, but they have to fear her being thought a slut or her becoming pregnant. On the other hand, they don't want her to be a wall flower. So, whatever happens, they worry. Being Protestants, they can't even hope she has a vocation as a nun."

"She says that what her dad has against me is that I want to date her. Her mom is much more specific."

"Now, that is interesting."

"Interesting? I'd think you'd find it demeaning."

"Demeaning of you, perhaps. Now if Judy had said that no son of that wretch, Jim Trainor, was worthy of her daughter, then I'd have been demeaned. But listen. I can see a girl considering you poor date material."

"Gee, thanks. You sound like her sorority."

"But, if Molly in a few years starts going with some guy like you -- not you, of course, not related and a few years younger -- but the same personality type, I'd be mostly happy. I wouldn't be totally happy, of course -- I can sympathize with Rich Grant -- but mostly happy. From what I see of you, you look much more attractive as a daughter's date than you do as a date."

"You're saying I'm stodgy."

"Or, saying it in different words, reliable. It's interesting that those traits don't overcome any reservations Judy Grant might have. I would think she'd consider you extremely likely to get a job with a future in two years, extremely unlikely to elope with her daughter and then leave her. She may regard my divorce as an omen, but there are too many divorced couples these days to rule out all their children. Anyway, you're less likely to get her daughter pregnant than the typical undergraduate, and more likely to marry her if you do. We're speaking of what she sees, now, not saying you'd do either."

"I don't know, but I sense hostility every time I see her."

"Guys wanting to be EEs may be duller than guys wanting to be rock stars..."

"But not as stodgy as bankers."

"Son, nobody is as stodgy as a banker. Anyway, they are one hell of a lot more likely to achieve their goal."

"I'm glad I brought you an interesting problem."

"Um? Is there anyone else in the family who looks at interesting problems instead of crying alas and alack when some goal looks difficult to achieve."

"Well, okay. I'm your son."

"You know, that's the source of all our conflicts. We'd get along fine if we weren't related."

"And even better if we hadn't met." But the old man had a point. With all their disagreements, they had some things in common.

"When are your sisters visiting this year?" Marilyn asked in the back seat Wednesday. Now, he was interested in her as much as he was interested in sex with her. Still this was on odd place, as well as an odd subject, for conversation.

"Late July; early August, just before we go back. Come in the 23rd of July; leave the 6th of August. Why?"

"Think you could get specific days off in early July?"

"I might. Mr. Schmidt likes me, and most of the workers do, too. Many days, on the other hand, would be a problem. We're there to cover for people on vacation, not to take vacations ourselves." What did Marilyn want with two specific days? He could hope she'd want to be with him, but what schedule did she have that specific days mattered?

"Oh, Andy, I love you!" Well, that was nice to hear, and it was nice to feel, too. They were kissing mouth-to-mouth when she writhed on his lap for the third time. He breathed in her gasp.

She gave him a slip of paper with the dates, and he went in the next afternoon after his shift was over to see if they were possible.

"There's Andy, Craig. He could take my shift," Doug said. Doug had got there first.

"Now, Doug. We shuttle these guys around enough. We're not going to give Andy more work to make your life easier."

"But..."

"Just a minute," Andy said. "I came in to see if I could get some special time off. Maybe we can make us both happy. You don't want to get off on a Thursday, do you?"

"Nah. This Saturday. My niece is getting married, and my sister will never speak to me again if I'm not there. And it's in Cincinnati, of all places."

"I need Thursday the 7th and Thursday the 14th off. If you could take one of those days, I'd be quite happy to trade."

"Either one."

"Let me look," Mr. Schmidt said. "Well, I can get you off the 14th, if you're willing to take that shift. I was going to give it to Bob since you have seniority. The times really jump around."

"If you give me that shift, and Doug takes the other Thursday, I'll be quite happy. Times jumping around is no problem."

"It's a deal for me," Doug said.

"Fine. Tell me your times. Sorry I can't be more help on special light fixtures."

"Well," said Mr. Schmidt, "I'll work out those schedules that way."

The extra Saturday shift was no great fun, but it was no great pain, either. He told Marilyn on their next date that he'd been able to arrange it. He spoke in the front seat before they were parked, which, he felt, was more appropriate. She smiled mysteriously and didn't tell him what she wanted.

Wednesday night, however, she broke it to him. He showed up at her door with a smile on his face and rubbers in his pocket at 10:00 the next morning. She was alone, dressed nicely, and smelling especially pretty and feminine. After a kiss, she led him upstairs. Her room was neat and feminine. It smelled almost as nice as she did. The sound of the latch closing told him that they had privacy at last.

They kissed while undressing each other. When he had her down to her panties, he kissed her mound through them. When she pulled down his jeans, he reached into the pocket before it was too late. He brought out the rubbers.

"I'm on the Pill." She shook her head.

"You're sure?" Wasn't there an initial period where they weren't certain?

She went to her dresser and pulled out the 28-day dispenser.

"Oh, darling!" And she was a darling. The sexiest woman alive.

"You weren't the only one worried after the rainstorm." Which took care of the initial period. She must have had those for months. Besides, Marilyn was smart; he didn't have to second guess her every move.

While he was thinking about moves, she made one. She pulled the top covers off the bed. The arena where they were going to meet was bare and conspicuous.

"Bed." It would be more comfortable, and she, poor Marilyn, was always on the bottom.

"Bed... and walls." There was that, too -- privacy. They needed that. He sat on the bed to remove his shoes and socks. The jeans followed. She took off her watch and put it on the bedside table. He put his beside it. That left them in only underwear, his white, hers green.

She came over for a kiss. He stayed sitting down, and her head was higher than his. While she massaged his shoulders, her stroked all over her sweet body. When he got up, he lifted her, turned, and put her on the bed.

When he touched her panties, she raised her hips. He slid the panties off as his gaze traveled down the length of her torso. As the panties left her mound and its treasures, his gaze reached there. Crushed hairs were rising again to hide her secrets, but he wanted them so much he could see them. Her puffy, furredlabia majora were parted just enough to allow the smooth, redlabia minora to be glimpsed. Her mound rose above them, guarding them but looking welcoming. The sleek thighs framing that beauty looked kissable in themselves. He could remember their taste.

"Oh, Marilyn." He got the panties the rest of the way off. Kneeling between her legs, he did kiss the thighs. The taste was all that he'd remembered. He swung his head from side to side, kissing each thigh in its turn. As he came closer to her center, the dark, arousing odor natural to her overcame the light floral scent she'd overlaid it with. The improvement almost made him lose his control. He automatically took a deep breath, his usual first step towards control. In this situation, it was a mistake. He kissed her center, trading aroma for taste.

"Oh, Marilyn." He used his fingers to part thelabia majora and his tongue to part herlabia minora. That taste was even better. After he'd licked there a while, she tugged him harder against her by his hair. "Yes, darling," he tried to say, but it may have been lost in her inner folds. He licked upwards between her lips, both enjoying the journey and promising to reach her clitoris in some future. Her pulls on his hair persuaded him that she'd rather it be now.

When he did taste her clitoris, she tensed her leg muscles bu let go of his hair. He slipped his hands under her knees and up to her breasts. He fondled these while he licked her clitoris. When he was in position, he pinched both nipples while sucking on her clitoris. It didn't send her over, as he'd hoped it would. She stiffened, though, and pressed her legs against the mattress. His arms were under those legs, and he thanked God for the yielding mattress. He continued to lick and tweak while she grew evan more stiff.

"Andy," she said as she began to writhe. She looked sexy and felt tremendously erotic. He pinched her nipples more firmly and sucked her clitoris as hard as he could. He kept licking and sucking while she kept writhing. When she stopped, he raised his head to tell her of her beauty.

"Yeah." Which was hardly eloquent. "Marilyn, you are so..." And what was she? Beautiful, but he'd felt and tasted more than saw. Sexy, but that sounded like he was using her; and that wasn't true. He was appreciating her. "... wonderful." That sounded hardly adequate, but much later she responded.

"I feel wonderful."

"That's 'cause you are." He kissed her lovely thighs again. He couldn't resist her center for long, however, and he was soon licking her labia on the way to her clitoris. When he felt her respond, he spread her lips and thrust two fingers into her. He'd nearly exploded the first time his cock had felt her sweetness through a thin film of rubber. He was far from sure how long he'd last when he touched it directly. He wanted her to be very close before he tried. And he'd read about the G-spot. Did she have a sensitive one? Could he arouse it?

She had, at least, a bump at the right spot. He rubbed one fingertip against it and then the other while licking her clitoris, When she seemed close, he took his fingers out. He kissed her clitoris one last time and headed up to her face. He stared her in the eyes while positioning himself.

"Oh, Marilyn." She did feel much sexier without the barrier -- warmer, wetter, he could feel the pores of her skin. And, when he pushed inside, she was even warmer and wetter. He felt every inch, every millimeter, of her vagina as he passed deeper within. When he couldn't get deeper, he was driven to withdraw ans experience that again. He resisted momentarily.

"Love," he said before he kissed her. Like this, the forehead was all he could reach.

"Love," she responded. Then he could no longer resist, He began stroking in and out as slowly as he could. He felt every motion as he moved out, felt the extra tightness resist the head of his cock as he paused briefly, felt the slipperiness on his head and the tighter ring go down his shaft as he returned.

He watched her face go from curiosity to love to worry. It showed something approaching agony and he was fighting to keep from exploding again when she called out.

"Andy!" He could feel her writhing beneath him, writhingaround him.

"Darling," he answered as he poured himself into her. He was stiff as a board for one second while he pumped into her pulsing wetness. He stiffened his right arm more as the rest of his muscles collapsed. He fell to his left side before the right arm failed as well. He was mostly beside her, but her leg was under his. As soon as he had energy, he'd move. He should be closer, too.

"I love you," he said when he had breath. He moved off her leg.

"You, too.... Mattresses are really more comfortable."

"So they are, but you're sexy in any situation." Sexier in some, of course. Her orgasmic writhings were the acme of sensuality.

"Andy, you're sweet." Above even that accolade, she kissed him. Their tongues tangled. When hers withdrew, he took over the kiss, rising and pushing her flat on the bed. They kept kissing. When his tongue left her mouth, hers followed. He sucked on it gently. When his next returned to explore her mouth, she sucked on his. He had to restrain himself then from climbing over her and pushing his cock into her -- much too soon. All through this, his hand had complete freedom of her soft, smooth breasts. He stroked them, cupped each, tweaked her nipples.

When he replaced his hands with his lips, the smoothness was even more apparent, the responsiveness of the nipples even more delightful. As he did, he stroked over her slender, firm abdomen to her mound, she spread her legs immediately. But, while her vulva might be even sexier, he didn't want to ignore the sexiness of her mound and its special hair.

"You know." He said to her breast, though loudly enough for her ear to hear, "you have the sweetest hair here. Every bit of you is pretty, but this is special." And he stroked the hair from its highest line down to where it divided and between her thighs and around the bend over the extra softness of her labia. When his hand came back up, one of his fingers parted the labia to feel the smoothness. If the sexiness of her soft, smooth breast was outdone by the sexiness of her firm nipple, the sexiness of the hair on her labia was outdone by the sexiness of the smooth hairlessness between them.

When he went further inward, parting herlabia minora the smoothness turned to moistness. He stroked that moisture upwards towards her clitoris. He relaxed and lay on his side. He loved her, and expressed that love by an occasional kiss on her shoulder, but he was delaying the explosive culmination of that love.

"This is sweet, isn't it?" Marilyn seemed to share his mood.

"Yeah. They talk a lot about foreplay, but they don't say much about afterplay. Wouldn't it be great to fall asleep like this?" Although he was too aroused to fall asleep. But, still, this was delightfully restful. He didn't want it to be to restful for her, though. And, as she responded to every stroke across her clitoris, it apparently wasn't. Still, he didn't want those strokes to be predictable. And, since they couldn't come unpredictably -- she knew when he was close -- they might be predictable and not come. As he began one upward stroke, she looked at him, looked, he thought, lovingly. When he stopped just short of her clitoris, he smiled his love.

"Andy, please!" she said. Well, there was a time for restfulness, and there was a time for action. His cock had long been thinking that this was a time for action. If Marilyn agreed, he'd give her, would soon give both her and himself, more action. He continued bringing more lubrication upward, but he crossed her clitoris on every stroke. He raised himself on his elbow again, and went back to kissing her lovely breasts. He tried to coordinate his timing so that he licked or sucked a nipple at the same time he stroked across her clitoris.

She was tensing. He could tell that she was near, and he wanted to see all of her like that. He raised himself too look. Her face had taken on a worried, almost pained, expression. Both her nipples were erect. Her arms were pressed down on the bed, and her hands were clenched. Her abdomen was taut. He hips were barely on the bed and moving across it in time to his strokes. Her mound was pushing upward toward his hand. Her legs were straight and barely touching the sheet for much of their length, but her heels were pressed into the mattress. She was beautiful. Of course, she was always beautiful, but, like this perched on the edge of her responsive writhing, she was even more beautiful. And he wanted to see the even greater beauty of that writhing.

"Oh, Marilyn... Oh, darling," he begged, "Come for me." She did. He could see the ripples cross her abdomen. Her mound pressed into his palm and lifted his hand. She gasped, and her expression was one of open-mouthed agony. Her arm and legs moved, and her torso rolled from side to side. She was so erotic, and she was his darling, and -- in that moment -- she was his.

"Oh, love.... Sweet... sweet... sweet... sweet Marilyn." He cupped her mound where that sweetness centered. He kissed all over her face, avoiding her mouth only because she was panting. "Darling Marilyn. Lovely woman... loving woman." He could see that love in her eyes, and feasted on it.

When she seemed to not be panting anymore, he kissed her lips. When this didn't seem to cause her any difficulty, he entered her mouth with his tongue to taste the love he'd seen. When he began to stroke her, however, she shook her head. Fine. They had time, for once they had time and privacy. When his kiss started to interfere with her breathing, he kissed her chin. But he wanted more, those sweet eyes, that, though would be dangerous.

"Close your eyes." He could kiss her eyes, then. Afterwards, he kissed all over her sweet face, ending at her mouth. He could still taste love. Lying back down, he sucked her fingers. "You are so sexy," he told her, "so, so, erotic."

"Andy," she said after he'd finished sucking the fingers of that hand, but before he'd figured out how to move on to the fingers of the close hand. He didn't want to twist her arm.

"Yes."

"How come, when you do that to me, whenyou take me to a delightful, shudderingly ecstatic, climax, does that makeme sexy?" Well, it wasn't something he did to her, although it was nice of her to say so. Her writhing felt even sexier if it was in response to him. But, really, those were something that had always -- maybe always since puberty -- been in her. If he let them out, that was accomplishment enough.

"Well, they're sexy climaxes -- 'shudderingly ecstatic' as somebody said. It's not all. You have a sexy face and a sexy body, but you definitely have sexy climaxes. And they're even sexier on a sexy body."

"As compared to the other climaxes you've seen women have?" Well, okay, but he hadn't made any comparisons. He'd bet on them, not that he wanted her to have any more audience than himself, but he hadn't made any. She had the sexiest face, and he'd probably said so. He hadn't said she had the sexiest orgasms.

"Well, yes. I don't have a great deal of experience, but, even so, I can say that your orgasms are frightfully sexy. Would another woman's compare? Except in one way, I can only guess. But yours are special because they are Marilyn's orgasms in response to me. No other woman, no matter how prettily she writhed, would have that. So you're sexy and I say so, but you're my love, and that's more important yet."

"Back in a sec," she said, getting up. He had another sexy view as she walked away towards the bedroom door. She shut the door as she went out. A minute later, he heard the toilet flush and the sink run. Then she was even sexier walking towards him, breasts swaying slightly, thighs hiding and disclosing her ultimate sexuality at the bottom of that triangle of hair.

"Want to take a turn?" Really, he should. He'd need to fairly soon, and they'd already been interrupted. He felt strange, though, walking a hallway in somebody else's house -- a hallway he'd seen for the first time this morning -- stark naked. Not that her family would come home, not that they'd be much more pleased to see him up there fully clothed. When he pissed, it reminded him that he was sticky. He rinsed it off before washing his hands.

Walking back in her room with her watching him, frankly watching his cock, was a little embarrassing, too -- a little embarrassing and a lot sexy. He lay down, and she reached for his cock. He wasn't sure he could perform again, and nothing in the limpness of his cock reassured him.

"It's a little soon."

"No," she answered. "I want to see what it's like like this. I only see it sticking out and weird." Well, there was nothing weird about his sticking out. What was weird was her bending him and toying with him without his sticking out.

"Well, that's really your own fault, you know. Most of the time, he doesn't stick out. Around you, he makes a habit of it."

"You say 'he.' Do you give it a name?" Should he? Should he make one up right now? But he was trying to be honest with Marilyn.

"No. Should I?" He was enjoying the feel of her hand on his cock, but this was really the wrong time.

"Probably not." Okay. So why had she asked? She bent his cock again in what seemed to him to be an experimental fashion.

"See, I told you it was too soon." Not to mention that she didn't seem one little bit aroused. She looked more like Marie Curie than Molly Bloom.

"Yeah, but it's cute." Which was not what he, nor it, wanted to hear. "You guys don't like to be cute, do you? You like it to be stiff, like a club or spear -- threatening." Her thoughts were projecting, even if his body wasn't. He didn't want her to feel threatened by his cock. He just didn't want her to feel amused or curious about it, either. He wanted her to feel aroused, ready for its entrance. And, in this state, it, much less she, wasn't ready for any entrance.

"Well, it's two things, really. It's a hose for getting rid of waste, and it's a sexual organ. Seems strange to have you play with it when it's in its sewer mode."

"Dunno. I have two organs for feeding babies. You don't mind seeing them." She had a point -- two points, really. Would they be his babies when they were being used for that? Even that image, sexy as hell, didn't give him an erection.

"Anyway," he asked, "you talk about 'you guys.' How large a sample are you judging from?"

"Well, I've had guys grab my hand and pull it towards their crotch. Never when it was soft and cute."

"Well, that was impolite, but they weren't simply passing you in the hall, were, they." He'd never done that. He didn't know why he was defending the creeps who had.

"Hell, no! They were gross, but never that gross."

"Well, I'd suggest that at the end of a date with Marilyn, there wouldn't be many boys with soft cocks. I'm only soft because it's immediatelypost coitus, and that's not going to last long if you keep that up." And that observation, or maybe the situation, got him a kiss. She was the aggressor, and he enjoyed that.

When she kissed his cheeks, forehead, and chin, however, he figured it was his turn to run things. She cooperated in being pushed back. His tongue explored her mouth as his hand explored her body. After holding her vulva in his hand, simply appreciating the softness and furriness, he inserted one finger. When he drew that finger up between herlabia minora and across her clitoris, she closed her legs. Was she saying no? He checked her face, but it seemed to say that she was accepting, even enjoying, his caresses. He ventured another to gauge her reaction.

"Yeah." Well, that said that wasn't trying to stop him.

"You like that?"

"Andy, I like almost everything you do, but I like that, maybe, more than most." So he gave her a few more full finger strokes. "Yeah." Well, with his finger work approved, he should be paying more attention to his mouth work. He kissed a spiral up her breast towards her nipple. When he got close, he licked all around the crinkly areola managing to miss the nipple itself. The nipple seemed to be chasing his tongue, but she had to shift her entire body to do that. Giving that game up, she grabbed his head. The woman knew what she wanted, and he chuckled as he gave it to her. He licked the nipple, then sucked it when she pushed his head down.

Still he was convinced, from his own experience as well as common sense, that it was more arousing to get less than you wanted than to get more than you wanted. He kept his strokes slow, slower than her movements of her hips. When she relaxed her grip, he left the nipple on her near breast to lick a line down its side, over to the far breast, and up to that nipple. She was tense, not just the nipple, but most of her body.

He looked over that sexy body, then went back to sucking the nipple. The other one scraped across his chest when he moved. He tried to suck the nipple every time his finger crossed her clitoris. Otherwise, he just licked it. The lovely girl raised her mound, pushing it sexily into his hand.

"Andy." Well, she knew who he was.

"Ihm, hm." He stabbed a finger deep into her. He drew it out and then across her clitoris, moving as slowly as he could while she was pushing up and down. She writhed -- in his sight, under his cheek, under his hand. "Yeah!" She was so sexy.

When she relaxed, she relaxed all the way. He held her vulva until he sensed that she was asleep. He held his sleeping love in his arms. Sex was fine -- indeed sex was paradise -- but this was nirvana.

"Andy?" She had been asleep awhile, but he could have enjoyed even more. Besides that, his cock had come awake while she'd been asleep. Holding his sleeping love in his arms was not only enchanting, it was arousing.

"Y'know, you're pretty when you're asleep...." He remembered her last objection. "And I have seen other females asleep, too. And you're prettier than they are."

"Was I really asleep?" Darling, you were really sleep. Whatever you do is real.

"Not long." Not, although the afternoon of freedom was running out, long enough. She was awake, now, though, which meant that kisses wouldn't wake her. So, he started kissing her again.

"Roll over," he said. Immediately, she did what he asked. That opened up a lot of space on Marilyn which hadn't been kissed enough. He took up the process with her neck and kissed downward. When her spine ran out, he kissed the far side of her rump, then the fold which joined it to her leg, and then started on the leg itself.

"Andy, that foot's dirty." Well, she'd almost certainly showered this morning and put on clean socks. She'd walked barefoot in only a few places since. What he wanted, however, was nothing like an argument. He went over to her other leg above the heel. When he got to the fold which matched the other one, he not only licked it, he put his hand between her legs. He kissed up her back and stroked down her labia.

"Let me turn over," she said when he reached her neck. Well, the position, as much as he was enjoying it, was probably not much fun for her. He moved back and she turned over. Well, that put her mouth within reach of his. while he kissed her, he resumed stroking her labia and clitoris.

The motion, however, also put him within reach of her hand. Well, he enjoyed knowing that she liked touching him, too. Marilyn tweaked one of his nipples until it was hard, and then went to see what else she could harden. She was guiding herself by touch, not taking anywhere near as much time as he did with her, but touching everything en route. By the time she got to his cock, it was already hard. Well, she felt like she was ready, too.

"Want to watch again?" She answered by moving into position. He moved on his knees between her feet and the foot of the bed. The action was clumsy, but the view was spectacular. He saw her labia, even the >labia minora, open a little. It was dark in there, but he was seeing into her. She spread her feet and then spread her knees out. Her head was raised, and so were her hips. She was bent like a bow that would shoot into the room below. He got into position, with his head hanging down near her breasts. He supported himself with his left hand and tried to shove his cock down with the other. That left one more job than hand.

"Can you open yourself?" he asked. She spread her labia wide with two fingers. He got the tip of his cock between them. When she let go, he did too. He was touching nothing but Marilyn. Slowly, he thrust himself into that warm wetness. Again, he felt her tight entrance clasp around his tip, his head, the top of his shaft. As he pressed down he felt the entrance slide along the shaft while his head slipped into her tunnel. She felt so fine, so warm, so welcoming.

"Oh, darling. You are so warm, so smooth, so soft." He couldn't express how good she felt, but he had to try.

"Andy," she answered, "you're so warm, so firm... spreading me." And he was spreading her, occupying her. She was her own person, nobody's property, but for the next minute, this part of her was his! And everything he felt was Marilyn. He stopped when he didn't have any more to give her, and he kissed her. Like this, it meant a kiss on the back of her head.

"Oh, Marilyn." He raised himself so he could see all of her. Then he withdrew until all the shaft was in the open air. "Oh, darling." She relaxed from her arc, and he followed her hips down fast enough that he was going in rather than out. When the bed stopped her, he was halfway in. Then he pressed inwards again, going as slowly as possible to savor the feeling of Marilyn all around him. She relaxed until he could see all of her face. She pulled his butt as if to hold him in her.

"Yeah," he said. "Want to stay like this?" He adjusted himself to rest on his elbows. He got a hand on each breast. He could hold them and tweak their nipples with his fingers. She grasped him with her legs. It was a great position, but he couldn't maintain it. His cock felt so good that it had to move. He tried swaying from side to side. That felt wonderful and he said, "Oh, darling. You are so warm, so welcoming."

"So full," she responded. She swayed in the opposite direction from his, but he couldn't resist greater moves any longer.

"Can't." He moved almost all the way out of her. "Love," he said before sliding in again. He looked her in the eyes and tried to confine himself to swaying back and forth again. But he was driven to take deep strokes in and out, and increasingly rapid ones. Every motion was excruciatingly delightful, and, despite the drive for motion, he didn't feel his eruption threatening any time soon. She surrounded him and moved around him, smooth and warm and clasping. He spoke of his love on every stroke, and she met every stroke. She dropped when he rose and pushed up when he pushed in.

He spoke of his love on every stroke, but words weren't adequate to express that love. She was beautiful; she was a delight; she was sexy, warm, and welcoming. She was responding to him and to his motions. She was his love. And, then, she was writhing underneath him and writhing around him -- responding more deeply, more welcoming, more warmly, more sexily, more delightfully, more beautifully. Her expression was a grimace, but that made her face even more beautiful. He stroked through her warm rhythmic clasp, and -- though the clasp made him stroke more rapidly -- it didn't take him over.

And, then, it did. He drove into her even harder and poured into her. He pumped his essence into her depths. Then he collapsed onto her. His elbows caught the mattress, but her softness caught almost everything else. Her eyes closed, and her face relaxed. He may have napped a moment, but he moved when he woke. He lay on his side, and she turned her face towards him. He was too short of breath to tell her of his love, and then the words were inadequate. Finally, his stomach growled and she heard.

"I was going to feed you," she said. Food was farthest from his thoughts, although, obviously, not far from the thoughts of his digestive tract.

"Well, some hungers are more urgent than others." And he'd satisfied lots of those.

"Yeah. Do you think you could get up?" Now, that was asking a lot.

"This week?" But he made the effort. "Can I use the john?"

"Sure." He used the toilet, rinsed his cock off, washed his hands. He didn't know which towel was hers, and he didn't really want to use hers, anyway. He dried his hands on his hair. His cock was still dripping a bit, but it was -- he hoped -- only water.

When he got back, Marilyn went out with her panties held between her legs. He got dressed, ending with his watch. It was later than he thought. He wondered if Marilyn knew.

"How long do we have?" he asked.

"Mom gets back after 4."

"It's almost 3:30."

"Look, I'm going to feed you. She'll know I cooked for you, anyhow. If she knows you were here, we'll have an innocent reason." Well, if her mom came in while he was eating in the kitchen, then the implication was that he'd not been upstairs. Besides, it was better to be caught with him eating than to be caught with them fighting over whether his eating would reveal too much.

Marilyn got dressed and made the bed in a hurry. They went downstairs, and she led him to the kitchen. She poured him root beer and started cooking hamburgers. The Grants didn't knead chopped onions into the meat, or -- at least -- Marilyn didn't. She was rushing around, but he didn't think his offering to help would speed things up. She could get stuff faster than she could tell him where. She offered mustard and relish along with the ketchup he used.

They were sitting down and eating like normal -- unrushed -- people when Marilyn stiffened. The garage door went up, a car drove in, and the door went down. Marilyn's mom came through a door directly from the garage to the kitchen.

"Mrs. Grant," he said rising.

"Andy? Is this lunch or dinner?"

"I wanted to feed him." Marilyn was doing the talking for both of them. "He's fed me lots of times." Well, he'd never fed her anything he'd cooked himself, but that was probably for the better.

"Well, I know boys. Just 'cause it's neither lunch nor dinner, doesn't mean you can't find room. Excuse me." Which was more gracious than he'd expected. Although it didn't explain Marilyn's eating. And, speaking of her eating, she must be starved. He could eat at home. Mrs. Bryant, like Marilyn's mom, no longer worried that a snack before dinner would ruin his appetite. He raised his eyebrows and pointed to the other hamburger.

"Go ahead. I intended two for you." He'd been thinking. There was a story that might work.

"I promised to call you today. You wanted to surprise me with lunch, but I didn't call until nearly three." She seemed to be nodding, but her mom called from upstairs. She needed some Airwick, and he wasn't the sort of guest that she thought deserved entertaining more than she needed her daughter's service.

Marilyn argued, but only briefly. After she went upstairs, there was whispering -- not a good sign. Marilyn soon came back down.

"Look, I'm in trouble," Marilyn said. "Can you go? We'll talk later."

"If there's trouble, it's our trouble." A man didn't cut and run and leave his woman to face the dragons.

"If you stay, it'll be infinitely worse. Please! Here take your hamburger." He finished his root beer, and she led him out. It didn't seem the time for a kiss -- not only because he was holding half a hamburger in his hand.

He finished it on the way home. He went in the kitchen way and washed his hands in the sink. Mrs. Bryant said nothing after opening the door.

"If you're seeing the estimable Miss Grant tonight, please give her my regards," Dad said after dinner.

"Not tonight."

"Well, in any case, wash off that lipstick. Is it hers?" What? He'd not looked at his face in the mirror.

"What do you think?" Then he thought more. Where was his independence? "And why is that your business?"

"Well, I've been planning to include her in my family time. If it's not hers, she'll find out. Don't ever think you can outsmart her -- on science, maybe, but not on life. If she finds out, your relationship, and my plans, will go down the toilet."

"It's hers." Not that Dad really thought otherwise.

"In that case, you should still wash it off. You keep telling me that your relationship with her is none of my damn business." He didn't express it like that, but he'd like to. "Well, it is none of the world's business, for sure. And she might not appreciate your making it the world's business."

That night, after washing his face carefully, he buried himself in his room to get ahead on PDE. He'd developed the habit the previous year of buying one book for the next year, and that one looked best. The version he was holding was copyright two years before, 12 years before, and 20 years before. That looked like the author was unlikely to produce a new edition before classes started. Without the lectures, it had been hard slogging, and it was much harder slogging with visions of Marilyn dancing in his head. Still, he wasn't going to go in for a test on the basis of his reading, much less have it used in some other course. He'd be competing next year with guys who would (at least, most of them would) be taking Diffy-Q. And, since calling Marilyn was inadvisable, since sitting in front of the TV meant sitting beside Dad, studying, even staring at the book and learning nothing, was the best choice. Dad said he couldn't read his mind, but admitted that Andy's body language was easy to read.

What would Dad say if he knew that Andy had spent the afternoon in "the estimable Miss Grant's" bed? Probably nothing. As he'd said so crudely, boys don't get pregnant. Why should he worry? For that matter, he might know. Dad got to know an awful lot about him. That was one reason he wanted his independence. And that meant graduating, getting an engineering job, and marrying Marilyn. Really, the last wasn't necessary for independence. He could get his own apartment, maybe in another city. It was, however, necessary for his happiness.

What would Dad call her then? "Miss Grant" would be inaccurate; "Mrs. Trainor" would sound weird. Confounding Dad wasn't the top reason for marrying Marilyn, not even one of the top ten. It would be enjoyable, though.

She called, although he'd been sure she wouldn't.

"Are you all right," he asked.

"Sorta. She didn't spank me or tell Dad. I'm calling from the corner drug store. Can we talk?"

"Sure. There? Phone?" Talking on the phone was a bad choice. He might be overheard, she might be overheard, and he really wanted to see her. She asked him to meet her at the drug store, and he did.

"Your dad say anything about how you smelled?" she asked after they started walking.

"No. He did say I had some lipstick on me. Asked if it was yours."

"And?"

"Said that was okay. He didn't want to plan anything about you with the girls if I were seeing another woman.... Actually, I think he was being snide. He knew damn well I'm not seeing somebody else."

"Well, Mom said my room smelled like a cathouse -- a Reno cathouse on Saturday night, to be specific." Um! That was bad.

"Um..."

"Well, we'll have to be more careful. I'll be damned if I'm going to give up the pleasure of having a bed and walls, although clearly the privacy I thought we had was more than we actually had."

"We have to do something."

"We have to do something after next week. Did I really smell that bad?" Bad? She'd smelled heavenly. On the other hand, he didn't really expect her mother to agree with him.

"Really? I liked the stuff you bought, but Iloved the smell of Marilyn."

"Andy!"

"Well, you asked. And it's true. I can't believe professionals smell as sexy as you do. Does your mom know how whorehouses smell?"

"I really doubt it. She just meant that we left it smelling like sex."

"Well, you smell like sex, and it really turned me on."

"You're no great help, you know. You say everything about me turns you on."

"Just about. I'll try to think of an exception."

"You're impossible." Well he was telling the truth. As a matter of fact, after two ejaculations today, she was turning him on right now, and they weren't even touching. They got to her walk, and they had their kiss there. He watched her until she closed the door, though.

He worried about her all day Thursday. Luckily, he was on inventory and didn't have to deal with customers. Thursday night, he figured out one possible solution. They wanted walls and a bed; they couldn't get them at her house or his. People rented these all the time, sometimes on a one-day basis. He'd been in his kid mode, still, but he had lots of money in the bank. He'd try hotels. What were the rules?

That was the problem. What were the rules? He was fairly sure that if he and Marilyn showed up at a hotel in Wichita at 10 p.m. and showed a credit card, they'd be given a room without any problem. If they showed up at a hotel in Evanston at 10 a.m. and wanted to pay cash? He wasn't a very convincing liar, and he hadn't much experience with hotels at any level. Since the divorce, Dad had taken one trip with him -- and none alone. They'd stayed for two nights at a hotel in Champaign, and he vaguely remembered something about reservations. Should he make a reservation?

Would a motel be better? He would be driving, after all. Did they require reservations? Well, he'd driven by motels, and they'd had signs out front saying 'vacancy.' Should they look for that sign? Somehow, that didn't sound like adequate planning, and he didn't think it would sound like adequate planning to Marilyn, either.

Friday, Marilyn was certain that they could use her room once more. That would be the end of it, though. And, when he thought about it, they had the school year to consider. Even if they could find a new field, it wouldn't be very useful in January -- not even in a wet September.

The next week he was on late, which would cause problems on dates, but provided him mornings to do research. He looked in the phone directory for motels, and drove to one Monday morning. This might be the one they'd use, more vital, though, was learning the rules. He gave the guy on the desk -- bored in the midmorning -- an elaborate story of expecting guests later in the year and having a very small apartment. He implied that he was a married man. What would it cost to put the guests up in the motel? What were the rules?

"Well, checkout time is noon." He must have looked puzzled. "That means that if you check in at 12:30 one afternoon and check out at 11:30 the next morning, you pay for one night. If you check in at 11:30 in the morning and check out at 12:30 that afternoon, you pay for two nights."

"Hardly seems fair."

"Well, those are standard rules. I'll admit I've had a guy doze in his car in the parking lot for an hour 'til he could check in. He'd driven too long." After a bit more discussion, the guy seemed to have seen right through him. "Look, kid. If you really have guests coming, a married couple, we'd be glad to put them up. If you're looking for a room for a few hours of loving, you've come to the wrong place. I'm not the owner, and he doesn't want the hot-sheet trade. Evanston is probably the wrong place. Too many of the local pols are looking for the PTA vote. There's the 'keeping a disorderly house' law."

"What's that?"

"Totally unfair. What you do is your business, right? You don't want me nosing in, and neither does any other customer. Guy sells you booze isn't responsible if you drive drunk, and neither is the guy who sells you gas. But if a customer rents a room and uses it for sex with someone other than his wife, something he won't be prosecuted for, I can be prosecuted for renting that room, and so can the owner.

"Look, far as I know, Chicago has the same rules, but Chicago has different cops and different pols. You want a room with no questions asked, cross Howard. Doesn't even violate the Mann act." The last statement left Andy totally confused. But the guy gave him the name of a motel in Chicago which "lives on the hot-sheet trade."

Tuesday morning, Andy called that motel. Their checkout time was noon, as well. Wednesday night, he got back, ate remains of dinner out of the 'fridge, and crashed. He hadn't had much sleep the night before, and Thursday was a big day.

After breakfast, he showered, shaved with a blade, and dressed in an outfit totally freshly washed. He not only brushed his teeth, he used some of Dad's mouthwash. Even so, he was ready too early. He dithered at home, left too early, and walked around her block before he rang her bell.

Marilyn came to the door, let him in, and immediately locked it. The way she was dressed, she should have locked the door. She was wearing a see-through blouse with no bra. He worried for a second whether anyone had seen anything from across the street, even though he knew from experience that one could barely tell that someone was in the doorway from the sidewalk, let alone what they were wearing. He kissed her, then turned her around to hold the breasts her blouse offered him. He kissed her neck.

Upstairs, they undressed each other to their watches. Maybe they should know the time. She untied his shoes and took them off. He wasn't sure he wanted her doing that, but she did. Underwear came off with the rest. Stripped, she stripped the bed as well. Then she walked up to him, those lovely breasts coming slowly within reach.

"Put me to bed," she said. What an erotic thought! He picked her up to kiss her thoroughly, and then set her on the bed. She moved over, inviting his presence, but the sight was too much to abandon, even for the touch.

"You are so beautiful." But he hadn't come here to look. He lay down beside her, and they kissed. His hand was free to rove, and rove it did -- across her sexy torso from shoulder to mound. He stroked up again to hold a breast. That kiss could have gone on forever, for all of him, but his lungs disagreed.

"Oh, Marilyn," he said when he broke the kiss. When they started again, his hand roved again, this time farther. The hair on her mound was delightful, and the hair further on even softer. He ended gently holding her soft vulva. Considering why they'd come here, he certainly didn't expect her to object, but she gave more than silent permission. She held his hand down with her own.

"Yeah!" Her voice was encouraging, and totally erotic.

"Oh, Marilyn." He loved her so. He wanted her so, to bury himself in her depths, but -- before that -- to have her writhe in his sight. He got a finger between her labia to stroke that smoothness. He wanted to taste it, too, but he shouldn't hurry. She'd taken all those risks to get them time. He started a slow path of kisses down her torso.

When he reached her mound, he was in quite the wrong position. He stopped everything to get between her legs. He kissed the thigh on each side but then headed directly for her smoothness. The taste was incredibly erotic, and her response to his tongue on her clitoris even more erotic.

He eased two fingers into her, and tried to tickle the bump on the top of her vagina. First he wriggled his fingers against the bump, then, holding his fingers still, he licked her clitoris, then the fingers again. He smiled as her thighs stiffened against his cheek. He could already tell that this was going to be beautiful.

She stiffened even more, and raised herself into his mouth and around his fingers. Then, delightfully, she clamped around his fingers. Her legs were moving around. The clamping happened not just once but, as he sucked on her clitoris, again and again. When that stopped and her legs relaxed, he stopped licking and tickling, but he kept his fingers where they could feel any aftershocks. He lifted his head.

"Oh, Marilyn." It was inadequate to express how he felt, but any other words would have been inadequate, too. She was so sexy, so responsive, so beautiful.

And, after a while, so encouraging when her fingers played with his hair. He reached up to hold her breast. It fit in his palm and fingers while he teased her nipple with his thumb. He kissed her thighs, only slowly approaching the sweetness where they met.

"So sweet," he said. He only partly meant her thighs, partly her vulva. Every part of her was sweet, but Marilyn as a whole was sweeter still. And when he parted her labia to taste there, it was even more arousing. He tickled the bump on the top of her vagina again, in between licks over her labia and clitoris. She started to stiffen again, and her legs went down on the bed on either side of him. But this time, he wanted to participate, this time he wanted to feel her contractions with more sensitive nerves than his fingers could provide. And Marilyn must have agreed.

"Andy." She pulled him up her body by his hair. He kissed her torso on the way up, but didn't pause to give it the appreciation it deserved.

"Oh, Marilyn," he said when his tip could just feel her labia. He pressed inward, feeling her spread around him. Her labia gripped his head, then it was slipping down her warm, soft, smooth, moist tunnel. Her tighter opening slid down his shaft until she held all he had to offer. "Oh, Marilyn." He kissed her, getting her forehead when they were like this. Her arms circled his chest and her legs rose to hug his hips -- all clasping him in imitation of how she was clasping him inside. He stayed appreciating this welcome for one more second until he had to move.

Slowly, he stroked out; slowly he stroked in. He felt her smoothness glide around his head, her slightly-tighter opening stroke along his shaft. And it was all Marilyn. There was nothing in between. As he succumbed to his body's demand to speed up, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her down against his surges driving upward.

And she responded to his thrusts. Her body undulated on the bed; her mound pressed upwards when he was coming down, and her hips ground into the mattress as he withdrew. She matched every stroke as he sped up. But he couldn't hold himself back any longer.

"I can't." And he thrust deep into her, pulling her down into that thrust. He pumped himself into her. "Marilyn," he cried as the life, the love, poured out of his cock into her. He was one spasming muscle as that poured out.

Then he went totally limp. He held his right arm taut for one more second, and then that collapsed too. Her last squeeze pushed him out. He lay there looking at her and loving her, but incapable of doing anything about it.

Marilyn got her energy back before he did, and, when she did, it was to get up. She had a towel she held between her legs on the way to the door and, presumably, the bathroom. He heard the toilet, twice, and the sink. When she came back she stared to put on her robe.

"Must you cover such beauty?" he asked.

"Really, I'm going to feed you."

"I have what I want right here."

"Yeah, but we can come back." Well a second hours-late lunch might alert her mom, after all. He had greater preferences, but if the choice was between watching Marilyn cook and having her cook without his watching, he'd choose watching. When he got downstairs dressed, she had already started to cook.

"Sit down," she said. "I'll only be a minute."

"I like to watch you cook." Even when covered with robe and apron, the small, neat motions of her small, neat body were sexy. She didn't waste a motion. Before he could have had one ready for the fry pan, she had four cooked and a second set already cooking. Then she cut the first four into dainty triangles and set the patter in front of him. She already had plates and glasses out. She poured root beer for both of them.

"Eat," she said. "They're better when they're hot." They were hot. They were also tasty, crisp on the outside and gooey deliciousness within. He was on his third triangle when she brought the others over and sat down. She'd taken off her apron, and the robe parted a little to show a hint of cleavage when she leaned forward.

"Delicious," he said. He hoped she'd take it as describing the sandwiches, which was how he'd meant it. But the glimpse of breast had been delicious, too. She probably hadn't meant the meal to be metaphorical, although she'd really pushed metaphors when they were studying English together, but she was a toasted-cheese sandwich of a woman -- so crisp on the outside, and so soft and liquid and tasty on the inside.

"I should have asked if you liked them."

"It's now one of my favorite meals. Aside from the other associations, I watched the most beautiful woman in the world cook them." He figured that the comparison to her wasn't something he should mention. He meant it to be complimentary, but gooey inside wasn't something she'd be likely to take that way.

"You're so full of bull shit that I don't even know that you really like the sandwiches." Now, that was unfair. He had enjoyed watching her, and the sight had been sexy. On the other hand, convincing her, if he could, just how sexy she looked doing ordinary tasks might make her terribly self-conscious.

When she got up to clear, he got up to help. She knew her kitchen and how to cook; he'd only be in the way then. He could see what they'd used and bring it over. He could rinse while she filled the dishwasher. He wasn't going to sit there like some pasha being waited on by a slave girl.

Back in her room, they had a kiss before he unveiled her beauty. He set her on the bed again where he could watch her while he got out of his own clothes. They'd really been interrupted, even if she'd been right about the interruption. After another kiss on her mouth, he went down to her breast. He played with her vulva until the combined stimulus had her stiff again and lifting her mound into his hand. Then he lifted his head to watch her writhe.

And he had the same pleasure twice more before she called a halt.

"Andy."

"Ihm hmm?"

"I want you in me." Well, that was frank enough, and he wanted to be in her, too. But she wasn't far enough along that he'd be sure she'd writhe around him before he erupted. Being in her, while quite delightful, because of being quite delightful, tended to bring him off before she was ready. Remember the first time, as though he would ever forget.

"Not quite yet. This time, I promise you, but not quite yet." Well, he'd read another piece of erotica that they hadn't tried. "Do you want to put me in?"

"Yeah." She sounded eager.

"Soon. Not yet." He started to move into position. He was careful to keep his attention on his strokes on her labia and clitoris. He also kissed various sexy parts while he moved. She shifted her leg to accommodate him, and he got between her legs. As his finger couldn't continue in this position, he rested his hand on her with his thumb stroking her clitoris. With the shifting and concentration on other things than her sexiness, he was no longer hard. Well, her hand was sure to cure that problem. He took her hand in his. He got into a better position while he hardened in her hand.

"Now, my darling, guide it in." The hardening might have gone too far. She tried to push him lower, but that only made his condition worse. When he lowered his hips, that got the angle wrong. Finally, she raised herself to receive him. His tip was in her entrance. "Oh, Marilyn," he said. As she guided him in, her hand released parts of his cock to her smooth, warm cunt. When she'd taken all of him, he kissed her. "Oh, love."

"Love you, too." And, as he stroked in and out, she did love him. She clasped him with her warmth, stroked his arms with her hands, and gazed at him with her eyes. The sensations were incredibly arousing, but he didn't feel the demand to finish that he'd felt earlier. He was conscious that each sensation of warmth or slipperiness along his cock was Marilyn. She held him, and nothing was in between.

She stiffened. She lifted up to meet his strokes. Then she writhed under him and clasped around him. He could go on through that paradise. He made four or five more strokes in and out as she clutched around him. Finally, driven by an intense hunger to bury himself in her, he thrust forward until his toes slipped down the sheet and erupted.

He consciously relaxed his left arm before all the other muscles gave way. He lay gasping beside his gasping love. When she moved it was to roll away. Before he could be disappointed, though, she backed up until they were cuddled together. He wrapped himself around her.

When his hand went to her breast, she took it away. She raised it up to her chin, holding his hand in both of hers. Well, she was right. This was a time to enjoy the peace of a quiet cuddle.

That peace was broken some time later by an alarm clock. She jerked in his arms.

"Three O'clock. We have things to do." She moved away and sat up.

"What things?" That might not be clear, certainly she wasn't answering it. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get dressed. I don't want Mom to catch us again. Do you want to use the bathroom first?" That was an idea.

"If I might." He used the toilet and rinsed all the jism off before getting dressed. The last thing he did was wash his hands.

When she took her bathroom time, she showered. She came back topless, but that didn't last long.

She stripped the bed. He could have done that. When she picked up the bundle of sheets and some other things, he took it from her.

"Follow me, then." She led him down to sets of stairs to a basement. They had a washer and dryer down there. After she put powder in the washer, he put in the laundry. It wasn't much.

"Want to see if there's more whites? Seems a waste to run a load for only these." Mrs. Bryant never would have.

"This time, we're going to." After starting the laundry, she led him back upstairs.

"I love you, Andy," she said.

"I love you, too."

"But now it's time for you to leave." She was right, no matter how bad he felt about it. His parting kiss was lingering although she was standing on the floor. Then, he had days to go before he saw her again.

Saturday, though, the girls came. They were waiting for him when he got home. He got some left-overs out of the fridge, and they followed him into the dining room. It was far from a fancy meal, but the kitchen didn't have five chairs. April, despite how he wanted to think of her, wasn't The Moppet any more. She was starting to look like a woman, and he was just as glad that he wasn't picking her up these days.

"So," he asked, "how is California?"

"Still there," Molly answered.

"Wait 'til the big one."

"You know," Dad said, "your university is fairly close to the epicenter of one of the most destructive earthquakes of American history." Well, he was wrong about one thing, at least. Andy didn't know. He quirked an eyebrow.

"Early post-colonial times. Messed up the Indians, but they didn't have many structures that were rigid enough to sustain damage. Messed up some settlers, but there weren't all that many of them. Shook up almost the entire Mississippi valley. Apparently, the fault hasn't produced anything serious -- even mildly damaging -- since then.

"Of course," Molly put in, "the longer it waits, the harder it shakes." That sounded like a California saying to him, but it might be original with her.

April was going to be a high-school freshman this coming year, and Molly was going to be a senior. They told him of their lives and their hopes. Dad had heard it all earlier in the day, but he was as interested as it was possible to be. April asked about Marilyn.

"You'll see her tomorrow. She knows you're coming -- that you were coming -- and is looking forward to seeing you."

"She going to be sitting with us?" Molly asked. That earned him a glance from Dad. Marilyn had earned another point, and he'd pass that on.

"Planning to. Hell, Dad's earthquake might hit tonight. Neither we nor the church might be here at 11:00. But she's planning on it." They talked too long that night, but all made it up in plenty of time the next morning.

If April's body had woken up, the soon-to-be high-schooler hadn't. When Marilyn got there, April wanted to sit between her and him. It would be better than a public tantrum, though Dad looked wounded. Marilyn solved it with April sitting between her and Dad. She'd need a notebook to count up the points she'd scored with the old man.

They all drove Marilyn home from church, which meant that he kissed her on the porch with his sisters watching. That rather impeded his style.

"I love you," she said, "even if you are bashful."

"I love you, too." He returned to the car and Dad started home.

"Do you love her, Andy?"

"That isn't a question you should be asking, April," Dad said immediately.

"Well, it's no secret. Yes, I love her, and I hope she knows it."

"She said you love her a gallon and love me a yard."

"Huh?" April, or maybe Marilyn, had lost him completely.

"They're both big, but they can't be compared."

"You know," Dad said, "That woman impresses me more every time I hear about her." And the Trainors went home to eat agreeing about one thing, at least.

Monday, driving to their parking spot, Marilyn brought up the seating arrangements.

"I realize I stuck you off at the end of what is, after all, your family." She needn't have worried.

"No sweat. The Moppet got what she wanted, and I'm glad she likes you. Look, Dad is quite fond of you, but it's nothing compared to what he thinks of April. As long as you have her approval and, besides that, he gets what he wants from her, you can do no wrong."

And, when she got to the back seat, she did only right for him, too.

Tuesday was his day off. The girls wanted to go shopping, and he showed them the hardware store. Ben was on the register with no customers.

"Bus driver's holiday, Andy?"

"My dad, and my two sisters, Molly..." He pointed, "and April." He pointed again. Ben was bright enough to figure out which one was his dad. "I wanted to show them where I worked. Ben's the other rotating replacement for vacationers."

"Where you work? Why don't you show me, too? I don't remember ever seeing you do a bit of work."

"The guys say I'm the one with a sense of humor." The girls, who usually didn't visit any store without wanting to buy something, didn't see any hardware which appealed to them.

Wednesday, Marilyn was the family's guest for dinner. Afterwards, they watched TV until April wanted a talk with Marilyn. They went out.

"Watch out, Andy," Molly said, "your old flame wants to steal your new one from you."

"Marilyn has a big heart. There's room for both of us in there."

The problem wasn't the room in Marilyn's heart; the problem was the room in his schedule. He wanted to be with the girls, but he wanted to be with Marilyn more. He had Tuesday off the next week, too. It they were ever going to have a day at a motel, that should be the day. He didn't mention his day off to the family. Dad, who probably could have figured out that he had a whole day off almost every week, would be just as happy with the girls to himself.

He suggested it to Marilyn that Friday on their date.

"Look, Tuesday is my day off next week. Do you think you could give me the day?" Somehow, that was taking her for granted. 'Give me the day,' and if you agree we'll fuck. On the other hand, 'can we go fuck?' even 'can we go make love?' was too crude a question.

"Sure.... I might have to wear my bikini under my clothes, though."

"Is that very uncomfortable? I was thinking of hours before we get to the motel room." He'd made his plans without consulting her. Well, he could pick her up, and they could go through a McDonald's window on their way to the beach. They could eat at the beach with her in just the swimsuit. He'd planned for a fancier meal, but not if she were uncomfortable the whole time.

"Sure. I mean it's not all that different from normal underwear. I can manage it easily." All right. His first plans would work.

"Don't tell the girls, okay?" She had a policy of being honest, sometimes embarrassingly honest, with the girls. "I'm not telling them I have the day off." And then, as if to say that the issue was settled, she started to unbutton her blouse.

Sunday, Marilyn was again with the family in church and at Manfredo's. If she'd clearly been a visiting guest Thursday, they looked like an extended family on Sunday. This is how they'd look if he and Marilyn were married. The girls were on their best behavior, and the dinner went swimmingly. Molly asked Marilyn for a private talk like April had had. Marilyn made an appointment with her for Thursday. Dad's poker face slipped. He was glad the girls were making a confidant of Marilyn, and it probably went beyond having a happy family if Marilyn ever joined it. He'd never mentioned the idea of marriage to Dad, but he had no illusions that this dream was secret from him.

"Where would you like to eat?" he asked when he picked her up Tuesday at 10:00. She was in jeans, a blouse, and sandals. She was carrying a shopping bag with a towel on top.

"What would you say if I said Manfredo's again?" Well, that wasn't what he'd had in mind, but he was carrying a good deal of cash just in case.

"I don't know if they require reservations for lunch, weekdays." They did for Sunday dinner.

"Andy! That was a funny. Neither of us is dressed for it. For that matter, it's less than an hour since I finished breakfast." Well, he hadn't meant that they'd eat right then. He just wanted to get his plans in order.

"Well, I had to leave at a business-day time today. I've been killing time before picking you up, and we can go park somewhere and look at the lake. I'd rather finish lunch soon after noon. That's checkout time. If we check in much later, we'll deprive ourselves of time in there. When do you have to be back?"

"Dinner's something like 6:30, but Mom would never believe that I was at the beach that long."

"I should probably be back not long after 6:00, myself. Even that would be a long day. I've worked longer, but I don't want to tell a direct lie."

So, they went into Chicago and looked at the lake from one of their beaches. They ate at an oriental place and got to the motel before 12:30. There were two guys ahead of him in the check-in line. The guy at the desk copied down his name and address from the driver's license, but didn't say anything about the Evanston address. Somebody was standing behind him when he got his key. Just after noon seemed to be a popular check-in time at this motel.

He got back in the car and drove to their room. The guy had called it a cabin, but there were rooms on both sides and one underneath. The room wasn't much, but it did contain a double bed. Inside, he began stripping her. She stepped out of her sandals, but left the rest to him. When he got to the bikini, he stopped for a moment with his hands on the bra straps.

"Now, I've wanted to do this every time I've seen it." She giggled. When he'd removed both pieces, she was wearing nothing but a watch and a grin. He picked her up and kissed away the grin. Then he set her on the bed. She moved over to her side of the bed --her side of their bed, even if they'd rented it. He stripped and joined her.

"Oh, Marilyn, love." And she was his love. She'd come here -- come here willingly -- to be with him. She accepted him. And the kiss was more acceptance. Her sweet body was against his. Her breasts were pressed against his chest. He hugged her by the rump until her mound dug into his belly. He felt his cock between her legs. When his tongue left her mouth, her tongue chased it.

She moved back. Staring into her eyes, he stroked her body's sweetness. When he got to the center of that sweetness, she opened her legs for him. Soon he was holding her labia and rubbing one softly against the other. Her eyes expressed the love their mouths didn't speak. After a while, she rolled onto her back, slowly enough so his hand stayed with her.

Now, with her stretched out in front of him, he'd see her writhe more clearly he'd ever seen it before. He carefully stroked her cleft and up to her clitoris. As she tensed, he could see her legs and shoulders press into the bed and her body rise a little. Her face looked tighter, somehow. She was facing up to the ceiling, but the eye he could see from here looked closed. She tensed yet more, and her mound rose as he hips almost left the bed.

Then she writhed. He kept his hand on her vulva and pressed two fingers inside. As he watched the action, he could feel her clutch at his fingers. Her shoulders turned toward him so he could see both breasts. At the same time, her pelvis turned away. He could see both halves of her rump, and a leg kicked back almost to his. Then she turned again so the shoulders were away from him and he could see most of a shoulder blade. Her pelvis turned towards him and he could see most of the hair on her mound and his hand disappearing between her legs.

He paused one minute when she dropped down on the bed limp. Then he started to stroke her clitoris again.

"Andy." She wanted him! Well, he damn-well wanted her.

"Yes." He kept stroking her until he could get into position. Then he thrust into her. He didn't move as slowly as he had intended, but she was moving, too. He held himself up on hands pressed to either side of her and looked at her face. It was already tense. As he thrust into her and withdrew, he could feel her warm and wet around him. He tried to move slowly, but the sensations were too much. He sped up on every stroke.

"Andy," she said as she clasped him more tightly. As he withdrew, she relaxed her grip. He thrust deep and hard through another clasp. Then he was pulsing and all his life shot out of his cock into her.

He kept his right arm rigid as every other muscle gave out. By the time that effort was too much, he was tumbling to his left. He pulled out of her as he went, and then lay on his side. Slowly, he realized that he was lying on Marilyn's leg. Even more slowly, he gathered the energy to lift his. She extricated hers. Still later, she moved down in the bed. Damn! He must have pushed her up against the headboard. A little control, Andy; you're supposed to love the girl, not hurt her. The next message that his recovering senses received was from his bladder. He'd obviously overdone the tea at lunch.

"Um, I have to go."

"Number one?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I want to watch." She did? Well, in the first place, he needed to go. If he tried to argue her out of it, she'd see him go on the rug. But there was so much about each other that they didn't know. He went into the john without closing the door. The piss was satisfying, and her watching was -- while weird -- sexy, too.

"Satisfied?" She was standing up, still naked, watching him. "You're lucky you know. I couldn't do it with you watching at any other time." Right then, he felt only the slightest twinge. His next erection was far in the future. "Do I get to watch you?"

"Not much to watch, listen maybe. When I sit down, even little me, I cover the hole in the seat."

"That's one place you're not so little." She had a quite satisfactory rump. It wasn't out of proportion to the rest of her, but from the back, you damn-well knew she was a woman. Even in jeans, you knew she was a woman.

"Are you saying I have a fat ass?"

"I'm saying that you have a female butt -- a delightfully female one, too." He finished up and walked out the door around her. She closed the door, sauce for the gander not being sauce for the goose.

He lay down on his side of their bed and waited for her to come out. Whatever sights he was denied, and he wasn't terribly interested in seeing her sit on the toilet, he got to watch her walk back toward him in all her naked glory. A little more was revealed as she got into bed beside him. There was a little puddle of jism between them, and she avoided it.

"Mom smelled us," she said after the first kiss. "Do you think the people who have the room after us will smell us?"

"Well, it can't be a new problem to the cleaning crew." Then he realized he hadn't told her about the guy in the other motel and his saying this place was in the 'hot bed sheet' business. Well, that wouldn't make her feel better about what they were doing. "And, after all, we're paying for four times the hours we'll be using the room. They can clean it out in the other 18. Even if they don't, the people who come after us will say, 'This room smells odd.' They won't say, 'That nasty Andy Trainor had sex in this room.' No way will they know me."

"Nor, me," she said. Well, she was shielded. Not that his actions being revealed to anyone who mattered wouldn't lead to her.

"You, my dear, don't appear anywhere. I'm on the room rental, you're not."

"It feels delightfully wicked." Well, so long as she felt that this skulking around was sexy and not demeaning.

"You look wickedly delightful." Delightful, certainly. Whatever happened with her roommates, PE classes, and mother, not many people got to see this much of her beauty.

He kissed her and caressed her vulva. It was probably the turn of her G-spot, again. When he pushed two fingers into her, she froze for a second. He kept them still, and she soon relaxed. He returned to the kiss, moving his fingertips gently against the bump he could barely detect on the top of her vagina. This time, her stiffening was from enjoyment, not resistance.

He kissed down to her breast, over to the other one. As he licked and sucked the nipple, he kept his fingers moving -- moving slowly, but moving. When she looked and felt like she was almost there, he pulled the fingers out of her and all across her clitoris.

She writhed. He couldn't feel the contractions on his fingers, but he could remember them. She was panting.

"My love. Oh, my love." And she was his love, responding to him. She was his one and only love, and he would do his damnedest to keep her -- keep her and keep her pleased.

As she was still panting, his kisses avoided her mouth. He kissed the rest of her face, though before starting down her neck to her breast. The other one got equal time, and then he kissed lower. He'd got a good deal of her belly covered with kisses when she wanted more.

"Andy!" She wanted a kiss on her mouth, and he complied. They had a long kiss with breaths in between. Meantime, if he couldn't see her beauty, he could feel it. Her mouth was against his, her breasts against his chest, her mound against his belly. Her legs hugged his.

Continuing the kiss, he moved back so his hand could get between them. He caressed her vulva again. The kiss continued as she tensed under him. He might not be able to see it when she writhed, but he felt it against almost all of his front. Her legs moved around his thighs.

"Andy." It was loud so close to his ear, but that response was worth the tiny problem. It would have been worth the loss of all his hearing. She kept writhing, and he kept stroking. Then she pulled on his arm. Well, no meant no. He pulled his fingers off her clitoris and slowly removed his hand. When she lay quiet, he backed away to lie beside her.

He pulled her onto her side and then against him. Hugging her to his chest with one arm and clasping her to him by the rump with the other, he rolled over. That brought her with him until she was lying on top of him. She was a little further down in the bed, which was good. He cupped her rump, tightening one hand and then the other.

"Love you," he said into her hair.

"Yeah. Well, I'd love you if I had the energy." That was fair. She'd get her energy back, and meanwhile he got the feel of Marilyn against his trunk and the memory of Marilyn writhing under his body.

"You make a great blanket. Little warm for right now, but great for the winter. Maybe I'll smuggle you in to my dorm room, and I'll sleep under you all winter." He was feeling quite playful.

"How about food and classes?" She was playing his game.

"You don't eat much. I'll pack it in from the meal system. I won't take you to classes, but leave you in the room."

"That would be fine if all you want to do is sleep. But I have to renew my Pill prescription in person." Details, complicating details.

"And you don't think they'd write me one?"

"No! They wouldn't." She was very definite. She might be smiling, but this game was over.

"Damn!" He set her off to lie beside him, still on her face. She had a sexy back as well as a sexy front. Lying like this, her rump stuck up. He stroked it, then stroked downward between her legs. She spread them, and soon he was sliding one finger in her slick, warm groove. Like this, the clitoris was on the bottom of his strokes; he had to push carefully to reach it.

As an entirely new set of muscles tensed, her neck seemed particularly vulnerable and particularly attractive. He rested some of his weight on her rump to support himself while he kissed her neck, but he was careful that the stroking finger wasn't pressed down by that weight. He kissed up her neck to her ear. When he was in the process of kissing her ear, however, she rolled over. She could have what she wanted, but what did she want?

Tentatively, he went back to stroking her groove. She let him. Then he kissed her breasts. She tensed again as he licked her nipple and stroked her clitoris. As she writhed once more, he raised his head to look. She was beautiful like this; okay, she was beautiful in all situations, but she wasmost beautiful like this.

When she relaxed, he held her soft vulva and lay down barely touching her otherwise.

"Oh, sweet... Darling... Sexy Marilyn... Dearest girl." He couldn't express his feelings --words couldn't express his feelings. He watched the rise and fall of her lovely breasts slow. "I love you so." And he did love her, but loving from a distance wasn't enough. "Want to turn away and back into me?"

"You back up first." She had plenty of room. Well, he had plenty of room, too. He backed up, and she turned to her side and backed up into him. His knees were on the insides of hers, her thighs and hips rested on his thighs, her back was against his chest, and her head was against his throat. He put his arm around her to hug her before his hand returned to her breast. It went there sort of like returning home.

The only parts of his front that weren't enjoying Marilyn's back were his face, his feet and lower legs, and a part of the middle around the genitals. The last was probably just as well; his cock was stirring and needed the room.

She stilled in his arms, and soon she seemed to be asleep. Marilyn was so trusting. He tried to deserve that trust and hold her gently. Her breast was already in his hand, though, and his cock was increasingly conscious of her sexy rump just inches in front of it. And, as the consciousness grew, so did the cock, and the distance shrank.

"I love you," he whispered when his cock finally touched her. She stirred, waking quite gently. When she was fully conscious, her first act was to reach back and hold him in her hand.

"What's this?"

"Want to help put it in?" Her response of turning on her back wasn't what he had in mind, but it showed cooperation. "Like this?" He'd read about rear entry, and aside from the sexiness of her rump, he wanted them to try everything.

Well, this was a real experiment. It might be instinctive to dogs, but they had to make several adjustments. The thinking required might have softened his cock, but her hand kept it hard as iron.

"Slowly," he said when his tip was finally in her. And slowly he entered her moist warmth while she rolled her hips sexily against his thighs. From this side, her vagina felt a little different, while still feeling warm, and moist, and sleek, and welcoming. It was all Marilyn, and slowly he slipped in until he couldn't go any deeper. His loins were pressed up against her sweet rump.

"Oh, Marilyn!"

"Does it feel any different like this?" she asked. It must feel different to her. He answered honestly.

"Some. Does it feel different to you?"

"Some." But for all the differences for both of them, he was in her, and she was the same sweet Marilyn. He reached around for her clitoris. He'd not aroused her at all, and that would have to occur now. Probably he could hold off.

Indeed, even within her, he softened a little as he concentrated on stroking her clitoris. Every once in a while, she shifted and that motion hardened him again. He enjoyed her stiffening. Then, she moved almost off him as she thrust her mound into his hand. At that sliding motion, he was hard again.

"Oh, Marilyn." He thrust himself into her with his hips and pulled her back against him with his arm. This rather uncoordinated movement soon turned into a rhythmic mutual motion.

"Ohh," she said when she writhed in his arms, writhed around his cock. She was pressing back against him before he abandoned her clitoris to pull on her hip. He drove forward into her and shot his load even deeper into her.

The climax had been mutual; the collapse afterwards was mutual. He lay behind her breathing rapidly and feeling her breathe rapidly. His relaxed arm, rather than fail to keep him up, merely draped over her hip. He felt himself slip out of her and then trail down her hip as he softened. As it shortened further, it crawled up his thigh.

Again, she slept in his arms, and this time he joined her. Her movement woke him.

"Huh?" he said.

"Stay here, Andy. I'll be back." She went into the bathroom. He heard the bathroom. He needed to go to, but he'd wait for her. He heard the toilet flush, flush again; he heard the sink run. When he heard the shower, he decided he needn't wait longer. He pissed. Afraid of changing the temperature of her shower, he delayed the flush until she turned the shower off. Then he rinsed his cock and washed his hands. She didn't seem to be coming out. C'mon, she'd watched him piss. He took up a bath towel before inviting her out.

"Come out and I'll dry you off." She opened the curtain and stepped onto the bath mat. He dried off all her beauty. When she went out, he took his own shower, rushing it a little and trying to keep his hair dry. He dried off with the other towel and came out. She was already dressed, and the afternoon was over. He got back into his clothes. The last thing he put on was his watch. It was nearly 5:15, not threatening, but time to move.

"Is there anything we've forgotten?" She checked the bathroom while he checked the main room. He didn't see anything, but he tossed the covers back over the bed. She came out of the bathroom. "Let's go, then."

They got in the car and he drove to the office -- a damn short drive, but they'd need the car immediately. The guy didn't seem surprised at a checkout a few hours after the check-in. He probably knew exactly what they'd been doing, but he didn't seem interested in that. Despite the pre-rush traffic, they got home in plenty of time.

The girls were too full of their day -- they'd gone to the beach and done a good deal of swimming in fresh water -- to question his. Dad didn't enforce a curfew, the girls having reported that even April had outgrown one, but he and Dad did wake them for breakfast every morning. So, they were ready for bed at a reasonable time. Dad hadn't considered lying in the sun the part of the beach experience that Marilyn did.

"Come into my room," Dad said while the girls were sharing their bathroom times. Was he going to ask something about what Andy had done? But he had something else in mind. "Would your mother really give April carte blanche about bedtimes?"

"Dunno." Mom would defer to The Turd if he had an opinion, and he might be playing some 'indulgent parent' games. He could also play 'strict parent' games. Anything he did about being a parent was a game; he wasn't their parent. It wouldn't do, though, to mention him to Dad, especially as it was all speculation. "Molly backs her, though. Would Molly lie for her?"

"I hope so. And, that, after all is the bottom line. I could check with Peg any time -- it's still early in San Diego -- but if they're backing each other, they should win. It's not as if she had schoolwork tomorrow. If it were a real matter of health or safety, I'd crack down. Since it's a mere matter of fooling me for the feeling of power, I'll let Molly help her sister; she should always help her sister."

"And if I think they're putting one over one you?"

"Then you help your sisters while they're here. You can gloat after they're safely away."

"You are a cynical old man, aren't you?"

"Cynical? Probably. Old? I feel old tonight."

After he was in bed, he played over the day's events. While he was sorry to miss swimming with the girls, the choice had certainly been the right one. And, he suddenly suspected the cynical old man of having scheduled the swimming on his day off. Dad knew Andy had taken swimming this year. Did he know his day off this week? He hadn't mentioned it, but a casual word to Mr. Schmidt might have got an answer -- and might not, Mr. Schmidt didn't carry his workers' schedules with him to church. Still, he had to adjust the summer guys' schedules every week or two; he might have remembered those. Anyway, if the old man knew, he wasn't talking.

But the afternoon had been worth it, worth it a hundred times over. He had to do this again. It was better than trying to avoid Marilyn's family. And the price didn't approach the pleasure. Could they do it in Champaign? Well, an Evanston address on the driver's license wouldn't raise any eyebrows that far south. And he was sure that Marilyn would be open to an all-night date.

Sleeping beside Marilyn, maybe making love the next morning. That would be wonderful, and the check-ins and check-outs would be what motels would expect. Of course, coming back the next week might raise a problem. How many motels were there in the Champaign area? And how many nights could they have? Let's see more than once a week would be stretching it. The school year was about 40 weeks -- say 30 weeks counting her periods. Well, he couldn't blame her; if he were bleeding somewhere, he wouldn't want someone poking in there, either. Well guessing at 5 or 6 motels in the Champaign area, that would be 5 or 6 weeks between visits. They couldn't remember all their customers, and he could cut a motel off the rotation if the guy looked at him funny. For that matter, motels must have turnover in employment. He'd been rotating shifts so much that he should know that shifts rotate, and the hardware store was only open 12 hours a day 6 days a week. Motels must operate 24 by 7.

Then a thought struck him. The price had been cheap for the pleasure, but 30 times the cost, even if still cheap, was more than he had -- way more than he had in the bank. He kept a good approximation of his savings-account balance in his head, but he got up and dug out the book to make sure. He was only hoping for a miracle, and none came along. And, then too, he had other expenses. He'd been blithe. What he'd had in the bank at the beginning of the year would have covered his car, books, gifts, and other expenses for the next two years. Now, the larger amount he had wouldn't cover the motel. He could cut back on some of those expenses -- go longer between doing laundry, buy the books used, wait 'til the car broke down instead of paying for checkups, letting his eye exams and new glasses go until he got a job. He couldn't make them go negative, though.

Could he sell the car? It must be worth something. He'd got along fine on foot for a year. If he did, however, how would he get to the motels? How would he even take Marilyn to parking spaces for their petting times. And he was thinking of two years, too. That meant 60 motel rentals. Could he find a new field? Well, they'd gone forward. He didn't want to take the relationship back.

Could he drop out? There must be hardware stores in Champaign. He wasn't spending a week's wages at the motel at once -- uncomfortably close to a week's take-home, though. And, if he dropped out, he'd have to move out, too. He couldn't expect Dad to pay his room and food bills -- not that the University would let him stay there. Well, that was one good thing. If he rented a space, he would have a place to take Marilyn. He wouldn't need those motel bills. Still, he wanted to be an engineer. He wanted Marilyn more, though.

But he wanted Marilyn permanently. She might date him and make love to a hardware clerk. She was damned unlikely to marry one. He was supposed to be the long-range thinker; he could go back to their making out in the car -- making out that he'd recently thought of as paradise -- for two more years. But could she? She definitely hadn't signed on for the long run. Would she give up the pleasures they'd shared. And, with his problems and bad solutions circling in his head, he tossed and turned until he fell into a fitful sleep.

He woke with a solution, of sorts, and an entirely undeserved hangover. He managed through a work day and a long family conversation. When the girls got involved in a daytime TV show, he asked Dad out for a walk. The convention, if not the participants, was established. They set out around the block.

"I'm thinking of moving out of the dorm -- taking a room."

"Well, it would save a great deal of money to not move into the dorm. Take the room at the start of the year." Dad acted totally unsurprised. Actually, he didn't know what the old man looked like when he was surprised. He'd seen him devastated after Mom asked for the divorce, but he hardly could have been surprised. Even Andy hadn't been surprised, and he had been a totally naive kid. "And are you going to live their alone," Dad went on, "or is Miss Grant going to live there with you."

"I was thinking 'alone.' I haven't asked her."

"Well, don't you think you should. I suppose you want some sort of contribution from me. And, frankly, you could live in a cheap room with no damage. As long as the roof didn't leak you wouldn't know the difference. You couldn't expect a lady to share such space. A dorm room or a sorority-house room is one thing -- assigned quarters -- but you may be sure that Miss Grant has standards for the place she calls her home. Anyway, I'm willing to put some part of what I'm contributing towards your present room and board forward. But I want an answer to that question first. Does the University allow Juniors to live off campus?"

"I'm pretty sure so."

"It's worth a telephone call to make sure before you cancel your dorm room." Well, he was feeling much better when he went to bed that night -- before the girls went up, but he was a working man without anything to prove.

Thursday, when he went out for his date with Marilyn, Dad followed him to the car.

"By the way, I made that phone call. Juniors can live off campus. I get the impression that Freshmen can. I owe only a fraction on the dorm rental if I cancel it before it is time for you to move in. You could, you know, have thought of this earlier. But I still want to know whether it is a single room or something more familial that you're going to rent." So, while they were driving to the parking spot, he asked Marilyn.

"Look, I'm thinking of living off campus this year. Frankly, while the time in the motel was worth every penny and then some, it's not something I can afford all that often."

"I can see that."

"Well, would you be willing to live with me?" Now, that was blunt enough.

"Oh, Andy, I'd love that, but it's not possible. For one thing, Zeta wouldn't allow it. For another thing, my dad doesn't even know we've slept together. And Mom, while she knows, definitely disapproves. Moving in would be a step -- maybe several steps -- too far."

"Well, if you won't live there, do you think you might visit?"

"Of course. I love you. I wish we had a place now, instead of this car." Whatever she thought of the car, though -- and he really wanted more privacy, too -- she willingly got into the back seat, into his lap, and allowed his hands all over her.

When he got back, the girls were in bed, but Dad wasn't. He brought up the change in housing.

"Out," Dad responded, "if you don't mind, but let's not walk." So they stood on their front walk, looking in opposite directions to see whether any passers by would come up to overhear their conversation.

"And Miss Grant," Dad began.

"Will be living in her sorority this year." That she was willing to visit him was none of Dad's business.

"Even so, though, you want a room she won't be ashamed of visiting." Not being any of his business didn't mean that Dad didn't make assumptions about it. Not that those deductions would have strained Sherlock Holmes. "Well, if I pay the rent, can you afford the food? For two years, remember."

He thought, but the calculation was no great strain. He knew what the meal plan cost, and he could live more cheaply than that. Canned meals, a minimum of veggies, and cabbage or lettuce for salad would easily fit in the savings. Even figuring two years as 100 weeks, ignoring that he'd be back for much of that, he'd easily have enough left over for books and car.

"Yeah, and that's not counting next year's earnings."

"You know, you have many shortcomings, but you've handled money remarkably well." Until now. The thought must have shown on his face, despite the dimness. "I said you've handled money well. I said nothing about hormones; that's a different topic. Anyway, if not wisely -- no one your age, and damn few men my age, handle hormones wisely -- you've managed to handle them without disaster so far."

"So far." He remembered his plans until this alternative suggested itself.

"And that's all you can hope for. Handle them one week at a time. Let's go in." And they did.

Saturday, he got his days for the next week. His day off would be Saturday. That night, he asked Marilyn if she could spend that day with him.

"Andy, I can't. That's the day I go down to campus." And, having bargained for a pair of special days off, having to leave the next week though not all the vacations were over yet, he didn't feel comfortable trying to change that day. Well, they made out that night. Both, probably, desperate over their parting and their lack of further opportunities, they went as far as they'd ever gone in the car. She writhed in his arms six times.

Sunday, she not only sat with the family in church, she drove with them to the airport. Dad kept the wheel on the drive back, but assumed he'd be in the back seat with Marilyn. They couldn't really make out with Dad in the front seat, but they did spend their time kissing. When the car was close to home, Marilyn broke from his arms.

"Could you go to your house, Mr. Trainor. I'd like to talk with you before going home." Dad drove home. "Andy, please go in. I want to ask something of your father." He went in. They talked without Marilyn getting in front. Then the car drove off. Dad must have taken her home, because he was back almost immediately.

"Well, what did she want?" he asked.

"She wanted, obviously, to talk with me outside your hearing. Look, Andy, you claim to love this woman." Well, he didn't remember claiming that to Dad, but he certainly loved her. "If you do, then trying to go against her desires is fairly silly, isn't it?" Well, most desires. But he wasn't going to get anything more from Dad, and it would have seemed distrustful to ask Marilyn.

The rest of the week, they had a date each night. Saturday, he drove her to the station and kissed her goodbye at the gate. Sunday, he sat with Dad in church. There wasn't anyone else to sit with.

His day off that next week was Saturday, too. He decided to start for Champaign Friday night. He caught up with his sleep debt and packed during the week. Mrs. Bryant selected a bunch of cookware and tableware that he could take with him. At his request, she taught him to make a bed. She didn't ask what was going to be different that he needed to know how, now. Probably he was as transparent to her as to Dad. The truth was that he'd just put on the bottom sheet after he'd done laundry. He'd pulled the covers over him every night. Daytimes, they didn't have to cover anything in particular. Now, his bed was something Marilyn would see, would -- one hoped -- occupy frequently. Marilyn deserved to start with a made bed. He'd make it any time she would see it. Mrs. Bryant cooked him not only a goodbye dinner for Friday but some snacks for the road. At dinner, Dad gave him a travel alarm.

"Now remember, you'll be no good to Miss Grant, not to mention yourself, if you fall asleep behind the wheel and crash. When that becomes a danger, pull into the next motel. Wind this now and set it for a reasonable waking time before you go to sleep."

For all that he objected to the old man's micro-management, he followed his advice. For his second experience of a motel, he was all alone and registered in the middle of the night rather than in the middle of the day. He set the alarm for nine. We woke, showered, checked out, and ate a large breakfast before getting back on the road at 10:00. He was in Champaign before noon.

The paper advertised a lot of rooms for students. Some were already taken; some were awfully fancy and pricy; two were unfurnished; one had a landlady who made plain that woman guests weren't permitted. He'd made his selection and established that the landlord wouldn't snoop about guests by 8:00. He ate supper in a diner and then moved in. Sunday, he skipped breakfast until he could shop. He needed to pinch pennies for the next two years. Groceries seemed a little higher than he'd expected, but he bought cereal, milk, sugar, a week's supply of canned goods, lettuce, and ketchup.

He opened a can of bite-sized ravioli and ate half for an early lunch. He cut off a slab of lettuce and put some ketchup on it for salad. Ketchup was cheaper, tastier, in a larger bottle, and a lot less runny than salad dressing. It would be his salad dressing for the next two years. Well, he'd need to get real salad dressing when Marilyn ate there. He'd need to cook the food and serve it on plates, too. Marilyn wasn't fussy, not really, but she had bought into all those meaningless rules. Then, too, plates were really necessary for two people if they didn't want to share germs.

When he was unpacked and the bed was made, he called Marilyn. He knew it was just before Sunday dinner for her. He'd had to make that deadline often enough. He gave her the address.

"Will you be comfortable there?"

"Perfectly. Not as happy when I'm here all alone, of course."

"Well, you'd better get a lot of studying done. You're going to be all alone most of the time. This is a madhouse, and rush will be worse. But guess what?"

"What?"

"You're talking to the chapter vice president."

"Does that mean you preside over all the vice in the chapter?" She giggled.

"No, the girls are perfectly capable of managing their own. It means, really, that next year when I come up early I'll have to run things." They went on, having missed each other for more than a week. They agreed that he'd cook her a meal the next day after registration.

All in all, he was happy to be out of the dorms without being out of the school.



The End
Simmer Time - M
Uther Pendragon
[email protected]
2012/02/27
 

These same events from Marilyn's perspective, 
can be read in:
 Marilyn's Experience 



The first adventures of Andy with Marilyn: 
"The Meeting - M"

Another story about a couple deepening their relationship:
"Missed - M"



The index to almost all my stories is:
Index to Uther Pendragon's website

Write Uther