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Message-ID: <61270asstr$1310688602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Sophomores - M" Uther MF pett
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Date: Thu, 14 Jul 2011 20:10:03 -0400
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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, 2011, 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
nogardneprethu@gmail.com.

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.


Sophomores - M
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

MF pett


Andy Trainor was deep in his Differential Equations study when somebody
called his name from the hall. He had a phone call. It couldn't be Marilyn,
and the old man wouldn't call unless it was bad news. Did Mom have this
number? No, he hadn't sent it to her yet, and he was on a different floor
than last year. Of course, she could have called Dad to get it, but she
wouldn't unless the need was serious. While he was thinking all this, he was
getting to the phone.

"Hello?"

"Andy?" It was Marilyn. Well, she wasn't as locked in as he had thought.

"Surprise!" he said. "I thought you were incommunicado this week."

"I practically am. Saw Brittany last night, though. She said that you were
the nicest guy." But she'd been going steady in the spring of '74 when he
dated Brittany. She couldn't hold him to blame in the fall of '76. Wasn't
there some statute of limitations? Maybe not for girls' jealousy.

"Well, at least somebody appreciates me." He'd try to keep this light.

"I appreciate you." She didn't sound jealous. "But you were in her house,
weren't you? You were certainly in mine. Would you say hers was furnished
more expensively, less expensively, or about the same as mine." Huh? That
was a weird question. Bethany's dad had given him a standard grilling --
maybe not quite so standard for a junior, which Brittany had been -- but
probably no worse than Marilyn's dad had intended even after his daughter
had spent a year away from home. Marilyn's mom had chilled him. The
situations around his visits to neither home had really invited a furniture
appraisal, and that wasn't one of his skills.

"Huh? About the same, I guess."

"But it was a house, not an apartment?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

"You are more mysterious every time we talk."

"A mystery who loves you." And that was good news.

"And that's the greatest mystery of all. I love you, too."

After that exchange, he took a while to get back to his books, but the books
were a necessity and Marilyn was again unavailable.

He increased his chair-lifting routine to before his shower in the morning
and before bed at night. If he couldn't lift Marilyn this week, then he was
damn-well going to be sure he was able to lift her the next week. That week
came, and he phoned her on Monday.

"Would you like to go to a movie tomorrow?" he asked. He'd stopped
mentioning the movie some time back. This time, *i*Bound For Glory*/i* was
at the Danielson, and he figured that proximity to her sorority house was
not an issue now that he'd be driving.

"Why Andy, I'd be pleased."

So they saw the movie and parked afterwards. He'd taken some time to drive
around in daylight looking for places that were out of sight from houses and
far from well-paved highways. He figured that the gravel roads wouldn't be
traveled much at night. Didn't farmers have to get up early?

When they got into the back seat, Marilyn helped while he lifted her into
his lap. They had a sweet kiss while he opened her blouse. She didn't quite
giggle at his difficulties opening her bra, but he felt the giggles being
repressed. Well, he wasn't a Lothario; he hadn't unsnapped many bras, and
none but hers with his left hand.

They had another lovely kiss while his right hand cupped one of her breasts
and then the other. Her nipples were so responsive. *b*She*/b* was so
responsive. He just had to taste one, and -- when he did -- the taste was
sweet and the nipple hardened further under his lips.

"Oh, Marilyn." She had responded to him.

"Oh, Andy." And that was another response.

He kissed her, his tongue exploring her mouth, until she shifted in his lap.
He drew back so that he was supporting her but not pushing her down. She
started dressing again. When she got back into the front seat, he drove her
back towards her sorority.

"Dad was right about me, you know. Even if he ignored me at the time." He'd
rehearsed this. He wanted more of her than a few hours once a week.

"Huh?" She didn't sound as though he'd made himself clear.

"I did like sitting next to you, even in church. We don't always have to be
doing this, much as I enjoy doing this. I like being with you."

"Yeah. That was fun." Which was agreement of a sort.

"Well, want to do that again? I could pick you up Sunday morning."

"I don't know. I tried out the campus ministry twice. Can't say I was
impressed." And that was disagreement. Well...

"Well, we have a car now. Much as Dad would hate having provided the means,
we could go church shopping." Which would, after all, mean more time spent
sitting beside her, if not touching. And he'd have to give too much
attention to driving.

"Why would he hate that." Her question was what he got for bringing up
irrelevancies.

"Man has a bitter prejudice against church shopping. You attend your local
church." And, after all, that prejudice had led them to Aldersgate and him
to Marilyn. But he wasn't superstitious enough to beleive that that fact
justified the prejudice. "Still, it wasn't mentioned in the bet. This is my
car now. He only pays insurance." But would she see the continuous
gamesmanship that he and Dad played?

"Want to?" she asked. Which sure sounded like agreement.

"Want me to pick you up at 10:15 Sunday?"

"Sure." So, with another date already, he walked her to her porch. The last
kiss was sweet, if not sexy. Back at the dorm, he fell asleep remembering
the date.

She was ready at 10:15, which turned out to be much earlier than they needed
to start. Sitting beside Marilyn was fun, being seen as a couple was
significant, and her parents weren't here to frown at them. On the other
hand, the service dragged. It was as though an Aldersgate service had been
taped and played back at half speed. He hadn't thought he'd be listening to
a sermon with Marilyn sitting beside him, but he could tell that this sermon
was about how these people were an island of goodness in an evil, urban
world.

On the way back to her sorority, they agreed to try another church the next
week, but starting at 10:30. He'd figured that she'd be taking American Lit,
and she was. They decided to study together Wednesday afternoons. He would
drive her from classes to her sorority house every Wednesday afternoon.

They studied seriously, and got a lot done concentrating on only one
subject. When they were done, he set the chair blocking the door again, and
set her on the chair. Then he could fondle her sweet, firm butt while he
kissed her sweet, soft breasts. She kissed his head and ears while he did
so. Then they had a long kiss with their tongues playing tag and her bending
her neck to reach his mouth before he set her down. They had had the room to
themselves the entire time.

They went to the first dance of the year together. They parked afterwards,
and in the back seat he not only kissed her breast and sucked her nipple, he
stroked her leg under her skirt. True, he was afraid to stroke higher than
her knee, but she didn't object.

The next Sunday, they visited First Methodist Urbana. It was the largest
church they'd sampled down here, and the one he felt most comfortable in. It
was still early days, yet.

"Let's keep shopping, though," he suggested. Marilyn agreed.

If you enjoy sitting with me, you have another opportunity," she said. "You
could take me to the home football games." Marilyn had a great idea, which
he should have had first.

"So I could. The first one is in six days." He was a little out of the loop
with regard to non-academic campus life, but he would have had to be deaf
and blind to not know that. "Do you want to go?"

"I feel like I'm begging for a date."

"When the reality is that you have a dense boyfriend."

They went and sat with her sisters. Okay, so sometimes he was jealous of all
of Marilyn's time that the sorority took. They didn't perceive his jealousy,
though, and most of them spoke of him as "Marilyn's Andy." He liked having
everybody see that he was hers. Besides, Marilyn sat right next to him.
Aside from the exciting parts of the game when everyone was on their feet,
she had her hip and thigh pressed against him. And when it was time to
celebrate a great play, they celebrated with a kiss.

They gave two sisters rides back to the house, and then went off to park.
They didn't go beyond kissing since it was still light and the streets were
busy.

The next several weeks, they kept up their usual activities while the
weather became chillier. Making out was much more comfortable in a car with
a heater than it had been in the sometimes wet -- often chilly grove.

He figured that she wouldn't be too hard on him if he crossed some secret
line she'd set as long as he didn't rush things. On the other hand, if she
articulated a rule, she was likely to make him keep it forever. Still, he'd
applied sun screen to her naked thigh in public, if only once. She couldn't
be too shocked at his touching her pantyhosed thigh while they were making
out. Every week in the back seat, he stroked higher on her leg. He kept his
arm against her knee and measured his distance by what part of the arm the
knee touched. When he'd reached the limit for that night, he stroked up and
down her thigh to that limit while kissing her and stroking her breast with
his other hand. She was so smooth, both her breasts and her legs.

The other aspects of this semester were going great. Differential equations
were comprehensible if you did the work, and he was always careful to do the
work. After planning so long to become an EE, he was finally studying
electrical engineering and enjoying that study. He not only had a brilliant
study partner in American Lit, they were now on short stories. Not, except
for Twain's frog, short stories he'd read before, but he'd apparently read
short stories for pleasure more than most of his classmates had. In Drawing,
those with artistic talent or training had separated themselves out, and he
was among the better students of the remainder.

Even Phys Ed swimming was going -- swimmingly. As long as you stayed in your
own lane, you didn't have to worry about an opponent or a teammate, his
commonest problems in PE. Again, he didn't shine, but he was making
satisfactory progress.

When he invited Marilyn to the second home game, she asked if she could
offer rides to some pledges. He agreed. This turned out to be a greater
favor than he'd thought it would be, since it saved them waiting for a bus
on a bitterly cold day. It turned out that one of those pledges was
Brittany. Well, at least that was one name he didn't have to memorize on the
fly. And Marilyn, who had -- after all -- issued Brittany's invitation, had
no grounds for jealousy. He'd only dated Brittany after Marilyn had told him
that she was going steady. Still, Brittany seemed to be trying to make a
point, maybe to her fellow pledges, about their previous acquaintance.

"Andy," she said. "I recognize the car, but I didn't know it was yours. I
thought it was your family's."

"It was. Dad gave it to me."

"For making dean's list," Marilyn said. She wasn't completely accurate, but
she sounded like his cheering section when she said it.

"Boy," said one of the pledges, Robin? "I wish my Dad would give me a car
for making dean's list."

"Honey," said another, "I'll give you a Rolls Royce if you make dean's
list."

"As if you could afford a Rolls Royce."

"As if you could make dean's list." the back seat girls all laughed at that.
He felt that he and Marilyn, only a year older, after all, were adults
taking some kids to a game.

"I'll bet," Brittany said, "I was in this car before you were, Marilyn."
That was a little too much.

"Yeah," he said, "but this is your first time in the back seat." If this
implied that Marilyn had made out with him in the back seat, something she
might not want the pledges whom she supervised to know, it also stated
firmly that Brittany had not.

At the game, Marilyn carried one blanket and one of the pledges carried the
other. They sat behind the pledges and at one side of the Zate section.
Marilyn handed the blanket to him.

"Wear this like a Superman cape, then sit down." When he did, much of the
blanket trailed into the grit under the bleachers. He stood back up, turned
the blanket sidewise, took some folds over his shoulders, and tried again.
This time the edge of the blanket was above his pants cuffs. Marilyn stood
in front of him, facing away.

"Lift me into your lap," she said. When he did, she pulled the blanket
around them both. Since both were wearing parkas, this would keep them nice
and warm. Soon, though, she opened her parka. The blanket was still around
them, and the parka covered most of her, but she couldn't be as warm as he
was. And, when it came to that, he wasn't really warm yet. He was barehanded
because he'd been driving, and neither the blanket nor her body heat had had
adequate time to warm him.

The unzipped parka, however, gave him something to explore. He moved his
right hand inside her parka and stroked over her sweatshirt. Her breast was
especially soft. She wasn't wearing a bra! He reached down, found that her
sweatshirt was outside her jeans, and brushed both hands upwards under it.
Her skin was hot to the touch, and she shivered.

"Sorry," he murmured. He pulled his hands down and started rubbing them
together. If he stimulated the blood flow in his hands, she wouldn't feel
them as so cold.

"No. Don't," she said. She wasn't talking about touching her. She was
talking about withdrawing his hands. He rubbed his hands together more
vigorously, then reached for the bottom of her sweatshirt again. She
flinched when he got to her skin, but she didn't try to stop him. He held
her belly with his palms until it didn't feel quite so hot. Then he raised
his hands to her breasts. They felt warm, and his hands must have felt cold
to her, but she sort of nodded when he reached them. And her nipples were so
firm between his fingers.

There was a football game going on in front of them, and he gave it enough
attention to know what all the shouting was about. The important occurence,
however, was the soft, warm Marilyn under his hands. He kissed the side of
her neck and her ears as often as he could. And, when the home team got a
touchdown, he lifted her by her bare armpits so that she could see while
everyone was on their feet.

"You're the sexiest woman," he told her when he kissed her on the sorority
porch. And he had a hard time, and a hard cock, getting down to studying
that afternoon because he remembered that sexiness. The next morning, on the
other hand, she looked chaste, if sweet, riding to church with him. She
probably looked as chaste to the sprinkling of people who showed up, despite
how close they sat together. That closeness was definitely the only pleasure
from that service.

"Sorry," he told her driving back. He'd been scraping the bottom of the
barrel on this one. The cabinet probably had too. The minister sounded like
he needed lots of practice preaching, and he was -- after all -- getting
that.

"I don't know why," she responded. "We did what we said we would. We
sampled. Now, if you took me back, I'd expect an apology." She was always so
kind.

"You're sweet. I don't expect anything better, really, from the rest of the
churches on my list -- some of them have local preachers. Do you want to go
back to First Urbana?"

"Why don't we?" And that last word was the decisive one. This was something
we -- Marilyn and Andy -- were doing.

Studying together and parking after movies were things *b*they*/b* were
doing, too. She never made him feel that the touch of her sweet thighs were
his pay for providing tickets and transportation. And, as he stroked up one
inch higher that Tuesday, she seemed to welcome his hand. He kissed her
breast and stroked her thigh, going that high but no higher, until she
seemed restless. Maybe their time was up. When he straightened, she began
rearranging her clothing. He stroked down her thigh one more time and then
withdrew his hand. When she moved off his lap, he went into the front seat.
He drove her back to her sorority, and they shared one last kiss on the
porch. Her hips swung sexily as she went in the door, but she was going
away. He wouldn't see her for another day.

And that next afternoon, he picked her up after class. They drove to her
sorority house and both went to the study room. Marilyn was the English
major, and still knew more than he did. On short stories, however, he
figured he could participate. *i*Leaves of Grass*/i* had left him trying to
follow Marilyn through an absolutely foreign environment.

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

A few people at First UMC Urbana behaved as if they recognized them, but it
had been a month since they'd been there. When they went back the next
Sunday, however, they were recognized -- sort of.

"Andy and Marilyn Trainor, isn't it?" a lady asked.

"Half right," he answered.

"He's Andy Trainor." Marilyn was being more helpful than he'd been. "I'm
Marilyn Grant. We're not married."

"Not even engaged," he put in.

"We're just two college students who thought a regular church would better
fit our needs than the campus ministry," Marilyn said. Well, she'd tried out
the campus ministry; he hadn't even done that. But, she was right about him.
The services of the campus ministry wouldn't have had Marilyn present, and
that was his first requirement for a church service.

"You don't mind, do you?" Marilyn asked on the way back.

"Why should I mind? To be paired with you is an honor." And, after all, if
other people regarded her being married to him as something likely, she
might come to regard it as something possible.

Studying with Marilyn, while it mostly meant being with Marilyn, brought
other advantages. He got an A on his midterm. On the way to the movie that
Tuesday, he found that she'd got one too.

"We're on a roll," she said generously. "Studying together is obviously good
for us." He was glad she thought so, but honesty made him point out the
difference.

"Well, it's good for me. You're the English major. I'm not sure I contribute
anything." Then he decided to shut up. He certainly wanted to continue
studying together. And they went to a movie together, too. He kept his arm
around her for the whole show.

"I'm not sure I should be touching my teacher," he said. He waited until
they were in the back seat after the movie before he said it, though.

"Well, I'm sure I should be sitting on my teacher's lap," she said. She got
into his lap sideways. After unbuttoning her blouse, he dealt with her bra
with his left hand while his right explored between her legs. The fingers of
his left hand stroked the smoothness of one of her breasts while his lips
kissed the smoothness of the other. As more of his arm was between her knees
then ever before, the smooth softness that his fingers were caressing was a
new part of her thigh. Then his fingertips met a firmness.

"Oh, Marilyn," he said. That was her delta. Through her pantyhose and, he
supposed, her panties, he could feel the springiness of her secret hair.
From marriage manuals and from centerfolds, Andy had a theoretical expertise
on female anatomy. But he'd never felt (or seen) any woman's delta before,
and this was *b*Marilyn*/b*. He slowly drew his hand back from that mystery,
but he needed to return. Well, she'd said that she should be sitting on his
lap, and she'd certainly meant this as part of that sitting. Still, he'd
move slowly enough that she could stop him before he crossed any line she
regarded as a serious violation.

He rotated his wrist so that his hand was mostly under her leg. The bottom
of her thigh was even softer as he started his return journey. He licked her
breast down to the nipple and sucked gently there. When his fingers struck
his own leg, he moved them to the side, still slowly. Then he could feel a
new softness, a new complexity. Through pantyhose and panties, he was
touching her vulva. As gently as he could, he stroked there. When she
tensed, he stopped afraid that she would push him away and jump off his lap.
She didn't, and he understood that her tension was internal, *b*responding
to him*/b*. He resumed stroking, but he was brimming over with love, pride,
gratitude, and even lust.

"Oh, Marilyn," he said straightening, "kiss me." And they had a lovely kiss
while his fingers caressed her. He desperately continued the same motions,
conscious that he was operating from total ignorance. He had to have been
doing something right, though. She kept kissing him, and her body tensed in
his circling arm. Finally, she gasped under his lips.

"Oh, Marilyn. Oh, *b*darling*/b*!" She'd responded to his caresses.
*b*Marilyn had responded to him.*/b* He removed his arm and kissed her all
over her face. "You are so lovely," he said between kisses, "so sexy, so
sweet." He was hugging her when she shivered.

"You must be getting cold." He relaxed his arms and sat back so she'd have a
little freedom.

"A bit. Don't move." She reattached her bra and buttoned her blouse. She was
right. She did that much faster than he could have. When she relaxed against
him, he hugged her again. She still felt chilly, though, and she was such a
tiny girl. He should have turned up the heat when he parked. He handed her
her parka, and she put it on but didn't zip it up. That meant that he could
hug her underneath it. That kept both of them warm.

After he'd scattered kisses over her face, she did the same for him. This
was lovely, saying she not only accepted his intimacy, she welcomed it.
After cuddling her some more, he wondered how much longer he had.

"Do you have to get back?" he asked.

"Not really. I'm scheduled to torture the pledges at 2:00." Which meant that
she did have to get back but not soon. Too soon, but not soon.

"I'll get you back before then." And they sat like that for more than an
hour longer. The cuddle was a wonderful intimacy. His legs started to
complain about her weight towards the end, and he wouldn't have traded what
had gone before for anything, but the cuddle was special, too.

After a sweet kiss, seeming more intimate than their previous ones, at her
sorority door, he watched her in. It was the first time he'd seen her use a
key on this door. Then he went back to his dorm. In bed, he remembered the
evening. If her release had taken a long time, his occurred in seconds.
Conscious memories of that night turned rapidly into dreams of that night.

And, for Tuesdays thereafter, he caressed her and she stiffened in his arms.
The memories of those evenings disturbed him at the most embarrassing times,
but one time had serendipitous benefits. Thursday afternoon was PE. Swimming
doesn't require all that much attention after you've got the strokes down.
He checked that he was in his own lane, got in the rhythm, and let his
thoughts drift to sweet Marilyn two nights before. She'd been so accepting
of his kisses, of his hands. She'd relaxed in his arms and then begun to
stiffen in his arms. At this point the memory was interrupted by the end of
the pool. He stopped, turned, made sure he was going straight, and let his
mind drift again. While he stroked her and sucked her nipple, she'd tensed
more. Then she'd shuddered, almost writhed. He turned again and went back to
the memory. He had gone through the entire evening from her climbing into
his lap to the sweet cuddle afterwards several times and had got to the
shudder again when the bell rang to announce the end of class. He swam to
the end, clutched the gutter and waited his turn at the ladder hoping his
erection would go down by then.

"Trainor." That was the teacher, right above him. He sank a little in the
water, but the anxiety over being singled out was taking care of his
erection.

"Yeah."

"That was your best time by far. Do you know how many laps you took?"

"No. I'm sorry, I wasn't paying any attention to that." Nor, really, to
swimming. Teachers didn't like it when you admitted that your mind had
wandered, though. Their class was supposed to be the center of your life --
even piddling Physical Education.

"That might be it. You looked like you weren't worrying about the swimming.
You may be a swimmer now. You walk a lot don't you?"

"Yeah, I'm a Chicagoan -- Evanstonian, really. We don't drive across the
street."

"But you don't think about how you're walking. You just walk. Well, that's
how people should swim. I'll let you go now. Don't want to make you late for
your next class." As if anyone was stupid enough to schedule a class right
after PE. You couldn't shower and change in the time they allowed you, much
less get to another class.

So, Marilyn was his help in PE as well as in English. Too bad Drawing didn't
assign a portrait for a take-home project. He could picture Marilyn at any
time -- not picturing her was the struggle. He could draw that picture over
and over 'til he got it perfect. The other classes were his responsibility,
but they were also his strengths.

The next Tuesday, she shuddered in his arms and then cuddled in his arms.
The next Wednesday, she was his leader in American Lit. When he stared to
set up their pleasure session afterwards, though, she had a bombshell to
drop.

"There's a dance a week from Saturday," she told said. "I already got an
invitation. I turned it down, but I'm going to accept the next one I
receive." She was giving him a chance, but it was clearly a second chance.

"Marilyn, would you give me the honor of accompanying me to the dance a week
from Saturday."

"Well, I said I'd take the next invitation, so I accept."

"Do I wait too late to ask you?" Stupid question; she'd already told him
that.

"Sometimes." She was his instructor in English, but also in being a
boyfriend. Why did other guys find those rules so easy to understand?

He voted right after class, so he'd be in time to pick Marilyn up for the
movie. He voted for Carter, and decided to give him the congressman and
senatorial candidate from his party. He didn't know anything about the local
issues -- he was an Evanstonian, really -- so he left the other offices
blank.

He took Marilyn to the dance. She was great to watch as she gyrated through
the fast dances, marvelous to feel as she floated through the slow dances.
After the second of those, they walked over to a table and he brought Cokes.
A strange guy came over while they were sitting there drinking them.

"Hello, Marilyn," he said. "Mind if I sit down?" And, sitting down without
permission, the asshole turned to him. "I'm George Walker, a senior and vice
president of Delta Sigma Phi." Which meant that after more than three years
here, the accomplishment that he was proudest of was that a club of other
assholes had voted him second best.

"I'm Andy Trainor. I'm an Electrical-Engineering major." Which meant he as
studying something, which was why you're supposed to be at the U of I. "We
are sophomores. Marilyn's majoring in English." She hadn't declared her
education second major yet, and that was more than the asshole deserved to
know about her anyway.

A senior had to have a major. He couldn't be at this dance without being a
registered student, so he needed to be taking subjects, at least, for that.
But, instead of answering Andy's opening with a report of his major or some
comment about classes he had to have in common -- in the past certainly --
with *b*one*/b* of them, he started off on the football season. Well, Andy
might not have given them all his attention, but he had attended the home
games, and he let the asshole know that. After some more talk, the current
dance ended. The asshole asked Marilyn for the next dance, and she accepted.
They walked away from him.

He sat there stewing until she came back. Luckily, asshole went away and he
and Marilyn danced the next dance together. They danced the rest of the
dances that night, and he drove her home, parking on the way.

"Who was that guy?" Andy asked as they got into the back seat that night.

"You're jealous."

"No, I'm not. It's just..." She didn't believe him. When he thought about
it, he wasn't sure he believed himself. "Okay. Maybe I'm a little jealous.
You danced with him."

"You dance with other girls, too."

"Only when you tell me to.... And only for fast dances...." How could he
show the difference? "And, somehow, you never suggest your prettiest
sisters."

"Well, that was a fast dance, too." She wasn't persuaded. Worse, she paused
in her undressing. "Are you too mad to continue this?"

"I'm feeling possessive, not mad." And he'd walk a mile over hot coals
rather than have this session end now. It didn't. Instead, still wearing her
parka but with it and her dress open and her bra loose, she let him help her
into his lap. He circled her with his left arm through the back of her dress
until his hand reached her breast. He kissed her, and their tongues tangled.
He caressed up her leg, maybe more rapidly than usual. She was fucking-well
*b*his*/b*, and he held her -- possessed breast, vulva, and mouth. His
tongue ravaged her mouth while his fingers stroked her center. And he
continued until she came in his arms and breathed into his mouth.

"Oh, Marilyn. Oh, darling." He kept hold of her while kissing down towards
the breast he was holding. He pushed the parka away, but kissed through the
dress. When he reached her bra, he raised it with his left hand. Then he
started caressing her center again. She stiffened in his arms when his mouth
sucked her nipple through the dress, but that was arousal, not rejection. He
kept moving his fingers under her as she came.

"Oh, Marilyn!" He kept his right hand where it belonged, but used his left
to move her further away so that his mouth was on her nearer breast. He
began to stroke her center more forcefully.

"No," she said. He stopped all motion, but she pushed his arm out from
between her legs and straightened up. He straightened up, too, and hugged
her outside the parka.

"Did I hurt you?" He'd really been awfully rough. Maybe he'd still been
jealous, and he'd wanted er so much. And he really never wanted to hurt her.

"I just didn't want to do any more of that." Well, then, two times was her
limit. He could stick to that limit; she'd only come once in the times
before, after all.

"Is hugging okay?" he asked. He'd better get permission.

"Hugging is fine."

And, since it was fine, he watched her as he slipped his arms under her
parka. This kind of hugging seemed to be acceptable, too.

"You're a dear, sweet woman," he told her. "I don't want to hurt you. If I
do, please tell me." He didn't want to hurt her, not only because he was
afraid of her rejection if he did. But he wanted her, wanted to hold her,
squeeze her, wanted to enter her. And he was afraid of the force of his own
desires.

"Andy, when I asked you to stop, you did. That's all I ask.... You're a
dear, sweet guy." Well, he hoped to keep the desires which weren't dear and
sweet, the desires to possess her in all ways, hidden from her.

She kissed him! He held her shoulders tightly, but gently. He licked all
over her mouth. Later, he hugged her again with his left hand. His right
hand went under her parka. He stroked up to cup the breast which was
farthest from him through her dress. When she nodded, he let his eyes watch
what his hand was holding.

When she seemed done with the evening, he let her go. She rearranged her
clothes in the back seat, they moved into the front, and he drove her home.

"I love you," he said after the sweet good-night kiss.

"I love you, too." And he took that answer back to the dorm with him and to
bed. She'd seemed to agree to a second climax on a night, and he took
advantage of that permission after each of the movies. He had even more
hopes for the time after the last dance of the calendar year. She'd set the
limit at two, but they would have lots of dancing and rubbing against one
another first. He'd not go beyond two, but maybe he could go slowly for each
one and enjoy himself longer.

The event didn't match his hopes at all. A thaw had started, and the walk
was mushy as they went into the dance. During the evening, they could hear
thunder and the rush of heavy rain. Marilyn had a request as they met after
the bathroom time at the end of the meeting.

"Barbara, one of my roommates, needs a ride back. Can you?"

"Do you want that?" What Barbara wanted or needed didn't matter, although he
knew Barbara and Willa. What Marilyn wanted was the sole issue.

"Please," she said.

"Then sure. Anyone else?" In the end, she brought two more. As the rain was
coming down in buckets and all the girls were in fancy shoes, this needed
something more than everybody walking to the car.

"Look," he said to them. "I've got an umbrella in the car. Not the greatest
place for it, but so it goes. No reason for more than me to get wet. I'll
get the car as close as I can and come back with the umbrella. It'll shield
two, and I'll ferry one of you per trip to the car." When he'd got the car
as close as the other cars doing the same tasks would let him, he brought
the umbrella back. Marilyn hung back, maybe unsure he'd know who the girls
were without her direction. He took Barbara and the other two on single
trips to the back seat. Then he escorted Marilyn to the passenger seat and
walked around to the driver's side. He got in before closing the umbrella.
He knew the way, and walked the other girls to the porch one by one. He got
back in the car instead of walking Marilyn, though.

"Look, those are your sisters, right? Not your mother?" She didn't seem to
get it. "If we drove off, they wouldn't make noises?"

"Drive off," she said. This, after all, was the real question. "If you don't
want them to gossip, you don't understand a house of fifty women. If you
mean that they might impose some sort of discipline, then they won't."
Actually, what he wanted was her preference. The sorority gossip, after all,
wasn't going to affect him. He parked in a dark spot. For that matter, he
drove there over dark roads. A place where the ground would remain firm was
a bigger problem.

"I really think" he said, "that this isn't a night for the back seat." If
she ruined her shoes climbing back there, she wouldn't carry good memories
away from the night, and his trousers were already clinging to his lower
legs damply.

She opened her parka and they kissed. He felt her breasts though dress and
bra, but it wasn't the same. Then, too, he felt the cold water oozing down
his socks into his shoes.

"Frustrating," he finally said.

"Worse, hell week is coming up." Was this a rigor she had to undergo
annually?

"You have to suffer that more than once?"

"No," she said, "but I have to inflict it. That will keep me almost as
busy."

"And, then, the cramming before finals is on us." And that was unavoidable.
But it also would come to an end. "Look, want to go north together?"

"Don't you go visit your mom this time of year?" She knew so much about him,
but not everything.

"Not this year. I'm over 18, and there was a blow-up last year -- worse than
the usual." And how much of it was that he'd rather spend time with Marilyn
in Evanston? He couldn't tell, much less tell her. "So, I sent off the
presents, and..." But that wasn't the whole matter. "Thing is, after finals,
I tend to tie one on."

"I still can't imagine you drunk." He didn't mind hearing that.

"Good! it's not a picture of me I want you imagining. That's why I do it in
private. Thing is, if I tie one on, I go up late. If we go together, can you
start late?"

"Sure." She was so tolerant.

"How about movies? Study? Church?"

"Same time Wednesday. I really think we should skip next Tuesday, much as
I'll miss you. Hell week starts too early Sunday."

When he'd kissed her good night, however, he went back to his Physics book.
If he couldn't see Marilyn, he'd better spend the time studying instead of
dreaming about her.

They studied together for the last time that semester Wednesday, maybe for
the last time ever. He didn't think they'd be taking any of the same courses
next semester. They reviewed the semester of American Lit rather than just
the last week. He lifted her onto the chair and nuzzled her lovely,
responsive breasts for the last time before finals. He lifted her down early
though. He sat on the chair and took her on his lap. Then shared a long,
deep kiss goodbye.

That church was one of the activities that had to bow to Hell week had all
sorts of theological implications he didn't want to consider. He spent
Sunday getting the rough draft of his English paper written. He divided up
his non-class time over he next weeks into the subjects he'd study then. He
stuck to it.

Exam week seemed to go well. He made sure he made time for eight hours of
sleep every night. Pulling an all-nighter before the exam sure made you feel
more prepared, but it didn't -- in his experience -- help your grades at
all. Well before the last exam, he bought his mixers and stored them in his
room. After the last exam, Drawing, he bought the vodka and began his binge.
He almost finished the bottle when he fell into the bed. That morning, he
had hair-of-the-dog and coffee. He woke again in time to get to lunch before
it closed. He was able to get a decent lunch down, although he was nauseated
afterwards. Some flat ginger ale kept him from throwing up, though. The next
day, he awoke sober, barely hung-over, and famished. He had an early
breakfast, showered and shaved carefully, dressed in all-new clothing, and
took his dirty laundry to the machines in the basement. While they ran, he
went out to a local pizza parlor. He got his clothes to his room and started
packing. After lunch, he felt human enough to call Marilyn.

"Hello?"

"It's Andy."

"Good to hear from you."

"Well, I'm done for the semester." He meant done with his boozing, but if
she took it another way, it would be accurate and more in keeping with the
image he wanted to present.

"I'm finished, too."

"Can you go Saturday?"

"Sure," she said. "Noon train?"

"That's what I meant."

So he called Dad and told him he'd be on the train.

They were among the last students heading north. Hanging around campus
another day at break time was one thing. Hanging around before the Christmas
festivities was quite another. They didn't see anyone they knew in the
station, let alone in their car. The lack of a sympathetic audience, or
maybe the weather, toned down their behavior. Even so, he got to hold her
hand for almost the entire trip. They talked, about the immediate future
first.

"One advantage of the Saturday train," he said, "is that Dad can pick us up.
"

"Yeah," she said. "I didn't even tell them when I'm coming." The immediate
past was next. Both of them felt good about their chances on the exams.

"The Drawing exam was a series of drawings. Who knows? For the rest, I felt
I was doing okay. Of course, that's no guarantee. But, at least, I left no
blanks and made no wild guesses."

"And how was English?" she asked.

"I had the advantage of a brilliant tutor during the year. I just might end
up acing the course. An acceptable grade, anyway, if not. You?"

"If this exam is all right, I'll get an A."

"But you, of course, need the A. You're a major." She was going to declare a
second major in Education, too. She was still taking mostly Psych for that
rather than Education courses, per se. He didn't know enough about those
courses to do more than ask how she'd done.

"And how do you think you did in swimming?" she asked.

"Well, I might pull a B. And, more important for the summer, I think I
learned to swim decently. Of course, it isn't the Lake." But he was, as
always, talking too much about Andy. "And archery?" Her PE course for that
semester.

"I did okay. I'll get a C, a B if he grades on effort instead of ability. "

"That's always a hope, although I gripe when they do it in science courses.
The same loophole would get me a B in drawing. You know, drafting is another
discipline, but they could give fine-arts distribution credit for drafting."

"Why is it different?" she asked.

"Drawing is free-hand, what an artist does on his sketch pad. Drafting uses
straight edges. It's what an engineer does on his tilted drafting table.
Except that the engineers don't really do that; there are draftsmen, which
is another job category. Still, you have to be able to do some of it. I'll
take Drafting next semester, keeping sharp whatever skills cross over." But
he was still talking about himself.

"And what other news do I need to catch up on?" he asked. Marilyn had a life
outside the classroom. And, while he did, his consisted only of time with
Marilyn.

"I have a little sister?" Adopted? He'd seen her mom over the summer, and
she hadn't looked pregnant. Marilyn was laughing at him. "It's a sorority
term. Remember that Natalie is my big sister? Well, I'm her little sister.
And Beverly is *b*my*/b* little sister." Marilyn sounded excited.

"What's she like?"

"A really nice girl. She's from Saint Charles, out west." He knew where
Saint Charles was. She went on about her, but he noticed she didn't mention
Beverly's major. She was thinking in sorority mode. When they'd had that
first long conversation before the rummage sale, almost exactly two years
ago, Marilyn had been quite definite about her plans for majoring in both
English and Education.

Later, they compared plans for the next semester's courses. As he'd
foreseen, they wouldn't have any courses in common. The future didn't look
too bright in that regard, either. With her double major, Marilyn didn't
really have many distribution requirements -- formally, sure, but most of
those were satisfied by courses she needed to take for the majors.

Admin. was sure that engineers had to take three semesters of English but
English teachers didn't need to know jack shit about engineering. What if
they taught a book about Tesla? The answer was simple. Novelists should have
been English majors; then there wouldn't ever be a novel about Tesla. If you
knew anything about Tesla, that meant you were too narrowly educated to
write anything that would interest the *b*really*/b* educated elite.

But, sitting there holding the hand of a lovely girl who was fast joining
that elite, he should keep his mouth shut. He would be doing even better to
think about something else.

Dad was there to meet them. He took Andy's bags while Andy carried
Marilyn's. She sat in the passenger seat while he rode in the back. That
wasn't so bad, but Dad seemed determined on a two-way conversation.

"Well, Miss Grant," Dad asked, "and how was your semester?"

"Fine thanks." Then she filled Dad in on what she'd already told him.

"And," she concluded, "I have a Little Sister. That's something in the
sorority. It's one of the new members to whom I'm a sort of mentor. She's
Beverly. I've a Big Sister, too, have had one for a year. Natalie. Since
she's my big sister, she's Beverly's Grand Big Sister. Her Big Sister,
Caitlin, is my Grand Big Sister. She's a history major."

"Good major. I majored in history." The old man turned everything towards
himself.

"And Andy's claim that the Civil War was won in the west impressed her."
Marilyn, at least, was including him as subject of, if not as participant
in, the conversation.

"She didn't tell him to consider the seas and the coastline?" Dad asked.

"No," he put in. "She didn't. She did say, though, that I hadn't convinced
her."

"The Army of Northern Virginia was a tragic hero." Dad was off on his
assumed expertise. "Maybe Lee would have been better characterized by that
phrase. It kept the capital of the Confederacy safe while there was any
Confederacy to need a capital. The naval blockade was dull as dishwater,
chasing tiny blockade runners, catching some, missing others. But that
squeezed the Confederacy as much as anything else did. And they captured
ports slowly but surely. Before Richmond fell, the last significant
Confederate port had been occupied. So, my son, the western theater of
operations was hardly the be-all and end-all of the Civil War.

"But, Miss Grant, have you enjoyed the mentoring?" Dad turned back to
Marilyn.

"Very much," she answered politely, "although it was only for a brief time.
I'm looking forward to continuing."

"Well, you are good at it. I know from my own family. Maybe you might
consider counseling instead of straight teaching." The old man hadn't enough
to do managing a department at the bank and managing the life of his own
son. Now, he was going to manage Marilyn''s life too, Well, Marilyn might
not want her life managed.

"Maybe not." He'd seen that she didn't. At least he stopped there. With
Andy, he went on managing whatever the subject of that management thought
about it. "And, after all, an education degree is the requirement for a
counselor if I'm not mistaken."

"They are such wastes."

"Well, teachers are counselors, too. After all, you don't need the title,
just one great talent, and one that fits in with your career plans."

Now that the car was close to Marilyn's house, Dad would accept his
participation in the conversation in order to tell him how to get there. He
did so.

Then he carried Marilyn's bags from the car trunk to her hallway. He set
them down.

"We'll be in touch," he said. He wanted a good-bye kiss. For that matter, he
wanted to dump the old man and drive Marilyn around for a few more hours
talking, maybe parking. Well, he wasn't going to get that, but she gave him
a warm, long, kiss.

"Marilyn!" That was her mother. His wasn't the only parent who interfered.

"I'm back." Which was his cue to leave.

"Nice girl," Dad said when he was back in the car.

"Yeah. Thanks for pointing that out. I hadn't noticed."

"I was just agreeing with -- if at a lower intensity -- your own
evaluation."

"What makes you think less of her than I do?"

"Really, Andy, why are you in the mood to pick a fight? If you have a
quarrel with me, let's quarrel over that. We are, by the way, home."

"I'd noticed." He got out of the car and carried his bags in while Dad put
the car in the garage and locked it.

"I thought pizza tonight," Dad said when Andy came down.

"Fine. Why a lower intensity? You didn't say."

"My son, I said that she's a fine girl. If my brain evaluates her less
emphatically than your hormones do, that is because brains are less emphatic
than hormones are."

"What makes you think that ..." But Dad was grinning at him. Andy had to
laugh, too. "Still," he said, "if your evaluation is less emphatic, why do
you get to have a conversation with her when I don't?"

"You had several hours riding with her from campus. If you hadn't the sense
to talk with her then... or were you simply too busy to talk?"

"It was in a public railroad car. We were absolutely respectable."

"The phrase is 'absolutely respectable, alas.'"

"You're impossible." Marilyn wasn't the sort of girl to make out in public.

"So, how was the part of school which involved school?"

"We'll see soon enough, but I feel hopeful. Anyway, whatever I did on the
finals, I feel that I learned things."

"Which is the more important. It's also what they're supposed to be
evaluating on the exams. I won't ask whether you saw any football games."

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"Go with Marilyn?"

"Natch."

"I asked whether you saw them, not attended them. With a pretty girl beside
you, I know how seldom your eyes were on the field."

With a pretty girl in his lap, his eyes were usually on the field. His hands
were a different story, but Dad didn't need to know that.

"Anyway," Dad asked, "usual toppings?"

"Sure." And Dad went to call in the pizza order.

He went to church the next day, but Marilyn wasn't there.

Midweek, Dad asked him whether he'd sent the Christmas packages to
California.

"Weeks ago. This would be too late."

"And did you get a present for your young lady?"

"Dammit, no."

"Well, I know you think me an old fart, but I suggest you do so. Do you know
her well enough to select a book?"

"Not really." Although that would be his first choice. But she didn't read
SF, and she had any literature that he knew would interest her.

"I'd suggest something feminine to wear, not at all intimate. Not perfume --
women choose their own scents, and do it on a basis that you and I can't
judge. Besides, perfume would look intimate. Something like a scarf that
looks feminine and also feels soft and warm."

"Why are you so sure that she wouldn't want anything intimate from me?"

"Because a Christmas gift is something she shows her family and friends. She
might love to wear a special pair of panties from Victoria's Secret for you
to take off. She wouldn't love to open it in front of her father."

"And she has a younger brother."

"Well, I was exaggerating about the panties. I don't really think you'd be
that obtuse. But a blouse or bottle of perfume that would look perfectly all
right to a kid brother might look like you were taking liberties to her
mother."

"How much?"

"The price? I really wouldn't know. And you raise an important question.
Still, don't overwhelm her. Get something from a main-line department store
which looks like the middle price of what they sell of that kind, or a
little more."

So, he went to the Loop and bought Marilyn a scarf. It was feminine and
looked dressy to him, not one of those long ones that you wrap around your
neck three times and it still drags on the ground.

He carried it to church Christmas Eve, and Marilyn was there. She sat with
her family, though. After service, he gave it to her. She thanked him
nicely.

When he and Dad had Christmas the next day, the first one that they had
celebrated on the day for a long time, he not only got gifts from Dad and
from everyone in San Diego, he got a lovely tie clasp from Marilyn.

His grades came through. It was better than he had expected, probably better
than he deserved. Art and Phys Ed were B s. All the serious courses were A
s.

He didn't invite Marilyn on any dates that vacation, although they always
spoke after church. He'd let her have time with her family. Also the weather
wasn't all that nice. He wouldn't like to ask her to get in the back seat
though that, but taking her out and not asking her into the back seat might
look as if he didn't like her any more.

They did talk on the phone, and she told him that she had a good report card
-- A s in the English and Psych class where she needed them, and B s
everywhere else.

They went down to campus separately, too. When he called her, Marilyn
invited him to the dance that her sorority was holding to celebrate the
pledges surviving Hell week. It was on Saturday, a little less than two
weeks in the future. He'd meant to ask if she wanted to go back to Urbana
First that Sunday, but he forgot in the pleasure of her actually inviting
him. The inquisition had said that she seemed to have chosen him when she
invited him the year before. Apparently, he was still her choice.

When he went back to Urbana First, he was glad he hadn't brought her. People
did recognize him, and he must have been asked why he'd been gone so long a
dozen times.

"Well, you know I'm a student. I still belong up north. First I had exams,
and was cramming night and day. Then I went home for the Christmas break.
Sorry! I should have said something. Marilyn was off for the Christmas
break, too. And, earlier, when I didn't come, she had no way of getting
here. She's still getting settled in the new semester." None of it was quite
a lie; none of it mentioned hell week.

He showed up at Marilyn's party as early as he could.

"Andy, this is Beverly," Marilyn said before the dances started. "She's my
Little Sister." The 'little' sister looked like she had at least five inches
on Marilyn.

"If you say so."

"Literalist!" Marilyn said. Her anger was all pretense, however.

"Hello, Beverly," he said. This girl was important to Marilyn, which made
her opinion of him important. "You're very important in Marilyn's life.
She's been talking about you. I'm Andy Trainor."

"I'm Beverly Guerin. I've heard about you, too."

"I deny it all." Beverly laughed, which was a good sign. Leaving her
laughing, they went for punch and then for a dance. Dancing with Marilyn was
always a pleasure, but the dances during which he could hold her were a
greater pleasure. Before one of these, however, they were interrupted.

"Look," one of the girls said, "let me dance with your boyfriend,"

"Sure, Donna."

"Donna, might I have the pleasure of this dance?" If Marilyn wanted this,
he'd play along.

"The pleasure is mine, Andy." They got into the rhythm before she continued.
"Look, I've got a favor to ask of you. One of the recent pledges is in
trouble in College Algebra. Do you think you could help?"

"I might be able to help. I'd have to look at my schedule." What he really
had to do was ask Marilyn in private whether she wanted this or was being
forced to ask it of him. If the second, his schedule was going to look real
tight. "How many girls does the house have taking College Algebra?"

"Three. But the other two got 'C's. Why?"

"Well, I don't want to spend a lot of time alone with one of Marilyn's
sisters. Maybe you could set up a tutoring program for all three. Don't ask
yet. I haven't looked at the schedule yet."

"But you could handle it? What did you get in College Algebra?" Which
demonstrated why this Donna wasn't going to do the tutoring herself.

"Didn't take it. Marilyn never took remedial English, either, but she could
help with it. If you don't take, or don't pass, the normal English courses
in high school, you take remedial English, and they don't give college
credit for it. If you don't take or don't pass normal high-school
mathematics, they call the remedial course College Algebra. They give
college credit for it, but it's just remedial high-school math."

"You know, you think we sorority sisters are snobs," Donna said.

"I never said that."

"But you think it, and -- in some ways -- we are. But you're a snob, too."

"Well, I never said that any of you guys aren't good enough to be Marilyn's
friends -- even the ones taking College Algebra. Plenty have said that I'm
not good enough to be her boyfriend." And he'd heard about that.

"Well, that's mostly in the past. It had two parts. One, we had great hopes
for Marilyn when we rushed her. She had everything. Then she goes with a boy
who is not only non-Greek, but looks, sometimes, from some perspectives,
sorta... non-smooth."

"Like who only wears three neckties." Marilyn had brought that up and said
that her sisters had noticed that. He'd been surprised to learn that they'd
noticed him at all.

"Yeah."

"I can see that." He could see 'non-smooth.' He'd gone through high school
without anyone thinking he was even slightly smooth. What he couldn't see
was why he had to wear different neckties at all. They didn't get that
dirty, after all.

"The second was that some sisters thought that Marilyn's sudden romance with
a guy who she'd known in high school looked contrived. Maybe you were a
high-school couple who she pretended weren't a couple until she was
pledged."

"It really wasn't like that." It had been almost the opposite of that,
Marilyn had refused him a date in high school because she was somebody
else's steady.

"Yeah. That opinion sorta disappeared over the summer. First, only a few
really had that suspicion enough to voice it, and most of them graduated.
Second, her first-year roommates got spread around. They'd seen her, heard
her disappointment when you didn't call. They laughed at the idea. And,
third, Brittany got pledged. Okay, she was only a pledge, but she'd been
there." 'Disappointments when he didn't call' -- this Donna was sounding
nicer and nicer.

"So I was an honest drip?"

"I don't think anyone thought you were a drip. And boyfriends' reputations
are comparative. Every time some guy dumps a girl, cheats on her, gets
physical, hits on one of her sisters, gets drunk and barfs on the lawn,
Andy's comparative stock goes up.

"Then, too," she continued, "over the summer you turned from a guy who owned
three neckties to one who drove a Buick. Oh, I know it's superficial..."

"I thought a Buick was a dull car, a banker's car."

"Andy, believe me, if you'd shown up driving a Ferrari, everyone would have
asked who you thought you were trying to fool. Anyway, you also made dean's
list, and Brittany, again, keeps saying that you're the nicest guy in the
whole world. Look, don't think that junior varsity badminton team and hot
wouldn't trump dean's list and nice any day of the week. Still, Marilyn's
choice was a solid, bright, nice guy. We might wonder why she didn't go for
something flashier, but we could, at least, see those advantages."

"Gee, thanks." That was really damning with faint praise.

"I'm being honest. Still, she's what? half your height?"

"Four fifths, actually, without heels."

"Andy, you really are a nerd sometimes."

"Yeah, and you could probably find a jock to coach those girls."

"Oh," Donna said, "I'm clear; I'm clear. What did you do for Brittany,
anyway?"

"Very little. It's just that when I was medium decent, she didn't think
there were any decent males."

"I could get the whole story from her, you know."

"Then do." he said. If Donna were that interested, she would already have
done it. "It's her story. I've told you more than I should have."

"That does sound like a nice guy. If I don't see what Marilyn sees in you, I
see that it's no disgrace that you're connected. Actually, you're a good
dancer, too."

"Surprise you?"

"Not really," she said. But he thought it had surprised her a little. They
had stereotypes of non-frat guys. As an engineering major who wasn't the
life of the party, he fit some of those stereotypes. He really didn't fit
them all. When he brought her back to Marilyn, Donna left them. He and
Marilyn sat on the stairs sipping their drinks until the next slow dance
started.

"Well, did you say yes?" she asked when they were dancing. Obviously, she
knew what Donna had asked.

"I said maybe. Did you want me to say yes?"

"Sorta. They're my sisters, but they're nothing to you. You don't have to.
Would it mess up your own study time?"

"I don't think so. The reason I delayed was that you, obviously, can't say
no. I have a perfect right to say no. So, if it would bother you to have me
spend time with other women, I could say no."

"Other women? She only told me about Hailey."

"Well, I did say no to that. I'm not going into a closed room -- let alone
that closed room -- with one other woman. She says that there are two others
who got C s last semester. She seems to think that this is satisfactory."

"Well, they were pledges then. We ran their asses ragged. If they passed
under those conditions, they should do well enough this semester."

"Anyway, if I tell her yes, she'll get the other two into a small tutorial.
You're the teacher; I'm not. I'll have to figure how to handle it." He was,
actually, already planning how to handle it. He wasn't a teacher, but they
had a teacher. He *b*was*/b* a guy who knew how to learn math, and often
high-schoolers learned the wrong way to learn math -- as a bunch of facts.
Math consists of patterns. "Anyway," he said. He had the prettiest woman in
the room -- on the entire campus -- in his arms; he'd worry about the less
important women some other time. They danced in silence while he appreciated
her shape moving against him, if lightly against him.

"Anyway," he said when the dance was over, "want to go back to church
tomorrow?" She looked dubious. "I went back last week and explained about
exams and break times, I reminded them that if I didn't go, there was no way
for you to get there."

"You're sweet." As the girl -- Donna -- had said, he'd rather be thought
'hot.' Still, he would enjoy any favorable opinion from Marilyn. "Yeah.
10:30?"

"I'll be here." And he was. People in church were friendly without nagging
over the missed times. And they treated them as a couple. On the way back,
they set a movie date for the next Wednesday, and agreed to make the church
times a regular thing. When he got a phone call Monday, he worried that
Marilyn was going to cancel something, but it wasn't her.

"Hello."

"Andy, this is Donna, the academic chair of Marilyn's chapter. She gave me
your number."

"Yeah. I remember you."

"I spoke to Hailey, Barbara, and Nancy. They're all eager for extra
tutoring. Do you think you could do it?"

"Pretty sure. We just have to see what times work for all of us."

"That's kind of you."

"Look, I'll be in your house Wednesday evening."

"Surprise!"

"Pardon?"

"Pardon me! I was just being sarcastic about your picking up Marilyn, and I
shouldn't be. Anyway, do you want to talk to your new students then?"

"Yeah. Ask them to bring their schedules."

"Thanks again."

"Quite welcome. Good bye."

Wednesday, he met the girls, finding that Donna's Barbara was  Marilyn's
roommate, Barbara. They compared schedules, and decided that Thursday
afternoons were the best choice.

"Sorry!" he said to Marilyn as they headed for the theater.

"Don't be. I know you're doing it for me. At least I let them believe that.
You know Barbara?"

"Yeah." He sort of did. He hadn't known when the academic chair had
mentioned the name that it was the same girl.

They got to the movie a little late, but the plot was easy to pick up.
Afterwards, in the back seat, he not only got the view and the taste of
Marilyn's sweet breasts, she writhed in his arms. He'd missed that so much
that he almost came in his pants. It took the greatest control on his part
to remember that two times was her limit.

"Look," he told the girls the next afternoon, "a few rules. The first one is
that I'm not in this room with only one woman -- not ever. You have to go
through the door one at a time, but don't linger. If you have a question,
ask it before your sisters leave or save it 'til next time. If you can't
come, tell one of your sisters. If two of you can't come, the session is
called off, and tell me when I arrive."

"We're not convent virgins, you know," Hailey said.

"Yeah, but I am." They laughed at that.

"The next thing." He was bringing them back on track. "You all know more
frat boys than I do. The pledges do all sorts of things for the
upperclassmen. But they're all jocks. You know the one thing they never do?
Pledges never practice football in place of the upperclassmen. That's
because you can't develop your muscles by somebody else doing the exercise.
Well, homework is to math as football practice is to football. If I give you
the answer, you don't get the practice. And, when game time -- or exam time
-- comes around, you won't have built up your mental muscles.

"So, I won't do the practice for you, but I might break the question down
into smaller questions for you. If you're studying together, follow the same
rule. Don't give your sister the answer, but feel free to ask her the
question in smaller bites.

"The House files won't help you much. I don't know when factoring equations
comes up. Maybe you've already had it. But if X^2 + 6XY + 9Y^2 is on one
exam, then the next teacher is certain to ask you the same question in the
same place in the schedule. Oh, he might ask you to factor 4P^2 + 10PQ +
25Q^2, but that's the same question. Really it is. But it's the same
question because it's asking about the same pattern, and if you can
recognize the pattern, then you know that tiny section of algebra. You don't
need a cheat sheet. And, if you can't recognize the pattern, you can't
memorize all the variations of this the teacher can use -- use on the exam
absolutely convinced that he's shown it to you in class. Because, you see,
your teacher -- anybody who knows algebra -- sees those two equations as the
same."

"You're making this sound very hard," Barbara said.

"It's not, really. You live upstairs?"

"Yeah. I'm Marilyn's roommate. Didn't you know?"

"Yeah. She told me -- not that I've ever seen Marilyn's room. But I was
asking a question I knew the answer to. That's a common way of beginning
math lessons. They start with what you know. Pay attention, then. Don't wait
for what you don't know. The first, obvious, question tells you where you
start. Anyway, you walk up those stairs every day?"

"Yeah."

"On your feet?"

"Yeah." She looked impatient.

"Could you walk up them on your hands?"

"Hell, no."

"Well, learning the patterns of algebra is easy. Millions of kids younger
than you do it every year. Learning all the possible answers without
learning the pattern is impossible, much harder than walking up the stairs
on your hands."

"Yeah," said Nancy, "and millions of kids flunk algebra every year, too."

"And damn few of them are trying to learn the patterns and failing. They're
trying to learn the specific examples. Anyway...

"Anyway," he concluded, "Show me your books. What are you learning this
week?" They showed him. He figured that he really needed the book. It didn't
have any math he didn't know, but it had a schedule he didn't know. There
was a used-book store near campus and he bought a copy of the book there.

The next couple of weeks were slogging. The girls, after all, had been
self-selected as having had problems in the earlier semester of the course,
which was a remedial course in its own right. And math, however basic, was
built on previous math. Luckily, all three seemed to have their addition and
multiplication tables well in hand. He took to running each girl through a
problem, noting what she needed but didn't have from previous math, and
giving her a short lecture on that and leaving her a pair of problems on the
earlier work. It was more than he'd bargained for, and he put in an hour or
two of prep for each 90-minute tutoring session.

At the end of the third session, though, he received a reward which made the
effort worthwhile. When the girls left the study room, Marilyn came in. She
shut the door behind her.

"Well, it's nice to see you," he said. Nice? It was wonderful to see her.
And, after she'd moved a chair to block the door and he'd lifted her onto
it, it was even better to feel her. He held her butt while he nuzzled her
breasts. They had a final kiss with her, on a level for once. Then he set
her down and fixed up the room.

So he saw her Wednesday nights, Thursday afternoons, and Sunday mornings.
When there was a dance, he saw her Saturday evening, as well. He could hold
her in his arms or watch her from up close during the dances. On the way
home, he could hold her even longer. Unfortunately, it was cold out and the
car heater didn't help all that much. He shed his parka in the back seat,
but she didn't.

"Can you unzip the dress under this?" she asked. He could, and did. He even
unsnapped her bra with his left hand. When that hand, reaching under her
parka and through the open back of her dress had reached her sweet breast,
he slid his right hand up her skirt. She shivered, but then she pulled his
face into an open-mouthed kiss. While they kissed, he caressed up under her
leg until he reached her center. He stroked there while she stiffened in his
arms and, then, writhed in his arms. After her second climax, he removed his
hand from her legs and held her with both arms. He lifted her bra with his
left hand.

"Oh, Marilyn." He could cup her breast through her dress. The lovely nipple
stiffened under his fingers immediately. It was so responsive; *b*she*/b*
was so responsive. They kissed again, and then just sat like that hugging.

"Cold?" he asked later.

"Not with your arms around me."

"Good."

"I do have to get back, though." So, after they redid their clothes, he
drove her back to the sorority house. His night was spent imagining her
going further, writhing not in his lap but under his body. The next morning,
though, when she sat looking fresh and innocent next to him at church, he
felt guilty for those thoughts. He had so much, he shouldn't wish for more.

And it wasn't only in his relationship with Marilyn that he had so much. The
tutoring was coming slowly. His own classes, which had never been that far
behind, were going quite well. With straight edges and templates, all he had
to concentrate on in drafting was getting his pencil lines the right width
and darkness, and drawing had really prepared him for that. As he told the
girls, math built on what went before, and Diffy-Q was easier for him since
he'd built such a solid foundation. PE wasn't as easy as the end of the
previous semester -- the instructor was teaching them the back stroke and
the side stroke. Still, he didn't seem to be failing it, and this would be
the last gym class in his life.

Then came the night when his enjoyment of Marilyn -- already delightful --
became even more so. They'd gone to a movie, parked, he'd opened her blouse
and unhooked her bra. As they shared a kiss, his hand went under her skirt
and between her legs. He was enjoying the smoothness and softness of her
thighs through the nylon, when the nylon abruptly ended.

"Oh, *b*Marilyn*/b*," he said when his fingers touched *b*her*/b*. Her bare
skin was even sexier than his previous experiences through the pantyhose. He
caressed that smooth, bare skin until he reached her panties. What would she
permit? Well, he'd move slowly enough that she could stop him without
screaming or scratching. He moved her to his right leg and leaned her back
further. He slipped a finger under the panties. Then he traced that finger
around her leg hole towards her center. If her bare skin had been exciting,
her lower lip had been enthralling -- and damp. Lovely Marilyn was excited
-- excited by him! He shoved that finger a little deeper under her panties.
He touched not only her lips but her inner lips, her */i*labia minora.*/i*
Then, restraining himself to go slowly, he slipped it along the labia until
he touched her clitoris.

She permitted this, and he smiled at that knowledge. He was at her center,
the place his woman was most a woman. He stroked the labia slowly, gently.
He was enjoying the feel immensely; when she stiffened in his lap, he
enjoyed it even more, and when she squirmed his enjoyment peaked. He stroked
over her clitoris until she came with a shudder.

"Oh, Marilyn." She'd responded to him. He hugged her to his chest with his
left arm and resumed his caresses with his right hand. When she shuddered
again, he reminded himself that her limit was twice. He might not be able to
have that pleasure again tonight, but he was able to hold her and snuggle
together.

"Marilyn," he said, "sweet Marilyn, you are so darling, so sexy." And she
stayed sexy, if quiet, in his arms a long while longer. Then she got her
clothes back in order, and they moved to the front seat. Even then, even on
the porch of Zeta house, she was still sexy. Their kiss was long and deep.

"Love you," he said, but one last kiss wasn't enough. He grabbed her again,
and gave her another. The darling cooperated, her tongue meeting his. When
that ended, he walked away before he lost control and went for another.
They'd had plenty of kisses in the car. He didn't need to keep her out in
public, and in the cold, all night.

Parting was sweet sorrow, though, and he decided on the drive back that he
never wanted to leave her. Would she accept him in a forever-type
relationship? Well, they were sophomores. She'd accepted a lot already. If
he went slow and didn't lose control as he'd done on the porch, she might
accept more.


The end
Sophomores - M
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2011/07/14


These same events from Marilyn's perspective, can be read in:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_04f.htm
Marilyn's experience

The first adventures of Andy with Marilyn:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_01m.htm
"The Meeting - M"


The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm
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