The "furnished apartment" that Andy Trainor rented in Champaign for the '76-'77 school year was an apartment only by courtesy. The main room was no larger than the single bedroom he'd had in the dorm. The bathroom was a triangle cut out of what was once a larger bathroom; another apartment had the other half. So small was the kitchen that the refrigerator wouldn't fit. It was outside in the bedroom. That was all there was.

The furnishings looked as if previous tenants had moved them in and not found them worthwhile to move out: a kitchen table, also in the bedroom, two unmatched chairs for that table, a twin bed, a dresser, a night stand, and a floor lamp.

With no off-street parking, this was near the bottom of the market for off-campus living at the U of I. That, however, was reflected in the rent. Both the refrigerator and the stove worked, after all, and the kitchen had more cabinets than Andy ever expected to use.

Andy's eating habits required the refrigerator. He'd have cereal for breakfast with milk and sugar. The milk was refrigerated; the 'fridge also protected the bag of sugar from ants. For lunch or dinner, Andy opened a can of food, baked beans, beef stew, some pasta variation from Chef Boyardee. He ate only part of the can and put the rest in the 'fridge until his next meal. For salad, he ate lettuce and ketchup or plain cabbage, and he kept the salad and the ketchup in the refrigerator. He'd been told that veggies were a necessary part of a healthy diet, and he kept bags of peas in the freezer. He'd heat up a good chunk and eat them out of the pan on alternate days from the salad.

The first time Marilyn came to the room, he'd skipped the peas. She probably got enough veggies in her sorority, and he needed the saucepan. He put a little water in and heated it up. He opened the can of spaghetti, and placed the can in the boiling water. When he figured it was warm enough to serve, he dished it onto plates for the two of them with slabs of lettuce. He got the salad dressings he'd bought out of the refrigerator. Suspecting that Marilyn wouldn't think his use of ketchup wasn't classy enough, he took French dressing for himself. Just as he'd hung up all his clothes and made the bed in honor of her visit, they sat at the table for the meal.

While she didn't actually say anything, he could tell she didn't think his dinner was worthy of her. In bed later, although the bed creaked and didn't feel all that solid, she'd been enthusiastic. So the dining experience hadn't put her off.

Still, he didn't want the bed collapsing under them. He had spent three summers in a hardware store, after all. While he didn't know what the regular clerks, even the usual customers, did about carpentry, he'd learned some things. He bought a few tools and some corner brackets. He attached the parts of the frame more tightly. The next project was the floor lamp, but that would wait until Marilyn was locked away from him for rush week.

Even with the extra work of a householder -- a quite minor householder, but one whose household was falling apart -- Andy found that the beginning of his junior year had plenty of time to meet demands. He'd gone through the first half of the Partial Differential Equations book over the summer. He still read the chapter before the lecture, but the ideas were old friends not incomprehensible surprises. He wasn't taking Phys Ed, which would seem to save only a few hours a week but was one more push removed from his time. He was taking his last distribution course, Anthropology. It took a fair amount of reading, but Andy was quite willing to read.

In the EE courses, he had to work as hard as ever. He'd received A s in the prerequisites, but so had the students with whom he was really competing. By this time, they'd sorted themselves out, and the competition -- while unspoken -- was fierce. The students who were happy with B s, and the others who just wanted to pass, occupied chairs. They didn't, however, count.

He was a guest at Marilyn's sorority for Sunday dinner. He'd tutored three of the sisters in College Algebra, and they were happy about the results. The dinner was to thank him. They even applauded when he came into the room with Marilyn and the chapter president. The current academic chair made a speech exaggerating what he had done. He had his own speech prepared, but Barbara, Marilyn's past roommate and one of the ones he'd tutored, got up to speak first.

"You've heard that Nancy went up a grade, and figure that Andy probably helped her. You've heard that Hailey went from a D to a B; Andy is certain to have been a big help. I had a C both semesters. You might figure that he wasn't much help to me. Well, that's not how it went. I'd taken the course before. The first semester, I got a D. Worse, through that semester, my grades kept falling. My professor warned me to take the course over instead of going on. But I'd been a pledge, and I'd work harder. By the time I got to the final the second semester, I don't think 100 on the final would have passed me for the course, and I didn't come anywhere near to finding out. I left a third of the questions blank. Well, when I transferred, the D didn't. I retook the course, and I did better. I wasn't pledging, after all. Even so, I was in over my head towards the end of the course. I was totally lost in the second semester when Andy came along. So, my C is as much to Andy's credit as the others' B s." Luckily, that fit into the opening of his planned response.

"Well, I'm complimented," he said. "But, really, I didn't take the tests. These three did. And I didn't learn the stuff that year. These three did. You'll hear that you have to work to learn math, and that's 100% true. On the other hand, when people say to me that they'll work harder, I ask myself whether they shouldn't be working smarter, instead. I hope I helped Barbara, Nancy, and Hailey to work smarter. You have to read the book before the lecture; you have to listen to the lecture; you have to read the book after the lecture. If there's a discussion section, you have to go to that section with concrete questions. You have to solve the homework problems for yourself. That's the work you have to do to learn any math course.

"And math is a series of stair-steps. If you did really poorly on section 11, it doesn't do any good to say you'll study section 12 better, because you usually can't learn section 12 until you've learned section 11. Sometimes, section 12 doesn't depend on section 11, but section 15 will. Anyway, you're going to have to learn section 11, or fail the course. It only makes sense to learn it when the professor is teaching it. It is really easier then; you'll get tested on it then; and the rest of the course will be less confusing if you do.

"Now, I'm really grateful for this good food, great company, and kind words," and now for the stinger. "But I've sent word to Laura, and I'm stating publicly now: if there is a group who want tutoring in College Algebra this semester, I'll make some time free. I can't guarantee being free next semester. You see, I took my book on partial differential equations home with me over the summer, and I got sort of on top of the first half of the book. I don't know it well enough, but I have a head start on most of the rest of my class. I'll have some time to spare. On the other hand, I can't guarantee to have any time free next semester. And I will guarantee that I won't be willing to tutor anyone spring semester that I haven't tutored fall semester. Basically, falling behind makes both the student's job harder and the teacher's job harder. And I won't have time to help someone who makes my job harder. Now, Marilyn assures me that you have something more important than studying to do fall semester, but that's your choice."

The president replied to the warning in a quite friendly manner. As he and Marilyn were going out, his three ex-students blocked anyone from following them. They stopped on the porch.

"You have a fan club," Marilyn said.

"Who expect us to smooch," he said. "Be a shame to disappoint them." And, so, they had a great kiss. His hands swept down from her shoulders to her rump. He kneaded that while he pressed her length against him. Then, though, she had to go back inside while he went home.

With Marilyn shut up in the sorority house doing "rush," he bent his attention to the lamp as well as to homework.

Back in Evanston Mr. Schmidt, the manager of the hardware store in which he worked summers, had known that he was going into electrical engineering. He had him substitute for Jeff or Will, the electrical guys, when one of them was on vacation. The other one would fill him in on what they knew. There is absolutely no relationship between house wiring and electrical engineering: "Going into opthalmology? Let me tell you what I know about using mascara on eyelashes. That's eye care, after all." On the other hand, Andy associated the resistance to "useless knowledge" with high-school football players, whom he associated with the worst bullying he'd ever received. He wouldn't resist any knowledge.

And, now, he was using the two lectures he'd received on rewiring a lamp. The plug was on the side of the bed he habitually faced when reading in bed, and the cord was too short to put the lamp on the other side. So the light tended to shine into his eyes rather than on the page. The light was turned off and on by an old pull chain, which was none too reliable and would tilt the lamp over if pulled too enthusiastically.

He removed the cord and installed a much longer one with a plug he considered more reliable. He taped the cord to the top of the headboard when he put the lamp on the side he wanted it. Then he installed a small rotary switch in the cord where it was next to the middle of the headboard. Now, the pull chain was always on. Rather than stretch and risk pulling the lamp over on himself when he was done reading in bed, he merely needed to reach up to the headboard and push the rotary switch with his thumb.

He'd never considered himself a craftsman, but, with the changes to the bed and the lamp, his room was much more comfortable.

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Andy had a course in electrical motor design. Friday, right after the discussion, they had lab. Andy's lab partner was Tom, another guy who wouldn't be happy with a B in the course. Neither of them was particularly dexterous in wrapping motors, but they persevered.

This Friday, he went immediately from the lab to pick up Marilyn. She was going to cook dinner for him in his room. What else she'd do in the room was nothing they could discuss while she was on the phone where anyone from her sorority could overhear, but he was looking forward to that much more than to the meal.

After they left the sorority house with a shopping bag, they stopped at a grocery store to fill another. She could say what she wanted about the wastefulness of living out of cans, but the bill he paid was much more than the cost of the meal he'd cooked. When he opened the car door for her at the apartment house, he presented her with her own set of keys.

"That one's to my room. The other is for the front door, but it won't be locked this time of day."

"Why thank you, Andy. I don't expect to be here when you aren't." Well, no, but she was welcome at any time, and he wanted her to know that. After a kiss, Marilyn put the food away and then put her things in her space. She wasn't moving in, she'd made that clear. But, with some of her things moved in, he could look in the closet or towards her dresser drawer when he felt lonely.

When she'd finished, she came to him for a kiss. That continued while he helped her off with her clothes. She pulled back the covers while he stripped and dropped his clothes on the floor. Daylight was fading outside; the room wasn't the best lit place; the bed was in a corner away from windows. With all those limitations, he could still see her beauty when he lay beside her. She was tan almost everywhere, and the white breasts and white strip around her pubic hair seemed to emphasize those places. He even saw her beauty plainly when she writhed under his mouth.

After she recovered, she demanded him, and he feared he was entering her too soon. He needn't have worried. Their pleasure was, although brief, intense and mutual. When she recovered this time, he wanted to lie hugging her.

"No," she said. "I'm going to feed my man." And she proceeded to cook the spaghetti. He had spent hours, after all, watching Mrs. Bryant cook. But Mrs. Bryant was a professional who needed to justify a salary for 40 hours a week. Marilyn followed many of the same complicated procedures: boiling water and tossing in dry spaghetti, frying hamburger, chopping an onion and a green pepper and adding them, then pouring the jar of sauce into the pan, cooking frozen broccoli for the meal, putting the lettuce -- torn apart rather than a solid chunk -- onto smaller plates.

In shirt -- once his shirt, but Marilyn's robe for wearing in the apartment -- and apron, she was a luscious sight bustling around the tiny kitchen -- tiny even for her. Still, was all this necessary? They both had fine teeth; they could bite off a mouthful of lettuce. Why tear it up beforehand? Still, it was the way Marilyn wanted to eat, and he had to admit that the result was delicious.

"Leave the dishes," he said when she started to clear. "I've lots of time to wash them."

"Do you have the dish soap?"

"Sure. I got it after the first time you were here." She'd eaten in her apron, and that might be why she was in the housework mode instead of the sex mode. He took it from her, and, when she didn't object to that, took the shirt, too. He picked her up for a quick kiss on her breasts -- however limited in its other dimensions, the apartment had a high ceiling -- before laying her on the bed. They were both in underpants, but taking hers off was worthy of ceremony. He kissed her mound in a pause in lowering her panties. He turned on the lamp and turned off the overhead light before shucking his underpants and lying down beside her.

"Oh love." She was a love, and she was his love. Her nipples responded to his lips, and her whole body responded to his finger in her vulva. "Oh love." She writhed in his bed and in his sight. She was the sexiest woman on earth. "Sweet, sweet, sweet," he said as she relaxed sweetly from that climax. After watching that relaxation and her sweet smile of completion, he kissed her lovely form again. She held his head to her breast with one hand. When she reached for his cock with the other, he moved back. He had another plan.

"Want to be on top?" He was lying down with his cock sticking up. She rolled over a bit to look at him while she thought about that. She wasn't his puppet to do what he suggested without thought. She was a sexy woman, and he could see the sexiness of her thoughts in the changing expression on her face. She finally grinned.

"Yeah."

"Well, come on, then." But she was already moving over him. They'd never done this before, and where she should begin so as to end up at just the right point wasn't obvious. But they figured it all out, and there was a delightful moment when she was tight along his whole length and sitting straight up above him with her beauty glowing in the lamplight.

Then she dropped down and clasped his shoulders. The angle cast all her curves into light and shadow. Maybe half her breasts were in lamplight and especially white leading to red tips. He reached his left hand to a breast and his right to her vulva. As she lifted her hips slowly, dragging herself along his length, he began to stroke her clitoris with one finger.

Her face hardly moved at her arm's length from his while her hips rose and fell changing the angle of her body. She had a quizzical expression at first, and her strokes were slightly different each time. Then she looked satisfied, and her sweet warmth caressed his whole length each time up and each time down. Soon her look of satisfaction turned to worry, and he felt her gripping him more firmly along the shaft on her upstrokes.

Her mouth opened in a soundless gasp, and her body plunged down around him. Seeing her writhe before his eyes was arousing but not as arousing as to feel her clasp around his cock once and then again.

"Marilyn!" He thrust into that clasping warmth and poured himself into her. She dropped toward him, and he caught her. His cock was pulsing its last into the air. He held her as she shook and then as she quieted. Soon, she made no motion except for the breaths that matched his own.

"Should I move?" she asked. He hugged her tighter.

"Never." She relaxed for a minute at his reply. Too soon, though, she sat up. "I love you," he said. He truly loved her, and he truly wished she would stay in his arms.

"Love you, too, but I should get cleaned up." She got up and headed for the john. When he heard the shower running, he followed her. He was a little messy, and he needed to get dressed to drive her back. He slipped into the tub beside her. She was already too far along in her shower for him to soap her, so he merely rinsed off his sticky middle. He did get to dry her off, though -- patting every inch of her skin.

Then he had to drive her back to the damn sorority. He used to think of individual men as rivals; now all he worried about was a group of fifty women, but those kept winning.

He felt in the next weeks that Marilyn had less time for him than she'd ever had. They had a few dates, and those dates were spent in the apartment. The time, though, seemed so limited that they had full intercourse only once per date, and he had the distinct feeling that he wanted her so much that he was too quick the first time in an evening. He was careful that she always had a climax beforehand, though, and he usually got her far enough along before entering her that she had a second. She never complained, but he didn't think his performances were his best. If truth were told, he enjoyed the extended periods of approaching climax that second times provided most of all.

Mostly, but not always, Marilyn was available to accompany him to church. Sometimes, he cut services, too; sometimes, he went alone.

When Marilyn wasn't available in the evening, and she usually wasn't, he studied. He carefully read what would be covered in the next day's lecture and what had been covered in that day's lecture. He did the assigned problems and at least read over any problems not assigned in his engineering books. When he'd got to that point in the dorm, he had been of the habit of joining his roommates if they were watching TV, and they usually had been. He didn't think of himself as a TV watcher, and hadn't bought a set for his room.

He took to lying in bed and reading ahead in his Anthro book. He made no notes and didn't try to remember anything, but the description of other cultures was as entertaining as some of the SF he'd read -- reminding him of the background before the author got to the action.

He invited Marilyn to the first university dance of the season. She accepted, and a little more discussion extended their plans to the night as well. He really wanted to spend the night with her. It seemed almost a rehearsal of marriage.

He got to her sorority house while the pledges were still being picked up by their dates and the drivers. She seemed to be serving a chaperon, and he stood aside in case she needed a bouncer, but she didn't. At the dance they mostly kept to themselves. Beverly greeted them and introduced her date, but she looked no more eager to talk than he felt. The dances seemed an extended form of foreplay, and Marilyn acknowledged an occasional erection during the slow dances by pressing her belly against it. They were taking a break when a younger girl came up to Marilyn. He figured her for a pledge; she looked unfamiliar, and he'd at least seen all the sophomores. She obviously wanted to talk with Marilyn alone.

"Three Cokes?" he asked. Marilyn nodded. He got them and waited out of earshot until Marilyn looked like she wanted him there. He walked over and set down the Cokes.

"Judy needs to get back to the house now," Marilyn said. "Think we could take her?"

"Sure." He could have been sipping his Coke while he waited if he hadn't thought that would look selfish. Now, he gulped it. He might hate her sorority, but it was important to Marilyn. That made it important to him.

They were waiting at the door when he drove up. He started for them, and Marilyn started walking towards him. Must be something urgent. When he got up to Marilyn and turned around, the girl hung back. Before he opened the door for the girl, she got in the driver's side. She seemed to be avoiding him. Well, he'd go around the front of the car instead of around the back to get to the driver's seat. That would keep him farther away.

When he got to the sorority house and went to open the girl's door -- she'd ridden behind him -- she crossed the back seat to be behind Marilyn.

"I'll walk Judy to the house," Marilyn said. She did, and walked back to the car while he sat in it. That was the first time she'd walked to his car from that porch without an escort since he'd brought it down here.

"Well, what now?" Marilyn asked after she'd shut her own door.

"Want to go home?" Did she want to go to bed with him?

"Yeah." And, so they did. In his room, with the door locked, they shared a kiss. When he started to remove her dress, though, she stopped him. "No. Let me." But she did hang it in her space in the closet. He stripped and went to hang up his suit. There was enough room in the closet, but not in the closet door.

She wore her underwear and pantyhose to the bathroom, with her shoes still on to protect her pantyhose. Oddly enough, she was still wearing the same stuff when she came out, although he'd heard the toilet flush. Meanwhile, he'd stripped to his underpants, turned on the bedside lamp, and turned off the overhead light.

He took a brief time in the bathroom himself. Marilyn was in bed when he got back, and he got in the opposite side.

They started with a kiss. Kissing her breasts would mean pulling the covers down -- maybe chilling her -- or ducking his head under them. Somehow, he didn't want to do that. So he confined his kisses to her face and neck while his hand stroked all over her torso. As soon as he felt his hand was warm enough, he stroked between her thighs and then parted her labia. He kissed her again while his finger stroked her clitoris. There seemed to be a disconnection between what they were doing under the covers and what they were doing above, although there was nobody to observe the kiss but the two of them who were both quite aware where his hand was.

When she stiffened, he raised his head and watched her in the lamplight. Her face looked worried, then pained. She opened her mouth, and her expression became a grimace. The lovely girl was having a climax. He body writhed under his hand.

"Lovely girl," he said. As she relaxed, he let his hand remain on her mound. He kissed as much of her face as he could reach without blocking her breath. "Delightful woman." As her breath eased, he began stroking her again. When she tensed, she reached under the covers for his cock. He turned on his side.

"Back against me." She turned on her own side, totally escaping his hand. They'd done this before, and the joining was easier to accomplish. "Oh, my love," he said as his tip began to enter her. "Sweet." The head had passed the constricted part and was into the smooth warmth. "Sweet." He pulled with one hand and pushed with the toes of both feet. Half of him was within her, and he felt the constriction sliding down his shaft. "Marilyn!" He buried his length in her and pulled on her thigh with his right hand. She raised that leg, and his finger reached her clitoris.

As her muscles tightened, his cock basked in her warmth. Then she began to move, and he couldn't resist moving in response. As she moved upward in the bed, he eased his hips downward, and his cock withdrew from her warmth. As she moved back down, he curled so his cock reentered her fully. With each motion, he stroked her clitoris with his finger. The sensations were glorious, but he struggled to restrain his orgasm.

"Marilyn," he said as he pulled her against him and pulsed into her warmth. Her rhythmic clasps around his cock pumped out the last drops.

They lay side by side as their breathing slowed. When he could move, he reached up his hand to the headboard to turn off the light. Then he tucked the covers which had been disturbed over his shoulder, over hers, under her chin. He held them over her arm as they drifted off to sleep, just as if -- it was his last thought of the night -- they were a married couple.

They were, however, lying apart when the alarm woke him in the morning. They weren't far apart; it was a twin bed. He reached his left arm over in a practiced motion to silence the alarm and found the clock nearer than it usually was. That brought him almost to alertness, and, when he rolled back over to get out of the other side of the bed, he realized whose warm body he'd rolled against.

"Love you," he said. He rolled over on his right side and got out of the far side of the bed. The air was chilly, and he paused on the way to the bathroom to pull the covers over Marilyn and tuck her in.

He didn't waste time in the john, knowing that Marilyn might want to come in. Still he shaved carefully and brushed his teeth -- not his habit before breakfast.

Sure enough, as he came out, Marilyn went in. She looked like she was chilly, and he got out a flannel shirt for her to use as a robe. The shirt was clean; he didn't think his robe was. He got in bed and carefully lay on her side to keep the place warm.

"Come back to bed," he said as soon as she came out.

"Aren't we going to church?" But she headed for the bed. Her breasts swayed as she walked and the motion of her legs alternately hid and revealed her vulva.

"Hours yet." He moved over to give her room.

"Brrr," she said. "Goose bumps."

"Yeah." He stroked his hand over her belly and up a breast. "Here's a big one." He held her nipple between finger and thumb as it hardened.

"Silly!" But, instead of batting his hand away, she moved within kissing distance. The kiss was sweet, and he moved his hand to her other breast. She broke the kiss to ask, "You want?"

"Always."

"Before church?"

"Well, what choice do we have? After church you have house business, and during church would draw criticism from the congregation." Her giggle prevented him from kissing her mouth, but the hand on her breast enjoyed the motion.

"You're silly." But she kissed him again, playing the aggressor with her tongue in his mouth. After a minute, he pushed her down on the bed and took the initiative. He kissed her while his hand went between her legs. Again, the room felt too chilly to uncover her breasts for a kiss. When he left her lips, he kissed over her face, ears, and throat. As she was stiffening, she grabbed his arm and pulled it against her. She held his hand to her mound with the other hand. He'd been kissing the ear nearest him when she did, and he was confined to that ear and the temple and area of the throat near it if he weren't going to fight her for possession of his arm. He certainly didn't want to do that; the grip was too dear an expression of her acceptance of his attentions.

"Oh," she said. She writhed under his arm and her neck escaped his lips and then pressed against them. He deepened the kiss, sucking to express his pleasure.

"Darling Marilyn," he whispered as she relaxed her grip. Indeed, all of her relaxed. He moved the covers down an inch to kiss her shoulder. Then he returned to her ear to suck the lobe. As her breathing slowed, he began stroking her again. He moved up to kiss her chin, her nose tip, her forehead, and then her lips.

He found a way to grab the edge of the covers with his left hand. He held on to them as his head ducked inside. Then he was kissing her breast. She stiffened again as he sucked her nipple.

"Andy," she said. She pulled at his shoulders. She wanted him in her. Okay, he wanted to be in her, too.

"Get the covers." He moved over her and between her legs. She grabbed the covers and pulled them so there was no gap for the cold air. When she raised her knees, he got into position. He spread her labia for his cock. Then his tip was just inside her. As she pulled on his shoulders, he slipped into her smoothly. His head came out of the covers, and he kissed her forehead.

Her warmth was holding the entire length of his cock. As he moved through that warmth, she moved in counterpoint. He held her shoulders and pulled her down as he filled her. He wanted to get the last millimeter each time. Her hands swept down his back from his shoulders. She gripped his butt with both hands.

He was better prepared to enjoy her than he'd ever been before. He wasn't hungry after days of denial, but he wasn't just recovering after a previous orgasm, either. He wanted her, but his body wasn't desperate. He enjoyed her warmth, her smoothness, the desire communicated by her hands which pulled him into her, and her rising to meet him each time. As she stiffened, he moved more forcefully and more rapidly. He pulled down on her shoulders harder.

She writhed under him and around him. He drove twice more through her warm, rhythmic clasp. Then he shoved himself into her depths and erupted. When he managed to roll to his left, his weight was off her, but the covers came with him. That opened a gap on his right arm and almost all of her back.

"Sorry," he managed to say when he'd caught his breath.

"Well, you're keeping most of me warm."

"Try to move the covers when I lift." He rolled a little over her and she tugged. He felt the cold breeze cut off from everywhere but his knees. Apparently she felt that too, because when he sank back she put a hand out and tugged the covers again. He moved the blanket, if maybe not the sheet, to close the last gap.

"What time?" she asked. That was a more complicated question than she knew. The night stand with the clock and his watch were behind him. He rolled away from her, opening the gap again, and retrieved his watch. In that position, he got the covers out from underneath and covered them completely. He squinted at the clock face.

"8:45."

"I'm going to cook you breakfast." She started to get up. How much cooking was involved in corn flakes, he couldn't figure out, but he reached for his glasses to watch.

"There's a shirt on the chair if you're cold." She put it on and rolled up the sleeves. The front and back nearly came to her knees, but there was a nice view of thigh from the side.

"Do you have eggs?"

"Huh? No." When he got up, he made the bed. Marilyn was there, and she would expect a made bed.

"Butter? Margarine?"

"No. Do we need them?" She'd shopped for the dinner makings, after all. If she had wanted butter and eggs, she should have got them then. He was perfectly willing to pay for stuff -- he had for the dinner makings -- but he couldn't read her mind.

"What do you put on your toast." That was easy.

"No toaster. No bread for that matter."

"Why do you have sugar in your refrigerator?" That was a sudden change of subject, but a welcome one. The 'why don't you have ... ?' questions seemed to imply that he should have the stuff. 'Why do you do ... ?' on the other hand, asked for a sensible reason, and there was a sensible reason for everything he did.

"Ants. The landlord warned me about ants. They like sugar."

"A sugar canister keeps them out."

"So does a 'fridge." Besides, the apartment came with a refrigerator. He didn't use much of that space, anyway.

"What were you planning on for breakfast?" Well, he'd planned to allow her a choice.

"Do you like cornflakes? I have Wheaties and Cheerios, too."

"Quite a variety for a guy who doesn't buy bread."

"Well, the cornflakes are open. But I didn't know what you eat.... I've got several bowls, too." She laughed at him.

"Andy, you are impossible." He got the stuff except the cereal and set the table.

"Which would you prefer?"

"The cornflakes are fine." He seated her and she went on. "I need a robe."

"Yeah!" She needed all sorts of stuff to be living here part-time, but he was scared of suggesting it. She'd been so insistent that she wasn't going to live with him. "Should I buy you one?" Of course, she'd wonder why he didn't offer her his. "Mine's dirty." The sugar was, as usual, a little clogged together. He loosened it with his spoon before taking some and passing it to her.

"I'll buy the robe.... Get pencil and paper." He did as he was told. "Did you like my spending the night?" That was an easy question. Even not counting the sex, sleeping beside her had been delightful.

"Yeah."

"Well, I did, too. Before I do again, here's some things you need to buy: a dozen eggs, a pound of butter, a sugar cannister.... Coffee." That he had, but maybe she didn't like instant.

"I have instant."

"Could I have some?" Sure. He made some for both of them. She took milk. He'd ask her if she preferred creamer. But she didn't give him time. "Bread and a toaster." He grabbed the paper again.

"Toothbrush, too?" he asked after he'd written down 'bread' and 'toaster.'

"I'll get that."

"I should have thought of that." Really, he should have. He'd been thinking of her spending the night since he'd moved in himself.

"Andy, I should have thought of that. What I don't see is how you can live like this -- the food, I mean. You eat fine at home, don't you?" Well, he ate fine here, too, really. He wasn't as good a cook as Mrs. Bryant or Marilyn was, but he hadn't expected to be.

"Sure. Dad makes coffee. If you want ground coffee, you'll have to tell me how. Mrs. Bryant cooks good dinners, good lunches when I'm there, and sack lunches for school or work. I suppose she cooks her own lunch when I'm not there. Weekends, sometimes, she leaves something we eat cold; sometimes, we go out; sometimes we order in -- but only lunch and dinner. And, of course, there are left-overs for snacks. I wonder what happens to the left-overs when I'm down here? I hadn't thought of that."

"So, why don't you eat like that down here?"

"Well, I can't cook like that -- can't cook at all, really."

"Okay, I've seen that. But you can heat up those cans -- put the contents in the saucepan, dish it up into a serving bowl, put the serving bowl on the table, cook the veggies, put them in another serving bowl, put the salad on another plate." Sure, he could. But what did that have to do with eating well? He'd eaten slices of Mrs. Bryant's roast beef or her baked ham -- the two best dishes from an excellent cook -- standing in the kitchen for a snack. Either was ten times as good as anything he'd eaten sitting down in the cafeteria.

"Well, you have to eat veggies and salad -- fruit for that matter -- or you get sick. You don't need to eat them all at the same meal." Really, you didn't.

"Okay, what did you eat for lunch yesterday? How did you eat it." That was a specific question, and he could answer it.

"Well, beef stew is covered with fat on top if you eat it without heating. I had beef stew for lunch. I put the can in the sauce pan and heated it up. Since I was in the kitchen, I ate it there. Then, I came out, and cut off a chunk of cabbage and ate that. I did cabbage instead of peas because I'd used the sauce pan."

"You ate in the kitchen? Standing up?" Well, the choice was to sit on the stove top or the sink.

"Sure. I was alone."

"And do you eat standing up when you're in Evanston?" Only snacks.

"Snacks only. Mrs. Bryant tells me to sit down if she's going to fix something for me. Not every time; she told me years ago, but it's a rule."

"Um, Andy, do you eat most of your meals in this apartment standing up?"

"Not breakfast. I've got a bowl then, and it's easier to sit down."

"Well, you have a plate at dinner, don't you?"

"Here? Not unless you're here. Anyway, except for breakfast, this table is usually covered in books and stuff. I don't have anywhere else to study. I clear a place every night so I can get breakfast without thinking about it."

"Okay, if you're worried about ants, you should rinse out the bowls now. Don't bother with my cup, I'll have another cup before I go." Okay, she was giving directions. That was one hell of a lot better than expecting him to guess her rules.

While he was rinsing off the dishes, she went into the john. When he heard the shower running, he could picture her. Well, reality was better than imagination, and touch was better than seeing. Besides, she might not know which towels were hers. He took his glasses and watch off again and followed her in.

"Andy."

"Let me wash you." She didn't resist, so he started. She was just as nice to touch through a film of soap. "You can do your face. I'm afraid of getting soap in your mouth. The closer washcloth is yours."

She washed him, too. Then, they dried each other. He was glad he'd left plenty of leeway in his morning timeline. Drying himself usually took maybe one minute. Drying Marilyn gently took much longer, and she couldn't dry him until he was done.

She went back into the john when she'd put everything on but her dress. That made her even better to watch, but she closed the door. So he put on his own clothes. He'd got to his pants when she came back out.

"You gave me a hickey." So he had. Well, someone had, and he hoped nobody else had his mouth there.

"I did? Darling, I'm sorry." She finished dressing and went back into the john again. She fussed in front of the mirror and then came out. He'd finished dressing except for the suit coat and the outer stuff. It wasn't time to go, though.

"Maybe I set the alarm too early."

"Well, better too early than too late. Andy, you've got to eat like other people do."

"I do? Why?"

"It's only sensible." Now that he could deal with. Maybe she'd explain the reasons. Sensible reasons were what was missing from too many 'should's.

"What ways should I eat? You ate in a borrowed shirt. You wouldn't do that in your sorority house would you? What rules should I obey at home alone?"

"Well, for one, you need a plate for your food. You can't eat out of a can." She wasn't explaining why that was sensible, and it didn't look sensible to him. Seemed to be a way to waste food and wash more plates. Of course, he'd asked her for ways, not explanations, Maybe they could get the explanations for those rules. She seemed to think of them together.

"And that's sensible? Why? It means more to wash, and I can't catch my own germs, can I? Besides, every time you put food in another container, you waste some -- not much, but some." So why did other people waste things like that? Conspicuous consumption? Seemed to be neither conspicuous nor all that much consumption.

"Don't you like my eating breakfast with you in that shirt?" Compared to what. He'd loved it, but he would have preferred it without the shirt. Still, she'd have been freezing, and that wouldn't have been fun.

"Sure. Well, since it was a chilly day..."

"Andy, I'm not going to eat a meal in my birthday suit. You see enough of me already."

"Not enough. Never enough."

"We took a shower together." He hadn't denied that he'd seen her, just said that it wasn't enough.

"Yeah. That was fun."

"Andy, you're insatiable."

"About you.... Want more coffee now?" He made her some.

She was all dressed up and made up, and he knew better than to try kissing her in that state, but he held out his hand. She took it, and they sat like little school kids holding hands 'til she looked at her watch.

"Want to go?" she asked.

"Sure. Wait in the hallway 'til I get the car. It's a way." They both donned their last layers and went to church. They were a little early, but Bess Norton was there before them. She hauled Marilyn out somewhere for some sort of female consultation. She got back in time to sit with him, though. He left Marilyn at her sorority afterwards. He headed home to finish reading ahead in the Anthro book.

In the middle of reading about how the Hopi behaved, he had an insight. The Hopi all followed a set of rules, and there was a book mentioned in the text that laid out those rules, a book for anthropologists; Hopi apparently weren't given the rules all neatly set down any more than Andy had been. Maybe Anthropologists had written down the rules for American culture, too. That would be a great help. He was always running afoul of some rule that hadn't been laid down.

Professor Kozak had office hours on Tuesday, and he went to see him then.

"Professor, are there any Anthro books on American culture?"

"Well, there are a great many on Native Americans, and there are also some on minority groups. There are Mormon split-offs who still practice polygamy, and they've been studied."

"I mean mainstream American culture, like you and me."

"There is a field called 'Urban Anthropology.' At one point, we left that to sociologists, but they didn't ask quite the same questions. It's really not my field, but if that's where you want to write your term paper, it's a very good idea. There is a great deal of work done comparing one culture with another from published reports of both, but real anthropology starts with field studies. And a field study for a term paper would be great. You'd have to work on a tiny segment, one fraternity, the interactions of one sports team, something like that." Those, Andy could tell, were only examples, and examples that were particularly inappropriate for him. On the other hand, if he knew the unwritten rules he wouldn't be here. Such a paper looked like a guaranteed way to fail.

"That wasn't really what I had in mind. I wanted to read something to let me know the unwritten rules of this culture. I'd be content with the unwritten laws of the U of I."

"Well. We have a good library. Look up "urban anthropology," and follow your nose. The shelves are divided between circulating and reference books, and you should check out both sorts of shelves. Do you know how to get books on related areas in the library?"

"Yeah. Libraries, I can deal with." Libraries were easy to deal with, they wrote down all their rules. People, with rules far more complicated than the Library of Congress numbers, kept their rules secret.

"All right -- urban anthropology. And good luck, at a guess -- and, as I said, it's not my field -- you'll only find very narrow studies. How bus drivers interact with each other and with their passengers and bosses, that sort of thing."

"Not like a book on the Hopi, but about us instead?"

"I wouldn't expect that. Maybe, some anthropologist from Mars would write such a book, but there don't seem to be any Martian anthropologists."

"Well, thank you, Professor. I'll check out the library." And he did, without much luck. Before he went, though, he found out what were the more usual subjects for a term paper.

Marilyn was too busy with her sorority that week to see him, or, at least, that was the story. Actually, it was her period. That she didn't say so was one of the unwritten rules he didn't understand. Sure, what was happening in her genitals was something she didn't want to discuss with a casual acquaintance -- especially a casual male acquaintance. But, he'd been in her genitals, it wasn't as though his acquaintance with her was still casual.

On the other hand, it was only one of a million rules he didn't understand. She wore lipstick for a date with him, fine. She didn't want him to see her without her makeup. But, if something happened that meant he did see her without it, she put her lipstick on in front of him.

Saturday was a study day and a study night. His only term paper would be in Anthro, but the engineering courses would each have a project. He wasn't far enough along to start on one of those, and they required a partner. He would start on the Anthro paper instead.

Many cultures had "cross cousins" as the preferred marriage partners, sometimes nearly the required ones. Well, the father's sister's child or the mother's brother's child was not only a small pool, it was likely to be unbalanced pool. What happened then? Then, too, most of these cultures had grooms significantly older than brides. What happened to the late-arriving son of a youngest son? It depended on culture, but all the cultures they'd seen in class or in the book had work-arounds.

Labeling a Cross-cousin seemed to be a reasonable comparative topic. He went to the library to look up studies of individual cultures. Then he looked in the index. When he found some reference to cross cousins, he put the book on his stack. Of ten books, probably five would give him something he could use. When he had ten books on his stack, he checked them out at the desk. For almost the first time, the car was a help in his study life. He could have walked to the library, but carrying all those books, he would have staggered home.

He chose one book and took it to the laundromat with him. When he got back he emptied the laundry bag on his bed and went back to his books. He had several bookmarks in the first book, and he put it in what would be the keeper pile.

He spread the books out and went through them to see what they said about marriage patterns and how the search for a fiancee dealt with numerical unbalances. When he got hungry, he put the opened can of beef stew in some water in the saucepan and turned on the heat. He had a new head of lettuce, but the old cabbage wasn't quite finished yet. He took it into the kitchen to cut off hunks to eat while the stew was warming. Beef stew was really gross when eaten cold, there were chunks of fat on the top of the can. He ate a second third of the can and went back to the table to work.

He was too deep in the complexities of Tiwi marriage to notice the sounds at the door until it swung open. It was Marilyn!

"Marilyn?" Why had she warned him that she was coming? He hadn't cleaned up the room for her.

"Ta da." That wasn't quite what he thought of as a clear statement of the reason for her visit. She took off her own coat and closed the door. "Ta da." She took off her scarf. "Ta da." She took off her loose sweater. Even though she had a sweatshirt under it, this was beginning to look interesting. When she'd got down to her skin and was completely topless, he started for her.

He tried to hug her, but she pushed the hug up around her neck. They had a kiss. While they were kissing, she unbuckled his belt. She opened the pants and slid them and his underpants down. What was she trying to do?

That much was soon clear. She took his cock into her mouth. The idea was shocking -- Marilyn doing this? The sensations were wonderful -- her mouth was as warm and even wetter than the other mouth was. If her mouth didn't touch all around, her tongue licked all the most sensitive parts on the bottom of his cock. He'd imagined blow jobs, but never even imagined one from Marilyn.

"You don't have to do this." She really didn't. He loved the sensations, but he was afraid of her seeing his orgasms as something he demanded. She didn't have to do it, but he put his hand on her head, partly to improve his balance, partly to keep her there.

She continued licking him and moving her mouth back and forth on him as his arousal approached its fated conclusion. He came in four separate spurts. The fourth had hardly ended when she began to rise. She let him go and ran into the john. He could hear her spitting. He regained his balance and stooped to raise his underpants. As he was finishing with his jeans, she ran past into the kitchen. She returned to the john with a glass, and he could hear continual spitting.

"You don't taste all that good, you know," she said. Well, it had been her idea. He hadn't objected; he had, indeed, enjoyed it, but he hadn't asked for it.

"Sorry about that. Next month I won't force you like I did this time."

"Okay, it was my idea. I wasn't saying it wasn't. It's just that you don't taste as good as I'd expected." Which seemed to suggest that she hadn't done it to anybody else, which was good to hear.

"Next month?" she asked in a rising voice. What was wrong? Oh, yes, he'd assumed that this was related to her period. Well, he'd enjoyed it, but he wouldn't have enjoyed it as an alternative to their usual love making. But he'd stepped in it; she didn't want any mention of her period. Well, he should explain that. She was usually forgiving when he blundered if she understood why.

"Look, Marilyn, I'm Andy, your Andy. I'm the guy who learns thing by reading. I don't claim to know what menstruation feels like to you. But some things, like every four weeks, some things I know about." Still, he shouldn't have brought it up. Really, he hadn't brought it up; he'd just assumed something, and it had trickled into his words. He was bad at keeping his mouth closed.

"For how long?" She must mean how long had he known about her. Good question. He thought he could remember.

"Well, remember when you used nylons instead of pantyhose? One date, you went back to pantyhose. I was desperate, wondering what I'd done. Then, when you wore nylons again, I figured out why."

"And you never said anything?" First he was wrong to have mentioned it; now he was wrong to have not mentioned it.

"Well, you didn't say anything. It seemed to me that it was your choice -- your body, your choice."

"You wouldn't have wanted to touch me there when it was like that." Now, that was going too far. Her body, her choice; but she was making it sound like his choice.

"Now, you're putting words in my mouth. If you don't want to be touched now, I'll understand. After all, it's only one week in four, and it's not like you're refusing me and accepting other guys. But that's your decision. I always want to touch you. I love you -- not sometimes but all the time."

"Andy, you are weird." Generally, he couldn't fight that claim. Really, though, he thought the rest of them were weird. In this specific situation, he hadn't shown any weirdness, even from the perspective of her sorority sisters.

"Well, yes.... But loving you isn't the weirdness." And speaking of touching her, how about tonight? "Now that we're no longer avoiding the subject, can you stay the night? You have church dresses in the closet."

"I don't have Tampax." And she needed some. Well, that was easy to fix.

"Want me to go out and buy some?" If she put on her coat, she'd put on her bra, shirt, and sweater, too. There was no telling how long before she'd take them off again.

"Andy, you aren't going to buy Tampax.... I'll get it." Well, that was it for his seeing her breasts. Still, he could have her company. And, implicitly, she was agreeing to stay.

"I'll walk you to the store." She got dressed, and they went to the drugstore. Afterwards, he put his laundry away and gave her hers to put away. The box of Tampax went into the same drawer.

She slept with him nude, but she insisted that he couldn't touch her below the waist. That rule only applied to his hands, though. They woke much too early since they weren't going to make love. They did share a shower, and she cooked breakfast while he got to watch. She got dressed -- except for the robe replacing her dress -- before that.

Sunday afternoon, he got back to the Anthro books. None of them could explain Marilyn, though. Even so, they'd got past one unwritten law. And, he hoped, she'd share his bed the Saturday night of her next period, too. She'd left the Tampax in her drawer, after all. Her body in his arms had been restful, which was strange. How could such an arousing experience be restful? It should have been, in one sense it had been, frustrating as hell.

The week went smoothly in class. He got a test back in PDE. Professor Lundgren didn't give letter grades, but the 92 looked like A territory, especially when he heard the complaints from the other students. Many of the books he'd checked out didn't help on his tentative paper topic, and he returned them. He went down the shelf and took out two more books that had 'cross cousin' in the index.

The truth was that he'd come to the pleasant time of youth that the idiots had always told him was in high school. He was healthy enough that he ignored his body -- ignored it when he and Marilyn weren't sharing the pleasures of their bodies. Half the bullies of high school hadn't gone on to college, a few had grown up, and the rest didn't interact with him. It had been one thing to pass them in the corridors and share gym and other classes with them every day in a small high school; it was quite another to pass them on the walks of a huge university.

Probably the guys who driveled on about high school being the best years of your life had been the bullies in their high-school days. The academic types who regretted the anonymity of the huge lecture halls of the distribution courses didn't look like they'd ever been bullies; probably they were simply clueless. His fellow students in the engineering and math courses knew him. To the rest of the student body, he was just somebody occupying a seat. That anonymity saved him a lot of grief.

And, just as his-last ever gym course -- Andy lumped Phys Ed into the same category as high-school gym -- had been pleasant, his last-ever distribution course was turning out to be fun.

What Andy didn't realize was that much of the reason he was finding school more pleasant was that he had more time for it. He was not only saving time by not participating in the recreations that he'd only joined because others had told him that they were fun, he was consolidating his other activities. The mental exercises that he'd long enjoyed were now engineering-course homework. He was actually spending less of his waking time on Marilyn, although spending it more pleasantly.

She was with him more than ever before, but half that time was spent in sleeping. The Marilyn-related orgasms were only slightly more frequent, but three of them a week were in her presence. And, while he spent as much time imagining a bright future with her as he had before, he spent much less time worrying about her.

Of course, he was spending effort on his food and housing which had previously been provided by the university, but he put out damned little effort in that direction. Other than keeping himself fed and dressed, he dealt with only school and Marilyn, and her sorority limited how much he could deal with Marilyn. One visit a week meant that the bed linens were changed, the room was neatened, and the dishes were washed once a week. Something like that much effort was really necessary, although he reused the cereal bowl, cup, glass, and silverware. Similarly, except for his suit which he got to the cleaners once a month and his underwear which he changed daily, he changed to clean clothes each time he expected to see Marilyn. He shaved with his electric razor every morning before class and with a blade before any date and Sunday morning when she was in his room.

When he drove over to the Zeta house to pick up Marilyn, Andy was feeling quite happy with his life. Marilyn was carrying several books when she came downstairs, but he hardly noticed. And there were much more important things to notice for the next hour or so. She got out of bed, though, when he'd have been happier holding her longer.

"It's not fair, I know," she said. "But I'm behind in three of my classes. Tomorrow, I'll catch up in one, but I've brought the books for the others with me." Just why that was unfair, he couldn't see. He'd rather see her writhe on his bed until he was erect again, but they never spent their time that way. If they weren't going to spend their time in sex but were going to spend their time together, what the activity they did together hardly mattered.

"Well, we are in school, after all. We'll study together -- different subjects but across from each other."

"I haven't even planned out the dinner." That a dinner needed planning was another of Marilyn's odd opinions. She was too sexy to argue with, but some of her notions were very strange.

"Want me to open a can?" The one in the refrigerator had his germs. Besides, there was only one serving left.

"I won't go that far. I'll cook, but I'll cook from your cans. What did you eat last?"

"Beef stew. Why?"

"So I don't cook it." Why not? If she insisted on heating the food, that was one that needed it. Besides, she ate less than he did, and most of the other stuff came in two-meal cans. Left-over beef stew, including the can in the 'fridge, would be easier to break into meals.

"Why not. It's really one that needs heating. The others don't. Besides it and the baked beans come in the largest cans. Having you here to eat one makes sense."

"Andy, you can't eat the same thing two nights in a row." Usually, he didn't.

"Why not? Not that I do it all that often. Like I said, only baked beans and beef stew. Usually I start a can at lunchtime and finish it for dinner, or vice versa."

Despite the explanation, she cooked lasagna as well as veggies and a fancy salad. When he cleaned the dinner dishes off the table, she set her books down in her place.

He got out one of the Anthro books which would be really useful for the paper. He started the cards. He'd been going to wait until he'd sorted out all the books he wanted, but that would take too much table space the way he worked. Studying across from her was fun, and he could look at her and see how she pretty she looked when she was concentrating and how she fit in. She even had her regular spot at the table in this apartment. Hours passed.

"Ten O'clock," he announced when it was. "Do you need more study time?"

"Want to call it a night?" She asked. Well, he really wanted to get down to the main event, but it might gross her out if he said so.

"Let's."

She took off her own clothes, not as much fun as his doing it for her, but great to watch. He had to admit, too, that it was faster, and the night was chilly. She took a long time in the john, but came out nude. She ran to the bed and climbed in immediately -- a sexy sight. After his time in the john, he joined her. He was erect on his way to bed, and she was watching. Well, turnabout was fair play; she could watch as much as she wanted if he got to watch her.

Since his hands were cold, he confined himself to kisses. His hands had probably been cold in the car, too, but now they had lots of time. As they warmed up, he reached around to stroke her back. When she lay on her back, he kissed her breast. She spread her legs when his hand reached her mound. She was hot there, which meant that he must have felt cold to her. If so, she didn't say anything.

He could feel her arousal. When he went from one nipple to the other, the new one was already firm under his lips. She stiffened. Under the covers, he could detect her special odor. When she felt like she was near, he moved his head out from under the covers. He watched her face as she got ready. She grimaced, and her mound rose under his hand.

"Marilyn," he said when she writhed beside him and her face looked pained. Her mound rose against his palm and then dropped as her hips slammed down on the mattress.

Her body relaxed as her expression changed from the intense grimace of her climax to the delightful smile of her satiation. He watched the relaxation take her close to sleep while his arm felt her breathing slow.

"I love you." And he did love her in all her aspects. He maybe loved her more, though, when she was writhing beside him. He began stroking her again. She responded and didn't try to avoid him. As she stiffened and her expression started to look worried, she reached towards his cock. Well, if she wanted that, he wanted her even more. Having her handle his cock when it was in this state, though, might bring things to a premature conclusion. He shifted his hips back to escape her hand.

"Okay," he said, not wanting her to think he was turning her down. He got between her legs and got the sheet and blanket back over them both. Like this, it would need more hands than he had available. "Open yourself." When she did, he moved until he could feel her lips around him. "Oh, Marilyn."

He could feel her warmth slide over him. Her hot moisture welcomed him into her. When all of him was in her depths, she clasped the whole length of his cock. He kissed her and rose to arms length so he could watch her face as he began moving.

"Love you," he said. He loved her face, her personality, her willingness to accept him. Most of all, right then, he loved her warm, wet, welcoming vagina.

"Love you," she replied. And she was loving him with her body as it accepted him, clasped him, rose to meet him. The covers slipped off him from his motions, and she returned them to his shoulders and lovingly tucked them around him.

Watching her lovely face, he saw her glance down between them to where his cock was sliding in and out of her. She always looked sexy, but right then she looked lustful. Then the grimace crossed her face. he could feel her clasp around him more tightly. She was writhing under him and writhing around his cock as it slid in and out.

"Oh, my love." He stroked all the way into her and out through that hot clench. "Oh, my love." And he made another stroke. "Oh, my love," and another. "Oh." he couldn't finish as his orgasm took him, drove him into her, poured out of him.

He collapsed, partly onto his elbows, but mostly onto her softness. He lay like that, gasping into her ear and hearing her gasp into his. When he could muster the strength, he moved off. But the evening, delightful as it had been, wasn't finished even then. He turned onto his side facing her.

"Want to lie in my arms?" And the delightful girl, the sexy woman, moved back until he was holding her. After adjusting the covers yet again, he hugged her and drifted off.

In the morning, she felt delightful. He, however, wouldn't feel delightful to her. He scrambled into the john, pissed -- not easy in the condition she'd left him in -- shaved, and brushed his teeth. When he came back and hugged her, she wanted her own time in the john. That was fair, and she looked delightful going there and coming back. Then he put his glasses back on the night stand, and they kissed. She cooperated in the kiss and in everything else, but she put on her robe after they'd made love. She started to cook breakfast.

That, too, was enjoyable.

"I like your breakfasts better than mine," he said.

"Well, I enjoy cooking for you.... Andy, do you think I do a lot for you?"

"Yeah." That answer was easy.

"Do you think you would do something for me?"

"Sure." If he could do it, he would.

"Not so fast. Remember your warning me to ask what the favor was before agreeing to your father's request."

"Good advice, although I don't remember giving it. But that is Dad. I love you, and -- as important for agreeing to something unseen -- I think you love me, too."

"You think your Dad doesn't love you?"

"Not in that..." Well, not in the way they usually meant it, but For agreeing to a request, the meaning of 'love' was a little different. "Actually, while I love you -- and I think you love me -- in quite a different way, this trust I spoke about is really based on wanting what is best for the other. Dad wants, if not what is best for me, what he thinks is best for me...." Not that he'd ever give the old man something without asking for something back. "Still, bargaining with Dad is fun. I'm not sure I'd enjoy that sort of tussle with you."

"Well, I don't have anything to bargain with. I'll sleep with you whether or not you agree." Now that was nice to hear. Of course, he hadn't expect her to drop him, but this was the first time that she'd said that she wouldn't.

"That's nice to hear."

"Next time... maybe time after next, I'll bring a little list. When you've read it, you'll tell me whether you'll go along with me. Okay?"

"Sure." And, if it was a list of things he could do, he'd do them. Did he want him tutoring again next semester. Well, he'd cleared it with her before he said no, but that would be acceptable, anyway. Changing her mind was her privilege, as long as she didn't change her mind about him.

After church he dropped her off at Zeta House and went back to study. He kept up with classes and got his homework for the next class done the night after class. Marilyn had brought books with her, and he wanted her to feel free to do that. On the other hand, he didn't know whether they'd be studying across from each other or not. He needed work he could do but could get by perfectly easily not doing. Friday, he went to the library for more Anthro books. These would add to his paper research, but if he returned them unread or delayed reading them, no teacher would know the next week.

She was so lovely, that he wanted to share her loveliness with her. Besides, girls needed mirrors for dressing and all. He bought a long mirror and hung it on the inside of the closet door. The glass department guy, John, at the hardware store had told him that was a usual place.

Some of the guys in class, were getting excited about politics. This would be the first presidential election in which he could vote, and it would be a shame to miss it. He decided to register, and -- as registering in Evanston meant a hassle and another hassle getting an absentee ballot -- he registered in Champaign.

When he picked Marilyn up, she had one book with her, but she had him stop at the grocery; meaning she was less frazzled than the week before. That was good; he didn't want her time with him dragging down her grades. She picked out the food, pork chops and potatoes, and he paid at the cash register.

After their sex, he put on his glasses and came to the table to watch her cook. The meal was delicious. Afterwards, she got one piece of paper instead of her book.

"Remember when I said I might have a list of things I'd ask from you?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, here's the list." She handed it to him.

"Okay."

As long as Marilyn shares the apartment with Andy part of the time, Andy will follow these rules in the apartment all the time:
Every meal is eaten off plates. The plates are washed rather than used for another meal.

So is any silverware used washed after use.

Lunch and dinner each require a vegetable and a salad.

Salads are placed on a separate plate.

Main dishes are heated in the pan -- or cooked some other way -- and served in a serving dish.

You sit at the table to eat any meal in the apartment.

Well, that was less than he'd thought it would be. More than that, she'd given him what Professor Kozak hadn't been able to. This was the rules of this strange society -- incomplete, of course. If not that, they were the rules of keeping on Marilyn's good side, and that was -- really -- more important. He had only one question.

"Wash dishes after every meal?" Even with the paraphernalia she required for a simple meal, that was damn few dishes.

"No. I tried to be careful to not say that. You rinse them off and leave them in the sink. Every day, maybe every other day for a single person, you wash them. Leaving the dishes to pile up in the sink until you run out of dishes is considered slovenly, but, with the number of dishes you have, it wouldn't be all that slovenly."

"Okay."

"What does that mean?"

"I'll try to keep all these rules."

"No argument? No bargaining?" Over this?

"No. One of the things I want is to keep you happy. Two things, really. I want your happiness, and I want you to be happy to be around me. I figure that this will contribute to both, and it doesn't look all that hard." He'd said that very badly, but she didn't look dissatisfied.

She got her book, and they sat down across from each other to study. He couldn't pile up the books as he had before, because that would take her space, but he kept them in three piles on the floor -- 'unchecked,' 'keep,' and 'take back.'

And, whether his agreement had sweetened her temper or not, she responded passionately when they were finally in bed together. The love Sunday morning was equally sweet. He'd thought of bringing up the football game the next week on their drive after church, but it was a legitimate reason to call and hear her voice. He called Monday night.

A pledge answered the phone and went to get her.

"Marilyn Grant speaking." She had the sweetest voice.

"Love you."

"Likewise."

"This Saturday is a home game. Are we going?"

"Why Andy, I'd love to. Thank you very much.... Give rides to a few others?"

"Sure." He didn't mind filling the back seat and taking them to the sorority house afterwards, just so long as Marilyn didn't get out when they did. They talked for a minute about other things, but he didn't get to hear her voice for long.

"Love you, but I've got to run."

"Love you, too." And he hung up the phone.

Marilyn had three pledges with her when he picked her up before the game. They, however, left the car when he drove them to Zeta House after the game while Marilyn rode home with him.

The room was warm enough for her to stand there while he stroked her. He took her to the mirror in the closet to show her her beauty. With the mirror, he could both watch her writhe and feel her motions against his skin and in his arms. Even she admitted that she looked sexy as she came. She blushed down to her nipples, something easier to see in the mirror than it ever had been in bed.

Then he carried her to bed and kissed her a hundred times before licking her to another orgasm. She had her last orgasm under him and around him. Then he lay beside her and hugged her. She got up too soon and got dressed again to study and cook dinner. Dinner was delicious, but he'd have enjoyed a longer time in bed more than the meal. At bed time and again the next morning, she writhed for him again in his arms and then under and around him. They didn't get to use the mirror again, though.

He had her for three Saturdays out of four. The damn sorority had her for the other days of the week. He tried to get her for the fourth Saturday, too, holding her in his arms if they couldn't make love during her period. She only let him pick her up in the car and drive her to church, though.

One Tuesday was election day. He voted right after class, and the line wasn't too long. He voted for Carter, and decided to give him the congressman and senatorial candidate from his party. He didn't know anything about the local issues -- he was an Evanstonian, really -- so he left the other offices blank. That Saturday, he thought about mentioning the election, but since she didn't, he didn't either.

When they didn't go to home football games or university dances, they studied across from one another. That was her choice, but he was perfectly happy with it. As long as she slept in his arms, how they spent the rest of the time together was less important. He enjoyed making love to her, but he'd give that up if he could still have the company.

Then that company was taken away. "Hell Week" was a sorority activity when the full members made lives even worse for the pledges than they had for the previous months. But the pledges at least got Marilyn's attention. He didn't, not for two Saturdays in a row. Aside from missing her company, that reminded him that the sorority was more important in her life than he was.

"I'm not leaving you, you know," she said on the last phone call he was allowed.

"You have left me," he pointed out. "Promise that you'll come back."

"I'll come back."

He believed her. But, as the week without her went by, he couldn't spend all his time studying. He believed that she would return to him this time. But theirs was a college romance, and their college years were more than half over. He needed her in his life, and he sensed that expressing how much he needed her was likely to frighten her off.

He needed her in his present, but he needed her in his future, too. Not only would he need her company in the life after college, he needed right now the assurance that he would have that company. And, without her presence, the absence of that assurance left an aching void in his life. The problem was that he didn't have anything to exchange for that assurance. He couldn't support her. He would be able to later on, although she was much more interested in supporting herself than in his supporting her. But, now, he didn't have that support to exchange for the assurance of a future with her.

And, worst of all, even his future support was nothing more than scores of other men could better and hundreds could match. Marilyn wasn't a gold-digger, she had never compared his to any other guy's future earnings. She even planned to earn her own way in teaching. But that didn't mitigate the weakness of his appealing to his future earning capacity when that wasn't impressive.

He was coming to the end of the semester. Each of the EE courses had an obvious continuation. So did the Anthro course, for that matter, but -- having fulfilled his last distribution requirement -- he wasn't going to take it. That gave him one course next semester and a wealth of choices for his senior year. He needed advice. Prof. Abrams, who seemed the better of the teachers dealing with the sort of EE he wanted, had office hours on Tuesday. He went to him.

"Yes?"

"Andy Trainor. I'm in your noon class today."

"Yes, Mr. Trainor. Do you have a problem?" He recognized him well enough to seem surprised that he had trouble with the assignment. Well, he didn't.

"Not with the immediate class, with my future classes. I can take one more engineering class next semester, and I have a wide choice my senior year. I'd like to make those choices wisely, so I came to someone who knows the field."

"You're interested in power or in information?"

"Definitely information, and that means transistors in the 20th century."

"Well, the 20th century began well before the transistor. They did marvelous things with vacuum tubes at one time. Read up on proximity fuses some time. But, really, you're right. Unless you want some sort of museum position, you want transistors. Really, you know, the department has reasons for its standard courses."

"Yeah. I'll follow recommendations, except for PDE. But I'll clean up my distribution requirements this semester. I'll have to take extra courses, an I'd like to know which ones."

"Really, partial differential equations are fairly necessary for any sort of electrical design beyond the cook-book."

"Yes, sir. I'm taking PDE this year. Started with AP calculus in high school."

"Oh.... Well, read the catalog for what you have the prerequisites for. I'm on the committee, and we won't change the courses much next year. That's not much of a secret. How's your GPA?"

"Last three semesters on Deans List. For science and math I have mostly A s. I did have trouble in Calc 201 and in Drafting. The Calc was because the AP Calc was a little less preparation than I'd thought it was."

"How bad was the trouble?"

"B both times."

"Well, you would need permission to take any graduate-level course. I think you could get that permission if you had the prerequisites. That's assuming, of course, that your grades keep up.... Look, I might be just blowing my own horn, but given that two courses fit your needs, I'd take the one taught by the younger instructor. It's like this...

"When I was in school, transistors already existed and were in use, although not as ubiquitous as now. The guys who taught me, with a few exceptions, had themselves learned when vacuum tubes were the standard, the only, way to handle that sort of problem. They were smart; they weren't resistant. They taught us that transistors could handle almost all the problems that tubes could. But they thought in terms of tubes. We learned to handle problems with transistors, but the teachers were thinking tubes and replacing each tube in his head with the transistor that would do the same thing.

"Well, guys of my generation learned to think in terms of transistors. Some of my contemporaries -- not me, or I'd be eating caviar for breakfast -- figured out better ways the way to solve particular problems. They asked themselves what the inputs were and what the outputs needed to be. Sometimes, the best way to get those outputs from those inputs with transistors were ways that you couldn't do directly with tubes."

"So transistors are still evolving. I should go with the teachers who've evolved with them."

"That's not quite what I was saying. We've all evolved with them. Go with the guys who haven't had to evolve so much. For that matter, I'll predict that you'll spend your career struggling to keep up with the field." Andy thanked him and went back to his current studies. These weren't decisions which had to be made today. The extra class he wanted to take, however, would influence which sections of the regular classes he took.

He wrote the first draft of his Anthropology paper, Labeling a Cross-cousin Tuesday and Wednesday night. He reviewed all the previous work in his engineering classes. He even caught up on his SF. He'd started with two issues of Analog barely read. He attended two church services by himself and apologized for Marilyn's absence. He did a load of colored laundry. During all of that, his problems with Marilyn still bugged him.

Finally, she called him Sunday.

"Want to pick me up after class on Monday?" She wasn't even waiting for Saturday.

"When do you get out?"

"Five O'clock. It's a late one. Clark Hall." This was wonderful. She was coming back to him, and they should celebrate. Monday, he looked for a restaurant for the celebration. He washed the dishes and made the bed after he got home. He didn't know where her class was in Clark Hall, so he waited between the main staircase and the door.

"Mind stopping by the house for a few minutes?" She asked as soon as the car had started. "I want to change over to tomorrow's books. Then we'll pick up the groceries." She sounded in a hurry, so he merely let her out in front of the door instead of walking her in. He parked the car in the Zeta lot and waited downstairs for her. Enough of the girls in the hall recognized him that they didn't ask what he was doing inside the house. She stopped two steps up from the bottom for a kiss. Then he took the books and they went to the car. She had her plans, and he wouldn't insist that she change them, but he did want the celebration.

"Would you consider a change of plans?" he asked. "This is something to celebrate. Would you be willing to go out to a restaurant?"

"Don't like my cooking?" That was silly. He loved her cooking, and enjoyed watching her cook even more.

"You're cooking is fine for me. Maybe it's more work than celebration for you." So, though he couldn't watch her cook, he did watch her eat in the restaurant. He drove her home and carried her books up to the apartment.

The room was chilly, and they took care of their own clothes rather than taking the time for him to remove hers before the mirror. She was incredibly sexy climbing into bed, into his bed. When she was covered, he got in on his side to replace sight with touch. He was so grateful for her return that he had to kiss her and kiss her again and again.

"Oh, Marilyn, you did come back." He felt her naked skin against his body as he kissed her all over her face. After one last kiss as his tongue explored her mouth, he kissed down her neck and shoulder. He ducked under the covers and kissed her sweet breasts. But all of her had come back and he should kiss all of her. He continued down her belly to her thighs. He kissed a line up the inside of one thigh until his lips met her lower lips.

After even more kisses there, he licked them open. He tasted her sweetness and teased her clitoris. Then, as her legs squeezed his head and she writhed under his mouth, he realized that she was really back. When her writhing turned to limpness, he went back to kissing her thigh.

Her center was too great a temptation, though, and he soon returned to kiss and lick it again. Again she writhed sweetly under his mouth. Again she relaxed. This time he moved to her other thigh.

When he kissed her center again, she pulled him up over her body. Well, if she wanted him, he certainly wanted her. His cock was hard as iron but more sensitive than his tongue could be. She was warm and wet and open to him.

"Oh love," he said when he first touched that dampness. As that warmth clasped him closely, he slid over her body until his lip reached her hairline. Enjoying a moment of fully possessing her sweet body, he kissed that hairline.

"Oh, love," he repeated. And she was his love moving to meet him as he entered her and relaxing back as he moved out. He watched her face as it seconded her body's welcome. The sensations were so exquisite that he tried to move slowly so he could experience them fully. But they were so arousing that he was driven faster and faster.

When he could resist those sensations no longer, he buried himself in her clasping warmth and exploded. Her eyes widened and she writhed under him and around him. She smiled her love as her face relaxed. When he found the strength to move off, he lay beside her and pulled her into a spoon. Her sweet butt was firm against his stomach. Her breasts warmed both sides of his hand. Her head was within kissing distance of his face. The afterglow of his orgasm only emphasized the wonder of her having returned.

"You came back," he said. She had really come back. Whatever the future held, the present held her, and so did his arms.

"Andy, I'll always come back to you." That 'always' brought up his worries about the future. Did she really mean always for the rest of their lives? Always as long as they were here on campus? Just always this -- nearly ended -- semester?

"Always?..." He'd brought it up, and he was an idiot for doing so. He tried to keep silent. He ached to hear her promise, but he was deathly afraid that this wasn't what she meant. Besides, even if she really meant it, he had nothing to promise her until he could support them. That meant...

"That wouldn't be fair to you." And it wouldn't, but now he'd brought it up, he might as well bring it up in a non-threatening way.

"Look, do you ever think about after graduation? You're going to be a teacher, sure, but do you ever think whether there will be an us after graduation?" Which was the question. If she hadn't thought about it, it was ridiculous to press for an answer. Besides, pressed before she'd thought it through, she might well answer no.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked. But what he thought wasn't the point.

"There's no question about me."

"If you can ask the question," she said, "you can answer it. That's only fair." Well, it was fair, but his response wasn't the point.

"I want as much of you as I can get." Which, although true enough, didn't really express the time dimension. "As long as you let me."

"Is this a proposal?" she asked while turning around to face him. Hell, no. The proposal would have to wait until he could support her. Maybe not quite. Girls wanted an engagement. But the promise of support would be one hell of a lot more credible in another year. 'Marry me this June' was a reasonable proposal. 'Marry me in a year and a half' was just an attempt at getting a guarantee that he couldn't reciprocate.

"It's not fair for me to propose when I can't support you."

"Well, I'm going to be a teacher, as you said. I'll be able to support myself." Which wasn't the point. Sure she could support herself as a single teacher, but there were plenty of married teachers. Couldn't she consider being one?

"Yeah, but only after graduation. We can't get married if we can't pay rent. But do you mind if I think about it?" Since he could hardly think of anything else, her permission would excuse any other blurting out he did.

"Do you?" Well, yes he did. She wasn't fooled in the least by his future tense.

"Maybe dream about it is a better term. Do you mind?"

"No. And I'll think about it, too."

"You will?" That was wonderful. If she thought about it, he had more than a year to persuade her. This lifted a two-week load of worry off his mind. He was so grateful that he kissed her again. He hugged her. It was gratitude not passion, but he could feel her breasts against his chest; the hair on her mound tickled his stomach; his cock sensed the softness of her thighs.

Still, it was gratitude he felt. When he stroked down her back, it was to touch Marilyn, not to get to her butt, and, when his hand did get to her butt, he immediately brought it up to her neck for another stroke to touch Marilyn. Apparently, she had a different opinion. After a while, she took his cock in her hand. It was right after an orgasm, and he'd been completely drained, but her touch could give a statue an erection. As he hardened, she rolled over and spread her legs. Well, if she wanted him, he damn-well wanted her.

As she guided him into her, he said "oh, Marilyn." The clasp of her vagina was even more arousing than the clasp of her hand. When she was holding all of him, he kissed her hairline. He loved her, and she loved him, expressing that love by hugging him and pulling him closer to her. Her face went from an expression of love to an expression of agony, and she writhed under him while she clenched his cock in rhythm. She was so loving, so sexy. "Darling. Lovely Marilyn." And he kept moving in her.

Soon, she was aroused again, meeting each of his thrusts. He tried to hold back until she would come again, but he couldn't. He clasped her shoulders to pull her into his last, most forceful thrust. As he erupted, she writhed under him and around him once more. He sank down on her softness, only just able to take some of his weight on his elbows.

"I love you," he said when he'd regained his strength. He rolled them over and moved back so he wasn't lying on her.

"And I love you." She pulled at the blanket he'd taken from her in that roll, and he lifted himself to free it. They lay looking at each other for delightful minutes. Soon, though, some other thoughts clouded her eyes. She got up, dressed, and started studying at the table. Well, she was in his room, in his life. He couldn't ask that she spend her life in his bed. They had studying in common, and he got up to study across from her. He, too, dressed so she wouldn't think he was trying to impose the reminder of bed on her. Since Marilyn was there, he made the bed before he sat down.

He'd been current on schoolwork before she sequestered herself, and he'd buried himself in his books in an attempt to forget her absence. He finished the work for Wednesday, and then started on reviewing PDE. He was careful not to suggest a break until she clearly had had enough.

Once in bed, though, all her attention was on him again. She writhed in his arms. When he moved over her, she was eager for him. After a long, slow session, she writhed under him and around him. Then she slept cuddled in his arms. Although they each visited the bathroom during the night, he was awake enough to pull her back into his arms, and she was willing enough to come. He was still holding her when the alarm rang.

When he wanted to return to bed after shaving, though, she was already up. "We're heading for early classes," she said. "Control yourself, can't you." He did get to share a shower with her, though. She was surprised that there weren't eggs to cook for breakfast, but she hadn't said that she was staying the night. They had cornflakes, and he drove her to class before he went to his own.

She made another visit Thursday night. This time, he had time to shop and she told him what to look for. Again, they started and ended the night in bed. Again, she was too distracted in the morning. But he got to watch her eat and watch her study and watch her soap herself in the shower. She teased him about his erection.

"So, how many men have watched you shower without getting hard?"

"Showers? I've never shared a shower with a male before, but I used to bathe in the same tub with a male, and he didn't get hard." That sounded damn suspicious.

"What age male?"

"I stopped when I was eight. That would have made Peter not yet five." Well, her four-year-old brother. He was still jealous.

Sunday morning, though, she did come back to bed. And that day, driving from church to her sorority house, she said that she could schedule one visit a week for the rest of the semester.

"Two a week actually. The Saturdays are already set. Let's say Tuesday after dinner, but I might have to reschedule. There will still be chapter business. And not, of course, finals week." Finals week was quite okay. She was a student, and he didn't want to interfere with her being a good student.

"I'm fine with rescheduling." As long as she was going to reschedule instead of cancelling the visit entirely. Sorority business always took precedence with her, but pouting was a lousy way to win her affection. "You can call anytime until I leave the apartment. Prep week?" The week before exams.

"Why not. I study as well with you as I do in the house. Maybe better."

"Are we going up for Christmas together?"

"Always do. You're not thinking of driving are you?"

"Wasn't planning on it. The roads coming back are totally unpredictable. But I don't want to make you buy a ticket."

"My dad works for the railroad, remember? I travel on a pass. Want to spend some time between the last exam and going up?"

"I was hoping to. Let's schedule when we know when our last exams are."

So, whatever other commitments she had, Marilyn still thought of them as a couple.