You would think, Sylvia Jennings pondered just before getting up, that living with a man wouldn't be that new an experience. She'd had roommates before. She'd slept with men -- slept with George Foster in particular -- before. But a live-in lover was different from a roommate. And sleeping with George hadn't really involved sleeping; their relationship in bed had been quite active.

Now, though, everything was different. None of her roommates had slept in the same bed. None would have had an erection pressed against her back if they had. Nor would their chins have been so bristly. George's beard had been delightful before he'd shaved for his passport photo. His smooth-shaved cheeks felt lovely against her face (and her breasts) these days. The intermediate stage was unfortunate.

She eased out of bed and shut off the alarm a moment before it rang. She seldom needed it, but teachers didn't come to school late -- that they left to their students. George came into the bathroom while she was in the shower. Couldn't really avoid it. "About to flush," he said.

"Wait!" she said. She finished her rinsing and turned off the water. "Okay." She heard the toilet flush.

He ogled her in the mirror when she stepped out. You'd think he'd get enough of seeing her naked. And, being engaged in shaving, he squinted to see her. He could be much more subtle when he was wearing his glasses. She posed for him, then went back to drying herself.

"I'll never convince you," he said. "You look sexier doing that than trying to flaunt it. Ever seen Degas's paintings? Dancers getting dressed?" She wasn't sure that Degas had intended his paintings to be sexy.

He put his glasses on before pulling on his underpants and jeans. He'd shower after she was gone. The apartment belonged to her on school mornings; his classes were later. She knew he was watching her dress, but they'd reached a compromise in their week in the apartment. He wouldn't touch her before the goodbye kiss at the door; mornings, he could look but not touch.

He had, however, put the coffee on before coming into the bathroom. She had two cups with her cereal. She kept her glasses in her hand for his kiss good bye. He put his down. Still, the kiss was brief and closed-mouth.

The evening kiss was much more satisfactory. She took her glasses off when he came in, and he hugged her during the kiss. His tongue explored her mouth as his hands explored her ass. "I'm in the middle of dinner," she finally warned him.

"Mmm, smells good too. And I used to like your hot-plate spaghetti. Look, you are keeping track of the grocery expenses aren't you?"

"Yep."

"The check ought to come Monday. But that's 'ought to.'" He worried so much. She knew he was good for the money. She worried more about his response when he found out that she could cook only about a dozen menus. Well, he'd been appreciative of every dish so far. She'd try him on the spinach souffle tomorrow. She suspected they would eat out more after his check came.

He was appreciative of the meatloaf. Unfortunately, his appreciation extended to taking thirds. Men ate so much! And it wasn't just George. He was good, though, about doing half the work on washing the dishes. "Want to explore?" he asked when that job was done. They might as well; they still didn't know their new neighborhood, and Boston wouldn't stay warm for long.

She changed into jeans and tennies. When they kissed before leaving, his hands roamed over her. Her nipples were hardening against his palms when she broke the kiss. "I thought you meant 'explore the city,'" she said. He laughed, but held the door open for her.

They'd developed a pattern for their explorations. They would walk down their street, left tonight, until they came to a corner they hadn't explored before, then they would turn down it. After about a mile, they walked one block over, and came back. In Toledo, in New York, even, this would have taken them all over their neighborhood fairly quickly. Boston hadn't been laid down in squares. They were probably missing all sorts of hidden nooks. The hidden nooks they found, though, were a delight. They'd already gotten lost twice. Still, if you had to get lost, walking hand in hand with George in the gentle dusk was the way to do it.

"This place smells almost as good as your cooking," George said about one restaurant. "Want to eat here some night after my check comes?" She was willing to eat there the next night -- her treat. But George, who seemed perfectly willing to let her cook dinners every night until his dissertation was accepted, wouldn't hear of her picking up a restaurant check.

"Sounds great. Smells great, I mean."

They edged around a shouted argument. "What language was that?" she asked when they were safely by.

"Not Spanish. I've heard enough arguments in Spanish. Not far off, though. Italian, maybe, or Portuguese. I don't think this is the time to ask."

"No."

They found their street again, and George tickled her palm while they were walking towards their building. "Exhibitionist," she said when they were safely back in their own apartment. "Whew!" she dropped onto the bed.

"It wasn't exhibitionism. Nobody could see."

"If you'd waited 'til we were inside, you could've had any intimacy you wanted."

"I'll take that as an invitation." It hadn't been, really. He hadn't waited to get to the apartment, so he shouldn't get the kiss he came over for. On the other hand, she wanted the kiss. It was a good one, too, starting slow and lasting long. His tongue licked hers until he straightened.

"People could have seen that." She pointed to the prominence of his zipper.

"Look," he responded. "Tomorrow is a day of rest, right."

"Well, I've got things to do. Shopping for one."

"A morning of rest, then. I'll have to get to Harvard, too. But, if we can take the morning for us, I'd like to save up for it."

'Save up?' Was he suggesting abstinence? George? Well, she could go along with that. "Sure." If he had abstinence in mind, though, his preparation was weird. When he resumed the kiss, he cuddled her breast. Soon he had to move away and get back to his field notes. There seemed to be an intermediate step between the actual scribbling every night in the village and the dissertation. His typing was a counterpoint to her own work.

This apartment would look crowded to her mom, not that she was about to see it when it was quite clearly occupied by two. Not that her parents would visit from Toledo anyway. Sylvia's parents had met George; they knew she was seeing him again, after the break for his anthropological expedition. They didn't know she was living with him, not that it was any of their business. She was fairly sure that they didn't know, though they'd probably guess if he answered the phone -- which he would do, did frequently. And George's stuff didn't really take up that much room. He kept his field notes, originals and typed copies, in four separate stacks. He'd bought -- with money borrowed from her -- another pair of jeans, two shirts, and five sets of underwear.

Anyway, the apartment would look crowded to her mom. One real room, a bath, a kitchen -- that was crowded, and two closets. It looked incredibly spacious to Sylvia. After years in dorms and half a year in a single room where you couldn't walk when the bed was down, one large room was luxury. And, odd as it was sometimes to share a bathroom with a man, he was only one person. And watching him shave was fascinating.

He was so matter-of-fact about undressing, too, when the time came to close the notebook and move the most recently typed pages to the piles of originals and carbons. He stripped first, then asked, "need the light?"

"No," she said. He turned on the bedside lamp, walked across the room to turn off the switch for the overhead by the door, and then walked back to the bed and got in. He did sleep under the sheet, unnecessary as yet in the warmth. He could have done all that -- well, almost all of that -- before undressing.

She thought regretfully of her nightgown while she undressed and made her other preparations in the bathroom. George objected, though; and he was so cooperative in other ways. When she got in the bed, he switched off the lamp. They kept the shades drawn although the apartment across the way had an air conditioner filling the window directly opposite. Even through the shades, the light from the streetlights illuminated their ceiling. Every time a car passed, that light brightened. You needed a lamp to read, but you could see the other person in the bed perfectly well.

When they kissed, he held her breast. His tongue entered her mouth, and his fingers brushed her nipples. She enjoyed the contact, but she thought he had wanted to abstain.

"I thought you wanted to save up," she said as his mouth trailed down towards her breast. She clutched his head to her when he reached the nipple, though. And she spread her legs when he reached between them.

He sucked while he rubbed, stroked while he licked. He leant across her to lick the other nipple before he returned to her mouth. Her tongue met his. They kissed until her breath was gone. "Not you," he said, "just me." Which, considering all that he was doing just then, and considering the tone of voice in which he said it, was a surprisingly selfish statement.

"You," he said before visiting the nipple again. "You," he continued after giving it a quick lick and a long suck, "don't have a prostate. You don't have to save up at all." Which explained what 'just me' had meant. She wasn't sure he was right, but this was one hell of a time for argument. And she was much too far gone to stop now, anyway.

She ran her fingers through his hair while he sucked at her breast and stroked her pussy. The heat grew within her; she had to consciously stop herself for reaching for his prick. Then, the heat flared suddenly. She arched into his hand, felt herself shake as she climaxed. After a timeless interval, she collapsed. He pulled the sheet up over her shoulders and held her as she slipped into sleep.

Some time during the night, it turned chilly. She woke to find herself pressed against George. She went to get an afghan her mother had sent her her first fall in school. It was much too narrow for the bed, but she cuddled against George so that it covered them both.

She hadn't set the alarm clock. This morning was a Saturday, after all. Her internal alarm went off, just the same. George was holding her, fast asleep. The combination of not having to get up and being cuddled was delightful. She lay enjoying it, neither quite awake nor really asleep, until her bladder made her get up. In the bathroom, she took a shower. She loved George, enjoyed sharing the apartment with him. But being the only one awake was a luxury as well.

Soon, that luxury ended. "Flush," warned George. He ran the hot water in the bowl at the same time the toilet took the cold. The combination didn't really balance the temperature of her shower, but it was thoughtful of him to try. "Want me to scrub your back?" he asked a short time later. He climbed in behind her.

"I'm nearly done." She'd have ended her shower, indeed, if he hadn't been occupying the rest of the bathroom.

He ignored that. Grabbing the washcloth, he said, "Turn around." The scrubbing he gave her back was a luxury.

The shower was turning cool, however. She turned around to rinse off before the hot water ran off. "Thanks," she said.

"My pleasure."

"I can tell." She pointed at his prick, now almost fully erect.

"Yup. I'm always available to scrub your back. Or to towel you off." She turned off the shower which was now getting really cold. When she stepped out of the tub, he was waiting with a towel. The drying of her back was as vigorous as the washing had been; when he got to her breasts, he patted very gently. He was much more gentle than she would have been, more gentle than he was when he was caressing them. He knelt to dry her legs and feet. When he'd finished those, he kissed her mound.

He dried himself hurriedly when she left the room. She thought of moving into the kitchen to start breakfast to tease him. But it would tease herself, too. And the kitchen meant getting dressed. An obvious former closet, the kitchen required that you be right next to the stove to use it, neither comfortable nor safe in bare skin. The refrigerator was out in their main room, being too large for the kitchen.

It still being chilly, she went back to bed. He joined her when he got out of the bathroom. He'd shaved, and she enjoyed the touch of his smooth cheek on hers as his tongue explored her mouth. She could feel his erect prick lying over her thigh, but so long as he was content to keep to foreplay, so was she. And such delicious foreplay, too. He moved his body further away to kiss her left breast as he cuddled her right one. When he moved his face to her right breast, he moved his hand to her thighs. Soon he was stroking her pussy.

"Yes, darling," she murmured. She spread her legs to give him more access. She was glad he'd suggested this, morning love was much better than anything she could have managed after a wearing day in classrooms. The feelings his hands evoked were delightful. And then they weren't enough. "Now, darling," she said.

"Moment," he said. He rolled away to get the rubber. With it on, he knelt between her legs. "Oh, Sylvia," he said. His prick moved inward. Spreading her, rubbing her where she needed it most, filling her. He kissed her briefly in this position. Then he began his motions. Above her and -- most especially -- within her, he moved. Her arousal soared, rising higher and higher until it couldn't get any greater.

And then it did.

She convulsed around his still-moving prick. When she did, he moved more urgently. Just when the tension left her, he stiffened. She could feel his prick quivering within her. He grasped his prick as he moved to her right. All that fullness left her, and he gasped in her ear. His arm went around her.

"Sylvia," he finally managed to say.

She moved her hands up to hold his arm. "George." How long they lay like that, she couldn't tell. She enjoyed that moment, and her mind could have enjoyed it forever, grading and housework be damned. But it was breakfast time, and -- satisfied as her mind was -- her stomach was empty.

When she came out of the bathroom, he went in. He had his cereal sitting across from her, dressed in jeans if not in shirt or boots. "Want to go back to bed, after?" he asked.

"Want to? Yes. Going to? No. And you have work to do, as well." She'd got dressed, after all.

"I love you, puritan as you are."

"And I love you, too," she said. She'd hardly been a puritan. And he didn't go back to the bed by himself, either. He put on his shirt and boots. When she had put her breakfast dishes into the sink, he moved his typewriter back to the table and dug out his notes. He was busy transcribing his notes when she went out to get the groceries, and gone when she got back.

"The check came," was his greeting when he got home. He still had a mailbox at the University. He looked much more cheerful. "And the trust is paying loads these days. It'll all come out of principal in real terms, but I'll probably be teaching before that causes any trouble. I'll still need to get to the bank Monday and establish an account. But I can actually pay you in a few days."

"I wasn't worrying." Though the rent and deposit had driven her account awfully low. The school board paid more slowly than the restaurant had, too, and there weren't any cash tips.

"I was." George was still awfully bourgeois. At least he wasn't the sort of fake left-winger that some other bourgeois kids were.

He was polite about the spinach souffle, but not in the least convincing. Well, if you were living with a man, it was better to be able to know when he was telling the truth.

When she was ready for bed, she looked at the alarm clock. She had three choices, really. She could set it in time to get her ready for church; she could leave the alarm turned off; she could wake up at the usual time. She pulled out the alarm button. Sleeping late Sunday would just make Monday morning even worse. Besides, she liked to take her time. She'd noticed a Protestant church on one of their exploratory walks, but she wasn't sure she could get there directly. Better leave a good deal of time. Maybe George would come with her; he had a better sense of direction.

"Going to come to church with me tomorrow?" she asked. They were facing each other, a foot or two apart. He had most of the afghan, though.

"I really don't have the clothes for it. It's turning chilly. If the temp gets much lower, I'll have to wear my coat. I can't get it cleaned until the check clears."

"So. Wear it."

"What would the people think?" he asked.

"Well, there must be a place to hang your coats up. I figure, if they get snooty, fuck them."

"Don't do that." He was chuckling. "I was hoping for a monopoly."

"A monopoly?" A monopoly on fucking her? Why did he think she'd gone off the pill when he was away? "And do I get a monopoly in return?"

"You have it," he said.

"Deal?"

"Deal." He bent over to kiss her, and she rolled onto her back. When the gentle kiss was finished, his tongue invaded her mouth. It was a long time before he broke the kiss to breathe.

"Now, I suppose the man wants to exercise his monopoly?"

"How did you guess?" he asked. She grasped his prick which was pressing against her thigh.

"Okay," she told him, "but I'll want to exercise mine, too."