Andy Trainor lay in bed the last morning of his honeymoon waiting for Marilyn to finish in the bathroom. When she came out, she began to dress immediately.

"Come back to bed." Getting dressed so early wasn't his idea of how to spend a honeymoon, especially the last morning of the honeymoon. They would have three sets of ears in the house with them that night.

"Let's have breakfast," she said. That was really low on his priority list. "Let's have breakfast and come back." That sounded much better.

For someone who had wanted breakfast so much, Marilyn ate very little. He fueled himself up for his expected exertions. Back in the room, she came into his arms for a hug. The kiss, however, was brief.

"Let me brush," she said. He heard the toilet flush, too. He replaced her in the bathroom to brush his own teeth. He'd shaved that morning, and decided no more whiskers had grown yet.

He kissed her before unbuttoning anything. Then, every article of her clothing bared some skin which needed to be kissed. Shortly, she started removing his clothes as well. She could step out of her heels, but he had to take off his own shoes and socks. Her final article of clothing was her panties. He knelt down and kissed her breasts while sliding them off. Then he kissed her mons and each thigh. There he could smell how sexy she was.

When he rose, he picked her up to lay her on the bed. Stripping off his underpants, he lay down beside her. They had a long kiss. Every corner of her mouth tasted sweet, and her tongue followed his when he drew it back. He sucked gently on it while he stroked her breast. He drew his fingers from the base almost to the tip, but tried to avoid the nipple before going back for another trip.

When he left her mouth, he repeated the pattern with his lips. He kissed a line down her neck to her breast, but he skipped the nipple -- already bright red -- to cross over to her other breast. He stroked her thighs, and, when they spread, he stroked across her outer labia. When he finally parted them, he found her moist.

"Oh, my love," he said. He stroked some of that moisture up her groove. He managed to suck her nipple just as he touched the clitoris.

"Yesss," she said. "Oh, Andy." She pulled his head against her breast, and he went on sucking. She was responding rapidly to his strokes, but he couldn't raise his head to watch her. She clutched him more tightly to her breast as she writhed against him. When she let go, he raised his head to watch her expression ease to a blissful smile.

"You," she said when he began stroking again. He moved between her legs, and she spread them wider. She parted her labia with one hand, and he placed himself there.

"Oh, darling," he said. She was so warm, so juicy.

"Married," she said as he slowly sank himself into that warm, wet, welcoming clasp.

"Married," he agreed when she had fully surrounded him. He kissed her hairline before beginning his strokes. She smoothed her hands down his back. When she was holding his butt, she kissed the air towards him. "Darling," he said.

He could hold back. He'd ejaculated the night before, and regularly every night in the previous week. She was incredibly sensual to see lying under him. She was even more sensual to feel sliding all around him as he pumped slowly in and out. Still, as aroused as he was feeling, it wasn't urgent yet. He moved slowly, watching her expression change from loving to an inward pondering, from that to worried. When the worry started to look like pain, she rose up to meet him when he moved down.

The expression turned to agony, and her hands clamped on his butt cheeks and pulled as she threw herself up against his loins. Then she was writhing under him and clasping around him.

"Darling," he said as he drove through that sweet, rhythmic clasp. "Love," he said as he drove in again. "Oh!" he gasped as he drove in a third time and erupted.

He recovered slowly, with a bit of his weight on his elbows, but most on her softness. When he moved aside, she rolled to face him instead of backing into him for the spoon.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," she said. Her eyes kept saying it while their mouths were silent. He hoped his did, too. After a little, she pulled the covers over them, and after a little longer, she got up. When he heard the shower running, he joined her. She let him watch her repair her makeup before she got dressed. He checked out, and they ate lunch.

They got back to Evanston soon after noon. He stopped in the driveway, got the luggage out of the trunk, and carried it up to the porch. After giving the family double tap on the door bell, he unlocked the door. Then he picked up Marilyn to carry her inside. She was less surprised than she had been in the hotel, and merely put an arm around his neck.

He left her to talk to the girls and Dad while he carried the luggage up to their room. That looked different; the bed had been replaced by a double. It looked, indeed, like Dad's.

"What the!.." he said. Well, he'd probably been loud enough for Dad to hear, but he'd go downstairs for the explanation.

"Since there's only one of me and there's two of you," Dad said, "I figured that the double bed belonged in there." That was logical. "It's a new mattress, and there are new sheets." Which was, he supposed nice. On the other hand, they hadn't been the first to sleep on the mattress in the apartment. Nor were they the first in the hotel room, though that one had felt newer.

"You're very kind," Marilyn said. Which meant that Dad had done the right thing.

"Selfish, Dad said. "The more comfortable you are, the likelier you are to visit."

Marilyn soon left to see her parents. He looked at her, but she didn't want him along. When she was gone, he put the car in the garage. When he got back in the house, the girls were talking about how nice Marilyn was. He let them tell him, although he'd known it before they had.

"Now, April," Dad said, "if Andy hadn't thought her a wonderful woman, you would never have had the chance to form your opinion."

"Boys! All he saw was the body." He couldn't win, not with those two. He gave the card back to Dad.

"A credit card!" Molly said, "what do I have to do to get a credit card?"

"I already told Andy that I would trust him with a card, although I wouldn't trust either of you. You're honest, but the size of your purses are the only thing keeping you from buying everything in sight."

"Well," Molly said. "I'll admit that Andy leaves his fingerprints on every penny that he ever touches. He pinches them so hard. But I'll bet that he'd buy anything that Marilyn wanted."

"Probably so," he admitted. "Right now, she'd want me to unpack." He went upstairs and unpacked his things. While he was at it, he cleared out one side of the closet and consolidated his dresser drawers to leave three of the five for Marilyn. She would have more clothes, and more kinds of clothes.

"It's Marilyn!" April yelled from downstairs. As he was going down the stairs, he realized that he'd heard the doorbell. The girls were laughing, at Dad -- not at him, as he got to the foot of the stairs.

"Before I forget, Andy," Marilyn said, "Mom invited you and me to dinner Monday. I said a tentative yes. Are you free?" She handed him her key ring and a house key. She still had the apartment keys on the ring, and Dad hadn't given her a garage key. Well, he'd leave the apartment keys on until she said otherwise. He put the house key on the ring. Now, it was her home, too.

"As a bird," he said. "I don't have anything to do except with the people here."

"Well," Dad said, "you need to get some formalities taken care of." Sure. Sometimes, Dad micro-managed his life as though he had no adult sense. Then he remembered that he hadn't got the car keys duplicated yet. It wasn't all that important. He mostly drove, and he'd given her the keys when she drove. But the symbolism <b>was</b> important.

"Yes, but Marilyn is one of the people here. I thought we'd go down to the bank Monday to get her name on the account," He told Dad. He asked Marilyn, "Is it okay to wait until we're back to do that on the Champaign account?" They were a family, and the accounts were family money.

"Quite all right."

"If they're having you over," Dad said, "I think we ought to invite your family. How does Wednesday sound? I know you can't speak for your family, Marilyn, but does anyone here have any conflicts?"

"You might want to invite just my parents," Marilyn said. Omitting Pete was a good idea.

"And not Pete?" Molly asked. Marilyn's idea just looked better. Had the girl no taste?

"Listen, my new sister," said Marilyn. "I don't mind if your dad invites him. That's his choice. But you be careful. I know that guy. Don't get in any back seats with him."

"Marilyn!"

"I'm not saying to stay out of back seats with boys in general. That would be not only hypocritical, but... You're a high-school graduate?"

"Yeah."

"Years too late. I'm saying watch out for this particular guy. I've heard him talk about girls, and he's only out to score." So Pete ran his mouth in one more inappropriate place.

"He did tell me," he said, "that the game was getting sex from a woman without marrying her. According to him, I'd lost. I told him that was like telling Babe Ruth he'd lost because he hadn't scored a touchdown. I'd won the World Series in the game I was playing."

"The whole family," Dad said. "Pete will sit next to Molly, and I'll get a set of handcuffs for him." Everybody laughed.

Dad called to issue the invitation. He conveyed Marilyn's and his acceptance during the call.

With the girls in mid visit, they would eat at Manfredo's after church the next day. That sort of made a restaurant this night inappropriate. Dad ordered pizza.

Marilyn's choice of topping was tiny shrimp after Dad had gone around. If she hadn't been there, he would have probably merely asked whether anyone had changed their mind. Marilyn and he were a family, but Dad clearly regarded the 5 Trainors as a family, too. And pizzas were as important a ritual for the Trainor family as Manfredo's was.

After dinner, they watched TV for a while. Actually, it was more fun watching Marilyn watch TV. Watching her climb the stair ahead of him was even more fun. She'd worn her heels for the whole day. It was the first time she'd seen his room, and she looked around. The bed dominated the room, now. It was a serious piece of furniture, while the chair and bookcases were a teen's.

While the bed frame was from Dad's room, the mattress was new, as Dad had said, and firm. He could see that Marilyn was conscious of possibly being overheard when they were lying on it. Neither of them said a word. When she reached for him after her second orgasm, he didn't evade. They couldn't afford the speech for him to ask her to wait. He kissed her silently when he was fully enclosed.

He said, "Oh, darling," when she writhed under him and around him, however. He'd forgotten about the others, forgotten about the house, forgotten about the rest of the world.

"Do you think they heard us?" she whispered as he was resting on her.

"No." He thought of the times April or Molly had played her radio too loud. There had been a marked difference when they opened their doors. He wished, for once, that he had his own radio in his room. Still, suddenly playing a radio would publish that he didn't want to be overheard. Anybody would guess what he didn't want overheard. "I love you," he whispered when she was tucked into his arm. He hugged her, and she hugged his arm.

After church the next day, they were rather a center of attention. That delayed their leaving. In the car, Dad assured them that he'd made a later reservation than usual. They rode with Molly in front and him behind her. Marilyn sat between him and April. The dinner at Manfredo's was quite enjoyable.

"What brought on that problem at the last minute?" April asked on the way back. "At the wedding, I mean. I thought you loved Andy." So, it hadn't been merely his anxiety which made the wait seem so long.

"I do," Marilyn said, "and I did then. I was just being silly."

"It wasn't silly at all," Dad said. Well, Marilyn was definitely not silly. Still, Dad didn't have to say that about her hesitation in marrying him. "Marriage is a leap into the dark, a lifetime commitment. She wasn't ready for marriage, and she realized that at the last moment. But most marriages occur when the couple isn't ready for marriage. Indeed, you can't really be ready for marriage before it happens, no more than a new-born infant is ready for birth. It's almost traditional for brides to panic at the last minute. It's traditional for someone to calm them down if that happens."

"Your father talked me though it."

"I dealt with the expressed problem, and that got her attention off the underlying problem, which was that it is a leap into the dark."

"What was the problem?" He asked. This concerned him, and everybody else in the car knew more than he did. "The expressed problem, that is."

"Well," Marilyn said. "I decided that, however much I loved you, it wasn't as much as you loved me. You'd given me an image of love, and I wasn't living up to it."

"I do love you."

"And I love you, too. I'm just worried that it's not so much."

"If it would make you happier, Marilyn," Dad said, "I suspect that much of what Andy calls love is really selfishness. He wants to have you in his life." Well the comment might make her happier, but it damn-well didn't make him happier, especially since Dad was probably right. He'd lived most of his life without Marilyn, but now he didn't understand how he'd done it.

"But I want her to be happy, too," he said. "All right, that's a requirement for the other. I couldn't have her long if I make her unhappy. But it's a separate desire. I want to see Marilyn happy. I want to make her happy."

"Well, you can't," Dad said. "One person can make another unhappy. One person can't make another happy, although they can provide the circumstances that tend to increase happiness in that person." Well, that was good enough. He didn't want to <b>make</b> her happy, really; he wanted her to <b>be</b> happy.

"Well, I'll try that, then."

"And if your wife is wise, she'll let you know what those circumstances are." He hoped she would. He should remember to ask her.

Mr. Schmidt's hardware store was closed on Sundays, but Andy -- the entire workforce -- had known which competitors weren't. He walked to one of those competitors and had his car keys duplicated. He got the garage key duplicated, too, though he wasn't sure Marilyn could handle that door. She couldn't reach high enough to open it without standing on something; that was for sure.

That night, they waited until after the news to go upstairs like the others did. Marilyn lay in his arms with the pillow ready to muffle any of her cries. When his hand stroked down from her breasts, she raised her right leg. Once he had stroked her until she writhed, he couldn't resist doing it again and again. The feeling of holding her while she arched against him was so sexy. When he did enter her, they kept the same position. She moved as soon as he started to enter, and he couldn't keep still.

He kept whispering, "I love you," as they moved against each other until he couldn't hold back any longer. At his last spasms, she contracted around him, milking out the final drops. When lying like this, he didn't have to move off, and she didn't have to move into the spoon.

"Well, darling," Marilyn said sometime later, "you've learned one way to make me happy, anyway."

"I love you, you know," he whispered against her head. "This makes us both happy."

Monday, the alarm went off at his regular time. He remembered what Dad had said and that the girls were in the house. He put on his pajamas as well as the robe. Marilyn got up, too. After he'd made the bed, they joined Dad for cereal. He could tell that Dad was happy for her company.

The girls being in the house, he let Marilyn shower alone. He had his shower and dressed before either Molly or April stirred. This was their regular pattern, but he wondered what they had been doing the previous night. Not listening, he hoped. Well, if they'd been listening to radios, he hadn't heard the music. That meant that it was fairly unlikely that they'd heard him and Marilyn.

When the girls came down for breakfast, Marilyn sat with them, and he had more toast.

"Can you drive us downtown, Andy," April asked. When they both wanted something, April was the one to ask him. They knew his usual answer to The Moppet was yes, but not this time. Californians were going to lose their legs to evolution, just like the whales had.

"Evanston or Chicago? You take the EL to Chicago." The girls had taken the EL. They knew how to navigate it.

"Evanston."

"Let's walk. It's not far, and I want you to know the way back. I think Marilyn and I will be back for lunch."

"We'll eat in town, Mrs. Bryant," Molly said.

"Did Marilyn tell you?" he asked Mrs. Bryant. "We're having three guests Wednesday. Eight in all. Her family."

If he'd been alone with Marilyn, they'd have wandered the streets north and west, but they knew the town. He went west to Asbury and then turned north. That soon got them to a shop which interested Molly. They were going to stick together. He and Marilyn went on to the bank.

The bank preferred to start a new account for the two of them instead of putting her name on the old account. Well, that was really better. They gave him the passbook, but that wasn't really right. The budget had been mostly hers; handling the money should probably be, too. He handed it over on their way out.

"Which of us should keep this?" he asked. "You're in charge of chores. Handling the money might not be quite the same thing, but it makes sense for you to assign that as well."

"You should keep it. Andy it's your money."

"Not since the ninth. Is it okay if we don't officially transfer car title? I think there's a charge for that." And that wasn't in the budget. But it shouldn't look like the family car was his car. Damn! Symbols conflicted with practicalities, and he was the worst person in the world to judge between them.

"Andy, it's perfectly all right."

"I've given you the keys, right?" That was a little dishonest, but he didn't want her to know that he'd forgotten that until Dad handed over the house key. He looked at his key ring. "Nope! They're here. Sorry about that." He took the keys off his ring and handed them to her. Instead, she gave him her key ring.

"Take your apartment keys off, too, will you? I'm bad about that." Her fingernails were too long, and -- truth to tell -- her patience was too short.

"The one which isn't a car key is to the garage," he said. "You can use it, but maybe you want to ask me or dad to get the garage open if it's closed. Anyway, if there's anything else I've forgotten, let me know."

"Well, it is an awfully long time since I was kissed." He kissed her, noting that just because he enjoyed something didn't mean that she didn't.

They walked back hand in hand for lunch with Mrs. Bryant.

"Are you tired of the baked ham, Mrs. Trainor?" Mrs. Bryant asked.

"Marilyn, please. The baked ham was six months ago, and it was delicious."

"I thought I'd do that, then. Your parents have had the roast beef, Ms. Marilyn, and the ham will serve any number." Mrs. Bryant had a woman to consult. She had done an excellent job of running the household, but he didn't think Dad met her standards for an employer. 'Use your judgment' wasn't the sort of direction she wanted.

"Andy," Mrs. Bryant said. "could you get a shopping list for me?"

"Sure, but you should really ask Marilyn for my services. She assigns chores in this marriage." They had agreed to that, but Marilyn obviously thought he'd been wrong to say it. Well, it wasn't as if he expected to be busy this summer. "Anything else you want to add?" he asked Marilyn. Mrs. Bryant was sure to keep a more complete pantry than he had, but Marilyn had some extreme requirements.

"Well, maybe. Mrs. Bryant, do you have eggs and bacon?"

"Bacon. If you want many eggs, Andy should add them to the list." So he did. He got the stuff and saved the receipt for Dad. When he'd handed the bag over to Mrs. Bryant, Marilyn caught his eye and headed upstairs. He followed. In their room, she shut the door.

"Mrs. Bryant tells me that she won't open the door if it's closed." Which meant that they had privacy. They both took off their own sneakers and lay on the bed. They kissed. He stroked breast and butt with her cooperation, indeed her approval. When he passed his hand between her legs, though, she moved it back to her breast. Well, that established the limit. Actually, while she was marvelously soft there, the jeans weren't. He unbuttoned her blouse to kiss further down her neck.

The family taps on the doorbell announced that the girls had returned. Marilyn restored her clothes and makeup, and he washed his face before going down. On an hours-long shopping trip the girls had managed to buy one charm for Molly's charm bracelet.

"In a tenth of the time you took," he told them, "I filled a large grocery bag and carried it home."

"Andy," Marilyn said, "they weren't buying. They were shopping." Hadn't that been his point? He didn't overvalue buying things, but that was the reason for shopping. "Males!" Well, if she were disgusted with him, she was disgusted with any possible rival, too.

As they were going to dinner at her family's, they went upstairs to dress for it. That meant some undressing first, and he took a little advantage of her state. She cooperated enthusiastically, but they didn't take it very far. Once that would have been frustrating as hell. In those days, however, he slept alone. Now, they weren't stopping, they were taking a break until bed time.

"What will you wear?" she asked suddenly. Wasn't that her area of expertise? They were visiting her family. For that matter, clothing was her kingdom.

"White shirt? Khakis?" He didn't think this would be a suit occasion; this was now a family event. "Church shoes?"

"Excellent choices." Well, he'd passed one more test, and he'd thought finals were over. She looked beautiful. She always did, but she seemed to approve of her own appearance now, which she often did not. When he looked at the sky, the few clouds were white, but they looked like they were moving fast. He took an umbrella. They'd be there longer than the weather took to change.

There were five at table, and he was seated beside Pete and across from Marilyn. That would make it difficult to seat her, so he compromised by pulling out her mom's chair. Marilyn seated herself, and everybody else looked at him a little strangely.

The food was lamb chops; they tasted good, and Marilyn said so. Her Mom offered to give her more practice cooking them.

"Mom. We've planned out our budget," Marilyn said. "I'm not buying a single lamb chop in the next year. What I need practice on is mac and cheese. Now, if we end up in Evanston..."

"Are you planning to work in the Chicago region?" Her dad asked. Andy thought this was his chance to join the conversation.

"Good question, but one that it's way too early to answer." He was prepared to explain why, but Mrs. Grant disapproved.

"Look, you two can discuss business later. What did you and your father think of the wedding?"

"Well," he said, "Dad can speak for himself. He hasn't expressed any opinion except to accept that Marilyn is married to me. And, really, that's what I came away with. It was a fine ceremony and a fine reception, but the important part was, 'I now pronounce you man and wife.'"

"You sound like you'd have preferred a justice of the peace." Well, he would have accepted a justice of the peace, except...

"Ah, but the issue I cared about was the woman I married. I think Marilyn wanted that ceremony and that reception. Certainly, she wanted her sisters there. I get the impression that Zeta is important to you, too." As a matter of fact, he got the impression that Marilyn and her mom both cared very deeply about the ceremony and the reception. Certainly, Marilyn had reported on arguments over details he hardly understood.

"Yes. It is."

"Well, while this is simply news you can send your chapter, Marilyn's chapter was well represented. I expect everyone will have heard every detail by the end of August."

"And," Marilyn said, "the state board was represented, too. Of course, it won't be so important to them." Those must have been some of the women at the reception that he hadn't recognized.

"If half of them weren't convinced that you were pregnant..." her mom said. He hadn't seen that as a problem. He knew she wasn't, and hadn't worried about what people thought. He'd heard about girls having babies without being married, and the problems that caused. That having the babies conceived before marriage also caused problems, aside from the problem it caused some boys to get married sooner than they had wanted to, was a new thought. If it was a problem for her mom now, the solution seemed automatic.

"Well, They'll learn otherwise. Maybe we should send you occasional snapshots. Like kidnap victims, she could be holding a current newspaper above her flat belly."

"I wouldn't be that blatant." Mrs. Grant said. "I'm considering picturing the two of you on a Christmas card, though. But, you would have avoided all that if you'd waited another year." Well, the problems they'd foreseen hadn't included one that minor, but the problems they'd foreseen were mostly problems that Marilyn's parents would cause, and they hadn't. It wouldn't be nice to tell them that he and Marilyn had expected them to be unfair.

"There would have been several advantages for waiting another year," Marilyn said. "In total, they didn't compete with the advantages of marrying when we did."

"What were they?" Pete asked. His first contribution to the conversation was foul-minded and smart-assed.

"Pete," Marilyn said, "you are too young to be a dirty old man."

"Pete!" their Dad said.

After dessert, Marilyn and her mom went up to her room, and he went into the living room with her dad.

"Now," Mr. Grant said after they sat down, "you tell me it's too early to ask whether you'll be living in the Chicago region."

"Well, it's too early for us to answer. What happens is that a bunch of companies come onto campus every year to recruit EEs -- there are recruiters for other professions, too, but I don't think for teachers. Anyway, if you're interested in that company you go down to an interview, and if they're interested in you, they make an offer.

"When I get some offers, I'll take them to Marilyn, and we'll sort them out. The location becomes important because we'll want a place where she thinks she'll be happy teaching -- happy living, too. What we think is that my looking for a job comes first. There are teaching jobs all over; electrical engineering jobs are more concentrated."

"Marilyn keeps saying that you'll get lots of job offers."

"Well, I'll be a new graduate. If you want an experienced engineer, then I'll be fairly low on your list. That's why the recruiters are important. They are looking for new engineers. I have fairly good grades so far, and I hope to keep that up next year. I have work experience, although not experience working with electronics. I <b>should</b> be desirable for employment."

"But you're not certain?" Mr. Grant asked.

"How can you be certain? I don't have any job offers. The recruiters aren't coming for months. What will the economy be like? On the other hand, aside from somebody who is going to work for his father's company, I have as good a chance as anyone else going into his senior year."

"Your father and my daughter -- your father and your wife -- seem more certain of your success than you do."

"Well," he said, "being certain of the future is wrong, but it isn't a mistake."

"That was a damn cryptic statement." Was it? Maybe he should explain to Mr. Grant what he meant.

"Well, you never know what's going to happen tomorrow. If I get hit by a truck and killed, Marilyn's situation will be worse than if she hadn't married me. And my situation, of course, will be worse than if I had taken another route. But I have to take some route tomorrow. I can't sit in the house for fear that I'll be hit by a truck. And, of course, getting hit by a truck might end my life but not getting hit by one won't keep me alive. Most people who die aren't hit by trucks." He was getting way off track.

"In the same way," he continued, "Marilyn would have been foolish to make her wedding decisions on the basis that I just might get hit by a truck."

"Or that you might not graduate?"

"Really, the truck is only an example, but I think it's likelier that I'll die in the next year than that I'll be healthy and flunk out."

"You're saying that there is no certainty about the future, but we have to move forward on the probabilities as though they were certainties." Well it wasn't what he had been saying, really, but Marilyn's father had said what he'd tried to say.

"Well, less what I was saying than what I was trying -- and failing -- to say."

"Somehow, I'm unclear on how you and Marilyn began." Mr. Grant was changing the subject. This was almost the first-date interview they'd never had.

"Well, we began unclearly, maybe. I first saw her when I came to MYF. As you know, she was president that year, elected at the first meeting I attended. Anyway, I was the new boy in town, and quite unhappy to be. I'd been one of the peasants at Gordon Tech. The jocks, the pretty girls, the student-government types ran things. The nerds were at the bottom of the pecking order. I'd learned not to invite a pretty girl to dance by 10th grade. Then I moved to Evanston, and it was worse. Even the AP Calc class didn't want me. The teacher was nice enough, but the kids were all like 'If you belonged here, we would know you.'" Well enough about Andy. Her dad was interested in Marilyn.

"When I first saw Marilyn, I didn't like her. She was running for MYF president, and she was a beauty. Well, pretty girls and student leaders snubbed me. But, later, she was MYF president, and I was the new kid. She made an effort to talk to me. It wasn't like, 'Where have you been all my life?' but it was, 'Let me help you fit in.'

"Anyway," he continued, "she was trying to establish MYF service projects, and it was an uphill job. I showed up for rummage-sale set-up, and only one other boy did. She was grateful, and we got to talking. I discovered that she was nice, and a little about her. She was pretty, but she didn't snub me. We rode the same bus, and I got up the nerve to ask her to a dance. She turned me down, but she didn't make it sound like I didn't qualify. By that time I'd gone from liking her to being obsessed with her. I learned she would be going to U of I, just as I would. Almost as soon as I got to campus, I asked her for a date. She wasn't going steady then and accepted." He was talking an awful lot about himself, but Mr. Grant was leaning forwards, listening. He went on.

"I lived from one date to the next, not daring to think we would have a future. Then Zeta had a party to celebrate the new pledges. For once, she invited me instead of my inviting her. Some officers called me in to grill me, a lot like you wanted to do. They told me that she had chosen me! Well, that meant that I could dream of some sort of long-term relationship with her."

"And that's when you started thinking about marriage?" Mr. Grant asked.

"Not even that. That's when I thought that she wouldn't dump me at the next date. Then, later, I discovered that she thought of me as her boyfriend. I figured that we would be together thorough college if I didn't do something incredibly stupid. That's when I started allowing myself to dream of forever. Tt wasn't as if I was thinking of some time beyond Marilyn before that. It was that I didn't allow myself to think too long in the future about her."

"That was when you proposed?"

"That was when I thought about when I'd be able to propose. Really, my picture of being married to Marilyn was of supporting her -- supporting her financially. But I couldn't wait."

"You slept with her, according to Judy." Ouch! This was her dad. Well, they were married, now, and he didn't look like he was going to start throwing punches.

"Oops! You weren't supposed to know that. Of course, your wife wasn't supposed to have known that, either."

"She found the pills." He hadn't known that. He'd thought it was when she caught them after his first time in Marilyn's room.

"Well, honestly, that reassured me. Marilyn isn't the sort of woman to put notches on the bedpost. If she was willing to go that far with me, she might very well accept me for the rest of her life."

"You didn't promise marriage in order to seduce her?" That was ridiculous.

"I didn't <b>promise</b> marriage at all. I begged for it. Really, at first, I begged her as a favor to consider whether it would be possible."

"You make it sound quite one-sided."

"Well, it was, and is still." Hadn't they objected to their daughter marrying him? Did they think he couldn't see how wonderful a woman Marilyn was?

"Yet you're living in your old house." Mr. Grant said. Well...

"So we are. Looking objectively at the situation, can you say that this is a mistake? Did you urge Marilyn to move back into her old room with me?"

"Honestly, no. You're right. I can see the problems of your living here. I don't know whether there are problems of your living there."

"Well, it's a little crowded right now -- not crowded, but there are five of us in the house and only one real bathroom. But that is only for this week.

"I keep thinking we don't know you."

"Well, yes..." Was it yes he meant? "Or no, you don't. Really what I keep offering is the assurances that I'm not some kind of axe murderer or something. One thing is that what I am is an engineering student. I'd be happy to tell you everything you'd want to know about electrical engineering -- except the working conditions, of course. I'm only studying it."

"Well, yes. I think you have told me as much as I want to know." He had to smile at that. Marilyn's dad was being honest. Even Marilyn shied away from the details, and -- of course -- much beyond the difference between electrical power and electronics required physics to understand.

Then Mr. Grant changed the subject. "You seem to be awfully hard on your stepfather." Maybe that wasn't so great a change of subject from his perspective. Maybe he wanted to know about his relations within the family.

"Well, it's easy to be hard on the guy who married -- who is sleeping with -- your mother."

"Or your daughter." Marilyn's father had a real point.

"Point taken. But Elliot Brewster is really a horrible man aside from that. Look, you do something in the railroad."

"Freight sales."

"And when you're talking to others in freight sales, I couldn't understand you if I sat in."

"I don't know. Well 'tare weight.'" If that was supposed to be beyond his comprehension, it had succeeded.

"Umm? What sort of weight would be torn?"

"You're right. You wouldn't understand it." Marilyn's dad wasn't about to clear up his ignorance. Well, he was much more interested in finding out about Andy.

"Anyway, all fields do. I keep trying to tell Marilyn what my sort of EE is, as opposed to the guys who work on power. Physics has its own terms. Well, Elliot thinks that physicists use those terms so that he won't understand them. Despite the fact that he hasn't taken the effort to understand physics nor does he have the brainpower to understand physics. That's only one minor irritant, but it irritates me. I work to understand physics, not just the physics I need for engineering."

"We seemed to have argued about that." Damn! He kept forgetting. And he'd called Elliot an idiot. He wasn't about to call Mr. Grant an idiot.

"Well, yes, but you were merely saying that everyone needed to know liberal arts, and non-scientists didn't need to know about modern science. I disagree. And, too, part of that was what you just mentioned. 'You can't have my daughter, and you're an inferior species who doesn't deserve her.'" Mr. Grant laughed. "After all, plenty of people agree with you about science being for specialists. And that multitude of people is part of what annoys me. A Cardinals fan will get along with a Sox fan much better than a Cubs fan will.

"Anyway," he continued, "you say that physics isn't worth your time. Elliot says that he understands it better than the professionals do without giving it any attention. But that's a minor point. I have a father. Mom has a claim on me, and Elliot has a claim on Mom. He doesn't have any claim on me. With the girls, he has a ghost of a shadow of a claim. They live with Mom -- Mom and him. I live with Dad. You heard him at the rehearsal dinner. Out in public, too. Well, you have a right to look at our budget. You're contributing Marilyn's tuition, which is more than our room and board. He isn't putting in a penny, and hasn't offered to."

"Well, in that case, I may ask for a copy of that budget."

"All I ask is that you ask Marilyn for it. It's like the fight I caused." Also, Marilyn had a better grasp of the budget than he had.

"What was that?" Her dad must mean the fight.

"You called me in and asked for my bonafides. I was willing enough. I'm sure I had far fewer dates in high school than Marilyn had, but I may well have had more first dates. That was a standard first-date interview with the girl's father. Anyway, I was willing enough. Marilyn wasn't. She was an independent woman who was qualified to choose her own associates."

"She told me she'd come in before breakfast, and that was her graciously granting a favor, not my parental right."

"Before breakfast? She never told me that."

"Well, as Judy told me the second time, that was Marilyn's Declaration of Independence. She wasn't serious, but she might stay out that late if I pushed on it. She suggested that Marilyn would shiver in the garage while you went home to get a good night's sleep."

"Well, she never told me that. Anyway, I have no objection to your seeing the budget. Marilyn might."

"Marilyn probably would."

"In that case, I'm on her side." He lifted his hand with the ring prominent.

"I can't argue with that." Marilyn's dad was -- slowly and reluctantly -- becoming used to Marilyn being married to Andy. He obviously wanted Andy to be a loyal husband if he was going to be her husband.

"You know," her dad continued, "this might be a delicate subject, but one thing which worried us about you was your parents' divorce."

"Well, I can understand. It's not something I feel comfortable about discussing in a casual conversation, but your interest is legitimate. 'Is this guy going to divorce my daughter like his dad divorced his mother?' Well, Marilyn asked about that, too, and you see me as Dad's son much more than she does. Anyway...

"I told Marilyn that amputation is the best answer when a leg develops gangrene. People say 'Oh your parents got divorced.' That isn't really the problem. They had a marriage to which divorce was the best answer. That's the problem, and it was a horrible problem. Anyway, I will try my damnedest to see that Marilyn is never in the situation where leaving me is never her best choice." That didn't sound right.

"I didn't say what I meant. I'll do my damnedest to see that Marilyn never thinks that leaving me is her best course, or even that leaving me is a tempting course."

"And your leaving her?"

"Wouldn't be bearable, let alone tempting."

The conversation went on to lighter things. What might be called the interview was over.

The umbrella wasn't needed on the walk home either. That was something his blathering about taking the likely as the certain hadn't covered. Rain in July had been unlikely, but the work of carrying the umbrella was much less of a negative than having Marilyn get drenched was. When they returned home, the girls and Dad were watching TV. They joined them for a while, but Marilyn didn't get into the program, which made watching her less enjoyable. They soon went upstairs for what they could both enjoy.

The next morning, they were downstairs before Dad was again. Marilyn cooked him some eggs.

"Two eggs?" she asked Dad when he came down. "Sunny-side up all right?"

"Marilyn, you didn't have to..." Dad began, then changed his mind. "Yes, that sounds delicious." She made him his eggs and sat down with hers. "You really didn't need to do this," Dad said, though he kept eating. "This is supposed to be your honeymoon."

"Our honeymoon was last week, and a delightful gift it was. I'm not totally helpless in the kitchen." She was decorative in the kitchen, too, much more decorative than she'd been in the apartment's kitchen when he had to be outside and had hardly been able to see her. They sat with Dad until he left.

"Wake Molly and April now," she told him. "Tell them that the kitchen closes in 15 minutes."

He pounded on Molly's door. "Wake up."

"Andy! What's wrong?"

"Marilyn is cooking breakfast, and she told me that she won't cook for you if you're not down in 15 minutes."

He thought of The Moppet as the heavier sleeper, but when he pounded on April's door, she had already heard him at Molly's.

"Do we have to dress?"

"No. We're both in pajamas." If that was a fair description of Marilyn's nightgown. Well, anything April would wear would be okay.

The girls came down together. They praised Marilyn's cooking.

"Well," she said. "I cooked. You two clean the table and stack the dishwasher. Don't start it. I'll be taking a shower."

He heard her go upstairs. He imagined her in the shower. With the girls here, he couldn't join her. He stayed seated, and they couldn't see his beginning of an erection. She soon came down, but didn't come into the kitchen until Mrs. Bryant rang and came in.

"Everybody up?" she asked. "Ms. Marilyn, this looks like your influence."

"They took a bribe. I gather that you don't cook breakfast for them."

"Not unless Andy was sick. I used to make breakfast for little April, but that was long ago, and she was little April then."

"Well, do you guys have anything planned for today?" Marilyn asked the girls. "I thought we could go down and window shop on the Magnificent Mile."

"Oh, could we?" April asked.

"If you're ready to start in less than half an hour." The girls ran to meet the deadline. "And Mrs. Bryant, since this isn't a program which will interest Andy, could you teach him how to vacuum?" Well, the windows wouldn't interest him, but watching Marilyn would. Still, he had her every night, and the honeymoon, as she'd told Dad, was over; he shouldn't get selfish.

"Sure. I can do that. Andy learns well. Lunch something cold that you three can eat when you get back?" Mrs. Bryant sometimes, like when he was newly returned from school, cooked him his favorite dishes. She almost never consulted him on the menu, certainly not the lunch menu. She had decided, perhaps from some statement of Dad's, that Marilyn was now the lady of the house.

"Sounds great," Marilyn said.

He vacuumed the upstairs rugs, with Mrs. Bryant going into the girls' rooms first to see that they had left nothing there that would embarrass them. Then he lugged the vacuum downstairs to do the carpets there. He did the living room without any criticism or further suggestions from Mrs. Bryant. She fixed tuna-salad for sandwiches.

"Remember, Andy," she said, "there are three hungry ladies depending on this tuna. Please don't finish it off until they have had lunch." So he left it after his third sandwich. After he and she ate lunch, Mrs. Bryant made the beds and started dinner.

Marilyn brought the girls back close to 2:30, and they all fell on the tuna salad sandwiches. Dinner would be shrimp jambalaya, and he thought of warning Marilyn to save space, but they could all smell it by now.

Wednesday morning after breakfast, Marilyn headed downtown to change the name on her driver's license. He dressed in jeans -- and no shirt -- and took <i>Elements of Circuit Design</i> into the back yard to read while he tanned. The course next year was Intermediate Circuit Design, but the author thought he was presenting only the elements.

This was heavy slogging without any lecturer or discussion section, but it might be the course next year which bore most directly on what he wanted to do the rest of his life -- daytime hours of the rest of his life, at least.

Molly came out damn-near naked. He politely turned his back so she could suntan in privacy. She walked around him so he was facing her again.

"Andy. Come on and drive us to the beach."

"I'm reading, and the beach isn't all that far. Head east. You can't miss it. Remember whether you go north or south after you get to the lake. But, still, people know where Hamilton Street is. If you get lost coming back, ask. And, before you go out, why don't you put on some clothes?"

"'Some clothes'! You're not wearing anything on top."

"Neither are you. Anyway, I'm a guy, and I'm in my own back yard. Really, you're working on your tan. Why not do it here?"

"Because I want to go to the Lake. Anyway. I <b>am</b> wearing something on top." Something, he'd grant. Damn little, but something. "I can see your nipples, and you can't see mine." Well, she not only had her nipples covered, although he could see their shape through the tight cloth, she had her areolae covered, too. She definitely didn't have her breasts covered.

"Is that what you're going to tell Dad tonight? 'I went to the beach to show my body to the boys there, but I kept my nipples covered, so it was okay.' Is that what you're planning to tell him?"

"This is what girls wear in California."

"Girls, I can believe. When you were six, that much cloth could have covered you decently."

"Well, he may be my father, but you aren't. So take me and April to the beach." And Dad was going to ignore his contribution if he found out what she'd done. Andy was supposed to have sense, and the hormones instigating this particular folly weren't his.

"Well, I'm busy reading, or was until I was so rudely interrupted. I told you which direction you could walk in to get to the beach. You want to go there, then walk."

"You're selfish."

"I may be selfish, but you're something worse. You're a Californian. You want to parade your body, but you can't make the effort to walk a few blocks to do it."

When Marilyn returned from downtown, Molly bitched to her. Marilyn, who'd just made a trip on public transit a hundred times as long as the one Molly wanted a ride for, didn't tell him to drive. April was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt at lunch. That wasn't beach gear, and he suspected that she'd changed from a costume as lewd as Molly's. When the two of them wanted something from him, April was almost always the one to ask him. This exception might mean that they hadn't wanted Andy to see her until he'd agreed to drive them. Molly, if dressed -- or undressed -- provocatively, had, after all, graduated from high school. The Moppet wasn't yet in 10th grade.

Molly was still in her bikini for lunch, and still in a snit. After lunch, Marilyn took her for a walk around the block. Molly put on socks and sneakers to protect her feet from the sidewalk, but wore nothing to protect her from the voyeurs but the bikini. He put on a shirt for the house AC and watched TV with April. Marilyn and Molly returned and joined them.

Marilyn's family were coming to dinner, and after Mrs. Bryant asked him to put the extra leaves in the dining-room table, everybody went upstairs to change. Marilyn who had been dressed for business downtown, changed nothing but her shoes. He dressed from his underpants out. He figured that the same sort of clothes he'd worn for visiting her old house should get her approval this time. He paused in dressing, though, when Marilyn spoke.

"Well, I'll be sitting down, at least. I stood in line an hour in these heels this morning, and my feet felt it."

"Poor feet," he said. He knelt by her chair to rub them. If her feet were tired, her calves must be, too. She stopped him when his hand was half way between her knees and her panties.

"That was lovely, but let's delay the rest until tonight. Besides, you have to finish dressing." She straightened her clothes and put on her makeup while he finished dressing. They went downstairs together.

Dad had gone all out. He served wine which he usually didn't with ham. When the bottle was passed, he took a half glass and poured April a mostly-full one. April knew better than to touch the bottle herself.

"Marilyn tells me, Andy, that you aced all your courses again this last semester," Mr. Grant said. Well, sure, but Marilyn always made too much of his grades.

"Yes. But this semester was all courses in my major except partial differential equations. I needed those grades."

"Is it easier to get an A in Electrical engineering?" asked Pete. Well, it wouldn't be easy for Pete.

"It's easier for Andy," Marilyn said. "The major is considered one of the more difficult ones at the university. PDE is the top undergraduate course in math. Our chapter maintains guides on what courses are easiest to pass. Andy has only taken one of those, drawing." That was a surprise.

"You didn't tell me that was on the list of hammock courses."

"Well," she said, "you didn't ask me. I suggested that you take chorus, but you had your reasons."

"Yeah." Then he explained to the others, "Engineers have to draw, even though they do it differently. I thought free-hand drawing might give me an edge. Who knows whether it did." It would be embarrassing to think it had helped his grade. Drafting was the engineering course in which he'd received a B.

"You seem," Marilyn's mom said, "to see everything as means to an end." Well, not everything. How could he explain this?

"Well, ma'am, everything can't be a means. You have to have ends. But, yes, I see course work as a means to an end. If you want to learn something because you're curious about it, then you can read a book. If you're going to need to know all -- a limited, but real, all -- about it, then you take a course. Then your teacher tests you. He's supposed to be able to discern whether you know it or not. And, of course, if you're going to sell your ability in the field, the buyer wants to see that certification of your knowledge from the teacher. I can't see taking a course for fun."

Marilyn saw the exception to that generalization immediately. "Well, you enjoyed swimming. You might have enjoyed chorus, too."

"That's a point. Some things aren't learned well from books. You need your muscles as well was your mind. I couldn't have learned driving from a book -- or dancing."

"Book learning isn't everything," said Pete. Which was just what his sister and Andy had already said, trivialized into a generality.

"No, it isn't," he said.

"I'm not going to college for book learning." There was something pathetic in Pete's attempt to portray his future as superior to two other people's present and three others' past.

"Then," his dad said, "I'll be wasting a hell of a lot of money for tuition."

"Do you have a major in mind?" Pete really needed help here, and Marilyn's blood brother, even if he was nasty to her, probably deserved a little help. Andy threw him a life jacket.

"I'm going to college to meet girls. You did." Pete threw it back.

"To be pedantic, I met Marilyn before college." Andy hadn't been looking for a girl. He hadn't found a girl. He'd found <b>Marilyn</b>. "I met plenty of girls at college, notably Marilyn's sorority sisters. Those meetings, however, were, in your mother's distinction, means rather than ends."

"Well, I'm not going to waste my time in classrooms and libraries the way you did." Pete had just announced, to his dad's annoyance, that he intended to waste his time in classrooms.

"Since your the grounds available to you for judging whether I wasted my classroom time were my grades, I think your judgment needs reconsideration." Andy thought he sounded like he was bragging, but Pete was really getting under his skin.

"And, Molly," Marilyn's mom said, "you're going to college, too." He might not like the woman, and she certainly didn't like him, but she knew when the subject needed to be changed.

"Yes, ma'am. Fresno State. I'll major in business, maybe accounting." Molly wasn't bad at mental arithmetic, and she had a number <b>sense</b>.

"You don't want to waste all your time in classes, like your brother did." Pete threw another life jacket away. When you're that deep in a hole, stop digging. Pete had refilled his glass twice, but this wasn't vodka; it was wine. He couldn't be drunk on three glasses of wine.

"Well, I prefer to be compared to Marilyn." Molly really liked Marilyn. "She's not done with college, but by the time she leaves, she'll have a profession and a husband -- a husband who has his own profession." Molly must have forgiven him for the fight that morning. "Really, if you're not preparing for a profession as well as meeting girls, then you'd better look for a girl who is willing to support you."

"No way! I'm going to be the breadwinner in my family." Pete managed to make even that expression of -- far future -- responsibility sound argumentative.

His father waded in: "Then, Pete, you're in the horns of a dilemma. There are jobs which will support a wife and family, if not at the level you're used to being supported, without a college degree. You, however, are not prepared for any of them. A gas-station attendant or waiter won't put as much money in your wallet as you're used to spending, much less add anything to your attractiveness to women who are looking to be supported. Either you get an education from your college time, or you won't have any attraction for those women you hope to attract."

There was a bit of a silence, then. But Marilyn's dad had approached an interesting general point. That point gave an advantage to the newly-formed family he might not have seen. Andy tried to expand on it. "Y'know, every household in our society produces and consumes. We don't, except for a few farmers back in the hills, produce much of what we consume. We produce one thing and mostly consume other things."

"That's not quite true." Dad saw the fallacy in his generalization. "You produce a great deal of what you consume. Marilyn cooked breakfast this morning; she'll cook almost all your meals for the next nine months. The conversation tonight is something the people here both produced and consumed. I, at least, enjoyed most of it. When it doesn't enter into commerce, the economists ignore it -- rightly so, usually -- but it does exist."

"Very well, Dad. But a household must consume a great deal -- of vital necessities -- that it cannot produce. The general run of man enjoys consumption, and endures producing for the pleasure of consuming. Marilyn and I see our future as being among the privileged class that enjoys producing what we will produce, as well. That makes us among the fortunate. It's not so much that we'll be a two-income family. It's that we'll be a four-enjoyment family, or -- at least -- three. I'll enjoy engineering, Marilyn will enjoy teaching, and then we'll bring our paychecks home to enjoy what they buy."

"Well," said Marilyn's dad, "if you make it, more power to you. I can't quite see enjoying engineering, myself -- or, really, teaching."

"Well, Dad," Marilyn said, "teaching day to day may be a grind, but you get a good deal of satisfaction when your students learn."

"That's an interesting distinction," Dad said, "some things are pleasant to do, and other things are pleasant to have done. They give satisfaction. Somehow, I can't think of many things which are both." And he couldn't think, off he top of his head, of anything which gave both. Dad was always better at puncturing his balloons than he was at puncturing Dad's.

The evening, despite Pete, was a decided success. Marilyn stood beside him seeing the Grant family out -- the entire Grant family since the 9th of July. They left the girls and Dad downstairs watching TV and went up to their room. Marilyn was both extremely sexy and extremely loving. He drifted off with his arm securely around her.

The next morning Dad said, "I keep saying that you don't have to do this, but I'm glad you do," about the pancakes Marilyn cooked for breakfast.

"Well, Mr. Trainor, remember your distinction last night. You get pleasure from eating them; I get satisfaction from cooking them. And, too, I could hardly eat them if I didn't serve you as well."

"You're being ambiguous," Dad said. "There are three people here, including yourself. If you're not talking to yourself, you're talking to 'Mr. Trainor.' Now, 'Jim' would be specific."

"Somehow, I don't think of Andy as being 'Mr. Trainor.'" He wasn't 'Mr. Trainor'; he was her Andy. "He's called me 'Mrs. Trainor' occasionally." Well, of course.

"A much greater accomplishment of the last semester than his GPA. Why shouldn't he glory in it?" Dad got it.

"But, I'm Mrs. Trainor because I'm his wife. He was Mr. Trainor before the marriage. I think of him as Andy. He knows to whom I'm talking when I use your name."

Dad had lost, and he should see that. Marilyn was sweet, but she had a will of iron.

The combination of pancakes for breakfast and that Marilyn had cooked the meal got the girls downstairs at his first call. Again, they cleaned up after breakfast without a murmur. Mom would have been green with envy. Afterwards, April and Marilyn went out together. Molly dialed through the TV channels before turning the set off.

"You know," he said, "there aren't different shows here than there are in California. Especially in July, why do you bother watching when you're around Dad."

"Well, when you two go up he glares if we follow before another show has come and gone."

"Really?"

"I'm not going to eavesdrop, you know. Embarrassing you might be fun, but I couldn't without embarrassing her." Molly was definitely in Marilyn's fan club.

"Maybe embarrass her more."

"That's not what she says." He must have looked surprised. "She says that she can talk about sex with me because we're sisters. I can't talk about sex with you because -- since you're my brother -- I shouldn't think of you having sex at all."

"Well, you probably shouldn't."

"I dunno. I think of her as this great person, and she's perfectly happy being married to you. No offense, Andy, but I don't think you're all that super."

"No offense taken. I don't think I am either. One thing, of course, I love her desperately. Now, if you're over Pete..."

"I'm not <b>over</b> him. I just wanted him as a temporary boy to talk to. We didn't have a date or anything. Not that I'd have accepted if he'd asked. Did you see that I seated myself last night?"

"No. I was busy with Marilyn, and when I turned to April, Mr. Grant had seated her."

"Yeah. He wasn't used to it, but he caught on. Pete didn't catch on."

"Well, it isn't as if you had any problem."

"It isn't as if I had any problem. I can seat myself, and I can fix my own breakfast. It's just nice to have someone trying to be nice to me."

"Well, what I was about to say was that he was too interested in Pete to care deeply for someone else. So, while we both agree that Marilyn could do better, she could also do worse."

"Oh sure. Y'know, there are a lot of Pete's out there. You're not a girl, and you don't..."

"Lots of them are the bullies I knew, knew only too well."

"Yeah, some. On the other hand, some guys that bully other guys are perfect gentlemen around girls....

"You are a real prude sometimes, you know." She'd really changed the subject.

"Your bikini?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm a boy. I know what boys think when they see most of you. They really see it all. Their imaginations can fill in the damn-small blanks."

"So? Can't your imagination fill in the blanks when a girl is fully dressed? Hell, I saw the look on your face that morning when Marilyn was taking a shower, and there were walls and a floor in between." He was busted.

"Well, we're married."

"I just want to be special. You're special to Marilyn. Hell, you're special to your teachers. I have some assets, and I don't like having to hide them."

"You're special to me, to Dad, to Mom, to The Moppet. I think you're special to Marilyn, too."

"Yeah. But I'd be special to the family if I were a 300 pound drooling idiot. 'My kid' isn't good enough. I want to be 'Molly the special' because of me!"

"So, do you have somebody back there you're special to?"

"Is that your business?"

"Not really. But, if you do, would he like you displaying your breasts and butt on Illinois beaches?"

"Well, don't you like everybody seeing how pretty Marilyn is?"

"Not that way. There are parts I want to keep all to myself."

"You're greedy. Or is it selfish?"

"Maybe it's both. Sounds like they're back." And Marilyn and April <b>were</b> back. Marilyn's discussions with the girls seemed to reach conclusions. This discussion with Molly -- like most of his discussions with Molly -- hadn't seemed to.

Sunday, they took the girls to the airport after church. He was genuinely sorry to see them go, although that would free him and Marilyn up slightly. Now, there would be only one pair of ears in the house at night -- well they had ears, but he didn't mind Marilyn hearing him make love to her.

"I love them dearly," Dad said on the way back from the airport. "I wish the visits were longer, but I always find myself tired afterwards."

"I could drive," Andy said. "And, you know, next summer will be Molly's choice. She might want to visit longer, too."

"Her mother, your mother, would hate that." Dad still took care that Mom not be annoyed. She seemed to want to annoy him.

"She doesn't seem to worry about what you think."

"Well, a divorce is a little like a marriage that way. Your promises are unconditional. I promised to not try to use you guys to get at her....

"Y'know, Marilyn," he continued. "You might not think I'm much good at the marriage business. Mark Twain had a story about two steam-boat pilots. One had sailed the river for years without ever hitting a sandbank or a snag. The other..."

"Had hit every snag and hung up on every sandbank in the Mississippi," Marilyn continued for him. "American literature is one of the things I studied."

"Yes. I'm used to talking with Andy. He knows all sorts of things I'll never understand, but lots of what I know he either doesn't..."

"Or," Andy said, "I know it because you repeat the same stories."

"Well, I could hardly repeat different stories, now could I? Anyway, I'm like the second pilot. I may not know how to keep a marriage going, but I know some of the things which can put a marriage under strain. I opposed your marrying this year."

"Yes, Marilyn said. "Andy told me of your offer, a quite generous offer. Yet, when we turned it down, you gave us the shorter honeymoon. We're quite grateful for your generosity."

"Well, I wasn't opposed to the marriage, merely to the timing. If you have a hard time this coming year, and you are almost guaranteed to have a hard time economically if in no other way, then I expect your love to carry you through. I never doubted that. The problem is that when love carries you through the hard times, the hard times erode the love. I didn't want that to happen to you."

"Well," she said, "love can be eroded, but it can also build up. I'd hate to think that even Andy's love is a bank account that we'll be drawing down for the next fifty years."

"I hope you're right," said Dad. "Anyway, you're going to go through tough times. If they are too tough, maybe I can help."

"Well," she said, "we were going to have a tough time this year, anyway. If we weren't married and pinched, we would be ready to be married and being kept apart. We chose which looked better."

Back home, Dad said he'd take a siesta. As he was climbing the stairs, Marilyn raised an eyebrow at him. He nodded, of course. Soon, they were heading to their own siesta. They stripped down to their underwear and got under the sheet in the spoon. When his hand wandered, Marilyn brought it back to lie between her breasts.

"Wait 'til tonight," she whispered.

"I love you." He kissed her head.

"Well, I love you, too. You're sexy, but you're also comforting." With that encouragement, he settled for comforting her. He kissed her head, and occasionally her shoulder, but he didn't try to arouse her. Very occasionally, she raised his hand to her lips and put it back between her breasts.

"You are so sweet," he told her. "Your shape, sure, it's no wonder that you can charm any man. But the girls love you, and it isn't your shape that they love; it's your personality."

"Your whole family is grand." This mutual admiration society continued to meet, if not always to talk, until Dad rapped on the door.

"You guys ready to go out to dinner?" he called.

"Sure," Marilyn answered. "What sort of place? I need to know to select my clothes."

"You choose. Come downstairs dressed for where you want to go." He clumped downstairs, making so much noise that it had to be deliberate.

"He's been so kind," she said. "Let's not strain his budget." She got up and pulled on her jeans and a tee shirt. He watched until she was covered, and then matched her. Dinner was at Dad's favorite downscale Chinese place. With Northwestern mostly out, the three of them had a table which could have seated six.

"Mrs. Bryant has to work extra-hard when the girls are here," Dad said. Well, she might be doing a little more, but he'd never heard her complain. In past years, she'd even looked forward to their coming. Anyway, she dusted and vacuumed those rooms even when they were empty.

"Well," Dad continued, "I'm giving her afternoons off for the rest of the summer. It's not really afternoons; she'll be in 10 to 2 instead of 10 to 6. Y'know, I never give her a vacation." This didn't make any sense. He was about to say so when Marilyn tapped him under the table. She shook her head, and he shut up. One thing penetrated his mind. From 2:00 until something after 6:00, they would be alone in the house. He grinned, but Marilyn still shook her head.

Monday, after another lovely Marilyn breakfast, she taught him to load the dishwasher. They changed into their swim suits and went down to the back yard. Marilyn's bikini was the same one he'd taken off her in the motel. It still tempted him to take it off, but he restrained himself with the thought of the afternoon. That had been Dad's plan, he now saw, and probably because of Marilyn.

"You've made a real conquest of the old man," he told her.

"God, I'm so grateful to him. This giving us some time alone is only the latest."

"You'd think he wants this marriage to succeed. Well, you scored a gazillion points with him when you made The Moppet a bridesmaid."

"April was an excellent bridesmaid, and didn't look anything like a moppet. Your little sister is growing up."

"Happens to the best of them. At least she hasn't got as nasty as Molly got at that age. You might have something to do with that, too."

"Love me, love my dog -- er -- groom." Either one.

"I'm your dog. Pet me and I'll roll over for you. Feed me and I'll lick your lips."

"Which lips being carefully unspecified." Well, he would be perfectly happy to lick the lips on her face, too.

"Well, we dogs have problems getting up high."

Marilyn was happy to play with double entendres, but she wasn't happy otherwise. She was worried about the food they'd have in their time as married students. He didn't see the problem

"Everything you cook is delicious."

"You won't think so after the 20th repetition." Well, he would. He'd eat boiled sawdust happily if he could watch her boil it. He reached out his right hand, and she put her hand in it. Still, she brooded.

"Now, Andy," Mrs. Bryant said at lunch, "I just made your bed with new-bought sheets. That sun screen would be awfully hard to get out of those sheets."

"Yes, ma'am. We'll take a shower." And, after Mrs. Bryant left, they started to take a shower. First, he locked the deadbolt on the door. They left their swim suits in their room and he turned the AC down to a level that was comfortable on bare skin.

"'Yes, ma'am?'" Marilyn asked while he was removing her bikini. She must be asking about his response to Mrs. Bryant.

"Dad always insisted that she was in charge. And he required her to require us to speak to her politely. The Moppet was four when she started. If she demanded something, Mrs. Bryant would say, 'What's the magic word?' If <b>I</b> demanded a snack, she'd ignore me the first time. The second time, she'd tell me that she didn't fix food for rude boys. Well, I learned to ask her for things. And she'd ask me for things. If I didn't do what she'd asked, she'd tell me what to do. If I didn't do that, she'd report me to Dad.

"Our relationship changed as I grew older, but Dad never actually told me that any rules had changed. I really think that she and I worked out our own <i>modus vivendi.</i> But she's always been in charge. Well, I promised her that we would take <b>a</b> shower...."

Done now, they padded down the hall to the bathroom stark naked. They took turns getting soaked under the shower. Then he lathered up his hands and cleaned everything from her neck to her toes. They each used their individual washcloths to wash their own faces. Then she started washing him.

"Careful there. I think I'm on a hair trigger," he told her when she got too enthusiastic about washing his cock. When he'd taken his last rinse, he turned the hot water down first to see if a cold shower would lower his libido the way it was supposed to. Well, cold showers followed by Marilyn drying him off weren't very effective.

Back in their room with the door closed, he approached the foot of the bed. Marilyn was lying spread-eagle in the middle. She'd told him once that she didn't want her feet kissed. Newly-washed feet might be an exception, but he didn't want to break the mood by asking. He started at her ankle and kissed a line slowly upwards. When he reached her vulva, she held him there by his hair. Well, he had already intended to stay. He licked her lovely labia, getting closer and closer to her clitoris on each stroke. Then, when he couldn't get closer without touching it, he shortened his tongue stokes a little so that he missed by more. Although her climax would be stronger with that preparation, she seemed to get a little impatient.

"Damn you, Andy," she said. "Just a little bit higher." She had really been loud enough for him to hear, loud enough for him to be glad they were alone in the house, but he moved his head back to look at her. That motion was painful since she still had hold of his hair.

"Did you say something?" he asked. "Your thighs were covering my ears."

"Come on. Give it to me." She was shouting, but he was the only one who could hear. The windows were closed. The words weren't that explicit, anyway. Well, maybe he'd delayed her long enough. He returned to his task, and licked once more between her labia. This stroke, though, crossed over her clitoris. "Yes," she hissed. She tensed, and she tensed more every time he repeated the tongue-stroke.

When she began writhing under his mouth, he fitted is lips around her clitoris to suck. While he couldn't see her writhings, he could feel them under his head and around his shoulders.

When she relaxed, he kissed down the other leg to that ankle. Somehow, his programs of kissing all of her seldom got very far below the waist. This time, he had more than four hours from the time Mrs. Bryant left to the time Dad got home. They'd used up some in the shower, and they had to leave a long period to get themselves and the place back spic-and-span. Still, they had hours, and he planned to use two of those hours kissing Marilyn.

Since she looked too distracted to turn over right then, he kissed back up her legs moving from one leg to the other. Sometimes, he licked, too, especially on her smooth inner thighs, .

"You used up everything I had that last time. I'm surprised I even survived." Well, she was a damn-sexy woman. Her sexiness would come back soon enough. Right then, he was merely kissing some parts he usually neglected.

"I'm not trying anything. I'm just kissing." To demonstrate his innocence, he kissed a path along the top of one leg and up to her abdomen. He kept his mouth away from her vulva. When he licked her belly button, though, she writhed more violently -- if less sexily -- than she did during her climaxes. He retreated to her patch of pubic hair, breathing in through his nose to enjoy her scent of recent arousal, and breathing out through his mouth to tickle her right there.

She seemed ready for more direct loving, and he returned to her labia. She hadn't appreciated the previous delay, and he licked her clitoris on almost every tongue stroke. The books said that she had another center of arousal, though, and his knowledge of that was entirely theoretical. He explored her vagina with one finger until he thought he'd felt a bump at the top. He couldn't be sure; she wasn't as smooth in there as she felt to his cock. He put two fingers in and tried to stroke the bump. She seemed to be responding to those strokes. He must have found her G-spot. He alternated licking her labia and clitoris with rubbing her G-spot. He could feel her get closer.

"I love you," he said. He waited for a moment. Then he began to rub her G-spot and lick her labia at the same time. She soon writhed, and he sucked her clitoris again. He enjoyed the motions as much as he could without looking. If he looked up, he'd drop the stimulus that kept her writhing. Towards the end, she was almost whimpering.

When she stopped moving, he left from between her legs to lie beside her. He merely rested his hand on her mons, keeping his place but not trying to arouse her. He kissed her arm, her side, and then her breast. He kept kissing the smooth parts of her heaving breast but not the areolae.

When she was breathing evenly, he moved up the bed to kiss her. She responded, and their tongues wrestled. He kissed down her neck and down to her far breast. He again moved his hand to her vulva. She responded by reaching for his cock. He dodged.

"Marilyn, I'm..." He didn't get to finish that sentence because she'd reached his cock.

"No way, boy." she said. "You're not going to drive me to climax after climax until I'm left as a sad puddle soaking into the mattress. I'm putting this into me. You come along if you want to stay attached." She sounded serious, if not about the last threat. He scrambled back between her legs. She helped by spreading them. She put him into her, and he pressed forwards until he was totally held in her warmth. He kissed her hairline, which was what he could reach while he was buried within her.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too." On her declaration, he started moving through her slick warmth. Immediately, he had to resist his climax. He had been too close for the entire time of lovemaking.

She met his motions with motions of her own. She was rising while he entered and dropping back as he withdrew. She stroked her hands down his back. Then she pulled him more deeply into her by his butt. She was hugging his hips with her thighs. He was trying to hold back his climax when he suddenly didn't need to. She writhed under him and clasped around him. He let himself go, drove deeply into her, and erupted.

As he collapsed, he managed to collapse to his left. They were so tightly joined that she rolled with him when he rolled. Still, he came out. Minutes later, he disentangled them. He moved himself, and then her. They ended up in the spoon. 'Every night,' he thought, though it was in the middle of the afternoon. He may have dozed.

"Oh, Andy," Marilyn said.

"Darling," he responded. "I love you." That hadn't been loud enough to express his love. He moved back so his mouth was farther from her ear. "I love you," he shouted. He held her close again. "I adore you. I lust after your sweet body. It's unbelievable that those beautiful climaxes are partly in response to actions of mine. That makes me so proud and so possessive. I can't let you go, Mrs. Trainor." She responded by kissing his fingers and then sucking them.

"I love you, too," she said. "Slide your left hand under me." She raised herself so he could. She took his left hand in hers and their rings clinked together. "Married." And so they were.

"Married," he replied. "Tell me you'll stay with me forever."

"As long as we both shall live," she said. "I'll lie in your arms, or at least your arm, every night. Afternoons are optional and occasional. Tell me you'll stay with me as long as we both shall live." That wasn't the problem. He couldn't leave her, wasn't sure he could live without her. The problem was keeping her with him and keeping her happy. Even if she would stay if he made her unhappy, he thought he needed her happiness as much as he needed her presence.

"I'll never leave you," he said. "You'd have to drive me away. Promise that you'll teach me how to keep you happy."

"Well, this was a good start.... Remember your dad's distinction? Well he missed one. You have pleasure and satisfaction, but you also have contentment. You brought me pleasure, ecstacy, earlier, but this is another kind of happiness. The contentment of lying in your arms."

"You like it, too?" Her lying in his arms was his demand in the marriage. She could assign him chores, limit the climaxes she underwent and he enjoyed so much, decide how his future paychecks would be spent. But she had to lie in his arms. If she enjoyed it too, even enjoyed it a little bit, then the price she paid in the marriage wouldn't be onerous.

"I like it, too. I feel that you're not only embracing me, you're protecting me." That was a happy thought.

"I am. I will." So he lay there protecting her and almost dozing again while some train of thought ran through her mind, tensing her body in an entirely unsexy way. But, much as he wanted to protect her, much as he had promised to protect her, he knew he could only protect her from external threats.

"I love you," she said suddenly.

"I love you, too. I've been appreciating the steam coming out of your ear. Ever going to tell me the problem?" He couldn't protect her from her thoughts, but he might be able to solve the problem.

"Not now, Andy."

"Well, remember I'm the engineer. We might not look like much, but we're good at solving problems."

"I like your looks, but this is my problem to solve. If I can't, then I'll ask you." Well they were married. Any problem for Marilyn was a problem for them both. On the other hand, while she was married, she wasn't imprisoned. If she wanted something of her own, even her own problem, than she had a right to it. And, too, solving problems was what adults do; he shouldn't treat her like a child.

"That's fair. And all's fair in love and war."

"Are you sure that we're at war?" she asked. She was not only sexy and smart, she was funny, too. He kissed her hair. Well, she was not only smart and funny, she was sexy, too. Maybe he could sample a little of that sexiness this night.

"You know, we're doing this to avoid night-time sex, but do you think I could pet you -- very quietly -- tonight? I promise, I'll only try to bring you off once."

"And what about you?" she asked. Well, he was depleted, would still probably be depleted in a few hours. She, on the other hand, had deep reservoirs of sexiness.

"I won't be ready tonight. But you can be. I won't tease you the way I did this afternoon. It wouldn't be fair when you're trying to be quiet."

"Andy, you're weird." Well, that was old news.

"Yeah! But I love you."

"And I love you, too. See how quiet you can be." That was permission. They cuddled, mostly silently although there was nobody to hear if they had wanted to be noisy, until the alarm rang at 5:00. They showered again, not seriously but enough to rinse off the odor of sex, and straightened up. When Dad rang and came in, they were in the library. He figured Marilyn would be more impressed by Dad's books than by his. Most of his were SF.

"Really, you don't have to warn us," Marilyn said. "I'm your guest." Hell, Dad rang even for him, and he rang for Dad or for Mrs. Bryant. It was 'I'm home.'

"Well, I hope you will be a guest in this house often in years to come," Dad said. "I would point out, though, Mrs. Trainor, that this is the Trainor house, and you have no other residence until school opens in August. This is your home, now."

"Well, if it's my home, I should get the food on the table." She scurried into the kitchen to do that while they trailed after her. He appreciated the way her hips looked as she strode, and then hoped that Dad wasn't thinking the same thing.

"Point taken," Dad said "You married a very sharp gal, Andy. You'll have to keep on your toes." Well, he'd known that for some time. Later in the meal, Dad was reminded of it again. The conversation got onto the past presidential election.

"After Nixon," he'd said, "the Republicans couldn't have expected the country to go along with their next choice."

Dad had said, "Jerry Ford was a good man who didn't have a fair chance." Then he stepped in it. "Don't you agree, Marilyn?"

"Look, I'm married to one of you. Do you really want me in the argument too?"

"You don't deserve her, you know," Dad said through his laughter.

"I know, but I'm going to try to."

Dad turned to the dinner subject to less contentious issues where Marilyn could contribute without taking sides. The two males cleared while Marilyn stacked the dishwasher. They'd been used to leaving the dirty dishes soaking in the sink, but Marilyn was changing the household habits without intending to.

Marilyn spent the next hour with pencil and paper at the kitchen table working on some problem. He got his book and studied when he wasn't watching her. Dad, who might have had an overdose of television while the girls were there, retired to the library.

True to her promise, Marilyn writhed in his arms that night. True to his promise, he kept silent and held the pillow in front of her face at the critical time so she would be silent, too.

"I love you." He kept his voice down, although Dad had heard him say the same to her many times. He hugged her, and she hugged his arm. She fell asleep before he did, and he thought back to the afternoon. Then he thought further back to their honeymoon. Both times, he'd managed to kiss her legs by starting there rather than working down from her torso.

That first night, she had writhed for him twice on top of the covers. Then she'd pointed out that they needed to begin their married life both <b>in</b> bed. As soon as they were, she wanted him in her. She put him in, and he stroked in and out. Her climax had started before his. She was right. Seeing or feeling her writhe was a great pleasure. Standing up and lowering her slowly until he was buried in her was delightful fun. What marriage was about, though, was sex with them both lying down in their own bed was.

He found out what Marilyn had been working over, and worrying over, after breakfast the next morning.

"I'm going to be a housewife, and I don't know much about it," Marilyn told Mrs. Bryant. "I wrote out a meal plan for six days, and I'd like to have your opinion on it."

"That a meal plan for here?"

"For Andy and me down in Champaign. We have a tight budget, and I don't know many cheap meals." Well, all of them had tasted like banquets to him.

"Well, let me look." Mrs. Bryant read the list.

"I was wondering if you could teach me to cook some more cheap meals during the next couple of weeks," Marilyn went on. "I feel rotten, because you've three people to look after and less time to do it in, but do you think you could teach me a few?"

"Ms. Marilyn, you're worrying about the wrong things. Look, Mr. Trainor gives me few orders. He asks. I'm no fool. If the man who pays you asks you to do something and you don't do it, he hires somebody else who will do it. Even so, it's nice to work for a gentleman."

"What does that have to do with what I asked?"

"His last order," Mrs. Bryant said, "was about you. You're in charge. I'm to do whatever you tell me to do. What you want is the most important thing to do. If you set me down here until time for me to go, and his bed doesn't get made, I'll just tell him that you needed me for something more important."

"Well, it's not more important."

"If you want it, it's more important to him." Dad got it. "Now, for cooking cheaply, there are two things I'd ask first. Can you eat breakfast cereal? What do you think of rice?"

"Sure. I just think cereal is pretty far down on my list of choices for breakfast." Well, Marilyn had standards. She was starting to see problems for her in her standards. "As to rice, I associate it with oriental food. I think of it as fairly luxurious."

"Well, if I'm saving money on food, I don't cook eggs or even pancakes for breakfast. Maybe save that for Sunday. And every meal has to contain starch. Potatoes and rice are the cheapest starches. Really, rice is cheaper. When you buy potatoes, you buy water and skin.

"Look, Ms. Marilyn, half of what you have here you could serve over rice. Buy as big a package as you can get, as big a one as Andy can carry. It's cheaper that way, and dry rice doesn't rot. Instead of a bun for sloppy joes, make the mix and put it over rice. Rice with milk and brown sugar makes a better breakfast than those packaged cereals, too, but white folk don't eat it."

"Well, that's a start," Marilyn said.

"Look, you want to learn to cook some cheap meals? What ones do you know?"

"That list is pretty much it."

"Can it wait 'til tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Okay. I have to make out a shopping list." Up to then, he'd been a fly on the wall. A shopping list sounded like his business. At lunch time, it was. After the meal was over, he and Mrs. Bryant walked out together. After reading the list, he felt it called for the car. He bought what was on the list at the local grocery store and headed back.

Marilyn helped him put away the purchases, but neither of them could figure out where some of the items went. There didn't seem to be any grits or navy beans in the place, and he couldn't remember ever seeing any.

"That's as far as I can go," he said.

"Yeah. Strip race you to our room. First one in the room and out of her clothes wins. Go!" She tore out of the kitchen. Well, he had more experience running around the house, and he could take the stairs two at a time. He passed her doing that, but she already had her blouse off by then. She wasn't wearing any bra.

In the room, he tossed his shirt and t-shirt on the dresser. She came in while he was removing his sneakers. By the time he had his jeans and his first sock off, she'd removed her sneakers and jeans. That left her naked and him wearing one sock and his shorts.

"You cheated," he said.

"I won! That means you have to kiss my mouth and tits." Well if he'd known those were the stakes, he wouldn't have hurried. As soon as he'd finished stripping, he lifted her for a long, wet kiss. Then he got another grip and lifted her further. He got his left arm under her butt to hold her where her breasts were conveniently at mouth level. She cooperated by circling him with her legs and hanging on around his neck. He wasn't finished with her breasts by any means, but he was thinking ahead.

"The bed's still made."

"Beds! Who needs them?" Well, they didn't really. Sex in bed might be what marriage was about, but they were newlyweds in an empty house. Still, he carried her over to the bed so she'd have a safe place to fall if his strength gave out.

Then he was holding her up and stroking between her labia. Her liquid was already running out, and she was holding on tightly. As his strokes continued, she clutched him against her until his mouth couldn't reach either breast. He moved one hand from supporting her butt to holding her waist, but he kept the other hand stroking her softness.

Then she writhed in his arms. While some of the motions almost broke his neck and others nearly tore her from his arms, her motions provided the most erotic sensations he could remember.

"Oh, love, oh, Marilyn, oh, darling, oh." He couldn't express it. Her arms were now away from his neck, and her legs, if still around his waist, felt looser. He lowered her until she almost touched his cock. Unfortunately, it wasn't the right part of her. He opened her labia with his index and middle fingers and pointed his cock in the right direction with his little finger. She slid down a little more and he was in the right place.

"Oh, darling," he said. He pushed his groin forwards and felt more of his cock's head enter.

"Yes, she said. She could feel it, too. As she slid down his body slightly, he went a little deeper. He could feel her heels dig into his hips. As she slid further, her mouth came into range of his. They kissed; their tongues met. As more and more of her surrounded him, his face went from pointing up to pointing down without breaking the kiss. He moved forward and backward, slightly in and slightly out, but always a bit more in than he'd come out.

When the kiss had to break, he lowered her less slowly. With her all the way down so his cock would have supported her if it was strong enough, he kissed her hairline.

"Darling, sweet darling." And she was sweet. What had begun as athletic play had turned into close cherishing. He moved side to side on his feet to move within her. He was getting aroused, close to coming. Luckily, she was even closer. He felt her tense. Then she writhed in his arms and around his cock.

"Darling," he said as he felt his orgasm rushing towards him. He lowered her to the bed just in time. His final thrust included his falling over her with only one arm to hold him up. Then he was throbbing and pumping himself into her while trying to keep his weight off her.

Then his last spurts were on the outside of her leg. He was lying with his knees on the floor and on his elbows on the mattress. Even so, too much of his weight was on her.

"Love you," he said.

"You too."

He slowly got up. Soon he got in the shower to clean off his penis and lower body. He hadn't set the alarm, and thought it was time to get dressed. Besides, Marilyn was lying across the middle of the bed. There might not be very much of her, but she didn't leave much room, and what she left was divided into two parts.

Marilyn got dressed, too. She put on panties, bra, and socks this time.

They were back in the library and fully dressed long before Dad got home.

The next morning Mrs. Bryant started on the cooking lessons Marilyn had requested. She didn't seem to want an audience, so Andy took his circuit-design book and a towel out to the back yard. The real value of sun screen lay in Marilyn's application, so he merely took off his shirt and lay down. His study took a back seat to dreaming of what they could do when they were alone in the house.

At lunch he learned that Marilyn had been learning to cook baked beans. Yeah. Mrs. Bryant's version had tasted better than the canned version had. She had everything prepared and in the oven, but not yet baking. She'd set the oven when the time came. Mrs. Bryant didn't quite say, "Have fun, kiddies," when she left, but her smile did.

"I don't want to go upstairs," Marilyn said. "There isn't all that much time." Well, she had said that they didn't need a bed.

"Let's go to the library." The library held erotic memories. Before he had his own collection of used <i>Playboy</i>s, long before he had his own subscription, he'd read some of Dad's racier books. That hadn't been in this room, but the connection had lasted.

There was also a low foot stool. When Marilyn stood on that, they were at comfortable kissing height without his bending down. When they had had a long series of kisses and he had stroked all of her still-clothed body from her shoulders to her knees, he walked around her. He kissed her ears and neck from the back. When he caressed her breasts again, she unbuttoned her blouse. He got her bra open and cupped her breasts.

She leaned back against him as he kissed her ear. When his hands went to her belly, she opened her jeans to invite them lower yet. He pushed the jeans until they fell and then rolled her panties down. He kissed her ears and the skin behind them. He had restricted access between her legs because they were close together, but he managed to squeeze his hand between them. He parted her labia with a finger. The feeling was a little different when she didn't have her legs spread, but it felt sexy.

"Let me get out of these," Marilyn said. "I feel like I'm hogtied." That was an arousing picture.

"Maybe I like having you tied up."

"You say you have to do what Mrs. Bryant tells you to do, and she says that I'm the boss. So..." Well, he'd never rebelled against going to the store, but he wasn't about to hand that much control over to Marilyn. Mrs. Bryant never played power games with him.

"Nope! You have to tell her what orders to give me."

"Andy!"

"You're supposed to love, honor, and <b>obey</b>." That would tell her.

"That wasn't in the service." She was probably right. When did they take that out of the service?

"You just weren't paying attention." Right now, they were in no position to look it up.

"So what do you plan to do, caveman, drag me away by the hair?" She was full of good ideas, first the hogtying, now this. He got in position.

"Sounds good," he said. Then he took her by the (pubic) hair and pulled very gently. He wanted to give her an idea, not hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her -- rape her, maybe, but not hurt her. She giggled at his play-acting.

If her bra was loose and had given access to his hands, it was still hiding her breasts from his eyes. He ducked down to push it up with his head. That brought his mouth where he wanted it. He kneaded her butt while kissing her breasts. He sucked one nipple and then kissed a trail over to the other one to suck it. The kitchen timer went off. She'd been right. There hadn't been enough time.

"Now you have to let me go," she said. "I've got to set the oven." Well, she had to set the oven. This was her first lesson in cooking, and he certainly didn't want to be to blame for any problems. On the other hand, letting her go?...

"Maybe not." He put her over his shoulder and carried her into the kitchen.

"Andy," she said on the way. He was too busy spreading her moisture down to her clitoris, easier in this position, to answer. Marilyn might complain, but she didn't sound serious about it.

"So set the oven," he said when she was within reaching distance of the controls. She fiddled with them and then dropped her hands.

"Now I have to set the timer again," she said. So he walked over to the counter top where the timer was and turned around so she could reach it. "Andy, you're making it hard to concentrate."

"I'm concentrating just fine. Besides, you're the one who's making it hard." She picked up the timer and, presumably, set it. When she put it down, he started to walk away from the kitchen. He patted her butt. That felt so good that he slapped it -- a little harder than he had intended.

"Andy!" She got that right.

"Yeah. Who did you think had you over his shoulder?" She might be light, but he'd been carrying her for some time. As he stroked her some more, he considered where he should put her down. The bed had its attractions, but so did Dad's favorite armchair in the living room. If he remembered correctly, it was just the right height for what he wanted to do. He walked there, being careful to avoid banging any part of her against the walls or dining room table.

"Andy! Put me down!" She said when they had reached the living room. The back of leather armchair was the right height.

"Okay." He walked over to the armchair. "Use your arms to brace for the fall." He turned around and slipped her off his shoulder. She landed over the back of the armchair. Her hands were on the cushion, her face against the back, and her legs falling to a foot from the floor behind the armchair. He turned around again, and he was standing behind her looking down at her lovely butt. He kept a hand on the middle of her back to keep her there, and he used the other hand to excite her some more. Her legs were still bound by the panties rolled down to just above her knees. The jeans, which now trailed on the floor with only the cuffs still on her ankles, were no longer effective in restricting her.

"Andy! You can't bring me off in the living room." He couldn't? Well, he could try.

"I can't?... Ever hear about the experimental process?" As he kept stroking the moisture down to her clitoris she kept producing more moisture. Her other mouth might say it was impossible, but this mouth was saying that it was happening. He thought she was stiffening, but the position might have misled him.

"Ahh!" she said. He'd been right! She writhed and her moisture poured out. The way she was supported by the chair and by his hand on her back, her middle stayed where it was and she writhed at both ends. Some of the kicking connected to his legs, but she was wearing sneakers and the jeans were hampering her. He pulled her back a little by her hips. Then he kept one hand on her while he opened his belt and unfastened his jeans with the other. When his briefs were down around his ankles, he stepped on her jeans to hold her legs still. Then he put himself at her opening.

She was smooth and warm, but tighter than ever. He raised himself on his toes as he slid slowly into her. When he was as far in as he could get in this position, he grabbed her by the hipbones and pulled almost all the way out. He got into a rhythm, but she clasped around him on his third stroke. He moved in and out through her climax. He sped up as her internal tightness eased, but she soon clasped around him again. Moving through that was too much.

"Darling," he said. He pulled back with his hands, raised himself to his tiptoes with his legs, and drove into her with his hips. He felt himself spurting into her depths. Then she milked the last from him as his relaxation moved him part way out.

When he was next aware of the outside world, he was lying over her, gasping. He was barely holding himself up by his hands on the chair arms, and his elbows were digging into the chair back.

"Get up, can you?" she asked.

"Sure." He moved back awkwardly. Her position looked even more awkward. He stepped off her jeans. "Better let me get your jeans back before you get up, though." The jeans were inside out and mostly off her. He got them back on and around her ankles. He got his own clothes back on.

He stood with his right hip against hers and his right hand on her other hip. He grabbed her shoulder before saying, "Push back." When she raised herself, he tightened his grip and lifted her. He bent at the knees until her feet touched the floor. When he unrolled her panties, she put them on. Then she finished her jeans.

"Andy..."

"What's the use of having the house to ourselves if we don't use it?"

She laughed while fastening her bra. "You're impossible." She straightened her blouse but didn't button it. "You're sure of me, aren't you?" Well, yes.

"We're married." They were together permanently. They had this house only temporarily, but they had each other forever.

"Well, if you're going to tire me out downstairs, you know what you'll have to do, don't you?"

"What?"

"Carry me upstairs. Not over your shoulder, but in your arms like you do across thresholds." Well, she hadn't been the only one tired out. He'd been doing some heavy lifting, and he'd had an orgasm. He managed to carry her up, though, and managed creditably. He set her on the bed and kissed her belly through the gap in the blouse. After taking off his sneakers, he cuddled her on the bed until she suggested a shower. Probably they needed more than a rinsing off this time. It was a lovely shower though it started to run cool towards the end. Marilyn finished up the dinner before Dad got home.

"Marilyn cooked this," Andy said when he couldn't wait any longer.

"My compliments to the chef. It's delicious."

"Well, I cooked it under Mrs. Bryant's watchful eye," Marilyn said. "I don't know enough cheap dishes, and she's teaching me some."

"Excellent. You did a great job on this one."

"You don't mind my kidnaping your menu?" she asked.

"I told her that you were in charge," Dad said, "that your every whim should be fulfilled. Then you ask her for help in making your future family life better. My family, too, you know. And you apologize? The only question is whether this will make you happier."

"Well, you know your distinction between pleasure and satisfaction. This is about satisfaction, maybe dissatisfaction. I couldn't serve my husband a rotation of six menus for months."

"I wouldn't have minded."

"My son," Dad said, "you would eat porridge every meal and be happy if she served it." That was very nearly true. He hadn't eaten the broccoli, though. "She wouldn't be happy without fulfilling her image of a good wife."

"Then, too," Marilyn said, "I'd have to eat them. I'm not sure that I could tolerate porridge for more than one meal, if that." They went silent while they ate -- savored in his case -- the baked beans. Marilyn broke the silence.

"I think your analysis is incomplete, Mr. Trainor."

"Oh? Your opinion, his opinion, and what? Porridge, maybe, someone else would hear about -- not a six-meal rotation."

"Your analysis of happiness. There's pleasure, and satisfaction, and contentment."

"Perhaps," Dad said, "but it sounds rather bland."

"Maybe it is, by itself. But you can't experience a life of ecstasy, not even a day of ecstasy. You can experience a lifetime of contentment -- as far as yourself goes, although maybe not the way of the world." Marilyn was usually quite articulate, but she hadn't been on this distinction. Dad must have understood, however.

"An interesting trade."

"But not a trade. There's nothing in contentment that precludes pleasure or even satisfaction. Maybe the satisfaction is about something you did when you were discontented. As you say, you seldom get both from the same period of time."

"And, Miss... Pardon me! And, Marilyn, what gives you pleasure?" Dad was really into this discussion. He didn't slip like that very often. "What gives you satisfaction? What gives you contentment?"

"I get satisfaction from a great many things, from actually learning in a class what I took the class to learn, from having had an impact on Zeta -- a positive impact, from feeding the two of you. On the others, if you'll pardon me, I'll pass." Marilyn could hardly be saying that she didn't get either pleasure or contentment. It must be that the examples off the top of her head couldn't be mentioned in mixed company. If the first pleasures she thought of were with him in bed. he was quite happy to hear that.

"Fair enough." This reply suggested that Dad had received the same impression that he had.

Marilyn kept up the lessons and the meals. If he had judged only by taste, he'd have thought that each meal had been produced by a master chef.

Her periods started later that week. She'd got some old sheets from Mrs. Bryant to use as pads.

"That means we can have sex even now?" he asked. "Darling, I love you."

"Only in here, though." They were in their room.

"Anything you say." They kissed and he slowly removed her clothes. She took a short trip to the bathroom while he stripped himself. Later, he realized that he hadn't provided himself with any Vaseline to replace her lubrication. It was at an awkward moment for stopping, and he decided to go ahead without it. She was warm and smooth enough around him.

"Oh, darling."

"Andy, move fast." Well, he'd said anything she wanted. He moved in and out briskly, then forcefully. Luckily, her orgasm came soon after his. The rest of the week they had sex every afternoon, if not as athletic sex as they had had for the first few days.

"You know," Marilyn said when they were snuggling together one afternoon, "this summer has been great fun, but it's time to get back to the single limbo of campus."

"Single limbo?" What could that mean? The limbo was a dance under a stick. She'd be good at it; he'd be too big to fit.

"We're in a sort of double limbo here. What we're going to be is a couple who are individually productive members of society. School is a limbo. This is a double limbo. We're not preparing for our careers; we're just enjoying ourselves." Well, another kind of limbo. He still wasn't convinced.

"I've heard that 'Life is what happens while you're getting ready to live.'"

"Well, yes. As I said, it's been quite enjoyable. But even school. You know that I have the greatest respect for what you've done, the grades you've got." She had, indeed, one hell of a lot more respect than those grades deserved. "But if you don't actually practice engineering in the future, what will you're accomplishments matter?" Yeah. He had to go on to design actual circuits, circuits that were produced.

"You have a point."

"You know, I'm due back at Zeta a week before class begins."

"All right. We'll move into the apartment earlier yet. You can live there and attend meetings."

"Well, I have to stay in the house Saturday night. That's the Vice President's most important job -- making sure that things are ready for the first meeting of the academic year." Well, he didn't have to like it, but he could bear it. When should they move into their new apartment? When could they? The brochure didn't seem to say. Marilyn called to ask.

"Tuesday afternoon. The Tuesday before registration, and that's only if we request it in advance. That week is when they clean up apartments from what the former tenants leave." That wouldn't do.

"We could take a room in a motel."

"Andy, please. That's not in our budget. That's three days. Anyway, I'll have to be busy most of those three days, and I'll have to stay at the house Saturday night, at least."

"You said every night in my arms." That was his bottom line.

"Well, if we had waited until next year, we would have missed a lot of times that we already have had." Well, yes. It would have been horrible. But what you've already enjoyed is a poor trade for what you're about to be denied.

"All right. But I don't have to like it." She did her best to mollify him with more afternoon time in bed cuddling. Still, enjoyable as that was, extra time didn't compensate for losing the security of having her in his arms every night.

He drove her to the train Saturday. She was taking a fair amount of luggage. He wheeled it to the doorway and turned it over to her when they had to show tickets. He watched her stride down the platform to her train. He wasn't in a good mood when he got back, and Dad didn't try to jolly him. He even skipped church on Sunday. Monday, he loaded the car with his stuff and Marilyn's. Mrs. Bryant added some cooking utensils, bedclothes, towels, and food stocks.

"I'm not going to use these, Andy," Mrs. Bryant said. "You should take them. Here's a shopping list for the food Ms. Marilyn will want in the house when she gets there. Buy it down there." He parked the loaded car in the garage for the night. Mrs. Bryant had left him and Dad meat loaf for his last meal in Evanston. When she got there in the morning, she cut generous slabs from the remainder and put each slab in a hamburger bun for his lunch and snacks on the road. He headed south.

He got to the student-housing office before noon. Their schedule was that the first apartments were available at 2:30, but they took Dad's check and a copy of the marriage license. He went to the bank and did the grocery shopping Mrs. Bryant had suggested. Then he sat in the library until 2:00 and finished off the last meat-loaf sandwich in the car while waiting for their deadline to arrive. He got the key at 2:35 and was in the apartment before 3:00. Then he carried stuff up and put away what he could. He called Marilyn. She was free, and he went to pick her up.

Back in the apartment, they had a long kiss before she directed him in putting the food away. She unpacked and filled her dresser from her suitcases. She sent him back to the grocery for cheese, and they had mac and cheese for dinner. This apartment was bigger, and they could eat in the kitchen. When he'd put the dishes in the sink, she was already in the bedroom. Indeed, she was in bed.

He had definitely been spoiled. A year before, he'd been with her three times in four weeks, and been grateful for that frequency. During the run-up to the wedding, he'd seen her only in public and only once or twice a week. Now, after only four days, he was starved for her. He turned her face down with only a little help from her. Then he rested much of his weight on his hand on her butt while he kissed a line up the back of one leg and then up her back. She turned over, and they had a long, wet kiss. Then he kissed a line back down her front. He hadn't kissed either breast in days, and he took his time there.

She was already tense when he reached her labia. He held her down with his hands on her hipbones, licking and sucking on her clitoris. She writhed almost immediately, and kept writhing while he kept sucking.

"Andy," she said and then writhed again. "I need you in meee!" That last was almost a shout as she writhed yet again. Well, he needed to be in her, too. She was lying diagonally across the bed, and he merely moved over her without straightening her. He paused to kiss her as her hands guided him to her center. Then he thrust to her depths. He tried to move slowly, but without any success at all. He drove in and out while she clawed his back and butt. When she clasped around him and writhed under him, he drove into her so hard he pushed her so that her head was half off the mattress. He erupted into her and then slumped on her.

When he had the strength, he got out of bed to get the leverage to move her. He got into his side and drew her back against him before tucking her in. He fell asleep with her in his arms.

He awoke and turned off the alarm. He relieved himself, shaved, and brushed his teeth. She still wasn't awake, and he eased himself into the bed to hold her without waking her. That didn't last long, but it had been a glorious few minutes. She had her own bathroom time, but didn't run the shower. He put his glasses on soon enough to watch her come out.

"Come back to bed," he said. She looked hesitant. She also looked sexy as hell, but he needed to convince her before she started covering up that sexiness. "Look, you had four days out of my arms."

"Three. You had me last night, and daytimes are a bonus." Well that cut down what he was going to ask, but he shouldn't argue the side issues. Besides, she walked over to the bed.

"Okay, but I think you should allow me to run our times together for three days, today, tomorrow, and Friday. Do you have to be at Zeta house this morning?"

"No. They're doing rooms this morning, and I'm already moved out. I do, however, have to cook you breakfast. Do we have margarine and salt?"

"Mrs. Bryant sent a box of salt and a bag of sugar. She told me to buy margarine, milk, and eggs down here."

"Did you save the receipt?"

"I think so." He was in the habit of saving them for Dad.

"We're going to save all the receipts for groceries." Why did she want that?

"Why? When I buy for Dad, I need them for reimbursements, but..." It came out of the same checking account -- which still wasn't a joint account. Damn! He'd forgotten that completely when she came within kissing distance. "We still haven't got your name on the checking account. I have the papers here, but you have to go in."

"Well, we're going to keep a record of every penny we spend for groceries. And we're going to add them up to make sure we're not going over budget."

"Okay. But can I run our time -- when you're here?"

"I have to cook, but otherwise you can control me through Friday." she got into bed, but she lay a foot and a half away facing him. "You can't do what your did last night, though. If I'm a puddle on the mattress without the strength to get up, saying, 'Okay, Marilyn, you can leave for your duties,' doesn't work." That was one huge crimp in his controlling her -- his controlling their time, for that matter.

"All right, but you're so beautiful then. Can I start now?"

"But I have to cook later." Well that was permission. He kissed all over her face ending with a long, wet kiss. Then he kissed down to her breasts and then her thighs. She writhed beautifully. Remembering her limitation, he cuddled her and covered them both with the sheet. She stayed there a lovely long time, then she went into the bathroom. When she came out, she started to dress.

"It's warm," he said.

"Andy, I'm going to be cooking."

"Wear an apron. I brought two." They were another part of Mrs. Bryant's shipment. She took a long time deciding, looking very attractive while she did. Then she put on an apron. He sat at the table to watch her cook. The view from behind, although the apron was large on her, was sexy.

After breakfast, he stacked the dishes in the sink and watched her cook the navy beans. Her last action was to set the timer.

"Okay," she said. "You have me 'til this rings." She took off her apron as she walked towards the bed. He stopped her just before she reached it. Turning her around, he got on his knees. That put his head close to her breasts, and he kissed from one nipple to the other and back again. Down at that level, he had great access to her entire body and he used that access until his hands were drawn to her thighs as if they were magnetized.

When she sat down on the bed at his urging, his mouth followed his hands. Then his kisses concentrated on her center. While his mouth was busy with her vulva, he used his hands to raise her legs up over his shoulders. She writhed, and he felt it under his mouth and against his back. Merely by looking along her torso while he was still licking her clit, he had an excellent view of it. This might well be the most erotic vision he'd ever had, and he kept licking her to see it again. Then he lifted her to place her on the far side of the bed. He lay on his back on the near side with the top sheet bunched up on that edge. His erection was sticking up in the air, hoping for someone to enclose it.

"When you're ready," he said, "I'll help you aboard." She got up on her knees and shuffled until she was over him. She eased herself down on him and around him. "Now lie on me." She got her torso mostly against his, but this raised her hips off his by an inch or two. Clasping her to him, he rolled to his left. Before he even told her, she stretched out the upper leg. He rolled to his right and she got the other leg back. Now she was lying on him and most of his cock was till in her. "Want the sheet?" he asked. He was warm enough, but he was mostly covered by her. She was out in the air.

"Yeah." He covered them with the sheet and got his arms under it to hug her.

"In my arms." She was in his arms. There was more, of course. He was in her warmth and between her legs, and her breasts were pressed against his chest. This was about as close as they could get.

"Let me raise up a little on top." Well, if her breasts were pressed against his chest, they might be getting squeezed. He didn't want their marvelous shape deformed. He eased his left arm. She wriggled around a little, which caused all sorts of marvelous sensations. She ended up with her hands holding his shoulders and her elbows on his ribs. When she relaxed, that lowered her breasts so that her nipples just touched his chest. The elbows felt a little uncomfortable, but the nipples more than made up for that. He shifted her down slightly, enclosing a little more of his cock. He palmed her butt cheeks.

"Now you're in my arms. They going to need you any time soon?"

"No, They're doing room moves, and -- in case you hadn't noticed -- I don't have a room there any more. They have two vacancies in my old room, which will help Grace." She explained about the problems of moving practically everyone. One complication was that the halls were wide enough for people to go both ways, but not for loads of belongings to go both ways. Another was that almost every destination was already occupied.

Well, that was a problem, and he was a problem solver. He wouldn't try to design a circuit when he was in this lovely situation, but this problem looked simpler. Some details looked simple, indeed.

"What they should do, is leave the sophomores 'til last. Nobody is moving into those rooms. Everybody strip beds. Then the one moving in could dump everything on the bed, like I do with laundry before I sort it. They could put their sheets on top of the dresser in their old room, and empty out the dresser drawers as they move out. Sophomores could help their grand big sisters and then their big sisters. Then they could help her. When everybody is moved, everybody fills her dresser. It shouldn't take more than a morning, even with too much traffic in the halls."

Marilyn looked pensive for a bit. He reached inward to hold her breasts in his hands, stroking her nipples with his thumbs.

"Stay here." Except for slight shifts and wriggles, she did. He hadn't meant to exclude those, anyway. They generated delightful sensations.

The timer ended that interlude. She went into the kitchen to deal with the baked (or not baked yet) beans. She was wearing the apron again when he got there. He sat on his chair to watch her cook.

"Maccaroni and cheese all right for lunch?" she asked when she had put the beans in the oven.

"Later. We have loads of time."

She removed her apron and headed for the bedroom. He watched her butt swivel back and forth as she walked. Well, this would be the last session. She'd have to return to the damn sorority this afternoon. Well, he'd make the most of this time. He'd kneel on the floor instead on lying in bed beside her. That would free both hands, for one thing.

"Take the other side." That would keep his right hand where it could reach her vulva. She lay on the far side of the bed and he knelt on the floor beside her. He put the glasses back on the night stand. He didn't plan on being far enough away from her to need them. They began with a kiss as he drew her back from her housewife mode. Then he stroked her torso down to her thighs.

Whether from the kiss or some remainder from the previous session, she was nice and juicy. He kissed and sucked her breasts while he stroked her labia and clit. When she stiffened, he abandoned the nipple to raise his head. He could see all of her as she writhed. When she was done, he repeated his actions beginning with the kiss on her mouth.

"Andy! I need you now," she said after a few repetitions. Well, it had been fun, and this would be even more -- if terminal -- fun. He knelt between her thighs. He watched her face as she took him in her hand and led him to her entryway. She was intent as she held him and made certain he was aimed right. Then she was pleased when he touched the right spot. She smiled lovingly as he slid inward. He missed a little of her expression at the end, but he felt himself clasped lovingly while he kissed her hairline.

"So full," she said.

"So warm," he responded, "so smooth, so welcoming." He stroked slowly in and out through that marvelous smoothness. On every one of his instrokes, she rose around him to meet the stroke. "Love." That was what he felt, but the word couldn't express how her response thrilled him. He felt as though her will, her words, her actions, and the wet, warm state of her vagina were all agreed in welcoming him.

"Love," he said when she clasped around him. He drove in through that rhythmic clasping, and pumped his love out into her. When his strength disappeared, she was still milking the last drops out of his spent cock. He dropped onto her softness, only his elbows taking a little weight. He should move now; he <b>would</b> move as soon as he got the strength. Even with a large amount of guilt mixed in, though, her body felt delightful under his.

When the timer went off, he managed to move off her and onto his feet. He went to the kitchen to turn the oven off. Only the oven wasn't on. Nothing, not even the light, seemed to be on.

"It doesn't seem to be on," he yelled.

"I need to start my preparations," she yelled back. What preparations weren't clear, but he obviously wasn't letting anything burn because he missed what was on the stove. It was nice to have a place where you needed to raise your voice. In the old place, he'd felt he needed to whisper unless he wanted the neighbors to hear. Soon, he heard the shower running. There was only one response to that.

"No fair," he said when he got into the tub behind her. He washed her, and then himself. When he had patted her dry, she started on her makeup. She shooed him out when that was over. He made the bed. She'd mentioned mac and cheese, and he dished it up.

"You know, you really drained me," she said at the end of lunch

"But you look so sweet writhing like that." She didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue, either. Indeed, she looked like she was thinking about it.

"Look, could you drive me to the house? I'm running late." Sure, but that would mean dressing, which would mean more time, and she was running late. Really it would be faster if she drove.

"Um, why don't you drive yourself. There's plenty of gas. I'll get..." He was in the process of digging out his keys when the next thought struck him. "Don't you have your keys?" She grabbed them from her purse. But he hadn't told her where the car was. "Go out the main entrance and turn right. We have our own slot. It's fifth from the north-west corner."

"Kiss before lipstick?" she said. He held her up to his lips. After ducking into the bathroom, she grabbed her purse on the way to the door. "Love you."

"Love you." He opened the door for her and watched her head down the stairs. Well, she would come back. They were married. All he had to do to keep her was to keep her happy.