David Blake was worried that his near-sightedness was getting worse. His solution was to make his eyes work more by wearing glasses less often. He needed them for riding his bike, let alone for driving his car. But he tried to teach his courses without them. It wasn't a totally successful experiment. He was still wearing the glasses when he followed two students into the seminary one Monday. He thought he recognized their voices.

"We know so much more, now," said the guy whose voice sounded like Craig's. The words sounded like Craig's, too. He was always sure he knew more than someone else.

"Yeah," said the guy who sounded like Ben. "They had Mary riding a donkey in the last days of her pregnancy."

"Those guys who wrote the Bible never knew what we know now," Craig agreed. David had been right; they were turning together into his classroom. This was more important than strengthening his eyes. It was even more important than his syllabus. These characters were students in Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary, for God's sake. Or for somebody's sake; God didn't seem to have much to do with it for some of them. A Sunday-school class should know better!

"Let's spend a minute on the gospel stories before talking about Corinthians," he began. "What Gospel contains the story of Mary's riding the donkey to Bethlehem?" A few kids started scrabbling with their Bibles. "Come on! There are four Gospels in all. Which ones had Christmas stories."

"I can recite the Christmas story from John," Barbara said. She looked as competent as she usually sounded, although that claim was total hogwash. Barbara was an older woman on a second career. She'd been president of a district UMW when most of her classmates were in high school.

"I'd like to hear it."

"And the word became flesh and dwelt among us." Okay. David wouldn't call that a Christmas story, but Barbara sounded competent again.

"I'll buy that. Who here can quote the Christmas story in Mark?" There was a dead silence. Maybe the folks riffling through their Bibles thought that there wasn't any Christmas story in Mark -- that was the most charitable interpretation. David waited for a few heartbeats. "Well, you are all correct." For the first, and probably last, time. "There is no Christmas story in Mark. He begins with John preaching in the wilderness and Jesus going to him to be baptized. That leaves two Gospels. Not to draw this out, Matthew has Mary and Joseph already living in Bethany. So, pregnant Mary travels to Bethany in only one gospel. How does she travel?" There was a silence.

"How many people know that Luke reports that she traveled there on a donkey?" A couple of hands went up. "How many of you can find the mention of that donkey in the book of Luke?" Given permission, a few more people looked in their Bibles. David let them look until enough blank faces were turned to him.

"It isn't there," a beautiful girl said. The voice was Jen's.

"It isn't there," he echoed. "The picture of pregnant Mary riding on a donkey is on many Christmas cards, but it isn't in the Gospels.

"Now, I won't embarrass anybody by mentioning names, but I heard two members of this class discussing how much more we knew than the biblical authors knew because they had a heavily-pregnant Mary riding a donkey. We are supposed to know much more now. And, it is understood that some people know more about some things today than anybody in the first century did. Quantum mechanics is only one example. Any of you know quantum mechanics?" There was another dead silence.

"So 'we know more than they did' is better phrased as 'some people today know more than they did about some things.' How many of you have ridden a donkey?" A few hands went up. "How many of you have ridden donkeys for miles and miles for days and days?" Nobody put their hands up.

"It's quite likely that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John had all taken trips on donkey-back. Maybe not. Certainly, they knew people who had. Now a few of you have experienced pregnancy, all of you have known others who have. But -- really -- there is less pregnancy today than there was in the first century.

"So, rather than knowing more than they did about pregnant women riding donkeys, we know a damn-sight less. Instead of bragging about how much we know because we live in the twentieth century along with people who do know some things, things we haven't studied, we might respect what the Gospel writers knew. And one thing they knew was the scriptures of their time. Maybe, just maybe, we would look a little less asinine if we knew the scriptures available to us today. And, while the Gospels are important, today's assignment was on Corinthians."

And he got through most of his intended material, if rather superficially. Later, though, he thought he'd been too supercilious. Not in suggesting that Craig was an asshole; he definitely was. But, if these guys were attending seminary with less knowledge of the Gospels than he thought should qualify them for a Sunday-school certificate, was he all that much better? He was teaching New Testament; the writers of the New Testament were steeped in the Old. Was he steeped in the Old Testament? Hardly. There were parts of it he hadn't even read. He decided to read the Old Testament straight through.

His other decision was to cancel his experiment of life without glasses. He needed to see his students. He needed to see Craig; he wanted to see Jen. She had a pretty face, beautiful, long, hair, and what looked like a pretty shape. Sitting down and wearing a sweatshirt, she didn't reveal the shape. Well, with glasses he could see her between classes. She'd be walking then. Whatever hints the sweatshirt gave about the shape of her upper body it wouldn't give to his blurry vision. Maybe he could find some other time to ditch his glasses, housework? meals? He started reading Genesis in his Greek Bible that night. Paul had read Greek. He hoped Paul hadn't read scripture in Hebrew outside the synagogue; David's Greek was rusty enough. His Hebrew was non-existent.

That Wednesday, he got to the classroom early. It wasn't used the hour before. His view of Jen going to her seat was obscured by the other students coming in at the beginning of the hour. Friday, he stood in the doorway. He saw a hint of Jen's shape through the sweatshirt when she was coming towards him, enough to guess that she was wearing a bra. That was too bad, but radical feminism wasn't her style. The view going away was much more satisfactory, even though she wore a backpack. He was happy about his glasses decision; her backpack obscured his sight of her butt until she was six feet away. She had nice thighs, though, and the tight jeans showed them off. And the sexy hair over the backpack almost compensated for the view the backpack hid.

He was beginning to obsess on that one student, which wasn't healthy. He belonged to a group protesting Nestle's contribution to the infant-formula crisis. The meetings of Chicago INFACT drew more women than men, and the organizers were female. Most of those females were taken, but he'd enjoyed their company at every meeting. He found himself comparing their looks unfavorably to Jen's. This was neither fair nor productive. Girls, women if he were to speak aloud, whose looks and company he'd enjoyed now pleased him less.

During actual classes, he kept his mind on his lectures. Sometimes, he despaired that he made any difference. They learned so little, forgot so much of that after the test, and -- many of them -- cared not a whit about what Paul wrote. Some of them, like Craig, since they were certain that they knew more than Paul did. Others like Pete, didn't need to read what Paul had written because they had already learned what he had meant. David had long suspected that people who claimed -- proclaimed -- that they believed in the inerrancy of Scripture really believed in the inerrancy of their interpretation of scripture. He tried to show Pete the difference.

"That's what you think he meant. What did Paul say?"

"He said that every bit of scripture was inspired by God," Pete replied.

"Let's look at that. Read me verses fifteen and sixteen."

"'And that from a child thou hast known the holy scriptures, which are able to make thee wise unto salvation through faith which is in Christ Jesus. All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.'"

"Now there are two things here. Notice that Timothy knew the scriptures from childhood. What scriptures? The Septuagint. That's what Jews outside Palestine read. Our Old Testament and our Apocrypha. The second thing is that scripture is inspired by God. Paul doesn't say that it is dictated by God, and Paul damn-well knew about dictation, he did it himself. Now you may think that he really meant that the Old Testament and the New Testament were dictated by God. But that isn't what he said. And there is something paradoxical in claiming that Paul is telling us that the Epistle to Timothy was dictated by God, but Paul used the wrong term by mistake."

Pete fell back on "direct verbal inspiration," which used the word that Paul had used -- or that the translators had used for Paul's word -- with the meaning that Pete, and other fundies wanted to read into it.

Well, he wasn't hired to break these kids from their irrationalities. He was hired to have them learn a few of the passages of the New Testament. He tried to earn his salary. And, he tried to earn the extra enjoyment that he got from the Pauline-Epistles class where he could see Jen by working a little harder on that class.

If his students weren't turning from opinionated blatherers into theologians, some theologians were turning into opinionated blatherers. Just 'cause Albert Schweitzer had shown how fatuous the Historical-Jesus movement was at the beginning of the century, didn't mean that it had been abandoned. Indeed, a group calling itself "The Jesus Seminar" had decided to pool their guesses. That was supposed to establish certainty.

He decided to try to insulate his current classes, at least, against this newest idea. He typed up some passages to let the students guess where The Jesus Seminar would come down on the basis of the teaching of liberal theology. All he typed were the chapter and verse. The students needed the practice of looking these up for themselves; and they needed the opportunity to see them in context, although he doubted whether many would take that opportunity.

"You might have heard," he began in each class, "the story about the man whom the police arrested for bank robbery. 'You might as well confess,' the cops said. 'We have an eye witness who can identify you positively.' 'What does he know,' said the man. 'I was wearing a mask.'

"Well, back in the nineteenth century, there was a serious theological movement called 'The Historical Jesus.' Writers could tell you what Jesus really taught, as opposed to what the first-century Gospel writers thought he had taught. Since the nineteenth century was the acme of science and human understanding, they could strip away the encrustations and reveal the real teachings.

"Then a theologian named Albert Schweitzer wrote a book analyzing their teachings. You've heard of him as a medical missionary, but he was a concert-level organist and a major theologian as well. What he did was to compare what the historical-Jesus writers had said about questions on their own with what they said Jesus had taught. Guess what? In every case, although what Smith attributed to Jesus might be different from what Jones attributed to Jesus, it was identical to what Smith taught on his own. They hadn't stripped away the encrustations added by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John; they had stripped away the teachings that offended them. They'd added a few encrustations of their own, as well.

"Now, today, there are still people doing nineteenth-century theology. But they've decided to wear masks. The group calling itself 'The Jesus Seminar' are voting on what Gospel teachings they want to call into question. You won't get Smith's votes to compare with Smith's positions. You'll only get the majority opinion. But I figure that I know what the majority of these theologians teach. I figure that most of you have some idea, too. So, I've taken a few passages from each of the four Gospels. I want each of you to vote on them. Not on whether Jesus actually said them; on whether the Jesus Seminar people will vote them in or out."

He couldn't grade on their responses, not even on whether they responded or not. Most of them did respond, however. They'd gone through high school, college, and anywhere from a half to three-and-a-half quarters of seminary by then. When a teacher gave you an assignment, you turned it in. You probably didn't think, but you turned it in. He handed back the average of the class guesses on the Jesus-Seminar guesses. Ted, a fellow teacher with a more traditional stance than most of Garret's faculty had, stopped him in the hall one day.

"I hear that you are planning to rewrite scripture."

"The ecumenical council of David Blake. It has a certain ring, but I wasn't really planning on calling it. What leads to this idea?"

"A four-page sheet of chapter-and-verse citations with a choice in or out."

"The Schweitzer game? I carefully wrote on each sheet the question of whether the student thought the Jesus Seminar would approve of the scripture or disapprove of it. Did you really not read the question?"

"I read it. One of your students didn't. He thought he was being asked whether to take the passage out of scripture or not."

"Ted, you and I disagree on a good many points, but we're both professors at an institution of higher learning. Criticize me for what I say, not for what some idiot hears."

"I'm not criticizing you. I'm teasing you."

"And getting a good rise out of me, too. Sorry. I've been dealing with idiots too long, didn't mean to count you among them." And, whichever student had run to Ted to complain, several had returned the sheet with every "in" circled.

The only good things about this quarter were that his book on Philemon was accepted and that he could still see Jen in one of his classes.

Then even this reward was cut. Really, Jen's hair was cut. It looked like a beauty-shop cut as opposed to a take-out-the-shears-and-to-hell-with-it cut. She was probably moving slowly towards looking more professional. Well, she could have started with wearing blouses instead of sweatshirts. She was still pretty in short hair, but the long tresses had been one of the few bright spots in his week.

He kept his opinions about that to himself most times, even though keeping his opinions to himself wasn't one of his strong suits. Once he slipped. Sally was expressing her opinions just as if she'd formed them herself rather than picking them up second hand. They were on Colossians, the last book they'd read before Romans.

"Well," she said, "Paul was a sexist. We shouldn't try to follow his teachings about women."

"I think you're reading him anachronistically," he replied. "The people who claim that Paul was transcribing what God dictated for the twentieth century are consistent -- I don't agree with them, but they are consistent. On the other hand, saying that Paul wrote on his own authority but he was wrong about the position of women in the twentieth century shows a little confusion.

"Now, as I emphasized in our study of Philemon, Paul is always ready to say that believing might add obligations; he never teaches that it removes any. A woman who believes has all the obligations that she would have as an unbeliever, and a first-century Greek woman had the obligation to obey her husband. Were the husband also a believer, that put some obligations on him; it removed none from her."

"I'm here to clarify what is my theology," Sally changed the subject. "And I must say that you aren't helping."

"Good! Well, really, I should be indifferent rather than favorable. There is no reason that I should care why you are in class, so long as you aren't here to disrupt it. I'm here to teach what Paul wrote. Barbara might be here to polish her shorthand skills for all I care. If you go out of this class knowing what Paul wrote, I've fulfilled my obligation to the seminary."

"And your obligations to us?"

"None. Oh, I've the same obligations that I owe you on the street as a Christian and as a citizen. But my obligation as a teacher is to the seminary. Their obligation to you is to give you the preparation to be a preacher of Christian doctrine, of Methodist doctrine in particular. I must have overlooked the place where they promised to help you work out your private theology. Just to satisfy my curiosity, and not part of the course work, what do you plan to do with that theology when you have determined it?"

"I'm going to be a pastor, of course. How could I do that without working out my own theology?"

"Well, it's none of my business. As I said, I hired on to teach Christian theology. But I should think you would have a hard time making a living as the founder of The Church of Sally."

"It's not The Church of Sally. I'm going to be a Christian pastor. It's just that I have to decide what my theology is. Then I'll preach that."

"I don't see why you expect some congregation to pay you for that. They are more likely to expect you to preach the theology of the church. Now, look at Jen. Plenty of parishioners would like to look at her. Even if she grew her hair back out, though, I doubt that many people would pay to hear her opinions. They want to hear the Gospel. For that matter, I have a D. Min. just like you'll have; I studied years after that. You don't seem terribly anxious to hear my opinions."

When he'd said "Now, look at Jen," he naturally had. (He looked at Jen often without such a good excuse. He wished she'd participate more, both as a teacher and as a man who could use the excuse to look at her. Instead, Sally did a lot more talking.) Jen had not been pleased with his comments. Quite likely, the other students had sensed his interest. Most of the male students probably agreed with him about her hair -- about looking at her, for that matter.

He started the very next session of that class with more of the issue. It was, after all, the context of the entire course. "Catholic moral theologians make a formal distinction among Jesus' precepts. Some of them are 'monastic counsels,' going the extra mile beyond what is required of ordinary believers. I don't know of any Protestant system of Christian ethics which makes quite that overt a distinction. Still, many Protestants make some sort of distinction between the rules that you're expected to follow and the rules it would be nice if you followed once in a while. That distinction might always be invidious, but it is particularly invidious when it is made about quite parallel passages in Paul.

"There have been people, men, claiming that 'Wives should obey their husbands' is an absolute, and that 'Husbands should treat their wives gently' is good advice except in special circumstances. (Which, too often, comes to mean these circumstances.) Aside from the viciousness which this excuses, it is intellectually dishonest. I don't for a minute oppose feminists' objection to this. Where I think they go astray is in blaming Paul for the ideas that idiots read into his clear writing." This discourse didn't seem to make any impression. Neither the feminists nor the fundies seemed convinced.

Well, that was his last excursion from the syllabus. The test was coming up, and the final paper.

He gave Jen a B for the course, a grade she'd clearly earned, even without much class participation. He Xeroxed her final paper. He had no excuse for asking for a photo, even one after the haircut. Unfortunately, she didn't sign up for another course of his the next quarter. He mentally shook himself. He'd been spending too much time on daydreams and too little time on publishable scholarship.

For Philemon, he'd dealt not only with the -- quite skimpy -- book itself; he'd dealt with everything Paul had written about slavery (or everything which had come down to us). Paul had written much more about marriage. Maybe he should analyze that without hanging the argument on a single book.

And his experiment in reading the Old Testament in Greek was a failure. All that hard work had yielded only the experience of having struggled with Greek. He went back to Genesis, but in English. He used the New English Bible translation. His copy included the Apocrypha, which Paul had obviously had available to him.

His sights of Jen were rarer. They were, however, sights of Jen walking. That got him a better view of her flexing hips than he'd had while she sat in his class three days a week. One Spring day, he found himself trailing her through the halls. when she turned into a classroom, he went past. Then he shook himself and turned around. He got to his classroom late, but the class didn't mind. Few of them actually wanted to learn about The Letter to the Hebrews.

He tried to keep himself under control. It was natural for a man of his years to desire a beautiful, young, woman. The problems were (1) that she was his student, and (2) that it was totally unnatural for a young woman to desire a man of his years, especially a bookish man with little machismo. An actor, a politician, a TV personality would have a chance; a theology professor would not. So, he should stop dreaming of what he couldn't do and start working on what he could. Paul's view of marriage really required some background. What was the view of marriage in the first-century Jewish community? What was the view in the larger Graeco-Roman world?

By the summer, when he got time to really concentrate on his work, he decided to let it simmer. His degree was in the New Testament, not merely in the Epistles. He would concentrate on the Gospel of John. The liberal dogma on John was that it was written much later than the other Gospels, intended as a supplement for them. Without holding any brief for the fundy argument that it had been written by John himself, David was dubious. If he bought the argument that Matthew had Mark's gospel in front of him because so much of Matthew's gospel included Mark's stories, then he couldn't buy the argument that the author of John had the other three gospels available to him because the book of John included almost none of the stories included in the other three. Was there a third possibility? He made a list of the oddities, "the disciple whom Jesus loved," foot washing, "she is your mother," "so a report spread among the followers of Jesus that this disciple would not die."

What if the book had been written by converts of John soon after his death? The good Greek would be explained by those converts having been Greeks, rather than diaspora Jews. The stories would be stories they had heard from John, for the most part. The Gospel quoted Jesus as saying to all the disciples, "As I have loved you, so must you love one another." If John had frequently testified that Jesus had loved him, could his converts have taken this to mean that Jesus had loved him to the exclusion of the others? He decided to go through the Gospel with the possibility of that authorship in mind. Did it make sense of some of the peculiarities? Did it raise other contradictions?

He spent the summer and the early fall on that project. He finally got his arguments into a paper, "The case for the antiquity of John." When the paper was accepted in late January, he used it as the first chapter of a book on the gospel. His publisher agreed to publish the book shortly before the school year ended. At graduation, he saw Jen for the first time in more than a year. Her face looked as lovely as ever; the robe left her shape to the imagination. That night, he was shocked at how graphically his imagination rose to the challenge. He was used to wet dreams, but usually the memory that remained in the morning was quite vague. Oh, well, she was no longer a student. he would never see her again.

He'd been working hard. He borrowed six novels from the library, stocked up on groceries, and neither read anything serious nor left the apartment until all six novels were read. By then, it was warm enough to take the next six novels to the beach, one at a time. His tan was restored, and his sleep debt was cancelled by late June. He took his vacation in Colorado, hiked every day, and finished the Apocrypha.

He'd read every part of the Septuagint, had it helped? Some. Even where there hadn't been any surprises -- and he had, after all, taken courses in the Old Testament years before -- he now had the certainty that there would be no surprises. On the other hand, he had no illusions that his acquaintance with those books compared to Paul's or Matthew's. They had read the books and heard the books many times. They had let the books address their lives. Letting them address their lives sounded to him something like the process of lectio divina. He should look that up when he was back in Evanston.

In Colorado, he found himself dreaming of Jen more often. The first time that wasn't a wet dream shocked him as much as the first wet dream had. Well, his vacation was a deliberate attempt to let his mind idle, and 'an idle mind is the devil's playground.' Back in Evanston, he'd buckle back down on the first-century ideas about marriage. That would take his mind off Jen. She was totally out of his life, after all.

He achieved his primary purposes. However bastardized his version of lectio divina was, it got him a feel of the passages. He read a chapter from the Apocrypha, selected a passage from that chapter, read that passage repeatedly, asked what it meant to him, and then asked what it called on him to do the next day. It might take an hour a day; it might mean years of work before he got through the entire Septuagint, but he'd be a decent scholar some day. An Evanston rabbi was happy to put him in contact with a professor who recommended books that would give him first-century rabbinical sources on marriage, among many other things.

His secondary purpose didn't seem to be within his reach. Instead of having fewer wet dreams starring Jen, he began picturing her in some of the situations described by the rabbinical sources. Well, maybe he should go see her again. Where was she anyhow? Would Garret know? Would the office which knew be open before school started? He was puzzling out that question when his phone rang.

"David Blake." In his present mood, he'd welcome a telemarketer. He felt like swearing, and he shouldn't waste the words on empty air.

"Professor Blake, this is Donald Emery." The District Superintendent for the Northern District. David swallowed his vitriol. "I was wondering whether you were available for pulpit supply?"

"This Sunday? It's short notice, but. . . ." Methodist laymen were entitled to a service. If their pastor was sick, some other preacher would fill in. And, far from his own conference as he was, he was still a Methodist preacher.

"Not this Sunday. Fred Bright is going into the hospital, and I'm setting up his replacements. Would you be available September eleventh?"

"Sure. Send me the details, would you? Address and a bulletin would be great. With that much warning, I'll preach from the lectionary."

"Thanks. I wish the less prepared were as faithful to the lectionary as you are. I'll have my secretary get it in the mail."

That led to another thought. Where was Jen? Somewhere in Northern Illinois, probably. And, if so, the Conference office would know precisely where. He contacted the Conference office and got the name of her church, Independence United Methodist, and then the address of that church. It was in the western part of the state, but not too far to drive. He set his alarm early that Sunday, dressed in a suit, and found the place.

Her hair was still short, the clerical robe hid her figure, but the face was as pretty as ever. Her sermon sounded as though she were preaching the first draft, but it was nothing wild. Her voice was neither strained nor the sickly-sweet that some people thought was appropriate for a preacher.

She shook hands with the congregation as they filed out the door. None of the congregation rushed away before she could, which was one advantage of a church in the country. "Nice to be here," he told her when it was his turn.

"Nice to have you here," she responded. "A visit from the faculty is a rare honor this far out in the country." Which told him that she, at least, remembered him. Her response was friendly enough, too, and he got to touch her, which he'd never done. On the other hand, the situation called for civility; that might not be her real feelings. And a handshake was hardly a kiss.

That night, his wet dream actually woke him. All that he remembered even then, was a kiss from Jen. Well, he couldn't have a kiss, but he could have more contact until she told him to go away. He could, at least, phone her and ask her to lunch. On the phone, she might be friendlier; her tone with none of her congregation listening might communicate that she found his attentions -- even these light ones -- unwelcome. What did he have to lose? But he went home from his last class before he'd got his nerve up. The phone number was on the bulletin from Sunday, but he had to look the area code up.

"Independence United Methodist Church." It actually sounded like Jen herself, but politeness was always advisable. Besides, it permitted a longer conversation.

"Reverend Saunders, please."

"Speaking."

"David Blake here. Once your professor in the Epistles. Yesterday, I visited your service."

"Yes, Professor Blake." But he didn't want her thinking of him as 'Professor Blake.' Well, it was better than not thinking of him at all, but still. . . .

"I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed your sermon, Reverend Saunders." And nothing would be worse than her hearing him slighting her professional position.

"It's Jen, Professor Blake. You always called me that." Good! (1) she wanted him to call her 'Jen.' (2) He got to hear her voice that much longer. (3) He had a chance to suggest 'David.'

"You were my student, then. You're a pastor, now. My pastor, at least last Sunday."

"I'm still Jen." And, sounding friendly. Besides it was a perfect opening.

"And I'm David. I enjoyed your sermon, Jen."

"That's nice to hear, David." Victory! That name made the phone call worth while, even if she turned him down. "Do you have any suggestions?" Now, that was a trap. He'd given her quite enough correction when it was his job. On the other hand, she'd never believe that he had agreed with everything she'd said. She'd been in his class long enough to know that this had never happened.

"I disagree with everything I hear. I have disagreements with some of what Barth wrote in Der Romerbrief (in dem Romerbrief? -- never mind). But not something for you to work on. If you want to work on a weakness, you need to increase your confidence. You're a preacher; you're their preacher. Go with it!" And, if this went no further, much as he'd be disappointed, that one piece of advice is what she needed to hear.

"Thanks."

"Anyway, I enjoyed hearing you. I wanted to ask you to lunch after the service next week. Do you think you might go?" He held his breath until he felt faint. Even after he resumed breathing, she didn't respond. Was she thinking about it? Was she looking for a polite way to avoid it?

Her response wasn't encouraging when it came. "I'm really sorry. I've accepted another engagement for that time." Still, she sounded sincere. He should accept the dismissal, but too much was riding on this. Besides, if she didn't like it and he called again, she would feel stalked.

"Well, I'm not available the next Sunday. I'm going to be preaching that day and won't even get to hear you. How about the Sunday after that? Twenty days from now?" If she claimed to be booked up that day, it would prove that she didn't want to hear from him. He had her pinned down; he could walk into the service and listen to her all he wanted. But did he want her for his victim?

"I'd be quite pleased."

"It's a date, then." Which probably sounded more like what he intended than what he wanted this to sound like. And, if she were still being polite, he'd give her an out."Do you want my phone number in case something comes up?"

"Please." So he gave his apartment phone number to her. She could call and leave a message when she was fairly certain he'd be at the seminary.

"Well," he said when he realized that he was extending the conversation simply to hear her voice, "I'm keeping you. Nice talking to you, and nice hearing you on Sunday."

"Thanks for calling. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." Now, she probably accepted dozens of dinner invitations from parishioners. Probably accepted some from men younger than himself whom she thought of as old, settled, dull, parishioners. On the other hand, he'd have lunch with Jen. And, with that to look forward to, he should get his intellectual life in order before classes started. He bought a Jerusalem Bible at the seminary bookstore. (He already had their translation of the New Testament, just what he didn't need now.) He began doing his lectio divina on that translation, beginning in Genesis.

The next week, he attended her church again. He took communion from her hands. They shook hands again as he filed out. It was nothing to her, a touch of lovely skin to him. The Sunday after that, he substituted for Fred Bright.

The Sunday after that, Jen's sermon was from Timothy. Not bad. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought she had a good teacher of the Epistles of Paul. Afterwards, he hung back while the regulars filed out. "Enjoyed your sermon," he said. "Can you have lunch with me?"

"Yes."

"My car? What do you have to do here?"

"Ten minutes to lock up." She took even less time than she'd said. On the other hand, she had changed her robe which only gave a suggestion of her shape to a coat which hid it all. When they were in the restaurant, 'Jerry's,' though, he got to hang up her coat with his. He'd been right years ago. She looked better in a blouse.

He recited grace. They began to eat. He had her alone, but the conversation should be on her. "So," he said, "are you enjoying being a pastor?"

"Some of it. Preaching is still a chore. I find that I like making hospital calls, though. So many of them, especially the old people, are more of a comfort to me than I am to them."

"'You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.' Well, a better something. I found being a pastor the hardest part of being a minister. Now, preaching -- I could do preaching. But, then, I have opinions on what the texts mean. You might have noticed."

She smiled at that! Her face was even prettier when she smiled.

"I did notice." She obviously didn't realize what a boon it was to be noticed by Jen.

"Anyway, you're enjoying your job, then? Not everything, obviously. But it would be horrible to find you'd prepared three years to qualify for something you don't want to do."

"Oh, yes. It's rewarding. I even found out I'm using stuff I learned. Your course, for instance."

"That must have been a shock! Find yourself preaching the Epistles a lot? Quite frankly, that surprises me. I'd think you'd stick with the Gospel your first year, maybe your first three." He had, and then -- since he was on his third church by then -- mostly started over on the gospels again.

"Well, yes. I was thinking of something else. But this church, that church, gets a new pastor every year. Not only new to them, mostly newly ordained. If new pastors stuck to the Gospel, they'd never hear the Epistle or the Old Testament lessons at all.

"Anyway, I meant something else. I was counseling." She stopped. If she was counseling, she owed the people confidentiality.

"Smith and Jones," he said.

"Except it was Smith and Smith. And only one Smith showed up. So I found myself quoting a certain professor on Paul's only answering the question of your responsibility."

"And Paul got that from his Master. 'Who made me a judge over you?'"

"Well, yes. And I said that he could come for counseling, but not for counseling on how she should behave."

"Great! That's one time you resisted temptation."

"One time out of how many?"

"One time I've heard of. Anyway, you only have to resist one time at a time." God! He was babbling. "I could have said that better."

"It communicated." Which was a kind response to that sort of drivel. They both returned to their meal. After dessert, he watched her conceal her figure again. Then he went to get the car. He turned the heater all the way up before returning to her.

"Did you leave your car at the church?" he asked. " I didn't see the parsonage."

"It's not far." Which was a pity. The heat had no chance of persuading her to open her coat. He drove there at her direction, got out, and opened her door. He watched her until she shut the parsonage door. Then he got back in, turned the heat to a more reasonable level, and spent the drive back cursing himself. He was one of her congregation, however temporary; he was a former instructor who had experience in the field she'd entered.

All that earned him the right to take her to lunch. And, if he'd taken a girl to lunch under any other excuse, he would have walked her to the door and kissed her on the porch. She would have considered that only a fair return for the meal.

But you kissed neither your pastor -- why had the church abandoned the kiss of peace? -- nor your former student whom you were counseling. He'd set a David trap for Jen, with the same result as Pooh's trap for heffalumps. He was caught, himself.

That night, he gave up. Rather than mess the sheets with a wet dream with no more reward than the memory of the dream kiss, he stroked himself into a Kleenex while awake. His imagination went too slowly, however. He erupted before he'd got more than her bra off.

He called her the next day to invite her to lunch in two weeks. He got an acceptance! That couldn't be mere politeness. When David Emery called him about preaching that Sunday, he told him that he was booked. He suggested leaving him at the bottom of Emery's emergency call sheet for a while. David felt a little guilty about that, but he'd probably done more than his share. He wasn't even a member of this conference.

The second lunch went as the first had done, except he needn't ask for directions and he didn't play the failed heater game. He watched her into the parsonage, and drove home plotting. For one thing, he couldn't keep taking her to the same restaurant. For another, he had to figure out a way to turn these luncheons into dates.

He was a member of Wyoming Annual Conference, but had a local membership in the charge conference of Covenant UMC. He usually attended there when he hadn't another duty. As he wasn't likely to be there anytime soon, he called up the church and left a message on the machine.

"Bruce, this is David Blake. Things have come up, and I don't think I'll be seeing you for a while. Occasionally, you've asked me to do something; so I thought you should know."

Should he consider moving his membership to Jen's charge conference? No. That would require her approval, and would necessitate the question of 'why?' He didn't want to say 'so I can court you.' Maybe she didn't want him to court her. Take it one lunch at a time.

The next week, he got to church early and asked several of the other early arrivals about restaurants in the neighborhood. He drove around to look them over after the service.

When he took Jen to that restaurant, he didn't have to ask for her recommendations or for directions. Still, pleasant as the conversation was, pleasant as the company was, he was still trapped talking to his pastor and his ex-student.

He had a date in two weeks, listened to her preach and shook her hand afterwards on the intervening Sunday. When he got back the next Sunday, however he had a shock.

"Professor Blake?" A man whom he vaguely recognized greeted him as he came in the door. "I'm Joe Englehard, chairman of pastor-parish relations." Great! He looked serious, but -- if he had a problem with how David had been treating Jen, and he'd only been treating her indecently in his mind -- he should take it up with Jen.

"Yes, Mr. Englehard." Englehard might be way out of line, but David didn't want to cause any problems for Jen.

"Jen is sick, too sick to lead the service. She suggested that you might be able to lead the service."

"Well, I can give you a service. How good a service is quite another question. May I have a bulletin?" Englehard gave him one, and he checked out the scriptural passages. None of them were ones he'd be comfortable winging a sermon about. Well, he'd been reading Exodus. What had struck him most clearly? Yeah, Moses' stammer. That might be appropriate for a stammering sermon.

David was a man who spoke briefly when he didn't have much to say. (More men than not go on at great lengths when they don't know what to say.) some of the prayers were printed in the bulletin, and he used those; others just said that the pastor would say something, and he said something. "Your sins are forgiven because Jesus Christ has sacrificed himself in your stead," might be the briefest absolution spoken that Sunday, but it was as orthodox as the longest one.

When it was time for the sermon, David began with, "Your pastor is ill today. She asked that I substitute. I'm not going to preach from the passages we've read. Instead, I'm going to deal with a bit of Exodus. the context is Exodus, chapter 3, verses 1 through 6." He read them. "These are merely the context, you know who is talking, and where they are talking. Now the passage I'm going to deal with is Chapter 4, verses 10 through 12." Then he read those.

"So Moses stuttered. He thought that was a disability that shut him off from leading the Hebrew people at all, let alone leading them when that meant confronting Pharaoh. In the parlance of my day, Moses was a 4F. But God wasn't your usual draft board. God had decided on Moses.

"My job is teaching in the seminary. Every once in a while, some student will tell me: 'I'd never do that. Sp God couldn't have done that.' Well, usually, I wouldn't have done that, either. Sacrificing your only son? But, while I would never have done that, I know that this fact has nothing to do with how God acts. . . ."

He went on like that until he thought the point had been made. Then, brought it to a conclusion. People said nice things when the service was over, perhaps -- he cynically thought -- because they got out early. Englehard waited at the end of the line to thank him.

"No problem. Is someone checking that your pastor gets whatever medical care she needs?"

"That's my responsibility." Of which David was quite aware, he had been trying to remind Englehard of that. "If it means visiting a woman in a house by herself when she ought to be in bed, I'll think I'll have my wife do the actual checking." Fair enough. David gave him his card, and copied down his number.

After handing him a service to lead on something like five minutes warning, Englehard would be hard-pressed to ever complain about how David behaved. Jen, on the other hand, might get justifiably angry over a phone call dragging her out of a sickbed to ask about her sickness. He did, however, read the lectionary for the next week. Remembering what Jen had said about the danger of Independence never hearing anything but the gospels, he considered the passage from Thessalonians. He held off calling Jen until Wednesday, and contacted Englehard for a report first.

"This is David," he began when he got her, "I hope you are feeling better."

"Better," she replied. "Not good."

"I've been going through the Old Testament -- lectio divina -- so I preached on Exodus. It wasn't a passage from the lectionary, but you didn't give me much warning."

"I didn't have much warning, myself."

"Well, they were kind afterwards. They did get some sort of service. Anyway, Sunday is the first Sunday of November. You celebrate Communion on the first Sunday of the month, don't you?" He knew she did. He'd taken communion on the first Sundays of September and October.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to do it? Frankly, you still don't sound recovered." She sounded far from recovered, and Englehard thought it would be another week before she did.

"Could you? And I'm sorry to miss the lunch."

"I'll call your district superintendent and establish my bona fides." She seemed to like him personally. Finding him useful in her professional life could only increase that. "Don't worry about the lunch. I'm sorry, too, but I'm more sorry that you have to go through the sickness."

"It's only a cold. I keep telling myself. It feels more like the black plague."

"I'd bet against the black plague, but have yourself checked out. It's an upper respiratory infection; I can hear that over the phone. But people die from the flu, and you could have pneumonia."

"I've been to the doctor."

"Good. I'll call your DS."

First he called the Conference office for the phone number. Jen had to have it close at hand, but he didn't want to strain her even that much. Then he called the DS's office. He was put through.

"Ed Campbell speaking."

"Reverend Campbell? I'm David Blake. I teach at Garrett and have been attending Independence UMC. When Reverend Saunders was taken ill, she asked if I could conduct the service, and I did. She's still fairly ill, and doubts that she could handle this coming Sunday. Well, anybody can preach, but the sacrament is another question.

"I said I'd check with you to establish my bona fides. I'm a member in good standing of Wyoming Conference. Reverend Emery has used me for pulpit supply. Would you mind if I presided at Independence this coming Sunday?"

"Yes, Professor Blake. I've heard about your coming in at the last minute. Good reports on your sermon."

"Well, it was short. That guarantees someone will like it. I had something between five and ten minutes warning. If I do say so myself, it sounded like I'd had much longer, maybe half an hour."

Campbell laughed. "I'd have loved to hear it. Too bad it wasn't recorded. Anyway, it's Jen's pulpit. If she says you can occupy it, that's what the Discipline requires. I'll check with Emery, but I don't seriously suspect a Garrett professor of claiming credentials he doesn't have. And thanks for filling in."

"You're quite welcome. Actually, I feel it's part of the contract between clergy and laity. I'm guaranteed a job; they're guaranteed somebody in the pulpit. Well, I'm keeping you. Thanks and goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Now, he got seriously to work on a sermon. He dealt with his lessons, but he set Paul and Exodus aside. That Sunday, Jen attended, but he led the service. He was about to suggest that Englehard drive her back when another man took the responsibility.

Jen, however felt able to handle the service the next week. She looked as though she'd recovered, and he took the chance of calling that Monday.

"Independence United Methodist Church."

"This is David. You sounded much better, yesterday. Have you recovered, or was that a false dawn?"

"You always identify yourself. And it's never Dave. I think I've recovered. It was only a cold."

"One of those things which they describe as, 'it's not fatal; you only wish it were.'"

"Pretty much."

"I wondered if you think you'll be recovered enough next Sunday to go out for another lunch. That was supposed to be an invitation; I'm sorry if it sounds so convoluted."

"That's the potluck. Are you coming?"

"Of course! Where two or three Methodists are gathered together, there shall a potluck be also." She laughed. "I'll bring my famous Pauline chile."

"Who's Pauline?"

"You don't know her. I chopped her up to add to the chile. No. 'Pauline' is an adjective. I make the chile according to the directions of St. Paul." And then, hating to end the conversation, but needing to leave the joke to simmer, "Well, I'm keeping you. Bye."

He did produce a large pot of chile, using half as many jalapeno peppers as he would use for the same quantity for himself. He might be wronging them, but the congregation looked fairly bland to him. Jen looked healthy on Sunday and preached a good sermon. He considered joining her table, but that might be seen as an imposition. He repeated and extended his "Pauline Chile" joke, however so that Jen could hear it.

"I tried to follow the advice of Paul. He says to cook chile a long time over very low heat so all the flavors mix in -- but the dish isn't scorched."

She bit. "I had a thorough introduction to the letters from Paul taught by an excellent professor." Hot dog! That 'excellent professor' was worth the drive and cooking the chile. "The course didn't mention chile."

"I can't see how it missed it. Somebody have a Bible?" Someone at his table pulled out a pocket New Testament. "Excellent, please read First Corinthians, Chapter seven, verse nine."

The man holding the book looked it up and laughed. Then he passed the book to David. "You read it."

"For it is better to marry than to burn." He got groans out of that. Jen groaned more loudly than most, probably because he'd let her marinate in the joke longer. But that started others off on bible-based humor. Fools tried to get friendly with "regular folks" by pretending to be "regular folks," themselves. David never made that blunder -- maybe because he was so far from being "regular folks." He was, however, a joker, and people were glad to relate to him as a joker.

He stood by his pot while all the rest was being cleared up. When Jen looked ready to go, he offered her a ride. She declined on the grounds that the parsonage was close. So, he put the pot in his trunk and walked her back. She accepted that. Even better, when they got there, she turned to him.

"Would you like to come in?" She meant in the parsonage, but the answer was still yes.

"Thanks."

And when the door closed behind them, he took her in his arms. He kissed her. It was the sweetest kiss he'd ever had, well worth the slap if she slapped him. Instead, she hugged him. Through coats and all, but it was a hug.

"You don't know," he said when he had to abandon the kiss, "how long I've wanted to do that."

"The first day?" The lady wanted a declaration. Why had he bitten his tongue so long?

"Not quite." He should be honest with her. "I tried to teach the course without my glasses. No reason for you to remember. Anyway, fourth or fifth class, I gave up. I wore the glasses, and could see you clearly. Stupid of me to have deprived myself of that sight for so long."

"You never showed it." He was not so sure. Still, of all the complaints from students of which he had heard, none mentioned ogling a coed.

"Well, I tried not to. What would your classmates have said! Still, I'm not sure I hid it all that well."

This time, she initiated the kiss. His cock twitched at the thought. He initiated the tongue-kiss but she cooperated in that. When she stepped back it was to open her coat. He tossed his towards the couch.

When they kissed this time, he could feel her shape -- the shape that had haunted his dreams for so long. Her breasts were soft on his chest while he stroked down her back and cupped her bottom. He was stiff as a board. The only good way to end this was in bed, but his car was still parked at the church and people knew where he had gone. Besides, that Jen had cooperated in the kiss didn't mean that she was ready to fuck. He had to get away while his big head still had some say in what his body would do.

"It is as good as my dreams," he said. "I'm going to leave while I can. I'll call." And he walked out. He put his coat on outside, then got his car from the church. The first half of the drive back was spent recalling the kisses. Then he began to plan. They'd gone about as far as they could go in her parsonage, one hell of a lot further than was wise for her to go. And, if he could get a kiss at the end of his dates, he wanted more dates than every other week. More Sunday afternoons would meet with revolt from the church members; they expected to host her then.

Well, weekday evenings were a better deal in many ways. He could move up to one a week without messing her meeting schedule up too much. If the roads kept clear, they could eat in Chicago. They could even eat in Evanston, maybe in his apartment in Evanston. When he got back to his apartment, he called Jen. He got only her answering machine and went through a moment of panic. What the hell? There were many more plausible reasons for her not answering the phone than that she'd had a relapse in the last hour.

Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when she called back.

"I didn't mean for this to be on your bill," he told her. "I'll keep it short."

"I'm in a comfortable chair," she replied. "I meant for it to be a long call. Minimum salary isn't that minimal." Which certainly sounded like she enjoyed talking with him, and no -- from her tone -- to scold him for taking advantage of her.

"Well, I'm not too bright, but sometimes ideas do get through. Y'know, your congregation wants to feed you on Sundays. There is no reason that I have to compete with that. I know about committee meetings; Lord, how I know. Still, are you available any week nights? What's your schedule this week?" There was a pause, but not a daunting one.

"I have trustees on Wednesday and choir practice every Thursday."

"I have late afternoon classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Would Friday cut into sermon prep too much?"

"Friday would be fine."

"Expect me then. Parsonage at five o'clock?" She agreed. She didn't seem to be in any hurry to end the conversation, either.

Now, if only the weather would cooperate. He'd get there through a blizzard if he could, but he couldn't expect her to come back to the Chicago area unless the roads were clear and the sky looked like they would stay clear. Disaster, for once, didn't strike. He showed up a few minutes before five, and she didn't keep him waiting.

"Look, I'm sorry for springing this on you," he said as soon as they were both in the car, "but I wanted to see the state of the roads first. How would you like to eat in Chicago?"

"That sounds lovely. But it means two round trips for you."

"No bother. The roads are fairly clear. Probably less driving than you do on a hospital-visit day," he pointed out. Then he changed the subject.

"Have you ever eaten Korean?"

"Bulgogi?" Well, she had eaten Korean.

"Bulgogi is to Korean cuisine what McDonalds is to American," he told her. "Feeling adventurous?" he asked.

"Let's.

"You were a great hit on Sunday," she continued. "People were talking about you before and after the trustees' meeting."

"My popularity didn't extend to my cooking. I don't think anyone but myself took seconds on my chile."

"You know what Johnson said about women preaching?"

"When a dog walks on its hind legs, you don't ask how well he does it?"

"Right. Well, I think these people regard a man's cooking the same way. Ted Jackson and George Blum are widowers. They brought the store-bought desserts."

"My mistake was trying to vary the recipe for what I imagined the crowd would like. I used half the jalapenos that I would have used for myself."

"The hot peppers?"

"Yeah. I figured that bunch for favoring blandness, so I only used two. And I cut them into very small pieces, too."

"Yours wasn't the only chile there."

"I noticed two bean dishes. They looked identical to me."

"Mrs. Benson's chile. She brings a smaller pot without any chile powder for the people who don't care for it."

"That must have been the batch I took. But I thought it was better to take from the larger pot."

"That's chile in Independence. A sprinkling of chile powder for the adventurous."

"Look, Korean food might be a mistake."

"That's Independence. I'm Jen. Anyway, they liked your jokes."

"That's Independence, you're Jen."

"And they said you preached a good sermon, too. A couple of the men were talking about 'Dave,' though. I wondered whether I should correct them."

"The good reviews were generosity. The only virtue of the first one was brevity. I've been going through the Old testament, and was on Exodus. Still am; it's forty chapters." Well, he'd stopped briefly; he really should start again.

"You said something about lectio divina."

"A sort of bastardized version. I read a whole chapter -- you can't do lectio divina on that much. Then I look for the passage that addresses me that day. Then I read the passage three times, sometimes a fourth. When I'm home, I read aloud. Then I meditate on what the passage means. Then I ask what the passage is calling me to do that day." They were talking an awful lot about him. He must sound like a typical egotistical male to her -- maybe an exceptionally egotistical male.

"I think of you dealing more with the New Testament, and more...." Jen paused. She needed a nice antonym for 'spiritual.'

"More intellectually?"

"Yeah."

"Sort of is intellectual study of the new Testament. The New-Testament writers were.... What did Paul say to Timothy? 'Remember that, from early childhood, you have been familiar with the sacred writings.' The New-Testament writers were familiar with the scriptures. They had allowed -- no invited -- those scriptures to address their lives.

"When -- in Romans -- Paul recounts a list of the heroes of the faith, we can go back and read those particular stories to illuminate what he was saying about faith. But that isn't what Paul did. He had read those stories so many times that they were engraved on his memory. And not those stories alone. He omitted much more than half of what he knew.

"Now, some new archaeological discovery about Jerusalem in the

"And I could read those passages asking myself what they meant to Paul, what they meant to Matthew. But that would be a sort of game, and they definitely weren't playing games with them." She'd heard enough lectures from him. Here he was offering her a date and delivering another lecture.

"Anyway, I'm talking about me. What I did was to think back on the week's study. I was on the burning bush thing then. I preached on Moses' stuttering. God chooses unlikely messengers.

"And don't bother to correct mistakes about my name. They need to learn a lot more than you can teach them in a year; prioritize. But let's get to the more interesting person in the car. How was your week?" At last! So she told him a little, if not enough, about her life.

"Where there are no eyes, there is no caste. Would you like to share a bottle of wine with this meal?" He suggested in the restaurant. He described the dishes for her comments. After all, new tastes might be ones you liked or ones you hated; you couldn't predict beforehand. "As long as you like some of it, you can eat that. My descriptions aren't going to do much good; how do you know whether you'll like the taste of seaweed if you've never eaten any?"

"That's kimchi." He pointed to the dangerous side dish. " You think my chile was hot? Try a little and have a forkfull of rice ready. Drinking water doesn't work."

She took a little, seemed to like it. She took more later.

He kept talking rather than listening, though. "We think of consonants as fixed. There is a 'K' sound, and there is a 'G' sound. Korean, however, has a sound half-way in between. Is that kimchi, or is it gimchi? Really, it is not quite either." What the hell? She, at least looked interested. He didn't have looks or youth to offer; he could offer a diversity of experience.

"Care to have some dessert at my place?" He asked her as they were leaving the restaurant. "I love Oriental food, but they don't really have desserts for the Yankee taste."

"Thank you. I'd like that." And so they headed for his apartment.

The coffee was all ready except for turning it on. After he'd done that, he came back and put their coats in the closet. Then he welcomed her, verbally at first.

"Welcome to my humble abode." The real welcome, though, involved a sweet kiss. She cooperated, opening her mouth to his tongue. Once again, he got to feel all of the body he'd spent a quarter guessing about from inadequate glimpses. Only the coffeepot kept him from stroking the delightful breasts that pressed into his chest.

"Coffee's ready. Come in there."

Along with the coffee, he offered her ice cream. She chose the chocolate fudge swirl over the lime sherbert. His kind of girl, she went for the abundance of taste. Well, he'd try to give her an abundance of sensation later on. For now, he took some ice cream, too. Really, though, what he wanted to taste was her.

And, when she'd finished the bowl, he took his taste. He stood beside her, and she got up to be kissed. The taste was delightful, and he had his hands all over her back and her bottom. He loved that, but bending over became tiresome.

"We'd be more comfortable in the living room," he said. And they were more comfortable sitting down. Besides, that way she wouldn't notice his erection. He hugged her with his right arm and stroked her with his left hand. She made no resistance, not even any formal objection.

When his watch alarm sounded, he stopped reluctantly. He did stop. though. He didn't want her regretting this date the next day.

"Nine-thirty," he told her. "We really should go. I still have to get you home, much as I've enjoyed this." She didn't say that she'd enjoyed it, too. But she didn't deny it either.

He let her use the bathroom first. When he'd used it, she was ready to go. He got into his coat and retrieved the car. On the way to Independence, they compared schedules for the next week. She sounded like the next week would be busy. On the other hand, she might be gently avoiding another date. Probably not. Meetings were listed in the bulletin. But he'd give her a chance when she wouldn't see herself in danger of being abandoned at night miles from nowhere.

"It looks like Monday or the week after. Look, I'll call you tomorrow." They parted quite circumspectly at the parsonage, He spent the first half of the drive home reliving the evening. He devoted the second half to planning. If he called for her earlier, they would have more time for kissing. Take-out would increase that time even more. Bedtime was spent on recall and anticipation of much later, more serious, dates, but he had his plans -- and alternative plans if something he suggested didn't please her -- ready before his call on Saturday.

"Independence United Methodist Church." He could understand why the Connecticut Yankee could dream of hearing 'Hello Central.' That response was a far sweeter sound than anything on the radio.

"This is David. Would Monday be too soon?"

"Monday would be fine."

"How long has it been since you had a real deep-dish pizza?"

"Far too long."

"Howsabout we pick up a pizza and eat it at my place?"

"Sounds delicious."

"Dress accordingly. Is four o'clock too early to pick you up?"

She agreed. She agreed to everything. Such an agreeable girl!

They were pastor and parishioner when he went through the line on Sunday. But they were a dating couple when he picked her up on Monday. She was wearing a warm coat but also the tight-fitting jeans he remembered from his classroom.

"My mouth has been watering ever since you suggested it." she said in the car. "This is part of my childhood."

"You a Chicago girl?"

"Better believe it! You're not." He wasn't even a Chicago boy.

"Never saw Chicago until I came here for the Ph. D. Indeed, I'm still a member of the Wyoming conference."

"You don't sound like a Westerner." He grinned. He was used to the confusion.

"Not unless you're from New England. Wyoming as in the Wyoming river, not as in the state. It's in upstate New York."

She picked a nice assortment of toppings. They drove to his apartment, and he unlocked the door. Juggling the pizza box and the keys was a little much.

"Get the key, will you?" he asked her. He put the box in the middle of the already-set table, started the coffee, and returned to collect his keys and her coat. She was wearing a sweatshirt. That both reminded him of the student wh had captured his heart and concealed her sweet shape. Well, what his eyes were denied his hands would have to discover.

The kiss was delightful and the hug afterwards was sweet. He could look forward to more after her hunger for pizza was satisfied. When the coffee announced its readiness they went into the kitchen. He poured coffee and dished up pizza.

"Want to sing the grace?" he asked. They sang "Be Present at our Table, Lord." She had a nice singing voice, which he would have guessed from her speaking voice. Then he watched her enjoy her pizza. He ate, too, but her pleasure was more enjoyable than the taste in his mouth. He fed her dessert, too. When she looked replete, he asked her if she wanted more. When she shook her head, he introduced the main event.

"Let's take the coffee out into the living room." She seemed quite agreeable. And, when he sat down beside her and began to kiss her, she kissed back.

Soon, she cooperated in his getting is hands under her sweatshirt. Her belly was smooth; her breasts felt delightful through the bra. For the longest time, he kissed her mouth and toyed with her nipples through the cloth. When he wanted to go further, she cooperated. Her bra clasp almost defeated his left hand, but she showed her willingness throughout his efforts.

"Sweet Jen, sweet, sweet Jen," he said when he was holding her naked breast at last. He caressed it, played with the nipple, gently lifted it until he was supporting the slight weight. Then he had similar pleasure with the other breast. But he needed to kiss them, too.

"Lift your arms," he said while holding her sweatshirt. When she did, he removed both shirt and bra. Then he kissed her face, down her throat, along her shoulder, and down to the near breast. All of the journey was sweet, but the destination was sweetest. Her nipple, already firm, twitched between his lips. When he licked it, she slumped back against the couch. He lay her down and knelt beside the couch.

With not the slightest protest from Jen, he kissed both breasts and the rest of her torso. He kissed her mouth while his he had a breast in each hand until the discomfort of kneeling there overcame the delight of the sensations of touch.

"Let's get more comfortable," he said. He got to his feet, braced himself, and lifted her. Getting her through the door into the bedroom without banging her against the doorframe was a struggle. But he finally set her on the bed without having done her any injury.

When he lay down beside her and kissed her, she hugged him. After that, he kissed her all over, her face, her throat. All of her was adorable, but most adorable were her breasts. When he got to one, he kissed it while holding the other. Then he kissed over her belly. He'd like to kiss lower, but that would require some doing.

So he started to complete her undressing. First her shoes and socks. Which revealed some quite kissable toes covered only by pantyhose. He took only a short detour to visit her breasts before kissing down from them towards her belt. He struggled with her belt and the waistband of her jeans while kissing her navel.

"Let me," he said when he'd undone the jeans. "Again," when those were removed. Then he slipped her pantyhose down and he had all of Jen's beauty before him. "Sweet Jen. Beautiful Jen. Delectable Jen." He could kiss only one place at a time, so he started on the thighs. Then he lay down beside her and petted her while kissing her breast.

Soon, his fingers were stroking between her labia. She was delightfully juicy there, and he stroked some of that juice up to her clitoris. She tensed, and he shifted nipples while still stroking her center. He wanted to kiss her there, but delayed until she'd had an orgasm. While she was trembling, he kissed her upper mouth once before heading for her lower one.

Delightful to feel, her secretions were delicious to taste. Her odor had him hard as a rock, but he kept enough control to keep his pants on. When his licking was rewarded by more trembling, he inserted a finger to stroke her G-spot. She responded sweetly and repeatedly.

Then, she pushed his head away. Immediately, he dropped his stimulation to lie beside her and hug her. As she came down from her excitement, he felt her relax and heard her breathing ease. The sound of her breath went from pants to gentle evenness to the unmistakable deep breath of sleep. He enjoyed holding his love in his arms until his lust drove him to find relief. A few strokes standing in front of the toilet remembering her delightful climax were enough.

When he checked the bedroom again, she gave no sign of waking. The view was delightful, but this was a girl who'd just recovered from a cold -- maybe the flu. He covered her and went out. He desperately wanted to make total love to her -- when she was awake, of course. He didn't have any contraceptives. Were drugstores open at this hour? That was only a minor part of the problem. What would she feel like if she were to wake with him gone? And what would she feel like when he returned and she found out why he had left?

He straightened up the apartment and put the dishes in the dishwasher. She had had a third piece of pizza while he had stopped at two. He now took his third. It wasn't refrigerator-cold, but it wasn't what he'd call eating temperature, either. Still, cold pizza with Jen under his roof was better than pancit all by himself. Which was an idea for another meal. He knew where he could get Filipino take-out. He sat down to grade a quiz he'd given today. He'd done his Tuesday prep already, expecting to have no time this night. He'd hear Jen when she awoke.

When he got up to use the bathroom again, he checked the time. It was after midnight! He'd been remiss. On the other hand, Jen had had some sleep; she wouldn't be a total wreck tomorrow. When he went back to his room, she looked like an angel. He went and fetched her clothes. Then he hardened his heart and shook her awake.

"Time to wake up," he told her. "I have to get you back."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly one. You've been asleep for hours." He paused to let that sink in. Had he paused too long? She looked like she was dropping off again. "I've put your clothes at the foot of the bed. Are you going to go back to sleep?"

"I'm awake."

Delighted as he would be to watch her dress, it would be certain to discomfit her. He left her there. Minutes later, she came out half-dressed and looking anxious. He pointed towards the bathroom. When she came out of the bedroom a second time, he handed her her coat and put his on. He grabbed the pizza box from the refrigerator and led her downstairs.

"Wait in here," he told her before going to the car. He drove around the block and stopped for her. "I'd have offered you a shower," he said when she was inside the car, "but I was afraid you'd catch your cold back in this weather."

He couldn't decide whether to apologize or let her go back to sleep. When the second looked unlikely, he decided on the first.

"I'm sorry," Actually, he was not the least bit sorry. He was ecstatically happy. Start over. "I got carried away." She neither accepted the apology nor rejected it. He concentrated on his driving, then, as he sometimes did when alone in the car, started to hum.

"Sing it," she said suddenly.

"Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine." The next line was appropriate for the occasion. "Oh what a foretaste of glory divine."

"Would you like to sing another?" she asked when he was done. She snuggled down in the seat while he serenaded his love with standard hymns. When he got to a place he could take his eyes off the road safely, she seemed asleep. He lowered his voice but kept singing. It wouldn't do for him to fall asleep with this precious cargo in his car. She definitely was asleep when he stopped at the parsonage. He shook her.

"Jenny, we're there." He shook her again. She stumbled out of the car and up on the porch. He put the pizza in her refrigerator and kissed her good night. "Love you. I'll call." Then he left for the long trip back.

When he dropped into bed, it retained her perfume. When the alarm woke him in the morning, however, all he had was his memories. They were so much like his previous imagination that only his obvious sleep deprivation convinced him that they were real. The sleep deprivation and the fact that his memories included so much but no intercourse. His dreams had included intercourse for the past month.

His classes didn't get the school's money's worth out of him that morning. In the afternoon, he called Jen.

"Independence United Methodist Church." He loved to hear her voice.

"David. Can you talk?"

"It rings in the parsonage, too. I'm all alone."

"No calls from the D. S. asking what you were doing being driven home after 2:30?"

"No. I think they were all asleep."

"Lucky them. This seminar isn't going to get much from me today."

"I'm sorry!"

"I'm not." Sleep-deprived, deeply infatuated, horny as hell, but far from sorry. "Look, I already know that the rest of this week is shot. Could I prevail on you for another date next Monday?

"I'd be honored."

"Same time? Maybe another nationality's cuisine?"

"What nationality is pizza anyway?" Jen asked. Good question.

"American. Chicago isn't a nationality."

"Tell Da Mare!" Jen was obviously thinking of Daley, not Byrne. "Anyway, I'd be honored."

Now, he only had to get through another six days -- five, really, since he'd see her Sunday.

First, though, he'd have to attend the Covenant UMC charge conference. He owed a report to them and a report to his home conference. David never saw any reason to write different reports; they all got copies of the same thing. Thursday, he was called on to give a verbal report at the charge-conference meeting.

"You can read the courses I've taught in the past year, if you're interested. In terms of using my ministerial credentials, I've preached at Student Church at Garrett twice. Both were communion services. I've preached elsewhere in Northern District five times. One was a communion service. I've preached in Western District once, and in Aurora District twice. One of the latter was a communion service. I've performed no baptisms this year." He had no idea why the Discipline emphasized baptism and communion in its section on special assignments, but he kept that in his report. Emery had looked at him oddly when he mentioned the Aurora district, but he just thanked him for the report and moved on. Probably Campbell, Jen's DS, had talked to him. David wondered how much time DSs spent gossiping.

Friday, he bought condoms. He would give Jen a chance to refuse intercourse, but she hadn't turned down anything he'd wanted yet. And what did he want? Her body, sure. What man wouldn't want her body? But she was more than a body -- more than sweet breasts, slender thighs, and a firm bottom. She had a mind, although she sometimes seemed afraid to use it. He'd let her get away from him once. Was he willing to let her get away from him again? And, if not, that meant marriage. UM pastors didn't really have long-term affairs outside of marriage.

Well, one step at a time. The first step was Sunday, when her handshake sent a tingle through him. The second was stashing the Trojans in both nightstands. He didn't want to fumble in the drawer while reaching across her. the third step was the call before leaving Monday.

"On for four?" he asked.

"Oh yes. Dress casual?"

"Casual is fine."

He was a few minutes early, but she was ready. They were proper going to the car, but she talked like his lover, not his pastor, when they drove away.

"Was I too demanding on the ride back?" She had demanded nothing on the ride back. She'd demanded nothing on the entire night, which was convenient, because he had been unprepared to give her what he -- at least -- had wanted to give her. "I loved your singing, but I was too out of it to think that you might strain your voice. And then I fell asleep on you."

"I kept singing. It kept me awake. How did your day go?"

"Last week? I was rather slow in the morning, but I felt wonderful. I did some hospital visits in the afternoon and perked right up by the evening meeting."

"And today?"

"Great" she said. "I had this to look forward to." Which was nice to hear.

He'd ordered the food earlier, and it was waiting for them. He paid and drove to the apartment. The closest parking spot wasn't all that close. Again she gathered his keys and shut the door while he was putting the food down and turning the coffee on. He came back in time to help her off with her coat. The outfit was stunning.

"If that's casual," he told her, "I'm one of the casualties."

"It's old."

The kiss was sweet, and he could feel an extra softness against his chest. She'd come braless! He was seriously tempted to skip the dinner and drag her to bed. Luckily, the coffee maker recalled him to his responsibilities.

"Taste each," he said after he'd dished her out a sample of each. "Take as much as you want for seconds."

"Chicken adobo," he told her about her first choice.

"I'm glad you waited until after I'd tasted it. It tastes delicious, but 'adobe' doesn't sound appetizing."

"Adobo is different. I think the names are a coincidence.

Now that," she'd got to his favorite, "is pancit. The Greek gods ate ambrosia 'cause nobody on Mount Olympus could make pancit." Then he stopped jabbering to watch her enjoy her meal. The girl enjoyed food --enjoyed life. And she was such a pleasure to watch

"Want dessert?" he asked at the end.

"No. Want me to take the coffee while you clean up?"

"That would be kind of you." But, when he'd put the food in the refrigerator and the dishes in the sink, she wasn't in the living room.

"Jen," he called, close to panic. When he looked around, though, she was in the bedroom, sitting on his bed. Well, that answered a lot of questions, avoided a lot of negotiation, and saved him a trip carrying her delightful -- but hard-to-maneuver -- weight. He got into the other side of the bed and nodded towards the cup on that nightstand.

"My cup?"

"Yeah."

My woman? But it was too early to ask that question. He kissed her, first. Their tongues met. He stroked one breast through the dress and reached around to touch the other one. His hand was on bare flesh, but not quite the peak. He kissed her face until she pulled her mouth from his lips. Then he indicated her dress.

"Don't want to get this wrinkled." She cooperated with the removal. Then he had both lovely breasts to kiss. Leaving dessert to last, he spent a long time on the smoothness until he couldn't resist the peaks. He licked and sucked each nipple in turn. His hand strayed lower as his mouth went higher.

His tongue played with hers as his hand caressed her thigh. She spread her legs for that. The delightful girl was giving him cooperation instead of a tussle. He caressed both thighs through the panty hose some more, then stroked upwards toward their junction. His mouth returned to her breasts as he stroked her through her panties. Still, he wanted even more intimacy.

"These are lovely," he said of her lacy panties, "but aren't they in the way just now?" She raised her middle for him to take her panties off, and again for him to roll down her pantyhose. Every revelation of her skin looked delightful, but the contrast with his clothes made him feel exploitative. He stripped his top. No reason for her to see his erection.

This kiss was especially delightful, her breasts pressed against his chest as her lips pressed against his. Then he kissed down to her breast as he stroked down to her now-bare mound. He managed to resist the nipple while he could concentrate in the delight of feeling the dampness of her labia. She was enjoying this, too. Indeed, when he sucked her nipple while stroking over her clit, she gasped.

"Lovely Jen," he said. "Delightful Jen." She was delightful, responsive as she was lovely. As he continued licking and stroking her, he felt her belly tauten under his arm. That should feel even better under his lips. He kissed down in that direction. It did feel and taste delightful, but further progress required a major sift in position.

Jen didn't try to stop him as he moved between her legs. Of course, he was wearing his trousers at the time. But he got whiffs of her arousing aroma as he kissed one thigh and then the other, but always upwards. When his tongue parted her lips, the taste was even better than the scent.

Her belly was inches from his eyes. He could see her breathe and watch her abdomen tense as he licked her sweetness from her lower lips and up to her clit. Even so, he was surprised when her mound shoved up against his face. He put a hand on her hipbone to warn him. Then he licked her through a long series of spasms. He sucked her clit gently while she gasped.

When she collapsed, he lay back down beside her. He fumbled in the night-stand drawer for a moment for the Trojan. He held it in one hand while hugging her with the other arm. When her breath evened, he held the Trojan where she could see it -- couldn't avoid seeing it.

"Jen, sweet Jen," he crooned. "Jen, lovely Jennifer, say yes." For the longest time, she didn't. But she didn't say no, either.

"Yes," she finally said. "Yes, David, oh yes!"

On his back, he stripped off trousers and shorts. Then he opened and applied the Trojan. Kneeling between her legs, he kissed her sweet breasts once more. Then he got into position.

"Oh Jen!" Then he was inside her sweetness. Even through the rubber, he felt the smooth glide of her walls around him. Fully in her, absorbing her warmth, he shifted so he could hold a soft breast in each hand. "Sweet Jen," he murmured before his rising passion forced him to move. He paused at the top of his strokes to enjoy the clasp of her lips around his tip, paused at the bottom to enjoy being fully embraced by her warmth. Engulfed, he would shift sideways to enjoy another sort of friction. Then he would begin another stroke.

And she welcomed him. Not only her warmth surrounded his cock. Her arms held him as his chest brushed over her firm, responsive, nipples. Her legs came up to clasp his hips, and she crossed her ankles behind him.

As his desire accelerated his pace, she responded. Her feet dropped to the mattress, and her loins thrust up against his on every down stroke. Her sweet, soft, hands turned to claws scratching his shoulders. When he was gritting his teeth holding himself back, desperately certain he could not for three more strokes, he no longer had too!

She threw herself against him even more strongly. Then he felt her contract around his retreating cock. He drove in more strongly as he felt her spasms around him.

"Oh," she cried. Then, with a final thrust of his legs, his spasms joined hers. He was rigid over her rigidity as he pulsed his life into her.

Then, he was limp over her limpness. He finally managed to roll them over. He came out. Sometime later, he realized he'd come out of the Trojan. He reached back to her center to remove it.

"Oops. Shouldn't matter. Some might have spilled out of this end, but it couldn't get into you. You're delightful. Give me another minute to get my breath back, and I want to kiss you again." In lieu of that kiss, he captured a hand to kiss.

What got him moving was a complaining bladder. He returned to the bed to do the real kissing. Jen let him, but she had to go to the bathroom, too. He loved watching her bottom flex as she walked away. Probably, she didn't enjoy the exhibition as much as he enjoyed the sight. Love was supposed to be serving the other's desires, not just your own. He better get something for her. Only his robe was available. He brought it to the bathroom door and knocked.

"I'm leaving a robe hanging on the doorknob," he said. "It's mine; sorry." He brought his clothes into the kitchen. While he was dressing, he heard her dainty footsteps return to the bedroom. When he was done, he sat down. She came in fully dressed. He rose, kissed her, turned her around to kiss her throat while his hands could cup her breasts.

"We have a while, yet," he told her. "You could have more food, or the ice cream, or we could stand like this." When she didn't say anything, he continued to pet her. But he couldn't keep his mouth closed.

"I should apologize for the time mess last week. I didn't know what to do. I'd never expected it to go that far."

"Tonight surprised you?" She didn't sound like it had surprised her. She was leaning with her back against his chest and letting his hands take their pleasure.

"Can't claim that it did. The depths of the pleasure, sure. Your beauty is always a surprise. Not that you are beautiful, I've known that since I first wore glasses to class. But the extent of your beauty. Even when I've seen it earlier, that is always a surprise. Anyway, the extent of your beauty might be a surprise, the depth of my pleasure might be a surprise. But the basic outline of our activities has been my dream for a week. I had to make a purchase, after all. This evening was lovely. Last week was lovely too; it's just that it was something I hadn't anticipated."

"Well, I didn't anticipate it, either," she replied. They stood companionably until his watch alarm rang. When she straightened, he turned it off.

"Nine-thirty," he told her. "We really have to go soon if we are going to get you back before midnight. Want some of the leftovers for lunch?" She declined. They had one last kiss before bundling up. Downstairs, she waited inside until he had the car in front of the door. She walked towards him before he got the door open. They said nothing while he drove. Well, what was he waiting for? Still, this wasn't quite the time for a proposal. Earlier perhaps, in the apartment. And he had one more step to make.

"Do you want me to lower the heater a bit?" Which avoided the subject entirely.

"A bit."

"Look, what does this Saturday look like? Do you think you could give me a good block of time? Can you finish sermon prep by Friday?"

"I think so. Is that an invitation?"

"Not a very specific one, I'm afraid. I'll call you in a day or so." She said nothing about Saturday. After a while, he changed the subject: "If nothing comes up, I ought to get you back home by midnight. Don't want your people mad at me."

"Seems to me you take more effort being ingratiating with a bunch of people who have no power over you than you did with your students and fellow faculty members."

"Ah, but they do have power over me. I don't want to be a drag on you."

"I'm less careful."

"That's you. If you offend them, and offending is one part of the job-description for a preacher, then that was your decision. I just don't want to be a drag on you."

"And if you offend? That's your decision. But I'm surprised that you didn't get in trouble over the Schweitzer game."

"Well, a student took it up with another professor."

"Craig?"

"He didn't say. I didn't ask. Besides, I can't remember Craig. The only way you can keep track of present students is to forget the former ones."

"You remembered me."

"That's different. You're special. I'd have noticed you passing in the street. Anyway, was Craig one of the fundies? The guy who complained was a fundy."

"Huh?"

"I was surprised too. So was the professor he went to. He explained that -- whatever my manifold sins from his perspective -- this particular scheme was aimed at The Jesus Project. Anyway, he had to break it to the kid that there was no way to discipline me for not believing in inerrancy -- not at Garrett. Really, the admissions office should weed out kids with that low a reading comprehension."

"That low?"

"He thought I was asking what passages should be kept in the Gospels," he explained. "Wasn't the question on the sheet clear?"

"It was clear to me."

"Editing the Gospels isn't my business."

"You don't seem to like any cutting. The first sermon I ever heard you preach was off the lectionary. The very first part of Luke."

"Well, the lectionary is a different matter. If you follow the lectionary, your congregation hears a good solid chunk of the Bible over three years. In general, I'm suspicious of pastors who don't follow it. Their congregations are likely to hear only a few passages."

"That's assuming they come between Easters."

"That's assuming they come every week, or -- at least -- on a regular basis. If they only come on Easter, they'll only hear one story, but -- if they can only hear one story -- the Resurrection story is the one to hear."

"But you don't consider yourself bound to the lectionary."

"I'm not bound to it; I don't preach often enough; I don't have a congregation which needs to hear the whole thing. Give me a little warning, though, and I'll preach on the lectionary when I'm substituting."

"Sorry!"

"I wasn't thinking of you. I do a little substitute preaching. Anyway, you didn't get sick to stick me with an impossible assignment.

"Anyway," he continued, "I don't believe in dropping the lectionary to preach every week to the same people on your few favorite passages. On the other hand, I don't see where the committee's neglecting a passage means that should never be heard. A few of the lists in the Old Testament, maybe; Paul's personal greetings to individuals, though I might try one of those on a bet; but there isn't a passage in the Gospels which isn't worth a sermon."

"Matthew's genealogy of Jesus?" she asked after a minute.

"You won't believe this." And he told her the story of preaching on Jesus and his stepfather. Okay, it was bragging, and Jen caught that.

"You're proud of that, aren't you? David can preach from any text." Okay, he was bragging. But, also, he was setting a standard. You should be able to preach from any text. The next time Jen looked at the lectionary passages without any inspiration, she'd look at them again. Jen was that competitive, at least. "Want to preach my sermon Sunday?" she continued. "A nice passage from Leviticus on the kosher laws?"

"Not this Sunday, thank you." He had other business than planning a sermon this week. "That what you're going to preach on? I haven't looked at this week's lectionary." When she was silent, he thought of another pleasure he could give her.

"Want another hymn?"

"Oh yes!"

So he sang her four hymns. He was afraid he'd put her to sleep, but she got out of the car under her own steam at the parsonage. She invited him in, but he'd left the Trojans at home. Anyway, they should be circumspect in Independence.

"I'll call," he told her when he left. Before he did, he had matters to deal with. That night, he listed jewelers from the Yellow Pages.

First thing in the morning, he contacted his mutual fund. That money was for emergencies and opportunities, and this was an opportunity. Most of the balance would be deposited in his bank account the next day. Then he contacted his credit card companies to find out his current limit, and if they would extend it by the amount of a cash deposit. Everyone told him that electronic transfer of funds was quite acceptable.

After his first class, he drove to the jewelers he'd found listed The second one he tried took MasterCard and had a selection of which he approved. Now would Jen approve? Would Jen even accept? But the jeweler was understanding.

"It's part of the business of selling engagement rings. Call and make an appointment, like you suggested. If the woman turns you down, let me know that you can't make the appointment. You know what my business would be like if I only sold to people who intended to wear the themselves?"

He got his body, if not much of his mind, back to Evanston in time for the seminar.

Wednesday, after the first class, he called Jen.

"This is David," he said. "I want to thank you for our last date.

"I was wondering if I could have your company again on Saturday? Would one o'clock at the parsonage work for you? That would mean a late lunch, can you manage until two?"

"You don't have to feed me."

"I do if I want your company for the meal. Anyway, I have to feed myself. I want your company for most of the afternoon, and that fits my schedule. Does it fit yours? I don't want to impose."

"It can fit my schedule as well. I'll just have to do sermon prep and hospital visits earlier."

"Thanks."

"Why don't you make it one o'clock at the church instead? Would that be a problem?"

"One o'clock at the church." Now, he had all her acceptances but the important one. He called the jeweler to set up the appointment.

Thursday, he bought a robe and slippers for Jen. She'd been cute in his robe, but it looked like two of her could have fit in. Still, the slippers were a problem. Slippers came in sizes and 'dainty' wasn't a size.

He rehearsed his speech in the car going to the church, but it seemed to require more context every time he went over it. Maybe it didn't require that context; maybe he was afraid of her answer. If she wasn't ready for marriage, would she go on like this? Maybe if she wasn't ready for marriage, but what if she were ready for the married state, but not with him. After all, he was not the easiest guy in the world to get along with.

Jen was ready when he got to the church. First stop was a restaurant on the expressway. Going there and eating there didn't seem the right time for a conversation which would decide his whole future, hers too, if her answer was yes.

On the other hand, he couldn't drive her up to a jewelers and ask her to select an engagement ring she thought looked nice. He'd always thought himself brave, if not physically then intellectually. He'd dueled distinguished scholars with contradicting papers, stood up to faculty committees, told a board of trustees who thought they were Baptists that they were in charge of keeping the building repaired, not of running the congregation. Now, he needed to talk to the sweetest woman in the world, one who had never contradicted him. And he was scared shitless. Well, it was time to begin.

"Look," he began when they were on the expressway and moving with the scant traffic, "I was attracted to you long ago. Maybe it was all physical back then. Since then, I've gotten to know you. And I like what I've gotten to know." Which wasn't really getting anywhere. But, at least, he was on the subject at last.

"I think this attraction is mutual," he continued, maybe not as great, but you seem to like me, too."

"Of course, I like you," said Jen. Well, if not a surprise, it was a good start.

"You've done all the marriage counseling thing, taken the courses and all that, done some counseling yourself this year." Which was yet another context.

"Yes."

"You know that attraction isn't the be-all and end-all. But it's a great start -- maybe a necessary start."

"Yes," She paused, then maybe changed the subject. "David, didn't you once say that one should get to the central point of a paper by the second paragraph, first paragraph, preferably?"

"Yeah. So what's my point? Is that what you're asking?"

"That's what I'm asking."

"Jen, would you marry me?"

"Do you mean would I possibly consider it? Or is that a proposal?" Now that he'd asked the question, he hadn't asked it clearly.

"It was supposed to be a proposal. I'm doing this really badly."

"Well, I would possibly consider it. And, since that was supposed to be a proposal, this is supposed to be an acceptance."

"Good. When we've picked out the ring, I'll ask you in better form. So long as you say yes, I don't care how many times I have to ask. I may just do it every day for practice."

"And when will we be picking out the ring?"

"That's where we're going. I made an appointment with a Chicago jeweler. Sorry I didn't warn you, but I couldn't. I did this badly enough anyway."

"That's all right." She was so accepting. A girl deserved a romantic and eloquent proposal, and she hadn't had one. But she had accepted more than his clumsy speech. She had accepted him! When he noticed that the car was overtaking others, he checked the speedometer. He was going way too fast in his happiness. He slowed down to legal speed.

The jeweler had several sets on hand within his price range. The price tags were off, and all of them were three-ring sets.

"That's not for you to worry about," he told her when she asked the price. "You want to consider what it would look like on your finger for the rest of your life. If you want time to think, that's fine. Just look now." But Jen was decisive. She settled on one almost immediately. She had only one question.

"You're sure you want to wear a ring?" He'd thought of this as an offer, but he'd not spelled it out.

"If it means I'm married to Jen, it will make me proud."

It turned out that her choice was significantly below his limit. That was just as well, he would still have a honeymoon to pay for. When the rings were theirs, he took the engagement ring in his hand.

"Jennifer Saunders, will you marry me?" The question was easy when he wasn't panicked over the answer.

"David Blake, I will."

He put the ring on her finger, and they were officially engaged. They each took a box with the other's ring in it. Back in the car, the engaged couple had no appointments.

"What do you want to do with the rest of the evening?" he asked her. "I'll admit that this was my priority. I'll drive you back, if you want. Still, I'd rather have a date with you. I haven't had a date with my fiancee, yet. Would you rather go out to eat? Would you rather take out something and eat at my place."

"I'm not really dressed for a fancy restaurant," she said, "and we did eat lunch late."

"Want to go back to my place? I'm a little nervous walking around with the band in my pocket. We can plan the rest of the evening there." And they could spend the rest of the evening there. Indeed, the afternoon wasn't dead yet.

"Let's."

They were in no rush, he reminded himself. they got out of their coats and he hung them up before they had their first kiss. That went on and on, her hands were on his bottom as his were on hers. When they broke, he invited her into the kitchen while he prepared the coffee. While it was brewing, he renewed the kiss. Then he held her breasts in his hands while his leg was pressed against her bottom.

"You liked those better without the bra?" she asked.

"Yes," he admitted. "I liked them even better without the dress. Still, this is nice, too. I even like the way you look with your hair cut."

"But better with it long. I had it long enough to sit on in college. You'd have loved that." He would have loved that.

"Sweeping the ground when you walk." As long as they were talking dreams.

"Gee, thanks! It was hard enough to care for when it was half that length." She was no longer talking dreams. "I can imagine combing dirt and twigs out of it every night."

"Well, I said I like how you look now. I wasn't talking aboutpracticalities, I was talking about looks. I like the way you're dressed now; I liked the way you were dressed Monday better; and I liked the way you were dressed Monday in the bedroom best of all. Still, I wouldn't suggest you go out in this weather without a coat."

"I'll forgive you." And, the forgiveness must entitle him to a kiss. He kissed one ear and then the other. The coffee was ready before they could get more serious. That was all right; they had time for both coffee and seriousness. When he poured the coffee, he thought of other resources.

"There still is ice cream in the freezer. Don't want you to spoil your dinner, but you could have a bowl."

"'Spoil your dinner.' You sound like my mother."

"At the risk of being repetitive, do you want me to get a pizza?" That as the cheapest take-out. They really should celebrate their engagement. On the other hand, she'd expressed more pleasure over the pizza than over the fancier meals.

"Pizza? Did the man say pizza? I might propose." He'd guessed right.

"Can't. You're wearing an engagement ring. What sort of topping?" He consulted the take-out menu. "Green peppers?"

"Yes."

"Mushrooms?"

"Mmm," she said, "mushrooms."

"Anchovies?"

"Are you going to read me the whole list?"

"Why not?"

"Pepperoni. That should be enough."

"And cheese?" he asked.

"And cheese," she agreed. "Isn't a pizza without cheese."

"Cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms, green peppers. Sounds like a heartburn special."

"Now you do sound like my mother. A heartburn special would have to include hot peppers and onions."

"Want them?"

"Heavens no," she said. She was eating the ice cream. They had lots of time, and he had an idea for the sherbert she hadn't cared for. But he wasn't finished with the pizza order.

"Deep dish?"

"Is there another kind?"

"There is on the menu." That handled the dinner, but maybe they could manage to entertain themselves before dinner time. "If I wanted to really sound like your mother, I'd send you to bed without your supper."

"I'm willing," she said when she'd decoded the invitation.

He held out a hand to her. She took it, and he helped her to her feet. They had a delightful kiss before he led her into the bedroom and another there. That might be a lesser pleasure, but it was one he'd denied himself far too long. Then she sat while he removed shoes and socks. If she were ready for bed, the bed was not ready for her. He took care of that before gesturing for her to rise for another kiss.

This one was equally sweet, but he had to bend too far. Jen was shorter without shoes. During the kiss, he explored her dress. It had a zipper that he pulled down to her sweet bottom and a hook at the neck he hadn't expected. Well, one of the things marriage would teach him was how Jen's clothes fastened, or -- at least -- unfastened. He knew more about bras. When he had opened both, he stepped back for her to remove them properly. She handed them to him, and he placed them on the chair on the other side of the bed. He had to bend even more to kiss her breasts, but the experience was worth it.

"Lovely." he said. "See, you look even better this way."

"They aren't too small?" Jen could find so many deficiencies where he only saw perfection.

He tried to get one in his mouth. It wouldn't fit. He tried the other, just in case -- not at all because he liked the sensation. It didn't fit, either. "They're too big to fit. What more do you want?"

"I want you to do that again." Well, he was duty-bound to please his fiancee. He kissed them again, quite thoroughly. The nipples were so responsive when he licked them!

Kneeling before her, he removed her panties. Then he started her pantyhose down. That revealed her pubic hair in its naked glory. He kissed it.

"See," he pointed out, "your hair doesn't have to be long for me to love it." Then, practicalities intervened. "I think, though, that this would work better if you were sitting down." It did. And, when the pantyhose were gone, there was a whole new section of Jen to kiss. He kissed a line up her leg until she blocked him by closing her thighs. "I think you were sent to bed," he said. She got into bed. She was wearing only her watch and the engagement ring. Suddenly, he thought this was too much.

"Do you want to remove your watch?" When she did, there was only Jen and his claim on her. He almost came in his pants at the sight. He kissed that hand. He lay his glasses on the nightstand before joining her in bed. There, they had another kiss her tongue tasted delightfully sweet. He kissed a line down to one breast, across to the other, and then back to her mouth again.

He held her sweet breast while he caught his breath. Then he kissed and licked another line down her throat. She writhed at that. What he could see of that writhe looked delightful but he regretted removing his glasses. His sight of her loins was fuzzy. When his kisses got to her breast, he smoothed his hand down over her belly to her pubic hair. He played with that as long as he could resist going further. When he did, she was moist for him. She interrupted his enjoyment of this moisture by gripping his shoulders. He stopped his motions, but removed neither hand nor mouth.

"You're still dressed," she said.

"Ihm hihm." It was early days, yet. He'd love to bury himself in her and flood her with his release. On the other hand, he could only do that once a night. Oh, well. He could afford an engagement ring at 36. He couldn't have even afforded an apartment at 16. And Jen would have been what back then? Grade school, maybe even kindergarten. They'd definitely met in the right decade, even if he had less sexual stamina now. for that matter, he now had some skills to make up for his lost stamina. So he tried to use his skills.

As he stroked between her labia, he switched breasts. Jen relaxed to accept his ministrations. She was going to get pizza tonight; he was entitled to his dining choice, as well. He moved between her legs to access it. When he began kissing one thigh a little above the knee, Jen spread her legs and bent them. Delightful girl! She was so open in her acceptance of his attentions. He teased himself, maybe both of them, with a slow approach that occasionally switched legs.

When he got to her labia, the taste was as sweet as he'd expected. When she pulled his head against her, he stroked up her torso to her breasts. He played with her nipples. He licked her open and lapped up the sweetness. He licked to his left; he licked to his right; he licked up the groove between. Every time his tongue crossed her clitoris, her she pulled harder on his hair. When she did that, he rubbed her outer labia with his chin. But he needed a rest, and she'd enjoy it more if the build-up lasted a minute longer. He turned his head to kiss her thigh. He cupped each breast with a hand. The lady seemed to grow impatient if her assault on his head was any indication. Damn! It was great to feel wanted.

"Sweet Jen," he said. "Sweet, sweet, Jennifer and her special sweetness." The taste was only part of that sweetness; her willingness to express desire for him was another. And, in response to the second sweetness, he resumed tasting the first. He played with her breasts again, feeling the stiffness of the nipples as he drew his fingers lightly over them. But he was also conscious of the tautness of her belly under his arms and how the rise their demonstrated slighter and more frequent breaths. When he thought she was nearly there, he kissed her clitoral area and sucked.

He'd been right! The tension under his arms was of a radically new form. She shuddered beneath his mouth. He kept licking her and stroking her nipples as the shudders turned to rhythmic contractions. He remembered the first time in his apartment, when she'd slept forever. So, when she arched up into his face, he broke contact.

Soon, she relaxed. She was going to sleep again. He covered her carefully. She looked so sweet in his bed.

"Guten abend, gute nacht, mit rosen bedacht...." He sang the lullaby through twice. By that time, she was asleep. He visited the bathroom to use the facilities and to wash hands and face. It was a shame to remove Jen's sweet odor, but he was going out. He didn't want another man smelling her private scent. That would be his monopoly, his as long as they both shall live.

He called the pizza place to give his order. He left a note for Jen on the kitchen table: "Love you. Gone for pizza. Love you."

She hadn't stirred when he got back. He set the table, dished the pizza, poured the wine. She looked so sweet sleeping: too sweet to wake, but much too sweet to deprive of her pizza. He washed his hands again, not that Jen was likely to object to pizza on hands which touched her. He got out the robe and slippers. Then he shook her gently, then not so gently.

"Jen! Jen, wake up! It's dinner time. Pizza's here!" She woke slowly. Poor girl probably needed her sleep. He was sure she hadn't cut back any pastoral work to make time for dates, which meant she probably cut back on her sleep. "I have something for you. Look." He was held out the robe. "And slippers. I figured that you needed to keep your feet warm." They looked nicer when she was in them. He told her so when she got back from the bathroom.

"You look delightful. Want to eat dressed like that?"

"I have to go with you to get the pizza." Jen had no idea of how long she'd been asleep.

"It's in the kitchen." She went with him to the kitchen to see. She looked around but didn't sit down.

"How long did I sleep?"

"Little more than an hour. Hungry?"

"Yes. Should I dress? Did you get the wine on the same trip?"

"I already had the wine. Not opened in case you'd want to eat something else. You are dressed, darling."

"Did you buy the robe and slippers especially for me?"

"Yep. Hope the slippers fit."

"Actually, they're a little small."

"Good!" She seemed to like all his sexual advances, but knowing that she was willing to say that something was wrong made that more believable. "You have a petite build, but the slippers looked awfully tiny when I compared them to my feet. Can you wear them tonight?"

"Sure. Slippers aren't that size-dependent."

They sang "Be present at our table, Lord . . . ," and sat down.

"Delicious," she said after her first bite of pizza.

"So you are, but it's not modest to say so." Then he got serious. "You need to plan how you're going to tell your congregation. Merely wearing a ring and waiting for people to notice might work for some women, but it's probably not what you want."

"And how are you going to handle your end?"

"I'm not. Oh, I'll tell my family. Basically, though, I plan to let this year's supply of students depart thinking I'll always be an old bachelor, and next year's supply come to class to see a man who looks like he's been married forever. Not that many students check you out to see whether you're wearing a ring. Especially men teachers."

"A long engagement?" she asked.

"You're in charge of schedule -- within reason. It should be obvious, though, that if you want a decent honeymoon you'll have to wait 'til the end of school. Of course, we could marry earlier and just take a vacation when we can both get off. Honeymoon's are a tradition, they aren't an essential part of marriage.

"Look, there is what David wants, and what Jen wants, and what David's situation requires, and what Jen's situation requires. My bottom line was satisfied when you said you'd marry me. I might have preferences besides, but I don't have other requirements. You are going to find that your situation lays a lot more demands. I'm just looking ahead at some of them. Your congregation is going to expect that their church is the scene of the wedding. Your parents might well expect otherwise. I'm not being demanding; I'm exercising forethought. I've had more time to look at what this will mean, after all."

"How long have you known you would propose?"

"Known? Not long. We couldn't get married without knowing we were sexually compatible, could we?" Not really the reason he'd dithered, but -- even now -- he didn't want to lay out the reasons she shouldn't marry him. "Been considering it? Not as long as I should have. I'll swear that I wasn't thinking about marriage when I first looked up what church you'd been assigned to. It was nowhere in my mind those first lunches. Now, looking back, it should have been. I couldn't let this girl go out of my life; I had to see her again -- and again and again. So how else could I keep her in my life? When you think of it, I was an idiot for not seeing that.

"On the other hand, dreaming of kissing you was frustrating enough. If I had been thinking of marriage back then, I'd have driven myself crazy. There were too many obstacles."

"So all of this was a plot?"

"Well, no. That's what I just said. Or, and in one manner it was, it was horribly done. I just wanted to see you again. Then I wanted to take you out. Then -- well really not then -- I wanted to kiss you. I'd wanted to kiss you much earlier, but I never thought I'd be able. And asking your pastor out for lunch is easy enough; dozens of families in your church do it. Kissing a woman you've taken to lunch is easy enough; she might not like it, but she likes you enough to go on a lunch date. It isn't as if it's a great step. Kissing a woman you've taken to lunch because she's your pastor is impossible."

"Well, when you hid your feelings, I couldn't respond to them." What had happened to liberated women and sexual equality?

"And if I had stated them explicitly, it would have been sexual harassment." Then he laughed.

"You can't guess what I'm working on now, though." He could finally see how he'd sublimated his interest in marrying Jen when his common sense would have told him it was impossible.

"What?"

"A book on Paul's views on marriage. A fairly ambitious one. The nature of marriage in the Hellenistic society of his audience, in the Roman law which more-or-less controlled them, in the Old-Testament background and contemporary practices of Palestinian Jews. Then Paul's admonitions in light of those practices. I'm not dealing with one Letter, nor with what he says on other subjects in the Letters I mention. I didn't see the connection 'til just now. It's a fair question, an important segment of his teaching. I'm obsessing over an ex-student I'll never see again, and I -- just coincidentally -- set out to investigate what Paul says about marriage. So, I wasn't consciously thinking of marrying you until fairly recently."

After a long pause which he'd thought was her thinking about what he'd said, she asked, "could you cut one of those slices in half?" He could and did. While she was eating it, he filled their cups and dished out a little sherbert. He'd been thinking of a use for the sherbert for some time.

"Let's adjourn to the bedroom," he said when she was finishing. He took his coffee and the bowl with him. She brought her coffee and wine. They set their servings down on opposite nightstands. They shared a kiss. As a married couple, they would probably each undress oneself. This was too new, though, for that practicality. He undid the sash of her robe, started to remove it. She began on his shirt. When she'd done what she could, he stepped back and removed shirt and undershirt.

This kiss was even better. Her soft breasts were pressed into his chest, and he could feel her skin everywhere they touched. Each hand held a cheek of her lovely bottom. He caressed upwards until they held her breasts. When she stepped back, he folded the sheet down again. She lay on the bed, her head on the only pillow. He'd not made all the purchases he should have.

"I'll have to get another pillow. I used to imagine you in this bed, but I considered those daydreams. I didn't prepare for it."

As he kissed her one more time, he got the sherbert. He dripped some of the just-melted sherbert from the spoon onto her breast. Some of it missed, but landed on skin that he was quite willing to kiss.

"Hey!" lovely Jen said.

"Sorry," He bent to lick and kiss up the spills. Lime sherbert had never tasted so good. And the bit on her nipple tasted even better. He reached for the bowl to continue his dessert.

"No way!" said Jen. "I don't want to catch cold again." Well, she had a point there, which made three. Besides, this was about them, not about David. Anyway, if she objected to this, her lack of objections to other sexual activities meant that she had enjoyed them.

"Okay." He kissed her mouth again. Then he kissed all over her face and down her throat. He continued on to her breasts. From her near breast, he kissed a line to the far one. He took enough detours to make sure that all the sherbert was gone from her skin. That nipple, which -- after all -- had been chilled by the sherbert, deserved to get warmer. By the time his mouth left it, it felt positively hot. Then he returned to the near breast.

When he kissed her mouth again, Jen unbuckled his belt. He could do it aster, but her actions were far sexier than any he'd ever achieved. When his pants puddled around his knees, though, he got up and stripped. He was wearing only his watch when he knelt again between her legs. He had started kissing a line from just above her knee to her lower lips when Jen intervened.

"I," she said, "want you in me." Her expressing an idea with which he agreed so enthusiastically was a great omen for their upcoming marriage.

"Yes," he said. "Soon." He sped up the line of kisses and extended it to her breast without any pause at her center. When he was there, he could support himself on one hand and his knees while he dug in the nightstand drawer for a Trojan. When he got it in his hand, he returned to her center by way of her navel. Meanwhile, he was tearing the packet open as soon as his balance didn't require one hand on the bed. He put the Trojan on with his right hand while his left played with her labia and clitoris. When he was satisfied that the contraceptive was in place, he supported himself with both hands while he kissed and licked her lower lips. She was close; he heard her gasp when he first licked her clit. He raised his head to speak. "Like that?"

"Oh yes," she answered. Let's see what more she would like. He returned to her labia, giving each a separate lick. Then he licked the groove until he reached her little red bud. He could feel her tensing under his face, but he could no longer resist his own tension. He was moving up her body as she spoke.

"Now, David."

"Now!" And it was now, and it was here. He slid into her warmth, feeling her contain him and embrace his entire length. "I love you, Jen," he said when he had pierced her as fully as he could go. He rocked from side to side, but his passion drove him to the primeval in-and-out motion. His chest slid over her firm nipples as he moved. She hugged him with arms and legs. She hugged him more deeply where he was moving in her. She was adorable, and he had to express it.

"Love," he told her. Almost as if in agreement, she clutched around him. Her face looked pained, but her vagina was clutching around him. He took two more strokes through those sweet contractions. Then some force drove him deep into her where he pulsed and pulsed. He lay on soft, sweet, uncomplaining Jen until he could gather enough energy to roll over. This he did holding the Trojan on his shrinking penis. He hugged her with one arm until he could gather the energy to do more.

He tossed the Trojan towards the waste basket. He'd have to keep that closer to the bed if he wanted to entertain Jen again without leaving a mess on the carpet. When he pulled up the covers, Jen turned towards him. They shared a hug. Too bad they couldn't stay like this, but there was a cold, cruel, world out there.

"Sweet Jen," he said after he got up. "I have to get you back. You'll want to call your staff-parish committee. Do you want a shower?"

"Please." She took one while he got dressed. In the kitchen, he put the other half of her last slice on his plate. He'd take the pizza to her parsonage; the wine would stay here. No alcohol on UM property. When Jen came into the kitchen, dressed and smelling delightful, they shared a chaste kiss.

"Look," he said when they were in the car and on the expressway, "we really are embarking on two activities. One is a wedding; one is a marriage. I'm available for planning the first, but I expect that you'll have others better equipped to do that. The one decision I sort of forced on you was that I would wear a ring. Sorry about that; I saw it more as something I was offering you. If it bugs you, tell me. I want anybody who's interested to see that you are off the market. I really want that. I think it's only fair to show that I'm off the market, too. Students don't matter, as I said, they know their teacher is unavailable to them. Present company excepted, of course."

"You aren't going to wear the ring in class?" she asked. Why?

"I'll wear it everywhere. It's not as if chalk qualifies as dangerous machinery. I doubt that they'll look. Anyway, I only brought up the ring because it's something I pushed into the wedding. Both rings, actually, though yours is fairly universal. You know what I mean. Anyway, I probably have other things I'm assuming about the wedding. If you really want something absolutely non-traditional, that's negotiable. If you want something that's a variable within the tradition, that's your decision. I only need to be told if you need me to do something. And, as I said before, 'your decision' doesn't mean 'your desires.' Some other people will have expectations, as well. But, even here, those are your decisions. Making them happy will help your career." He was talking too much, but this was necessary. And more was necessary, too.

"That's the wedding," he continued. "Now, as to the marriage, you may not have noticed, but you are engaged to one opinionated son of a bitch. My only saving grace is that I know I'm an opinionated son of a bitch. I want some things for the marriage; I think marriages are a certain way. You've done enough counseling -- hell, your courses should have pointed this out -- to know that the second bit is more of a problem than the first. Anyway, we'll have to decide all sorts of things. Don't accept something 'cause I feel strongly about it. I feel strongly about everything. And one thing I feel strongly about is that I want this to make you happy."

"Well, I notice that you waited until after I'd accepted to say that."

"Well, yes." She should be able to see the negatives of being married to him, but he was damned if he was going to point them out in his proposal.

"But I'd already figured out that you have strong opinions."

"And the only way to deal with that is to have strong opinions of your own and let me know them."

"Word on you back at the seminary is that you don't take off for arguing with you."

"Take off? I hope not. That's called 'participation in class.' Well... some arguments aren't. Even so, if I get off on a tangent, a student's following me along the tangent is not the sort of mistake I can take off points for.

"And one problem is," to get back to the subject of marriage, "that I have strong opinions -- not exclusively, but especially -- in your field. If -- no when -- I tell you that you are doing something wrong in the church, remind me that you are the one appointed to be the pastor."

"I asked you for feedback on my sermon once; you wouldn't give it to me."

"I gave you feedback. There are all sorts of things you could improve, obviously. There always are. There will be for the rest of your life. The one thing, though, that you need to realize is that you already do a good job. Polishing, everybody can do. I'll help you with your tuckpointing; you don't need a gut rehab. Pardon my metaphor."

"I'll pardon it. It speaks."

"Now I'm doing it again. Do you want to continue as a Methodist preacher?"

"Yes."

"Good. I wasn't saying you had to. I was assuming you wanted to. Do you feel especially called to town and country work?"

"No. I'm a city girl; I have more to offer in the city."

"Would you mind asking for an appointment close to my job? You're a traveling preacher, I realize. Still, cabinets make some allowance for preferences. Sorta have to."

"Sure. I'll ask for that."

"Tell you what. I'll make a list of what we have to decide about our future. You make one to. The questions, not the answers. We'll merge the lists. Then each of us will fill out the answers. Then we'll look at where we'll have to compromise."

"Sounds like a man who's taken a marriage course."

"Taken more than one. Counseled a lot, too. Always felt inadequate. Bachelor telling a married couple what to do. Telling a married man was bad enough. A married woman!"

"Didn't seem to bother your friend Paul."

"I hope it didn't seem to bother me either. And -- though I hate when people say this -- it may have been easier in Paul's time. A wife's role was well-established; so was a husband's. All he had to add, and that was a lot, was that a Christian acted on behalf of the other. What are the roles today? And what happens if the socially-defined roles change? Or they see their roles out of different subcultures. He says, 'I want to be married to you'; she says, 'I want to be married to you.' What if they don't mean quite the same things by those words?"

"So you want us to get everything down beforehand?" Jen asked. Then her tone got a lot more serious. "You haven't been married before, have you?"

"No. Not even close."

"We really don't know a lot about each other, do we? I mean, I know your theology fairly well. I know a little about your taste in food. I don't know where you grew up, all sorts of things."

"Getting to know you," he sang, "getting to know all about you." Then he forgot the rest of the lyrics. He told her so.

"You sing other things than hymns?"

"Yeah. Grew up in a time and place where all my contemporaries were into rock, and the choir director wasn't. Made me much more important in the choir than I'd have been in the fifties. Anyway, he did some non-church stuff. Music teacher in the high school, too. I was his favorite soloist for all of it. You?"

"I sing well enough that the director wants me to sing with the choir. But that's Independence."

"That's anywhere. I like your voice. Liked it, speaking voice that is, before I liked your looks. That was just the glasses, though."

"Coming to church tomorrow?" she asked much later. They were driving up to her place.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." She pulled off the ring. Damn! He had risked losing everything by playing those stupid games with the sherbert.

"Darling," he asked, "what did I do?"

"I'm not breaking the engagement. Bring this with you. I worked hard on that sermon yesterday. If I make the announcement before it, nobody will hear one word. So bring the ring with you and be ready to come up front."

"You still have to tell your staff-parish committee." He was still telling her things -- things she probably already knew. Anyway, Englehard looked like a nice-enough guy that he'd complain to her rather than to the DS.

"I'll call them."

He left her at the door without even a kiss. Well, tomorrow they'd be publicly engaged. He supposed he'd be allowed to kiss her in Independence, if not in the church, after that. When he got home and started to clean up, he found a bowl of melted sherbert and a half-full glass of wine on the nightstands. He drank the wine and poured the sherbert down the toilet.

He set the alarm for an hour early and went to bed without a shower. He took the shower in the morning, dressed in his best suit, and put the ring in the suit pocket. He found himself checking the pocket compulsively on his way to Independence. He sat in the train-station parking lot until it was almost time for church. He got there and sat in his usual place in back. Jen's sermon was all right, and he was deeply distracted. Probably the congregation was impressed. At the end of the service, Jen paused before the benediction.

"I have an announcement to make. David, would you come up here?" He came forward, palming the ring. "Did you have a question?" she asked.

"Jennifer, will you marry me?"

"Yes David, I will." The congregation -- in church or not -- broke out in applause. He placed the ring on her finger and kissed the back of her hand. They shared a tender look before he stepped back. Then she spoke the benediction from up front. Nobody looked in a hurry to leave.

Among those who came forward were an elderly couple whom he had never met. Jen introduced him to her parents. He and they withdrew a few steps to get acquainted while the parishioners were admiring the ring and congratulating Jen.

The End
Jen
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@bmail.com
2010/04/22
Jen's take on this story:
 "Blake" 
Another story about another couple: 
"April's First"
The next stage in the adventures of Jen and David:
 "Prelude" 

The index to almost all my stories is:
Index to Uther Pendragon's website