When George Foster woke up, he was alone in the bed. He had to piss, and he could hear the shower running. Probably that was what had awakened him. Oh, well. By the time he'd put the coffee on, he really had to piss. He went into the bathroom to do so. "About to flush" he warned Sylvia.

"Wait," she said. The shower stopped a minute later. "Okay." He flushed. Two people needing the same water supply was one of the drawbacks of living with a girl. He washed his hands and lathered up.

A moment later, Sylvia pushed back the shower curtain and stepped out of the tub. This was one advantage, which -- by itself -- far outweighed all the drawbacks. He could see her sweet breasts, lean-but-curvy flanks, and lovely bush. Even on a school-day morning, he could look.

Indeed, when she saw him looking, she posed briefly. "I'll never convince you," he said when she went back to drying herself. "You look sexier doing that than trying to flaunt it. Ever seen Degas's paintings? Dancers getting dressed?" Sylvia's face looked unconvinced, but her face wasn't what was drawing his attention right then.

He put on his glasses and pulled on his shorts and jeans from the night before. Meanwhile, he watched her dress. It was sexier than the pose, although it got less sexy as the dressing progressed. After a brief breakfast, she was ready to leave for work. He put aside his glasses. She held hers in her hand, and gave him a gentle kiss. Then she was gone. He'd have liked to caress her, but knew better than to try on a school-day morning.

He had his own shower before setting down to several hours of typing. He spent a lot of time at the University and got home well after she did. But this was a homecoming. She greeted him with a kiss. He held her butt with both hands, pulling her so her mound was pressed into his leg. "I'm in the middle of dinner," she said when he came up for air.

"Mmm, smells good too," he acknowledged. "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 didn't like sponging off Sylvia, but his grandfather had appointed a trustee who was politically to the right of Genghis Khan. George got what the trustee was legally obliged to give him, but not any accommodation -- like having the money waiting for him when he got back from Chile.

Sylvia's meatloaf was delicious; the girl could really cook. While dishwashing wasn't his favorite shared activity, it was something they shared. "Want to explore?" he asked afterward.

She changed from skirt and bare feet into jeans and sneakers. Watching her change was another bonus. He intended a quiet kiss before they went out, but his gonads got the better of him. He stroked her all over.

"I thought you meant 'explore the city,'" she said. She was right. This wasn't a night for that, not with a morning awaiting them. He took her hand and set out in the pattern they had settled on.

"This place smells almost as good as your cooking," he said when they passed an Italian restaurant. "Want to eat here some night after my check comes?" He wanted to bite his tongue afterwards. She didn't mention that; why did he always have to put it in?

"Sounds great. Smells great, I mean."

He tickled her palm on the way to their apartment. She didn't take her hand away, but said "exhibitionist" when they were inside. Then she said "whew" and dropped onto the bed.

"It wasn't exhibitionism," he explained. "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." He accepted the invitation with a long kiss, but didn't lie down beside her.

"People could have seen that," she said, pointing at his cock.

"Look." It was time to get the schedule accepted. "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."

"Sure." Darling girl! He took one more kiss and a cuddle before he went back to the interminable typing-up of his field notes.

When he couldn't face another page, he got ready for bed. "Need the light?" he asked her. The overhead light glared in your eyes when you were lying down, but it was necessary for some housework.

"No," she said. He turned on the bedside lamp before turning off the overhead by the switch at the door. He turned that off when she was in bed, hidden by the sheet.

There, touch ruled -- and taste. His tongue found a taste of toothpaste in her mouth; his hand found a lean belly and a firm mound before homing on her soft, smooth, breast. That feel was delightful on his hand, but called for his lips to really appreciate it.

When they reached it, she pressed his head to show that he was welcome there, but she had a question. "I thought you wanted to save up."

His mouth was busy right then, but he answered when she broke his mouth kiss. "Not you. Just me. You..." How could he explain this? And there was so much Sylvia to kiss. But he would hardly be showing his appreciation by ignoring her question. "You," he went on, "don't have a prostate. You don't have to save up at all."

He resumed kissing her breasts. Sylvia's hands were on his head, and he could tell her level of excitement by how much she pulled it against her. There was other evidence as well. As his finger stroked within her vulva, she was growing wetter and wetter. Then she tensed all over. He could feel her mound rise against his hand and her belly shake under his arm. He sucked harder.

He moved both mouth and hand away from her when she suddenly relaxed. He covered her perspiring body with the sheet and hugged her. Soon she was taking the deep, even, breaths of sleep. He watched the headlights cross the ceiling while appreciating the naked girl in his arms.

He awoke alone, and covered -- except for his feet -- by an afghan. It was a remarkably small blanket for one person, let alone two. He heard the shower running, but had to piss anyway. "Flush!" he called when he was done. He ran the hot water into the bowl at the same time. He shaved hurriedly. "Want me to scrub your back?" he offered when he was done. He went behind the shower curtain before she could answer. Delightful girl! Sylvia looked as good in her skin as she had felt the previous night.

"I'm nearly done," she said.

"Turn around," he replied. He took the washcloth and scrubbed her back. She pushed against the wall so that he had a firm surface. This pushed her butt out towards him in an enticing way.

When she turned around so that the shower water hit her back, the view was even better. But she turned off the shower before he could start in on cleaning her breasts. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," he said.

"I can tell," she replied, pointing at his cock.

"Yup. I'm always available to scrub your back. Or to towel you off." She allowed him to do that, maybe because he'd grabbed the best of their meager supply of towels. She pushed against a wall -- sticking her butt out again -- while he did her back. Her breasts were delightful to dry. When he'd dried her legs, he kissed her mons. Sweet thicket, mountain of love.

She was waiting for him in bed when he came out. Their kiss was long and deep before he moved to her breasts. When he kissed over to the breast farthest from him, he stroked down to her vulva. "Yes, darling," she whispered. Sweet girl, welcoming him. The vulva welcomed him, too, with its moisture.

His body wanted her right then, but his mind wanted her in a different way. He wanted her acceptance, wanted her desire, wanted her eagerness. And then she gave them all. "Now, darling."

"Moment," he said. When he'd applied the condom, he got into position. This was always an especially delightful moment within the delight of making love to Sylvia. Poised at the threshold of her vulva, sensing just the lips touching the head of his cock, sensing her welcome as much as her warmth. His "Oh, Sylvia!" tried to express some of that, but failed. He felt her surround him, engulf him, welcome him with her warmth. Fully ensconced, he kissed her lips before beginning the ancient rhythm.

He was in heaven. The emotions of desire and affection almost matched the purely physical sensations. He tried to delay coming; she should come first. And then she did.

All her softness hardened under him. Her vulva tightened around him, and then contracted rhythmically. He thrust deep into her and pulsed and pulsed. As his seed poured into her, his tension poured out of him. He grabbed the condom as he fell away from her. With his last strength, he hugged her with his right arm.

It was still early. He was sated. He lay with Sylvia in his arms. Life couldn't get any better than this. "Sylvia," he said.

"George," she replied. But he hadn't meant that this was who it was. He'd meant that having Sylvia there was the cherry on the sundae. It was bliss, but it wasn't eternal. She got up, and he did too. They shared breakfast. "Want to go back to bed, after?" He could hope.

"Want to?" she replied. "Yes. Going to? No. And you have work to do, as well."

"I love you, puritan as you are."

"And I love you, too." Which he was glad to hear. She rather had to say that, of course. She wasn't the sort of girl to live with a man she didn't love. Still, he believed it.

He transcribed the notes some more. Sylvia went out, and he went to the university. The discussion among the team was minimally helpful, but he struck gold in his mailbox. Along with the usual separate offers of bargain subscriptions to every magazine that Time Incorporated published, there was an envelope from the trust. He had his check, and it was the amount for three months -- minus a charge for stopping payment on the previous two checks, of course. Still, it was enough to pay back Sylvia, pay the minimal tuition to stay registered while he wrote his dissertation, and keep him well past the time the next check was due. He was determined that he wasn't going to go through this again.

Of course, he still had to establish a bank account -- catch-22: before he had the check, he didn't have the money to open the account in which he could deposit the check. And the bank would make him wait before he could write a check. Still, the time frame would be certain on Monday.

He told all that to Sylvia when he got home. "I wasn't worrying," she said.

"I was."

Their kiss then was romantic. Her tongue met his. Her hands, if they didn't roam like his, held him to her.

The rest of the evening was domestic. He'd raved about her cooking often enough, and deservedly so. He didn't rave about her spinach souffle -- and deservedly so. When she came to bed, she paid more attention to the alarm clock than to him.

Finally, she faced him, still quite distant. "Going to come to church with me tomorrow?" she asked.

The question on his mind wasn't where he was going to go the next day; the question was where he was going to come that evening. But he'd deal with her question first. "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. I was hoping for a monopoly."

"A monopoly?" she asked. "And do I get a monopoly in return?"

"You have it." She'd had it long before he'd gone to Chile.

"Deal?"

"Deal," he said before sealing the deal with a kiss. And, since he was right there anyway, he followed that kiss up with a more erotic one.

She lay back to allow his hands -- and mouth -- full access. "Now, I suppose the man wants to exercise his monopoly?" she said in mock resignation.

"How did you guess?" She answered by taking his cock in her hand. That might be a little early, but it felt great -- both physically and emotionally -- she wanted him.

"Okay," she said -- confirming this, "but I'll want to exercise mine, too."