Jen dressed and ate breakfast before making her phone call. She wanted her appearance to match her pastoral role even if nobody else could see her.

"Northern Illinois Conference, Aurora District."

"Reverend Campbell, please. This is Jennifer Saunders calling."

A moment later Campbell was on the phone. "Yes, Reverend Saunders."

"I thought I should tell you. I just got engaged."

"Somebody from around there?" At last, she thought, someone who hadn't seen it coming before she did.

"Not so's you'd notice. David Blake, Professor Blake. He teaches at Garrett."

"Well, Jen," Campbell said, "I congratulate you. Have you told your staff-parish committee?"

"Saturday night, right after my mother. And we announced it in church yesterday morning."

"I'd like to have a talk with both of you."

"Fine. Why don't you arrange a time and place with David? My schedule is the most flexible of our three." Not that she'd cry if she had to miss a committee meeting. She gave him David's home number. "You already have the number for Garrett?"

"I'm sure Mrs. Kristensen has it in her Rolodex."

David called her later in the day. "Is Wednesday at four possible? Campbell is on his way back from Chicago then."

"You couldn't schedule it during one of my committee meetings?" she asked. "Meeting the DS is church business, after all."

"Sorry. Besides, Campbell might see this as your personal time. The DS is your pastor as well as your immediate superior."

"And who isn't my immediate superior?" she asked. "There's Pastor-Parish, the Administrative Board, and the Council of Ministries." The latter two had precisely the same membership at Independence, if two different chairmen. "That's beside the Trustees."

"You forget the Worship Committee. And the Board of Trustees is your landlord, not your boss."

"We're too small to have a worship committee. But we do have the United Methodist Women, active in the cold months." Although the latter were a bunch of dears. They were happy to see a woman pastor.

"And they all expect the pastor to do just what they say, even if they say different things."

"Not in Independence," she said. "They've all lived in each others' laps so long that they agree on almost everything. If they don't, they know who's on which side. Wednesday at four is great."

"Lovely," David said. "I said the parsonage. This is personal business, after all. If you want it in the church, I'll call him back."

"No reason. After I spoke with him, I was afraid you were going to have to drive to his office."

"Look, think about this. He might well want to perform the wedding."

She'd thought about that, decided about that -- subject to David's opinion of course. Two of them were going to have to live through this wedding. "Seems reasonable to me."

"If you want to say 'yes,' do so," David said. "If you want to say 'no,' don't say anything. Tell me later, and I'll say the 'no.'"

"There is so much we have to decide." Suddenly, the task looked overwhelming.

"And not just about the wedding," he had to remind her.

"Are you making a list of things we have to decide about the marriage?" He'd said he would.

"Started it. Have you?"

"Only mentally."

"Love you."

"Love you, too," she said. She did; it was the only thing that made all this hassle worthwhile. The other side of the counseling looked so much easier just then. "And the next time I'll see you is with my DS watching."

"Well, I'll be there; he'll be there. I'm sure he'll have an appointment afterwards. I won't."

"You do now. When do you want the wedding?"

"I've said it's your choice. But the honeymoon has to be after the end of school, though," he said.

"June wedding?" anything sooner looked impossible.

"Sounds great."

"I'll be here through Conference. So you need to check out the place you'll be living. Is the bed the proper firmness? That sort of thing."

"I love you, Jen."

Jen's next call was from Margaret Baxter. "You were so busy yesterday, reverend, that I didn't have time to invite you to dinner. Can you come and eat with Fred and me next Sunday?"

"Sure." She'd like to see the schedule some time, but she got an invitation from one family of parishioners almost every Sunday. Except when David had done his own inviting, she'd never received two.

"Can David come too?" Now this was new. Apparently the fiance was included. Of course, it could be Mrs. Baxter's own idea.

"I can't speak for him." She didn't plan to speak for him even when they were married. "Do you want me to pass on the invitation?"

"That would be very kind of you. I'm sure he'd be more likely to come if the invitation came from you." Jen wasn't sure about that.

"Well, I don't know his plans for the rest of Sunday. I'll ask next time we talk."

Campbell was congratulatory in a paternal sort of way. Jen was reconciled to the attitude. She'd done four hospital visits on Tuesday, and three patients had been either paternal or maternal. Old Mrs. Raleigh was out of it; Jen doubted she even knew her pastor had been there.

"I'm wearing two hats," Campbell said. "Three, really, I hope I'm your friend, and -- as a friend -- I wish you two all the luck in the world. As your pastor, I'll want to make sure that you understand the step you've decided to take. But I'm also Jen's DS, and I have to see what is good for her and the church in the way of assignments."

"We'd really like something closer to Garrett," she told him. "This year doesn't matter so much; we aren't planning the wedding 'til June. But the commute from Evanston would be a killer."

"You aren't pregnant?" asked Campbell suddenly.

That was blunt, she thought. "No."

"Then I'd suggest that you take a second year here. I'll be perfectly honest. This church is a one-year assignment in most cases. But you are starting one major life change; you don't want to start another."

"Jen's a traveling preacher," David said. "She goes where she's assigned." So much for his not speaking for her, not that she would have said anything different. Saying that some assignment would interfere with her vocation was one thing, saying that it would be personally inconvenient was another.

"I know that," Campbell said. "And -- if she insists -- she'll get an assignment with a shorter drive for you. I can't promise that, of course. But, as a practical matter, she can probably depend on it. What I'm suggesting -- as her pastor as well as a member of the Cabinet -- is that she ask for a second year here. I think it would be best for her. The year after, we'll know what you want; we'll know that it is reasonable; it'll be one of our priorities. The year after that, of course, I won't be a DS."

"I can handle the drive for a year." Well, that wasn't quite speaking for her.

"We'll talk more," she said.

"Good!" Campbell said. "A couple should make their decisions together. Do you want me to perform the service?"

"Would you like to?" she asked.

"Very much."

"Then yes."

"That doesn't need a confab?" The DS raised an eyebrow.

"That," David said, "was a question that could be foreseen."

"And is the ceremony going to be here?"

"I've been warned of a mutiny if it isn't." Not that anyone had been quite that direct. Being direct wasn't the Independence way.

"You've both done counseling?" Campbell asked. "Had courses in counseling?" She and David both nodded their heads.

"There are two ways of handling that," Campbell continued. "I could do a nominal counseling session -- 'You know what the questions are; what's your response?' I'd rather go the extra mile. What do you think?"

"Probably," David said, "that's for the best. There's lots here that isn't in the sort of wedding Jen is likely to perform in Independence."

Campbell smiled. "Where do you see the problems?"

"In each of us," David said. "Internally, I'm quite an opinionated guy." Jen was glad he'd said 'guy.' He'd called himself 'an opinionated son-of-a-bitch' to her. "Externally, Jen's a preacher. That lays all sorts of demands on her time and her attention which the traditional wife doesn't have. And it doesn't help that it's a role where my opinions happen to be strong. Of course, my career ain't a bed of roses, either. What happens if I publish something that Jen disagrees with? What happens if it causes a controversy with her peers -- or with you? Anyway, these aren't quite the problems I counseled on, nor -- I suspect -- Jen. You've probably had more experience, if not lots."

"A clear-headed analysis," Campbell said.

"The word on Professor Blake at Garrett," she said, "was that he is always clear-headed, even when he is wrong-headed."

"The word on Blake at Garrett," David said, "is that he is always wrong-headed."

"We'll need more sessions, then," Campbell said. "Here?"

"Okay by me," David said.

"Many of them," she said. "You're in Chicago often, Reverend Campbell. Maybe we could schedule one -- or even two -- there. I'll have to go in sometimes. That would be more convenient for you than meeting here."

"If you have to go in," Campbell said. "Driving is part of a DS's job description, otherwise. It would be more convenient for David as well."

"I," she admitted, "thought of that." And it would be nearer to the apartment with its nice bed far from peering eyes.

"I'll send you some thoughts," Campbell said. "Some questions for you each to answer. Some things we have to discuss; others don't need my presence. There's a lot to marriage which has to be decided. It doesn't matter whether you go one way or the other; you have to both go the same way. If the wife expects the husband to take out the garbage and the husband expects the wife to, you'll get a huge pile of garbage in the kitchen before that question is resolved." They both smiled at that.

Jen ushered him out. They watched him drive away. "That wasn't so bad," David said after they'd shared a kiss. "Funny, I've been on the other side dozens of times, and I was always amazed that the couple was nervous. What was I going to do, after all? Now, the shoe's on the other foot, and I find that I was nervous. What was he going to do, after all?"

"He might ask if I was pregnant," she pointed out.

"Darling," David said, "I'm sorry. That must have made you feel rotten."

"Not actually." Though, it was something David should have considered. "He had to know. It's something you suspect, these days, whenever you see an engaged couple. He doesn't need to know whether we've gone to bed together, and he didn't ask. My mother asked the pregnancy thing."

"Mothers always do. It's one of the things they worry about."

"Y'know, it would get me a new assignment." It had other attractions, too.

"And it would spoil your record for the rest of your career, to say nothing of how he'd suspect the reason. It's not as if you hadn't answered already. Let's play this straight." He took a long pause. "The cabinet can decide many things about our marriage. There's no reason to allow them to decide about when we have children."

"You've thought about that?"

"It's on my list of questions," he said. "We'll each write our answer separately."

"You're uncompromising," she said fondly. After all, the David Blake she'd first had a crush on had been uncompromising.

"I'm trying to compromise fairly." And, she saw, that was true too. He wanted rules to make it absolutely certain that she had as much voice in their future as she had. He'd said that she could decide whether or not Campbell would perform the service. He wasn't looking for rules to assure his participation, but to assure hers. But he wanted those rules very rigid.

"You're uncompromising about compromises."

"And you are silly."

"There is nothing sloppy about true paradox, as my favorite professor said." See! She had listened in class -- final B or not.

"I thought I was the only person who said that."

"Now," she told him, "you're fishing for compliments."

"Fishers of compliments," he sang, rushing the last word, "fishers of compliments, I will make you fishers of compliments if you follow me."

This was too good an opening to resist. She started up the stairs, swaying from side to side as her weight came to rest on alternate legs. "If you follow me," she sang, "if you follow me, I will make you fisher in women if you follow me." He followed, but -- she reflected -- she didn't really mean the plural. If he fished with the fishing pole she was thinking of in any other woman, she'd kill somebody. Maybe the woman, maybe him, certainly herself.

He followed. She stopped in the upstairs hallway for a kiss. He fondled her rump then. His tongue explored her mouth, and her tongue welcomed it. He drew his head back.

"This is fun," she said. "But don't you want to see the rest of where you're going to live?"

"Lead on."

"That's my room." She gestured at a closed door. "We'll look at that last." She planned to do some more looking after that, but not at rooms. "This is my office," she only made a gesture. "This room," opening the door to show him, "could be your office, your gym, or both. That one is identical, and I didn't bother to unlock it. You could have both. Pardon the temperature, I keep the vents closed. The furnace works hard enough as it is."

"Then I don't need both. I can put my exercycle and my desk in the same space. I put my bed in with it, now."

"Fond as my memories of that bed are, no you can't." She'd better make this definite. "This place has gobs of space for exercise; you could read in one room and write in another. What it lacks is sleeping room. You'll have to share mine."

"I'll make that sacrifice."

"Speaking of sacrifices, this is the bathroom. No shower. Thank your stars there is indoor plumbing."

"It looks like there has been for a while," David said.

Not for that long a while. "The church as an institution has existed longer than the town. Which was founded in 1876 -- when else? When the church building burned down it was rebuilt where water mains had reached already. The parsonage was saved."

"Lots of history here."

"Lots of history." But she'd wasted enough time. "This is the bedroom." She flung open the door. "And that is the bed."

He responded to the blatant invitation by taking her in his arms. She turned up her face for the kiss. While his tongue explored her mouth, she could feel his solid chest against her breasts, feel his erection firm against her stomach.

She pushed back to unbutton his shirt. He was fumbling with the snap at the back of her neck. There wasn't much he could do with this dress from the front. She wasn't worried, having selected it for being the easiest to remove of those of her dresses which looked demurely professional. She usually dressed in suits which could take an age.

When the shirt was unbuttoned, she turned around. He got the snap and zipper. She took the dress off on the way to the closet. While he was removing his clothes, she took a detour to lock the bedroom door. The outer door was locked -- however the locals acted, she was still a Chicago girl. This door was too flimsy to stop anyone, anyway. She just wanted the feeling of privacy.

When she returned, he was barefoot and bare-chested. He still had his trousers on. They had a kiss before he removed her slip. He tossed it over his shirt on the chair, and kissed her again while he was unsnapping her bra. They parted long enough for him to toss that onto the same chair. She swept the bedclothes to the floor. She attacked his belt while he kissed the top of her head and caressed her back. She lay down on the bed while he stepped out of the trousers and stripped down his shorts.

"Sweet Jen," he said. He got into the bed far enough down that his lips were level with her breasts. He leaned on both his arms while he kissed those thoroughly. His lips and tongue traveled everywhere. Finally, he leaned back on one arm while sucking her right breast. His hand stroked between her thighs.

This was delightful at first, but she soon wanted more. She ran her hands through his hair, hugged his head to her breast. This wasn't enough. She ran her hands down his back, and then around towards his groin. He pulled back and off the bed.

David pulled his shirt from underneath the pile of her clothes. A moment's digging in the pocket produced a small envelope, folded over. What could he want now? Then he shook something out of the envelope. It must be a condom.

He came back to the bed to take her panties. She raised herself and he pulled them down. They repeated this with her pantyhose. The position gave him direct sight of her groin, and she felt very exposed.

He walked to the foot of the bed, and started to stroke her thighs. Then he tore open the package and rolled the condom on. He stroked her legs and then lifted one to kiss up the inside from the ankle to above the knee. Jen supposed that getting your ankle kissed was an honor. Getting your thigh kissed, on the other hand, was a definite turn on. And getting kissed on the sensitive flesh where her thighs met was an even greater turn on.

At first, it was a delightful glory; then she needed even more. When the need became unbearable, she reached down and pulled David up in the bed by his hair.

He responded, if slowly. He stopped to kiss her breasts and then her mouth. He spread her entrance. Then she felt him thrust inward. "Oh, Jen," he said, "Jennifer."

She liked the way he said her formal name as a love word. But she liked the rest of his actions much more. She was filled, possessed. And he stroked in and out again and again while her feelings spiraled higher.

Then they flamed within her. "Darling," he said, and had his own. "Oh, my darling," he said again. Then he moved out of her and off her. He kept close enough, though, that she didn't feel abandoned. Lying like that was delightful. If she could only do it forever.

But, "I've got things to do." She said getting up. She headed towards the bathroom.

When she had relieved herself, washed, and returned, he held up the condom. "Who empties your garbage?"

"I do," she said.

"Good. And keep rehearsing that line." He grabbed his clothes on his way to the bathroom. He was dressed except for his shoes when he came back. It took her that long to figure out that the line was 'I do.'

"'Parting is such sweet sorrow,'" he said. "I don't know about sweet, but it is a sorrow. Come June, I won't have to leave you."

She felt it, too. "But June is months away."

"Yeah. It felt so close when we set the date." He kissed her, caressing her naked back. That, too, felt lovely, but there wasn't time. When she was dressed, she walked him to the door. They had another kiss before he opened the door. Then it was time to prepare for the trustees' meeting.

It wasn't until Friday that she remembered the invitation. "Seems I had other things on my mind," she explained when she called.

"Reasonable. You had a visit from your DS and some premarital counseling." There was a teasing tone to his voice.

Two could play the teasing game. "Must have been one of those. And a trustees' meeting in the evening. Other than that, there wasn't anything to take my attention."

"Anyway," he said, "I can come on Sunday. You'll have to give me directions."

"Why don't I give you a ride, instead." Which would give them some privacy in the car, at least. "You can park by the church or the parsonage."

He parked by the church, which was lucky. At noon, the rain was coming down in buckets. The Detwilers invited her and David to lunch the next week. That solved that question; the fiance was included. David ran to his car and picked her up at the office door. The wind was just wrong for the main door, and you couldn't drive up to the side door.

She directed him to the Baxters'. "Do you usually say the grace at your parishioners' meals?" he asked.

"Always. There is no such thing as 'usually' in Independence."

"In that case," he said, "I should defer to you if I'm invited to say it."

She didn't think that was likely, but it happened.

"You think ahead," she commented on the way back. The weather had cleared up.

"Hmm?"

"About the grace. How did you know you'd be asked?"

"I didn't know," he said. "It was a possibility. You're their pastor, and we have to remember that. They're still likely to see a man, a preaching man to boot, as a more real pastor. And, of course, we don't know but that they'd ask any guest to say the grace. If they think you're one of their own, then I'm -- so to speak -- more of the guest. So we have to be careful of that."

He took a deep breath before going on. "So, we're very polite about it. But we make sure that I don't usurp the pastoral role. Inadvertently, or any other way."

"You ever turn off that mind of yours?" She was feeling very fond of him right then.

"Eight hours a night."

He walked her inside. Once the door was safely closed they had a nice long kiss. "Now that that's out of the way," she said, "stand there." When he did, she kissed him -- her mouth was closed, but she pressed against him to do it. "That's for looking out for my role."

"All the time."

"Then it's for being the person you are." The person who looks out for his fiancee's role, she meant.

He left soon thereafter, though. They'd done nothing more than kiss.

Their next appointment with Campbell was in Chicago at the conference office. She arranged to go in by train and meet her mom for shopping first. Sparing her parents the expense of church rental and most of the cost of the reception, she figured she was entitled to a fancy dress at their expense. (She still didn't know what the reception would cost. The UMW would put it on, and they hadn't mentioned a price. They might intend it as a gift from the women's group to their pastor; they might figure that it was obviously the same price they always charged; they might plan to buy stuff and pass the bills along. Whatever they did would be much cheaper than renting a hall.) She didn't quite say that to her mom, who seemed to have arrived at a similar conclusion. At least there was no quibbling about price tags. They picked up some trousseau stuff, too.

She hadn't been shopping with her mom for years; at one time, she'd sworn to never do it again. They both enjoyed this shopping trip, though. Was she turning into just another consumer?

David drove to her parents' house from his last class. He'd met her mom at the church, but this time they had no distractions. They got along well, both obviously wanting to. David drove her to the Conference office, arriving five minutes before Campbell had scheduled them. When the cabinet meeting broke up -- predictably late, but not overwhelmingly so -- the bishop and the other district superintendents stopped to offer congratulations while Campbell was off finding a conference room.

Then Campbell ushered them into a room and they got down to business. "Now then," Campbell said, "the service. What sort of vows do you want?" These days, everybody was writing their own, sometimes without the bride's hearing the groom's composition before the service, and vice-versa. Sometimes they wrote them together. The results often sounded saccharine to Jen's ears.

"What's wrong," David asked, "with the traditional ones?"

"How traditional?" she asked. Did the man want her to promise to obey him?

"What's in your service book. Let me tell you, I do have the emotions we call 'love' towards you. And I'm quite willing to tell the world. Want me to take out an ad in the Tribune? But I won't say the present tense in the service. The promise to love is a promise to seek your good -- seek it in the future. It isn't a feeling."

Campbell quirked an eyebrow towards her. Well, if this man -- this man who seemed to feel so punctilious about his promises -- wanted to promise to always seek her good, who was she to object? Anyway, it was one less thing to prepare. "Let's use the standard form."

"This is looking easier and easier," Campbell said.

"Two rings," David said. "I'm not dictating to her, this has already been discussed. The rings are already picked out."

Campbell made a note. He went on down his checklist. He finally came to "Music?"

"The Independence organist, Mrs. Dixon, will play," she told him. "She's not very good, I fear. I'll have her send you the playlist. That will be very traditional. No soloists...." Then she had a thought. "Unless you" (looking straight at David) "would be willing to."

"You want a song from me?" David asked.

"Very much."

"Something particular, something you won't know until the event, something you approve beforehand?"

"I wouldn't say 'approve.'" She didn't see much point in being surprised, though.

"You can pick it out later," Campbell said.

"Know 'As men and women we were made'?" David asked. "Composer named Wren, not Christopher. Fairly new."

She didn't; Campbell apparently did.

"Not in the hymnal," David said.

"Yet," Campbell said. "It's only about a decade old. Should I pencil it in?"

"Oh yes," she said. She wanted the voice, not particular words.

They gave Campbell their answers to the questions he had sent them. They'd talked on the phone and had compromised where they hadn't agreed beforehand. Campbell seemed to approve of that procedure. Hell! She and David were not the couple who matched perfectly; they were two people who'd decided to work out a marriage together.

Campbell wound up the discussion by saying, "You know the part of the ceremony where the officiating minister says, 'Whom God has joined together let no man put asunder'?" They nodded. Both of them had said it. "Well, it sometimes seems to me that we concentrate on the wrong part of that. What would it mean to treat your spouse as the person God has put you together with?"

There was no answer to that question. "Well," said Campbell, "I'll leave you with that. It's something to think about, not only now, but during the marriage as well." He showed them out, and waited for the bus to the train station.

When they were in the car, David suddenly said, "Honeymoon."

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Sounds like a great idea. But specifically. Do you already have something planned? Do you want to plan it together? Do you want me to surprise you?"

"You have something in mind," she said. That guess didn't take much psychic talent. David always had something in mind.

"I'm considering something."

"Why don't you run it by me? We're not like you men, you know. Women have to know where we're going before we can pack for the trip." And her trousseau included a sexy nightgown which would be out of place if they were going to be roughing it.

"Do you swim?" he asked.

"Some."

"Only pools?"

"Lake." Although her excursions in Lake Michigan were more wading than swimming. It was awfully shallow near shore.

"Ever been in the ocean?"

"No. Is that what you want?"

"That's what I've been thinking of," he said. "A small inn by the Atlantic. It doesn't get as warm by June as Lake Michigan does, but you float better in salt water." And here she'd thought his plans for the honeymoon wouldn't involve getting out of bed.

"Sounds good. Do you want my questions for our marriage now?" She had them with her.

"I was thinking when I took you back. You sure you want to go back by train?" Her car was at the station, after all. He didn't need to take that horrific drive. He had classes in the morning.

"I'm sure."

He didn't speak for a bit. When he did, he changed the subject entirely. "Pizza?"

Pizza? Real pizza, deep dish pizza? "Sounds great."

"Decide the toppings now, and come in with me to order it."

They took the pizza back to his apartment.

They had only a brief kiss before he hung up their coats in the closet and turned on the coffee. He came back from the kitchen carrying his tie. This kiss was much better, he hugged her and explored her mouth with his tongue. "Sure you want pizza?" he asked when he broke the kiss. She was no longer sure, but he didn't wait for an answer.

Singing the grace as a duet with David was special; the meal was delicious. Despite those treats, most of her attention was on what was to come later. Probably most of his was, too. She didn't finish one cup of coffee; he drained two.

He washed his hands while she was finishing up. Just as well, he rubbed all over her during the after-meal kiss. Solemnly, in the bedroom, he unbuttoned her blouse. He stopped for a light kiss after every button. She could have done it much more rapidly. He hung the blouse on the back of a chair and kissed her deeply before unhooking her bra. It would have been faster if she'd turned her back, but she enjoyed being in his arms. He followed another deep kiss with kisses across her face and down her neck.

She pulled his head closer when he reached her breasts. For a long time, the sensations from his suction felt marvelous. Then her knees felt weak and she pushed him away. She stepped out of her shoes and lay down on the bed. He leaned over and kissed her again before groping along the waist of her skirt. She laughed, rolled over, and reached behind her. The panties came off when he pulled the skirt down.

He hung the skirt over the blouse on the chair, came back for the panties, placed them on the seat of that chair. He kissed all over her torso -- the breasts, which felt lovely, the abdomen, which felt ticklish even if arousing, the sides, which only felt ticklish. He ignored her wiggles.

When his kisses finally reached the waistband of her pantyhose, he pulled them down to her thighs while she raised her rump off the bed. Instead of completing the removal, he kissed her mound and then her thighs. Her legs were bound together by the pantyhose; he wasn't going to be able to get where he wanted to go -- where she wanted more and more urgently for him to go -- with them like that.

Finally, he relented and finished the job. He took the pantyhose over to the chair and put them on it. When he returned, he leaned over to kiss her neck and shoulders, obviously on his way to her breasts.

"You're wearing too much," she told him. He was wearing everything he'd worn in the Conference office except his suit coat and his tie. She started unbuttoning his shirt. He kissed her while she was doing it, which slowed her down. But that was too pleasant for any complaints. When she'd reached the bottom button, she went on to the belt. This took a little time; his licking her nipples didn't help her concentration at all, fun as it was.

When she'd got the belt undone and the zipper open, she reached inside. He was hard, but he moved back immediately. "Well," she said, "lose those." When he came back to bed, he was properly naked and lay down beside her. This time, the kisses started on her breasts and proceeded lower. By the time he was kissing all over the insides of her thighs, she was writhing in need. "Damn it," she said and grabbed his hair.

She tugged him upward. "The Trojan," he said.

"Get it." He did, and moments later he was poised above her.

"Oh, Jen. Oh, Jennifer." But she was in no mood for romance. Then he moved into her. This, she was in the mood for. As he slid into her, she reached down to his rump to pull him closer, pull him in fully. She felt those driving muscles flex within her hands. As he came down, she pressed up to meet him. She consciously clenched around him once.

Then she flamed. Any clenching she did, and she probably did plenty while her feelings were throbbing like this, was totally involuntary.

Just as she ended, David thrust hard into her and said, "Oh, Jen." She could feel him quivering deep within her. Then he withdrew and lay beside her. His gasps were just inches from her ear. One arm lay across her. She liked the contact and reached her hand up to hold his. Soon, though, she looked at her watch. Come June, they'd be able to go to sleep together afterwards.

She visited the bathroom and returned to dress. David was still lying there, looking like he wasn't going to move. "I'll get a cab."

"No," he said. "I'll take you." He got dressed, clothes less formal than the ones he'd worn before. Would she see him in those shorts she'd seen once? Probably not until after the wedding.

In the car, he said again, "I could take you the whole way. I'm going to be making the trip every day next year, after all."

She began to suspect his dilatory tactics of the evening. Only suspect, David liked to take his time in bed and drive her to distraction. "The car's parked at the station. For the rest of my life, I'd feel two-faced every time I talked about stewardship of natural resources."

"There is that."

When they got near the station, she got her set of questions out of her briefcase. She put them on the dashboard. "My questions. You seem to have forgotten yours. Maybe distracted."

"I have them," he said. "I planned to wear this shirt. What I did forget was the pizza. I wanted to give you the leftovers."

"Anything you don't eat, refrigerate and bring on Sunday." She could eat old pizza.

He kissed her goodbye where they stopped people without tickets. He handed her his questions there. She blew him a kiss before getting on the train. The train was mostly empty, a welcome change from the crowds who had been on it this morning. She got a seat all alone where she could just see him out the window. He watched until the train started moving.

Reading David's list of questions was fascinating. There were several she hadn't considered. "Jen Blake or Jen Saunders?" Blake; she wasn't a real feminist. Besides, Independence would call her "Mrs. Blake" whatever she called herself.

"One budget or two?" Two; her student loans were outrageously high. She couldn't saddle him with those, not a man who'd taken two graduate degrees himself.

"Children" had subheads: "Any?" "How many?" "When?" and "Contraceptive method?"

Not only had she not considered his question, "Furniture?" she couldn't see what it meant.

His omission was glaring, especially considering how they'd just spent the last hour. Except for the last question under children, he made no mention of sex. None. That wasn't the David Blake she thought she knew, the David Blake she'd spent the afternoon and evening with.

There were eight calls on the answering machine when she got in. Her parishioners had been busy. She hoped none had needed a pastor to talk them out of suicide while she was unavailable. None had, only four of those calls were from parishioners anyway. Two were from telemarketers. One was from her mom. "Call when you get in; I thought you'd be home by now."

The last one was from David. "I just want to say that I love you." He'd be asleep by now.

Her mom answered the phone. "Sorry it's so late," Jen said. "We don't get all that much time to be together. We had some pizza after the meeting with the DS."

"That's fine, dear. I figured something like that out after I called. I really liked David, but I did have a question."

"Well, we're talking now. What's your question?"

"Dear, he does know you're not a virgin, doesn't he?"

"He's a smart man, Mom. I think he's figured that out." After tonight, he was probably fairly sure. For that matter, when had Mom figured that out? But it was too late to act coy. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know, dear. He seems such an old-fashioned man. I didn't want him to be shocked, or anything."

"He is old-fashioned about some things. I don't think he's that old-fashioned."

"Well, dear, you did pick out a white dress and all."

"I'm not about to announce my status to Independence. Not that they haven't seen girls wear white dresses who were obviously pregnant. I've conducted one wedding like that."

"Well, dear, you know him better than I do." That was for sure!

They talked enough to maintain their new good feelings. Her parents were obviously more pleased with their daughter's engagement than they had been about her ordination. But she could tell that her mom was sleepy. For that matter, so was she. "Good night, Mom. Sleep tight."

"Good night, dear."

And a very good night it was. She had hospital visits scheduled for the afternoon, but she took time from the morning to look at his list of questions again. She made marginal notes.

A few days later, she got a second draft of the questions in the mail. These were his and hers compiled. "I've put these in some sort of order," he wrote on a cover letter, "and put our questions together when I thought they were the same. I've left a little space for you to write (or type) in your answers. If that's not enough, use a separate numbered sheet of paper and put the number, circled, on the question sheet. We're not aiming for concision, we're aiming for (joint) conclusions. An expression with which I can agree isn't any use unless I also agree with the idea behind the expression. -- I love you." He'd signed it in the only handwriting.

She still couldn't figure out "Furniture."

She wrote out her answers. If he thought she was going to type, he had another think coming. But, she realized, she was being unfair to him. He had given her the option, an option he clearly preferred for himself. She didn't need any extra sheets. For the children question, though, she took much of the space. "Let's start with one, and see how that goes. I've seen that kids are much more attractive in the abstract than in particular." That wasn't quite saying that she wanted to know how much of the parenting he was prepared to do. They had two very demanding careers; kids didn't raise themselves.

Her suspicions of his delay on Wednesday night had grown. On the sex question, she wrote: "We need to agree that we'll never use sex to manipulate the other. What we honestly want, when we honestly want it, subject to the demands of our jobs." He had left a larger-than-usual blank; her answer wasn't crowded at all.

Sunday, he brought her the pizza before church. When he was safely inside the parsonage, they kissed lightly. He seemed to sense that she wasn't really in the mood -- wasn't in the mode, maybe. She couldn't be in fiancee mode right then; she had to be in preacher mode.

After dinner at the Detwilers', she drove him back to the parsonage. Their demeanor was subdued until the door was closed on the world. Then, they shared a long kiss. She turned on a light downstairs but led him upstairs to her room in the late- afternoon dimness.

They had another kiss in her room. He started undressing her, and she reciprocated. They bumped into each other so much that they broke out in laughter. "Faster if we do ourselves," she said. They separated and stripped themselves. She put her clothes on one chair; he put his on another.

She heard the locks on his briefcase snap open. Looking over, she saw him totally naked taking a box out of his briefcase. Then he snapped it shut. "Would it cause problems if I left these here?" he asked. Of course, they were the condoms.

"Good idea."

He put the box on the nightstand and came over to her. He kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue. Meanwhile, his hands explored her back and rump. They were rather chilly hands, too. But she didn't mention that; she'd rather have cold hands on her than no hands on her. It wasn't as if he had another pair he was keeping warm.

His body, in contrast, was nice and warm and pressed against hers. She could judge his anticipation from the firmness of his dick against her stomach. He could probably guess hers from the hardness of her nipples against his chest.

When he broke the kiss, he sucked on her ear lobe before licking his way down her neck. She knew where he was heading, and her nipples swelled more in anticipation.

He moved away so he could kiss all over her left breast. When he finally reached that nipple, his hand caressed her mound. This was grand, but she was starting to feel the pull of gravity. When he stopped sucking her nipple, she backed up and lay on the bed. "Join me," she invited him.

He lay down beside her and started kissing her right breast and stroking the insides of her thighs. When he switched breasts, his hand reached her cleft. He held her whole mound, stroked the lips, rubbed them against each other. Then he stroked right over her clitoris while sucking on her left nipple. She felt her excitement spiral, but she wanted him inside.

"Now," she said. It wasn't quite now, however. He rolled away to put on the condom. Then he was over her and right at her cleft.

"Jennifer," he said and pushed inside. Her lips were spread, she was filled. His groin was pressed into hers. She hugged him like that, and then smoothed her hands down his back to hold his rump. She didn't want to interfere with his motions.

And delightful motions they were. He thrust against her, and she could feel his muscles flex as he pressed in and moved from side to side. He moved back until his prick was their only connection. Then he thrust in again.

As this went on, Jen's feeling spiraled upwards. She gasped as she climaxed. David drove in and out through that climax, but had his own soon after.

He moved aside and pulled the covers up around them. "Jen," he said sleepily. He hugged her. "Jennifer." Then he made neither sound nor motion. She was nearly asleep herself when his touch relaxed.

The phone was ringing. She couldn't see a thing but the clock dial; when it was dark in Independence it was dark. She had grown up where outside darkness meant a power failure. The dial, however, said that it was nearly ten. "David, David!"

He tightened his hug. Then he shifted in the bed. "Ten o'clock. Damn!"

"I don't want you to go either," she said. But go he must.

"June. After June, I sleep in your arms every night." She put on her underwear in the dark, and then opened the bedroom door. The light which came up the stairs was bright enough for David to find his clothes. She struggled into a blouse and a pair of jeans.

The two of them solemnly traded their answers. They had a nice kiss before she let him out. Two more trips up and one down the stairs allowed her to turn off the lights downstairs while turning on the lights in her room. She took his answer sheet to bed with her.

David's answers were headed with a code chart. BL Bottom Line Question. SP Strong Preference P Preference. JD Jen Decides.

Well, so much for "My bottom line is satisfied when you said you'd marry me." Still, when she looked through, the only issue marked 'BL' was her question about sex: "BL absolute faithfulness." She could live with that.

On her question about sex, aside from his bottom-line issue of fidelity, he'd written a mini essay on a separate page, labeled D2. "Paul writes, as you know, about each spouse giving the other his/her due. Pretty generally, this is taken to mean that one is to engage in the intercourse one's spouse needs/wants. I take it so, myself. Now, not as an interpretation of that, but as one way to fulfill that advice, here's what I suggest: In any relationship at any particular time, there will be one who wants more and another who wants less. I suggest that we have intercourse to fully satisfy the one who wants less. After that, it will be the task of that person to satisfy the other. Manually, or through cunnilingus as seems appropriate at the time. Now this won't solve every problem/conflict. What happens if I seriously want you at 10:30 on a Sunday morning? But I do offer it as a guideline."

It was an interesting guideline in several ways. From reading it, you'd think the man was a theology professor or something. Then, too, he'd been so careful to use gender-neutral language almost everywhere, but he'd said "cunnilingus," not "oral sex." Did he not like fellatio? Was he afraid she didn't? Did he assume that she would always be the person wanting more?

What had Churchill said about the Soviet Union? A mystery wrapped in an enigma, or something. That was David. But one thing wasn't mysterious. The professor she'd first seen wasn't a role he played or a job he performed. It was the man himself.

Some of the other answers were revealing. David wanted children (SP), thought they should wait until they had settled themselves as a couple first (P), wanted two or three (P), contraception was (JD). This got a further note. "I'll use condoms if you want. Anything else -- save a vasectomy, which I would resist, see above, 'any' -- would have to affect your body. That should be your decision, subject to medical advice."

Another essay, labeled D1 but not referred to any question, said: "Jen is the assigned pastor. She decides -- subject to the usual committees and The Discipline -- what goes on in the church. David has the same right to opinions as any other parishioner, but Jen decides. Similarly, David is the professor. Jen has the same right to opinions as any other alumna, but David decides -- subject to the seminary's policies, of course." Now, leaving aside the suggestion that she had any voice in how he ran his class as an alumna -- David had been quite clear that none of his current students had a voice -- this was David to a T. Generosity, lightly disguised as impartiality. He had opinions, indeed he'd said he had opinions, but he was saying that he recognized that she decided. He was much more invested in that than she was; David had more training and more experience. She wanted to hear his opinions.

Under "Furniture," he'd written. "P I'll sleep with you in that bed of yours if you insist, but I really think we'll need a double bed. Do you need that softness?" She'd assumed that they would get a double bed. She'd prefer more firmness, actually. Her mattress and springs had been left by a former tenant in a room she rented in Chicago. The Conference paid for moving; a new bed would have meant another purchase before she had her first paycheck from Independence.

His question of "Jen Blake or Jen Saunders?" was answered "P Jen Blake." On the other hand, the budget question, "One budget or two?" got "SP one." He wouldn't have that preference, if he knew how much she owed in student loans.

She put the sheets on the nightstand and turned off the light.

David called on Tuesday. "We have to talk," he said.

"Did some of my answers jar you?" Was he reconsidering?

"Not jar, but some of these have to be talked about face to face."

"Sunday, after dinner," she suggested. He'd been included in the Jenkins' invitation.

"Do you have a meeting Wednesday? I could drive out and pick you up, and we could meet here -- with the lights on."

"Let me check." Mercifully, that night's meeting was the women's society, and Jen didn't have any responsibilities. "I can come. Why don't I take the train?"

"I can drive out."

"But you can arrive at the train station earlier than you can arrive here. That gives me more time with you. For that matter, while I enjoy the drives back to Chicago, I don't have your full attention then."

"'A man who can drive a car around a curve while kissing a girl isn't paying enough attention to the kiss.'"

She laughed. "Something like that."

"It's a date."

"I'll meet you at your office." she said. "That's the earliest we can get together." She did enjoy riding in his car with him, but she really enjoyed their times together in his apartment. And that meeting would get them to his apartment sooner than any other.

They agreed to that.

She called up the program chair of the UMW, the president not having answered her phone. "Jill, this is Jen. "I'm afraid I can't come tomorrow night. David and I have things to plan, and that's his only time free."

"Well, weddings don't plan themselves. I remember. I'll tell the ladies."

Thinking about David and his answers led her to make another phone call.

"Northern Illinois Conference, Aurora District."

"Mrs. Kristensen? You're the one I wanted to talk to. I'm Jen Saunders, one of the pastors on the district."

"Yes, Reverend Saunders."

"Well, I'm getting married." Not that Mrs. Kristensen didn't know. If the DS was going to perform the service, his secretary needed to have it on her schedule. "And before I do, I should see a gynecologist. Get some birth control, among other things. I have a gynecologist in Chicago, but I thought one closer would work better. On the other hand, I don't want one from the hospitals I visit every day. I wonder if you could recommend one in Aurora."

"Well, not in Aurora. A little closer to you, actually."

"That would be fine. I don't want to drive any farther than I have to, I just want to keep the relationship one relationship." She didn't want to meet socially the guy who looked up her when her feet were in stirrups. Mrs. Kristensen should understand that.

"Well, I've recommended Dr. Bradley before, with no complaints. I'll give you her office phone number in a second." The "her" changed Jen's opinion of Mrs. Kristensen.

Jen called and got an appointment in April.

She took the train in early, wearing a parka over a suit, but warm boots. She did some shopping in the Loop and then some more in the seminary's bookstore. She was outside David's office when he got out of class.

He unlocked the door and ushered her in. They had a long kiss before he ditched his briefcase and took her to the apartment. It was a five block walk, but he hadn't brought his car with him. They strode along holding hands. Since his hand and her glove covered her ring, she imagined that they shocked some of the students. Maybe not, it was strange, considering that she still felt like a seminary student, how little she looked like one.

"Are we going to shock your students?" she asked, holding up their intertwined hands.

"I fear we won't. If anyone asks, I'll introduce you. 'Hi Joe; I want you to meet the pastor of my church.' Should satisfy anyone."

"You're evil." And she loved him for it.

Soon, they were out of the seminary confines. When they got to his building, he dropped her hand and removed his glove to get his keys. He didn't take her hand when they were through the doors and climbing the stairs; instead he put that hand on her rump. Inside his apartment, though, he left her to start the coffee. Coats hung up, he pulled her into a warm hug. He kissed her for a brief moment and then continued the hug until the coffee gurgled.

They sat across from each other with a coffee cup and a copy of both sets of their answers before each. David had made lavish use of the Xerox machine. "Speaking of furniture," David said, "what of this stuff will we want to keep? I'll bring my bookshelves. Hell! I'll bring more than enough books to fill them."

"Can't have too many bookshelves."

"Can, on the other hand," David said, "have too many books. You know the stories which surface every once in a while? Somebody is found dead -- buried in collapsed stacks of books. Every time I read one of those, I see my future."

"Do you have to know now?" she asked.

"Not in the least. Something to think about. I'll rent a truck and empty the place out sometime in July. My lease runs through September first, and I can't see getting a sublease in the summer. This is a college town, not one hell of a lot of demand for apartments when classes are out. Anyway...."

"Anyway," David continued, "You've seen my answers, where do we need to adjust our differences?"

"One place we don't need to adjust immediately," she said, "concerns children. We're agreed upon having one, at least. We're agreed upon not starting right away. Until we have one and seen what that means, I think we'd be stupid to make some determination."

"I think you're right. And, of course, your body would have to bear the burden."

"One place we do," he continued, "is budget. Are you really committed to having separate budgets?"

She wasn't sure she would put it that strongly, but she wasn't going to burden him with her student loans. "Yes."

"That's how we'll do it, then. Now, you'll be providing the housing; it's only fair that I be responsible for the food. I assume we'll both handle our own clothes and transportation. During the school year, I won't be able to do the shopping. So, I propose that I do the shopping this coming summer and work out a food budget based on that experience. Then I'll write a check for that amount every two weeks, but you'll do the actual shopping. Is that fair?"

"I think so."

"I can pledge absolute fidelity," she continued. "Can you pledge that you'll never use sex to manipulate me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I keep suspecting that you took so long during my last visit here because you wanted me to miss the last train."

"I would have driven you back," he said. Which was not quite an admission, but the next thing to one.

"Fine. Argue with my choice, just don't use my passion to get your way. Do you see what that does?"

"Put that way. Can you pledge honesty in sex?"

"Didn't I just?" Did he mean something other than faithfulness?

"That you'll never fake an orgasm, that you'll never fake an interest you don't have, that you'll never fake an indifference you don't have."

"I'll promise the first two. You'll pardon hiding interest when we're in public?"

"Oh sure," David said. "All I mean is that you won't hide it from me."

"And you won't manipulate me?"

"I won't. And I won't hide anything from you either. I don't think men fake orgasms."

"Then," she said, "we're agreed. I was a little surprised that you didn't mention sex on your first set of questions."

"And I was surprised that you didn't have any opinions about the bed."

"I have opinions about beds. 'Furniture' was not the clearest question to find them out."

"I can see that." He sipped his coffee. "Let's hear your opinion about beds."

"Double is fine. Mine is more than a little too soft. Yours is, perhaps, a little too firm. I'm flexible; I've slept on the bed I have now for more than two years. My old one was a real wreck. So, I can go with a double bed which is that firm."

"It doesn't have to be that firm. How about one firmness, however mattress companies measure that, less than I have now?"

"Sounds good." She nodded.

They went on that way, remembering points. Finally, David took out another copy and went down the questions in order, restating their agreements and writing them down. After all the questions he reread his statement about her being the pastor and his being the professor.

"I don't think there's anything to say about that," she said.

Last, he read what he'd written about sex.

"I think," she said, "that's a beginning. I really think we established a lot of common ground with respect to sex before we started negotiating about it."

"Right! That's what started this whole thing. I wanted you." Well, she'd wanted him, too. Maybe she'd wanted him first. But she didn't have to say so. "So," he continued, "bed first, then dinner? Or the other way around?"

"Well..., we're already here. Don't want to need to come back to your apartment." She didn't sound convincing, even to herself; but David didn't object. He pushed back his chair and held out his arms. When she came over to sit on his lap, he started unbuttoning her blouse.

Kissing was a different experience when her face was higher than his. She tried putting her tongue in his mouth. His met hers, and the sensations were as good as they were in the other direction. When she broke to breathe, he said, "This is lovely, but I'm getting uncomfortable." Well, she was a lot of weight to have in your lap.

When they got up, though, he adjusted his trousers over his erection. "That problem has a better solution," she pointed out.

"Sure. But I have a place to hang the clothes in the bedroom, and you're wearing too much, too." As they walked into his bedroom, she carried her blouse and bra.

There, he kissed her deeply with one hand on her breast and the other on her rump. Then they separated to remove their own clothes. She hung her clothes on the back of a chair, taking some care with them -- she still didn't have as many changes as she needed of clothes suitable for a professional. She could have shopped in jeans and sweatshirt (and parka), but David might be planning on a restaurant afterwards. David stripped rapidly, dumping his underwear on his shoes on the floor. He was waiting on the bed when she finished undressing.

She lay down beside him, and they shared a kiss. She held his face against hers with both hands. His hand was everywhere on her body from her neck to her knees. Then he concentrated on her left breast. His mouth followed, kissing a path to the tip of that breast before licking and sucking the nipple. Soon, his hand was teasing her cleft.

She was already feeling definite arousal when his mouth trailed lower. She pulled his head to encourage his tongue while it worked its magic on her cleft. As it touched her clitoris, she soared higher. She spasmed, helplessly clutching his head tight against her mound. She spasmed again, and yet again.

When she dropped back against the mattress, limp as a dishrag, he relented. He lay beside her holding her lightly. "Jen," he said after a while, "sweet Jennifer." She turned her head. "Not asking anything. Just marveling. This is sweet Jennifer I have in my arms."

She smiled at him. When her energy returned, she took his hand in hers and moved it to her left breast. He cupped it, stroked it, played with her nipple. He began to kiss her right arm, moving from that to her right breast. The heat was rising in her again.

She spread her legs when he smoothed his hands down her belly towards her cleft. But he stopped on her mound for a minute, combing his fingers through her hair there. Then he sucked on her nipple while stroking the lips of her cleft. She enjoyed all of that for a while, and then she needed more. "David," she said.

He rolled away to put on the condom. She knew she shouldn't feel lonely; he could hardly put it on while caressing her, and she did want him to put it on. Nevertheless, she did feel lonely; and she felt very happy when he rolled back and began climbing between her legs. Poised at her cleft, he said "Jennifer." Then she was spread, filled. She had him where he belonged.

As his motions inside her began to soothe her needs, she ran her hands up and down his back, feeling the muscles flex. As her excitement peaked, she reached down to his rump. There she felt the important flexing, his muscles driving him in and out of her. Her need flared; she raised herself up and pulled hard to bring him into her.

Then she spasmed again and again. The pleasure which coursed through her was indescribably delightful, but it took all of her energy. Lying there motionless, she felt him thrust into her once more, harder than ever. Then he shook above her and in her. "Jen," he said as he rolled to her side.

His legs were still resting on her right leg. Too heavy, but she couldn't manage the energy to push them off. Before she could, David shifted them. He cuddled her left shoulder. They lay like that until the chill forced her to move. She lifted the covers from under their feet and spread them over both David and herself. When she lay back down it was on her left side. She pushed back until she was against David. He turned on his side and held her breast. She put her hand over his.

"Come June," David said, "we'll spend every night lying like this."

"But," she said, "It's not June yet. How long do I have before we have to go out to eat?"

"Depends. I still have some chili in the freezer. You'll still have to go out to catch the train, though."

"Pauline chili? From the potluck?"

"Another batch, a trifle more picante. I can cook some rice, though."

"Not without getting up."

"Not without getting up," he said already moving away. "Stay here, though. I shall return."

The air in the apartment was warm enough, and none of it reached under the covers anyway. But the bed was much less cozy without David beside her. Soon, however, he was back. Settled beside her, he set the alarm. "This will tell me when the rice is ready," he said. She snuggled against him and drowsed until the alarm woke her. He left the robe he'd bought her on the bed and carried his with him to the kitchen.

Domestic, she thought. Too bad she couldn't move in with him.