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Message-ID: <61919asstr$1332843002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Every -- F" -- Uther -- MF rom
Lines: 4180
Date: Tue, 27 Mar 2012 06:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


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.



Every -- F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com


As they'd agreed, Marilyn Grant called Andy as soon as she got back to the
house from her last exam in December '76.

"Andy?"

"I love you. Should I come over now?"

"Give me an hour. I'm not packed yet."

"There in an hour. I love you."

"I love you, too." At 1:15, someone yelled up the stairs that Andy was
there. She yelled back that she'd be down in a minute. When she got close
enough to the bottom for him to reach, he took the suitcase, and set it on
the floor, then he took the book bag and set it on top of the suitcase. She
went down a step, and they had a kiss. It wasn't a very wet kiss; they were
in public, and they had lots of time for that later. Then he picked up the
suitcase and bag and started towards the door.

"If engineering doesn't work out Andy," Beverly said when he shifted the
book bag to his right hand to get the door, "you could make a living giving
boyfriend lessons."

"Yeah," Laura asked, "but would the guys pay for them?"

"Maybe the woman's parents would," Sandra suggested. "If Gary treated me
like that, Dad would stop mentioning haircuts."

Andy was blushing and everyone else was laughing when they walked out the
door. "See?" she asked when they were in the car, "they all appreciate what
a nice guy you are." Her kiss interrupted whatever answer he had intended
to make. Again at the apartment, he carried her stuff and also opened the
downstairs door and gestured her to precede him up the stairs. She unlocked
the apartment door, though.

Inside, they hung up their coats before the next kiss. He explored her
mouth, and then she explored his. His hands were all over her, while hers
just hugged him. When he began to lift her top, though, she drew back.

"It's chilly. Faster to do our own." The bed was chilly, too, and so were
his hands. He'd warm them in his armpits if she asked, but she was too
hungry for his touch. His lips were already warm, and his hand warmed
stroking her. It cooled again when it went between her thighs. She got warm
enough with his lips on her tit and his finger stroking her clit. He
brought his head out of the covers when she got close. He was staring her
in the eyes when the lightning struck.

"Oh, Marilyn," he said. "Oh, darling." He rested his hand on her mound with
his finger on those lips while she caught her breath. When she had, he
kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her lips. "Sweet girl,
delicious woman." His finger began to move along the outside of her inner
lips, not going between them yet.

"You're gorgeous," he said. If they were going to have a conversation, it
should be more sensible than that.

"Are you fully packed?" she asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"I want to bring a couple of the tops I have here. I don't need to go back
to the house."

"They may not be washed. I only did the white stuff. I could do a colored
load today." He wasn't, for God's sake, her laundryman. Anyway, his doing
the laundry would only save Dee some work.

"Andy, if I came home with no laundry to do Mom would call a doctor. I'm
not sure you should be doing my stuff."

"It's seldom an extra load. Warn me if anything requires special care.
Today would be an imposition, though. It would be time I had planned to
spend in bed with you."

"You're impossible. Do you plan to spend the time until we head for the
train in bed?" Was the man insatiable?

"Well, we'd have to shower, too."

"And I have to cook for you. Did you buy the groceries on my list?"

"Sure. But we don't need to eat lunch for hours." His finger began to move
again, and he rose on his elbow to bend over her face. He kissed her,
looked at her, kissed another part of her face. All that time, his finger
was stroking, stroking, stroking her lips and clit. He was staring straight
into her eyes when lightning struck. It was so good, but she knew it would
be even better when he was inside. As she relaxed, his hand held her mound
without moving.

"I love you," he said when he could see that she had recovered.

"And I love you, too." She loved him. Should she marry him? Well, she had
more questions. They didn't really know each other. His finger started
moving again. "This time, are you going to come in?"

"You taste better before I do." Well, she couldn't argue with that. She
didn't particularly like his taste, either.

"I get the impression that you are just going to use your hand for the next
twelve hours."

"Not twelve. Maybe three."

"Andy!" Yeah. He *was* insatiable.

"Well, you look so sexy when I do." He kissed her then. It was unfair of
him to make his arguments and then not let her make hers. Unfair, but sexy.
His tongue explored her mouth. When he left her lips, he kissed down her
neck. Even before he ducked under the covers to approach her tits, she knew
his ultimate destination. Much as she wanted him to reach it, she enjoyed
the journey, too. He sucked her left nipple into hot, aching hardness, and
then he started on her right nipple. The trail of kisses down her abdomen
had her wriggling under his mouth. When she drew up her knees around him,
he kissed and licked both thighs.

But when he arrived, the feeling was even hotter. He licked up her cleft,
and she pulled his head against her to keep him right there. And when his
tongue just touched her clit, fire shot through her. He was sucking it
gently when the lightning struck. She couldn't help wriggling, but his
mouth stayed on her. His lips and tongue brought the lightning again and
again.

When she couldn't take any more, she pushed his head away. He turned to
kiss her wrist. As she relaxed, he kissed her thigh.

When she'd recovered, kisses started up towards the juncture of her thighs.

"No!" she said. "This time inside."

"But we have hours." And he wanted to spend those hours bringing her off.
Lunch plans aside, he'd have to carry her to the train. She wasn't going to
say that, though.  He'd probably agree to do it.

"I'm going to fix you toasted cheese sandwiches. Now, get up here, or I'll
go do it now." That was a phony threat, but it brought him up over her. He
stopped to kiss her nipples again, but then she was guiding him into her.
He parted her lips; he spread her; he filled her. And, when he'd filled
her, he kissed her forehead.

"I love you." Then he was showing that love with slow, firm strokes. When
she met them, he sped up. She was pulling him deeper into her by his ass
when lightning struck yet again. This was the best yet, and she soared. He
drove in and throbbed deep within her.

As she lay there gasping, he was gasping into her ear himself. He was
heavy, but it was a weight she loved. She pulled on his ass to keep him in.

When he finally moved off, though, it was a relief. He lay on his side and
gathered her into the spoon. The air of the room was still chilly, but it
was nice and warm under the covers. Her back was tight against his warmth;
his arm was covering half her abdomen; his hand was cupping her left tit,
and both her hands were holding it there.

"This is lovely, you know," she said, "but it isn't cooking lunch."

"Lunch isn't on a deadline. We'll eat it when it's ready."

"And dinner?"

"Can be fashionably late. If we eat at midnight and get to bed late because
of it, I'll still get you up when the alarm rings. You can sleep on the
train." That sounded as decadent as it sounded delightful.

A few minutes later, though, she dragged herself out of his arms. She had
warm nightie, robe, and slippers in his apartment. In those and an apron,
she cooked lunch. He put on a robe and slippers to sit watching her cook.
He made the bed before sitting down, though. When she put the first
sandwiches in front of him, he began to eat. She sat across from him to eat
hers. Indifferent as he had claimed to be about lunch, he ate twice as much
as she did.

While he washed the dishes and put them away, she opened her suitcase and
put the tops in. Since he was still working, she went back to bed in her
nightie. The sheets had cooled off, and she needed it. He was naked when he
joined her. He cuddled her and began caressing her tit through the gown.

"Look," she said, "let's talk."

"Okay. do you know that you have the most delightful, sexy, beautiful
breasts?" They were A cups, not sexy at all. But he was just trying to
distract her.

"You wanted me to think about marriage. I don't think we know each other
well enough to get married."

"Well, we'll know each other better next year. We have a year and a half."

"That isn't the question. Are we compatible? How do we know?"

"We felt awfully compatible a half hour ago."

"Yeah. We're sexually compatible, but what do you think about children?"

"I like kids. But I'm not the one who would have to carry one around for
nine months." Mothers did a hell of a lot of work after that, too.

"Do you even know what childcare means? It's fine to like kids when they're
somebody else's cute twins, but it's another matter when they're your
responsibility."

"Now you're being a little hard on me. I was just another baby when Molly
was born, just turned three. April, on the other hand came just before my
sixth birthday. I may have been a little young to change diapers when she
was at the diaper stage, but I carried her around sometimes. Read her to
sleep later. Taught her to tie her shoes. And, even later, when she got
older, I kept carrying her around."

"Still do."

"Well, she's decided it's not appropriate recently. But, while I had no
real responsibility, I did my share of childcare. April's still my
favorite, too, so I didn't resent the care I gave. Did you do babysitting?
Does that make you an expert on childcare?" That question illustrated her
main point that they didn't know enough about each other.

"Actually, I was never a babysitter, and Pete wasn't enough younger to give
me even your experience."

"Well, I've answered your question. My vote goes yes on kids. I may not
know enough about what all the consequences are, but does anybody getting
married? And, as I've said, I know that kids would impose a burden on you
that I can't share. If that's too heavy a burden, I'll understand." Well,
she should express her opinion, although they weren't all that clear so far.

"When I've thought of my future, I've always pictured kids. I've also,
however, pictured a career. I'm not sure how those fit together."

"So, you're no clearer than I am. Really, you're not as clear. That must
count as highly compatible. We agree on not having a clear picture." She
dug an elbow into him for that quip. He just hugged her tighter.

"So what sort of town or neighborhood do you see yourself living in?" She
figured that he had to answer first. Otherwise he might pretend to agree
with her.

"Well, there are limits. I'm going to be an EE. That controls where I can
work, but it controls where I'm going to live a lot less. I doubt if there
are any electrical engineers working in Evanston. Maybe for the power
company, but that's not the sort of work I'm going to do. I'll bet there
are lot's of EEs living in Evanston. Commuting, you know. So I probably
couldn't live in a real farm community, unless it happens to be near a
plant of the proper sort. Anything else, city or suburb, would probably
give me an opportunity to get a job. The opportunity, of course, might not
turn into a job." That wasn't too clear an answer, either. "I really don't
want to live in, or near, San Diego." That was where his mother lived, and
her husband -- a guy Andy hated.

"Well, that's a generous restriction -- outside San Diego. And what sort of
house or apartment do you see yourself living in? In the far future, your
goal?"

"Look, Marilyn. You mean well, but you're not thinking about the guy you're
talking to. I'll answer the rest of your questions now. The house I want to
live in is one in which Marilyn lives with me. That means it has to be one
where she is happy. Not unhappy, at least. I don't think a house can make
you happy.

"Look," he continued, "I went to a professor the other day with a question.
He asked me whether I was going to deal with electrical power or electronic
information. I told him information. I didn't consult you. I didn't think
you would be interested. Are you?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about."

"The two kinds of EEs. But, since you're not interested, it's my decision.
Even if we get married, I'm not going to come to you to ask whether I
should change my type of job. In the same way, what I want from a house --
or from a town if I can find work there -- is that you be in it with me.

"It should keep the rain off my head. It should have a really good furnace
so you're willing to be naked out of bed. But basically it should please
you. When I was getting this apartment, I knew that you liked places to be
neat. So, I learned to make a bed. That wasn't because I couldn't sleep in
an unmade bed. Actually, doesn't everybody sleep in an unmade bed? It was
so it didn't make you unwilling to visit." This from a guy who made a bed
on a lunch break when he wanted to go right back into it? Something from
her disastrous experiment with a blow job rose up in the back of her mind.

"Wait a minute. When I surprised you that time, the bed was unmade and
piled high with laundry."

"Well the laundry was temporary. You know how breaks are necessary when
you're studying. I figured I'd put the laundry away on one or two of those
breaks."

"But the bed was unmade. At night. Had you slept in it since morning?"

"Nah. Sometimes I read in bed, but usually not until an hour or two before
bed time."

"So, you hadn't made the bed all day, but you made the bed this time for
lunch. And it was the second time today."

"Well, I knew you'd see this bed. I didn't know you'd come over that time.
It really surprised me."

"So the reason you make a bed is?"

"That you'll see it.... Or, really, that I think you'll see it."

"Andy, you're weird." She could explain that she wasn't all *that*
particular, that you don't have to make a bed three times a day. Then she
decided that this meant explaining too much. Let him learn the rules. Save
the exceptions for later.

"Maybe. But the point is that what I want of a house is that it pleases
you. I don't dream of a white picket fence, or of green shutters. I dream
of you sharing my home and happy to share my home. If that means a white
picket fence, or if it means a made bed or plates for meals, then fine. But
this is my dream home right now. I have Marilyn in my arms. The washed
dishes make the dream better only because it satisfies you more."

"Andy, that's quite romantic, but I'm serious."

"I'm serious too. Look, I had dreams before I even met you. Those dreams,
however, were about becoming an engineer. I thought about girls, sure, or
at least about sex. But I didn't think about marriage or anything like
that. I didn't even think about dating much into the future. I knew I would
get the girls who were fairly desperate. I knew what they would let me do.
When I thought about sex, it was sex with a centerfold, and I didn't expect
to meet them. I sure didn't think about marriage or having a family in my
future. The distant future was about being an engineer and solving problems
and making things work.

"So when you came along," It was really Andy who'd come along. She'd been
where she'd always been. "I started to dream about dating you. When you
replaced the cover girls in my imagination, I didn't really think it would
really happen. It was just imagining things to make my life sexier. Then I
wanted you for longer than the next date."

"You didn't think about marrying me?" He'd said he had.

"Not for the longest time. I'd just worry about the next date and whether
you'd say yes. Then, when the sorority said you'd chosen me, I was so happy
-- happy for me, I thought they were treating you abominably. I would have
gotten physical, women or no women, if you hadn't seemed to want to cool
it. Then, after then, I thought we might have a future." That was the
beginning of the second semester.

"Andy, that was early."

"Well, it was more than a year after we'd talked."

"Are you saying that you'd carried a torch that long?"

"Well, I'd asked you for a date, but you'd said no. Well, we were both
going to be at the U of I. Maybe you'd say yes then. And... you did. The
first time I asked down here." She'd have to think about that. He was
conveniently forgetting Brittany. Well, she hadn't forgotten Brittany, but
she'd let it pass.

"Anyway, that's the past." She'd try to get him back on track. "I'm talking
about the future."

"What I'm saying is that there are some things you care about and some
things you don't. Maybe you're willing to marry me and maybe you're not,
but you wouldn't be willing to marry me if I worked with motors but turn me
down because I work with transistors. In the same way, I don't care about
all sorts of things. I do care about spending my life with you. If that
means one sort of house rather than another, then that's the sort of house
I want. It's not because it has an all-electric kitchen, it's because it
has a Marilyn in the kitchen."

"You're sure it's in the kitchen where you picture me?" When she was in the
kitchen, he seemed to want her to go to bed.

"I'm trying to keep this clean, but I like watching you in the kitchen,
too. That's what I keep telling you about studying here. You think it's
just 'cause we take study breaks in bed. Really, I like seeing you studying
at that table. When you're not here, I sometimes look in the closet or in
the medicine cabinet. 'Those are Marilyn's things.'" He was getting too
deep for her. She'd go back to the mental list.

"And, speaking of kitchens, what do you see as the division of chores?"

"Well, I already know how to do laundry -- dishes, too. There'd have to be
more, but you'd have to tell me. Mrs. Bryant could probably teach me
anything, and I'll have the summer. I'll be working most days when she's
on, but I learned laundry."

"What can you cook?"

"Well, do you know those frozen pizzas? I learned to heat them up in the
oven real good. They have directions on the boxes. Some time in high
school, I got addicted to those."

"That's your culinary repertoire?"

"Well, except for heating up peas and canned goods, yes."

"Hamburgers. Anyone can fry hamburgers."

"Almost anybody. When I wanted a hamburger, Mrs. Bryant cooked one up. She
used to chop up a green pepper to add to them, fix up the patties, and keep
a bunch of them in the freezer."

"Andy, you're pathetic." Pete, for God's sake, could cook more than that,
not even counting cooking over the camp fire.

"Yeah! Maybe it's your mission to save me."

"As if!" The guy wasn't all that pathetic. He not only got on Dean's List,
he managed to feed himself when she wasn't around. Ridiculous as his
housekeeping was, it kept him satisfied and clean. And, she should
remember, the food he ate was purchased by money he'd earned himself --
earned and saved. Then, too, he'd taught three of her sisters successfully
-- his sort of subject, but he'd taught them. It should have been the
professor's sort of subject, too, and the professor hadn't succeeded all
that well. The guy had some life skills outside of book learning. But
Dean's List had reminded her.

"How do you think you did this term?"

"None of the finals shocked me, and the grades going in were okay." Andy's
"okay" probably meant an A. "Another guy and I had to design and wind an
electric motor. Neither of us were craftsmen, but it ran. That's a big part
of the grade. The final grade in Anthro depends on the paper, but I did all
right on the tests I got back."

"Dean's List again?"

"Knock on wood." And he reached up to the headboard to actually knock.
"You?"

"Anything can happen in the finals, as you know. And I had several papers
and not enough time to do them justice. The grades going in weren't that
bad. Hell Week didn't do me any favors."

"You just don't do it right. Have the pledges write the papers for you."

"Whatever you think, the courses I take do require some preparation."

"Tell me you aren't thinking of doing that."

"You're evil." He was also teasing her. He pulled her into a hug. "Warm,
though."

"See, that's why you should marry me. I'll keep you warm at night."

"Electric blankets are real cheap."

"Hey! I live on corn flakes and canned spaghetti. I'm the cheapest guy you
know."

"Or, at least, the silliest." His hand moved from hugging her between her
tits to teasing the nipple on her left tit through the gown. He began
kissing the back of her head. "Hey, are you trying to start something?"

"It's too early for dinner. We're all packed. What else is there to do?"
His way of putting it wasn't the most romantic possible.

"We were in the midst of dividing up household chores." When had the
subject changed from which chores each was willing to do in order to see
whether they were compatible to which ones each would do when they were
married? She hadn't decided to marry this guy yet!

"We answered the question for all practical purposes. You make out a list
of what you want me to do, and I'll learn them this summer."

"You take out the garbage." Whatever the rest of the division of labor, she
was certain that that was always the man's job.

"Already do. If I didn't, the place would stink by now." He was right. If
he didn't know much about housework, he did that. Her thoughts on housework
were interrupted by his hand moving down her belly. "What are you doing?"

"The question you wanted to ask is 'Where are you going?'" He pulled up the
front of her nightie, and his hand went between her legs to play with the
edges of her outer lips.

"I know where you're going." And, just like she'd known he would, he parted
her lips to stroke her cleft.

"Then there isn't any question remaining." He brought her liquid up almost
to her clit. Then he repeated the motion. She waited for him to go the
extra millimeter, but he kept just missing it. She shoved back when he got
close, but her ass was against his firm abs, and she couldn't move enough.

"Andy!"

"Did you have more questions?"

"Please!" He stroked over her clit. The sensation was wonderful, and --
although he repeated the slow stroke -- he reached her clit each time. She
felt herself tightening. "Andy!" The lightning struck. As his finger kept
moving, the lightning struck again.

She felt him kissing the back of her head as she slowly recovered. That had
been lovely, but it didn't solve any of their problems. She loved the guy,
no doubt about it. Did she love him enough to marry him? They wanted quite
different things, but -- if she believed him -- they didn't want
*conflicting* things. She tended to believe him. First, she'd never caught
him in a lie -- outrageous ones, maybe; saying that she was the most
beautiful girl on campus -- but never one that was trying to fool her to
his advantage.

He was combing the hairs on her mound with his fingers. She pulled his hand
up to her waist and went back to her thoughts. Even with the guidance she'd
given him on eating, he was more camping out here than creating a
household. He said that he had no dreams about that aspect of living. He
was adamant on being an electrical engineer, equally adamant -- if not very
clear -- on what sort of electrical engineer he would be. And it was damn
unlikely that anybody would dream of the sort of life he led. Rebelling,
maybe. But if he were rebelling to the extent of not sweeping his floor,
wouldn't he be rebelling in public ways: not bathing, wearing dirty
clothes, not getting haircuts?

He'd raised his hand to her tits and was cupping her right one. He'd pulled
the waist of the nightie down so that there was only one layer over her
tits. His fingers were teasing her nipple.

"Andy. I'm thinking. If I have to get up and get dressed to think, I will."
She pulled his hand to where it held her tit without touching the nipple.
"And no kissing, either." He obeyed, although she could feel his breath on
the back of her head. Okay, if two people lived together, it meant endless
compromise. All the articles on marriage said that. Hell! The life in a
sorority demonstrated that, and they were women; men were altogether more
different. And Andy, in some ways, was more different than most.

Much as you might try to avoid it, when her generation thought about
marriage, they thought about divorce. Some couples in church had broken up
while she was conscious of such things. Kids back in high school, a good
fraction of the girls in Zeta, Andy, for God's sake, were the children of
divorce. She'd seen a great many engagements, if few actual weddings, in
her first year in Zeta. She'd seen her share of new-married couples in
church and two or three others in the neighborhood.

Most newlyweds and engaged couples had a sort of glow when they were
together. Even the Pierces, for all their bantering, were clearly still
attracted. You could see the attention of one of a couple veer toward the
other when they were both in the same room. You could see each of them
brighten up. Old married couples -- she'd observed her parents much more
closely than others, but you could see the others, too -- weren't that way.
When Mom and Dad were together, they often weren't paying attention to each
other. When they were a couple, and they often did their parenting as a
coordinated team, they weren't pointed at each other but pointed outward.

Now, what was the difference between the couples who stayed together even
when they were pointed outward, like her folks, and the ones that split
apart? You couldn't see it. Lisa had been broken up by a phone call that
her parents were separating; she said that she'd never heard them quarrel.
Denise, who had been her best friend in tenth grade, had parents who would
scream at each other in front of her and other visiting schoolmates. They
were still together, and probably still screaming, last summer.

Was she saying that she'd marry Andy if he'd stay married to her? Well, she
did love him. She knew if they'd break up, she'd date again. Sororities,
whatever their problems, were good for that -- if they broke up within a
year. She'd pointed that out to enough girls. And she knew herself well
enough to predict that when she dated again, she'd fall in love again. Not
counting a few early crushes which now made her blush when she remembered
them, Andy was the third love of her life. Still, she loved him, and -- at
least as important -- she liked him.

He loved her. This almost desperate passion he expressed wasn't something
he'd be likely to fake. He did watch her cooking and watch her studying. He
told her that she didn't need to give him a blow job, though he hadn't
resisted all that much. Then he practically begged her to lie in his arms
all night, even at times when he knew that this wouldn't lead to sex. He
loved her, but did he like her? And what would that mean for him?

Then, too, if she turned him down, she would find another, but... Would
that be someone she loved as much? Someone she *liked* as much? Someone who
loved her as much? Colin had really wanted to exploit her. What if the
problematic other did, too? Well, when she had decided whether to have sex
with Andy, she was careful to go off to make her decision where he wasn't
around to influence her. She sure shouldn't make this decision, so much
more important, wrapped in his arms. She'd be home in her own, lonely, bed
soon enough. Actually, a period was due soon after she got home. If, in
that unromantic state, she decided to marry him, she probably wouldn't
change that decision.

And, of course, if she decided to keep the decision open, she hadn't told
him any more than that she would think about it. And, he was being good
right now -- keeping his hand obediently still. She pulled the hand from
her tit to kiss each finger. The middle one tasted a little off, but it was
probably herself. She shouldn't complain.

"Are you back?" he asked from behind her head.

"Silly! I've been right here."

"This..." He swept his hand down her front from her tits to her crotch.
"has been right here. This..." He kissed the back of her head. "was a
million miles away." He had a point, though he'd kissed her skull, not her
mind. And she wasn't about to tell him how close her thoughts were to him.

"Well, I'm back. I promised that I'd always come back."

"So you did... And so you did." That was a weird way of repeating himself,
but Andy was weird in many more important things than that. He kissed the
back of her head again and began stroking his fingers from one nipple to
another. She moved a bit so that her left nipple was off the bottom sheet.
She liked to be available to him.

Whether she was available or not, he kept his hand on her tits while his
mouth wandered to her neck and shoulders. Then he started licking the back
of her ear. It tickled. She rolled her head away, then rolled it back where
he could reach the ear. It tickled, but it felt sexy, too.

He moved down a bit in the bed. He kissed the back of her neck. He was
kissing her shoulder blade when his hand finally went to her mound. She
lifted her right leg, and he began stroking her again. He plunged his
finger into her and then stroked up her cleft to her clit. The nightie
didn't seem to interfere with his intentions, but it was bothering her.

"Want me to take off my nightie?"

"When you're teaching English, you could use that as an extreme example of
a rhetorical question."

"As if!" She pushed his hand away and turned onto her back. She raised her
seat to pull up the nightie. She sat up and took it off. His hand was on
her tit before the nightie was over her head. She threw it towards the foot
of the bed, not wanting it to lie on the gritty floor.

When she lay back down, he kissed her tit and moved his hand back to her
groin. As she spread her legs, she pulled the covers over his head to cover
herself from the chilly air. He kissed from one tit to the other and back
while his finger stroked her slowly towards her peak.

"Yeah!" he said when lightning struck. When she relaxed he reappeared above
the covers and carefully tucked them all around her. He lay down with his
hand innocently on her stomach.

"You know, one advantage in doing it when you're on your side like last
time is that there is no adjustment afterwards. You're already lying in my
arms."

"Well, there is no law that I have to be in your arms." Though she liked
it, she liked lying on her back with him close, too.

"There will be. You choose the housing; you assign me household chores. But
you sleep in my arms every night. Some things are important to you, and
other things are important to me." She'd have to think about that. On the
other hand, having her presence be his bottom line was a damn fine
compliment. But he was following his own thoughts.

"What we could do, when we have our own place, is put a mirror on the wall
at bed height. A full-length mirror like that one, but on its side. Then we
could do it like that and both watch. You're beautiful, but most beautiful
when you come." Great! Watching him bring her off was sexy as hell, but she
was not at her prettiest then -- nowhere near. She was moderately
attractive when she worked at it. She hadn't scared any little kids
recently. She was nowhere near attractive then, although she could
understand a guy liking to see it. That *would* scare little kids. Anyway...

"Nix on the mirror. What if we had guests? What if Mom saw it, or -- worse
-- Pete?"

"There must be some pictures that are that shape. Even taller would work.
Then we could put up the picture higher on the wall with a hinge at the
bottom. For visitors, we'd have a landscape. For us, we'd have you." The
weirdo was thinking about it. He was seriously thinking about it. But he
was also an engineer. He was solving a problem, if not solving it in a way
that was reasonable.

"I think that we've put home decor in my area of responsibility. I might
even decide on twin beds." The hell she would, but she might need that
bargaining chip to keep him from turning their bedroom into some French
bordello.

"If you want, but don't you find this a tiny bit crowded?" She had to
laugh. He'd topped her. "Decor is in your control, but you'll sleep in my
arms every night." He was serious about that. Well, in some ways, it was
better that he have his demands than that he say she could have anything.
The latter wasn't a lasting arrangement. Besides, if he went a little off
his agreement, not cheating but refusing to wash the dishes or something,
having something she could take back would be an argument. And she'd sleep
in his bed -- 'in his arms' was subject to readjustment for the situation,
and he would see that in the concrete situation -- at night. She would,
that is, *if* they got married.

Meanwhile, his hand had started wandering again. Well, that was fine. If
she wasn't his fiancee, she was his kept woman. And, little as he knew
about keeping house, he kept his woman just fine. His hand cupped her left
tit while his fingers played with that nipple. He rose up to kiss all over
her face before settling on her lips. His tongue played with hers, then
explored her mouth. When his tongue retreated, hers followed it. He sucked
on it gently before leaving her mouth to kiss down her neck. When he ducked
under the covers, he used his hand to get them back in position. Then his
hand returned to her mound. She was half-way there when she noticed that he
wasn't getting ready for his entrance.

"Aren't you going to come inside?"

"After dinner. We'll have all evening to get together." Well... But he was
too skilled. She tightened under his stroking finger and his tongue and
lips. "Darling," he said as lightning struck her. He licked the other
nipple and kept stroking her clit until lightning struck again. After the
third time, she managed to knock his hand away. He lay with his arm across
her stomach and his front pressed to her as she recovered.

"You are the sexiest woman." She was the most exhausted woman, and there
were still things to do. She was tired of a gritty floor. She was happy to
cook for her man, but she'd be damned if she were to be his scrub woman.
Not until there was a wedding ring on her finger would she sweep his floor.
She held his hand, a convenient way to control where it went, and a
romantic way, too. After a while, she recovered enough energy to be able to
get up. Maybe she didn't have to just yet, though.

"Do you even own a broom?" There was grit on the floor. There was even road
salt that he (maybe she) had tracked in.

"No."

"A dustpan?" Though what use one would be without a broom, she couldn't see.

"No." He didn't, at least, ask what one was.

"Well, one of us is going to go out to buy them. Which one of us do you
want to put on their clothes?" At that, he got up. Well, that confirmed
part of what he said about his infatuation with her. He'd rather go out
into the cold than have her get dressed. Soon after he left, however, she
got up to put on the nightgown, robe, and slippers. She wasn't going to
direct him from the bed.

"This is the only sort of broom that they had," he said when he came in. It
looked like an ordinary broom to her. She must have looked puzzled, because
he explained. "I'm used to the push kind."

"You've used them?"

"Sure. The hardware store had a permanent cleaning crew, but we cleaned the
grocery store by ourselves. For that matter, the hardware cleaning crew
took vacations, too, and I filled in a few days." So, she didn't have as
much to teach him as she'd feared. She swept the entry nook by the door,
the part of the wall between the hall and the apartment that wasn't taken
up by the bathroom and the kitchen. He brought over the wastebasket, and
she stooped over to get the dirt into the dustpan. She emptied the dustpan
into the wastebasket, swept up the remaining line of dirt and emptied that.

"Now, you do it." He did, quite competently. He moved the chairs rather
than sweep under them, but that was fine. She tossed the edges of the
bedclothes up to show him how to sweep under the bed. He did the rest of
the apartment, including the kitchen and the bathroom, by himself. Since
the bathroom had linoleum, it really needed some sort of sponge mop. Still,
the place was much cleaner when they had finished. "Now," she said, "find a
place to store them." He used a corner of the entry nook. She'd have been
tempted to leave them in the kitchen -- the broom in her family's house was
in the kitchen closet -- but that probably wasn't practical in this
apartment. The kitchen didn't *have* a closet; it *was* a closet. She
washed her hands in the sink, and he used the bathroom washbasin.

"Now what?" he asked. He was looking at the bed, but they'd spent enough
time there this afternoon. It had been a pleasant time, but they probably
had more to discuss. It was too early to start dinner prep, considering how
late lunch had been. Still, it would be time in another hour or two.

"Sit down." When he pulled the chair into the table, she added, "Turn
around." She sat on his lap. His clothes felt chilly through her robe.
"This isn't as warm as I'd expected."

"I was just outside. In a coat, but still..." Well, the body heat from the
two of them would warm them soon enough.

"The floor will be better on your bare feet."

"You're right." Was he just trying to please her? But he went on. "I eat
off plates 'cause Marilyn doesn't like it when I eat out of a can. But this
will be better. I was getting the grit into bed, sometimes. I should have
done this myself." She had never felt that, but she didn't reach to the
foot of the bed, either. The mattress was six feet long, which left Andy
with an extra inch to put somewhere.

Now she was feeling warmer. His hands cradled her tits through the robe. He
kissed her ear. When moved his lips off, she leaned her head back to rub
her cheek against his.

"Mmmm," he said. "I love you."

"I love you, Andy."  She paused. "I'm not saying I'll marry you, but so
long as I'm your woman, I'll be exclusively yours. No sex with anyone else,
no making out, not even kisses -- family and such excepted."

"And I'm keeping the same rules about you. Not saying I'll marry you
excepted, of course." Then he stiffened. "Look, when my parents were
breaking up, Mom made all sorts of accusations. The ones about Dad's
secretary were absurd."

"How are you..." He shushed her with a finger to her lips.

"Let me finish this. On the other hand, Dad did share something with Miss
Weissman. Two people promise to join their lives together, then one of the
two has a huge chunk of his life that he doesn't share with his wife, but
does share with another woman. I can understand the jealousy.

"Anyway, I don't suspect you of going to bed with other men. I'm
tremendously jealous of the huge part of your life you share with fifty
other women and shut me out of."

"Andy, would you really want to share that part of my life? Aside from the
shower room, of course."

"It's not what you do. I'm not interested in Hell Week or the secret
rituals. It's that it's something you do that I can't see. It's that it
takes you away from me."

"You'd want me to be a hausfrau and stay at home at your beck and call?"
That was a side of Andy that surprised her.

"No. Even if you were locked at home every day, *I* would be gone. We still
wouldn't be together. Even the sorority is not something I would really
want you to change. It's just something that I'm jealous of. It's
frustrating, but life is usually frustrating."

"Anyway, why are you so sure your mother was wrong? Your Dad was a paragon
who stayed faithful through a break-up?"

"It's not that he was this great paragon. After the divorce, some little
time after Mom moved out, he went on dates. Sometimes he stayed all night,
usually Friday night. He was always home when I needed to get up for
school. I met two of the women. Later, I figured out that those were the
ones he considered marrying. Anyway, take your pick: He had an affair with
Miss Weissman which continued after his divorce while he was dating, even
courting, other women; he had an affair with Miss Weissman which ended, but
she continued as his secretary; he didn't have an affair with Miss
Weissman."

"But she was quite important in his life?" she asked.

"Still is. That's part of the reason that it's unlikely. An office affair
is always a great mistake. Can it be kept quiet? Can it end and not be
known? It was years after the divorce that he was promoted to vice
president."

"I see your point. You know, your parents divorce scares me. What do you
think of divorce?"

"When doctors amputate somebody's leg, it's almost always the best answer.
Docs are human as the rest of us; they make mistakes, but almost always
it's the best answer. It's still a tragedy. You say, 'I'm sorry you lost
your leg.' You don't say, 'They should have left that gangrenous leg on
you.' Same with divorce, although those deciding on it are neither
professionals nor impartial. They probably make a hell of a lot more
mistakes. In my parents case, the tragedy was the marital gangrene, not the
radical cure. I used to hear them shouting at each other; worse were the
arguments in whispers we weren't supposed to hear."

Well, that was one sort of divorce. There were others. "One of the girls
got a phone call in the middle of October. Her parents were divorcing, and
she claims that she never heard them argue."

"Out of state? Freshman year?"

"You aren't supposed to know that. I'm revealing a confidence if you know
the girl."

"I don't. It's just that this sounds like a couple who had said goodbye to
their marriage but were staying together for the sake of the kids. Those
would agree to send their kids away before the shit hit the fan."

"Maybe so. Still it doesn't sound like what you described."

"Well, It wasn't. Every unhappy marriage is different from the others.
Somebody said that. And, today, even happy marriages are different from one
another. Pastor Jake's wife, Anna, was a dedicated helper. Her life was his
ministry. Mrs. Pierce is a college professor. She has her own life and
career. I doubt that she knows what Mr. Pierce does in the Loop or
wherever."

"Yeah. And Mom, except for entertaining a couple of times a year, leaves
Dad's job strictly alone. She has her own life, but it doesn't make money."

"And you're going to be a teacher. I told you that I didn't want to have
you for my unhappy wife. I go back and forth on that. I want you so much,
that I'd be tempted to try to take you captive, if that were possible. But,
really, I want you to be happy. I don't want you to leave, but I don't want
you to *want* to leave."

"How about your walking away?"

"Not going to happen. Officially, possibly, but there are no guarantees.
'Andy, you have to leave now.' Even then, there are no guarantees."

"When I sent you to the store, you went."

"But that's not leaving you, except temporarily and physically. 'Andy, I
want something; go get it,' is much different from 'Andy, leave.' The one
is being part of the relationship. I'll go to work five days a week. That
won't be leaving you, much as I'd love to spend my life in bed with you."

"I can't decide whether you're a hopeless romantic or a sex maniac."

"Those are mutually contradictory?" Andy was a great guy and an odd guy. He
was still a guy. On the other hand, he was *her* guy.

It was warm, now, when she lay back. They made out, or -- mostly -- he made
out with her until she looked at her watch.

"It's really time to make dinner. Not that hamburgers are much dinner."

"You know, hamburgers and toasted cheese sandwiches are the two first foods
you cooked for me. They're playing our song, or at least our menu."

"Considering what else happened those afternoons, I'm surprised you
remember the menu."

"Considering what happened those afternoons, I remember every detail of
those days."

"Well," She got up. "We can't get together this vacation. Tonight will have
to last you for the rest of '76."

She opened the refrigerator and counted the slices of bread. She'd leave
four pieces of bread for breakfast toast. There were nine pieces to be
consumed tonight. The heel would do much better for burgers than for toast.
She'd make four big patties and one long thin piece for the last slice of
bread. Vacation would be long enough to get any left-over bread moldy, even
in the 'fridge.

"The rest of '76. Sounds worse than it is.... Well, how about January? Will
you spend two nights a week here?"

"Sure, except..." She was discussing her periods with him now, but she
still didn't feel comfortable doing so.

"Two days every week. I've proven to you that I won't force myself on you.
You sleep in my arms. Other than that, you set the limits."

"Look..."

"You look! You're thinking of marrying me. If you don't, you'll end up
marrying somebody. Do you expect to sleep on the couch for seven nights a
month? And, if you do, how will you explain it to our kids? Take the
plunge."

"Well, marriage is something else." Mom and Dad sure shared the same room
all month.

"Marriage is forever. Try it. Try it with a man who'll obey your rules. If
the answer is still no, then I'll know before the ceremony. If the answer
is yes, then you'll know that you're not going into the marriage with your
fingers crossed on one important particular."

"This is important to you, isn't it?" He argued about so few things.

"I want to have you. To really have you means that you're in my arms.
Having your clothes in the closet is a poor substitute."

"Well, you said that you wouldn't have me." He'd been quite specific that
he wouldn't press for sex.

"Now you're playing with words. I've said that I wouldn't screw you. I've
also said that I wanted to hold you. Is that distinction clear enough for
you?" 'Screw' was certainly a word she knew, used sometimes in the house
when they were letting down their hair. It wasn't one she was used to
hearing from him.

"Put the plates and condiments on the table." He did what he was told, and
dropped the subject, which was her implication. She hadn't agreed, but he
hadn't given up, either.

It was soon after lunch, and she wasn't all that hungry despite all the
exercise she'd had. She ate a whole burger and the little one with one
slice of bread. He ate three and more than his share of salad. He wasn't
being greedy; she urged the last portion  on him. She didn't believe in
salad for breakfast, and she didn't want to leave any in the 'fridge. She'd
cooked peas for lunch, but had decided that the dinner didn't require
veggies.

It was a little soon after dinner for sex. When he'd put the dishes in the
sink, she had him sit down again. She sat on his lap to ask him about his
earliest memories, what grade school had been like. Apparently, it hadn't
been fun for him. If he didn't have the jocks to bully him until high
school, there were other bullies.

"But, then, in one class -- English, probably, so your colleagues helped
rescue me -- I had a sentence to read. Something like: 'Yesterday, Johnny
read the story.' Whatever the sentence, it had the word 'read' in the past.
I pronounced it correctly, and the teacher made a fuss because I'd missed
the previous day when the class learned the pronunciation. Well, I already
enjoyed reading. Dad read to us every night. I figured that this was
something I could do well and do by myself without the bullies around. I
started reading everything they gave me. When Dad found out, he got more
books out of the library and gave me others of my own. By the time I
started eighth grade, I was reading at the level of the end of ninth. I had
my own library card and used it frequently. Sometime, Dad gave me a
paperback dictionary, adult level. I used to look up all the dirty words.
Did you know that 'virgin' is a dirty word?" She shook her head no.

"That's 'cause you were never a male adolescent. Anyway, the family got a
*Britannica*, and I never looked back. School was no fun; walking home was
sheer hell; once at home, I lost myself in a book. I read my school books.
Hell, by that time I would read a phone book if nothing else was available.
I used to read cereal boxes at breakfast.

"When I was first in high school, the girls wouldn't dance with me. I was
too much of a dweeb. Then I learned to dance. Mom taught me, and taught me
well. I went to the dances and noticed which girls didn't get asked to
dance. Then, I asked them to dance. The choice was standing around looking
like nobody would dance with you or dancing with Andy. Some of them
accepted me. As time went on, having a date was a social necessity. Some
got desperate enough to go with me. Between freshman year, when I got
turned down by most of the popular girls in the school, and senior year, I
never asked a popular girl out.

"Then, when I did, you turned me down."

"Poor Andy."

"Well, you at least had a polite excuse. You didn't say 'with you? Ick!' So
I waited awhile and asked you again." Again, he was omitting Brittany.
She'd have to ask her.

"I never thought you were ick. I thought you were a nice guy, but I was
going steady."

"You're the sweetest woman." He nuzzled her ear and slipped his hand inside
her robe.

"Think the burgers are digested now?" He understood her meaning and picked
her up from the seated position. He carried her to the bed. Admittedly,
that wasn't far, but it was a great Rhett Butler imitation. She slipped
into the bed while he fetched the chair to hold her minimal clothes and his
full outfit.

Once in bed, he took her to three climaxes before moving over her and into
her. This was the finest climax of all. It seemed to last forever before he
joined her, and then run over a tiny bit longer. She was exhausted when he
clicked off the lamp and gathered her into his arms. She hugged his arm
between her tits while he hugged her entire upper body. When she got up in
the night, it was freezing, but -- back in bed -- she had her love to keep
her warm.

In the morning, both having had their bathroom time, Andy stretched out the
times of their love making almost perversely. His hand and -- despite what
he'd said about tasting better when he hadn't been in her -- his mouth had
brought her to five climaxes when he entered her. The apex of the morning
was that he'd joined her in her sixth. They dozed after that, and it was
nearly 10:00 when they had their shower. Worried about the breakfast
schedule, she cut that short. She dressed before cooking, and they got up
from a breakfast of pancakes, syrup, sausages, and toast at 11:15. That was
cutting it close, but they were at the station well before noon. Zeta was
represented among the students going north on that train. They sat with
some of her sisters, and merely held hands while they joined in the general
conversation. They were too used to privacy to be as demonstrative as
they'd been on previous trips. They still had things to discuss, but not in
front of people they knew. Most of it, she didn't want to discuss in front
of perfect strangers, either.

Her parents and his Dad met the train. Andy was carrying her suitcase, her
book bag, and his own suitcase. His dad took Andy's suitcase and walked
with them until Andy put her stuff in the trunk. Then they took their
goodbyes. Andy had his suitcase back when they walked away.

"Really, dear, did he have to come to the car with you?" Mom asked.

"Well, you noticed, didn't you, that he carried my luggage to the car. If
you wanted him to leave me, Dad could have taken my suitcase. I noticed
that his dad took his."

"You're capable of handling your own belongings. If your case was too
heavy, you packed too much. Why did you bring those books, for example?"

"I could carry it. I don't carry things when Andy is around. He's a
gentleman. Those books carry over from the previous semester to the next
one. I'm going to read a little ahead. I suppose I could have brought just
one. Last summer, Andy read ahead in partial differential equations. He had
a preview of almost the entire fall semester by the time he went back."

"I don't like all this discussion of Andy," Dad said.

"Tell Mom. She brought him up. She criticized him for being a gentleman. As
for me, I'll shut up about my life if you want. I'm sure you have more
important things to discuss than the life of a young college girl. If I do
discuss my life, it's likely to include discussion of a person who is very
important in my life."

"Of course we want to know about your life at school, dear," Mom said. "How
was Zeta this semester?"

"I thought I wrote." She damned-well knew she'd written. Mom was just
trying to get avoid that challenge. "We pledged sixteen; they all got
through and are now actives. Natalie was pledge chair, and I was vice
president. Consequently, I had a more to do with the pledges than I'd have
preferred."

"Vice president your junior year," said Dad. "That's impressive."

"Sorry Dad! The vice president is always a junior. That means I'll run the
first meeting next August. Anyway, I have a new Grand Little Sister, Joyce.
Beverly really likes her. So do I."

"Well," Mom said, "vice president is impressive, always a junior or not."
Well, yes. The chapter had chosen her from among a dozen juniors. That was
impressive if your standards ran to 'best among a dozen.'

Sunday, again, she and Andy sat together in church. Dad looked sour on the
way home, but he didn't really say anything.

Monday, she went downtown to finish her Christmas shopping. She'd not had
time between Hell Week and finals. Well, she'd had time for Andy, but not
time for both. Andy was a real pain to shop for. After a tie clasp, the
natural choice was cuff links, but he didn't own a shirt with French cuffs,
at least he didn't have one in Champagne. He already had a slide rule, and
a quite fancy one. He'd mentioned, too, that they were becoming
obsolescent. If shopping for the man who had everything was a chore,
shopping for the man who didn't want anything was worse. Probably she
should feel honored that the man who wanted (almost) nothing wanted her so
vehemently. She could write him a promise to sleep beside him during her
period, and he'd be immensely grateful. That wasn't the sort of present
that she wanted him opening in front of his dad, though. She finally
settled on a fancy mechanical pencil and ballpoint pen set.

She shopped Wednesday, too. If she had bought too few presents, she'd
wrapped none. Thursday evening, she confiscated all the wrapping paper in
the house. She took it and her presents up to her room. She wrapped Andy's
present first, and set it on her pillow. Sunday, they exchanged presents
before sitting together. She took his home with her and put it under the
tree. Monday, she came down for breakfast with her parents. Then she went
up to her room. She made the bed and lay down on it with only her shoes
off. She had an Andy problem.

She loved the guy, true. He was, despite his weirdnesses, or perhaps
because of them, lovable. He loved her, and was willing to agree to almost
anything if she'd marry him. He wasn't lying about that, either. When
something came up he wasn't willing to give up, he was obstinate. But, in
ten years, would he still love her enough to give everything up? If they'd
made a bunch of compromises, then she would expect him to keep to the
compromises. At that point, Mom opened the door.

"Marilyn, why are you sulking up here?"

"Why didn't you knock and wait for the response. It's Christmas. What if I
were wrapping your present?"

"You have all the family presents under the tree. You never give more than
one apiece. Why don't you answer my question? What's wrong? Why are you
sulking?"

"I wasn't sulking. I was thinking. We have that unabridged dictionary; why
don't you look up 'think' in it? Might teach you something."

"What were you thinking about with your door closed? Is it anything I can
help with?"

"It's something I wanted to think about in privacy. That's another word you
could look up. That's the reason people close doors, to get privacy."

"Don't be snippy with me, young lady."

"I was considering whether to go to the library. I think I will." She did,
got a volume from the encyclopedia, and sat with it open in front of her.
She should have had the article on marriage, but she didn't think about
that until she sat down. She hoped she wasn't taking a volume that some
high-school student needed for a class project, but there didn't seem to be
many other people in the library at this time.

Now she could consider her problem in more privacy than she'd ever get at
home. Andy claimed that his weird life-style wasn't his preference, but
only the absence of contrary preferences. Would that make him less likely
to rebel against following all her choices? It seemed plausible. After all,
he made a distinction between eating off plates and sweeping the floor. It
simply hadn't occurred to him to sweep the floor. And, for all that he'd
spent his teen years with a housekeeper at his beck and call, he seemed
perfectly willing to do any work that he saw needed to be done. The problem
was how little work he saw as needing to be done.

Maybe that was a plus, though. If having to eat warm food off plates
instead of eating out of a can from the refrigerator tired him of Marilyn,
he wouldn't be tempted run off with any other woman who expected to eat
warm food off plates. At least, that wouldn't be the reason. If she were
condemning herself to a lifetime of trying to find a gift he would enjoy,
at least he would never ask why she hadn't given him what he really wanted.
For that matter, when they were married and in their own house, she could
always give him an extra sex act. He'd be glad to keep it secret, and she
could give him an article of clothing that they could tell the rest of the
world about.

Maybe that was what she should do in January. If she slept with him during
her period, she could say "Merry Christmas." That would please him much
more than the pen and pencil set, but the set would look good to his
family. But that was not the issue on the table.

She loved him, and he loved her apparently much more. Their love would be a
fine basis for a marriage, if a rather strange basis for a rather strange
marriage. The problem was that Andy wasn't looking for a marriage. She, to
be honest with herself, was. As long as he loved her, as long as he was
willing to conform to her desires to keep her in his life, that would be a
delightful marriage. And that wasn't merely because she could get her way.
She'd give as much to the marriage as she took from it. If her love cooled,
and she couldn't imagine it doing so, she would still keep her bargain. In
the ceremony, it said "until death do you part," and she believed in that.

There were reasons to leave a marriage. Abuse, cheating, though she was
less adamant about cheating. She'd heard Sunday-School lectures on the
difference between a contract and a covenant. Marriage was a covenant, and
his breaking it didn't excuse your breaking it. On the other hand, how much
covenant was left if he was always breaking it. Abuse, though, meant being
driven out rather than leaving.

But little of that was relevant to her situation. Andy wouldn't abuse her.
Sure, he could hurt her thoughtlessly, although the only time had been a
minor hurt and entirely her fault. She wasn't going to spend the next fifty
years in a house with someone, much less someone that big and with that
tendency to forget his surroundings, without his stepping on her toes
occasionally. But she was going to hurt herself, too. As long as he didn't
intend it, that could be easily forgiven. And Andy would never intend it.

Andy wasn't the type to cheat, either. Many of her sorority sisters looked
much sexier than she did, and she hadn't caught his eyes wandering. And
they hadn't caught his eyes wandering either; they'd have told her, teased
her about it. He'd already admitted to having used centerfolds to get his
sex relief. That wasn't all that different from going to prostitutes,
although much cheaper. Still, that frightened her less than a real affair,
and she didn't picture him doing that, either.

She wasn't afraid of his splitting his attention between her and another
woman. She was afraid of his losing all his love for her. He was so intense
that it was hard to see that intensity lasting for decades. She could
picture normal boy-girl love mellowing into the fondness and cooperation
she saw in her parents and in other couples in their circle. What would
Andy's intensity mellow into? What could it? Was she facing him getting
totally focused on somebody else in five years? Somehow, she doubted it.
Getting totally focused on *something* else was more probable. Andy wasn't
all that different from the guys who spent their time chasing UFO sightings
all around the country. Well, he was scientifically trained, which might
let that out.

Still, "I can't marry him; he loves me too intensely," sounded damned weird
even to her. Time was a problem. Either she married him in June of '78, or
she didn't marry him. If she didn't marry him, anyone else she married
would love her less single-mindedly, less obsessively. But in eighteen
months, somewhat less, probably, she and he were both going to be looking
at job prospects. It would be perfectly reasonable for an engaged couple to
limit their consideration to prospects which would bring them to the same
place. It wouldn't be reasonable for two friends to limit them in the same
way.

If she told Andy where she was going, he might very well decide to follow
her. Probably he could do that easily. If he kept getting the grades he was
getting, she thought he would be in great demand.  Still, he wouldn't do
that unless she dropped a hint. And dropping a hint would be a promise;
however much she told him that she wasn't making any promises, she would
know that. Following him would be making a promise, too, and that would
probably be easier. She hadn't any illusions about how desirable her
transcript would make her, but there would be English-teacher openings
practically everywhere. But all that was ridiculous. It wouldn't solve her
problem; it would only delay the decision.

One practical thing she needed to do before deciding was to talk to
Britanny. Andy kept ignoring his romance with Brittany when recounting the
past. She doubted that he were concealing anything dark and passionate.
Still, his report as to his past feelings, however honestly it reflected
his present memory, might contain a good deal of slippage. Whether he'd
been obsessed with her for three years or for two-and-a-half wasn't the
issue. Whether his memory of the obsession represented the facts was. He
said he would never change. That was impossible to ascertain, except by
waiting to see. But, if he had changed and said he hadn't, the statement
was less likely.

Well, she'd finished her planned final-decision consideration with a good
reason to postpone the decision. She put away the encyclopedia volume. She
looked through the new-fiction section. She selected the most lurid cover
to take out. Mom was so easy to shock, and so determined to not express
shock. For that matter, she might actually read it. It would be as close as
she could get to sex until she returned to campus. But, if she couldn't
sleep with Andy while they were in Evanston, she could see him. And Mom had
actually suggested it.

"Mom, remember how you said I should cook dinner and invite Andy to eat it
with the family?" Mom didn't agree, but she didn't deny it either. "Well,
there wasn't time in August. Why don't I invite him over this week? I could
fix the meal, and you wouldn't have to do anything more than supervise."

"Well, there isn't time this week, either. Christmas is Saturday."

"How about Monday, then?"

"All right. Do you want to cook your Beef Stroganoff?"

"It's my best dish." She called that evening to invite him. He accepted.
He called back Thursday evening to invite her to his house to eat with him
and his dad on Wednesday after.

Christmas, Andy's gift was a gold chain necklace. Girls were wearing that.
Mom was quick to call it "costume jewelry."

"Yeah! Would you have preferred a diamond ring?"

"Marilyn! Has he proposed to you?" Wouldn't you like to know? She eluded
the question.

"Well, you know you don't want him to. So don't complain about what he did
give. I think it's quite pretty." And it was.

"Are you sleeping with that guy?" asked Pete.

"Unlike some people I might name, his personality doesn't put one to sleep."

"Stop that! Both of you," Dad said. That was terribly unfair, while Pete's
question had been both dirty and terribly intrusive, her answer had merely
deflected it.

She wore the chain to church on Sunday. It was really intended for somewhat
less formal wear. Girls wore them with jeans and blouses, but not with
tees. She thanked him for the gift, and he thanked her for his.

On Monday, he wore khakis, white shirt, and tie. Dad was wearing the suit
he'd worn in the office; Pete was in jeans and a sweatshirt. Everyone tried
to be on their best behavior, but you could see the strain. Andy lavished
praise on her cooking. Mom brought up Zeta.

"Marilyn's told me," Andy said. "You were in the same sorority, but in a
different chapter. Dickinson, wasn't it?"

"You remembered." It was the first appreciative thing Mom had said to Andy.
The conversation went on, and she mentioned Joyce again.

"Nice girl," said Andy. "Another education major, but she's thinking of the
primary grades." He hadn't learned this from her!

"You know the girls in Marilyn's house?" Dad asked.

"Lots of them. I pick Marilyn up, and there are other women there. Football
games and dances, Marilyn sometimes introduces me to some of her sisters. I
certainly know her line." Andy was downplaying it, but Dad didn't have to
know how deeply he and she were involved.

"I get the impression that you are the only one she dates."

"I get the same impression, house dates excepted. I know parents would
prefer their daughters to keep window shopping, but -- sooner or later --
they make their selection. After all, Marilyn was going steady when I met
her, back in high school." And Dad hadn't objected so strongly back then.

"Well, we'd known Colin." How well had they really known Colin? Not even
Mom had heard about the attempt at date rape.

"Well, yes. But that's a product of going off to college. If she'd accepted
my first invitation for a date, I'd have picked her up right here. You'd
have called me in, and asked me all sorts of questions and laid down all
sorts of rules. Probably, I'd have been your guest loads of times. But you
know me better than you know any of the guys she dances with on house
dates. You can find out about my Dad by asking at church. Mr. Schmidt was
my employer for the past three summers. You're not interested in most of
that, but you can ask him what he thinks of me. That's as much as you knew
about the other boy -- probably more."

"Really, Dad, if this is the first time Andy is eating dinner with us, it's
because it's the first time he was invited."

"And I'm open to questions," Andy said.

"The question," Pete said, "is if you're balling her."

"Pete, you're a high-school senior, no?" Andy asked.

"Yeah."

"If I had a suggestion about my sister's sex life in his hearing, much less
at the dinner table, my Dad would turn me over his knee. And I'm three
years older than you are. If you want me to think of you as an adult, talk
about relativity."

"Relativity?"

"I could talk about relativity when I was a high-school senior, and I
didn't think I was an adult. Anyway, it's something adults talk about. They
also talk about the recent elections. Schoolboys snigger." He paused, and
turned to Dad. "I'm sorry, sir. I spoke out of turn. I didn't have the
right to discipline your little boy."

"Well, Pete was out of turn." Although she could see that the question he
raised was one that interested Dad. Still, he was adult enough to not raise
it with Andy. Pete was boiling about being called a little boy. Dad wasn't
going to give him any sympathy for that.

The conversation got better after that, which was the only direction it
could go. Andy kissed her good bye very chastely on the porch.

"Really Marilyn!" Mom said.

"Oh, for goodness sake." Mom knew how far they went, if not how often.
Still neither of them were about to say that in front of Dad and Pete.
"Colin, who Dad likes so much, used to kiss me more messily on that porch
without any complaints." It should have been 'whom Dad likes so much,' but
arguing with Mom tended to ruin her English. "Come on, Pete, let's clear
the dishes." That was a quite transparent ploy to get her brother off where
they could talk alone. Mom and Dad went up to their room.

"I don't like that guy," Pete said, "talking down to me."

"Look, Pete, see what he responded to. Your comment was just another
example of your sniggering" She liked Andy's word. "at your sister. Andy
reacted to an insult to his girlfriend. Anywhere else from anybody else, he
would have gone after you physically. And he's right. You were pretending
to be an adult, and pretending way too childishly. Dad didn't ask that
question. Maybe he'll take me off privately to ask it, but he wouldn't have
done it there. It's not cool."

"And when he asks, what will you say?"

"That's why he'll ask it privately, if at all. Look, with your pals, you
can speculate about all the girls in your class. You don't speculate about
your sister. You don't suggest that I'm sleeping with anybody; you don't
even assert that I'm not. Your sister isn't a subject for discussion that
way. You can say that I'm silly; you can say that I'm stuck up; you can say
that I'm a lazy slob who doesn't do her share of the housework, ridiculous
as that is when I'm cleaning up a meal that I cooked. You can't say whether
I'm sleeping with Andy, whether I'm sleeping with anyone. When you do, it
reflects badly on me, but it reflects much worse on you."

"You're serious."

"Do you know how much it takes to get Andy to go off like that? There was
Dad ragging on about how they didn't know enough about him. They fucking
didn't ask. Way long ago, Andy walked up to Dad after church and offered to
lay down his boy-friend resume for him. Dad was more interested then in
picking a fight. Instead of blowing up, as he deserved to do, Andy laid
down some references again. And they knew about Colin because they invited
him into the house. And they didn't know as much about Colin as they think
they did. But, anyway, Andy turned the other cheek. Then you said the
unforgivable, and Andy spanked you. Dad was, whatever he said, annoyed by
how well Andy spanked you, but he couldn't object because you deserved a
spanking."

"You think that only little boys talk about sex, like Andy said?"

"That isn't quite what he said. Context is all. Do college boys talk about
sex? Well, college girls sure do. But when college boys talk about sex in
front of college girls, the girls think that they are incredibly immature.

"You want to sound like an adult? When I had my first real conversation
with Andy, more than four years ago, we were setting up for the rummage
sale, and Mr. Pierce was there. We were waiting for Mrs. Pierce, and then
he was going to give us a ride home. Anyway, there was an adult and two
high-school seniors, and we had to find something to talk about while we
waited. The adult asked us about our planned majors. Andy hadn't talked
with Joan more than five minutes, but he asked her major. Of course, that's
college. If Dad brings a visitor home from work, you don't ask what he
majored in in college. Andy's dad, though, once told me he'd majored in
history. But adults do find things to talk about during social occasions,
and it isn't sex lives."

"You say college girls talk about sex."

"Sometimes they do. But with their friends, their close friends.
High-school girls do, too. But they don't do it at the dinner table when
they are entertaining a guest."

"Maybe I really wanted to know."

"Well, you didn't want to know. You may be stupid, but you're not stupid
enough to think that that was the way to find out. Even if he'd blushed,
that wouldn't mean that we had; it would only mean that he was embarrassed
by the rude question. Anyway, you have no need to know."

"Maybe guiding my own behavior."

"I won't tell you what I do, I won't tell you what anybody specific does.
If you really want to have a serious conversation, I'll tell you what I
know about girls in general."

"Well..."

"But not now. There's no reason to reward you for your obnoxious behavior."

"Do you really know what girls like?"

"I'm one, and I talk to lots. What I will tell you, not because you deserve
it but to protect the female population of ETHS, is that it's not what
girls like. Girls are individuals. Some girls like some things; other girls
like other things. Any girl will dislike something coming from one guy, and
find out she loves it coming from another guy."

"That's no help."

"Actually it is. I get the impression that you're still trying to be the
generic stud for the generic girl. Unimpressive as I find you myself, there
must be a girl out there who will appreciate whatever strengths you have
that I can't perceive."

"Hey!"

"Honestly, Pete, what are your good points?"

"I play a mean game of ball. I'm not on the team, but..."

"Okay. Look, you're high-school career is almost over. Take what you can
get the way you've been going. You're going away to college, right?"

"Yeah. I have my apps to fill out."

"Okay. Get on some intramural team. The frats all have them, probably other
groups, too. Then let that shine. Some girl will appreciate it. work hard
in class. You'll have classmates who need your help. Some of them will be
girls."

"That doesn't impress anybody."

"Actually, it does. In one of my English classes, the two top students were
women. The number two student dated the number three student. She told me
that she needed somebody she could, at least, talk to. And remember, it's
not high school. You don't know everybody. Most of the girls you meet will
be in class. Maybe you're a hot shot intramural jock. Those girls won't
know. They *will* know whether you look like an idiot in class. Planning to
pledge?"

"You did."

"Am I such an exemplar? Anyway, if you do you'll meet girls. They have what
we call house dates. The fraternity pledge chair gets together with the
sorority pledge chair. They set up a party at one or the other house. We
usually did it at the frat house. Then they put their list together so
every pledge has a date. Most actives are paired, too, but actives can opt
out if they're going steady. That will give you a date  for the night. If
the weather is good and it's at your frat house, you'll walk the girl back
to her house. Warning! A lot of frat pledges act like pigs at that time.
They're never going to see the girl again, so they grab what they can get.

"Those end up with a whole sorority knowing that they are pigs. And that
information can spread much further. Girls know each other in class or come
from the same high school. Smart guys not only are gentlemen, they act
attentive all evening. Maybe you don't want to date that girl again, but
maybe you'll want to date one of her sisters some time. The better time the
girl has, the better your reputation will be. And that will help your
pledge chair, too. Maybe in three years, your date will be her sorority's
pledge chair. If she remembers her great date with Delta, she'll want her
pledges to have a house date with Delta, and vice versa.

"So, you talk with the girl the entire evening. You don't get drunk. You
talk about her, not about you. I've heard a lot of reports of first dates.
I've heard a lot of reports of how egotistical the guy was. I've never
heard about what he'd accomplished. You walk her home. On the porch, you
thank her for the fun date; then you kiss her good night. you keep your
tongue to yourself, and -- especially -- you keep your hands to yourself.
The girl might be impressed with you. She's certain to be impressed with
your manners. And she'll have a sister in the next four years who is
desperate for a date."

"That's playing the long run. Some of us are in a hurry."

"But your pledge chair takes care of your hurry. The next week, you'll get
another date. And, of course, you'll be spending time in class. Maybe in
class you'll meet a girl whom you really like. What my rules give you is a
growing positive reputation."

"For some time in the far future. I want to get laid, and laid soon."

"Until you save up enough for a prostitute, you won't get laid for that
very reason. Look, some of the girls in your class are looking for sex.
I'll bet none of them are looking to provide sex. First you find a girl you
like; then you convince her that you care about her; then *maybe* she'll
care about you enough to want to go to bed with you. If you want something,
from full sex to a feel of clothed tit, and the girl figures out that this
is what you want and you're only interested in her as a means to that end,
she'll turn you down. After all, if she was willing to screw somebody who
simply wants to screw anybody, she could sell it."

"Is that what he's sold you? That he cares about you?"

"Andy cares about me, and I care about him. No selling involved. How far
that's led is for me to know and not for you to find out. Now, I was trying
to be helpful. You responded by being hateful. Let's leave." She turned on
the dishwasher, which had been filled early in the conversation. First,
she'd told Pete that she wouldn't help him because he'd been a pig at
dinner, then she tried to help him. She was much too fond of giving advice.
Well, she was going to be a teacher by profession; being a teacher by
nature wasn't that bad a preparation.

Andy came for her Wednesday in his dad's Buick. He'd walked when he was a
guest, but he obviously thought a ride was more fitting for her. The three
of them faced an entire baked ham. Mr. Trainor carved and served. It was
delicious. The meal was all the more enjoyable for her host's pleasant
acceptance of her.

"It is a real pleasure to be here, Mr. Trainor. I get the real feeling that
you like me."

"What's not to like?" Mr. Trainor asked. "You're an intelligent, sensitive,
attractive young woman. And, most of all..."

"Attractive?" Andy burst in. "She's utterly beautiful." She'd been shaking
her head at the word "attractive" from the other perspective.

"And most of all, you're good to him and for him. Story was told of a woman
in the past century who dined on successive nights with two of the most
famous hosts in England. After the first night, she came away thinking that
her host was the most interesting man in the country; after the second
night, she came away thinking that *she* was the most interesting woman in
the country. Well, despite the contrast in appearance, Andy looks better in
your company.

"And as for you, my son, you don't love her because you think she's the
most beautiful woman on campus. You think she's the most beautiful woman on
campus because you love her."

"Well...." Andy seemed to accept that, and it sounded good to her, too.

"Having said that, Miss Grant, I think you downplay your attractiveness to
the rest of us. I'm not in love with you, and I don't think you're Miss
America material. On the other hand, I do think you're attractive, and as a
woman as well as my son's girlfriend."

"I know what boys like." She made a gesture out in front of her chest.

"Well, on your frame *that* that would be grotesque. But, certainly, the
centerfold shape is one which most males find attractive, but it's hardly
the only one we find attractive. You wear your hair like that because you
think it's attractive, don't you?" Wild jumps in conversation seemed to be
a family habit.

"Sure." That didn't mean that it made up for 4" 11' and an A cup, though.

"And so it is. But the very opposite, hair hanging straight down to the
waist, is also a haircut which attracts men. When Andy was first attracted
to you, you turned him down, didn't you?"

"Well, I was going steady."

"Which implies that he's not the only male who has been attracted to you.
As a matter of fact, have you ever had a long period of lacking the
attention of the male sex?" That she could answer.

"Back in eighth grade, I would have killed for a little attention."

"Good. As the father of two daughters, I heartily disapprove of boys dating
eighth-grade girls. But, even then, your situation was different in two
ways. What you lacked was attention from eighth-grade boys, and
eighth-grade boys are hardly satisfactory representatives of the male sex.
For that matter, you don't know whether one of your classmates had a secret
crush on you which he was too scared to express. But, after all, we were
talking about whether your shape is attractive. Were you the same shape in
the eighth grade?" Well, no, but she sure didn't have more curves back
then. She didn't have *any* curves back then.

"No, but..."

"So your shape is attractive to a fair number of men. Really, you know,
your comment about 'what boys like' is damnably reductive. You like Andy,
don't you? You're not simply dating him because no athletes are available?"

"Well, Andy is stronger than he looks."

"But hardly an athlete. For that matter, did you discover his strength
before or after you started dating him?"

"Long after we started dating." She should have figured it out when she saw
him hauling those tables, but she'd only learned it when he picked her up
to kiss her.

"Well 'what girls like' is an athlete, if you look at the stereotype of
coeds. We males no more fit the stereotypes than you females do. One thing
that attracts Andy to you is that you're bright. Now, one stereotype of
coeds is that they hide their brains 'cause it turns men off. And, of
course, it turns *some* men off."

"Well, those guys worry about dating a girl smarter than they are. Andy
doesn't need to worry about that."

"I'm not sure that he isn't doing it right now. Not this minute, since this
meal isn't a date. I'd make a poor duenna. But he's dating a shockingly
bright girl this year -- and for the last two years."

"I'm nowhere near as smart as he is. He makes Dean's list, after all."

"Well, he may be better at class work than you are, but you don't put the
emphasis on it that he does. What did he tell me? You're vice president of
your sorority?"

"Of the chapter. The sorority is a national organization. The chapter is
fifty-some women on one campus." She'd always said that there were fifty
women in the house, but there were closer to sixty this year.

"Well, still, that takes work doesn't it, over and above the work your
average member puts in? Andy studies, and I applaud that. 'Past chapter
vice president' isn't going to go on your transcript. But, leaving that
aside, my estimate of your intelligence comes more from your success with
my daughters."

"You're very kind. But you're underestimating your son. Last spring, as a
favor to me, he tutored three sisters who were in trouble in College Math.
All three were helped tremendously."

"Well, you'll have to visit more often. I hadn't heard about that. Andy
answers my direct questions, but he seldom volunteers any information."

"Now..." Andy began.

"Well, that's my observation. You did introduce Miss Grant very politely.
You didn't say why she was important in your life, but that she was was
clear."

"When are you doing to call me Marilyn?"

"When you call me Jim." Still, when they'd eaten dessert, he took his
formal farewell and went upstairs. Andy drove her home, but they had a few
minutes together in the living room before they left. It was a far cry from
what they had in Champaign, but it was contact.

Mom and Dad held a New Year's Eve party, but they didn't invite Andy. She
went to bed before 1977 was one year old. After church that Sunday, she and
Andy talked about their plans for going back to campus. They decided,
publicly, that they should go back the next Saturday to get a start on the
new semester. That really wasn't her motive, and she doubted very much that
it was Andy's motive, either. Mom and Dad didn't like it, but the holidays
were really over.

She left the bodice ripper for Mom to return to the library. She'd read the
first three quarters, including the defloration scene. The heroine had had
more pain, and also more pleasure, on her first time than Marilyn had had
on hers. The hero had been a lot more skillful than Andy had been. But,
then, Andy had improved his skills by reading a book. The hero, it seemed
to her, hadn't improved any over the next three assignations. Before
leaving she read the last few pages. The heroine ended up not only married
to the hero, but with his child. Somehow, hot romances never ended with the
heroine leaving to find her own career.

The grades had come late that week. They compared their results on the
train. Andy had received four A s, which was better than his previous
Dean's List scores. She'd got a C, two B s, and an A in teaching reading.
Well, if she needed an A in one class more than in others, it was in that
one.

From the evening of Saturday, Jan. 8, to noon on Wednesday, Jan. 12, she
and Andy hardly left the apartment. They showered together before
breakfast. Without dressing, they went back to bed. He would bring her to
climax with his mouth until she'd beg for a respite. Then they would drowse
together. If the room got warm enough, he'd bring her off with his hand in
front of the mirror; then she'd ride him to a mutual conclusion back on the
bed. Otherwise, they stayed under the covers hugging and making out. She
saw Andy with five-o'clock shadows. Except for her blow-job experiment, he
had always been smooth cheeked.

She made meals and gave him shopping lists. He went out to get the food.
She dressed only once. He undressed as soon as he'd returned to the room.
They slept intertwined for nine hours a night, and more hours morning and
afternoon. For all that, she got further in the books she'd packed than
she'd got in the longer time at home. Being with Andy was conducive to
studying. When not actually making love, he sort of expected it.

Wednesday, she returned to the house as rested as she'd ever been.
Thursday, her period began. Friday and Saturday, most of the members came
in. After dinner on Saturday, she called for him to pick her up.

"Remember that you said that you wanted me in your arms even if we couldn't
have sex?" she asked when she was back at the apartment.

"Sure. It's true."

"Well, I know that the pen set wasn't much of a Christmas present."

"I loved it."

"You never thought of a pen as anything more than a cheap way of drawing a
line. Well, that's the present that you have to tell everybody I gave you.
You can't mention this one."

"What one?"

"Merry Christmas. You have me in your arms tonight." And, true to his word,
he held her in his arms without trying for sex. "These are a little sore,"
she said when he tried to play with her nipple. Immediately, he moved his
hand to her left arm. Later in the night she woke with his hand cupping her
tit. He'd moved in his sleep, but it was such a gentle touch she brought it
back when she got back from the john. They showered together in the morning
and had lots of time to get to church.

"I'm glad we're going," he said. "This morning, I feel especially
grateful." The guy could be soppy sweet, but he was the nicest guy in the
world.

They spent that Thursday night together, and the sex was as wonderful as
ever. Friday, she caught Brittany.

"Have some time?" Brittany was happy to join Marilyn in her room. Janice
and Karen, with most of the rest of the house, were preparing for the party
the next night to honor the new actives.

"Look, maybe it's none of my business, but I've been curious about the
period when you and Andy were dating. Neither, if you'll pardon me, looked
broken up about breaking up."

"He's the nicest guy. You'd have to know what happened before. Jack and I
had been dating like forever. We were steadies, and I thought I was in
love. Well, Jack said that if I really loved him, I'd go to bed with him. I
said that if he really loved me, he wouldn't ask that of me. I was young;
we both in 11th grade. Anyway, Jack gave me an ultimatum, and we broke up.
I expected us to get back together until I heard that he'd invited another
girl to the next dance. I'd been dumped. Andy must have heard something.
Anyway, this senior asked me to the dance, and did it publicly, in the
lunch room in front of my friends. I was no longer a reject; I was sought
after. And I was still thinking of Jack. Andy was, after all, from Chicago,
and everybody knew how Chicago boys were more demanding."

"You might ask some of your Chicago sisters about that. I knew some
demanding boys in Evanston, too."

"Well, yes. But that was what everybody knew. Jack would wonder what Andy
was getting that he hadn't. Once or twice when Jack was close, I'd wiggle
more wildly or rub up against Andy. Well, that was fine during the dance.
Then Andy parked the car. Now it was time to put up or shut up, and I had
loved jack, or thought I did, when we made out. Now, I was in a car with a
guy who had only taken me to a dance -- who I had almost never even spoken
to before. Dad had laid down the law as to when I had to be back, but that
only meant that Andy had to move fast, and Chicago boys knew how to move
fast."

"That doesn't sound like the nicest guy to me."

"It wasn't. But it was what I was expecting. And where would my next date
come from if I said no too soon. But Andy put his hands on the wheel and
said that we weren't there because we loved each other. That pawing me
would be bad for both of us. That Dad expected us to take so much time, and
he'd get me back just before the deadline. After the way I'd been treated
by a guy I'd thought loved me, those hands on the steering wheel just broke
me up. He gave me some Kleenex and told me that he'd expect one kiss on my
front porch. And that was what he took. Really, it was what I gave him. He
was the nicest guy. And, without getting anything from me, he took me to
the next couple of dances, too. I noticed during those dances that he was
conscious of you the whole time. He wasn't like me, faking a passion to
tease someone else, but he knew when you were close.

"Anyway, he was the nicest guy. And I'd liked you, too. I'm really glad
that you two got together. You deserve each other."

"Well, I'm not sure what I deserve, but you're right about the nicest guy.
Now, we really should take part in the decorating job." So, Andy's story
about being interested in her was confirmed. And her suspicion of the
romance with Brittany was unjustified. Brittany was right. Andy was the
nicest guy. What she didn't have, though, was any more excuses for not
making a decision. She didn't have another schedule for that decision,
though, so she could avoid it.

Andy came to the party. In the accelerated life of the university, they
were among the elders, and among the very oldest relationships. There were
seniors pinned to guys that they'd met after they'd met Andy. He and she
danced all the slow dances and most of the fast ones together. When they
sat out, they sat out together. Half a dozen freshmen came over to them and
introduced their dates. When the party ran down, Andy stayed to help with
the first-stage cleanup.  Merrillie, Victoria, and Natalie, who shared
managing the cleanup, took to asking Andy to handle particular tasks. A
strong man was a great help in the process. When the place looked half-way
decent, they left by the kitchen door.

In the apartment, she only shed her clothes and cleaned off her makeup
before tumbling into bed. When he lay down, she snuggled back into him. He
curled around her in a spoon.

"Tired?" he asked. Brittany was right.

"Not that tired." Actually, she was tired but not sleepy. Instead, she was
keyed up. He hugged her and kissed the back of her head. His hand stroked
both her tits before concentrating on the right nipple. She grabbed that
hand to bring it to her lips. When she stopped kissing his fingers, he
brought it down to play with the hair on her mound. Soon, he parted her
lips to stroke along her cleft. The whole night had been foreplay, and she
felt herself responding rapidly. She didn't want to experience the climax
alone. As he stroked her clit regularly, she reached back. He clamped his
arm over hers.

"I'm on hair trigger," he said.

"You!" she demanded. She tried to roll onto her back, but he had her nearly
surrounded.

"Like this," he said. He moved down in the bed to kiss her neck. His lips
found the place that always made her hot. "Put me in." He released her arm.

She reached back and grasped his cock. It felt burning hot. She moved it to
her entrance. As he moved back up in the bed, he entered her, pierced her,
filled her. When she was full of him and stretched around him, he stopped
moving. His finger, though, kept stroking her clit.

"Darling," he said, "Love." He kissed the top of her head while his finger
continued its dance and the heat spread from the rod of fire occupying her
pussy.

"Oh, Andy!" She couldn't take this. She had to move, but he was holding her
too tightly. "Oh!" The lightning struck. As she clenched around the burning
brand piercing her, he began moving it in and out.  As the lightning struck
a second time, he pulled her down the bed and pulsed deep within.

"Love!" he said. Then she felt him relax behind her. His arm went from an
iron bar pressing her back against him to a loose weight. She was so weak
herself that it took all her energy to breathe. She drifted off. Later, she
woke to the sensation of his cock -- soft now -- slipping out of her. It
left a trail of something down her left butt cheek. The only other thing
she felt was his warmth behind her.

When next she woke, she needed to get to the john bad. The wine and cokes
of the evening had taken their toll. She lifted his heavy arm and slipped
out of bed. When she returned from the john, she had to lift the arm again
to nestle against him.

"Rise and shine," Andy said. He rubbed his smooth cheek against her
shoulder blade. She was totally unable to shine and was unwilling to rise.

"Urrmph," she complained.

"Aren't we going to church?"

"Do I have to?"

"No. Do you want to stay in bed 'til noon?"

"Yeah." She settled back to sleep. She'd forgotten, though, that Andy had
another idea about bed than she had at the moment. He settled behind her
and hugged her. Soon, his hand was stroking her tits and he was kissing the
back of her neck. She pulled his hand to her waist. "Want to sleep." He
came up a bit in the bed and settled into the spoon. Being awake, she soon
had to visit the john again.

"Did you take your Pill?" he asked when she came back to bed. She picked up
her watch and saw that it was after eight. She got the Pill out of her
purse and took it in the kitchen. When she got back in bed, she lay on her
back. By now, she was awake enough that Andy's approaches weren't annoying.
He moved so slowly and touched her so lightly that she almost dozed through
the comforting strokes on her tits.

Then his head went under the covers to kiss her nipples. His hand stroked
down over her stomach to her mound. These caresses were too exciting to
sleep through, but she still lay quietly and accepted them. Then he relaxed
with his hand cupping her mound and his mouth almost touching her left
shoulder. From the evenness of his breathing he might be asleep himself.
She started to drift off, but remained conscious of the weight and warmth
of his hand so close to her pussy.

"Y'know," he said quietly, "when I talked about your sleeping in my arms, I
was assuming that I would be asleep, too. It's even more fun when I'm awake
and can hold your sleeping form."

"Yeah. Your own personal sex toy."

"Well, you're sexy. There's no denying that. But your sleeping while I
watch gives me the feeling -- maybe the illusion -- that you trust me."

"Yeah. You're resting your hand on my pussy to get the illusion that I
trust you. The illusion would be closer to reality if you had it somewhere
else." Actually, she did trust him in many ways. If she sure didn't trust
him to have asexual feelings right then, she didn't *want* him to have
asexual feelings, either.

"After all, if I rested it on your belly, you'd have to work to bear the
weight. As it is, your pubic bone supports the weight without effort."

"Yeah, right. Do you have any bridges to sell?" He chuckled.

"You suspect me of thinking about doing this." His fingers began to stroke
her outer lips. "I'm totally innocent." Yeah, sure. He lifted up on his
elbow again and pushed the covers down with his chin. "And I'd never kiss
you here." She pulled the covers up fo keep herself warm while he sucked
and lipped her left nipple to demonstrate the actions he would never do.

Her attention went inward, but she noticed when his strokes started
including her clit, and again when he switched to her right nipple. The
arousal was slow and a gentle accompaniment to the lazy drifting she was
doing. Then it was a demand on her body. She tensed and held his head on
her tit with both hands. He sucked harder and stroked her clit more
directly.

When lightning struck, he raised his head to say, "Marilyn darling."

As she relaxed back, he lay down and moved his hand to her shoulder. He
kissed the other shoulder as she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, she turned towards him. He was already awake, and she kissed
him. Tasting his toothpaste reminded her that she hadn't brushed this
morning. She hadn't brushed the night before either, and after all that
spicy seasoning in the snacks! She got up to mend her lapse. The robe was
in the closet, and probably cold, too. She didn't bother with it. He would
enjoy the view.

When she got back, she kissed him again. His hands were nice and warm on
her. They spread their warmth, and then heat. She reached for him.

"You."

"Yes," he answered. He came over her. She guided him in. Then he slowly
filled her. He kissed her forehead before propping himself on his elbows.
He had a tit in each hand. He pulled back until she felt empty, then
pressed forward until she was filled. While making those slow strokes, he
looked at her face.

"Marilyn!" he said when lightning struck her. He withdrew, surged forward,
and pulsed while he was buried in her depths. "Love you," he said before
rolling them over. That was nice, although there was a lot of weight on her
right leg.

Soon, though, she got hungry. She extricated herself from his hug. He
joined her in the shower, bringing her robe into the bathroom for her. He
was, as Britanny had told her, a nice guy. She wasn't going to church; when
she looked at her watch it was already after 10:30. She dressed in jeans
and a sweatshirt. It was cold out there. She then made breakfast.

"I'm really falling down on my tasks," she told Andy. Breakfast was way
later than the schedule. He was so big, burned so many calories, that he
must have been starved.

"You had a long night. Anyway, you were sleeping in my arms. That's the
deal. Fixing breakfast is over and above." The guy might burn calories, but
he was definite which hunger was more important to him.

The next two weeks went according to their schedule. She spent Wednesday
and Saturday nights with him. The second Saturday, she told him about the
poor girl in Beta who'd found herself pregnant. They'd convened the
standards committee and thrown her out. The whole campus was alive with the
gossip. And Beta didn't have the campus reputation of being any purer than
Zeta was.

"I'm thinking of saying something in our chapter meeting," she told Andy.
Even that was skating close to breaking the rule on confidentiality.

"It wasn't your house. Do you have any influence?"

"That isn't what I'm going to say."

Driving back after church, she said, "Something's coming up. I can't make
Wednesday night. Is Tuesday Okay?" That wasn't strictly true.

"Tuesday is fine."

"I wasn't being honest with you. My period starts Thursday. It won't start
Thursday morning, but I still don't want to be in your bed that close."
There. She could speak of her periods to Andy.

"Tuesday is still fine. Thanks for being honest. But don't worry about my
bed. I can wash the sheets. I don't mean to suggest that I would be
indifferent to your blood, but if I know that it doesn't mean any damage, I
don't mind otherwise." He drove for a while in silence. "Can you make
Saturday?" She'd slept in his arms without his trying for sex. She'd done
it twice. He cared for her, after all.

"Sure, usual conditions?"

"Oh, darling. I love you."

After Sunday dinner, they had the usual chapter meeting.
Natalie had been warned that she would speak on the issue, and she said,
"Your vice president has some words she'd like to share with you," when the
other business was finished.

"Look," she began, "you've all heard about the poor girl at Beta. I'm not
going to judge her, but I am going to talk about how we all can avoid
having the same problem.

"If your mother was like mine, she told you early that good girls don't,
and she told you when you were older that smart girls take precautions."
There were some nods. "Too many of us have turned that around. We think
that smart girls take precautions, but good girls don't." That brought
smiles.

"I'm not going to mention any names, but there are girls in this room
who've told me about getting carried away. That's fine. You're with a boy
you really like in a car's back seat making out. When you think you're
going to stop, when you and he have always stopped before, you don't manage
to stop this time. Only a prude would stand in judgment. So, I would
suggest that before you get in the car with a boy you really like, you
should be safe if you get carried away.

"All of you know as much about diaphragms as I do, and many know a lot
more. Though I'm not sure that those who know a lot more need to hear this
talk. I do know, though, that nobody can know whether you're wearing one,
not without a lot closer examination than even the most demanding boy gives
you."

"And the boy won't know that you're taking the Pill unless you tell him.
I'm not saying that you should go on the Pill and say yes to the next boy
who wants to lay you. I'm saying you should go on the Pill if you make out.
If a guy takes you on a date, you owe him a good night kiss. Unless you
like him and want to, you don't need to go any further. If you do like him,
you should be confident, you should have a rational reason to be confident,
that however you express that liking doesn't end you up like the girl in
Beta.

"Why aren't you having sex? Assuming that you're not having sex, that is.
If your only reason is fear of pregnancy, then you really should be on the
Pill. If you have some other reason, then taking the Pill doesn't change
that reason. You still don't have to have sex. And, of course, you don't
tell the boy. One problem with the Pill is that you have to start it at a
particular time of the month, and then the first month isn't effective. So
you have up to two months between when you make the decision and when you
get protection. So don't wait 'til you're ready to go all the way to visit
student health." She wasn't getting through.

"But, Marilyn, isn't it the boy's responsibility?" Gloria, a freshman asked.

"Sure. He has a responsibility, but he isn't going to get pregnant. I'll
say this, if a guy wants sex and doesn't have a rubber, then he's being
irresponsible. He's not worthy of your going with him, let alone sleeping
with him. But, too, we're talking about getting carried away. What if he
gets carried away, too? What if he didn't expect it to go that far? Most
girls I've heard talk about their first time didn't expect it to go that
far when it did. What if, not expecting it to go that far, he didn't bring
a rubber? What if he brought one, but in the heat of the moment he forgets
to use it, or -- for that matter -- uses it wrong?

"Look, I'll admit, this is a case of, 'Do what I say, not what I did.' Let
me tell you about the two times I almost had sex.

"Back in high school I was going steady with this guy. None of you have
ever seen him." Which was another was of saying, 'Not Andy.' "We got
serious, and the last summer we were doing everything else but. On our last
date, it turned out that this wasn't enough for the guy. I finally
persuaded him, but I had to bite and scratch him to stop his advances. He
was bigger than I was, as what boy isn't? If he'd been a little more
determined, he would have succeeded in raping me.

"Fast forward. I'm a sophomore here, and I'm going on a picnic. We're
making out, as I expected. I'm lying on my back, looking up at the sky
while the guy's hands are all over me. You can talk about being carried
away; I was looking up at the sky without seeing that a storm was
gathering. I had expected to make out. I hadn't expected to go as far as we
did. I was stark naked, and not -- as I said -- noticing my surroundings
enough to see the storm gather. Suddenly, the rain came down. We ran to the
car. All right, I didn't have sex that day, but I don't know how we would
have stopped if the rain hadn't stopped us. I'll tell you this, *I*
couldn't have stopped.

"The third time that I almost had sex, I had sex.

"All right. This shows two times when I almost had unprotected sex. The
first time, I managed to stop the guy. The second time, I couldn't have
stopped myself, but the rain did. I wasn't on the Pill either time, but I
should have been.

"I'm telling you, that it's not enough to wait until you decide it's time.
If you won't do it for yourself, do it to save our standards committee from
looking incredibly hypocritical." The audience looked like she hadn't
persuaded anybody. "Thank you."

"I'll remind everyone," Natalie said, "that nothing said at a chapter
meeting can be repeated outside this room."

Nobody said anything to her that afternoon, and she got current on her
Monday classes and a good start on her Tuesday ones. She was the last one
into bed in her room.

"Did I persuade anybody?" She asked Janice and Karen.

"Are any virgins going out to get a Pill prescription?" Janice asked. "No.
On the other hand, how many virgins were in that room? Will some girls
who've sworn 'never again' follow your advice? Maybe. What's more likely is
that the ones who should already have acted will. After all, you've given
them a wonderful excuse."

"I'll say this," Karen said. "You've increased the respect they hold for
you. You really laid your private life on the line."

"Well, it's hardly a big secret. You can have sex with a guy without anyone
knowing, but you can't spend the night without arousing suspicions."

"You can't have sex without arousing suspicions," Janice pointed out. "You
can't even go on a date without arousing suspicions. It's just that
spending the night raises the suspicions to certainty. This is the first
time I had any idea that you hadn't had sex the afternoon you came back
from the picnic soaked." Great!

"Does everyone remember that?"

"Not the freshmen," Karen said. "Thing is, I can imagine you having
unprotected sex. I can't really imagine Andy having unprotected sex."

"Well, to be fair to Andy, he had his jeans on for the entire time. His
words were that we couldn't have had sex since he didn't have a rubber."

"And," Karen said, "It's hard to imagine him going out unprepared."

"Well, that's what I said in chapter meeting. We were nowhere near that
stage. I won't say we weren't going in that direction, but we hadn't got
close yet. As I said, that's when it seems to happen for most girls. Maybe
it wouldn't have happened if the rain had held up, but you don't like to
think that you lost all control while the boy kept his."

"Orphans in the storm," said Janice. "Sounds like a recipe for great sex,
not."

"Mechanically, maybe not. Later, my engineer read a book and figured out
the mechanics better."

"And that sounds so romantic."

"Well, you're making opposite objections. But I have some great sex to
remember. I'm not sure that having the first one be an episode of great sex
would improve my store of memories much. On the other hand knowing that
your first time was also his first time means that you're a couple in one
more way. It's like going to church."

"Now," said Karen, "she's going from bed to church. That's a Marilyn leap
for sure."

"Well, it's only the same in one way. But we're a couple in church. I
wouldn't recommend it to anyone who doesn't actually believe. It would be
so cynical. Besides, it's like all those magazine articles about where to
go to meet guys."

"Another Marilyn leap."

"Sure, you could go to a meeting of a science-fiction fan club and meet
lots of guys. But the guys you met would expect you to be interested in SF.
Anyway, it's a damn bad idea if it is the *only* reason to go to church.
But when Andy and I go to First Urbana, they see us as a couple, as a unit.
And when Andy and I have great sex, it's something we've learned. It's not
'Here's what I do in a pussy; this week it's your pussy.' It's 'Here's what
we do together, now we've learned to do it well.' *We* have learned to do
it well."

"You guys set a date yet?" Janice asked. Actually, they'd set a date, or a
month at least. It would be June of '78 if it were at all. They just hadn't
decided whether it would be at all.

"No. But if I end up with another husband, I'll not have that memory of
learning together with him."

"You should have been my mother," Karen said. "She gave me a dozen reasons
to wait, but none sounded as good as yours does."

"Except that we always think that the one we're with is the love of our
lives, don't we? Your first time, did you really expect to break up with
the guy?"

"So what makes Andy different?" Janice asked.

"Well, lots of things make Andy different. None of them make him look
different in this sense. Still, it's better to sleep with a guy and then
break up than to marry him and then break up." And they all went silent
after that.

But she lay there thinking about what she'd said. She and Andy were a
couple in a way that she quite simply couldn't be with any other man.
They'd entered the kingdom of sex together. She hadn't said that she'd
spend the rest of her life with him. She would, however, spend the rest of
her life remembering parts of her life with him. She had spent the last two
months looking at his proposal very objectively, but she'd spent the
previous two years committing herself in a way that she couldn't escape.

Her answer was yes, really it had been for a long time. She wondered when
she should tell him.

Tuesday, he picked her up after dinner. After their first session, they sat
across from each other studying. Their second session was one that had to
qualify as great sex. Andy brought her to three climaxes before she finally
dragged him over her. Drifting off to sleep she wondered if one bit of the
pleasure was because she'd leveled with him about why she had wanted this
week to be Tuesday instead of Wednesday. Did being married involve honesty
about your feelings?

Saturday after dinner, they made out. Since they weren't going to have
complete sex, there didn't seem much reason to go to bed. Andy avoided her
tits, but he kneaded her ass through her jeans for what seemed like an
hour. Then came a study period. The truth was that she studied more
reliably with Andy than she did back at the house. When they went to bed,
they kissed. Andy stroked over her stomach, still avoiding her tits. She'd
told him once, and he remembered. Then he combed his fingers through the
hair on her mound.

"Look," Andy said suddenly, "I'm not clear about this. Could I pet your
lovely labia? Is that too close."

"Andy! It's not 'close'; it's *there*. You'd get your fingers bloody."

"Really? So what? I've been known to wash my hands. Anyway, is there really
blood that close to the outside? You're so lovely when you make it." Well,
she'd done herself during her periods, and it had never got blood on her
fingers. And Andy did it so well.

"If it goes badly, I can call it off?"

"Of course. Does that mean that I can try?" She nodded. He got a small jar
of Vaseline from the night stand and dabbed a little on his middle finger.
"I figure that I can't use your lubrication this time." He'd made
preparations, but he'd asked permission. Whatever the physical results,
this showed that he was thoughtful, 'the nicest guy.'

He worked his finger down to her cleft while watching what he was doing.
Then he went back to kissing her. Slowly, the kisses and the strokes worked
their magic. He withdrew his tongue from her mouth just before the
lightning struck, but he kept his lips on hers. When she relaxed, he lifted
his head and watched her face.

"Was it all right?"

"Andy, it was grand."

"Then I can do it again?" When she nodded, he began stroking and kissing
her. "Are your nipples too sore to be licked?"

"Try." Actually, they were too sore to be sucked hard, which was usually
part of their love play. She could stop him, but the times he usually did
it, she was too involved to tell him until after.

"Darling!" And so, grateful for being allowed to give her pleasure, he gave
her pleasure until she pushed him away after five climaxes.

"Was I too rough?"

"Andy, you are never rough. It's just that I can't take any more pleasure
tonight." They adjusted themselves into a spoon with his hand on her arm.
She could feel his hard, hot cock press against her thigh, but he made no
suggestion of her doing anything about it.

That morning, she was changing her Tampax when she felt guilty for all that
she asked of him. She went out without putting a new one in.

"You certain you're not worried about blood on the sheet?"

"I can wash them. The problem is about how you feel."

"Right now, I feel horny." He swept her up in his arms and kissed her. He
carried her to the bed, not more than four of his long steps, and laid her
down very gently.

"Darling!" He made gentle love to her until she needed him inside. When she
reached for him, he got a little more of the Vaseline to dab on the head of
his cock.

Then he was over her and between her legs. When she guided him in, he slid
slowly into her until she felt completely full. He kissed her forehead
before moving back and forth. As she spiraled towards he climax, he stroked
more rapidly. He pressed into her and throbbed there. His climax brought
hers.

"Oh, my darling, darling, darling..." he said as he lay beside her.

"Did I get any blood on the sheet?"

"I didn't look. You are so sweet, so kind, so sexy, so lovely."

"You wanted that?"

"Oh, darling!" She'd take that as a yes.

"Let me go in there first." And she ran into the john to put in the Tampax.
When she was in the shower running, he joined her. She noticed some blood
on his cock.

"See?" She pointed. He moved under the shower.

"You see? It washes off. You are the most wonderful woman in the whole
world." He kept praising her through breakfast and the drive to church.
"Now I have something to be especially grateful for," he said just before
they got out of the car.

"Fine, but don't tell the congregation what it is." And, of course, even if
she hadn't warned him, he would never have. With Andy, though, you were
never quite sure. Well, it hadn't hurt her at all. Indeed, this had been
the sexiest weekend in her memory. And he was so grateful. Still, after
church she asked, "Thursday okay for this week?" Her period would probably
end well before Wednesday night, but Thursday was more certain.

"Fine." That was convenient. Merrillie came up to her Wednesday before
dinner.

"We're going to have a candlelight after dinner. Want to warn Andy?"

"No. We're scheduled for Thursday this week. But thanks." The candlelight
ceremony was announced to everyone at dinner and held immediately
afterwards. She wouldn't have had a good chance to warn Andy before he came
to pick her up. Everyone gathered in a circle in the chapter room. It was
almost the only room which could have held all of them in a circle.
Merrillie lit a candle and passed it around. When it got to Dorothy, she
blew it out. She'd been pinned. Everyone gathered around her and hugged
her. Marilyn's congratulations were as hearty as the rest, but she
privately thought that February senior year was rather late for a pin.
Would the relationship mature before they graduated. Well, Dorothy wanted
to be a businesswoman. Maybe she wasn't in any hurry to have the
relationship mature.

Marilyn, however, was in a relationship that could mature on her schedule.
All these candlelights and congratulations seemed to symbolize that the
girl waited silently, but anxiously, for the boy to decide that they should
make the next step. She wondered how many relationships in 1977 were really
that way. Hers was nowhere near that, and she'd like the actual
relationship to move forward. After all, she was sleeping with her
boyfriend. It would be much more respectable to be sleeping with her fiance
even if nobody knew that they were engaged.

The next Sunday, as they were driving back from church, she spoke to Andy.

"I've been thinking, thinking about us."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one."

"I think my answer is yes." He immediately stopped at the side of the road.

"I would have died happy. Does that mean what I think it means?"

"If you still want to marry me in June of '78, I want to marry you, too."

"Oh, darling! I'll want to. What do you think is a proper length of
engagement?"

"Let's hold that off for now. Either just before Christmas break or just
after."

"Well, warn me. It should be something formal with me kneeling at your
feet."

"You planning to do it in front of my sisters?"

"If you want. I was thinking of something more private, just the two of us
with a follow-up in bed. Anyway, I have to get you back." He drove her
home, but the kiss at the sorority-house entryway was more passionate and
longer than usual.

Usually, she could study better at Andy's than at the house. Sure, they
made love before getting down to work, and on Saturdays she cooked a meal.
When they did sit down to study, though, his example kept her studying
longer and with fewer breaks than the constant coming and going of the
study room allowed. Even if he said nothing, even when he didn't know what
she was studying, Andy's presence seemed to communicate, "Studying for
tomorrow afternoon? You should have that done and be studying for day after
tomorrow." Her sisters tended communicate, "Studying for tomorrow
afternoon? Why? You have time after tomorrow morning's classes. You could
be watching TV instead." For that matter, maybe having made love allowed
her to concentrate on the class work better. Certainly, she could
concentrate longer knowing that they would make love whenever she finished.

One Wednesday, however, he surprised her when she had her books spread out
on her side of the table.

"You know. You said you would make a list of the household chores that will
be my responsibility. You should make that list this semester." Well, she'd
never said that she would assign his responsibilities. She had suggested
that they discuss which responsibilities each would take. That she assign
the responsibilities was his counterproposal. Actually, what she'd first
asked was whether the chores he was willing to do and the chores she was
willing to do left any holes. Anyway, assigning them  for life sounded like
a weird abstraction. What sort of house would they have?

"Why?" If she understood his reasons, she could express her objections.

"Well, I'm going to have to learn almost all of them. The best time to
learn would be this summer. If Mrs. Bryant doesn't teach me, you'll have to
when we're married."

"Really, Andy, you should know all the tasks. I'm never going to expect you
to do all of them at the same time, but we might need to change them off.
For a short time, you might need to do everything. What if I broke a leg?"
What if she delivered a baby? Although she wasn't going to raise that
possibility until she'd decided some things. "And there will be different
tasks to assign in different sorts of houses. Do you know how to mow the
lawn?"

"Actually I do. Dad didn't think it was a job to assign a woman. Well, then
make a list of the things I'll need to know. I'll try to learn them this
summer."

"Not today. I've my study planned out."

"Not today. This semester. Actually, you could leave it 'til Spring Break."

"You'll lie in my arms every night when we're married?" he asked that
Saturday as they spooned up to sleep.

"Yeah!" The idea sounded great, especially when he was surrounding her with
his warmth.

"Do different schools use different stories in their Lit books?" he asked
the next morning while they were in the car going to church.

"Yeah, mostly." There were different textbooks. A few of the stories would
be the same between textbooks.

"When we're married and you're teaching Lit, would you want me to read the
stories you'll be teaching?"

"Maybe."

"I'll be out of school. I'll be working, but probably not having much
assigned reading. If you want, I'll read what you teach. Should I read all
the Shakespeare plays? I've only read *Macbeth* and *Lear*." By that time
they were near the church, and she couldn't figure out what brought on his
question. She asked on the ride back.

"Well, you'll sleep in my arms every night. You agreed. That's what I get.
If a few chores aren't enough, what more will you want? I figure that you
won't want to be married to a guy who is ignorant of your field." Well, the
Lit books would make sense, and they wouldn't be much of a slog for a
bright guy like Andy. A teacher, however, might have classes in all four
grades of high school -- even more in some school districts. Reading all
those Lit books might take a while. All of Shakespeare's plays was a little
much. She hadn't read anything like half of them, and she was an English
major.

"Andy, it will be great if you take an interest in my work. I don't want to
make it an assignment." She didn't plan to learn engineering, after all.

"Well, getting to know you looks like part of marriage." And, of course,
her dean's-list scholar would see knowing Marilyn as meaning knowing what
she'd be teaching.

"You're sweet." And he gave her a sweet kiss in the entryway of the house.

As the weeks went by, they kept asking each other how they'd live when they
were married. Andy started it, but she soon joined in. They'd start out
living in an apartment, and buy a house when they were sure of staying
where they were and had the money for the down payment.

"And we'll both share in economic decisions?" She'd heard some of Mom's
friends bitching about that.

"Sure. You'll sleep in my arms every night?"

"Andy?" She'd answered that question.

"I don't doubt you. I just like to hear you say it." Well, she liked to
hear him say that he loved her, and Andy was good about that.

"I'll sleep in your arms for every night of our married life."

"You're a darling!"

When Spring Break was nearly upon them, they decided to spend it together.
It was neither hard decision nor something they disagreed on. What was hard
was breaking it to Mom.

"Really, dear! I suppose Andy is staying down there, too." She considered
saying that she didn't know. But that wouldn't convince Mom who knew for
certain that they'd slept together twice. She would have no illusions that
they'd stopped.

"Sure. You'd rather I went to Key West?" Traditionally, Spring Break was a
time to visit some vacation spot, meet some new guys, and sleep with at
least one of them. Mom didn't know that she was going to marry Andy, but
she had to know that she might. And he wasn't going to give her some
venereal disease, either.

"I just hope you're being careful, dear."

"Mom!" She knew about her being on the Pill.

Andy had a later class on Friday this semester. He picked her up at the
house right after that class let out. She was waiting with her suitcase and
all her books.

"Yeah," Margot said when she saw the pile of books. "Like you're going to
study on Spring Break."

"It will make the rest of the year easier."

"I'm going to be working on my tan." Then Andy rang the bell. She met him
at the door, and he picked her up for a hot kiss. Then he set her down and
picked up her suitcase and books. She waved good bye to Margot on her way
to the car.

Once in the apartment, he picked her up again. This time, he kissed her
tits through blouse and bra. She unbuttoned what she could reach of his
shirt. Then he put her down, and they got rid of their clothes. He opened
the closet door to reveal the mirror.

"Too cold?"

"Nice and warm." Indeed the apartment was too hot, although it felt cooler
without clothes. He gestured towards the closet, and they met in front of
the mirror. As they both faced it, he bent to kiss her shoulder while
stroking her tits.

"See, they stand up so prettily." As he brought one hand down her stomach,
she spread her legs. He stroked her mound and the inside of her thighs. She
stepped far enough to the side, so she could see his cock in the mirror.

"You're teasing me." She took his hand and moved it where it belonged. When
she felt his finger touch her already-wet lips, she could see the cock jump
in response. She watched in the mirror as one hand stroked her nipples and
the other stroked her cleft. When he wasn't kissing her neck or ear, he
watched, too. She could see herself blush as she could feel herself tense.
The tenseness was visible in the mirror, too.

As the lightning struck she could see herself wriggle. Andy's arms held her
up as every one of her muscles jumped. He continued holding her as she
slumped. The sight was arousing as hell, but a little embarrassing.

"Darling," he said. "I love you. You are so sexy, so beautiful." Finally,
she straightened. "Love." He pulled on her shoulder to turn her around. By
now, she was glad to have the mirror out of her sight.

He picked her up. He kissed her mouth and then, lifting her further, her
tits. He carried her a few steps and rested her back against the wall. They
shared a wet kiss while he gripped her ass with both hands.

"Fit me in," he said. She reached around her ass to spread her lips with
her left hand while she pointed his cock between them with her right. As
she was lowered, the hairs on his chest rubbed against her nipples while he
spread her and then filled her.

"Darling," he said. When he moved back, she threw her arms around his neck
to hold on. Her legs were tight around his waist. He stopped where they had
a side view in the mirror. "Gorgeous," he said. As he raised her, she could
feel him going out. She could even see part of his cock behind his hand in
the mirror. "Oh, love," he said as he lowered her and filled her again. On
the next stroke, she cooperated with arms and legs. Seeing him move her in
the mirror, feeling him against her tits and her entire front, filled and
emptied by the motions, her arousal peaked.

She saw herself shake in the mirror as the lightning struck. He grabbed her
shoulder with one hand, but he kept the other hand supporting her ass. All
that motion aroused her even more, and the lightning struck again. Then she
felt him pulse inside her.

He slowly lowered them both to the floor. She had the corner of the closet
doorway supporting her back. When she recovered, she eased her feet down
until they were supporting her. Andy reached a hand back, and fell
backwards until his hand could support him. When she stood up, he sat down
on the floor before rolling onto his knees. Then he rose. She was standing
straight up, and little Andies were running out onto her leg.

"Bed?" he asked.

"Later." She went into the john to wipe herself off with a little toilet
paper. When she got out, he was already in bed under the sheet. When she
joined him, he hugged her. His skin felt hot, too hot for the day. Well,
Mom had said that you could have sex standing up. Actually, though, only
Andy had been standing up.

"It's a little warm for this close of a hug," she told him.

"When we're married, we'll have to have air conditioning in the bedroom."
Giving up future hugs wasn't on his agenda. He didn't even relax the
present one. He was, however, anxious to make it comfortable for her. Well,
when she got too warm, she'd get up to cook dinner.

Anyway, he'd brought up their future married life. She'd considered
faithfulness as a requirement. It was in the service, of course, and when
you were in love *or* talking about marriage, much less both, it went
without saying. The problem with Andy, though, is that you were never quite
sure what went without saying. Faithfulness in marriage was violated by one
hell of a lot more men than had to be told that you ate meals sitting down.
Well...

"Andy, you haven't had sex with another woman since we started dating?"
When he didn't answer, she added, "That was a question."

"Nor before." Well, she'd known that. "I've never made love with anyone
else in my life." Which wasn't really the problem.

"Well, if you do in the future, it will be a deal breaker. I'll file for
divorce." Unless it happens soon enough that she'd break the engagement
instead, but she didn't really worry about that. She didn't want him making
out, either. "If you so much as kiss another woman, you'll sleep on the
couch."

"Okay.... The Moppet?"

"Kissing family and such is quite all right. I'll even let you kiss women
over fifty and girls under five." What she was afraid of wasn't this sort
of kiss. She was afraid of his getting involved in either romance or sex.

"Okay. I won't." He didn't sound like he realized how serious she was about
this. It was equally possible, though, that he didn't consider his breaking
her rule possible at all.

It was too warm to stay here, and too early to cook dinner.

"Remember the list of chores I wanted you to learn? You wanted me to write
out a list. I think this is a good time to do it."

"Aww..."

"The goal you articulated was for me to lie in your arms at *night*. I
should work for the night is coming." He didn't look persuaded, but when
she pushed his arm away he only tightened it for a moment. Christ! She felt
like a lion tamer in the ring. She had to dominate by will, because he'd
win every time if it came down to a test of strength. Will triumphed yet
again, however. He removed his arm, and she got up. She put on her jeans
and panties. It was hot in the room, and he'd get to ogle her tits in
compensation for not being able to hug her. He got up when she sat down to
write.

"Pack your dirty clothes?"

"Yeah. I really feel odd about your doing my laundry."

"Well, I'll do chores when we're married. You said so. That might as well
include laundry. It's a lot for you to carry. So, I'll do laundry when
we're married. We're going to be married for this week."  Sometimes, Andy's
statements were convoluted and off the point. Sometimes, though, like right
then, he said just the right words.

He stripped and made the bed before he went out to do the laundry. The list
really didn't take long. Housework might take long to do, but there were
only so many tasks. She decided to leave dusting off. She'd do it when the
dust bothered her, and that didn't happen very often. She was going to be a
teacher, not a compulsive housewife.


. . Vacuum rugs
. . Windows
. . Cook
. . Kitchen surfaces
. . Tub and sink
. . Toilet
. . (Dishes)
. . (Laundry)
. . (Sweep)


She figured she should give him credit for what he already knew. He came
back much faster than she'd expected.

"Forget something?"

"Remembered something." He came over to kiss her. He lifted her on to the
chair, and the kisses went to her tits. This going topless did save a lot
of time. "The machine is doing the wash without my help."

"So you decided to come back to do me."

"Nah! Just some minor tribute to your beauty." And he kissed down over her
stomach. He didn't try to open her jeans, though. Then they had a nice kiss
with her doing the bending over. When his tongue had checked out her mouth
and hers had checked out his, she drew away.

"I did the list." She started to bend down to get it, but he moved faster.
He glanced at it and put it in his pocket. He turned her around and started
kissing slowly down her back. He was holding her tits and kissing between
her shoulder blades when he glanced at his watch.

"Time to get stuff in the dryer." He lifted her back to the floor, with a
hug on the way, before he left. She got out her book on teaching grammar.

When he came back he gave her the list instead of a kiss. He'd changed it.


. . CLEAN:
. . Vacuum rugs
. . Windows
. .
. . Kitchen surfaces
. . Tub and sink
. . Toilet
. . (Dishes)
. . (Laundry)
. . (Sweep)
. .
. . COOK:
. .
. .

"I don't think I could learn to cook everything this summer. Not even
everything Mrs. Bryant cooks during that time. I'll be in the hardware
store most days." He was right.

"You're right. Let me think." She had taken years to learn to cook. She
hadn't concentrated on it, but Mom had taught her a lot, and she'd taken
Home Ec. She'd despised Home Ec. She, after all, was going to have a career
as an educator. Then, after learning to cook, she'd practiced the Beef
Stroganoff she'd fed Andy three or four times with Mom watching before
doing it by herself. And, really, she was proud of her (few) show-off
dishes like that. "Why don't you learn what she can teach you about lunches
and snacks? Does she use cook books?"

"I don't think so. I haven't seen her use them, but, after all, I wasn't
checking on that." She didn't think so, either. Mrs. Bryant looked like the
sort of cook who had learned in the kitchen. Well, Andy was the sort to
learn from books. If he learned how to read a cook book, he would be able
to make any recipe from those directions as well as she could. The problem
was cook books weren't written for Andies. He hadn't been raised by wolves,
but sometimes it was difficult to tell that.

"Well, I'll handle the fancy stuff and the main meals. You learn the basic
stuff and how to take care of emergencies." Hamburgers, tuna salad, toasted
cheese sandwiches, canned soup -- when she was under deadline pressure (or
suffering from morning sickness, but she hadn't decided about babies yet)
those would be enough, and being able to eat them without breaking off work
to cook them would be a godsend.

When he went to get the stuff from the dryer, she put on bra and blouse and
started dinner. He praised her spaghetti inordinately. She figured his
constant claims that her cooking was delicious was silly. On the other
hand, like his father said about his saying that she was the prettiest girl
on campus, maybe it tasted better because he loved her. Then, too, it
really did taste better than cold stuff out of a can. After dinner, they
cuddled for a little. Her clothes were in two piles at the head and the
foot of the bed.

"Should I have put your stuff away?" he asked.

"No. I prefer this." When he did laundry while she wasn't around, he put
her underwear in her drawer. That bothered her a little. It wasn't as if
she'd told him that her drawer was private. After all, he'd washed her
panties first, and the hands he was putting on her pile of panties had
already been -- to her great joy -- all over her pussy. But she really
preferred that he stay out of her drawer.

They let dinner digest while they studied. They went to bed rather than
duplicate the wild stuff of the afternoon. In bed, though, they turned to
each other. When he'd taken her to three climaxes and was stroking her
again, she spoke.

"Andy, every night of our marriage, I'll sleep in your arms." She knew that
was what he wanted to hear.

"Oh, darling, I love you!"

"Then come here and prove it." Which was a little unfair; his hands and his
lips had been proving his love. Still, he took it the way she had meant him
to. He took, for that matter, her the way she had meant him to. Afterward,
she did fall asleep in his arms. In the middle of the night, it got cool
enough under just the sheet that she appreciated those arms.

In the morning, with nothing calling them, they made luxuriously slow love.
She got fully dressed, down to her tennies, before making breakfast. After
breakfast, he carried his PDE book and her French Lit in Translation book
and walked to campus. That course had been her C the previous semester, and
she was giving it the most attention. They weren't in any hurry; the
weather was fine, and the walk hand in hand was delightful in and of
itself. When they'd found a bench on the Quad, she had him sit on one end
of it. She lay down with her head in his lap. She found the poetry section
and handed it to him.

"Read some to me." He really had a great voice for poetry. Baudelaire
sounded especially good coming from him. When his voice sounded tired, she
sat up and they took their own books. Later yet, they walked back, still
holding hands. It was too early for lunch, but she made a PBJ and gave him
half.

"Your peanut butter sandwiches taste much better than mine do?"

"Do you use jelly when you make them?" The jelly jar in the 'fridge didn't
look like he did.

"No."

"Well, could you eat another whole one?" Since he could, she showed him how
to make them. "See? PB on one slice, jelly on the other, then you put them
together and cut it down the middle." He did it while she watched. She
finished her half sandwich, and he had the other three. "You can make your
own snacks when I'm not here, and you can make them and share them with me
when we're married." And, of course, PBJs were what you fed hungry kids
between meals. *His* kids were bound to be always hungry. Look at what he'd
eaten already. Well lunch could wait. And, while they kissed for a bit and
went back to studying, lunch waited.

Although dinner was late, they went to bed early. Love was leisurely and
gentle; even when he was in her, he kept a slow pace. In the morning, he
stroked her to climax after climax, but resisted her attempts to bring him
into her. For the first time, they made out seriously in the shower. The
water temperature, however, didn't last long enough. In church, they were
demure. For once, he brought her back to the apartment from church instead
of dropping her off at the sorority house. There were no chapter meetings,
and almost no members present, over Spring Break. He appreciated the change
as much as she did.

"Well," he said, "when we're married it will be all like that. We'll come
home from church to our own private time." She cooked them pork chops for
Sunday dinner, and they ate in their church clothes. One splurge shouldn't
break his food budget, but Andy had never told her what that budget was.

This week was supposed to be like their being married. Well, married
couples had a food budget. Even Mom did, and Dad made one hell of a lot
more in a week than a clerk in a hardware store did. He'd tell her if she
asked, but she hadn't earned any of the money. He never let her pay when
they went grocery shopping. He didn't even want her to go; he wanted a
shopping list. He'd tell her if she asked, Andy did almost anything she
asked. She didn't want to demand to know, however. She wanted him to share
it with her because it occurred to him to share with her. Well, it didn't
seem to occur to him.

After dinner, they studied. They had supper at sundown, and afterwards they
went for a walk. They didn't even carry their books. The sky was still
light, and the temperature had fallen to something comfortable. They had
another two hours studying before going to bed, still early. Andy was good
for her compared to how she spent her vacations at home. She woke up early,
got healthy meals and mild exercise, studied ahead on her subjects, and
still got her sleep. Too bad she could never point any of that out to Mom.

In bed, Andy seemed to keep to his regime of making out rather than
complete sex. Well, she had her own opinions. When she shoved at his top
shoulder, he moved back. When she tugged on the shoulder he had buried in
the mattress, though, he got the idea and cooperatively flopped down. She
straddled him and gave him a kiss. Being on top this time, she shoved her
tongue in his mouth. His hands stroked her body, and she teased his chest
with her tits.

He was too far up in the bed. When she tried to put her tits in his mouth,
she had to lift her head to miss the headboard. He raised his head to make
the contact. He sucked one nipple, and then -- when she shifted to bring it
above him -- the other. She kissed his forehead on the way to kneeling
straight above him. They hadn't done this so often that she could get to
the right place without looking, but she managed it fairly quickly.

She grasped him in her hand as she squatted back. Then she stopped with him
just inside her entrance.

"Marilyn," he said. "Oh, love." Slowly she settled back, impaling herself
on his blunt lance. She wriggled a tiny bit to get all of him in her and
enjoyed the fullness. Then she rose up. When the feeling in her passage was
most acute, she started swaying from side to side. He reached to hold
breast and pussy. His caresses added to the arousal, but she was generating
most of it by her own actions. She grinned at him as she felt the warmth
turn to fire.

Lightning struck. She lost control.

"Darling!" he called out. He grabbed her and pulled her down on him. As he
pulled her trunk further down, he slipped partway out of her. Then he was
hugging her against his body while he pulsed inside. When he relaxed, it
wasn't enough to free her from his grip. Finally, he reached one hand down
to raise the sheet over her. He held her to him with that hand while he
finished tucking her in with the other. He ended up with an arm hugging her
to him across her back and a hand holding her ass. Only then did he slip
out.

"You're getting the mess on you," she pointed out.

"Ihm hmm." He didn't sound worried. "Stay like this." Well, her legs felt
like they might cramp. He probably didn't really care about them being bent
the way they were, anyway. He could have her tits against him without that.

"Roll a little." When he rolled to her left, she slid her right leg down
the bed. He got the idea, and rolled farther to the right. She slid her
left leg down the bed. Apparently recognizing her acceptance, he released
his grip enough to stroke his hands down her back one after the other.

"Oh, Marilyn, I love you."

"You'll never be able to sleep like this."

"Try me. You are adorable." She let him try, but *she* couldn't sleep like
that. She soon moved off and backed into the spoon.

In the morning, he was in control again, bringing her to two climaxes with
his mouth and fingers and expertise. When he started on a third, she rolled
away and out of bed. She put her clothes on in a reverse strip tease,
starting by wriggling on one foot and then the other as she pulled her
socks on while standing. She turned her back to pull her panties up to her
ass and over it. Then the jeans followed the same procedure. She turned
around to put on her bra slowly, putting each tit into it by hand. Blouse
and tennies weren't worth much effort, but he watched appreciatively from
the bed 'til she was done. Then he got up to dress much more rapidly. He
had a good beginning of a hardon, at least.

After breakfast, she went shopping with Andy to push the cart and carry the
bags (and pay the bill). She could teach him how to make some lunches. They
got macaroni, tuna, cheese, hamburger, tomato sauce, two onions, tomatoes,
lettuce, cukes, celery, buns, and mayonnaise. As she put the food away,
Andy went to his dresser and restocked his wallet.

"Don't tell Dad," he said.

"Tell him what?"

"He's a banker. Keeping cash in your home is an open invitation to
burglars. It's just that stores in this town give a student a fish eye when
they try to pay by check." A great example for her class in teaching
grammar. 'Pronouns and the nouns to which they refer should agree in
number.' Well today was the day to teach Andy how to make a lunch instead
of how to speak English.

She started with sloppy joes. The kitchen wasn't made for two, so she stood
in the doorway and told him what to do. When the mixture was cooling in the
frying pan, she taught him how to make coleslaw. He already had the
cabbage. For lunch, they had sloppy joes and coleslaw. It wasn't bad,
fairly good for a first try, really.

She put the leftovers in the 'fridge and put the dishes down to soak. If he
was going to cook, it wasn't fair to make him wash the dishes, too.
Especially because he seemed to wash the dishes after every meal. Then they
got down to study the subjects for which they were paying tuition.

She cooked dinner, macaroni and cheese. She tossed a salad and cooked peas
for the veggie. She should have checked the freezer. Peas seemed to be the
only vegetable in there. Again they walked the cooling town. There were
plenty of people around, but they didn't seem to be students. Two hours of
studying seemed like enough. It was two hours more than the majority of
their classmates would do this entire week.

In bed, Andy seemed fierce. He wasn't rough with her; he never was.
However, he was above her for their first kiss. When he left her mouth, he
moved down to her tits and then lower yet. Kneeling between her legs, he
licked her cleft relentlessly. When she came for the second time, he sucked
her clit instead of allowing her to relax. When she finally fell back, he
kept above her kissing the valley between her tits. She recovered enough to
reach out to hug him, and he moved up her body.

His entry, if not rough -- and certainly not painful -- was swift and
forceful. He set a rapid rhythm. When she rose to meet his strokes, he
grasped her left ass cheek with one hand and pulled her harder against him.
As lightning struck, he rammed into her so hard she was pushed up the bed.
She could feel his cock pulse inside her.

Then he was still -- and heavy. She was grateful when he moved off.
Immediately, he pulled her across the bed and against his body. She was
lower in the bed than she usually slept. His groin was against her ass, and
his chin was on the top of her head. One leg, as well as the arm, curled
over her. She pulled the sheet down to free her mouth. Even so, being held
like that was awfully warm.

When the alarm rang, she awoke before Andy did. She needed to get to the
john. When she returned to bed, she kissed him. His cheek was all scratchy
and his mouth smelled.

"I love you," he said, "but I have to get in there." While he was in the
john, there was a buzzing sound she'd heard before. He joined her in bed.
For this kiss, his face was smooth and his breath smelled of toothpaste.

"So the man I love is all pretense. And you guys talk about makeup."

"Well, you don't need makeup to look beautiful. I need a shave to feel
kissable." And, so as not to waste the effort of shaving, they had a kiss.
Then they had some more. "Turn over." When she did, he kissed her back from
neck to ass. Meanwhile, his hand was between her legs and beginning to
stroke her cleft.  She was still face down when the lightning struck. When
he began to stroke her again, she pushed back against his mouth.

"Let me up," she said. He pulled back. "Indeed, I need to start the day
with a shower." She went into the john. "When we're married," she told him
when he'd joined her in the shower, "we won't be able to start the day with
sex."

"Not unless we set the alarm real early." She didn't think she would really
like to go from bed games to face a class of teens. They would have their
minds on sex anyway. Speaking of dirty-minded boys, she seemed to be headed
towards marriage with one. He didn't seem to think of anything but sex. He
*had* to think about other things than sex; he'd got a perfect set of A s
the previous semester.

"Well, forget about sex. Today, I'm going to teach you how to make toasted
cheese sandwiches." They were going to be on a limited budget, and he
should know how to cook the cheap stuff. If they entertained his boss, she
would cook the meal.

"One reminds me of the other. At least, a toasted cheese sandwich reminds
me of you. You're both crisp on the outside." He reached over to tweak the
side of her ear. "But you're rich and gooey and delicious on the inside."
Great. Now she'd imagine her pussy filled with melted cheese the next time
he entered her.

"You have a dirty mind."

"Then let me under the shower." They traded sides, but his head didn't
really get under the shower.

That noon, she did teach him how to make toasted cheese sandwiches, and he
did a good job. He buttered the bread a little thickly, but that just
resulted in a richer taste. First, she taught him how to toss a salad. She
piled the dishes in the sink again.

"When we're married, do you think you'll be able to fix lunch."

"Sure when we're home." She'd meant when he was home by himself. He
probably thought he could already fix lunch when he was home by himself.
And, depending on what you meant by 'a meal,' he could.

"Well these were hot lunches. Sloppy joes will do for supper, too, if at
the bottom tier of what constitutes a supper." The bottom tier, that is,
for those of us who don't eat supper out of a cold can of ravioli. Sloppy
joes were kids' favorites, too, but she wasn't going to mention kids until
she'd made up her mind. He'd said that he'd follow her lead on that.
"Tomorrow, I'll teach you how to make tuna-fish salad. That's a cold lunch,
and you can pack it."

"Yeah. Mrs. Bryant used to fix that. Usually she left it for a Saturday,
though.... When we're married, we'll have to make our own food, but we'll
have seven days a week in which to do it."  He got the idea.

That evening, she left her books on the table when she went to take her
bathroom time. While she cleaned off her makeup and did her other evening
tasks, Andy washed the dishes. When she came out, still fully dressed, he
went in to do his own tasks. She went back to studying while he went to
bed. She packed her books away, then went to the light
switch by the door.

"Turn on the lamp, will you?" When he did, she turned off the overhead
light. After taking off her shoes, but not her socks, she reversed the
process of the previous day's morning. She put every piece of clothing in
the closet, and then returned to the light cast by the lamp to remove the
next piece. She managed to get the jeans off while standing up, and then
the panties while her ass was turned towards him. Then, standing on one leg
while her other one was bent so she could reach her foot, she took off each
sock. Finally done, she went to bed.

"You're sexy enough when you aren't trying."

"Why, Andy, I don't know what you mean."

"Your nose is growing." Apparently a Pinocchio reference. How could he
doubt her word?

"So's yours. Oh, that's not your nose, is it?" He laughed.

"It's your fault if it is." Growing presumably, which it was. It wasn't her
fault if it was his nose, which it wasn't. She did kiss his real nose,
though, before he took control of the kissing. His path led from her mouth
down to her pussy lips. Then, when she pulled him up from trying to
generate her fourth climax, he kissed her forehead while filling her with
what wasn't really his nose. Well, if it were her fault it was so long, she
really enjoyed that length.

"Strumpet," he said before he began moving. His voice was awfully gentle
for such a derogatory word.

"I'm going to miss this," he said the next morning in the shower.

"Oh, is it the showers you're going to miss?"

"Among other things. What I'll miss is being with you."

"With or inside?"

"Both. You're sexy as hell, but I've told you. What I want is to have you
in my arms every night. Having you in my sight during the day is a bonus.
But I want you in my arms every night."

"Well, starting in June of '78..." And starting in June of '78, she'd have
his arms around her every night, too. As well as his lips and fingers and
his cock giving her more pleasure than she'd had at any time of her
previous life. This was something she'd miss, and she'd miss it for the
next fourteen or fifteen months.

"Well, it can't be helped," he said.

"I sure wish it could be earlier, though."

"Would your parents pay my wife's tuition?" And with that question, they
left the cooling shower. If people knew who was using up the hot water this
week, Andy would be an unpopular tenant.

They didn't take their books on that morning's walk to the campus. They did
wear sweaters, though, since the weather was cooler. He sat on another
bench, and she lay with her head on his lap again. When his cock stirred
under her ear, she rolled her head against it.

"It's weird that they wouldn't, too," he said. "They're paying your
tuition, now. Plus food and housing.... If we lived together, we'd have to
get a better place. Dad warned me about that."

"Your dad warned you about my living with you?"

"When I said I wanted an off-campus apartment, he asked if you were going
to join me." She could remember that question, not that it had come from
his father. "He said that you might visit the sort of dump I'd live in, but
you'd never call something like that your home. You have taste."

"You discussed living with me to your father?"

"I said I wanted to have an off-campus room, and he asked whether it was
for you, too. Marilyn, I don't discuss us with Dad, but he's not an idiot.
He knows how attracted I am to you. When I called to say that I was staying
on campus for this break, he said to give his regards to you. When I asked
why he thought you were staying too, he laughed."

"Mom asked whether you were staying on campus too. I suppose we aren't
quite as discreet as we might hope to be." Andy's father hadn't come into
the room after they'd made love, though.

"I think my intentions were clear as soon as I introduced you to him. All
he had to guess was how successful I was being."

"When you introduced me to him?"

"I don't think I'd ever done that with another girl -- not since I could
drive. The boy has to meet the girl's parents and have them lay down the
rules. The girl doesn't have to meet the boy's parents." So she was the
only date of Andy's to meet his father, at least since his father had
stopped having to provide the transportation. When he said she was his
first, she'd been his first in ways she hadn't imagined. She felt a little
guilty about Colin, although Andy had never asked about him -- never since
she'd said that she was no longer going steady with him.

"Well, anyway, Dad wouldn't have contributed half the rent for an apartment
with you -- even if I hadn't been committed to Zeta."

"I don't know quite what Dad was saying. He wasn't saying anything, really;
he was asking. The picture I got was that he was considering paying all the
rent. I could just possibly have swung the rent of my present apartment for
two years. I'd budgeted more for food than I've been using and much more
for car repairs. The problem with car repairs, though, is that it's not a
regular outlay. You pay next to nothing for months or years, and -- then --
boom. Anyway, that isn't the problem. Tuition is."

Suddenly, she understood that they'd gone from considering a wedding in
June '78 to considering a wedding in June of this year, a wedding in a
couple of months. They were still talking about how impossible it was, but
they were considering it.

"Would your dad keep paying your tuition if you were married?" It wasn't
just her parents.

"If I were married? Probably. If I were married to you? Certainly. You
don't know how much the old man respects you. Even without that, he says
that he won't be able to leave us much, but he'll see that we start life
with a good education -- the girls and I."

"Well, you know that I could get work next year. When you're an engineer,
you could afford my tuition."

"Well, I don't think I could get a job near here. It's a college town, not
an electrical-engineering town. Then you couldn't go back here in August
'78. Besides, what would that look like to school boards? You're going to
get a degree on time! We have nearly three quarters of an education each.
There should be some way of using that as security on a loan."

"There speaks a banker's son."

"Yeah, and the banker would tell you that the security isn't worth shit to
anyone else. Which means that it's not security."

They walked back soon afterwards and did their studying. She taught him how
to make tuna salad, and they had that and peas and plain lettuce with salad
dressing for lunch. Then they sat down to their books. She was cooking or
teaching him to cook three meals a day, she was making love twice a day and
making out more often than that. Somehow, she was getting as much studying
done as she got in the school year. Of course, that didn't include going to
classes. Still, she saw how Andy seemed to have taken permanent residence
on the Dean's List. His brain was only half of it.

They started to do even more studying for the rest of the week. Their
conversations had been about how they'd live when they were married, and,
when they didn't talk about this any more, they seemed to have nothing else
to say. Why Andy was silent, she wasn't sure. She had more to think about
than she wanted to share with him. She hadn't planned beyond teaching him
five lunches, and she dropped the ideas of hamburgers and mac and cheese.
She cooked three meals a day, easier than teaching him.

The problem was that Andy would get tuition if they were married --
probably rent, too. Mr. Trainor was going to pay that, anyway, and he
seemed favorable to their relationship. Why should he punish Andy for
marrying her? Mom and Dad, on the other hand, opposed her relationship with
Andy. If they could stop a marriage, they would. And, by saying that she
wouldn't have tuition, they could stop the marriage.

Or maybe they couldn't. If Andy went on in school and she went to work,
then they could easily afford everything but his tuition. He had savings,
although she didn't know how much, and a waitress's or saleswoman's wage
had to cover at least rent and food -- even food for two. People lived on
it, after all, even raised kids on it. And they cold go a year without new
clothes. Andy looked like he hadn't had anything new but a few ties in the
past three. Well, he wasn't ragged, but he hadn't bought any new styles
since she'd known him. She had, but she could happily give that up for a
year.

What she would be quite unhappy giving up would be her future. Andy was
right; a year off school and a new school afterwards would make her look
uncommited to possible employers. Of course, if she moved out-of-state, she
would need different credits. And she was putting off Illinois History to
her senior year. If she moved because of his job, she'd have to take
Tennessee History, or whatever. So she might well be able to graduate in
one more year, certain to graduate in one year and two summer sessions.

But she had good grades, if not Dean's List. She had worked hard to be what
school boards wanted. Now, she was thinking about trying to be what school
boards might accept. It wasn't fair.

And Andy wasn't the one being unfair. His only comment on the idea was to
reject it out of hand. It would be ridiculous to flip a coin for which one
would drop out for a year and work. Lots of education graduates became subs
their first year out of school. She'd sort of thought about going back to
Evanston and living in her parents' house unless she could get a full-time
position. They might expect her to contribute, but they wouldn't evict her
if work didn't come through. Even if she'd get a full-time job would that
pay Andy's tuition over and above living costs? An engineer, on the other
hand, would make enough in the first year to pay tuition. Maybe they
wouldn't live as well as she would like, but they could live better than
they were living in this room. And that was only one side of it.

If Andy dropped out and went to work, and Andy had job experience to give
him better prospects than she had, he would have to pay her tuition. She
wouldn't have to pay his, at least he thought his dad would keep paying it.
That made all the difference in the world.

The unfairness was in their situation or, more accurately, in her parents.
They didn't know Andy, and they didn't like Andy. But it was her life, her
marriage, that was under consideration. If they didn't want him for a son
in law, they didn't have to socialize with her and Andy after the wedding.
They were holding one part of her future hostage for another part; she
could be an excellent teacher, but only if she bowed down to them about her
marriage.

If she wasn't saying anything to Andy about her worries, she was getting a
little more brittle around him. Friday morning, when she got out of the
john, she found him waiting in bed wearing only his glasses and a leer.

"Look, Andy, are you doing to participate this morning?" It had been days
since he did more in the morning than bring her off.

"I thought maybe tonight."

"Fine. Let's make a date for tonight." She went back in and ran the shower.
He joined her, but they washed themselves and got out while the water was
still hot. After breakfast, with both of them fully dressed, she forgave
him with a kiss. He lifted her onto a chair, and they had a long hug before
he did the dishes. "You know, you could do them once a day."

"When you're here?" The bed was made, too.

"Once we're married, I'll always be here -- or, at least, there." That was
the first time either had mentioned it since the discussion.

"Yeah! And you'll sleep in my arms every night from June of '78 'til I
die." He'd accepted that they couldn't marry earlier; maybe she should,
too. It was surprising to remember how recently she'd been worrying about
whether she should marry the guy at all.

"Every night. Andy, for all your faults, you're sweet."

"You're the sweet one." So they had another hug and a long kiss before
sitting down to their books.

It may have been her ultimatum of the morning, but they went back to much
milder forms of making out. She took her study break sitting in his lap.
That way, they could kiss without either one bending all out of shape.
After lunch, he started on the dishes again.

"Just let them soak." She sat on the bed just down from the pillows. "Come
here." At her gesture, he lay down with his head on her lap. His feet stuck
way out, but he didn't look uncomfortable. Indeed, he looked blissful when
she combed her hands through his hair. "What courses are you going to take
next year?"

"Well, they open up when you're that far along. And so much is a
prerequisite that I couldn't have taken much if I'd put off the
distribution work. Then, too, AP Calc in high school, despite all the
problems it caused me, will really free me up next year. PDE is normally a
senior course. So I can take one more -- two more if they're only for a
semester -- courses next year than some other students. I've told you that
electrical engineering splits?"

"You've talked about it. I'm not sure I got clear."

"Well, you have clock and a radio."

"A clock radio, actually."

"But they're two different things. In one, electricity produces power which
moves the hands. Now, that's a damn small amount of power, but electricity
can do that. It can run motors from tiny clock motors to amazingly powerful
motors that move L trains and more powerful motors yet that they use in
industry. That's one branch."

"And the radio is the other branch?"

"Yeah. Information. Each radio frequency conveys another set of information
as to what sounds were made back in the radio studio. TV is a bit more
complicated, and computers are nothing more than processing information.
Now, information used to be processed by vacuum tubes. You started out with
a little current, and that allowed more of a bigger current to flow. Now,
it's done with transistors. And that's what I'm mostly studying next year,
transistors."

"So, when you graduate, you'll know all about transistors?"

"As if! It's like counting Chinese. They're inventing and discovering more
about transistors faster than schools can teach it. And, really, I'm not
learning all about transistors. You ever hear of a black box?" Well, she
knew what a black box would be, but she suspected this was something
different.

"Tell me."

"Well, we use it a lot in designing things in engineering. You take
something somebody else is producing. You don't look at what's inside. You
know how it responds to input, and you use that. You treat it like a
mysterious, sealed black box. You have to do that, if you're going to
design anything in finite time." Andy *thought* he was speaking English and
explaining things clearly. Well, she'd hang on through the curves. "Even in
other fields. An architectural engineer knows what the bearing strength of
a steel beam is. He doesn't know the metallurgy that gives it that
strength. You take Driver's Ed?" She'd even hang on through *that* curve.
She had her man's head in her lap. She wasn't going to abandon it because
he was discussing too many subjects.

"My Dad taught me."

"Well, he didn't begin with the nature of the internal-combustion engine
and what the manifold and brake drums do. He taught you that you turn the
wheel this way and that heads the tires that way. He said that if you step
on this pedal, it goes faster, and if you step on that pedal, it slows
down. Black box -- it doesn't matter why it works that way; it just matters
that you know that it will work that way. Well, I won't be designing
transistors. I'll be designing things which use transistors. It's just like
driving a car instead of making one. "

"If you say so." Maybe his Buick was a black box. Dad's Lincoln was bright
blue and sleek.

"What about you? I'll tell you, they didn't teach any of that *Fleurs de
Mal* when I went to high school -- neither at Gordon nor at ETHS."

"Well, I have a double major. You knew that. Remember when you taught
College Math?"

"Yeah."

"Donna asked how well you'd done in it, and you said that you'd never taken
it in that form. You looked like a teacher because you knew more math than
was in this course. Same with Lit. Lit teachers study more Lit than they're
going to teach. So, I'm never going to teach Baudelaire. It's a shame,
though. The whole class would read that section. Anyway...

"Anyway," she continued, "having an English degree will help me get a job
as an English teacher, and English majors have lots of choices about
classes. Ed majors are more like engineers. There are so many things you
have to take that you don't have all that many choices within the field.
And there are two groups making rules for education. You have to take these
courses to get a degree and those courses to get certificated."

"If engineers used 'certificated' to mean 'certified,' English teachers
would sneer at them."

"Maybe. Anyway, the two lists aren't that different. One thing is that you
need to take Illinois History to teach in the state. A lot of other states
have similar requirements. I'll take it next year. Then, you'll get a job
in Kentucky, and I'll have to take Kentucky History."

"Look, I expect to get a fair number of offers. That's what happens every
year; the companies come recruiting. You go down to interview with the ones
which look promising, and some of them make you an offer. All right. We'll
look at those offers together. Where you live means where you teach. I
could get a job in Gary and live in Illinois, but not a job in San
Francisco. So where you want to live and teach is part of how we evaluate
the job offers. Everybody does that, everybody sensible, that is. Part of
what you consider is what they'll pay, but part of it is what you'll work
on and your future prospects, and part is where you want to live.

"So, some guys will be favoring the places which have great skiing within
reach. I'll be favoring those where you'll be happy. I won't tell them.
After all, the company only has a set number of locations to offer. They
couldn't change them. But I'm going to consider your happiness as much more
important than the starting pay. For that matter, you might consider having
more money to spend better than getting a lovely school to teach in. That,
however, will be your choice."

"Andy, you're sweet."

"Not all that sweet. I won't go back to being a hardware clerk to get you
your preferred school district."  Well, no. But they would have a joint pot
of money. It wouldn't make sense to cut it back just for her to have a more
pleasant job. "Change of subject." *Now* he said it. "The way I picture it
is for me to commute farther, and for us to live close to your school,
maybe in the district. That's just picturing it. Maybe you'll see a house
you love across the street from the plant, but it's not likely."

"Or a house you'll love."

"Well, I've said my requirement for a house. It's one that has you in it,
you happily in it. You can expect me to share housework; you can expect me
to keep the house in repair; don't expect me to fall in love with a house.
I fall in love with much smaller things." He reached up and ran his hands
down her back. If he'd first thought to cup her tits, Andy was showing more
sensitivity than she usually credited him with.

Actually, his choice of job should come first. She was sure that any EE job
was close to a high school. Teachers could travel as far as students could
-- farther than most parents wanted their kids to. Probably most high
schools weren't close to an EE job. And while she could picture a high
school without any openings for new English teachers, most of those would
be small schools, probably in farming areas, not engineering areas.
Feminists yammered about chauvinist men, but the fault wasn't usually the
individual man. Society was set up with men going for well-paying jobs, and
women going for nurturing jobs -- teaching, nursing -- which paid less. If
Andy handed the entire job search over to her, and he'd gone fairly far in
that direction, she'd choose on the basis of what was best for her family.
That would almost certainly mean the best job for Andy.

"You look pensive," he said suddenly.

"You're a much nicer man than the society allows you to be."

"If you really believe that, you're as in love with me as I'm with you."
She believed what she'd meant, which wasn't how the words came out. She was
in love with him, but doubted that it was as much as he seemed to be in
love with her.

"Of course I'm in love with you." Which wasn't quite what he'd said, but he
accepted that. "But your head is so full of deep thoughts that it's getting
heavy. Time for some more study." And they got up for study.

Sunday, they went to church as usual. Instead of taking her to the house
afterwards, though, they returned to the apartment. That night, after
they'd had their sex and were snuggling down to sleep, she asked him to get
her to classes a quarter hour earlier the next morning. They left well
before that, leaving the breakfast dishes soaking in the sink.

When they got to Abbot Hall, she said, "Park it." When he had, she
continued. "Look, I know my parents. If they have a choice between paying
my tuition as a married woman and paying it as a single woman, they'll
choose the second -- guaranteed. So, if we want to be married this year,
what we have to tell them is that if they won't pay my tuition, I'll drop
out and go to work. The bottom line is that we'll be married. But we have
to mean it. They may well say 'no, no, no' until August. And, if they do
we'll have to be married. I'll have to have a job. They may actually say
'no, no, no' and mean it. That's our risk.

"But it's our one hope. Love you. Good bye." She left the car and ran into
the hall.

Andy brought the rest of her books by after supper Monday.

"Seventy eight," he said to her in the hall. It might sound cryptic to the
others hearing him, but she knew he was saying that they wouldn't be
married before graduation. He left without kissing her, which probably
surprised the audience.

"What's wrong between you two?" asked Crystal.

"Nothing. All kissed out, I guess. We've had so much privacy this week that
the audience must have put him off." This probably didn't satisfy her, and
Marilyn got a few sympathetic looks over the next two days. When Andy
showed up as scheduled on Wednesday after supper, she greeted him with a
kiss. He took her books and opened the door for her. They left a rather
puzzled audience.

"Seventy seven," she said when they were together in the car. Perversely,
the weather had warmed again. The day was just beginning to cool, and he
had the windows open.

"Well, which should we do first," he asked, "fight or make love?" She
laughed. Well, they couldn't make love until they got to the apartment.
They might as well fight now. "I want to marry you," he continued, "but I
don't want to ruin your education by marrying you."

"You claim to love me, but you're always putting limitations on marrying
me." She realized that she was being unfair. His limitations were not about
not wanting her; they were about not wanting her to be  hurt. Which was one
reason that -- after the fight -- they would make love.

"Always? I only remember this one."

"You said that you didn't want me to have to marry you."

"And I don't. It's not an objection to pregnancy. Throw away your Pills on
May of '78 for all of me. It's a matter of your will. I want you to desire
me the way I desire you.... And I'd hoped you'd forgotten that. Anyway,
twice in ten months isn't always."

"I remembered that. And if you desired me as much as I desire you, you'd
marry me this spring."

"I desire you. It's just that the cost is too great. You're making a
romantic gesture. I'm risking damage to the future of the woman I love." At
that comment, he was parking the car. They walked up the stairs in silence.
She was thinking. His earlier question was still a good one.

"Well," she said when the door was closed behind them, "let's continue the
argument later." He laughed, which delayed his kiss, but only briefly.

"I love you," he said when he came up for air. He started unbuttoning her
blouse. He was wearing a tee, which she merely pushed up. She played with
the hair on his chest while he took it off over his head, which was *way*
over her head. Then he went back to her blouse. "Get your own shoes," he
said when both their jeans and underwear were around their ankles. He
picked her up and held her under her knees and under her back. He shuffled
very slowly towards the bed. She removed the rest of her clothing. He
lifted her so he could kiss her tits when she was done. Then he lowered her
to the bed. While he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his tennies,
jeans, underpants and socks, she got to stroke him and kiss his shoulder
without his being able to do anything to her.

When they were in bed, though, he took over the caresses. Soon, nothing but
his upper body was within reach of her hands while his mouth took her to
climax after climax. She experienced her fourth while tugging fruitlessly
on his shoulders. When he started back licking her cleft, she pulled on his
hair.

"That hurts," he told her pussy. Anyone else would have yelled, Andy told
you that it hurt in a speaking voice.

"It will hurt worse if you don't get up here." Even so he kissed her mound,
stomach, and both tits before he was at her entrance. "Ahh!" she said as he
slid so slowly into her. "So full," she added while he was kissing her
forehead.

"So warm," he responded, "so creamy, so sweet clasping me." Then he began
the rhythmic strokes deep inside her. He moved so slowly that she pulled at
his ass to hurry the entrance. She was getting close once again.

"Oh," she said as lightning struck

"Darling," he said as he thrust once more. Then he pulsed inside her before
collapsing on top of her. His elbows held a little weight off her, but
there was a *lot* of Andy. When he rolled off, she could feel a drip down
her right ass cheek. She was too tired to move, and the feeling soon went
away. He gathered her against him and draped an arm across her to hold a
tit.

"Every night. I'll hold you in my arms every night." That was his expressed
dream. He never spoke about the sex which would precede the holding,
although he certainly went after it when push came to shove.

"Every night, beginning in June of this year. All you have to say is yes."

"Saying is easy. It's what comes afterwards that's hard. You're asking me
to watch the woman I love trade her dreams for waiting on tables." Now he
was speaking about his suffering. Sneaky bastard didn't admit that it was
her sacrifice, her choice. And, really...

"Andy, it's not an even trade. What we get is the certainty of sharing a
life a year early. What we risk is the *possibility* of my waiting tables
for a year. Do you think Mom is going to relish talking about 'my daughter
the waitress?' She'll want to put a good face on things. She's one of the
alums who are still involved with Zeta. She gets added respect as the
mother of a chapter VP. That would disappear if I drop out to wait on
tables. We don't *know* that she'd cut off my tuition."

"And we don't know that she wouldn't. For that matter, isn't it your father
who writes the checks?"

"Yeah. But they decide together." He was right, though, Dad would be
angrier about her marriage than Mom would. For that matter, Dad would see
fewer positives from agreeing. As much as she'd oppose the wedding, Mom
would enjoy putting it on. And Mom's choice was her marrying Andy or
sleeping with him. Not that she really had that choice, but she would try
to have it. As far as Marilyn knew, Dad didn't know that she and Andy were
having sex. Pete thought her 'I won't answer that question from you' was
pretty lame. Dad might well think the same. If so, he hadn't taken her
aside to ask the question for himself. Anyway, she was getting all mixed
up, and that was Andy's fault.

"You're not fair, you know."

"How have I been unfair to you?"

"You give me all those climaxes when you have only one. How do you expect
me to consider things rationally after that?"

"Well, God may have been unfair to you, or -- more likely -- to me. You can
have all those orgasms. I have to wait awhile after only one."

"That's the first I've heard about waiting. I thought you were insatiable."

"Well, you may not have heard about waiting, but have I ever gone right
back?" He did all the time; he had this evening. Well, he went back to sex,
but not to going in her. Maybe there was a reason for that.

"Well, you certainly go for repeats. Are you really done for the night?"

"For the hour, I'm done. I don't think I'm done for the night. After all,
you've been gone for days. I should have lots stored up."

"And you figure I have more stored up?"

"Well, as I said, you can have more than one in a row. You really have an
obligation to use the talents God gave you."

"Andy, somehow I don't think they're going to ask you to be a Sunday-School
teacher."

"Ya think not?" She definitely though not. She kissed him, though, and he
reached for her tits.

"Let's give it a break. We have studying to do." She held his arms away
while she kissed him. Then she got up. He put his glasses on to watch her
dress. Had he really denied that he was insatiable? When she started
studying, he put on underpants and jeans and joined her.

"It would mean holding me in your arms every night," she said when she'd
finished the work on the two books she'd brought.

"It would mean your not being a teacher in '78 - '79. It would mean your
waiting table or selling in a store."

"Well, you sold in a store. It didn't seem to warp you."

"Maybe I'm warped in ways you can't see."

"Maybe you were already warped."

However warped his personality was, one part of him was straight and firm.
And when, after he tried to bring her to a third climax with his hand, she
reached for that part, it filled her and stroked her. She tensed, spiraled
out of control. When the lightning struck and she twitched spasmodically on
the mattress, he throbbed inside her and gasped in her ear. He lay on her a
long time. When he moved aside and gathered her into the spoon, he fell
asleep immediately. She didn't take much longer.

Saturday, Mar. 9, he picked her up at the usual time in the afternoon.
After a few kisses, she went into the kitchen immediately to prepare
dinner. This was going to be lasagna from scratch. He settled down to
watch. While it baked in the oven, she sat on his lap. They kissed a lot,
but he kept his hands away from her tits. She'd warned him once, and he let
them alone during every period. That may have been more care than she
actually wanted, but it demonstrated how careful Andy was of her.

"Are you sure?" she asked when the studying was over.

"I'm sure that I want you. Are you sure that you can bear my attention?"
Put like that, how could she deny him. She went to bed without her Tampax.
He was slow and gentle, but insistent. She'd had four climaxes from his
hands when he finally entered her. That climax was explosive, and she fell
asleep in his arms. It was hours later when she went to the john. Then she
woke up enough to insert a Tampax. Still, the sheet showed a large smear of
blood that morning.

"It'll wash," Andy said when she showed him in the morning. "Do you want me
to change the sheet before you come back to bed?"

"Come back? You'd want me to?"

"Hell! I'd like you to stay in bed all day and skip church and your damn
sorority lunch. I can't get that, but I usually get your return to bed.
Want me to change the sheet first?"

"If you can stand it, I can stand it." He only had three sets of sheets,
and she thought one was already in the 'white' bag of dirty laundry. What
he was offering was to sleep on a bloody sheet, her blood, until he did the
wash again.

When they were back in bed, they kissed. He kissed down her neck until she
shivered in desire. He stopped, however, at her shoulders. He stroked her
until she felt she was near.

"Now, Andy." After using a little Vaseline on the head of his cock, he
entered her slowly and gently. When he had filled her, he kissed her
forehead.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I know you do. This is so sweet of you." Well, it wasn't any sacrifice on
her part. He was going to wash the sheets; she wasn't. Her only difficulty
was believing that he really wanted this. But he was clearly enjoying his
motions in and out of her. Enjoyment didn't come close to describing *her*
sensations. She tensed as her arousal spiraled upwards. When the lightning
struck her, he groaned. One stroke later, he was pulsing in her.

They lay together until she thought she had to replace her Tampax.

"Wait here," she said, and he did. When she'd used the john, dabbed herself
off, and put in her Tampax, she called to him from the bathroom doorway.
They showered together. She still had time to make a breakfast of bacon and
eggs. They got to church before the prelude began. After church, Andy
stopped the car at the side of the road.

"Marilyn, are you certain sure that you want to marry this June?" He was
staring straight ahead, not at her at all.

"Yes. It's less of a risk than you think."

"Well, you follow me in so much. I suppose I should follow you." He didn't
say anything for the longest time, but he didn't start the car either. He
got out of the car and walked around to her side. He opened her door and
knelt down in the dirt, though he was wearing his only suit. "Marilyn
Grant, will you marry me this coming June?"

"Oh, Andy, yes." He got up, leaned over, and kissed her. Then he got back
in the car and drove her to the house.

That night, she called him up after supper. "Tell me what we decided this
noon. I think I may be dreaming."

"We decided that we would be married this June. Or, rather, I proposed and
you accepted. We have to pick out a ring. Would you like to have a choice?
You'll have to wear it, after all."

"Well, yes, soon. But the confirmation is more important." And the ring
would be confirmation, too.

"Wednesday? Pick you up after class?"

"I'll be there. Abbot Hall. A few minutes after three."

"I'll be a little late. I have a two o'clock class, too."

Assured that the engagement was more than a dream, she left an anonymous
note to Merrillie. Candlelights were always requested by anonymous notes,
although Merrillie could probably recognize her handwriting.

Monday after supper, they all gathered in the chapel. She took a place on
Merrillie's right, although her usual place was on her left. Merrillie lit
a candle and passed it to her left. The candle went all around the room.
There was a rustle of excitement when the candle got back to Merrillie,
because that meant an engagement rather than a pinning. When the candle got
almost around again, you could hear the girls breathing. It got to her for
the second time, and she blew it out.

"Marilyn!" Her name seemed to called from several places. They gathered
around in layers hugging and waiting to hug. She'd been perfectly calm when
Andy popped the question, but she was crying now. She wasn't the only one.
She got hugs from everybody, and it seemed that more were crying than were
not.

"Tonight," She told Janice as both prepared for bed, "it was hard to
remember the hell I was put though about Andy my first year."

"Well," Janice said, "I was a sophomore, and much of that went completely
over my head. I get the impression that it was some seniors, and not all of
them. On the other hand, part of it is the question. Andy still doesn't
look like great boyfriend material to me. He does look like splendid
husband material. I think his picture is in the dictionary under 'solid.'"

"He can be exciting, too." She wasn't going to describe his sex technique.

"Yeah, but you can't spend your entire time in bed." So much for her
discretion. "But, I must say, I look around the guys at parties. I say,
'He'll be a wife beater; he's already nasty to her, and it's the early
bloom of romance,' and I say, 'That one cheats on his girlfriend; what
chance that he won't cheat on his wife?' I never say that about Andy. Is he
a safe driver?"

"Yes. He's very careful."

"If you don't die of boredom, you'll live forever." Well, whatever Janice
thought, she was in no danger of dying of boredom.

"Well, Andy keeps me interested, but, really, I don't think much of a
person who can't be interested all by herself. I'm going to be an English
teacher, you know. I'm not planning to spend my days lying on a couch,
eating bonbons, and watching soap operas."

The next night, she called Mom.

"We had a candlelight last night," she told her.

"Well, it's the season for it."

"It was for me."

"Andy?"

"Well, duh!" Not a month ago, Mom had been talking about her spending
Spring Break with Andy.

"Andy can't pin you."

"No, Mom, we're engaged. We plan to be married this coming June."

"Well, I won't pretend to be overjoyed. I'm not terribly surprised, either,
though. I wish you would take more time, but nobody can say that you're
rushing into this. You've known him for nearly three years."

"I've *known* him closer to four. He was in my MYF and very helpful. We've
been dating as long as I've been down here. And, as college romances go, we
had the advantage of being in the same place for the summer, too."

"Well, dear, it's been a damn long time since you've wanted my advice...."

"I'm perfectly happy to ask for your advice, and I plan to do so about the
wedding. When I haven't asked for it, I try to be polite the first time I
hear it. What has been damn long is the time since I yielded when you were
forcing your advice on me. I will say you were right once."

"That must have been a record."

"You might not remember, but I said I was going to be a school teacher and
didn't need to know how to cook. Well, now I'm glad I do."

"Really, dear, you don't cook all that much. You'll have to learn many more
dishes if you're going to keep your husband happy."

"Mom, you don't know Andy's standards. Taking it out of the can and heating
it up is more than he'll do for himself. I may grow tired of my cooking;
Andy never will."

"Well, dear, I hope you will be happy."

"Thanks, Mom. Right now, I am."

Wednesday after her last class, Andy picked her up.

"Talk to your parents?" he asked.

"Mom. She was accepting, or -- more accurately -- resigned. She said that
she couldn't claim that we were rushing into things. You talk to your Dad?"

"Yeah. He said he wanted to talk with you. I called Mom, too. We aren't
going to get any support from her, of course."

"But will your dad pay your tuition?"

"We didn't even mention that. I never thought that it was a question."

"Well, if the question isn't answered sometime, we might be in for a huge
shock. I'll admit, though, that I took as a victory that Mom didn't say
that she wouldn't pay tuition. I didn't mention it, and neither did she.
That's the most that I'd hoped for."

He took her to a jewelry store. The assortment of rings looked gorgeous.

"So," she asked, "what's the budget." She knew that Andy had some savings,
but there couldn't be much. The guy lived in a single room, owned one suit,
ate out of cans. In any case, the guys she'd known with summer jobs spent
most of the money *that summer*.

"It's for you, to show our love. There's no limit."

"Andy!" Then turned to the jeweler. "Pardon me -- pardon us -- sir. We've
got some discussion before we choose. We'll be back." The guy was
understanding.

"Look," she said when they were back in the car with the windows rolled up,
"I'm going to be living on the budget. I'm going to be your *wife*. I think
I have a right to see the budget. I won't be happy saying, 'There isn't
enough food in the house, but, boy, don't I have a lovely ring.' Maybe the
ring is your expenditure, but what's left afterwards is my living expenses
for the next year."

"Well, I don't have a budget right now. I had one for the two years. Then,
I was living under it. I really didn't need a new budget if I was spending
less than in the old one."

"Fine. Now, we need a budget. Where do you want to go to make one?" That
was a rhetorical question. They went back to the apartment.

There, Andy  laid out his old budget. He'd estimated his food bill on the
basis of his old food-services contract. Even paying the grocery bills she
rang up for him, he was way ahead. As he said, the auto-repair bills hadn't
come in, so far, but they could all come in in a rush. He'd budgeted $100
for clothes for the two years, had spent less than $15, and didn't see the
need for any more clothes in the foreseeable future. The most shocking
feature of his budget was that when he'd made it, he'd figured out what he
needed to spend, some of it grossly overestimated. He had expected to end
the period with $1,500 left in savings. That wouldn't have been enough to
pay for two years' housing -- which he'd estimated from what his dad had
paid for the dormitory -- and so he'd asked his dad to subsidize the rent.
When his dad came through, he'd shopped for the cheapest apartment he could
get. The rent was much less than the maximum his dad had set. Andy had made
no provision for gifts, although he'd given some, and no provision for
incidentals.

Well, they needed a realistic budget. She couldn't live on what Andy spent
for food; she was surprised that Andy could. So, the first thing was to
calculate Andy's expenses for the rest of the school year. That was fast
running out. Then extraordinary expenses. They needed a budget for gifts
and travel; this only made sense on the same all-future context that Andy
had used for so much of his budgeting. She suggested keeping the car-repair
allotment that remained, and she added $500 for emergencies in general.
They got $100 apiece for gifts, no more than $50 of which could be spent
for gifts to the other. She suspected that Andy would go hog-wild for gifts
to her and cheat his family, otherwise. Andy had bought his own books, and
she expected that she would have to, too. She figured a reasonable food
budget and an incidental budget for each by the week. They ran that through
the year. Whatever Andy's fault as a budget maker, he was great on the
arithmetic.

When all was done, they had $2,000 that would be available if Mr. Trainor
came through on the rent. Andy thought he would, but she was less
optimistic. Maybe he'd think Andy had saved him on the previous year's
rent, as he really had. He might feel generous in response. On the other
hand, people don't often count previous savings when they're asking whether
present payments would be fair. They had about 14 months until Andy would
be earning a paycheck -- longer for her, since the school wouldn't pay
until September. By slighting the emergency fund by $100, they figured that
they could pay $2,100 -- or $150 a month -- for the engagement ring. Andy
had asked, and the jeweler would take monthly payments.

"But that might not buy much of a ring," Andy said.

"Andy, darling, I could have a bigger engagement ring in a year. That's my
choice." He was a darling, too, figuring she needed a big diamond while he
was eating canned food and walking to class to save on gas. They took their
new-found understanding of each other to bed with them.

Thursday after supper, she was called to the phone.

"It's an older man," Kathy, the freshman who had answered, whispered to her.

"Hello." What older man would be calling her.

"Miss Grant, this is Jim Trainor."

"Yes, Mr. Trainor."

"I understand you're marrying my son."

"Yes."

"Well, that means we'll have to decide on housing. Andy would live content
in a pup tent if it had bookshelves. I'm certain you have higher standards."

"And about tuition, too." She might as well be blunt.

"Whose tuition?"

"Andy's." Did he think they'd ask him for hers.

"Well, that isn't in question; the amount is set. The rent amount is not.
Look, the U of I has married-student housing."

"I believe so."

"They do. I've checked. Anyway, why don't you check it out. If it meets
your standards, then I'll pay for that next year. It has to please both of
you, of course, but -- aside from his choice of bride -- Andy's taste is
all in his mouth. If you have a real objection, then we'll have to
negotiate something."

"That's very generous of you."

"Not really. As I told Andy, I'm legally obliged for his sisters' college
expenses. If I'm not legally obliged for his, I'm certainly morally
obliged. However, if you're feeling grateful, there is a favor I'll ask of
you."

"Certainly."

"Will you promise to let me know before the two of you start skipping meals
or doing something stupid?" Doing something stupid? What did he have in
mind? Mom thought that they were already doing something stupid.

"I will."

"I'll sleep better at night. Y'know, Andy wants to be independent, and I'm
not opposed. Still, he's my kid, and you worry about your kids. The girls,
on the other hand, will take me for anything on offer. That's fine. Saying
no is easy; not knowing when some help might be needed is hard. Well...

"One other thing," he continued. "While you may have other plans, and your
family may have plans of their own, between the honeymoon and your return
to campus, Andy's old room is always available. I'd love to have the two of
you there." She'd just looked at the budget. There wouldn't be any
honeymoon. Did she want that less than a ring? Well, considering that the
ring would be shown to all her friends, yes!

"That's very generous of you."

"You'll think me an old hypocrite, but that offer only begins after the
wedding."

"That's completely fair. We wouldn't do that to you." They had, after all,
done something quite similar to Mom (and Dad, really, though it was Mom's
house). The difference might have been the 'hypocrite.' Mr. Trainor had
been willing to pay for Andy's off-campus apartment with a good guess that
they'd be having sex in it.

The next Monday, they went back to the jeweler.

"We'd like to see engagement ring and wedding ring sets that will cost less
than $150 a month," she told him.

"Ring for the groom as well as for the bride?" She looked at Andy. They
hadn't discussed that. He shrugged. Well, she would prefer that. They could
buy Andy a ring when they had more income, but it wouldn't be the same as
putting it on him in the service.

"Yes," she finally said.

"Let me make a suggestion. The sets that come together, with matching rings
for bride and groom, are mostly out of your price range. Why don't you look
at very simple wedding rings. Then you can choose an engagement ring which
will go with them. And, while you're in this store and I haven't sized the
rings, you can always decide differently." So they did it his way. The
wedding rings they chose looked good, very narrow for her and broader for
Andy.

The engagement rings they could now afford were all small, but pretty.

"You can go way flashier with cubic zirconium," the jeweler said. "Even I
can't usually tell the difference on a finger. I look more closely through
a loupe to tell. On the other hand..."

"On the other hand, we would know," she said. "A diamond is a diamond."
When she'd selected one, the question rose about a down payment.

"Well, yes, we take monthly payments. But a down payment is usual."

"We only have so much money. It's in savings, and we won't get any more
until we graduate and get jobs. And that's fourteen months away," she
explained.

"Wait a minute. You have it in savings? Can you write a check for the
fourteen months today?"

"Well, I could," Andy said. "I don't have my checkbook with me."

"Go and get it. I'll stay here until you come back. If I get the next
fourteen months in advance, I don't need a down payment." So Andy went back
to his apartment while she stayed there. The jeweler sized her two rings
while she was waiting. When Andy came back and wrote the check, he sized
Andy's ring, too. They each took the other's wedding ring. Andy took the
engagement ring and drove her to the quads.

"Marilyn, will you marry me?" he asked when they were both out of the car.

"Yes, Andy, I will," she answered. She enjoyed, however, the picture of her
saying no. That would leave them awfully far out on a limb. Andy took her
hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. Then he drove her back to the
house. She was tempted to suggest celebrating their engagement in bed, but
she was even more tempted to show the ring off in the house. Everyone had
been at the candlelight, of course, but they admired the ring all the same.

That Sunday, she wondered if anyone would notice the ring in church. She
could wave it around, but that would seem uncouth. Marge Drayton did
notice, and she made enough of a fuss that everyone else knew about it.
They stood in the back of the church while people gathered about. By the
time they left, the pastor lifted her left hand to admire the ring.

"Planning on holding the service here?" he asked.

"No, thank God." That sounded horrible. "That was my back-up plan if our
families disapproved," she explained, "but we'll be in Evanston, where both
of us belong."

"You explained when you first attended that you weren't engaged."

"Well, it's no longer true."

"Congratulations to both of you."

"Really," Andy said when they were in the car, "they should have only
congratulated me. I'm marrying you, and you're marrying me. I'm obviously
getting the better deal."

"Well, I think you're a great prize. All the girls, not only your fan club,
were congratulating me." And he was a great prize. He cared for her.

Wednesday after classes, they went to see about married student housing.

"We're interested in next year," she told the secretary. "We're not married
yet, but..." She showed her ring.

"Think you two are the first couple in that situation we've seen? In order
to qualify, you have to show us your marriage license before moving in. The
legislature pays for this, and they'd cut us off at the knees if we let one
unmarried couple slip through. One person must be a student, and preference
is given to couples who are both students. Now, do you want furnished or
unfurnished?"

"Furnished," she said. It might cost more, but the furniture couldn't be
cheaper than the difference for a single year. The office didn't have any
vacancies -- unsurprising since they rented by the semester -- but they had
floor plans. They looked eminently suitable.

"I think maybe this one," she said. "What do you think, Andy?"

"Well, you know my bottom line. That would do great if you like it." They
submitted an application in the names of Andrew and Marilyn Trainor. In
some way, this was more definite than the ring. They'd been a couple in
front of Zeta and the church for a long time. Now they were a couple in
dealing with the university administration. They sent the description and
price information to Andy's dad.

They went back to the apartment that night. She cooked dinner, and they got
in a good four hours of studying before they went to bed.

"Every night," Andy said when he'd filled her.

"Every night," she agreed as he began moving. They would be married, and
they'd have this every night.

The end
Every - F
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2012/03/28



These same events from Andy's perspective:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_08m.htm
Andy's experience

The first adventures of Marilyn with Andy:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_01f.htm
"The Meeting - F"

Another story about another couple preparing for marriage:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/bla_02f.htm
"Prelude - F"


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