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Message-ID: <61920asstr$1332976253@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Every -- M" -- Uther -- MF rom
Lines: 3854
Date: Wed, 28 Mar 2012 19:10:53 -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 -- M
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

MF rom


Andy Trainor walked out of his PDE final cautiously pleased. None of the
questions had stumped him, and he'd finished in time to check every answer
once before he had to turn the test in. When he got back to the apartment,
he straightened it up. He took a shower and put his old clothes in the
laundry bags. He shaved with a blade.

When he'd finished finals in the past, he'd been unable to stop thinking
about the exams. He'd taken to a binge as the solution. Now, he hardly
thought about the exams. There was nothing he could do if he noticed a
blooper at this stage, anyway. Now, all he could think about was Marilyn.
She still had one exam to go, or she was already taking it. He could have
picked her up outside the exam hall, but she chose otherwise. Finally, the
phone rang.

"Andy?" It was Marilyn.

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

"Give me an hour. I'm not packed yet." Well, at least he had a limit to his
worrying.

"There in an hour. I love you."

"I love you, too." He looked at his watch. 12:17.

He left too much time for the drive. He really could have walked it in the
time he allowed. So he spent six anxious minutes sitting in his car. Then
he walked up to Zeta House and rang the bell. One of the members yelled
"Andy's here, Marilyn," in the general direction of the stairs.

"Be down in a minute," answered the sweetest voice in the sorority, if
louder than usual. He wasn't allowed to set foot on the stairs, but when
she was within reaching distance, she stopped. He took her suitcase and
book bag from her. He set the suitcase on the floor and the book bag on it.
By then, she'd come down to kissing distance. They had a sweet kiss, but a
short one. They'd have more without the audience. Then he picked up the
bags, switched both to his right hand, and opened the door for Marilyn with
his left.

"If engineering doesn't work out Andy," Marilyn's Little Sister, Beverly,
said, "you could make a living giving boyfriend lessons."

"Yeah," the academic chair answered, "but would the guys pay for them?"

"Maybe the woman's parents would," another sister said. "If Gary treated me
like that, Dad would stop mentioning haircuts." He was embarrassed, and the
warm air was escaping while the women shared a laugh. Marilyn followed him
to the car, and he opened her door before putting the stuff in the back
seat.

"See," she said when he got in the driver's seat, "they all appreciate what
a nice guy you are." Then she kissed him again.

At the apartment, he helped her out, got the stuff, opened the door for
her, and gestured her towards the stairs. All the way up he stayed far
enough behind her that he could admire her lovely hips flexing as she
climbed the stairs. She unlocked the apartment door with *her* key, a
symbol that, despite her denials, she lived there. Once out of their coats,
they kissed and hugged. She stopped him from undressing her, though.

"It's chilly. Faster to do our own." And she was quick in stripping and
getting into bed. When there was nothing left to see, he finished
undressing and joined her. He stroked her, avoiding the most sensitive bits
until his hands were warmer. Her lips were cool at his kiss, but her mouth
was warm for his tongue. When he ducked under the covers, her nipples were
cool on his tongue. Between her legs, she was warm, and the sweet nest was
*hot*.

As he licked or sucked and stroked, he felt her stiffen under his arm. He
drew his head out of the covers at just the right time. As he focused on
her face, it went from worry to pain. Then she grimaced as her back arched,
driving her mound upward into his hand. She writhed under his hand.

"Oh, Marilyn. Oh, darling." He felt her relax and hatched her expression go
from agony to a relaxed, satisfied smile. She was such a sexy sight in all
of her moods. He kissed over her face, avoiding the mouth that she needed
for breathing right then. She had a faint salt taste, her sweat, the last
of her response. "Sweet girl, delicious woman." He began to stroke her
again, keeping to her outer labia. "You're gorgeous."

"Are you fully packed?" She was changing the subject with a vengeance.
Maybe he should stop stroking before she pushed him away.

"Yeah. You?" He'd leave his hand there, though. He could feel the three
layers, crinkly hair, soft pad, and hard bone.

"I want to bring a couple of the tops I have here. I don't need to go back
to the house." Well, he didn't have to let her escape to her damn sorority.
The clothes were a problem, though. 'Tops' sounded like blouses, and that
sounded like colored. He hadn't done a colored wash.

"They may not be washed. I only did the white stuff. I could do a colored
load today."

"Andy, if I came home with no laundry to do Mom would call a doctor." All
right. He didn't really want to go out to do a wash, not when she was here.
"I'm not sure you should be doing my stuff." That was ridiculous.

"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?" Well, not all.

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

"And I have to cook for you. Did you buy the groceries on my list?" Sure.
Didn't he always? Her shopping lists were a reminder that she was coming
back.

"Sure. But we don't need to eat lunch for hours." And, that being settled,
he began to make love to her again. After a long, wet kiss, he kissed her
nose, ear, chin, temple, eyebrow, the other eyebrow. Meanwhile, under the
sheet, he kept stroking her delightful lubrication all the way up the
valley between her labia to her clitoris. And sexy Marilyn was providing
plenty of lubrication.

There was no hurry. It was plenty warm under the blanket, and the locked
door would keep people out, but the greatest luxury was that they had
*time*. The train was due at noon the next day, more than 21 hours from the
current time, and there was no deadline in between. Classes were weeks
away, and prep for them, although they'd do it, was unassigned. They
wouldn't do it *soon*.

He could have one orgasm this afternoon, maybe another tonight, and one the
next morning. Marilyn had the marvelous ability to have many orgasms, and
Marilyn's orgasms looked so erotic, so beautiful.

And she was about to produce that beauty again. He could feel her body
tense, could almost see it in the subtle change in her covered shape. He
watched her expression change from pleasure to worry, to pain. When she
grimaced as if in agony, her body writhed under his arm and against his
body. He felt her writhe again and again. Then her expression changed to
languor and her body sank in rest.

"I love you," he said. He did love her, although she might not think so if
she knew how much he enjoyed seeing her spasms. But, if he was enjoying
her, he wasn't really exploiting her.

"And I love you, too." That was wonderful to hear. The sentiment was most
important, but that she was rested enough to speak calmly meant that she
was rested enough to begin another. He wouldn't hurry. They had loads of
time, and every stage of her arousal was beautiful. He did, however, begin
stroking again.

"This time," she asked, "are you going to come in?" Well, her writhings
were even more erotic beneath him and around him than they were in his
sight. On the other hand, their sessions were likely to end at his orgasm.
And, this session had hardly begun.

"You taste better before I do." Other things were better before he had his
orgasm, too, but -- with the temperature of the room -- they were fairly
well limited to the bed.

"I get the impression that you are just going to use your hand for the next
twelve hours." That would be lovely, if totally impractical.

"Not twelve. Maybe three."

"Andy!" Well, if she needed to go to the john, or something, he wasn't
going to tie her to the bed. He just wanted her back in bed and back in his
arms.

"Well, you look so sexy when I do."  Which was an admission, but he
couldn't lie convincingly to her. He kissed her. If she wanted to cut their
session short, he'd go to the next stage now. He had his Marilyn back, and
he wanted to kiss all of her.

Somehow, her mouth, which always tasted sexy, tasted even sexier when she'd
just had an orgasm. He licked an ear, and then started down her neck to her
far breast. When he'd kissed up to the top and sucked that nipple to
hardness, he kissed down the valley in between and up the near breast to
that nipple. It was already firm when he got there, but he licked and
sucked it. While the sensations were delightful, even  greater pleasure
awaited him.

He kissed down that breast and down her torso. Her belly shivered when he
kissed it. The fur on her mound held the odor of her arousal, and he
sniffed deep when he got there. Then he stopped kissing to climb between
her legs. When she raised them, he began kissing her thighs. If he
suspected the lips on her face tasted better after an orgasm, the taste of
her lower lips was incredibly sexy after an orgasm. He reveled in that
taste and smell. As he licked up her labia, she held him against them. She
stiffened when he first tasted her clitoris. A little licking up the valley
between her labia brought her to the brink.

While she writhed under his mouth, he kept licking and sucking her
clitoris. She shoved his head away. He knelt with his head lying on her
thigh until she relaxed. Then, he turned his head to kiss that thigh. And,
not to play favorites, he kissed the other one, too.

"No! This time inside." Would she let him continue if he did? He certainly
would have less enthusiasm and less strength.

"But we have hours."

"I'm going to fix you toasted cheese sandwiches. Now, get up here, or I'll
go do it now." Well, it wasn't as if he didn't *want* to be in her
marvelous, warm, moist, loving vagina. If she wanted to end the session
this early, they were agreed on how it should end. Besides, it was nice to
feel wanted. He moved rapidly up her body, stopping only for brief tribute
to her lovely breasts.

Then he was at her entry! The feelings on his tip were so wonderful that he
wanted to pause to savor them, but the promise of more drove him inward.
She was gloriously warm, sensuously slick. As she parted before him, she
hugged around him. Then, encased in her depths, clasped by her warmth, he
paused to savor the welcome. He kissed her hairline before speaking.

"I love you." And he loved all of her, not just the center that held him
then. Her arms and legs came up to express her welcome as he lifted himself
to see her face. As he moved slowly in and out of her, he watched her face.
Her expression was loving and welcoming as she lay under him receiving his
thrusts. She looked distracted when her loins started rising to meet his.
Then she looked worried while her hands grabbed his butt and she pulled him
hard against her

Then she grimaced as though in agony. Her nails bit into his butt, and he
drove harder down into her. She clasped around him rhythmically while she
writhed underneath his body. He took one more stroke through those warm
clasps. As he pushed into her, he erupted. He could feel nothing but his
cock pumping into her depths and her tunnel pumping him dry. For some
period, he could feel nothing at all.

He came to lying on her softness with her hands still holding him against
her by his butt. She didn't resist, though, when he moved off. As soon as
he was in position, he pulled her against him. He had her back on his
chest, her breast in his hand, and her head under his lips. They lay in
that blissful condition for a brief time. She still spoke in lovely tones,
but they weren't pleasant words.

"This is lovely, you know, 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." She lay in his arms as if she were considering that, although not
relaxed. Soon, though, she rejected it and moved to get up. All right, the
room was chilly. Still, she not only got up but wrapped herself in the
concealing nightgown, then the robe, and then the apron.

He put on his own robe to make the bed. Then he moved to his chair to watch
her cook. It was grilled-cheese sandwiches, which always reminded him of
her -- a crisp outside hiding the warm, gooey, tasty interior. While he
washed the dishes, she completed her packing. By the time he was done, she
was in bed -- although in the nightgown.

"Look," she said when he'd dropped his robe and joined her, "let's talk."
That was both a good and a bad suggestion. If they were going to talk, they
should definitely be in bed. On the other hand, if they were going to be in
bed, talking was way low on his priority list.

"Okay. do you know that you have the most delightful, sexy, beautiful
breasts?"

"You wanted me to think about marriage," she said. "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?" Well he knew
how he could tell.

"We felt awfully compatible a half hour ago."

"Yeah. We're sexually compatible, but what do you think about children?"
Was that a trick question? What did she feel about kids. Right now, he
could picture her with a huge belly holding his kid. Not, pray God, before
he got a paycheck. But that wasn't what she'd said about her life.

"I like kids. But I'm not the one who would have to carry one around for
nine months."

"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." That was pushing him. Did she know more than he did about
kids, anyway?

"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." Not quite, but, really, that wasn't his choice.

"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?"

"Actually, I was never a babysitter, and Pete wasn't enough younger to give
me even your experience." Well, that showed who knew more.

"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."

"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, they
were compatible.

"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
nudged him as if she thought that was a joke. Maybe it was, but he was half
serious. He defended himself by hugging her closer.

"So what sort of town or neighborhood do you see yourself living in?" One
with Marilyn in it, but she wouldn't accept that answer. He should explain.

"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."

Well, he hadn't been totally honest. There was one condition he would
prefer. "I really don't want to live in, or near, San Diego." Although, if
she dreamed of San Diego, he'd move there.

"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?" This was getting ridiculous. Did she think that what she disliked
about this place was somehow his requirement? How could he explain his
position?

"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." He thought of an equivalent.

"Look, 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." Just his point.

"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."
Couldn't she see? He'd used to dream about the future, but it had been a
future of solving problems. Obviously, if he hadn't met her, he would have
had to live somewhere. He didn't, however, spend any time dreaming about
that. What this place had that the dorm room hadn't had, was that Marilyn
visited. He gladly put up with the extra work of cooking food for that
pleasure.

"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."

"Wait a minute. When I surprised you that time, the bed was unmade and
piled high with laundry." Well, sure. He hadn't known that she was coming.

"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." Did she expect him to be ready for a surprise
inspection at all times?

"So the reason you make a bed is?"

"That you'll see it." That wasn't quite it; she'd seen it on her surprise
visit. "Or, really, that I think you'll see it."

"Andy, you're weird." Or all the rest of them were. But Marilyn definitely
wasn't. So, he was. Anyway, that was off the point.

"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, 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?" she asked. Well, he hadn't dared.

"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." Even then, he had
imagined a longer time dating Marilyn. He hadn't thought about after
graduation. He'd avoided thinking about graduation.

"Andy, that was early." Well, it was early for her, with her many other
choices, the many other people who wanted to deal with her. It had been a
damn long time of hoping for the unlikely for him.

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

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

"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." And, if the period of vain hopes had been
agonizing, that acceptance had been wonderful.

"Anyway," she said, "that's the past. I'm talking about the future." Well,
she had been asking about desires. He desired her, and not only desire the
way his cock was beginning to stir against her thigh.

"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?" Well, at that
moment he'd been picturing her in the kitchen. She looked delightful in the
kitchen, even if she looked better in 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 suspected that she
wouldn't like hearing about his looking in her drawer.

"And, speaking of kitchens, what do you see as the division of chores?" She
was still on some generic marriage. Hadn't she seen that he would do
chores, things that really didn't need to be done like making the bed, just
in exchange for her visiting occasionally? For her in his arms every night,
he'd so whatever she wanted. Hell! Mrs. Bryant only worked 40 hours a week;
most commuters had more than that time at home. Well let's get practical.

"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?" Like Marilyn cooked? Nothing.

"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." He loved *Marilyn*. He didn't
expect her to be like anyone else. Why did she always expect him to be like
some other people?

"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." Well, unless you considered it reasonable.

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

"As if!" Well, he'd tried. Then she changed the subject. "How do you think
you did this term?" Quite decently actually. He might not match her
standards for cooking, but he was still one of the real students in the EE
classes unless something had gone seriously wrong.

"None of the finals shocked me, and the grades going in were okay." That
was only true in two of the four subjects. The other two depended on other
ungraded work. "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?" Maybe. Either of the two courses depending on a paper
and a project *might well* give him an A. Of course, either was far from
certain.

"Knock on wood," he said, knocking. "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." Well, no, the damn sorority never
has done her 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."
Well, it wasn't really meant to be a sensible suggestion, though they could
be used as research assistants.

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

"You're evil." But there was laughter in her voice when she said that. He
hugged her. "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." Was he any sillier than asking what jobs he
would do to keep her in his life? Her breasts were magnetic, and his hand
started to respond to the magnetism. He kissed her hair, which was what he
could reach like this. "Hey, are you trying to start something?" Actually,
he was intending to continue something.

"It's too early for dinner. We're all packed. What else is there to do?"

"We were in the midst of dividing up household chores." Well, he'd answered
that question.

"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." That one was easy.

"Already do. If I didn't, the place would stink by now." That settled, he
started caressing her covered torso in the direction of the bottom of the
nightgown. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"The question you wanted to ask is 'Where are you going?'" He snuck his
hand under the bottom of her gown to play with her vulva.

"I know where you're going." Well, if so, he might as well go there. He
parted her labia to get to the moist valley between them.

"Then there isn't any question remaining." He stroked upwards from her
pooled juices, went back for more, stroked upwards again. He stopped short
of her clitoris each time. He didn't want to get really serious until she
had her mind off the distractions.

"Andy!" She sounded more interested in the main issue, now.

"Did you have more questions?"

"Please!" Well, since she asked nicely. He gathered lots of juice on his
fingertip, and then he stroked all the way up over her clitoris. She
relaxed briefly, and the tension which followed was of a much better sort.
He sustained the same rhythm of stroking her, and her tension grew.

"Andy!" She writhed in ecstasy. He could feel her move against his chest
and in his arms. He managed to keep his finger on her clitoris, and she
soon writhed again. That was probably as far as he should go until she
rested. He held her more loosely and kissed her hair.

When she'd had enough time to recover, he stroked down to her lovely pubic
hair. He couldn't see it while holding her like this -- he could see the
hair on her head, could see almost nothing else -- but he could appreciate
its crisp feel. She grabbed his hand, though, and moved it to her waist.
Well, he'd been wrong about her recovery. He cupped her breast through the
nightgown. Soon he was brushing over one of her sweet nipples.

"Andy. I'm thinking. If I have to get up and get dressed to think, I will."
That was a serious threat, and he kept his hand still. She moved it off the
nipple, but not off the breast. "And no kissing, either." Well, he could
hold her.

After a very long while, she took his right hand in hers and kissed his
fingers.

"Are you back?" he asked.

"Silly! I've been right here." Well, physically.

"This..." He stroked her body. "has been right here. This..." He kissed her
head. "was a million miles away."

"Well, I'm back. I promised that I'd always come back." That she had, and
he should celebrate that.

"So you did." She had promised that. "And so you did." She had come back.

He kissed her hair lightly. He caressed her breasts. She wriggled, but she
seemed neither uncomfortable nor highly aroused. As he continued the
caress, she didn't repeat the wriggle.

He kissed along her skull towards her ear. When he licked the back of her
ear, she rolled her head away. Soon, though, she moved back into range.

Her hair was lovely, but less fun to kiss than her skin. He moved a little
to reach her neck, then her shoulder and lower on her back. He stopped
stroking her lovely breasts to return to her lovelier vulva. She raised her
leg in welcome, and he stroked her outer labia for a second. He felt all
the way into her to get some more of her juices. Then he swept it all the
way to her clitoris.

"Want me to take off my nightie?" Hell yes.

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

"As if!" She pushed his hand away, but turned over as soon as she had. She
pulled the gown up, making some interesting motions in doing so. He started
to help her, but she sat up to do it herself. That offered a bare breast,
and he held it in case it might feel cold. She tossed the gown somewhere
and lay down.

He pulled the covers over his head while kissing her breast. The nipple was
turgid when he reached it. That was signal enough that it was time to
return to her center. Lovely Marilyn opened her legs to welcome his hand.
With all the motion, the air under the covers wasn't all that much warmer
than the air of the room. As it warmed, it also brought the scent of
Marilyn's arousal. He kissed a line in short stages down this breast and up
the far one. That nipple stuck up to show that his attention to it was
overdue. He licked around it, licked it, sucked it, while stroking at her
center. She stiffened under his arm and mouth. He could tell that she was
near, but her breasts were too sweet to abandon them to watch her face.
Then she raised her pelvis into his hand.

"Yeah." He had a close view of her writhing. She moved so far that his
finger lost its place. Well, better to let her relax. He kept his hand on
her mound to feel the motions.

She smelled really erotic now, but she was relaxing. He raised his head out
of the top of the covers, and tucked them around her. She was his love, and
he wouldn't let her get chilly.

"You know," he said, "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," she said, "there is no law that I have to be in your arms." Well,
there was no law *yet*.

"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. 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."  He was close to
revealing his secret, here. He couldn't keep secrets from her, anyway. But
she didn't know how much erotic thrill he got from seeing her writhe.

"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."
Actually, with strong enough hinges, almost any shape would work. The only
limitation was that the distance from the top to the bottom couldn't be
more than the distance from the bottom to the floor.

"I think that we've put home decor in my area of responsibility. I might
even decide on twin beds." Horrors! She couldn't be serious.

"If you want, but don't you find this a tiny bit crowded?" She giggled. She
hadn't been serious. "Decor is in your control, but you'll sleep in my arms
every night."  She didn't answer, nor was she rigid like she might be if
she was thinking of an answer.

He held her breast. The nipple had been soft and small, but it firmed
readily as his fingers stroked it. He kissed her eyebrows, nose, cheek,
temple, and ear. When his mouth met hers, she was ready for it. Her tongue
met his before he'd passed her teeth. After that sweet encounter, he
caressed the rest of her mouth with his tongue. She wasn't ready to end
that kiss when he was. When her tongue went between his lips, he sucked it
gently.

He left her mouth for parts even more responsive, but he kissed a path to
them. This wasn't a day for hurrying. After he was under the covers, he
reached down between her legs. He kissed the softness of her breasts while
he stroked the greater softness of her labia. He could feel her respond.
Soon, soon, she would writhe for him again.

Then she spoke. "Aren't you going to come inside?" Well, not yet.

"After dinner. We'll have all evening to get together." And, perhaps
persuaded by that clarity, she let him proceed. Her tautness was responding
to his caresses. Then she was writhing beside him. "Darling!" As he kept
stroking and kissing her, she kept writhing. Then she shoved his arm away.
He stopped sucking her nipple, too. He lay against her with his arm across
her while her breath slowed.

"You are the sexiest woman."

"Do you even own a broom?" That wasn't the answer he'd expected.

"No." Where could he have hidden it? under the bed?

"A dustpan?"

"No."

"Well, one of us is going to go out to buy them. Which one of us do you
want to put on their clothes?" She was practicing rhetorical questions
today. First of all, he wasn't going to let her go out into the cold by
herself. Second, it was easier to control when he took off his clothes.
Still, she was interrupting the best time he'd had with her since the field
was plowed nearly a year ago.

The grocery at which he shopped only had one push broom, and that wasn't
for sale. He got the other kind, looking like it could carry a witch. The
dustpan looked standard.

"This is the only sort of broom that they had," he said when he came in.
"I'm used to the push kind." She was dressed, at least in robe and
slippers, despite his efforts.

"You've used them?" She sounded incredulous. He might not follow her rules
for housekeeping, but he'd worked for the past five summers.

"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." She took the broom and
swept a small section of the floor thoroughly. He could see where this type
of broom -- despite the extra effort it required -- had advantages in such
small spaces. It also worked better with the dustpan.

"Now, you do it." It was easy. "Find a place to store them," she said when
he'd finished. Well, the corner between the wall with the hallway and the
wall with the kitchen seemed the best place.

"Now what?" She might have another task for him. He didn't want her to
think he was avoiding work if they went back to bed.

"Sit down." He did, pulling the chair into his place at the table. "Turn
around." When he was sitting with his back to the table, she sat on his
lap. She was a soft, warm bundle in his arms. "This isn't as warm as I'd
expected." She sat up stiff. He eased his arms around her. He didn't let
go, but she could get up if she wanted to.

"I was just outside," he explained. "In a coat, but still..." She settled
more fully into his lap.

"The floor will be better on your bare feet." She was right. Not all those
ways other people behaved were silly.

"You're right. 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." If he'd thought about the
problem, he would have, but it had been just a minor irritation.

Sitting down seemed to be a signal. He could make out with her, but not get
serious. According to the books, they could have sex sitting down. Hell!
His cock was just a few inches and four layers of cloth from where it
belonged. Still, he just cradled her breast through the cloth and kissed
her ear. She responded by caressing his cheek with her soft one.

"Mmmm." That felt lovely. "I love you."

"I love you, Andy...." Her tone changed, became less soft and more serious.
"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." There was something he'd thought about her, but not
thought about himself. "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 put a finger on 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." Now, he was done with the
generalization. He wondered if engineers had secretaries. He hoped they
didn't. Now for the particular.

"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?"
Hell no! Marilyn was going to be a teacher.

"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." It was, though, odd to have
life frustrating around her. Marilyn and frustration were parts of two
different sections of his life.

"Anyway, why are you so sure your mother was wrong? Your Dad was a paragon
who stayed faithful through a break-up?" That wasn't it. It just made no
sense.

"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." Now to connect the dots. "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." *He* thought the last was by far the most
likely.

"But she was quite important in his life?"

"Still is. That's part of the reason that it's unlikely." How could he
explain it? "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?" It scares her? It had scarred him, though really, the
divorce wasn't the worst part.

"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," well, not quite the same, "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."

"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." Of course it
wasn't.

"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." He wouldn't impede the life she had
planned. "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?" That was absurd.

"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." Well, there were all sorts of
leaving.

"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?" Was this another of the rules she got
out of the ether? Well, whatever she thought, she didn't resist when his
hands roved her smoothness. She even cooperated in the kisses. He didn't
get serious, though. And he was glad he hadn't when she looked at her watch.

"It's really time to make dinner. Not that hamburgers are much dinner."
Well, hamburgers were a romantic dinner. Didn't she remember?

"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." Did she want a minute-by-minute account? Like this, he could
enrich the account with touches.

"Well, we can't get together this vacation. Tonight will have to last you
for the rest of '76." She rose from his lap as she was saying that. She
started busying herself with food prep as if to tease him with her
unavailability after that comment.

"The rest of '76. Sounds worse than it is.... Well, how about January? Will
you spend two nights a week here?" He could face deprivation if he had
something to look forward to. Anyway, she didn't have any more pledges to
torture.

"Sure, except..." Now she was back being afraid of him during her periods.
Well, she didn't have to be.

"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." That was his
basic desire. Sex? Sure, as much as she'd give him. But he needed her
presence more.

"Look..." She was still dithering.

"You look! You're thinking of marrying me. If you don't, you'll end up
marrying somebody." And somebody, he'd wager, with less control than he
had. "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." Okay! He might have to wait a year and
a half, but he'd waited twice that long already. But let's see how much we
could get sooner.

"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?" Well, yes, although she appeared
unaware of how much she had already conceded.

"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." Not in that way, but she knew
that wasn't what he'd meant.

"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?"

"Put the plates and condiments on the table." That was changing the subject
with a vengeance. Well, he'd let her have her intermission. The meal was
delicious. Food always tasted better when he had watched her cook it.

"Put the dishes in the sink to soak," she said; then, "Sit down like
before." She sat in his lap. "We don't know each other well enough." Well,
he'd like to know her better. "What's the first thing you remember?"

"Your speech about MYF projects."

"Not the first thing you remember about me. What's the first thing you
remember about Andy?" He didn't enjoy those memories, but she'd asked. He
talked about being odd man out, odd little boy out, really. About the 'big
kids,' kids who must have been in 6th grade or lower, ragging him and
beating him up. He got to the good part as fast as he could.

"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
didn't. "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." He paused for a breath, and for effect.

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

"Poor Andy." She was sympathetic, not sarcastic.

"Well, you at least had a polite excuse. You didn't say 'with you? Ick!' So
I waited awhile and asked you again."

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

"You're the sweetest woman." And he tasted the sweetness of her ear and
felt the sweetness of her warm breast.

"Think the burgers are digested now?" she asked. If they were, it was time
for exercise. Well, the scientific method would be to try it. He picked her
up and headed for the bed. Both naked between the sheets, he kissed her and
stroked her.

She'd been warmed up by the earlier cuddling, and she soon tensed. He felt
her body writhe beside him and watched her face transform itself. He kissed
her shoulder before beginning again. Twice more he saw her in her glory.
Each climax came nearer the previous one. When she was beginning to tense
one more time, she reached for him.

"You!" Well, lying beside her erotic writhings had given him a raging
erection. He climbed over her, and she guided him to her entrance. Her heat
around him was almost scalding. He kissed her hairline when he was buried
in her center. She responded to every stroke. As he sped up, she moaned
softly.

Then she gripped him more closely and writhed under him. He managed three
more strokes through her clutching heat. Then he erupted.

A long time later, he managed to move off her to the side. She rolled back
against him. They fell asleep with her in his arms.

In the morning, they had one more hour than they usually had before church.
His face shaved, his bladder empty, and his teeth brushed, he felt it only
reasonable to use that time to store up memories for their future period of
deprivation. Marilyn seemed amenable.

After a long period of her writhing beside him, their kissing and making
out, and then her writhing again, he entered her. He loved her and desired
her, but the feeling was less desperate than it had been the night before.
He stroked slowly through her warmth, supporting his weight on elbows and
knees. He loved her, loved the sight of her beneath him, loved the feeling
of her around him. Only at the very end, with her hips rising from the bed
to meet his thrusts, did ferocity grip him. He drove into her forcefully,
and more forcefully each successive time. When she clutched around him he
drove into her violently and poured his love and desire into her.

He slept beside her after that, and she probably slept, too. Then they
shared a lovely, if short, shower. He watched her prepare another fancy
breakfast. It was delicious to eat, and the preparation was lovely to
watch. Although the train station was much closer, they left more time than
they ever did for church -- after taking into effect the hour difference.
Well, missing the train had worse penalties than missing the introit.

The trip up was a social time. He didn't mind her sorority when they dealt
with it together, and these women seemed to accept that he and Marilyn were
a couple. Her parents met her, and Dad met him. After taking the luggage to
her family's car, he went off to Dad's.

"And how did the semester go?" Dad asked when they were in traffic.

"Up to now, the grades have been fine. I still have a paper and a project
out, and -- of course -- the finals haven't been graded yet. Still, they
felt okay while I took them."

"Your social life seems to be going well, too. You're happy about that?"

"Quite happy." He would rather have Marilyn's promise to marry him. Really,
though, she *had* promised to think about it.

"And the estimable Miss Grant? Do you think she is happy with your
association as well?"

"That's none of your fucking business."

"I'm biting my tongue to avoid the obvious retort. If you want to avoid it
in the future, choose another adjective." That was really like the old man.
He didn't say, 'No. It's your fucking business.' On the other hand, he let
you know that he could have.

"I've heard you use it."

"But not where it invites a retort like that. I'm saying think before you
speak. I'm not saying always avoid swear words."

"All right. It's none of your damn business."

"And, you know, I didn't ask any intrusive questions." If, of course, you
let him decide what was intrusive. "I merely expressed a friendly interest
in your happiness."

"Well, as I told you, *I* am quite happy. As to whether I'm able to keep
her happy, that's none of your damn business."

"Fair enough. Have you thought of your Christmas present for her?"

"Thought about? Yes. Decided? no."

"Well, probably it is wiser to shop for someone who lives on campus up
here. You've shipped off your presents to California?"

"Yeah. I'm a responsible adult, you know."

"That's three separate issues. Are you responsible? Often. Are you an
adult? Not yet. Do I know? Really, do you need to ask? I remember the Andy
whose diapers I used to change. I accept my children's limitations. My
children might try accepting mine."

"But yours are so many."

"Many as they may be, only a few affect you directly, and -- really -- most
of our quarrels are about only one. I still think of you as my son, when
you want me to think of you as an entirely independent agent."

"Well, accepting that limitation of yours, means accepting a limitation, a
handcuff, of my own. Why can't I be an independent agent?"

"Ah. When I limit you objectively, then you have a fair complaint. I'll try
to deal with it fairly. What I ask you to accept is my point of view.
Parenthood is tragic. Either the nestlings fly away or they don't. If they
do, our identity as a parent is destroyed. If they don't, we've failed as
parents."

"You don't seem all that eager to allow me to fly away -- objectively, as
you say."

"Well, really Andy, you're the sort of kid who needs a college education.
It's not some weakness of yours; it's talent or ability. I'm not insisting
that you stay under my control so I can pay your tuition. I'm paying your
tuition because that's my responsibility. A year and a half more, and
you'll fly away."

"I'm counting the days."

"And, I'll celebrate. I may cry in private, but I'll celebrate quite
honestly. You know, two of us will graduate.

"Anyway, you've told me that the course work looks like good grades up til
finals. There's nothing in your courses these days I could understand
besides the grades. You tell me that your relationship with Miss Grant is
none of my damn business. Has your life in the last semester had any other
aspects at all?"

"Weather, but you've seen much the same. A little less, due to the
continental effect."

"Which is?"

"Badly named. Oceans are huge heat sinks. They change temperature much less
rapidly than land. So land next to oceans has less violent swings with the
seasons than land in the middle of continents. It should be called the
shore-line effect."

"Except that oceans are the majority surface of earth."

"Good point. I think it got named because the first scientists studying
weather were in England and France. Russia seemed odd to them."

"The first person to study weather scientifically may have been in
Philadelphia -- Benjamin Franklin."

"Hmm. Didn't know that. The old man really got around, didn't he? I knew,
of course, about the capacitor and the other electrical developments."

"Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence because the other
delegates were afraid of assigning it to Franklin. They thought he might
insert a pun that they wouldn't catch."

"Well, I did have one subject this semester that would interest you. My
very last distribution course was Anthropology. We learned a little about
some weird cultures. Apparently Anthropologists don't, however, study the
weirdest culture of all."

"I need to keep my eyes on the road. Proceed as though I'd waved my
eyebrows at you."

"Our own." Okay. He'd decided that, since Marilyn couldn't be weird, he
was. But now he was talking to Dad, who was definitely weird. He, and his
society, had rules far crazier than any the course had covered.

Sunday, he got to see Marilyn again. They sat together in church, and their
hips, at least, touched. Afterwards, though, they parted. Monday, he went
downtown and bought Marilyn a chain like the ones he'd seen girls wearing.
He didn't think that was too intimate a gift. He bought Dad a biography of
Tamerlane. He'd checked the library in the house, and Dad didn't have one.

When he brought his gift over to Marilyn's house, she gave him a wrapped
package, which he put under the tree back at the house. He had a lot of
packages for him there. Dad had three. She called the next day to invite
him to dinner on Monday. He told Mrs. Bryant he wouldn't be there Monday
night, and then he thought he should tell Dad, too.

"Are you taking Miss Grant out? Should I be sure to get home by a certain
time so you have use of the car?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm eating at her house."

"And would you like to reciprocate?" Dad had picked up Marilyn's habit of
rhetorical questions. "Really, you can't invite her here for dinner --
according to the Emily-Post sort of etiquette -- but I can. If you'd like
that, you may convey my invitation for Wednesday." He did, and she accepted.

"She's had the roast beef," Dad said. What would your choice for the menu
be? Mrs. Bryant has a good many other dishes she does quite well. The
chicken breasts?"

"I think the baked ham is her second best meal."

"That's what we'll have then." He told Mrs. Bryant the next day.

"Do you want Miss Grant's gift first or last?" Dad asked after breakfast on
Christmas day. Did he think that anything else was more important? No. He
was asking whether Andy wanted to work up to a climax or start from the top.

"Last."

"You're the only child of mine who ate sandwiches crust first." Dad handed
him a magazine subscription. Truly he was grateful for the subscriptions,
and he loved reading the magazines, but they couldn't be considered a
surprise. Dad opened a package every once in while. Andy went through
everything from Dad, the inevitable tie, Molly's gift, Mom's, and April's
before he opened Marilyn's. It was a pen-and-pencil set. Immediately, he
decided to use them in taking notes.

The next day, she was wearing the chain he'd given her. He was glad he'd
thought to put her gift in his shirt pocket although he never wrote in
church.

Dinner at Marilyn's house Monday started off without grace, although they
were church members. The beginning conversation was rather stiff. He tried
to make nice.

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

"You remembered." Well, yes he had. But, apparently, she wanted to be known
as a Zate. The conversation continued on that subject.

"I've got a great line," Marilyn said. "I've known Little Sisters who got
into feuds with their Big Sisters, girls who couldn't stand their Grand Big
Sister at all. But Natalie, Beverly, and I are the best of friends.  Joyce
looks like a fine addition."

"Nice girl," he said. "Another education major, but she's thinking of the
primary grades." He didn't want to dominate the conversation, but he
thought he should contribute something -- something in agreement with
Marilyn, although it was his honest opinion.

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

"Lots of them." He didn't know them all, knew fewer than half the pledges,
in fact. "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."

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

"I get the same impression, house dates excepted." She had, indeed, told
him that, but his pleasure was her father's displeasure. "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."

"Well, we'd known Colin." He made that sound like an accusation. Actually,
though, he'd tried to present his bona-fides.

"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."

"The question," her brother said, "is if you're balling her." Make that her
brat brother. He could take anything, but that was an attack on Marilyn.

"Pete, you're a high-school senior, no?" he 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?" Pete didn't have a clue.

"I could talk about relativity when I was a high-school senior, and I
didn't think I was an adult." That might be stretching it. "Anyway, it's
something adults talk about. They also talk about the recent elections.
Schoolboys snigger." So much for her brother, but he didn't want to
antagonize her father any more than he already had.

"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," her father said. "You're studying electrical
engineering? I'm not sure I know what they do." And the rest of the
conversation avoided his relationship to Marilyn, which was the only
subject which interested everybody at table.

They kissed, if drily, on the porch when he left. Pete was probably
watching. Even if he wasn't, Marilyn was frozen by the possibility.

"And how was the estimable Miss Grant?" Dad asked when he returned.

"Estimable." If Dad wanted to play vocabulary games, he'd play with him.
"She cooked a delicious beef Stroganoff. Unfortunately, she's plagued by an
annoying kid brother."

"Well, I don't know the lad. How old?"

"High-school senior needing kindergarten social training. Think Molly
today's years with Molly five years ago's behavior."

"Well, I don't know the lad, as I said. Consider, however, that you had two
younger sisters who could have been equally obnoxious." The Moppet was
*never* obnoxious. "Miss Grant won them over. It may be that you had worse
material to work with; it may be that you worked it with less skill."

"And it may be both." Pete, after all, had been a bastard despite Marilyn's
skill.

"It could quite possibly be both. She's still on for Wednesday?"

"Certainly."

"Good. That I don't appreciate her company as much as you do doesn't mean
that I don't appreciate it."

And, Wednesday, he appreciated her presence so obviously that she commented
on it.

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

"What's not to like?" Dad asked. "You're an intelligent, sensitive,
attractive young woman. And, most of all..." 'Attractive' was damning with
faint praise, and he said so.

"Attractive? She's utterly beautiful."

"And most of all," Dad went on as if he hadn't spoken, as if he didn't
exist, "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...." Dad had a point.

"Having said that, Miss Grant," Dad rambled on, "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 sketched immense breast with her hands.

"Well, on your frame that would be grotesque. 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?" Now, he was criticizing her hair style.

"Sure."

"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?" Dad remembered that, but did he
have to bring it up?

"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?"

"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?"

"No, but..."

"So your shape is attractive to a fair number of men." Marilyn was *his*
girl. Dad didn't have to go on about her shape. "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."

"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." He had one fan in the conversation, at
least.

"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." Dad had a point there.

"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."

"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." Marilyn might overestimate his
intelligence, but at least he knew she was on his side.

"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. That was unfair.

"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."

The conversation went on. He enjoyed watching and listening to Marilyn, but
he was reduced to watching and listening every time she and Dad were
together. She was *his* date, damn it.

And, after dinner, when Dad went upstairs, she was his date. They had sweet
kisses, her mouth tasted faintly of the spices Mrs. Bryant used in the ham.
He was careful not to mess her clothes, but she checked in the mirror of
the downstairs bathroom anyway. Then he drove her home and had one more
kiss on the front porch.

Dad was watching the news when he got back.

"She was my date, you know, Dad. You didn't have to monopolize the
conversation."

"Why, Andy. That is remarkably selfish of you. First of all, it wasn't a
date. She was, formally, my guest at dinner. More to the point, there were
three people at table, thus three pairs. You have all the time she's
willing to give you at school. If you had something to ask her or tell her,
then you could have done that there. While you and I don't talk all that
much, we have loads of opportunity. Besides which, the subject most on your
mind, if seldom on your tongue, was present. The only pair at the table who
don't have loads of time to talk to each other were Miss Grant and myself."

"Well, you didn't have to bring up her shape."

"All I did was call her attractive. Anything more specific was at her
instigation. 'Attractive,' of course, has implications of 'sexually
desirable,' but it's a term used in polite company and by women to describe
other women. I didn't mention that you lusted after her, a fact which is as
clear to her as it is to me -- maybe even clearer. I merely mentioned that
other men also were attracted, what attraction carefully unspecified, to
her. The girl is less perfect than you think, and one of those
imperfections is a serious case of self-depreciation." Great! He was trying
to persuade Marilyn to accept him, and Dad was trying to persuade her that
she could do better.

"She may be out of my league, but she's out of yours, too."

"Really, you know, we aren't in competition. If we were, I'd have only one
advantage over you with a girl of that age. And she does not strike me as a
gold-digger. Even if she were, of course, while she could do far better
than you, she could do better than me, too. I am not courting Miss Grant as
a mistress, as she is well aware, but as a daughter-in-law."

"Who said I was thinking of marrying her?"

"Why nobody has said it. I certainly didn't, though if you're not you're a
total jackass. The point, though, as she is well aware, is that I have no
legitimate interest in entertaining her if she is merely your current date.
While you may not have mentioned marriage to her, and -- considering your
mutual status as students -- you probably shouldn't, she must realize that
you are interested in her more than casually. How much more than casually,
she doesn't have the knowledge of your background to assess. So, a
concerned parent would naturally consider whether this will lead to the
natural conclusion. And she is quite sensitive enough to see that."
Interfering bastard! 'You probably shouldn't,' indeed. Well, Andy had
mentioned it, and there was nothing Dad could do about it. Graduation,
paycheck, wedding, and he'd never tell the old man anything, not even the
time of day, again.

"I don't see where it's any of your God damned business."

"Well, I might point out that Miss Grant was happy to be welcomed into this
house. It is my house. I gather that your reception at her home was less
consistently cordial."

"Is that any of your business?"

"Since Miss Grant seemed to make reference to it, she seems to have thought
that it was. Prioritize, my lad. Is your current relationship with me as
important as your relationship with her is? If not, you need to play your
best cards. And the fact that I welcome her and that she enjoys my welcome
is a positive you can use." Everything was about Dad -- a legend in his own
mind.

But, he thought after he was in bed alone, Dad had been right about one
thing. He had to play his best cards. If Dad was far less important than he
thought, he probably was a positive in her mind. 'Andy's parent approves of
us,' at least was. The girls were probably a greater positive, if only he
could think of a way to use them. If he'd thought earlier, they would
probably have been happy to send her Christmas cards. She talked a lot
about his brain, or his GPA which she confused with it. And she thought he
was strong. He should go back to lifting the chair when she wasn't around.
And, jealous as he felt towards them, he should remember to be kind to her
sorority sisters.

Great! All that should take him about three inches closer to his goal. That
only left 5,279 feet and 9 inches to go.

He was getting tired of this. When she didn't occupy his bed, Marilyn
monopolized his thoughts. He'd planned to spring a suggestion on her in
church. She came alone, and suggested that they sit with Dad, which fouled
up the chances. Dad, though, headed for the exit immediately after the
services were over. Usually, he waited for Andy to fetch the car when they
were together.

"Look," he said to her in the hearing of people straggling out the aisles,
"the season is more-or-less over. I was thinking of heading back to campus
and getting a jump on the season. What do you think of that idea?"

"That sounds like a smart move. Why don't we go back down together?"

"Sounds great. When?"

"How about next Saturday. I'll tell Mom."

"We'll be in touch, then." He walked her to her car, and then went to where
he'd parked Dad's car. Dad was siting in the passenger seat, but he'd
turned on the motor. He got in the driver's seat.

"Thanks," he said.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow. I thought you might have been longer. We're
going to a restaurant. Debby's okay?"

"Fine. I thought I might go back to campus early. Get the books and stuff
before the rush. Could you drive me to the train Saturday?"

"Certainly. Does Miss Grant need a ride, too. Or are you two going to meet
at the station like you parted at the station?"

"What makes you think...?"

"Andy, it's all right to think the old man is senile. It is almost
mandatory at your age. It is, however, quite rude to act on that belief."

If he was going to stay home a shorter amount of time, he had to cram the
rest of the studying of the books he'd brought home into one week. The
previous preparation on PDE had turned out to be helpful. He wouldn't be as
far along at the beginning of the second semester, but he'd do all right
for the first weeks. The book on designing electronic circuits was heavier
slogging; he really needed to hear the lectures on that.

The grades were mailed to his home, and they came before they left. He had
lucked out in Anthro and the motor course. That made four A s.

The car was about one third full on the trip back, but they didn't see
anyone they knew. The girls had sent long letters to dad along with their
gifts and photos. They'd finally figured out what pleased the old man. He
told her about news from the letters. That led to his memories of the girls
from before. He tried to get her to tell him about her history, but he
suspected that he was getting a report from the shallows.

Marilyn had made 2 B s, an A (in teaching reading) and a C (in French
Literature in Translation). He would have reminded her of how much her
attention to Zeta cost her, if he wasn't conscious that she'd spent time
with him, too. She made much of his straight-A semester.

They stopped at the grocery in the trip from the train station to the
apartment. Marilyn insisted on carrying her books, his, and one bag of
groceries up to the apartment. He carried their suitcases and the other
grocery bag. He would have been willing to make two trips, but she was
insistent. Once behind the locked door of the apartment, he was happy. They
had a quite mutual, quite wet kiss before they'd removed their coats. She
insisted on putting the groceries away before going to bed, but they stayed
there for a long time. She seemed to have missed him almost as much as he'd
missed her. She started cooking dinner after 11:00.

Their time was like that from then until Wednesday. Marilyn insisted on
cooking meals, and she wore her nightgown and robe when she was up. He
dressed to shop with her lists, but wore nothing but his robe, if that,
otherwise. They got loads of studying done, but spent the rest of the time
in bed. Some of the bed time was spent asleep, and delightful sleep with
Marilyn in his arms except when she was hugging him from behind. Some of it
was spent in sex; some of it was spent in making out or simple
conversation. With her there all the time, he gave up on shaving with the
blade. Even though Marilyn would see him, he used the electric razor.

Wednesday noon, she left him. He shouldn't feel deprived. They'd had nearly
three glorious days of pretend marriage. Saturday evening, she called him
to pick her up at the sorority. She could be with him whenever she wanted,
but that seemed to break her schedule. He went and got her, and she started
talking before he'd hung up her coat in the apartment.

"Remember that you said that you wanted me in your arms even if we couldn't
have sex?"

"Sure. It's true."

"Well, I know that the pen set wasn't much of a Christmas present." That
wasn't true. The set was delightful. She'd given it to him.

"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?" But he was starting to suspect.

"Merry Christmas. You have me in your arms tonight." That was a wonderful
present. He kissed her. Soon she was in his bed and in his arms. Her kisses
were all the sexier because they knew they weren't going to do anything
more. Unlike the kisses at the beginning of their relationship, these were
shared naked in bed. She only stopped him once, and that was his
misunderstanding of the rules. He tried to fondle her breasts. "These are a
little sore."

Sunday, they shared a shower and a breakfast.

"I'm glad we're going," he said on the way to church. "This morning, I feel
especially grateful."

When she came to the apartment Thursday evening, they hadn't had sex in a
week -- eight days really. He tried to make it special for her, kissing her
all over before settling on her vulva. Then she writhed for him again and
again. She ordered him into her, and that was the most sensual writhing of
all even though he exploded as soon as she gripped him at the beginning of
her climax. They were, if not yet a permanent couple, a regular couple.

Even her sorority sisters recognized that. That Saturday was a party to
celebrate the new pledges. Marilyn didn't suggest that he dance with
anybody else, and nobody asked her to dance. When they sat out, some new
pledge was likely introduce her date to Marilyn. One of them was Judy, who
had been so afraid of him when he drove her home. She didn't seem afraid
either of him or of her date that night. Maybe her date made her feel
protected from Andy. Marilyn was only two years older than these girls, but
they recognized her authority.

When the party broke up, the sisters stayed to clean up. Marilyn should
stay, too, and he was damned if he was going to leave her there on a
Saturday night -- a Saturday night not even during her period. He stayed to
help, and the leaders accepted that.

Marilyn looked exhausted by the time they got to the apartment. He almost
offered to carry her up the stairs. She dropped into bed fast. Well the
deal was that she'd sleep in his arms; it wasn't that they'd have sex.
Anyway, it wasn't as though she were turning him down in particular. He got
into bed behind her and held her in his arms. They could go to sleep like
that. Indeed, she looked like she was close to sleep already.

"Tired?"

"Not that tired," she replied. Wonderful woman, sweet, *sexy* woman. He
wasn't going to make her work any more than necessary, all the same.
Without shifting their positions, he began fondling her breasts. He kissed
the back of her neck and stroked his hand down to her mound. She took his
hand to kiss it. Darling girl! When she had kissed his fingers, he returned
them to her mound. Soon, he could feel her beginning to stiffen. She
reached for him, but her touch might set him off. He caught her arm before
she reached him.

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

"You," she said, starting to roll onto her back.

"Like this." He held her until she relaxed. Then he moved down until he was
further below her. He kissed the part of her neck he could reach from there
before saying, "Put me in." She grasped him and aimed him in the right
direction. He moved up the bed, entering her warmth as he did. When he was
as far in her as he could get lying like that, he kissed her.

"Darling, love." And she was his love and his darling. He slowly stroked
her clitoris. Meanwhile, his cock was snuggled deep into her warmth. He
kissed her head some more.

"Oh, Andy." She wriggled. The motion wasn't much in his arms, but it nearly
ignited his cock. "Oh!" She writhed in his arms and clasped his cock more
tightly. He couldn't help moving, stroking more deeply into and out of her
inner hug. Soon, even that wasn't enough. He thrust harder into her and
erupted.

"Love!" She was a love. She was *his* love. And his love went to sleep in
his arms. He followed before he could appreciate that enough. Some time in
the night, he felt her slip out of his hug. When she returned to bed,
though, she snuggled back into it.

When the alarm rang, he took his bathroom time, shaving and brushing his
teeth before he returned to bed. She looked so sweet and so sleepy that he
hesitated. Well, if he was the first to respond to the alarm, he owed a
choice to her. He got back into bed.

"Rise and shine." He nuzzled her back.

"Urrmph." Well, she might be shining, but she looked unwilling to rise.

"Aren't we going to church?"

"Do I have to?" she asked.

"No. Do you want to stay in bed 'til noon?" Her damn house had Sunday
dinner at 1:00 at other business afterwards.

"Yeah." Now, that was nice to hear, especially from such a sexy woman. He
curled around her and began stroking her. His cock just touched her thigh,
but that could wait. He kissed his sleeping beauty. "Want to sleep," she
said, moving his hand to less erogenous ground. He curled tighter around
her, but kept still. She went into the bathroom. It was after the time that
she usually took her pill.

"Did you take your Pill?" She picked up her watch from the night stand.
Then she went to her purse and took the Pill in the kitchen. She came back
to bed, but lay flat instead of curling into his arms. Well, he'd see if
she were willing to allow him a little access now. She seemed willing, and
he enjoyed the feel of her breasts under his fingertips.

When he ducked under the sheet and blanket to kiss what he'd only touched.
He parted her labia and stroked up the valley between them with his middle
finger. She was so relaxed, though, and that stroke raised such little
lubrication, that he lay down again to enjoy the feel of her in his arms.

"Y'know, 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." He didn't really think she was asleep then, but he spoke
quietly enough that he wouldn't wake her if she were.

"Yeah. Your own personal sex toy." She was not only awake, but feeling
sarcastic.

"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 was wrong. If she didn't object that he rested his
hand on her shoulder, the implied trust would be much less.

"After all," he pointed out, "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?" She might be sarcastic, but
she sounded like she was in a good mood. She even sounded like she was in a
sexy mood. They were playing hooky, and he thought that she felt it too.

"You suspect me of thinking about doing this." He fingered her outer labia.
"I'm totally innocent. And I'd never kiss you here." 'Here' being her
breast. She covered it and his head, but she made no suggestion that she
wanted him to stop.

One thing led to another, but led there quite slowly. They were resting
together after a long night; he wasn't going to demand more of her than her
body felt able to give. Indeed, when her body stiffened, she held him to
her sweet breast. He licked and sucked her nipple while stroking her
fluids, now copious, up to her clitoris.

When she writhed in his arms, he said, "Marilyn darling." Then he watched
her face express first agony and then peace. He held her and kissed her
lightly as she dozed again.

A little later, she woke and turned towards him for a kiss. Then she got up
to go into the bathroom. He put on his glasses to watch her there and back.
When she returned, she kissed him again. He tasted fresh toothpaste. She
welcomed his tongue in her mouth, seemed to welcome his hand on her vulva.
When she tensed again beginning her erotic journey, she grasped his cock.

"You."

"Yes." They'd had their break from the world. This was the last for the
morning, and it should take them both. He would be able to last this
morning, unlike the night before, and it was better for both of them if
they came together. She led him to her warmth, and he slowly pressed into
that slickness. When she clasped all of him, he kissed her hairline. He
adjusted himself so that he was resting on his elbows with a hand on each
breast.

He watched her face while he stroked slowly in and out of her sweetness.
Her nipples were firm under his thumbs while her expression changed from
love towards him to inward questioning. Her hands stroked down his back
while her expression changed to worry. She pressed back at his downstrokes
while her expression showed the first hint of pain.

"Marilyn," he said as her expression changed to agony and she clasped and
relaxed around him. He drove in and out ever more rapidly through those
clasps. Then he thrust in as far as he could and poured himself into her.
"Love you," he said letting his left arm collapse before the rest of his
muscles. That rolled them both to the part of the bed they weren't already
occupying.

She got up and headed for the bathroom. When he heard the shower, he hung
her robe on the hook on the bathroom door. Then he joined her in the
shower. Apparently, their vacation was over, because she took a fast shower
and headed outside to dress. In everyday clothes, she cooked breakfast. At
least, he got to watch her cook.

"I'm really falling down on my tasks," she said over breakfast. Apparently,
fixing breakfast on time was one of her tasks. She had a different list
than he did.

"You had a long night. Anyway, you were sleeping in my arms. That's the
deal. Fixing breakfast is over and above." Although she talked as if she
was running very late, they had a nice cuddle, if only a seated one,
between breakfast and his taking her to her house for Sunday dinner.

She kept her schedule for the next two weeks, though. She slept in his arms
Wednesday and Saturday nights. They shared a shower those mornings, too.
She cooked Saturday supper and two breakfasts. He would have preferred to
skip Thursday breakfast for some morning sex, but then when would she eat?

"Something's coming up. I can't make Wednesday night. Is Tuesday Okay?" she
said while he was driving her to Zeta after church Sunday. She seemed a
little more tense than the change deserved.

"Tuesday is fine." Tuesday, being even sooner, would be a little better. It
would only be a little better because the shorter wait until Tuesday night
would be cancelled by the longer wait between Wednesday morning and
Saturday afternoon. She took a long breath before going on.

"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."
Well talking about it was progress. Not wanting to be in his bed was
something they could work on. Now he was damn certain that he wanted to
keep the laundry job after they were married.

"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." Then he had another thought. "Can you make
Saturday?" The last time had been a special Christmas gift.

"Sure, usual conditions?"

"Oh, darling. I love you." Any conditions. He enjoyed sex, he wouldn't deny
that, but sex with Marilyn was so special because she enjoyed it, too. Her
sleeping in his arms without sex was only a minor compromise on his part.

Tuesday, he picked her up at Zeta. After a little kissing and hugging, she
removed her makeup and came to bed. They had a long kiss with their skin
touching everywhere. Then he kissed down her body to her sex. It was cool
in the room, and he was under a tent of sheet and blanket while her face
was outside. That concentrated the odor of her arousal. When she had
writhed for him once, he brought her along with his mouth again. After she
stiffened, he came up the bed and into her. He moved hard and fast within
her, and she met every thrust. He exploded at her first clasp around him.
They lay for some minutes with him partly on his elbows but mostly on her.
When she pushed at him, he rolled off and she got up.

Then he sat across from her studying Electronic Circuit Design. He would
have thought that her presence and the expectation of sex in the near
future would distract him from any studies. Actually, having her with him
was reassuring. She was where she ought to be, and *he* was where he ought
to be, right across from his love. They broke moderately late, but she was
responsive in bed.

He watched her face transform while he felt her body writhe once; then she
gasped into his mouth during a kiss the second time. He was under the
covers sucking her nipple and watching her belly muscles ripple as she
writhed the third time. When he began stroking her moisture after that, she
reached for him.

"I need you now." Well, he needed her, too. He knelt between her legs
kissing her lovely breasts until she took him in her hand again. As she
guided him into her, he slid upward along her body. Totally encased in her
slick warmth, he kissed her hairline lovingly. Then, he held a breast in
each hand while he stroked slowly in and out. He watched her face transform
once more.

He managed four swift strokes through her vaginal clutches before burying
himself in her and pouring out into her. A little later, they were spooned
together as he kissed his love to sleep.

Saturday afternoon, he bought a small jar of Vaseline and put it on the
night stand. She had rules, but he might get lucky. That evening, they had
only a short kiss and cuddle before she cooked supper. After he cleared,
she sat on his lap for a longer period of making out. Her breasts were
sore, but he could clasp her butt without worry. Had he hurt her on earlier
dates during her periods? He'd paid a lot of attention to her breasts.
Well, he wouldn't hurt her any more. Actually, having her on his lap was
every bit as good as having her in his arms. They spent a long time
studying. He had his Monday assignments done already, and he finished his
Tuesday assignments early. Since she wasn't ready to call it quits, he read
ahead in PDE.

In bed, they had a long kiss. For all the frustration involved, the kiss as
the limit of their activities was sexier than a kiss as prelude was. When
she broke it, he lay on his side. He kissed her face and stroked where it
wasn't sore. She let him play with the hair on her mound. He wanted more,
would she allow it?

"Look," he asked, "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."
Well, he didn't want to seem indifferent to her bleeding, but if she was
going to bleed, getting it on him was no big deal. She got his spunk on her
-- in her, even -- and that was messier than blood.

"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." She
always expressed it in terms of how he'd feel. Some of it was really how
she felt, and he would respect that. But he sometimes thought she was
blaming him for feelings he was innocent of.

"If it goes badly, I can call it off?" She sounded as if she would try!

"Of course. Does that mean that I can try?" She nodded. He got the
Vaseline. "I figure," he explained, "that I can't use your lubrication this
time." And that was a real shame. Her enjoyed the touch of her moisture
thoroughly. But having nature cut him off from one pleasure was no reason
to abandon all the other pleasures associated with it.

When he was sure that he was in the right place and not hurting her, he
went back to a deep kiss. He was really limited to the clitoral area, and
she responded more slowly than she usually did. Maybe it was the lack of
variation in stimulus; maybe it was the difference in hormones; probably it
was just the uncertainties of the situation. He was thinking 'is this
right? is it too much? will more hurt?' She was likely thinking the same
things. She did tense, though. He got his tongue out from between her teeth
just in case. Then she gasped into her mouth while she writhed under his
hand.

His cock gave a jump when she rubbed against it. He hoped she didn't think
he was planning to break all her limits tonight. Sure, his cock wanted to
be in her, but if guys were punished for all the intentions of their cocks,
the male population above 13 would all be in jail. When he looked, her face
didn't show the faintest suspicion. Her expression was relaxing into loving
repletion.

"Was it all right?" he asked.

"Andy, it was grand."

"Then I can do it again?" She nodded without hesitation. As he began
stroking, he thought he might go a little further. "Are your nipples too
sore to be licked?"

"Try."

"Darling!" Afer that, his mouth was too busy to say anything more. She
writhed beautifully, and did it again and agin. Suddenly, she pushed his
arm away. Damn! Had he been too demanding?

"Was I too rough?"

"Andy, you are never rough. It's just that I can't take any more pleasure
tonight." Well, that was a sweet way of expressing her feelings. He would
honor any limits, but she was so loving that she described them as
accomplishments on his part. When she cuddled into his arms, his cock poked
against her thigh. His spirit was incredibly gratified by her acceptance of
him. He'd had great erotic delight as she had writhed under his arm and
mouth. His damned prostate, of course, hadn't been discharged, and that was
what she could observe. Sweet Marilyn, however, made neither comment nor
complaint. She slept in his arms that night.

Sunday morning, he got into the bathroom first. He emptied himself, shaved
and brushed his teeth. She was waiting when he went out. He'd wait in case
she decided to shower then. He'd prefer a morning cuddle. Actually, he'd
prefer a repetition of the night before, but he wasn't going to push her,
she'd been so generous already. She came out very soon.

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

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

"Right now, I feel horny." The darling! He held her in his arms to carry
her to the bed. He was feeling almost reverent as he laid her down.

"Darling," he said when he joined her under the covers. They had a sweet
kiss before he started stroking her. When she got close, she reached
towards his groin. He rolled away to get more Vaseline. He lubricated the
head of his cock. When she placed him at her entry, the Vaseline was more
slippery, if less arousing, than her own lubrication had been. He slid in,
in, in. She held all of him as he kissed her hairline.

Her acceptance, her welcome, was more arousing than it should have been
after a night of sex. He couldn't resist accelerating the pace. He tried to
hold back, but failed. He pressed deeply into her and exploded. Just as he
was regretting that she hadn't climaxed, she did. She writhed under him.
Even more, she squeezed his pulsing cock, milking it of every drop. The
rhythm of squeezes continued after there was nothing in him, keeping him
firm. When they ended, he rolled to his side.

"Oh, my darling, darling, darling..." That was blabbing, but he didn't have
words to express how dear she was. The language probably didn't have words
to express how dear she was.

"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?" He would have traded his right arm for the experience.

"Oh, darling!"

"Let me go in there first." This time she stayed awhile, and he waited
until he heard the shower.

"See?" She pointed at his cock which showed a few traces of pink. When he
got under the water, the pinkness disappeared.

"You see? It washes off. You are the most wonderful woman in the whole
world."

"Now I have something to be especially grateful for," he said just before
they got out of the car at church.

"Fine, but don't tell the congregation what it is." He wouldn't, but he'd
tell God when he found the words. This woman was so good for him, he'd pray
for her to accept him permanently. God, however, cared for her, too. He
probably cared for her more, but that was human-style. He'd been taught
that God cared for all people, however unworthy in human terms. Would he be
good for her? That was the question. Maybe he should pray that he would
find a way to be good for her.

"Thursday okay for this week?" she asked in the drive to Zeta. Only two
days a week weren't okay, really, but that was a limit their situation
imposed on them. There wasn't all that difference between Wednesday and
Thursday if he couldn't have both.

"Fine."

And Thursday was fine. So was Saturday and Sunday morning through sitting
in church with his thigh touching Marilyn's. If he'd been asked, he
probably would have said that the day couldn't have been better. Then it
got *much* better.

"I've been thinking," Marilyn said on the drive from church to Zeta,
"thinking about us." That was nice.

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

"I think my answer is yes." Did she mean...? He stopped the car before he
crashed into something.

"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."
Well, if he were dead, he wouldn't expect her to keep that commitment. That
was the only condition which would make him change his mind. He wasn't real
sure about that one, either. His visions of the afterlife were really
unclear.

"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, that was fine. The public announcement, the ceremony really,
were for her. All that he wanted was her in his arms every night.

"Well, warn me. It should be something formal with me kneeling at your
feet." And with a ring, too. But his taste in jewelry for women was crap,
and she'd be wearing it for the rest of her life.

"You planning to do it in front of my sisters?" Well, that hadn't been his
plan, but his plan could be put on hold.

"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." The kiss on the
stairway to Zeta's porch was the kiss of an engaged, if secretly engaged,
couple.

He put away any planning for the formal engagement as something that could
wait for the right time. He couldn't stop thinking about what their
marriage would be like, however. That seemed paradoxical, but really it
wasn't. She'd said she would be married to him and that the she would get
back to him on the details of the engagement. She was a woman of her word,
so she would be his wife.

The problem was having her be his *happy* wife. In the first place, he
loved her and wanted her to be happy. A little more selfishly, he'd
witnessed an unhappy marriage, and he didn't want to live in another. Then,
too, however much she pledged to be his until death do them part, he didn't
really believe that Marilyn would stay in an unhappy marriage. Most
selfishly, a large part of his enjoyment was seeing her enjoyment. He
wanted to see as much of her enjoyment as possible.

He'd told her that he didn't care about their home, but he had some
requirements now. The bedroom should be warm enough in winter that she
would be happy naked outside the bed. That would not only improve his view,
it would allow them to make love in all the ways the books showed. It
should also be sufficiently air-conditioned that she'd be more comfortable
sleeping in his arms than sleeping alone on hot nights. She'd promised, but
he didn't want to extort her fulfilment of that promise.

Again, he didn't want to extort sex from her; he wanted to have sex with
her because she enjoyed it. He'd seen her too exhausted to have sex. She
was going to be a schoolteacher, and she had all these quirks about
housework. If she was going to have the energy for the important things,
somebody else was going to have to do many of the chores she thought needed
to be done. Unless his pay stretched to a housekeeper, and Marilyn might
think that they shouldn't have one even if they could afford one, that
meant that he needed to do them. Fine. He was willing to do things much
more onerous than sweeping the floor if the payoff was Marilyn's writhing
in his arms more often. He brought the subject up in words she could affirm
one Wednesday evening as they sat down to study after dinner.

"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."

"Why?" Yeah, he should have said why the lead time was important.

"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?"
He didn't want to think of her hurting, much less damaged. "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." Well, he hadn't suggested anything
that soon.

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

Well that took care of chores. At least, it put off chores to another time.
But there was more to making her happy. Some of it would be location. She
had housing preferences, and she had only hinted at them. She so clearly
believed that everybody had them, though, that she had to have her own. For
that matter, her context for asking his was that they should check to see
whether their's were compatible. That, tough, had to wait for the location.
When they had decided where to live, she could find a house that suited her.

She was on her own with regard to her employment, too. But, once she was in
her employment, she shouldn't be ashamed of him. He knew one hell of a lot,
not counting what he'd learned in classes. Her fellow teachers, especially
her fellow English teachers might not think so, though. They'd be liberal
arts types, and those he saw on campus were snobs. Since they and their
sort thought that they knew everything, what they didn't know -- and many
of them had never even heard of Kepler's three laws -- was not true
knowledge. It was some kind of specialized information not worthy of them.
Well, he didn't want Marilyn ashamed of him or defending him among her
fellow teachers. He should learn enough of what they knew that they
wouldn't think him ignorant. That shouldn't be too difficult. He could
ignore pedagogy, which was half of what she had studied beyond distribution
courses. And he had what the university said was enough of those.

Mostly, he'd have to read 'literature,' which was a snob's kind of fiction.
Heinlein could write better than most of the guys he'd read in lit books.
Probably he would give them a run for their money after a lobotomy. Even
so, literature wasn't painful to read, and you didn't really have to learn
anything or think differently. So, he'd read the lit that would impress her
friends. Probably, he should get on top of the lit she'd be teaching first.
Before offering that, he brought up what he wanted. Well, she'd agreed, and
nothing would make her as happy as that would make him. On the other hand,
he should do something to make her happy.

"You'll lie in my arms every night when we're married?" She was going to
sleep in his arms that night.

"Yeah." He kissed her head. That was enough for that night.

"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."

"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*." They got to
the church without her answering.

"What's this about reading literature?" she asked in the car after church.
"I didn't quite get it."

"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."

"Andy, it will be great if you take an interest in my work. I don't want to
make it an assignment."

"Well, getting to know you looks like part of marriage." And his not
looking like a boob to her coworkers would be part of the impression she
made.

"You're sweet." She said nothing more before they had their goodbye kiss,
and he figured that she would think about it.

Marilyn, too, started talking about what their married life would be like.
He didn't tell her that any idea from her sounded sweet to him. It meant
that she was starting to be more and more certain that they would be
married. She'd said so, but now she was thinking in terms of actually doing
it. They'd start out living in an apartment, she suggested, 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?" Sure. Well, he'd agree to
most of her ideas there. Let's get to the important thing.

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

"Andy?" Did he sound like he was doubting her word? He really wasn't.

"I don't doubt you. I just like to hear you say it."

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

"You're a darling!" Now, all he had to do was to keep her married to him,
and keeping her happy was almost certainly sufficient, and quite likely
necessary.

When spring break loomed, he suggested staying on campus. She agreed
readily. Dad expected him home, and he should call.

"Look Dad, I'm not coming home Spring Break. I'm going to stay down here
and read ahead in my texts."

"Well, I'll see you when classes end, then."

"Yeah. As a matter of fact, could you pick up an app from the hardware
store and mail it to me?"

"Sure. Have a nice time. Give my regards to Miss Grant."

"What makes you think she'll be here?" At that the old man laughed. It was
an awfully long, and somewhat forced laugh, and on his dime, too.

When classes were over, he picked Marilyn up at the Zeta House. She was
waiting for him by the door, and he lifted her for a kiss before getting
her things and carrying them to the car.

Once in the apartment, he lifted her for another few kisses before they got
down to the serious job of undressing. He opened the closet door so they
could use the mirror, then a question struck him.

"Too cold?" He felt that the apartment was warm enough that nakedness was
more comfortable. She, however, was more sensitive to coolness than he was.

"Nice and warm." She joined him in looking at their reflections in the
mirror. They watched the reflection as he kissed he shoulder and lightly
brushed his fingers over her nipples.

"See, they stand up so prettily." She looked, even if she didn't say
anything about her beauty. He kept his left hand there while stroked down
her torso with his right. When he got to her mound, she spread her legs in
invitation. He stayed on the mound, however, playing with the hair there.
When she moved to the side, he bent further and stroked the smooth insides
of her marvelous legs.

"You're teasing me," she complained. She moved his hand between her legs.
His cock twitched when he felt her moisture, and she looked directly at the
reflection. He kissed what he could reach while stroking between her labia
and tweaking her nipples. He could watch her respond to his caresses and
respond, as well, to the reflection of her previous responses. She
stiffened in his arms. Then, wonderfully, he could feel and watch her
writhe in his arms.

He supported her as she slumped in completion and the reflection of her
expression went from pain to satisfaction. A flush spread from her face
down over her breasts.

"Darling, I love you." And he did love her, loved her spirit; maybe right
then he loved her responsive body even more. "You are so sexy, so
beautiful." She stood without his support. "Love," he said as he turned her
to face him. Her butt was sexy in the mirror, too. He lifted her again to
kiss her and suck her nipples.

He carried her to where she could lean against a wall while he kept her up
high. They had a short, but wet, kiss. He lifted her a tiny bit higher, and
grabbed her by the butt.

"Fit me in." She reached down to spread her labia and aim his cock between
them. As he lowered her slowly, she directed him until he was enclosed in
her wet warmth. Slowly, he moved her down; slowly, he felt himself enter
her more deeply.

"Darling," he said when he was totally enclosed, hugged by her warmth. She
clasped him with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as
he carried her back to the mirror. He stood them sideways to the mirror so
they could both see everything. Then he lifted her slightly and lowered her
again. He could feel, and almost see, himself come out of her and return.

"Darling!" he said. When he began moving, she tightened her legs around his
waist and hugged him by the neck. He carried her over to the mirror,
stopping when they could both see the view from the side. "Gorgeous," he
said as he raised her far enough that he could see himself entering her.
"Oh, love!" He could no longer see, but he could feel her surrounding all
of him. When he lifted and lowered her again, she helped with pulls on his
shoulders and pushes on his waist. Seeing their movements fed his arousal.
Seeing her arousal and his own fed it further. From her expression as her
eyes sought every reflection, something of the same was happening to her.
She stiffened. He could see it and feel it.

Then he saw and felt her writhing in his arms. He held a shoulder to assure
that she didn't fall, but the motions were driving him towards his own
peak. He could see a flush spread from her face to her breasts, but the
writhing barely paused. Her clenches around his cock renewed themselves,
taking him over the edge.

He thrust upwards into her, raising her upwards rather than entering any
more deeply. Then he was pouring into her. He sank down, taking all of his
will power in the effort not to simply collapse. Finally, sitting on the
floor with nowhere to fall, he relaxed. She pushed off from his lap. He
reached back and rolled onto his knees. Then he pushed himself up.

"Bed," he suggested.

"Later." She went into the bathroom, and he went to bed. Standing right
then was an effort. She soon joined him under the sheet, and he hugged her.

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

"When we're married, we'll have to have air conditioning in the bedroom."

"Andy, you haven't had sex with another woman since we started dating....
That was a question." Well, it hadn't sounded like one.

"Nor before... I've never made love with anyone else in my life." Did she
think that another woman had taught him the last position? Really, it had
been a combination of reading books and of having an active imagination.

"Well, if you do in the future, it will be a deal breaker. I'll file for
divorce. If you so much as kiss another woman, you'll sleep on the couch."
That was fair. Well, the principal was fair; bringing it up now was weird.

"Okay." Well, kissing another woman wasn't something he wanted to do, but
what was her definition of 'another woman'? "The Moppet?"

"Kissing family and such is quite all right. I'll even let you kiss women
over fifty and girls under five."

"Okay. I won't." He hadn't kissed anyone but Marilyn and the Moppet since
Marilyn had accepted a date with him. He didn't plan to start, but he still
wondered what had brought on that question.

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

"Aww..." Well, he thought it was a much better time to cuddle.

"The goal you articulated was for me to lie in your arms at night. I should
work for the night is coming." She got out of his arms and then out of the
bed. She put on her panties and jeans along with her slippers before
sitting down at the table with pencil and paper.

"Pack your dirty clothes?" He might as well do the laundry while she was
making the list.

"Yeah. I really feel odd about your doing my laundry." She got out her
dirty clothes, though. Why, for god's sake did she feel odd about it? She
should feel odd about getting up out of his arms. When she insisted that he
wash dishes -- including serving dishes -- rather than eating out of cans,
that was making him do something that didn't need to be done. Her laundry
was something that damn-well needed to be done. As often as not, it added
only minutes to the time he had to spend on doing his own 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."  Maybe that was
clearer in his mind than it had been in his words. She didn't look puzzled,
though. Indeed, she looked fond of him, which made her getting up even less
explicable.

He added the sheets and pillowcases to the laundry. Since Marilyn was here,
he made the bed. Then he took the stuff to his usual coin laundry. He
loaded the machines. When he'd put bleach in with the white wash, he
decided not to sit down. He had Marilyn at home.

"Forget something?" she asked when he came in. At least she hadn't covered
her breasts while he was gone.

"Remembered something." He kissed her. He lifted her on to the chair, much
more comfortable than bending over. He kissed down her neck and to her
lovely, bare breasts. "The machine is doing the wash without my help." Then
he went back to licking her nipples.

"So you decided to come back to do me." He was hardly doing her; he'd have
to go out again too soon.

"Nah! Just some minor tribute to your beauty." He had ignored part of her
beauty though, and he kissed down her torso to her belly button. Then he
straightened, and they had a warm, wet kiss.

"I did the list," she said. He took it and shoved it in his pocket. There
was loads of time to deal with the list. He turned Marilyn around on the
chair. He kissed her back. When he was kissing each vertebra from the
waistband of her jeans upward, he saw his watch. He'd have to leave the
rest of his route for another time; the washer was done.

"Time to get stuff in the dryer." He lowered her from the chair and kissed
her good bye. When he'd got the dryer started, he remembered the list. He
pulled it from his pocket.


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


Presumably the parentheses were tasks she figured he already knew, though
garbage and mowing the lawn weren't included. Most of them looked
reasonable. If Mrs. Bryant were puzzled by what Marilyn wanted him to
learn, he could always ask Marilyn tp explain. She'd be in Evanston, not on
the moon. The cooking, however, was much too general. He already knew how
to cook, but he didn't know how to cook the way Marilyn or Mrs. Bryant did.
What did she want him to learn? Steak? Spaghetti? Toasted cheese
sandwiches? His cock twitched at the last thought. He always compared
Marilyn to a toasted cheese sandwich; she was so crisp on the outside and
so gooey and tasty on the inside.

Well, he had the list right here, and a ballpoint in his pocket. He
scratched out 'cook,' where it was and moved it to a separate column. Now,
the list looked like:


. . 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." He said when
he brought it back to her. "Not even everything Mrs. Bryant cooks during
that time. I'll be in the hardware store most days."

"You're right. Let me think." Her face was so expressive. It was fun
watching her think. "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."

"Well, I'll handle the fancy stuff and the main meals. You learn the basic
stuff and how to take care of emergencies." They had a nice kiss before he
had to go back for the stuff in the dryer. When he got back she had covered
her breasts and was starting to cook. That was worth watching, even when
she was covered up. While watching, he emptied out the laundry on the bed.
He put his own stuff away, but decided to leave hers until she told him
that it was okay.

Her spaghetti was delicious, all the better for his getting to watch her
cook it. She sat on his lap after dinner for a kiss. She might have covered
herself up, but she didn't object to his hands on the covered places. He
felt her turn to look at her clothes still on the bed.

"Should I have put your stuff away?"

"No. I prefer this." She got up and put her stuff away. The post-dinner
cuddle seemed finished, and they got out their books. She was in his sight,
if not in his arms for the entire evening. Again, he found that her
comforting presence helped his studying more than it distracted from it.

Without any demands from the next day, they went to bed early. Remembering
his interrupted trip up her backbone, he kissed her from coccyx to skull
before she turned over. Not needing a sheet, she writhed in his sight three
separate times. He was stroking her towards the fourth when she promised,
without any prompting on his part, his dearest wish.

"Andy, every night of our marriage, I'll sleep in your arms."

"Oh, darling, I love you!" He couldn't express how much he loved her right
then.

"Then come here and prove it." Proving it meant entering her sweetness. And
that only made him love her more. He exploded as she writhed under him and
around him once more. Afterwards, he covered them with a sheet, and she did
sleep in his arms. The morning was even better. With no external demands,
with his ejaculation of the night before reducing his internal demands, he
slowly stroked in her until the forceful rise of her groin against his made
him speed up. They came at the same instant and eased back down to doze
together.

She made a late breakfast. Afterwards, they set out hand in hand with some
books for the campus. They were going to enjoy the weather outside. She lay
with her head in his lap, and at first he read her some poetry. Then she
sat up and they each read their own book. The walk home was hand in hand.
She made him a snack.

"Your peanut butter sandwiches taste much better than mine do," he told
her. And it wasn't *just* that he could watch her make them.

"Do you use jelly when you make them?"

"No." They were peanut butter sandwiches, not jelly sandwiches.

"Well, could you eat another whole one?"

"Sure."

"See? PB on one slice, jelly on the other, then you put them together and
cut it down the middle." They ate. She only had half a sandwich. Sure, she
was trim, but she didn't really seem to eat enough to sustain that minimal
weight. "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." He liked that last
suggestion. And she seemed to like the idea enough to come into his arms
for a long kiss. They'd share a bed when they were married; would they have
this sort of fully-clothed standing cuddle, too?

Then they got back to work. He was determined to be better for her study
habits than the sorority was. She shouldn't have any reason to regret
making him so happy. The study times were fruitful for him, and apparently
for her. The dinner she cooked was delicious. The greatest pleasure,
though, was their time in bed.

She writhed in his sight four times with time for kissing, cuddling, and
talking in between. He was between her legs kissing her labia in
preparation for separating them with his tongue when she tugged his hair
hard enough to hurt.

"Andy, *in me* *Now*." Well, it was nice to be wanted. He kissed up her
torso, giving both breasts some greeting but not wasting any time. She took
him in her hand and placed him between her labia.

"So warm," he said as he slowly entered her. And her warmth clasped him
smoothly, slickly.

"So hard," she answered. He went forward until she encased all of him. "So
full." He kissed her hairline.

"I love you." He moved over her, just brushing her sweet nipples. He moved
through her, feeling the slippery slide of her warm walls along his entire
length.

"Andy." She pressed upwards at his downstrokes. Her expression turned
worried. He sped up as she threw herself at him and around him more
strongly.

"Oh," she said as her walls clasped around him. He drove in and out through
the pulsing grip. Then he drove in harder and lost it. He pumped into her
depths. She milked the few last drops from him with her last contractions.
He rested on his elbows, but too much on her softness, for some moments.

When he turned to his side, he scooped her into his arms. He fell asleep
curled around her sleeping form under the sheet.

His erection didn't feel dependable enough to use the next morning, but
Marilyn was sexy enough for both of them. She writhed under his mouth or
his hand three times. They continued in the shower until the hot water gave
out. They sat demurely together in church; all right, maybe they sat too
close together to seem quite demure. Then she came home like she should
rather than his surrendering her to the sorority. It was fun to watch her
cook, and the dinner was delicious, but the greatest joy was that they were
together -- married for that week.

They studied until supper. After he washed the dishes, they had a stroll in
the darkening, but still warm, town holding hands. They got in two solid
hours of studying before going to bed.

There she surprised him by putting him on his back. He didn't understand at
first, but he cooperated once he did. She made love to him and thrust her
darling breasts in his face. After he'd sucked both nipples, she settled
over him.

"Marilyn! Oh, love." As she'd already had a sufficient amount of love play,
he went in easily. Then he had the feel of her around him as well as the
sight of her glorious body above him. She provided the motions, giving him
erotic sights and even more erotic frictions.

When she writhed above him, he could see every motion of her body as well
as feel her clasp around him. That took him with her.

"Darling!" And he grabbed his darling and pulled her down into his arms.
This way, they didn't have to worry about his weight. He held her
as their breaths slowed. He was shrinking, and when he came out, some of
his jism followed.

"You're getting the mess on you," she said. So he was, but that didn't
matter.

"Ihm hmm. Stay like this." She didn't try to move off, but she wriggled a
bit -- wriggled delightfully, too.

"Roll a little," she said. When he did, she straightened her legs. Then she
lay quietly on him.

"Oh, Marilyn, I love you," he said while caressing her back.

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

"Try me.... You are adorable." But she soon moved off. She came into the
spoon when she did, though.

In the morning, they returned to bed from separate bathroom times. She
writhed delightfully under his hand, his mouth, and his hand again. When he
tried his hand for one more time, though, she left him. She dressed slowly
without going for a shower first. The dressing was clearly an erotic
demonstration. Her dressing and undressing were always a turn-on. That she
was trying for that effect, though, somehow made this time less so in some
ways.

She taught him how to make lunch. She used the same teaching method as Mrs.
Bryant used; she did all the thinking, and he did all the muscle work --
not that there was much muscle involved in making coleslaw and sloppy joes.
She cleared after lunch and didn't seem to want him to wash them then. They
did a little cuddling and a lot of studying between lunch and dinner. They
took another stroll through town after dinner and then studied for a couple
of hours. They were behaving so well as students that it was ridiculous of
her parents to object to their being married as students. Marilyn wouldn't
want to leave her sorority, though. Then, too, being really married meant
his supporting her. Still, he'd be happy in an unreal marriage for a year,
if it was followed by a real one.

He wanted her, damn it. If he couldn't have her permanently, he would take
what he could get. And, once she was naked under his nakedness, he took
her. He didn't allow her any respite from writhing under his mouth until
she physically pulled him over her. Then he pinned her to the mattress and
drove in and out until she was writhing once more. When he sobered, he felt
that an apology was due. It wouldn't have been a heartfelt one, though, and
he decided not to pretend. Everybody, let alone Marilyn, saw through his
pretenses. As she didn't resist being held in his arms, she couldn't have
been too offended.

When Marilyn came back from the bathroom in the morning, she kissed him.
Tasting her toothpaste reminded him that he probably smelled bad. As soon
as she moved back, he went to the bathroom. He'd shaved with a blade Friday
night and the previous mornings, leaving the electric razor for other
times. This morning, though, his face felt raw. He used the electric razor
on it. She commented on his shaving when he returned to bed.

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

"Well, you don't need makeup to look beautiful," he reminded her. "I need a
shave to feel kissable." And she seemed to enjoy this kiss. When his tongue
returned to his own mouth, hers followed. "Turn over," he said when that
was done. He kissed down her spine from her neck to her coccyx. He stroked
her lips until her juices flowed, and then stroked them down to her
clitoris. With gravity helping, he didn't need to worry so much about
lubrication. Her writhing when she was face down was an entirely different
kind of sensual beauty. For one thing, he could see her butt move and her
butt cheeks clench. When he tried for a second, though, she pushed him away.

"Let me up," she said. "Indeed, I need to start the day with a shower."
When he heard the shower, he went to join her. "When we're married," she
said, "we won't be able to start the day with sex." Well, that would be a
problem, but this was vacation time. They didn't have to punch any sort of
time clock. But when they were both working, they'd have to think of
something else.

"Not unless we set the alarm real early."

"Well, forget about sex. Today, I'm going to teach you how to make toasted
cheese sandwiches."

"One reminds me of the other. At least, a toasted cheese sandwich reminds
me of you. You're both crisp on the outside." He touched her ear to show a
particularly crisp place. "But you're rich and gooey and delicious on the
inside."

"You have a dirty mind." How that followed, he couldn't tell, but he could
respond.

"Then let me under the shower." She moved back and he moved forwards. They
sort of slipped across each other when they passed, and the feeling was
delightful.

After their morning study, she did teach him how to make toasted cheese
sandwiches. They had them for lunch, and again she piled the dishes in the
sink. Well, she'd told him that she didn't expect him to wash dishes after
every meal, but did she mean not even every meal *when she was there?*

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

"Sure when we're home." They were cooked lunches, and he didn't think
they'd carry them to their respective jobs.

"Well these were hot lunches. Sloppy joes will do for supper, too, if at
the bottom tier of what constitutes a supper.... Tomorrow, I'll teach you
how to make tuna-fish salad. That's a cold lunch, and you can pack it."
That sounded more like it. If he understood that correctly -- he didn't
know since he'd eaten all of Mrs. Bryant's preparation as left-overs too
soon -- you could make that once a week, stick a dish of it in the
refrigerator, and make sandwiches every day from the dish.

"Yeah. Mrs. Bryant used to fix that. Usually she left it for a Saturday,
though." Sometimes, though, she packed it for his lunch. "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." And, with any luck, they could do it working together.
That would be even more fun than watching her cook.

They went for another walk after dinner, and then took two hours studying.
When Marilyn went into the bathroom, he put his books away and washed the
dishes. For some reason, though, she went back to studying when he went to
bed. Well, he wasn't going to try to diminish her study time. He put his
glasses back on to watch her. She soon packed it in.

"Turn on the lamp, will you?" she asked from the door. Then she walked into
the glow from the lamp in her stocking feet. She took off her blouse and
then walked into the dark. He could hear her putting it on a hangar. She
returned to the lamplight to remove her bra, and then went to the closet
with it. She removed every single article of clothing, including each sock,
standing in the lamplight. She left the lamplight to dispose of each
article. This was deliberately provocative, and he was duly provoked. When
she removed her socks in such a way that he could see her labia as she bent
over, he was painfully erect.

"You're sexy enough when you aren't trying," he said when she was between
the sheets.

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

"Your nose is growing."

"So's yours." She touched his cock. "Oh, that's not your nose, is it?"

"It's your fault if it is." Which it was. Apparently fixated on noses, she
kissed the tip of his before he gave her a real kiss. From her mouth to her
groin, he kissed a line. Then she writhed under his mouth until she pulled
him on top of her. He slid in, kissed her hairline, and teased her.

"Strumpet." She didn't seem to mind the accusation. She writhed under him
and around him just after he erupted in her. She snuggled against him to
sleep. In the morning, he had the first bathroom time, then waited outside
until he heard the shower.

"I'm going to miss this," he said when he'd joined her.

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

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

"With or inside?" She was really playing the strumpet role.

"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..." That was too long to wait. And they were
looking at a long, dry summer, too. The hardware job wouldn't pay for many
motel rooms.

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

"I sure wish it could be earlier, though." Not half so much as he wished
it, but...

"Would your parents pay my wife's tuition?" That was really the critical
question, and her silence implied the answer. It wasn't fair, really. She
got to choose her major, her wardrobe, her extra-curricular activities. She
didn't get to choose the time of her wedding.

The weather having cooled, they walked to campus wearing sweaters. They
didn't take their books this time. Again, he sat on a bench. Again, she lay
with her head on his lap. She rubbed her head over his cock. Nobody was
near, and anyone who had been couldn't have seen, anyway.

"It's weird that they wouldn't, too," he said, continuing his earlier
thoughts aloud. "They're paying your tuition, now. Plus food and
housing..." He started to say that he could cover that -- with dad's help,
maybe without Dad's help. He didn't say it, though. He wasn't sure about
that. "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. 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."

"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?" She didn't know how well Dad read his
mind. Well, there were other reasons, too.

"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."

"Well," she said, "anyway, my 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." And, really, it wasn't a
problem unless he wanted to live with her; the problem was that he wanted,
almost needed, to live with her.

"Would your dad keep paying your tuition if you were married?" Well, Dad
had almost said so, and the marriage they were talking about was to
Marilyn. Dad would favor that.

"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." No! She was going to graduate. It wasn't as
if Marilyn was in situation where a year off would help. Her worst grade
had been a C, and the University didn't mind C s. She didn't need to get
her act together; Marilyn was the most together student on campus.

"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." That was a reason, but not the main reason. "Besides, what would that
look like to school boards? You're going to get a degree on time!" He had
another thought.

"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." There blurted the damn-fool son whose banker
father hadn't managed to teach him diddly-squat.

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

This hadn't been a quarrel. They wanted the same thing and felt the same
frustration. Still, it put something of a chill on their pleasant
excursion. They went home to study soon after. She taught him how to make
tuna-salad sandwiches. Her method of slicing them in two rather increased
the problem of leakage. Then they went back to their books.

The rest of the week was fun, but less fun than the first half had been.
Marilyn seemed distracted when he wanted to cuddle while they were dressed
and insisted that he come in her after she'd had only two climaxes under
his hand or mouth. They didn't try anything more in front of the mirror or
with her on top. It was a far cry from celibacy, but it was more restricted
than he had hoped for from the week.

The pleasure of discussing their future married life also seemed drained.
What they really wanted -- what *he* really wanted for sure -- was a
marriage that would begin earlier than they would actually begin theirs.
Somehow, any mention of the marriage would bring that frustration to his
mind. So he stopped mentioning the marriage.
So, or a while, did she.

Friday, he was waiting in bed while she took her bathroom time.

"Look, Andy, are you doing to participate this morning?" she suddenly asked
from the bathroom door. He didn't really trust his erection.

"I thought maybe tonight."

"Fine. Let's make a date for tonight." She went back inside. When he heard
the shower, he joined her. She looked unwelcoming enough that he bathed
only himself. After breakfast, though, she kissed him. Taking  that as
permission, he lifted her so she was standing on the chair. They had a
great time cuddling before he did the breakfast dishes.

"You know," she said, "you could do them once a day."

"When you're here?" She'd said something like that earlier, but he figured
that the cleaning up was to please her.

"Once we're married, I'll always be here -- or, at least, there." Well,
that topic was mentionable again.

"Yeah! And you'll sleep in my arms every night from June of '78 'til I
die." And he would accept the delay, painful as it was.

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

"You're the sweet one." He kissed and caressed her before starting to
study. After lunch, she stopped him from washing the dishes again.

"Come here," she said from the bed. But she was dressed and sitting on it.
Even so, it was nice to be summoned. She gestured for him to lie down, and
he did. He looked up at her sweet face past her sweeter breasts. "What
courses are you going to take next year?" she asked while playing with his
hair. That opened the floodgates.

"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?" She didn't look like she understood that.

"You've talked about it. I'm not sure I got clear." Well, he wasn't sure
that he'd explained it clearly. She was smart, if ill-informed.

"Well, you have clock and a radio."

"A clock radio, actually." That was a problem.

"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?" See! She was smart.

"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?" Probably nobody
knew all about anything, but transistors were less known than, for example,
planetary orbits.

"As if. It's like counting Chinese." This might not be clear. "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?"

"Tell me." And now he was back teaching the prerequisites. He might bitch
about distribution courses in the humanities and social sciences, but they
did, at least, give guys like him some of the vocabulary. You couldn't
become an engineer without hearing about gerunds and the Rump Parliament.
You could become an English teacher hearing absolutely nothing about
engineering, and damn little about science.

"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 -- 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?" Her
face looked confused, even though the breasts nearer to him looked more
interesting.

"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." Which meant that she'd stopped listening. Well, he could
learn if he couldn't teach.

"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." He sure hadn't forgotten in less than a year.

"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..." She took a
breath, which did interesting things to his view.

"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." The last
word triggered an old complaint.

"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." Maybe, maybe not. If
she wanted to stay in-state, he'd probably be able to. Well, they'd discuss
that when he had offers to discuss.

"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." She was hearing more than he was promising.

"Not all that sweet. I won't go back to being a hardware clerk to get you
your preferred school district." Actually, of course, what he had
originally wanted from engineering work was an opportunity to work on
puzzles. The pay was a secondary consideration. But he had another, much
more general question. "Change of subject. 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." There was a long
silence.

"You look pensive," he said when it had gone on long enough.

"You're a much nicer man than the society allows you to be." Which was not
only over-praise, it was a logical contradiction.

"If you really believe that, you're as in love with me as I'm with you."
Assuming that Dad's claim was correct -- that the beauty he saw in her was
exaggerated by his love for her.

"Of course I'm in love with you, but your head is so full of deep thoughts
that it's getting heavy. Time for some more study." So they returned to the
table and their books.

Sunday night, she asked him to get her to Abbot Hall fifteen minutes
earlier than her classes began the next morning. They made it easily.
Instead of getting out of the car, even instead of a good-bye kiss, she
turned to him and gave what sounded like a rehearsed speech.

"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 ran into the hall. He'd
parked the car already, and he could probably have caught up with her. That
would have looked too much like coercion, though. She'd left him a lot to
think about.

Around his classes, he thought about it. She knew her parents; people, in
general, were such a mystery to him that he'd have been tempted to trust
her judgment even on his own family. Say that her evaluation of her parents
was correct. Then they would be risking her future against a year of his
pleasure. That was just too great a risk. It was his own fault for bringing
the earlier wedding up. After all, he'd gone through 20 years without
having Marilyn in his arms, 17 of them without having seen her. One and a
half more years shouldn't be a problem.

Well, she had left books at his apartment. She'd left clothes, too, but
those were hostages guaranteeing her return. She'd need the books Tuesday.
He brought them over to Zeta House Monday night after dinner.

"Seventy-eight," he said when he handed them to her. Then he left just as
she had left him. But he did go back on Wednesday night. They had a date,
after all. She gave him a kiss and her books to carry.

"Seventy-seven," she said in the car. Well, she hadn't said 'Seventy-seven
or never.' They had a quarrel going, but not a quarrel which threatened to
break them apart.

"Well, which should we do first, fight or make love?" She laughed. It
wasn't a funny issue. "I want to marry you, 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." Always?

"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." That wasn't fair. He desired her like he desired
oxygen. She was that necessary for his life.

"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."
She didn't ay anything while they got out of the car and climbed to the
apartment.

"Well," she said when they were inside, "let's continue the argument
later." Delightful girl -- delightful *woman*. Her priorities were the same
as  his priorities. He kissed her.

"I love you," he said as they started stripping each other. "Get your own
shoes," he said when she was naked otherwise. He carried her to the bed,
slowly because his jeans were hobbling him. While he removed them and his
shoes, her hands were all over his torso.

Once he was naked, he kissed her mouth before traveling down her body. She
writhed for him over and over. Finally, she pulled on his hair.

"That hurts," he said.

"It will hurt worse if you don't get up here." So he kissed back up her
body. He stopped for a moment when his tip was just nudging her labia
apart. She felt so moist, so warm. "Ahh," she said as he pressed slowly
inward. That it was good for her made it even better for him. Slowly, her
smooth walls slid along his shaft. "So full," she said when she'd enclosed
him completely. He kissed her brow and gloried in being hugged along the
entire length.

"So warm, so creamy, so sweet clasping me." Then he began long slow strokes
in and out. She raised her groin to welcome him and clasped his butt. He
would be no use after he'd come, but she didn't think of that. she merely
expressed her desire by stroking his erogenous zones. He shouldn't
complain, though; her hands felt so exciting. Her face went through the
worried expression and started to look pained.

She looked agonized. "Oh," she said, and she clamped his cock in tight,
wet, warm velvet. She began to writhe under him as the clamps took on a
rhythm. He stroked through that delight once more while he felt his
response pulse up through his cock.

"Darling!" He poured his love, his very self, into her depths.

When he could gather the energy to do so, he rolled to his left. Soon
after, he gathered his energy again and pulled her into a cuddle.

"Every night," he said. "I'll hold you in my arms every night."

"Every night, beginning in June of this year. All you have to say is yes."
Well that was a gross understatement of what it took.

"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."

"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?" An uncertainty was what he'd used in his
calculation. He'd called it risk. And the risk was too great.

"Yeah. But they decide together." And, since they were both opposed to him,
they would both have to change their minds. He didn't know all that much
about psych, but didn't that make changing their minds less likely. Then,
too, she had a brother who would be entering college next year. That might
make not paying her tuition that much more attractive.

"You're not fair, you know," she said, although she was the one who was
being unfair.

"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, that she was
multi-orgasmic was hardly his fault.

"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."
When had he ever told her that he was insatiable?

"Well, you may not have heard about waiting, but have I ever gone right
back?"

"Well, you certainly go for repeats. Are you really done for the night?"
Probably not 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 he'd have
more stored up if he'd been able to control himself. He was too ashamed of
masturbating, though, to admit that.

"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." And, of course, she was so
lovely when she had an orgasm.

"Andy, somehow I don't think they're going to ask you to be a Sunday-School
teacher." That was a safe bet, even if they didn't hear that last opinion.
It was standard teaching, but the particular application wouldn't be
popular.

"Ya think not?" he asked. She leaned over to kiss him. When he reached for
her breast, however, she stopped him.

"Let's give it a break. We have studying to do." She held his hands to
prevent any caresses, but she gave him another kiss. When she got up,
though, she dressed completely. It was fun to watch, but fewer clothes
would have made studying more fun to watch. He dressed in underpants and
jeans when he got up to do his own studying.

"It would mean holding me in your arms every night," she said without even
getting up from the table. Apparently, they were arguing now instead of
studying.

"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." That was
different. She was Marilyn, and it would be in place of being a student.
He'd never worked in a store instead of learning.

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

"Maybe you were already warped." Well, maybe.

This was an odd sort of quarrel. They weren't mad at each other. He was
angry with her family, but probably less than she was. Anyway, it didn't
interfere with their kisses or with their sex play when hey were in bed
later. He watched as she writhed twice. When he tried for a third time, she
reached for him. After he got in position, she guided him in. Somehow,
although his cock was more sensitive and he was more aroused, he didn't
feel any danger of going off too fast. He stroked slowly through her moist
warmth. He sped up when she writhed under him and clasped around him. He
felt incredibly aroused, but only on his third stroke through those clasps
did his climax come.

Afterwards, though, he felt as though he'd run the marathon and then fallen
to the Persians. Long after he should have, he climbed off her. When she
snuggled into him, he fell asleep immediately.

The next morning, he dropped her off early. His class met at 9:00, while
hers didn't meet until 10:00.

Saturday, was during her period and she hadn't wanted to be with him. She
agreed to come to the apartment, though. Her presence had been a Christmas
gift the first time, and it was really a gift each time.

They stopped off at the grocery, and she got all sorts of stuff. They had a
little cuddle, but she went into the kitchen early. She sat in his lap,
though, while the lasagna was baking. He had to stay away from her breasts,
but they had a long time to kiss and her hips weren't off-limits.

The lasagna was delicious. Then he washed dishes, and they settled down to
study. When they'd put their books away, she stopped in the bathroom
doorway.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure that I want you." he told her. "Are you sure that you can bear my
attention?"

She went to bed naked, and he soon joined her. She responded magnificently
to his hand. During her periods, she definitely didn't want his mouth down
there. He greased himself up and slid into her slowly. She felt as warm as
ever. He watched her face until she grimaced and clasped around him. Then
he exploded. What she showed him in the morning wasn't only hers. He'd made
a contribution to the liquid, too.

"It'll wash," he told her. "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." He should control his words, but his frustration was
destroying his control. "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." Well, 'standing it' was exaggerating
how he felt, and 'standing it' was less than his standard for her feelings.
But he'd given her a choice, and she'd made it. Besides, he didn't want to
say that he was indifferent to her blood.

He kissed her when she got in beside him. When his tongue had explored her
mouth and come back, hers pressed between his lips. He sucked it gently. He
parted her labia, being careful, since that seemed to worry her, to stay on
the outside of her vagina. He got a little Vaseline from the jar on his
night stand, and spread it across her entry and clitoris. He kissed her
neck and shoulders. She'd put her breasts off limits, and he certainly
didn't want to hurt her -- not in general, and certainly not during sex. He
kept his finger moving until she tensed.

"Now, Andy," she said. He used a little more of the Vaseline, and slid in
slowly. All right, the smoothness was artificial. The warmth, however, was
her own. She clasped his entire length.

"I love you," he said, encased.

"I love you, too."

"I know you do. This is so sweet of you." It was so sweet that she'd
sacrificed her bashfulness to be open with him, that she'd overcome her
restraint at these times to be open *to* him. He felt his love for her as
he began to stroke slowly in and out. He felt her love for him as she
clasped him and smiled up at him.

When he became more forceful, she met his every stroke. When she broke
through and clutched his cock deep inside her, he erupted. He managed to
fall to his side, and they lay hugging until she started to get up.

"Wait here." He waited, but she called him before she started the shower.
Not knowing which touches were permissible, he mostly looked. When she
turned the shower off, however, he dried her thoroughly. Her breakfast was
delicious, and they were on time to church.

While he should have spent the service concentrating on how good God was to
him, he really thought about how good Marilyn was to him. Well, she was
God's special gift to him. She'd been so generous with herself.  She didn't
believe that having sex during her period was right, but she'd done it
because that was what he wanted. He should do something for her because it
was what she wanted. So much of what she said to do, however, was just the
best way of dealing with things.

Well, not about marrying this June. He knew better than that, as delightful
as that would be. But wasn't that just what he'd asked for, something he'd
do because she said so?

Driving back, he was sure. Then he wasn't sure that this was really what
she wanted. He parked the car off the road. If this went the way he
expected, he'd need to get out.

"Marilyn, are you certain sure that you want to marry this June?" he asked.

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

"Well, you follow me in so much. I suppose I should follow you." He took a
breath and checked the road before getting out. The way his heart was
beating, it could cover the sound of a semi. He went around to her side and
opened her door. Then he knelt down. This wasn't going to be much of a
proposal, but it might be the only one she'd ever get. He'd do the best he
could.

"Marilyn Grant, will you marry me this coming June?"

"Oh, Andy, yes." He kissed her, not the easiest thing to do from outside
the car. The proposal, however, required the kneeling. Then he drove her
back to Zeta House. She phoned that night. Had she reconsidered? Well, if
it were only about the date, that would be fine.

"Tell me what we decided this noon," she said. "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." she said. "But the confirmation is more important." But
once he'd mentioned the ring, he wanted to deal with it.

"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."

Later that night, he called Dad.

"Something happen?" Dad asked. He knew that Andy didn't call home to gossip.

"Why yes. We're engaged. Marilyn accepted my proposal."

"When?" Why was that important to Dad?

"This morning."

"No. You're engaged to be married. Married when?"

"This June. We haven't set a precise date. Is that important?"

"Well, it will be. Could you be persuaded to put it off until after
graduation?"

"No." He'd accepted Marilyn's program, and he wasn't going to change that
acceptance for Dad.

"How about I promised you a one-month honeymoon in the place of your --
your joint -- choice if the wedding were after graduation?"

"No."

"Shouldn't you consult your intended before you answer that question?"

"We've discussed this, Dad, not that offer, but consequences."

"Do you really have savings to support a wife like Miss Grant? I'll not be
able to call her Miss Grant anymore, will I? You told me that you didn't
have enough savings to cover rent and food."

"Well, I was planning to ask you to cover rent again."

"It will have to be higher than this year. I haven't seen your place, but I
know your tastes. I don't imagine Miss Grant will be willing to live in
your style. Actually, Andy, even if she were willing, I would advise
against it. Sure, she'll make sacrifices for love, but those sacrifices
erode the love." Dad didn't know how horrible a sacrifice Marilyn was
willing to make for love.

"Well..." he said. Dad's comment worried him.

"Well, according to the support decree, I'm legally obliged to pay for your
sisters' college expenses. If I'm not legally obliged to pay for yours, I'm
morally obliged. It would be nasty of me to cut you off when the reason I
could is that you chose to live with me."

"Well, I may have regretted that choice in past years, but not half so much
as Molly has been regretting hers." Dad changed the subject. He was never
comfortable with criticism of Mom, however oblique.

"And, then too, you don't plan to work in the hardware store this summer do
you?"

"No. I don't think so." He didn't know much about weddings, but he knew
they were complicated affairs. "Do you think you could tell Mr. Schmidt
that?"

"Sure. Look, why don't you give me Miss Grant's number? I'll talk about
housing direct with her."

So he did. The rest of the conversation went over to how school was going.
Then he had to make a harder call.

"Andrew? Has something happened?" If he seldom called dad, he hadn't called
Mom in years.

"No. Well, nothing like you're thinking. As a matter of fact, I'm calling
to deliver good news. I'm getting married. Marilyn Grant. The girls know
her."

"Yeah. I've heard about her. Don't you have a year to go?"

"Yeah. This is my junior year. We're going on in school." Both, God willing
-- her parents willing, actually -- going on in school next year.

"Is she pregnant? Are you sure it's yours? You're so trusting, Andrew."
*He* was so trusting? This from the woman who'd married Elliot Brewster!

"Well, she's not. So stop worrying." As a matter of fact, he'd had evidence
that she wasn't pregnant this morning. But Mom didn't need to know that. He
realized how little of his current life she knew. Maybe the girls had told
her about him, but if they'd talked about Marilyn, it hadn't sunk in.
Actually, she'd said that they had talked about Marilyn.

"Am I invited?"

"Of course. At least, you will be. Don't we have to have a date before we
issue invitations? The girls will be invited, too." The girls will be
invited and Mom would be invited, too. He didn't want to say that, but she
probably knew where his priorities lay.

"I don't know. You and the girls are so taken with her. I'll bet she's a
gold-digger."

"Mom! Get real! Marilyn is a wonderful girl. You say the girls are taken
with her, and you haven't even met her. What sort of gold-digger would be
after me, anyway? I'm nearly broke." Actually, it was a miracle that
Marilyn had any interest in him at all. She could probably have any
straight man she wanted.

"I think this is part of your father's plan for you." Well, marriage this
June wasn't. That was for sure. What plan Mom thought that Dad had for him,
he couldn't tell. That he get a good college education? Was that so
sinister a plan? That he go into engineering? Actually, while Dad accepted
that, he hadn't been all that enthusiastic.

"Well, it might be another two years before you call again. How is college
going?"

"Fine so far. I got all A s last semester and I've been at least on the
honor roll since the second semester of my freshman year. I had a few
problems first semester, but I straightened them out. I'm taking Partial
Differential Equations as a math course, and three engineering courses.
I'll be done with math after this semester, and I'll take all engineering
after that." Was there anything else? She sure didn't want a description of
the engineering courses. Even Marilyn's eyes glazed over when he talked
about them.

"Well, college is more than classes, you know."

"I know. I started this discussion saying that I was engaged. I didn't
propose in class. Actually, Marilyn is an English and Education major. We
have never had a class together, and we only had a few subjects in common.
The distribution courses and some others are taught at different times and
places in the same semester."

"Yeah. I did go to college, too, you know." Yeah. He did know. She,
however, never talked about what she'd learned there. Dad, if he wasn't
specific, had been a history major. He still read history and talked
history with Andy.

"Well, anyway," he said, "I have to have a social life if I got engaged.
It's just that the news of my social life is that I got engaged." And he
wasn't going to discuss how he and Marilyn spent their social time with Mom.

"Well, good bye, Andrew. Thanks for letting me know. Call when you have
more details."

"I will, Mom, and tell the girls, will you?"

"Of course."

Monday, he scouted out a jewelry store. It looked good to him, although he
knew Marilyn had more taste than he did. In fact, there was a campus full
of people who had more taste than he and less than Marilyn. The jeweler
sold engagement rings on the installment plan.

Wednesday, he drove to his afternoon classes and picked Marilyn up at Abbot
Hall after his last one.

"Talk to your parents?" he asked after their hello kiss in the car.

"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 it as a victory when 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 the jewelry store he'd scouted out. She didn't seem to think
he should have done better.

She asked, "So, what's the budget." He hadn't thought of the ring in terms
of a budget.

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

"Andy!" He'd stepped in it again. And how had he stepped in it with that
statement?

"Pardon me," she said to the jeweler, "pardon us, sir. We've got some
discussion before we choose. We'll be back." She walked towards the car
with him trailing behind. She was so mad that she got in the car without
even waiting for him to open the door.

"Look," she said. "I'm going to be living on the budget. I'm going to be
your wife!" Of course, she was going to be his wife. That was what this was
all about. "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." He hadn't thought
about that. All he'd seen was that there was enough for the two of them to
eat on in what was left over from this year. Actually, much more than half
his savings was left over from this year -- and much more than half would
even be left when the semester was over. But that was before they bought
the ring.

"Well," he said, "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?" He
drove her back to the apartment.

Apparently, his budget had been quite inadequate. He'd been under it with
no problems, but Marilyn wanted a concrete plan. He told her what he'd
spent in the last few months. The checkbook helped there, but he kept
records of all expenditures by categories such as food. She had him run
that forwards 'til the end of the semester. That and the gas for going
home, she told him to subtract from what he had in the two banks. That was
*their* money for the next year. She set $500 aside for emergencies, and
then allotted the rest to different categories.

The categories included food, clothing -- he told her that he'd bought some
underwear that year and didn't think he'd need anything else before
graduation; she didn't accept that -- car expenses, gifts, travel,
textbooks, incidentals. She'd covered so much, things he hadn't planned on
the year before, that he couldn't figure what incidentals could be. She put
it in, though.

Some of that was a block sum -- car expenses and text books. Some of it was
by the week. He took the weekly expenses, figured how many weeks between
their marriage and graduation, multiplied it out, and added the block
money. When that was done, they had $2,000 left for the ring. They figured
that they had 14 months to make payments, and Marilyn took $100 from the
emergency funds to give $2,100 for the ring. That would be $150 a month.

"And that's not counting rent," Marilyn said, "to say nothing of tuition."

"Well, I'm sure Dad will pay those. He wanted to talk to you about rent.
What worries me is the $150 a month."

"Well you did the arithmetic. That's what we'll have."

"But that might not buy much of a ring."

"Andy, darling, I could have a bigger engagement ring in a year. That's my
choice." She didn't often call him 'darling.' That was more often his word
for her.

And, after dinner and some study, she was a darling in his bed and in his
arms.

That Monday, after Marilyn had gone over the budget again and he'd tried
to, they returned to the jewelers.

"We'd like to see engagement ring and wedding ring sets that will cost less
than $150 a month," Marilyn said. He was glad she was taking the lead. He
hadn't even thought about a wedding ring.

"Ring for the groom as well as for the bride?" the man asked. Marilyn
looked at him. Would asking for a ring bring the value of what she wore
down? Would she take his not wearing a ring as not taking pride in being
married to her? He damn-well would be proud of being married to her. He
shrugged. Let her decide.

"Yes," Marilyn 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." He looked at Marilyn, who looked
like she thought this was a good idea. They -- she really, he trusted
Marilyn's taste much more than his own -- chose some simple gold rings.
They were among the cheapest that this store stocked.

The guy now showed Marilyn what they could afford in engagement rings
according to the budget. "You can go way flashier with cubic zirconium."
He'd never thought about that. He needed Marilyn to be a guide in this
aspect of the culture, as in so many other aspects. But she looked less
comfortable in telling him what he should give her for an engagement ring
than in telling him other things. "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," Marilyn said. "A diamond is a diamond."
She finally settled on one of the rings.

"Now, for the three rings, the down payment should be..." The jeweler said.

"Down payment?" He was aghast. "You said I could pay by the month." Some
problems he could solve, but this was Marilyn's ring versus Marilyn's
budget.

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

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

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

"Well, I could," And then he realized that he couldn't. "I don't have my
checkbook with me." Would they have to come back again?

"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." He drove back to
the apartment and got the checkbook. He wrote the check for $2,100. He'd
lots of money back in Evanston, but this nearly depleted the checking
account. Then the guy changed the size of his ring.

They left the shop and drove to the campus. Once there, he walked around
the car and opened her side. When she got out, he took the engagement ring
out of his pocket.

"Marilyn, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Andy, I will." She was smiling as he put the ring on her finger. They
shared a kiss before they returned to the car. He let her out at Zeta
house, and returned to the apartment. It was lonely without Marilyn, but
the apartment now held, not only some of her wardrobe, but the ring she
would wear as his wife.

At church, people learned of their engagement. That was one result of the
ring. They congratulated both of them. He wasn't certain that Marilyn
should be congratulated for getting stuck with him. He, on the other hand,
was facing a future which looked much brighter than anything in his past.
He said that when he was driving her to Zeta house.

"Really, 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."

The married-student housing office was open during office hours rather than
retail hours. They went there on Wednesday.

"We're interested in next year," Marilyn told the secretary. "We're not
married yet, but..." She flashed her engagement 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," Marilyn said. She looked at floor plans.

"I think maybe this one," she said. "What do you think, Andy?"
It looked fine to him.

"Well, you know my bottom line. That would do great if you like it."

They ate another delicious meal that Marilyn cooked at the apartment. They
studied across from each other. Then they were in bed together. She writhed
in his sight. Then he moved over her. She guided him into her moisture.
Slowly, he pressed forward and inward until she surrounded all of him with
her warmth. He kissed her hair line.

"Every night," he said.

"Every night," she echoed. And, in the first night of the rest of their
lives, he began moving in and out.

The end
Every -- M
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2012/03/28


These same events from Marilyn's perspective, can be read in:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_08f.htm
Marilyn's experience

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

What the parents said to each other about the proposed wedding:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_08x.htm
"Common Concerns"

Another story about another couple deciding to get married:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/bla_02m.htm
"Prelude - M"

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