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Message-ID: <40060asstr$1040767805@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} rp "Forget All That 07" {Pendragon} (MF rom wl lac) [7/12]
Date: Tue, 24 Dec 2002 17:10:05 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to 
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do 
something else.

    This material is Copyright, 1997, by Uther Pendragon.  All 
rights reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading 
and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long 
as this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous 
permission.

    If you have any comments or requests, please E-mail them to 
me at anon584c@nyx.net.  

     If you save erotic stories, and you prefer that other 
household members not be exposed to them, I recommend that you 
use a file zipped with the PKZip option -spassword.  (Where the 
password that you choose would, presumably, not be "password.")  
This still leaves the titles of the files and the fact that they 
are encrypted open to anybody.

    All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.


                         FORGET ALL THAT
                       by  Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net



Part Seven:
Continued from Part Six.

Wednesday morning was special.  It was Christmas Eve.  Bob's 
father was home.  Vi was coming on the afternoon train.  

"You will get your wrapping done before that, won't you 
dear?" Katherine said.  "I want Kathleen to have the wrappings 
before church."  Katherine was practicing.  Kathleen Violet 
Brennan had been Vi for most of her life.  She had decided to be 
"Kathleen" as soon as she entered medical school.  It made sense;  
it is hard to imagine a woman less like a violet.  Her family 
took its time getting used to the change, though.  "Kathleen" 
would have been easier to learn if Kathleen had ever been at 
home.

Although this was addressed to Bob, I answered it.  "I still 
have to do the fancies for a few presents.  Bob has most of his 
wrapping done."  Bob wraps a very neat package as long as it has 
a regular shape.  (In the Brennan family, more than half of all 
gifts are books, counting magazine subscriptions in the other 
half.)  He does not put ribbons or bows on them.  So he puts the 
paper on gifts from me, and I put the "fancies" on gifts from 
him.  I might say that I am not a real Brennan child in that I 
bring my own gift-wrappings, or -- at least -- take less from the 
family stash one year than I left behind the year before.  Bob 
and Vi think that access to the wrappings is part of their 
birthright. 

"Too bad that now I can take a long vacation, she can't," I 
said. 

"I get the impression, dear, that she took some time to 
spend with Charles.  Apparently, she is very lucky to get a 
vacation at this time of year.  It would be disloyal of her to 
ignore him, don't you think, dear?"

"Loyalty is one thing," Bob's father said, "silence is quite 
another.  I don't know what we did to our kids.  Bob was 
practically a blabbermouth in comparison to Vi."  He would wait 
until she got there to use her new name.  "Did you hear about her 
last visit home?  Kate?  You were on the phone."

"She called me up, dear, to ask if she could bring a friend 
home with her for a visit.  Of course the answer was yes, of 
course I suspected that 'a friend' meant a boy.  But there was no 
reason to jump to conclusions.  'Of course, dear,' I said.  'I'll 
fix up Bob's room for her.  I hope that she'll be comfortable 
without a carpet on the floor.'  

"'Don't bother, mother,' she said.  'Charles will be 
sleeping in my room.'  Of course, I'm not going to put a male 
guest in my daughter's bedroom, and I told her so.  What they did 
after we had shut our door is another story."

"She told me that you asked her to make it look like both 
beds had been slept in," I said.

"And they looked like both beds had been slept in.  On 
separate nights, but both beds."  I looked over at Bob's father.  
He was slightly amused.  Vi thought that he hadn't known about 
that part.  "I probably would have abandoned my principles if he 
could have visited this Christmas," Katherine continued.  "Trying 
to pretend that he was sleeping on the couch would have been 
inconvenient and absurd.  It ruins one's self-image to realize 
that your principles yield to convenience.  Anyway...."

"Anyway," said Bob's father.  "The first time that she 
mentioned his name to her mother -- to either of us -- was 
'Charles will be sleeping in my room.'  Had you heard of him 
before?"

"I don't know how much before," I said.  "I think that she 
may have organized her visit to us before she organized her visit 
to you.  We had to schedule a baptism, after all, not just a 
visit.  And she had called during her first year in medical 
school, crying about breaking up with a boyfriend.  She 
identified that time to Charles as 'the first breakup.'  She 
never told me about the reconciliation.  But then, I was shoulder 
to cry on, not a social secretary."

"Well, we worried about you, dear," Katherine said, "and 
look how you two turned out.  So my worry about her might be 
needless.  On the  other hand, we had actually met you, dear.  
And you two never broke up."  I looked over at Bob.  He was 
trying to look innocent; he can't do that look.  "Parents do 
worry.  I don't like that pattern of breaking up, but at least 
they've known each other for a long while."

"I think," Bob said, "that you are making too much of my 
silence.  I didn't keep you informed about every conversation 
with Jeanette, but you knew about most of my dates.  I asked for 
the car to drive to a dance.  I didn't specify that the dance was 
at my school rather than in Wichita;  I didn't specify that we 
were dancing on the floor rather than the ceiling;  and I didn't 
specify that I was taking Jeanette.  

"As for Vi, you knew that she was dating in high school.  
She kept dating in college.  I never suspected that she would 
stop dating because she was in medical school.  Though it might 
happen.  At some point, you stop reporting your dates to your 
parents."  

Well, this was classical Bob.  Not one statement was untrue.  
(Although outrageously untrue statements are also classical Bob, 
he scrupulously avoids certain kinds of lying.)  There were a few 
points that he passed over, however.  If Bob took the car for 
dates, he needed permission; he also dressed up for dances and 
such.  Those were "dates."  We met a lot of times between dates, 
and I doubt if his parents had known any more about those 
meetings than my parents had.

Parents don't expect to hear about each and every date that 
a college girl has.  They do expect to hear about someone about 
whom their daughter is serious.  Of course, I am in no position 
to talk.  But my parents were different.

"Wait fifteen years," Bob's father said.  "You know that 
your daughter is an autonomous human being," (I told you that my 
parents were different) "but she is still half your future.  
You'd like reports on critical areas.  She knows that she is 
welcome in this home; and she knows that her friends, bar 
outrageous behavior, are welcome.  I'd just like to hear that she 
is dating a man before that I hear that she is sleeping with him 
and contemplating marriage."

"Are they thinking about marriage, then?" I asked.  Vi 
usually tells me things like that as soon as she tells her 
mother.  

"Well, dear," Katherine said, "she hasn't said so, but they 
did visit.  You know how hard it is for them to co-ordinate times 
off.  The visit was no casual event.  Vi never said so, but it 
was something of an announcement."

"I don't want to press her," Bob's father said.  "They have 
to be sure, and residencies in different cities would make a 
mockery of marriage anyhow.  I just would like to walk down the 
aisle at my daughter's wedding.  Please *don't* quote me."  
He had a bypass operation years ago.  He is reasonably healthy, 
but the whole family is conscious of the contingency of his life.  
"Anyway, I've seen both my children graduate and receive advanced 
degrees; and I've held my grandchild.  Although not this 
morning."  On this hint, Katherine yielded her up.  The Kitten 
explored his pockets and found chewable wonders.  He had taken 
one of those sets of plastic "keys" that they make for babies and 
cut the connection; those and the pens filled both his pockets.

"Maman," she said, and was immediately handed to me.

"Yes, darling," I said and gave her a big kiss.  "Je suis ta 
maman."  She wasn't much impressed by that information.  A minute 
later she wanted to go back to the man with the abundant pockets.  
Sheer bribery, I call it.

I was determined to add another jar feeding to The Kitten's 
schedule.  (Or a second feeding of baby food.  But I do think 
that "baby food" applies to breast milk as much as to anything 
Gerber sells.)  So when she showed some signs of hunger, I had 
her grandfather plunk her down in the highchair.  

I made the funny face;  she responded; I shoved the spoon 
in.  She was a little surprised, but closed her mouth on it.  We 
went on from there.  It didn't go as smoothly as it had for 
Katherine; for one thing, when The Kitten wasn't grabbing at the 
spoon, she was reaching toward my breasts.  She knew the 
schedule.  We got a jar of fruit and a significant amount of 
cereal down, however.  The mess was much less than it had been 
previous times.  I cleaned her up and cuddled with her for ten 
minutes before handing her over to Katherine.  "Come to Grandma 
Brennan, dear," she cooed.  The Kitten had very little quilt time 
that morning.  Her grandparents acted like a tag-team.  

Of course, I should have waited to change the schedule until 
we were home.  She got hungry much earlier than I had expected, 
just before an early lunch.  We couldn't delay that because Bob's 
parents were due to leave for the train station.  "I'll change 
her first," said Bob.  "Why don't you feed her upstairs?"  
Everybody went their various ways.  When I got upstairs, Bob had 
the special pacifier in her mouth.

Bob ate with his parents, but he brought sandwiches upstairs 
as soon as they left.  They were lunchmeat sandwiches with 
mustard.  Greater love hath no man than to spread a condiment 
that he hates on his wife's sandwiches.  He stood behind the 
rocker and fed me.  "I can't speak like this," I said.  

"I'll do the talking," he said.  "Nod when it's time."  When 
the Kitten would pause, I would nod, and Bob would say a 
sentence.  It must have confused The Kitten no end.  At first he 
used lines of verse, then he changed his tune.

"Your mother, dear Kitten, is ... the kindest mother in the 
whole world....  But she is more than that....  She is also the 
sweetest wife....  She is beautiful, ... and kind, and sexy, and 
smart....  She can manage an office, ... and find her way around a 
foreign city....  She runs a house, ... and reads French 
handwriting, ... and wows professors....  She prepares good 
food, ... not quite so intimately for me as for you, ... but 
delicious nonetheless, ... and she keeps the house clean, ... and 
translates documents, ... and reminds her husband ... of 
birthdays and such....  Good as her cooking is, ... it can't match 
the sweet milk ... that she prepares for you....  Doesn't it taste 
good? ...  Daddy has sampled it, ... and the taste is 
delicious, ... but not so sweet as the source....  She is a woman 
flowing in milk and honey.

"She makes the milk for you, ... though Daddy steals a 
bit....  She makes the honey for Daddy....  It leaks out down 
below....  It has the most enticing aroma in the world, ... but 
its taste is a thousand times more arousing....  That is how you 
came to be....  Your mommy's shape attracted your daddy....  Her 
smooth skin and cute ears brought him near."  At this point, he 
touched my ears.  I was blushing while he said this, but he kept 
my mouth full.  Okay, there was a lot that I could do to stop 
this line of blarney, but it excited me while it embarrassed me.  
It wasn't the sort of thing one should tell an innocent child 
about her parents, but The Kitten was too young to comprehend.  
And I had confided some of my plans for papa to her.  Anyway, he 
was going on.

"The breasts that you suck aroused him....  But the honey 
made him gasp with its aroma, ... maddened him with its taste.... 
It made him desperate to enter her, ... and then it smoothed that 
entry....  Anointed with her honey, ... driven by her beauty, ... 
excited by her acceptance, ... clasped by her loving warmth, ... 
Daddy moved faster and faster within Mommy until he shot you 
out....  But Mommy was holding part of you, too....  When those 
parts came together, ... it was a Kitten....  And Grandma Brennan 
was glad ... when she heard that it had happened, ... and Grandpa 
Brennan was glad when ... he heard that it had happened, ... and 
Aunt Kathleen was glad when ... she heard that it had 
happened, ... and Mommy was ecstatically happy when she found 
out, ... which she did first of all...  Daddy was happy that ... 
there would be a Kitten, too, ... even though he didn't know how 
cute, ... and sweet, and funny, and clever, ... The Kitten would 
turn out to be....  But Daddy was happy when The Kitten was 
started, ... before he knew that she was going to arrive at all."

Okay.  That would need editing before we used it for a sex-
ed lecture for The Kitten, really for Cat -- which would be her 
name as soon as she could walk.  Still, there were worse ways of 
expressing it.

Aside from brushing my cheek with the arm that was feeding 
me, Bob had touched only my ear and my neck, both of them 
briefly.  I was, however, aroused enough to be nearly squirming 
in the rocker.  Neither The Kittens sucking nor the rocking 
motion helped a bit (or they both helped, depending on how you 
figure it).

"So, darling daughter," Bob continued.  "As soon as you are 
quite done, ... we will set you on the quilt over there, ... and 
Mommy will go to make sure that what Daddy shoots into the 
honey, ... doesn't cause any rival sibling, ... to our very own 
Kitten....  Then, since you won't need ... the rocker, ... Daddy 
will use it instead....  And he will rock and rock in the 
chair, ... and rock and rock in Mommy, ... until the honey is 
flowing freely, and ... Daddy and Mommy will rock ... together in 
the chair, ... and rock against ... each other as well....  Then 
they will be real real happy....  They will try to keep you happy 
too....  N'est-ce pas, ma femme?"

"Certainment, mon mari," I said.  And we rocked in silence 
for a minute while Bob played more and more with my hair and 
earlobes, and The Kitten played less and less with my breasts.  
"I think that she is done," I whispered to Bob.  I handed her to 
him for the burping.  That is much less necessary these days, but 
I think she enjoys the contact.  I know that he usually does, 
although perhaps not that afternoon.

He was still dressed when I came back from the bathroom in 
my robe, but he stripped quite rapidly.  The Kitten's quilt was 
fairly close to the heater, but separated from it by some 
shelving.  We need fear neither a chill nor a burn.  Bob placed 
our suitcase between the rocker and the quilt.  

We kissed gently while we were standing there, then quite 
hotly.  Bob's hands roved all over my body before he removed the 
robe.

The Kitten was watching us in the sun-lit room.  "Bob," I 
said, "I can't."  He looked as though I had struck him.  "Let's 
go to the bed."

Bob relaxed.  "Sure, the bed isn't 'no.'  Can you sit on the 
foot?"  That was pretty-well hidden from The Kitten.  I nodded.  
He kept kissing me and stroking me.  I broke for the bed.  I sat 
on the foot while Bob knelt between my legs.  I bent over to 
exchange one last hot tongue kiss.  I looked at The Kitten before 
flopping back on the bed.  She was looking at a rattle that she 
had just found.

I dropped back and pulled a corner of the bedspread over my 
shoulders.  Bob kissed my stomach, circling my navel before 
sticking his tongue into it.  I wiggled.  "Bob don't," I said.  
It was an entirely different "don't" than I had said to the 
rocker.  He kissed my mound.  "Are you sure you don't mind the 
hair?" I asked.

"I love your hair," he said.  "I loved your offering to me."  
I had shaved it for his birthday.  I had never said for how long, 
but I felt like an "injun giver" for letting it grow back.  Bob 
kissed the mound a few more times, before he dropped to the 
thighs.

"Remember that Vi's train *might* be on time," I said.  
"I want you up here on top of me well before they get back."  
Then I lay back to enjoy the trip.  

I had been fairly wet down there when I left the room, Bob's 
comments about honey having drawn some.  I had cleaned all that 
off before inserting the diaphragm, of course, and been totally 
dry when I came back.  Bob's lips and tongue were changing that 
situation, but I was really farther along in my arousal than Bob 
could tell.  I grabbed a pillow just in case.  He parted my outer 
lips with his fingers.  He could have done the same with the 
inner ones, but he licked the edges until they slowly spread.

"I do love you," I told him.  I couldn't help lifting my 
hips as his tongue finally swept along the length of one lip.  
"You think it is just your genitals, ..."  I shivered as he 
licked the other lip.  "and your fingers, ..."  I was quite juicy 
now, and he sucked up a bit. "and your lips, ...." I tensed as he 
licked across my bud.  I wouldn't say anything coherent any more.  
I pulled the pillow across my mouth as he settled in to lick me 
to ecstasy.  

"Oh Bob," I moaned. My hips were moving under his mouth now, 
but that didn't keep his tongue from kindling more fire to feed 
the one burning in my belly.  "Bob," I shouted into the pillow.  
The fire tensed my body into an arc, pressed against his mouth 
near the top.  He accepted this offering with a long, sucking, 
kiss.  I screamed something unintelligible into the pillow as the 
fire flared through me, shook me, and dropped me back on the bed.

"Oh Bob," I said when I could breathe.  He came onto the bed 
and held me.  "Love you," I managed to gasp out.

"I love you, too," he said.  He kissed my face and head, 
avoiding my mouth to let me breathe.

"I know you love me," I said after a while.  "Tell me you'll 
love me forever."

"Forever, despite anything, as long as I live."

"Is The Kitten watching us?"

"Not now" he said.  "She is playing with her toes."

"Give me five minutes."

"Of course, as long as you want.  Do you want me in you 
then?"  Well yes, but I had been getting too many of my wants 
lately.

"What do you want?" I asked.  "Not making an exhibition."

"Could you manage an encore?"

"You'd have to manage it, but I could participate.  Kiss me 
here first."  I meant with us both lying on the bed.

He chuckled.  "Anywhere you ask.  How about here?"  He 
kissed my shoulder.  "Or here?"  He kissed my temple.  "Or here?"  
He kissed my ear.  "Or here?"  He kissed my mouth and licked my 
lips and played tag with my tongue.  I had to break it to 
breathe, but it was lovely while it lasted.  He hadn't any more 
questions, but he had lots more kisses.

"Try here," I said and guided him onto the breast that The 
Kitten had just left.  "Be very gentle."  He was gentle, 
worshiping it with his mouth more than actually sucking on it.  
"Anyway, you think it is just your lovely lips and tongue and 
fingers and the other part that fills me and make me feel so 
nice.  But, beyond them, I love your voice, and your gentleness, 
and the way that you talk and read to The Kitten."  He licked all 
over the areola then, a game in which he tries to avoid the 
nipple.  He can't quite avoid it, but the touches are 
unpredictable, and very light, and incredibly tingly.

"Oh Bob," I said.  He kissed the nipple.  It was a light 
peck for goodbye.

"I love you," he said as he started to kiss down across my 
stomach.  I was recovered now, and anxious for him to get to his 
goal.  Bob kissed everywhere on his path, jumped from the path to 
tickle my navel again, and continued from there to my mound.  He 
went on kissing there a long time, probably because he had to 
leave me to go any farther.

"Check on The Kitten," I reminded him.  

"She's fine," he said from a point above my knees.  

Because of everything that I had been through already, my 
inner lips were exquisitely sensitive.  Bob guessed that, or 
wanted to tease, or was just expressing his tenderness.  Anyway, 
his kisses and licks were soft and slow and sprinkled all over 
that tiny area.  Then the tension of promise captured me.  I 
pulled the pillow back to my face.  Wave after wave of pleasure 
rolled through me from his tongue, each leaving me wound tighter 
than the last.  One last kiss wound me the tightest.

Then the tightness broke, and flowed through me, and pulsed 
inside me, and carried me away, and then stranded me.

Bob was up on the bed beside me, kissing my temple and my 
forehead.  "I love you," he said.  "From the instant in the 
schoolyard, to the day we talked of our future, to the long 
afternoon, to the time in the woods, to the day you forgave me, 
to seeing you walk down the aisle, I have loved you.  I loved you 
in the hotel room, where you were so brave and accepting.  I 
loved you in the forest, in the tent in the rain, in the 
furnished apartment, the birthday and Christmas presents.  When 
you followed me to Boston as if it were the ends of the Earth, 
when you led me through Paris as if you were born there, I loved 
you and admired you and lusted after you.  When you asked me for 
a baby and wanted to lie there until it was born, when you 
presented me with our daughter, when you do so much to care for 
her.  From meeting you until this moment, I love you, and want 
you, and want to care for you.  I always shall."

"Let me get all on the bed," I said.  I moved up towards the 
head of the bed, Bob trying to help.  "I love you, too.  I always 
shall.  Can I have you in me this time?"  We kissed, and he 
stroked me all over, not concentrating on the sensitive parts.  
Then our kiss got hotter, and his hand stroked over the insides 
of my thighs.  

I was running like a river by this time, as Bob found out 
when I parted my legs to let his hand reach their juncture.

"Oh love," he said.

"Yes," I said. "Love."  It seemed a meaningful statement at 
the time.  And it must have been, because he kissed me 
passionately but briefly on my mouth and climbed between my legs.  
Which was precisely what I had wanted him to do.

He entered me quite smoothly.  His motions were pleasure and 
fulfillment to my body and spirit both, until they became need.  
I met his thrusts with mine, and he speeded up.  He reached 
between us to touch me.  I tensed as he did this, and spasmed two 
strokes later.  He was only an instant behind me, pulsing into my 
depths.

We lay entangled and gasping for breath until The Kitten 
cried.  Bob picked her off the bare floor, patted her into 
comfort, and put her back on the quilt.  I dabbed up our mess and 
grabbed my robe.  Given the chance, The Kitten will suckle a bare 
breast within half an hour of filling up.

I went into the bathroom first, though we might have gone 
together at home.  I dressed while Bob was gone, but he came back 
wearing only his shorts.  He dropped down on The Kitten's quilt, 
and gestured to me to take the other side.  We didn't touch each 
other, but formed walls to her play space.

She shook a rattle for a minute then flung it away.  Bob 
retrieved it but put it behind him.  I got another toy from the 
pile at the wall end of the quilt and offered it to her.  We 
hardly talked to her and not at all with each other.  The Kitten 
rolled until she ran into Bob.  He captured her and blew across 
her hair.  She laughed and tried to roll away.  After a second, 
he let her go.  She laughed more and rolled all the way into me.  
So I captured her.  Instead of blowing on her hair, I kissed the 
top of her head.  Rolling back, she got turned a bit.  She ran 
into fuzzy bear.  She started playing with it, the rolling game 
forgotten.

I think we may both have dozed.  

We were surprised by the slam of the front door.  Amtrak, 
which you can't depend on for *anything*, had been on time.  
I slipped on my shoes and closed the door before running 
downstairs.  

As my fifteen-year-old bridesmaid, Vi had been strikingly 
mature.  As an intern of twenty-six, Kathleen (I might as well 
make the change here) exuded youthful enthusiasm.  We hugged.  
"How have you been doing?" I asked.  "Did you stop in Ohio?"

"Only two days.  I'm fine.  Slept almost all the way in the 
trains, and have cut my sleep debt almost in half.  Char sends 
his love."  

"I thought that all of that was taken."  She laughed.  "Talk 
later?"  She nodded.

"And how come he got pictures that I didn't?" she asked.

"Because he isn't on my Christmas gift list."  He only got a 
set of pictures from the baptism, anyhow.  She had already 
received more pictures than that.  We hugged again.  Bob came 
clattering down the stairs.

"Dr. Brennan, I presume," he said.  (Have I mentioned how 
proud we are of her new status as an M. D.?)

"Dr. Brennan, I presume," she answered.  They hugged.  That 
settled, Bob went out to get the rest of her luggage from the 
car.  The conversation became general, which is a polite way of 
saying that four Brennans were talking at once.  "Enough of this 
chit-chat," Kathleen said.  "I have to inspect my god-daughter's 
religious progress.  I think that inspection will take until we 
leave for church."

"I'll go get her," I said.  Bob slid off into the kitchen, 
where the remains of lunch hadn't cleaned themselves up while we 
were otherwise engaged.

The Kitten was still on her quilt.  She wasn't complaining 
about her diaper, but it was certainly ready for a change.  I 
took care of that before bringing her downstairs.  She was two 
hours away from any sulks and happy to greet a new admirer.  I 
don't believe that she could possibly remember Kathleen.

"Catherine Angelique," Kathleen said.  "Oh how you have 
grown."

"Dear," Katherine said, "let me tell you something that I've 
told the others.  This is Jeanette's child.  Jeanette is 
providing her with the food that she needs, and the comfort that 
only she can provide.  You may have your share of play and 
cuddling with her subject to two rules.  One, Jeanette makes the 
rules; you don't do anything she says not to do, whether you 
think it is safe or not; you give her back to Jeanette on demand, 
no ifs ands or buts.  Two, there are five of us; Jeanette is 
providing most of the input; we four take care of the output.  If 
you can't change her diapers, you can watch the rest of us hold 
her."

"Mother, I'm a medical intern.  I just went through med 
school.  A dirty diaper from a healthy baby is nothing.  For that 
matter, I've changed her before; and I certainly can again.  
Maybe I should start now."

"You shouldn't," I said.  "I changed her upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Bob's father said.  "Bob came down not ten 
minutes ago.  Bob!  Come here!"  Those last three words could 
easily be heard in the kitchen, probably could be heard in the 
street outside.

"Yes sir," Bob said.

"You were included in your mother's rules.  You left a wet 
baby for your wife to change.  Do you duck all the dirty jobs?"

"Sir.  I have changed a third of my daughter's diapers since 
we arrived here.  If Jeanette does a few changes, it's because 
she is there when it's necessary, and I am absent or asleep.  I 
have changed my first-born's diaper almost every day since she 
came home from the hospital."

"One diaper a day?"

"Not one diaper a day, many diapers most days.  I have 
*held* my first-born child *every* day of her first 
seven months except when holding her was a threat to her health.  
I have *changed* her every day that I have held her since 
nurses ceased being available.

"Jeanette does primary care.  I won't compare myself to her.  
I would, however, ask if there is any other father in this room 
who *saw* his first born once in every *week* of that 
child's first seven months.  For that matter, Jeanette needed me 
for the month before The Kitten's birth more than for the month 
after."  (That wasn't quite true.  Bob was forgetting how 
traumatic the "minor surgery" was that I had after The Kitten's 
birth.)  "I was there for her then."  (Now, that *was* quite 
true -- whichever way you interpret "then.")

Bob had not raised his voice through any of this, though the 
intensity came through and some of the 'S' sounds were hissed.  
Now his volume dropped in half.  There wasn't another sound in 
the house; no one missed a word he said, much as we wished that 
we could.  "I was with my wife and child virtually from the time 
that you walked out of that door until you walked back through 
it.  The Kitten was happy and didn't particularly need changing 
when I left her, which was minutes after Jeanette left her.  You 
*know* that Jeanette wouldn't have ignored her child in 
need;  why do you *assume* that the need developed while I 
was there instead of during the time when I was gone."

"There was no urgent need," I said.  "I'm grateful for 
Katherine's rule, but it isn't fair to The Kitten to present her 
to someone when she is wet."

"I'm considered a good teacher," Bob continued without 
taking any notice of that statement, "a fair scholar, a 
responsible father.  The only person entitled to an opinion 
considers me a decent husband.  Every employer that I have ever 
had has asked me back as long as there was work available.  I 
can't remember ever being out of the top third of my class.  I 
graduated on time, completed my course work on time, completed my 
*dissertation* on time.  I have all the negative virtues, 
not a drunk, no arrests.  I even get insurance cheaper for being 
a safe driver.  I don't consider myself to be a world shaker, a 
record setter; but the only person in the whole fucking world who 
considers me a failure is my own father.  And he considers me a 
failure in everything."

"I never said that," his father answered.

"You don't say 'everything.'  You say them one.  Thing.  At.  
A time!"

I looked at Vi.  "It's Christmas Eve," I said.


Continued in Part Eight.
FORGET ALL THAT
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
1997/12/27 
1999/12/30
2000/10/01
2002/12/23

This is the seventh segment of the last story (so far) in a 
series of stories about the Brennans.

More of the story can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/fat_c.htm
Parts 7-9 

The first story in the series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/forever.htm
"Forever" 


The directory to the entire series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan.htm
Brennan Stories Directory 

The directory to all my stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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