"Connie," Helen Steffano suggested, "now that you're back for the summer, why don't you look up some of your old friends?"

There were several answers to that question, answers that Connie thought her mom should be able to figure out for herself. The kids Connie had gone through the first six grades with had been freshmen the previous year. The kids she'd gone through eighth grade with had been sophomores the previous year. Connie had been a junior the previous year. And they'd all changed drastically in the intervening time. The girls had hated boys; they didn't any more.

None of these barriers would have been enough to destroy deep loyalties and friendships, but Connie had never shared any of those. What she'd had with her roommates at St. Wigbert's boarding school the last year had been the deepest friendships she could remember. And probably none of those girls would call Connie a best friend.

Anyway, Connie had the company of girls all winter. What she wanted now was the company of boys. "Well, Helen, I think I'll go to the pool. I'll probably meet some of them there. It's not as if I called them up thinking they had been waiting for two years for me to notice them."

"A phone call doesn't mean that."

There was no point in arguing. "Thanks."

Connie had to buy a new bathing suit before going to the pool. She looked longingly at the bikinis. They were a great way to show off one's boobs. Unfortunately, Connie barely had boobs. Her A-cup bras shielded her boobs, but they didn't restrain them. She bought a one-piece suit. It was tight enough and cut high enough on the bottom to show off her buns, probably her best feature.

Andre and Helen had taken to eating dinner at separate times. Connie joined Andre on Mondays and Wednesdays for a late dinner. She ate earlier with Helen on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On weekends, when only one parent was home, she ate with that one and sometimes cooked the meal.

There were some kids at the pool when she got there. There always had been. She didn't mind that there was nobody she knew; she did mind that they all seemed to know each other. Connie started to work on getting her swimming back. Surreptitiously, she watched and listened to the others. She learned the names of the boys. Then she realized she didn't have the nerve to express interest in a boy who hadn't expressed interest in her. She started to learn the names of the girls, too.

She lay face down on a towel by the pool side and listened. One of the boys did look her way. Considering some of the other girls at the pool, how they looked and what they were wearing, this was a compliment.

The next day, she had the onset of a sunburn. She stayed away from the pool. Indeed, she stayed away from people. "Be more careful next time, okay?" Helen said.

"I will." She stayed in her room and read the books Andre had lent her. She should start back on her quatrains. Then she had another thought. She might not have done a year's worth of quatrains like Andre had advised, but she had done a good many. And it wasn't like Andre would ever look at them. She started off with a daily limerick instead.

She felt ready to go to the pool again Thursday. Going back to her locker immediately after swimming, she slathered on sunscreen and returned to the pool. She lay on her towel for three more hours but she didn't get much notice. She paid particular attention to the girls who got the most attention from the boys this time. One thing she noticed was that they, all the girls when she looked for it, were wearing makeup. It wasn't her idea of preparing for a long period in the pool, but maybe that wasn't why they came. It wasn't why she had come.

"Helen?" Her mom looked startled. Maybe she was surprised at the attention. Connie hadn't started a conversation with her for a year. "At St. Wigbert's, we don't wear makeup."

"I know that, dear."

"Could you teach me how to put it on?"

"Gladly. We'll start with mine, and then I'll help you buy your own."

Helen seemed pleased to have something she could teach Connie. And, Connie had to admit, it was something about which her mom was an expert. She made a distinction between 'enhancement,' the makeup you wear to make you look like your eyes, lips, and skin are more beautiful than they really are, and 'glaring,' the makeup you wear to show that you are wearing makeup. "At your age, dear, the girls all want the other girls to know that they are wearing makeup. At my age, women want men to think we really look like this."

It being two inconvenient bus rides to the pool, she asked Andre for a ride on Saturday. "I didn't know you were so interested in swimming, Princess," he said. "What is this? Every other day."

"About that." She took a long pause. Andre was so out of it, but did she really want him to know her reason? "It's where the boys are, after all."

He laughed. "Princess, it isn't where the fish are swimming that matters, it's where the fish are biting. Are the fish biting at the pool?"

"Not really."

"Look. You're a bright girl. The only C on your report card was in gym. So you spend your time where the boys get to see your weakest point. There are fewer boys in the library, but those boys will be more impressed with you."

Connie swam for a bit, then returned to the locker room to put on sunscreen and makeup. The makeup took a long time. Not ten minutes after she returned to her towel, there started to be an influx of young kids and their parents. The kids Connie's age moved off to the area around the deep end of the pool. Connie took advantage of that movement to join them. Nobody told her that she couldn't, but nobody spoke to her, either. She had lots of time to think. She might take up Andre's idea. She couldn't do worse.

For that matter, the pool was closed the next day. She could go to church. That was one place where you could meet people. And she wouldn't mind meeting other girls, even meeting adults, if she also met boys.

She was a little surprised when she did attend St. Andrew's. Women, even teachers, wore makeup to St. Stephen's but it was what Helen would call 'enhancement.' If a student showed up in makeup, she'd be lucky to scrub her own face instead of a teacher's doing it for her. Girls at St. Andrew's wore a lot of makeup. The rector greeted her on the way out; she introduced herself. She decided that she didn't want to meet any other people with her face blank.

The next day, she left her towel by the deep end of the pool, next to those of the other kids her age. Nobody spoke with her, though. She picked out one girl, named Karen. When Karen was neither swimming nor talking, she approached her. "Pardon me, but you look familiar. I can't think from where, though."

"Can't say that I recognize you."

"Look, let me run down a few places." She mentioned her grade school, a few other places.

"No," said Karen. She recited her own schools.

"Sorry."

"No sweat. If you don't go to Sherman, you must not live around here."

"I do, but not close. I'd be going to Roosevelt, but I'm in a private school instead."

"Lucky you."

"I wish. I can see more boys right now than I saw all year in school. That's not true; last year, we had one -- count them, one -- dance on campus to which boys were invited."

"I couldn't live like that."

"I wouldn't call it living."

When another girl spoke to her, Karen introduced Connie. Unfortunately, the one fact she communicated was that Connie went to a private school. Still Connie was now a member of the group, sort of. The girl's name was Bert.

If Connie realized that she was now a member of the group, Karen and Bert did not. She was left out of later conversation. For that matter, she had little to contribute to most of the subjects she heard. Wednesday, Karen wasn't there. A fair number of girls seemed to be missing, Bert among them.

After her swim and makeup application, Connie got tired of waiting for Karen to appear. She could ask one of the other girls if she knew where she was. But, since there were more boys at the pool than girls, it would be natural to ask a boy. She had already noted Kent, who seemed to be unattached. He wasn't the neatest-looking boy in that crowd, but he wasn't covered with pimples either. Connie had no illusions that she could compete for the neatest-looking boy.

"Do you know where Karen is?" she asked Kent.

"If you don't," he said, "I don't. Kent."

"Connie."

"Come here a lot. From around here?"

"Over on Denver Place. This pool isn't close, but it's the closest."

Ironically, the introduction that Karen hadn't made when she was there was provided by her absence. Connie had come to the pool to meet boys. She realized vaguely that Kent had come -- for at least one of his reasons -- to meet girls. They talked desultorily for the rest of the afternoon and the next two days. Saturday, there was another influx of families and no Kent.

Sunday, she made herself up carefully (and demurely) before going to church. When she stayed after, several people introduced themselves. "I'm out of town in the winter," she explained. "I go to church there. What is St. Lawrence like?"

One person called: "Steve!"

A man walked over. "Steve Marshall runs our youth group. Maybe you'd be interested." If a man was running it, it had boys as well as girls. She certainly would be interested.

"Actually," Mr. Marshall said, "the group runs itself. I'm just there so the vestry has someone to blame if something goes wrong. Our next meeting is this Tuesday. Interested?"

"What time?" she asked.

"Seven o'clock, officially. I'm there at quarter to, but we usually don't start quite on time. It will be over by 8:30, though. I chase everybody out at nine."

Some other people were still talking. Connie looked for a likely girl standing around and not deep in a conversation. "Pardon me. Are you a member of the youth group?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Marshall invited me to the meeting Tuesday. I can imagine showing up dressed like this, and everybody else is in rough clothes. I can imagine showing up in rough clothes, and everybody thinks, 'She wore that to church?' What should I wear? It's no use asking Mr. Marshall."

"No kidding. He'd tell you that anything is acceptable. And, of course, anything is. Nobody is going to slam the door in your face."

"I'd just sit there blushing."

"Just school clothes."

"And what would that be?" Connie asked "I don't go to school around here."

"The usual. Jeans and a blouse. Just not the jeans you'd clean the attic in. And the blouse shouldn't be provocative. God sees me taking a shower naked, but the church would fall down if Father Mike saw a bit of cleavage."

"Thanks. I'm Connie."

"I'm Rachel."

Connie preferred concealing blouses; maybe people would think that she had something to conceal.

Even though more of the girls came back to the pool on Monday, Kent still spoke to Connie. With Kent including her in the conversation, and Karen and Bert at least willing to talk to her, she was gradually accepted by the others. Connie had some experience in being the new kid. She didn't start subjects or express any outrageous opinions.

Liz, one of her roommates at school, had a birthday coming up. Connie wrote a quatrain just for her and sent it.

Tuesday evening, she had to settle for the jeans she lounged around the house in. The good-looking ones no longer fit. She got to church a few minutes before the youth group was scheduled to begin, even so. That was lucky, since the church covered a good deal of ground and had a number of entrances. The fourth one she tried led to Mr. Marshall and a few kids setting up chairs. Connie was introduced to the kids and then helped carry the chairs.

Connie glanced at her watch at 7:12 when Mr. Marshall called the meeting to order and again at 8:17 when Curt, the president of the group, officially adjourned them. Then the official discussion gave way to cookies and socializing. Only a few people left before Mr. Marshall told them he was going to turn off the lights in five minutes. Connie had come to meet kids, perfectly willing to suffer through whatever else was involved. Clearly, most of the others felt the same way. "I'm glad you could come," said Curt as they headed out the door. He sounded like a kid imitating a politician.

"Thanks. I'm glad I came. When is the next meeting?"

"Fourth Tuesday in July."

She walked with a couple other kids, separating as people went in their houses or turned down a block. "Where do you live?" asked a boy, she remembered that his name was Ted.

"Denver Place. Another two blocks."

"I'll walk you home, it's after nine. I'm Ted, by the way."

"I know. I'm Connie."

"I know. Only one new face for me to learn."

He waited on the walk until she had opened the door, then waved and walked back.

On Wednesday Kent asked her to a movie. "Sure," she said. "When?"

"Saturday. Say six o'clock?"

"It's a date."

Kent arrived driving a car. He came inside, apparently expecting to. Andre spoke to him, sounding like a movie dad to Connie, but Kent didn't complain then or afterwards. The movie was okay, a mindless comedy. Kent sat with his arm around her shoulder. He drove her home and walked her to the porch steps. She was expecting the kiss he gave her. He should have taken the lessons from Joan; his tongue jammed its way into her mouth instead of teasing.

Well, she had a boyfriend. What she lacked was romance. Still, she wouldn't go back to St. Wigbert's next year as the only girlin the senior class who had never gone out on a date. Her period started that night, reminding her that she was a woman, she shouldn't be dreaming of romance like a silly girl.

Sunday, she spoke with a couple of the kids from the youth group after church. Ted's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds, gave her a ride home. She and Ted sat in the back. "Steffano?" asked Mrs. Reynolds, "as in the poet?"

"Yes." Andre was a celebrity in certain circles in Hartford. Her Hartford teachers had all been impressed by the relationship. Ted's mother was the first person among her new acquaintances who had, and she didn't pursue the question. Connie was just as glad. She was, as businesses said, reimaging herself. She wasn't about to lie about anything, but St. Wigbert's put off her new friends at the pool enough. 'Daughter of a famous poet' would be worse.

Ironically, the kids at church who were more likely to accept St. Wigbert's -- it was, after all, an Episcopalian school -- hadn't heard about it.

After Helen got home from the cabin, she knocked on Connie's door. "Did you have a nice time on your date last night, dear?"

"Yes." It seemed to Connie a lousy time to ask.

"Look, dear, there are some things I should tell you. That I should have told you before." Helen didn't tell her any facts she hadn't heard before. St. Wigbert's was an old school with an old curriculum, but the curriculum wasn't so old that it omitted sex education. Helen's take on things was a little different, though. She emphasized that the boy would want everything. "You have to decide what you are going to do, dear. And, if you decide to have unprotected sex, you have to bear the child and/or the disease. For that matter, you'll want to go farther with some boys than with others. Whenever you don't want to do something with that boy right then, whether it's kissing with your mouth open or going all the way, you tell the boy that you don't do it. He'll be much happier with a girl who doesn't for anybody than with a girl who won't for him. And if you change your mind later, he'll be perfectly happy being the exception. I think you'd be stupid to go very far with your first boy, but you don't care what I think."

The last was true. On the other hand, when Helen told Connie that the boys would keep coming around after she said 'no,' she was speaking from experience. Still, it was a weird time for 'The Talk.' She'd had one date.

Connie had found that most of her jeans from the previous summer didn't fit. 'Tight' was one thing, a good thing; 'too tight to button' was another thing. Monday, instead of the pool, she went shopping. She bought the tightest jeans she thought she could sit in for an hour and a half.

She went back to the pool Wednesday. She changed into her suit and applied sunscreen, but when she got out to the pool area, she lay down on her towel immediately. She didn't feel like actually swimming that day.

Kent came up to her. "Was it something I did?" he whispered.

"Why, no." she said in a normal tone of voice. "Shhh. Why weren't you here for two days?"

"I had some things to do. Shopping." She realized that she would have come if she hadn't had her period. She could swim with a Tampax in, but she felt the liquid all over her and worried that some of it was leaking from inside. "I enjoyed the movie; didn't I say so?"

"Well, yes. But I didn't see you afterwards."

"I enjoyed myself. I'm sorry I didn't come. I don't come swimming every day."

"Hey, I didn't mean to play the heavy. I just missed you." Missed her? They'd spoken fewer than ten times.

"I'm sorry. It was thoughtless of me."

"Maybe we should exchange phone numbers."

"That would be good. But let's wait 'til we're outside. I didn't bring a pencil with me."

"You didn't? Don't you always carry one with you when you go swimming?"

She could tell that he was joking. "A fountain pen and notebook. I forgot them today."

He not only gave her a phone number and took hers, he gave her a ride home, too. It wasn't until she was home that she wondered how worried he had been. There wasn't another Steffano family in the phone book.

Friday, they were as friendly as ever. The movie she'd seen was one of the group's topics of conversation.

Saturday was the Fourth. Andre, ever cynical and more cynical about patriotism than about most things, never celebrated it. He went up to the cabin, it being his weekend. Connie didn't feel particularly patriotic, but she loved the fireworks. She went to watch them with Helen.

Sunday, Ted drove her home again. "Mind if I call you?" he asked.

"No."

A few hours afterward, he did. "Look, would you be willing to go to a movie on Tuesday?"

"Certainly." They set the time.

Connie, who had never had a boyfriend, who had only played spin-the-bottle a few times years ago, now had two boyfriends.

Monday Connie swam when she got to the pool, and put on sunscreen and makeup afterwards. She spread her towel a few inches from Kent's. "Hi," he said.

"Hi. Do you come here every day?" His tan looked like it, and it was barely July. Of course, her tan would have been better if she hadn't had the first case of sunburn.

"Pretty near. You seem to come every other day -- if that."

"I can only swim so much, can only stand so much sun. I might come more often as my tan gets better. Slathering on sunscreen to lie in the sun doesn't make much sense."

"Look, there's a dance Friday night. Would you like to come?"

"I warn you. I've been dancing, but they were old-fashioned dances."

"You're an old-fashioned girl."

"I'm a modern girl who goes to an old fashioned school."

"Well, there's nothing to modern dances. I'm not asking you to be my partner in a fancy demonstration. I don't do those myself. Want to learn?"

"I'd love to. My mom will want to know where I am."

He told her, vaguely. "Ride home with me, and I'll tell you again in the car. I may have the address in the car." He didn't, and his search was cursory. "Let's go look at it." He drove for a few minutes, and pointed out the club. She took down the address. It had once been a factory, and looked -- from the outside -- as if it still were one.

"Do any of the other girls go to that club, Karen or any of them?" she asked.

"Jenny. I don't know about Karen. Why?"

"Because I need to know what to wear. Boys!"

Connie now had two dates in her future. Neither boy knew about the other, which might not be fair according to the unwritten rules. Still, Connie was traveling in two different circles. For all she knew, both boys went out with several girls, too. She wouldn't ask. As long as they didn't ask for a commitment, she wasn't cheating. Besides, they had each issued the invitation, she hadn't started anything.

Ted, in his turn, came in to meet her parents. Andre and Helen were civil to each other as well as to Ted. Connie could tell they were making an effort. He had his parents' car and drove her to the theater. He bought them a box of popcorn to share and sat touching her only where their arms met due to the closeness of the seats. They talked about the movie on the drive home. When Ted had parked as close to her house as he could get, he walked around the car to open her side and help her out. He walked her to the front door. Connie waited for the kiss, but it didn't come. "Thank you," Ted said. "I enjoyed this very much."

"Thank you. I enjoyed it, too." Then he waited while she opened the door and went inside.

"Have fun, Princess?" Andre asked from the living room.

"I'm a big girl, Andre. You don't need to wait up for me after my dates."

"And I'm an old man, but not old enough to go to bed this early. I didn't ask what you did. I didn't set strict rules. I asked if you had had fun."

He was right. "I had a lot of fun, thank you. Hollywood doesn't do a bad job if you see the movies in the right company."

"Anything blow up in the movie?"

"No."

"Then it was a good movie."

Ted was a gentleman, probably a gentle man. She imagined his gentle kiss while she brushed her nipples as lightly as possible. She took herself over and curled up in sleep.

Wednesday, Jenny told her that jeans and a top were fine. Kent told her that he would be by Friday at 8:30, He was. Admission to the club included four 'drink tickets' apiece, which only covered soft drinks. Kent held on to all eight tickets, but he got her drinks. The dances weren't too hard, even though their only relationship to what she had learned was that they involved moving in time to music. Kent parked on the way home; 'on the way' being far out of the way. He kissed her, stuffing his tongue into her mouth again. When he put his hand on her boob he did it roughly. When the hand dropped down to her lap, she realized that he was going to go as far as she would let him. Helen wasn't wrong about everything.

She pushed his hands away. "Now sit there, with your hands in your own lap." He did, looking unhappy. "And keep your tongue in your own mouth." She leaned over and kissed him. She put her hands up to move his face to where the kiss was comfortable. After licking his lips, she pushed just the tip of her tongue in to meet his. They kissed like that for a bit. "Now, I think it's time to go home, don't you?"

He drove her home. "You're not mad?"

"I'm not mad. I am a bit disappointed. I thought you wanted to dance with me."

"I did. I do."

"What you were doing wasn't dancing. If I hadn't said 'no' at all, where would you have stopped?" He didn't answer. "Which means I have to say 'no.' Now, doesn't it?"

He walked her to her porch steps. She turned up her face for the kiss, but kept her mouth closed when his tongue tried to enter. Despite her example a few minutes before, Kent didn't bother to lick her lips.

When they ate breakfast, Andre told her, "I've been meaning to talk about this. You need to learn to type. Your school teaches it, but they really underemphasize it. You can take it next year, or next summer. I wanted you to take it this summer, but the community college won't admit fifteen-year-olds. I might have some influence, if you really want to do that now."

"It's too late."

"There are two summer sessions. The second one starts in three weeks. You don't want them you to turn you into a secretary; you want to be able to type your papers in college. One session is fine." She loved the way he said 'you want.' Andre wanted; Connie didn't. Still, typing her papers would be a help. Joan and Liz typed.

"I'll ask at school." Which would delay the work until after that summer. She was starting to have a full summer schedule; she hadn't even got around to reviewing the Latin she'd intended to. Not that she wanted to tell Andre why.

"I'll buy you a typewriter when it's time. You'll need a portable, an electric portable maybe."

"Thanks, Andre."

St. Andrew's had a much bigger building than St. Stephen's had. There were fewer people at the service than the second service at St. Stephen's during the school year, though. Every family group sat in a pew by itself. When the Reynolds family took the pew in front of the one in which Connie was sitting, she smiled at Ted. After the service he offered her a ride home. This time, he drove and she sat beside him. His parents were in the back seat. "Thank you very much," she said as she got out. Whether she was thanking Ted, who was the obvious instigator of the drive, or his parents, who owned the car, she couldn't tell. All three said she was welcome.

Ted called to thank her for the last date and to ask her out to see another movie that Tuesday. "Thanks," she said.

She wondered whether she had turned Kent into an enemy. Still, if she had, he was only interested in her for one thing. Well, of course he was only interested in one thing; she herself was only interested in one thing, if not quite the same thing. She hadn't asked his opinion of world affairs, after all. But, if he wasn't willing to pursue the one thing slowly and subtly, she couldn't afford to date him. She wanted an entry into the world of boys with girls; she didn't want an entry into the world of parenthood.

Monday when he came into the pool area, Kent put his towel down next to hers and looked inquisitively at her. She nodded. He started to whisper to her. "Look," she said, "are you going to offer me another ride home?"

"Sure." Which told her that Kent wasn't about to blow her off.

"Let's talk then, okay?"

"Okay."

"Anything you can shout, you can shout now. I just don't want to whisper in front of the others."

"Okay."

They (especially Kent) took part in the general conversation. "Ready to leave?" he asked her. She nodded and gathered up her towel. On the ride back, he said, "First of all, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted."

"You aren't mad?"

"I told you I wasn't."

"Would you go to a dance with me this Friday?"

"Same time?"

"Yes, same club. You're not 21, are you?"

"No." Did she look 21? Some days, she wondered whether she looked fifteen.

"Then there aren't a hell of a lot of places to dance in the summer. If they serve drinks, they won't let you in."

"I used to go to restaurants with my parents. They drank. I was a heck of a lot younger than I am now."

"Yeah, but the rules for dance clubs are different."

The movie Tuesday was a disaster, even by Andre's standards. There were three explosions in the course of the film. Ted drove her home without parking and walked her to the door. "Sorry," he said.

"You didn't produce the movie." Not that he might not have done a better job.

His hand on her face was gentle, and so was his kiss. "Good night," he whispered.

"Good night."

Wednesday, she and Kent talked with the other kids. Jenny asked her how the dance had gone. "All right. I liked dancing. It's more fun than the ones I'm used to." If they were going to know she went to St. Wigbert's they were going to know she didn't enjoy it.

That night, Ted called and thanked her for the date. "Look," he said. "Would you like to see another movie next Tuesday, despite the last one?"

"I'd love to. The quality of the movies isn't really your fault."

He mentioned the name of the movie. "Are you allowed to go to movies like this?" She hadn't any idea what the movie in question was like. "Or maybe you don't approve of erotic movies yourself, but this one is supposed to be good. It's not gratuitous."

"I don't have any objections, and I'm sure my parents don't."

"Ask, okay? I don't want you to get in any trouble. I especially don't want them to make trouble about your going out with me."

"Same time?"

"Yes."

After the dance Friday, Kent parked in the same place. "Let's set some rules," she said.

"What are the rules?" She was tempted to do the kissing. But still, the boy took the lead; even the dance classes at St. Wigbert's made that point.

"You can't touch anywhere my bathing suit does. And keep your tongue to yourself."

Kent reached over and held her shoulders as they kissed. She moved into his grasp. His kiss was more tentative than his previous ones had been. When she was satisfied he would be gentle, she licked his lips. His grip on her shoulders tightened. It would be hard to escape, but he got no more violent. When she broke the kiss and pushed on his chest, he moved back. "Like my licking your lips?" she asked.

"And how!"

"If you'd like to do that to me, I wouldn't mind." He did, starting too forcefully, but getting more gentle as he went along. She enjoyed it. When she pushed her tongue out to meet his, a little charge of excitement ran through her. He tightened his hands again. She found that, as long as he didn't do anything about it, she enjoyed the feeling of being in the power of a strong man.

On her doorstep, he kissed her very gently. "Good night," he said.

"Monday," she said.

"Monday." And he left.

Connie was surprised to find that her panties were damp. She was used to her excitement, but it had always been from fairly direct stimulation. Kent hadn't produced any with his assaults. He had with his gentleness. Of course, the girls' term of 'creaming your jeans' was an exaggeration. Still she was readier for her hand than she'd been in a long time. She put the nightie beside her pillow. She toyed with her nipples until she had to move to her cunny. When she got to the direct rubbing on her trigger, she experienced the most dramatic spasm she'd had in a year. The nightie was still beside her when she woke in the morning.

A storm was threatening before church on Sunday. It broke during the service. A visit from September in the middle of July. "Are you in any hurry?" Ted asked after the service.

In a hurry to go out in that? She'd brought an umbrella, but she would nearly need a submarine. "No."

"Let's wait a few minutes." Considering that his parents were already talking to some of their friends, she doubted that he had any choice. She and Ted talked with some of the other kids from the youth group as the rain outside diminished. People slowly drifted out.

Ted's dad came over. "Are you two ready?"

Ted looked at her. She had a choice? It wasn't her car, wasn't even Ted's. "Sure."

"Wait in the entrance," Ted said. "I'll get the car."

There was a cluster of families just inside the door, waiting for the driver to bring the car closer. "You know, Connie," Ted's mom said, "you could sit with us."

"Why, thank you."

As she was getting out of the car, Ted said, "See you Tuesday."

"Thanks," she said. "See you Tuesday."

Tuesday, when she and Ted got to the show, he said. "They'll want to see your driver's license."

"I don't have one."

"Then some proof you're seventeen." He pointed to the sign, 'PG17.' He looked at her face. "You are seventeen, aren't you?"

"No." Not for another year and a half, which she wouldn't admit to him under torture.

He turned around and walked back to the car. "I'm sorry. I thought you were. I told you about the film. Look, we could try to find another theater; we could get a burger or something; I could just take you home."

"A burger sounds good." Andre took her out to restaurants often enough, sometimes cheap restaurants. But she knew that McDonald's, etc., was one part of youth culture where she had no experience.

They went to a burger place and talked with some of the kids there. She had a burger and a chocolate malt, picturing Helen cringing over all that fat. They dawdled over the meal, but when he got back in the car, he asked, "Do you have to go home? Want to park?"

"All right."

He stopped in a parking lot owned by some businesses. For a while, they just talked. When he moved towards her for the kiss, she leaned forward slightly. His kisses were as gentle as the ones on the porch. When he finally used his tongue, he merely touched hers instead of invading. His hand on her boob was just as gentle, but she thought that he was moving awfully fast. She pushed it away. He straightened up and started the car. His kiss outside her door didn't involve any tongue.

Tuesdays and Sundays were Ted. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were Kent. Kent was a lot of Friday; she should do something about that. When she was done swimming on Wednesday, she put on her sunscreen and makeup in the locker room. When she got back to the towel Kent said to her, "I could've put that on." He must mean the sunscreen; boys applied sunscreen to girls. His putting the makeup on her would be weird.

"That's okay. I don't mind doing it myself."

"Yeah, but I would enjoy it."

She laughed. "You coming tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Are you?"

"I'm thinking about it. I wouldn't come Friday if I did. Saturday is a madhouse here."

"Too true."

The movie she'd seen was a topic of conversation among the kids at the pool. She was surprised that there was a strong minority who thought it had been good. Guys liking explosions, she could believe, if not quite understand, even guys thinking that parts were sexy, although most of the sexiness consisted of scantily- clad starlets. But two of the girls, Bert and Candy, thought that it had been sexy, too.

That night, she wrote and sent a quatrain for Michelle's birthday.

She did go to the pool on Thursday and stayed home Friday. Friday night, Kent took her to the same club for a dance. They parked, and Kent kissed her gently. His hands, instead of gripping her shoulders, ran through her hair and then held her head firmly as he kissed her harder. But he relaxed before tasting her lips. She enjoyed that kiss. When he licked her lips again, her tongue came out the least little bit to touch his.

Again, the touch was exciting. When his hands went from her head to her shoulders, she merely deepened the kiss. His hands continued on to her boobs. That was a violation of her rules, but it felt nice. Then he squeezed. She pushed his hands away and leaned back. "I'd been enjoying it, too," she said. Let him figure out whether she meant enjoying the kiss or enjoying the light touches on her boobs; she wasn't sure, herself. They sat side by side for minutes before he started the car and drove her back. His kiss at her doorstep was gentle.

She and Ted sat together for the first part of the youth group meeting. The entertainment was a play, and Ted had a role. It was a sappy play set in biblical times with kids dressed in bathrobes with scarves over their heads. Ted, at least, knew his lines and could be heard. The play ended later than the meeting had the week before, and the socializing was briefer. Ted had the car and drove her back, not far enough to matter, and not far enough for the air conditioner to make a difference. He parked the car and walked her to her door. Considering it hadn't really been a date, that was rather much. At the door, he asked her, "Want to see a movie next Tuesday, actually see it?"

"Thanks. I'm sorry about the last one."

"No sweat. You're not into dirty movies, are you? Even curious?"

"My dad has all these books around. He doesn't think that there's any danger in them. Not all his books are like that; he has tons of clean books. So, if I want to see naked women -- something which doesn't turn me on -- I can get art books labeled "nudes" from his shelves. I don't have to go to a movie and look quick before the camera moves on."

He laughed.

When she went to the club with Kent, the new DJ played a few slow tunes. These dances and the ones she'd learned at St. Wigbert's were both 'slow dances.' There the resemblance ended. She was learning them held in Kent's strong arms. Sometimes there was a use to his firm grip.

As if he'd used up his firm grip, he was very gentle in his kisses. Towards the end of their parking time, he stroked just his finger tips down across her breast. She didn't do anything, and he repeated the stroke several times. He had stopped paying attention to the kiss, though. She pushed him away, but gently. "You're a very nice guy," she said.

"Can't we stay longer? When is your curfew, anyway?" Curfew? She didn't have any. Not that Helen might not panic and call the police if she stayed out later than two or so. She didn't see the point of staying longer, though. She'd enjoyed these kisses, but she didn't want more of the same. And she sure didn't want to go any farther tonight. Indeed, she was anxious to get up to her room and finish herself off.

She leaned over and pushed his hands to his sides. She kissed him, tongue-tip entering his mouth. She dropped into her seat and fastened the seat belt. "Start the car."

His kiss at the door was still gentle, but he licked her lips. He held her tight against him in a kiss that seemed to last forever. It was 11:10 when she looked at her watch just inside the door. Fine. Kent knew how to kiss when he remembered to be gentle.

"Helen," she said on Saturday, "Kent asked what my curfew was."

"I hope, dear, that you didn't tell him that you didn't have one."

"No. I enjoyed the date, but it had gone on long enough."

"You got back when? A few minutes after eleven?"

"About that."

"I think 11:00 would be a fine curfew. You're fifteen, after all. I know you don't want him to know that you're fifteen, but you don't look much older. You act older. I think you could fool an adult, but boys his age are going to go by physical features. Why don't we say eleven? When you want a later curfew, ask me. Ask Andre if I'm not here. If you tell me, tell me in front of the boy, he'll know we don't set the limits, you do. He'll want you to go way beyond any boundary you've set."

"Thanks, Helen." Helen did know about social rules. What she knew about teen behavior dealt with New York City in the sixties rather than Hartford in the eighties. But Connie knew absolutely nothing.

"And, dear, you go parking, don't you?"

"Yes." What business it was of hers, Connie couldn't tell.

"I don't want to rain on your parade, but you were out on that porch for an awfully long time. Get it out of your system where the neighbors can't see, okay? That's why Henry Ford invented automobiles." Henry Ford hadn't invented cars, as Helen should know, but she had been helpful about the curfew.

"I'll try." And, on Monday, she told Kent that they had to cut it short where the neighbors could see. It wasn't as if she were cutting him off from kisses, just kisses on the porch.

Connie had set her pattern. Kent kept pushing the limits, and Connie let him as long as she enjoyed it. She let him understand that grabbing ended the evening. When he ran his hands up her thighs, she pushed him away, although he had been gentle. "That's going too far." For one thing, it had been quite exciting; she was getting more excited than she wanted to be in a car with Kent. It wasn't that she doubted his intentions, it was that she was quite certain of them.

"It wasn't on anything covered by your bathing suit."

She laughed. "I'd forgotten that rule; I'm surprised you remember it. It's not as if you follow it."

"You're a strange girl."

"Not so strange as you." Kent was weird, but boys were weird.

"Y'know, girls set limits. But you're the only girl I know who says them out loud."

"I'm sorry. I'll learn Morse code." He laughed and reached for the keys. "Hey, we can continue the evening. Just follow the old rules." He held her face for another kiss, their tongues touching. Perhaps because of the earlier strokes on her thighs, perhaps because Kent felt chastened and remembered to be very gentle, this was the fullest excitement she had ever felt with him.

Andre was in the living room when she got back from that date. Kent's touch had excited her to the point that she needed to head to her room to bring herself over, but Andre out of his study at this time of night meant Andre facing a writer's block or some other problem, which meant Andre in a rotten mood. "Which boy was this?" he asked.

"Kent, the swimmer."

"Do they know about each other?"

"No. Are you going to tell them? Look, I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't, Princess. You're fifteen and have been at a girls' school for two years. You're playing with fire. Helen couldn't have handled two boys who didn't know about each other at your age, and Helen was a minx at fifteen. Hartford isn't that big a city; high school Hartford is even smaller. Look, you make your own mistakes; I sure made enough of my own. Just be sure you're carrying cab fare on all of these dates."

"I do." That was one place where Andre and Helen agreed.

"Okay. When it blows up, I'll be here for you. Even if I'm in my study." Now, that was a gesture. Andre had said once, "I don't care if the house is burning down; tell the fire department, not me." Of course, if the house were really burning down, he would care. He'd try to save all his manuscripts and then his books. He might, if the fire were real slow and he got his books out first, even try to save her. Still, he'd offered to listen to her even if he were in the middle of a poem in his study.

"It's not going to blow up. It's only for the summer."

"And that's its saving grace. A few more weeks of this tight rope and then back to St. Wigbert's."

At least Andre hadn't mentioned anything about what the neighbors might think. He didn't much care what the neighbors thought, had more than once expressed doubts that they did. Poets were allowed to be eccentric, and Andre took all the slack he was offered. Nobody on that street knew he worked nine-to- five in an insurance claims office.

Fair was fair. Since Kent couldn't have long kisses on the porch, she told Ted the same rule. Maybe because this didn't cut down his parking time, he was agreeable. As he had been such a nice guy, she decided to go on her next movie date with Ted without her bra.

There were only two more dates with him until she had to return to St. Wigbert's. On the one hand, she was sorry to end this summer, sorrier than she had ever been for the end of any other summer. On the other hand, she felt daring. She knew this making out was what Helen had called a 'slippery slope.' If she let Kent do something one night, he would expect to do it and more the next night. She hadn't thought Ted was quite so bad, but she was no longer sure. What she knew, Ted didn't, and Kent might not, was that this progression would stop at the end of August.

So, when Ted put his arm around her at the movie, she merely snuggled down. Kent had done the same thing on their first date. But Ted held her boob, her nearly-bare boob, through the entire show. Since he wasn't grabby, since she knew it couldn't go much farther, she enjoyed the sensations and let him enjoy them, too. When they parked after the show, he held her boob almost as soon as he kissed her.

The next Friday she decided to wear no bra on her date with Kent. She worked herself up imagining his surprise when they parked.

At the first close dance, however, she could feel his chest against her nipples. Clearly, he could feel something, too. His erection swelled against her belly. "Connie?" She smiled enigmatically. He held her closer during the slow dances, but he wanted to leave much earlier than usual. She was looking forward to the parking, too. On the first kiss, he cupped her near-naked left boob. Then he took to drawing his fingers over each of them, over the nipples in particular.

Girls' blouses button in the opposite direction from men's shirts, as she knew from some of Andre's old shirts she wore at the cottage. When Kent started to unbutton her blouse, she was more curious about seeing if he could do it than angry at the invasion. He could do it, left handed, while kissing her. She broke the kiss, though, and rebuttoned the blouse. She concluded, not for the first time, that she wasn't the first girl who had parked with him. Probably not among the first ten. "Don't do that," she said.

His kiss on the porch was brief, but passionate. She went upstairs to bring herself the relief she couldn't allow Kent to bring her.

On her next date with Ted, they sat in the balcony, and he put his arm over her shoulder to hold her boob throughout the movie. She didn't get much of the plot, not that she cared. Later on, she felt his fingers stroke her bare boob through the opening of her blouse. She was shocked, less by the sensations than by the fact that Ted had done something Kent hadn't. But the sensations felt good, especially when Ted brushed his fingers over her nipples. He held her head with his right hand and continued to kiss her deeply. When his left hand withdrew, he fumbled with her buttons. He was not, she noticed, so used to that task as Kent had been. She pushed his hand away. A loud honking made both of them jump and look around. They were alone on the parking lot. "I bumped the horn," Ted explained.

"Okay. Let's leave the blouse buttoned, okay? How much time do we have, anyway?" They looked at their watches, not much. She held his face for a last kiss. The kiss at her doorway was, as he had promised, brief.

Kent had an erection during every slow dance Friday, probably during the fast dances, too. He wanted to leave even earlier than they had the previous week. He held her face for the first kiss. Then his left hand went to her boob. For much of the evening, he had both hands on her boobs. He brought her to a high tension and kept her there. She wasn't the only one, either. When he kissed her on the porch, he pulled her against his erection. He let her go after that, though. The neighbors probably couldn't see anything.

"This is our last date," she told Ted when he picked her up the next Tuesday.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing, silly. I'm going back to school this Sunday."

"Huh? School doesn't start for a week."

"In Hartford. I go to a boarding school out of town."

"I wish I had known. The movie isn't what I would call an event."

"You want to just park?"

"Would you?" he asked, already turning towards their parking spot. "Look, this isn't what you think." She didn't think anything. "But bumping the horn and these seats, would you like to move in back?"

Why not? After all, he'd take 'no' for an answer. "Okay." After he pulled into the lot, they moved into the back seat.

His kiss was gentle, but once his tongue met hers, his hand went to her boob. He brushed her right nipple, and then her left one. Occasionally he let go of her boobs to hold her head or broke the kiss on her mouth to kiss elsewhere on her face and once, fiercely, on her forehead. But these were the only breaks.

When she got to the point that she needed her own hand to finish what his hand and mouth had started, she glanced at her watch. Taking the hint, he looked at his. They still had another ten minutes before they had to leave, but he said something like, "I can't let you leave without.,.." He bent over and kissed her left nipple through the blouse. It felt wonderful, but he let go and climbed out of his side of the car. He got in the driver's side and opened the passenger door. She stood beside the car for a minute to make sure her clothes were straight.

"I'll miss you," he said at the doorway. "Coming to church Sunday?"

"Probably not." She touched his tongue with hers when he kissed her, but she broke the kiss immediately. She unlocked the door. "I'll miss you, too." Then she went in without looking back. Andre was in his study, Helen in her room; she fled upstairs without speaking to either. The wet spot over her nipple from his kiss was nearly invisible in the mirror. She locked her door before going to bed and reliving the entire evening.

She didn't tell Kent she was going away until they were parked. They stayed in the front seats. For one thing, he didn't suggest the back; for another, his front seats were more comfortable for making out; for a third, she trusted Kent a lot less. They didn't cross any more lines that night, but they did get back a half hour late. "Are you going to hear about this?" he asked.

"Probably. What can they do? They can't keep me from dating you for nine months over a lousy half hour, and what if they do? I can't date you, can't date anybody, for the next nine months."

"Don't you get home for Christmas?"

"Sometimes. I'll call you if I do."

When Connie got to school, a note was waiting for her asking her to see Miss Perkins. She wondered what she had done. "I'm sorry, Connie," said Miss Perkins, "There doesn't seem to be any way you can take typing this year along with your other courses. It isn't one of our popular minor courses, and you'll be one of only three seniors taking third-year Latin."

"That's all right, ma'am. My father thought I would need it for college, but he's clear that there are other ways of learning it."

"It's a useful skill. Maybe we should give it more emphasis."

Connie hid her shock. To even teach typing at all was an unusual acknowledgement of the twentieth century for St. Wigbert's.

She and her special friends were seniors, but they had the same room as the year before and took the same beds as the year before. Seniors didn't have all that many extra privileges at St. Wigbert's. Connie buckled down to her new classes. She'd sworn before she'd left that spring to get up to speed on Latin, but it had been a busy summer. She had only studied second-year Latin on her own and a year before; her classmates had taken it in class the previous winter -- except the two other seniors taking it, and they had taken third-year Latin the previous winter. Connie wasn't worried about catching up to them, but catching up to the rest of the class looked like a job. Still, that was the only major subject that looked challenging this time, and Connie was good at languages.

Having survived algebra, she didn't need Joan's help any more. Joan still seemed to need her help in French, and she agreed to supply it. Joan was a friend, after all, a better friend than Connie had ever had before the previous year. Everybody was taking general science. (St. Wigbert's was a private school, but it still had to obey some of the Regents' Rules.) Everybody in the room wanted Joan as a lab partner, but she chose Connie.

Connie even felt she had enough time to keep up her daily rhyme. Somehow, limericks were too close to the nasty poems she'd promised Miss Perkins to abandon. Having done iambic pentameter to death, she decided to switch over to tetrameter. She noticed that the shorter lines seemed to change how her rhymes felt.

The girls in the room took a little time reestablishing their relationship. When Liz and Michelle thanked Connie for the poems she'd sent, their thanks felt like the letters kids write to aunts who have remembered them at Christmas. Then they started admiring each others' new clothes. Finally, on a walk after dinner, they fell back into their old relationship.

"How was your summer?" asked Joan.

"Great," said Deb. "Mom finally realized I'm out of diapers. She let me have Jerry over when she was at work."

"You never had before?" asked Michelle.

"Not with permission."

"I broke up with Billy," Pat said suddenly.

"Oh, how horrible," said one girl. "Did you get another boy?" asked another. There were other comments of sympathy.

"How could I get another?" asked Pat. "It was right at the end of summer. Well, it was most of the summer, but it wasn't final until the middle of August. He wanted to go all the way. After the break-up, mom wanted me to play the field. I said, 'It's the twentieth century, mom, wake up.' Anyway, I was coming back here. What field?"

"They all seem to want to go all the way," said Michelle.

"Tom certainly did," said Joan.

"So what do you say? What did you say to Tom, Joan?"

"Yes."

"Joan!"

"Well, it was the end of the summer, and he's going off to UCLA. It wasn't like Pat. He didn't say 'or else.' And I wanted to. We'd done everything else, and everything else had felt grand."

"Did it feel grand?" asked Deb. "Did the earth move?"

"No. Don't ever tell Tom."

"Well," said Deb, "my sister says it gets better. She's married."

"And you, Connie," asked Michelle, "did you get a tan all over this time?"

"You haven't looked in the shower," Connie said. She was still a little miffed that Michelle had the year before. "I wore a swimming suit, a modest swimming suit."

"Too bad."

"Not really. I wore it at a pool. Couldn't go topless at a public pool."

"Your folks didn't let you go up to your cabin by yourself?"

"I didn't want to go up, even with them. There were boys at the pool."

"So, how come the modest swim suit?" asked Liz.

"You forget," she was ashamed to admit it out loud, but it was no secret from these girls "the tanning wasn't the only way I went topless."

"You'll grow out," Michelle said. Kind Michelle. Connie wasn't so sure; she'd be sixteen in four months.

"Anyway, 'It's better to keep your mouth shut and be suspected of being a fool than speak out and prove it.' And it's better to wear some concealment and have people suspect you're flat than wear a bikini and have them be sure. A girl at the youth group of the local church complained of having to wear concealing blouses. I prefer it."

They all caught up with how the other girls had spent their summer.

Connie called home on Helen's weekend at the cabin. "Bad news, Andre. They can't fit me into typing."

"I can hear the despair in your voice. Well, there are other ways. By the way, speaking of college, are you applying?"

"Starting to."

"Well, you need to go to the school which will give you the education you want. And this is free advice and worth every penny. But. But your father thinks you should consider some schools outside the northeast."

"Why?"

"Several reasons. In the first place, I think you could get into any school where you apply...."

"As if! MIT is probably salivating in anticipation of getting Connie Steffano."

"Nor the Naval Academy, nor the University of Berlin. There are plenty of schools which don't want you, but mostly you don't want them, either. You could probably go almost anywhere you want to go. Some schools, Harvard and Yale, are looking for a reason to reject their applicants. Even after they've found all the good reasons they essentially flip a coin. But coming from the northeast means that the colleges in the northeast are looking at you with a more jaundiced eye. Even your high school...."

"St. Wigbert's isn't that big. I don't think anybody has too many St. Wigbert's graduates."

"No, but somebody on the West Coast won't have ever seen any. It would be one more point in your favor. Anyway, the second and more important point in your case is that you need diversity. I was born and raised in New York, and moved no further than Hartford. It looked like a change then; it doesn't now. And I regret it." That was more than Connie had heard about his past in nearly sixteen years, and she was tempted to ask for more details. But they were talking about her.

"I'll think about it."

"Do that, Connie." Using her real name meant that Andre must really want to convince her. "I don't think you want a party school, and that's my impression of the southwest, although it may not be accurate. The west coast or the Midwest. The mountain states have great scenery. I'd go crazy, but you seem to like nature, all that time at the cabin, for example."

"I'll think about it."

"And it's your decision. Tell me the names of the schools you're applying to and the amounts, and I'll send you the checks. Just give me a little lead time."

"Are things tight again?" She could imagine his running out of money when it was time to actually write the checks.

"No. Tuition might be a problem, but application fees won't be. I just want time to write a couple of checks and mail them to you. Margin for the post office's errors, not for mine."

Connie got several letters from Ted in September; she got one from Kent in October. "I thought he was named Ted," Joan said.

"Ted's the other one, the church one. Kent's the swimming- pool one."

"And which one did you go out with?"

"Both."

"Both? At the same time?"

"Separate days."

"I told you," Michelle said, "Connie's ahead of us all, and not only in class."

"I'm not ahead of Joan," said Connie.

"Did they know about each other?" asked Joan.

"I hope not. They might not have known each other at all. They went to different high schools."

"I don't know, Connie. I never did that." Well, Connie had never gone all the way, had never come close.

Connie had concentrated on her Latin until she was among the better students in class. Now she put extra effort into one subject at a time, each subject in turn. She ended up with an A in each of five majors for the first quarter. A C in gym spoiled that record. Then Miss Frazier noticed that Connie, in going from freshman to junior, had missed the second year of sex education. So she was put back in sophomore gym for the second quarter. These girls were her own age, although two years behind her in classes.

She had to decide what College Boards to take. The general English and math ones, of course, and English composition. But she could take only two of history, French and Latin. She opted for French and history.

Connie's dating experience didn't help in sex education; she soon became dubious that she had as much experience as most of the sophomores. But, a year before she'd gone to St. Wigbert's, Andre had given her books, books with technical vocabulary, to read. Besides, learning from a book was Connie's strength. She started getting 'A' grades in gym. Anyway, the classes were all inside and you didn't have to dress in something else or shower afterwards.

With the miserable weather, they stopped taking walks after dinner. They went back to discussions in French with code words for things they didn't want any teachers to hear, but this didn't feel very safe -- many of the teachers at St. Wigbert's had taken French. Besides, thinking how to say something in French cut down on the spontaneity of the chatter.

Connie enjoyed the visits more this year. Her roommates seemed to be taking more care, and they -- even Liz -- had never grabbed. Connie was less sure that the girls were providing substitutes for the pleasure that boys would provide in abundance; maybe they were providing pleasure in abundance that the boys would only approximate.

Connie stayed over for the Christmas break. She was a lot happier about it than she expressed in her letter to Ted. She also wrote a letter to Kent with the same information, even though he had never answered her first letter.

Connie had given up on her boobs' ever growing. If she kept lying face down and pulling on her nipples, it was for pleasure, not for growth. She realized, though, that her boobs were now filling her A cups, especially during her period. It wasn't much, but it was progress.

Something was different about Michelle when she came back, but Connie couldn't tell what, and Michelle wasn't saying. Joan's change was not so mysterious. She'd been finding her bras uncomfortable, and her mom took her to a department store to find out why. "When the saleslady said 'D cup,'" Joan reported, "mom was so shaken that she bought me three. She only wears a C cup herself." Somehow, Connie didn't think this was the time to mention that her A cups now fit.

Connie stayed with the sophomore gym class for the rest of the quarter. When they took up basketball, her height was an even greater advantage. She might finish the quarter with an 'A' in gym. In the class work in science, she wasn't the star Joan was, but she kept up. In lab work, she was the star Joan was, two partners turning in one report.

One night, the wind was dead calm. It was still bitterly cold, but when Michelle said "let's walk" after dinner, they all did. When she could see that nobody could overhear, Michelle asked, "Doit-un avaler?" They looked at her in bewilderment. "Do you have to swallow?" she asked. "It tastes gross!"

"That's why you swallow," Joan said. "Have him stand against something and bend over. Boys will do practically anything to make it easier. When you feel him about to shoot, get it as far in your mouth as you can. Then it all goes down your throat and not on your taste buds.

"You know those wine tasters? They swirl the wine around in their mouths and then spit it out. Gets them all the taste, which is what you don't want."

"Some doesn't taste too bad," Liz offered.

"Some? How many have you sampled?"

"One boy. But he didn't taste too bad, and he tasted a little different at different times."

"Any other opinions?" asked Joan. "Connie?" Connie shook her head. "Well, Michelle, you know what we know, and it isn't much. If you have orchards out your way, have him hold on to a low branch and bend over. That way it points out, not up. Goes down your throat faster. What I can't do outdoors is bring something along to drink afterwards."

"I think it tastes gross," said Michelle.

"But the other way feels divine. And you can't expect one without the other. Not even Connie can do with her fingers what Tom can do with his tongue. Can we go in? I'm starting to freeze."

They went in, and Connie started her homework. Several things Joan had said stayed in her mind, though.

Connie's scores on the College boards weren't so low that she had any right to be disappointed, but disappointed she was. Joan beat her in all but the English composition and French tests. "Well," Michelle said, "you beat me." (Except for general math where Connie knew she would bomb.) "And I'm not disappointed."

She put extra effort into Science and ended the quarter with six 'A's, the only student to get that.

To add to her luster, she got a letter from another boy. "What is that, three?" asked Joan. "Connie, what do you do?"

"It's not like that at all," she said. "I can't even remember this name."

"You won't remember me," the letter started, "but I danced with you last year. I'm a friend of Tom Kirkland, who is a friend of Joan Matthews. I'm coming back to the dance at St. Wigbert's this year, and I wonder if you could be my date for that dance.

"Sincerely, Russell Whitney"

She wrote back explaining that she couldn't be anyone's date. The school didn't allow it; Tom hadn't even been Joan's date the year before. If he wished, she would save him the first, third, fifth, and seventh dances. He wrote back accepting that.

She wrote: "That's very kind of you to ask. Would you like to reserve the other dances with some friends of mine?"

He accepted. "Who wants him?" she asked. "I can't say I remember him, but nobody Tom introduced me to was a real toad."

Deb bowed out; St. Wigbert's was allowing boyfriends up this year. Joan thought that a friend of Tom's was getting too close for comfort. Connie arranged dances with Russell for Michelle, Pat and Liz. Then he offered to introduce her to three friends for the other dances. They also asked the three other girls for dances.

So the four of them had partners for every dance. Russell was nice, no dreamboat, but perfectly pleasant. In the event, a lot of boys from the three schools who hadn't danced much the year before and didn't like the restrictions at St. Wigbert's didn't bother coming. There were more girls than boys, and more younger boys than older ones. The four from her room were among the few seniors who danced every dance. They were the belles of the ball, and it was all -- as Michelle pointed out -- Connie's doing.

"Well, it was Joan's doing, really," Connie said. "She and Tom started it out."

Still, younger than her classmates, Connie was both an academic star and a social one. College acceptances added to that. The only college that rejected her was Princeton. She'd followed Andre's advice, somewhat; among the schools she'd applied to were a couple in the Midwest. She needed advice on choosing among the schools, though, and she'd already had Andre's advice. She surprised herself by asking Mrs. Grover.

"Connie," Mrs. Grover asked, "what do you want to do?"

"Do? I want to get an education."

"And what do you want to do afterwards?"

"Are you saying vocational education?" This was a dirty word at St. Wigbert's. Connie half expected to be given detention for mentioning it.

"Not necessarily. Not if what I know about you is correct. Some people have fulfilling jobs; some people have jobs which pay their grocery bills and get their fulfillment elsewhere." Connie thought of Andre. "And some people, of course, live lives of quiet desperation. Now, if you want to get your paycheck and your fulfillment from the same occupation, you have certain constraints depending on what that occupation is. If you want to get them from different sources, then you have other constraints."

"Well, I don't have anything definite planned."

"That's perfectly fair at eighteen." Connie was sixteen, but she wasn't going to mention that. "So what else do you want to get out of college?"

"Well, I've spent my life at home, and then here. Nothing against St. Wigbert's, but...."

"You want to spread your wings."

"Yeah.... Yes ma'am."

"So which of those schools looks like the best place to spread your wings?"

"I don't know. My father recommended getting out of the northeast."

"Well that would be one change. Is it a change you want?"

"I think so."

"And what other changes?"

"Well, I grew up in Hartford. It's a city, if not New York. St. Wigbert's is almost rural, but...."

"The word you might want is 'cloistered.' So you want something less urban, but not some cloistered community?"

"Yes." And she wanted to meet boys, but she didn't want to say that.

"And maybe coed? Are any of the schools which admitted you woman-only?"

"No. I didn't apply to any." She'd had it with all-girl schools, but it wasn't polite to say so to a teacher at the all- girl school which had turned her off.

"You might look at the male/female ratio. I don't know what you want. After four -- no, it's three -- years at St. Wigbert's, you might not know what you want. But you could look at the ratios and see what looks most attractive. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"You were plenty of help. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Actually, if what she wanted was contrast with her past environments, and she was more sure that she wanted contrast the more she thought about it, then the choice was fairly easy. One contrast she'd not mentioned to Mrs. Grover was being known. She'd gone to a grade school where every teacher had known she was the daughter of Andre Steffano. Then she'd come to St. Wigbert's where every teacher knew every student. For that matter, most of the student body knew every senior, too. The last summer, whatever its other disappointments, had shown her the charm of presenting herself as she wanted to be.

Benson was a moderate-sized university in the small city, maybe a large town but they called it a city, of Springfield, Wisconsin. The student body, totaling 20,000, was a third of the total population, which meant that everybody would know that the students were there. On the other hand, there would be amenities which weren't entirely student-oriented. She wouldn't be anonymous in class, but she could try something out one semester and -- if it didn't work, even if it did -- try something else out the next semester.

She called Andre to tell him her choice. "I don't know whether it's the best, but it seems to give me the most options. I don't know whether I'll take all of them, but I want them available. One of the teachers here asked what I wanted to do with my life."

"And you hadn't decided at sixteen? I'm shocked." He sounded amused.

"She said something like that. Had you decided what you wanted to be when you were sixteen?"

"Dozens of times, which is another aspect of being sixteen."

"Speaking of aspects of being sixteen, will you teach me how to drive this summer?"

"Princess, I'm the worst person in the world to teach you. I've told you that. Are you going to take the typing course?"

"Sure."

"I'll pay for a driving course too. You don't need to be an expert in either, although being a better driver might save your life, but you need to learn from somebody who knows how to teach it."

"Look, I'm sorry for the application fee for Princeton."

"We knew it was an outside chance."

"It wasn't much of a chance. I'm a big frog in an awfully small puddle. The point is, though, I've decided that I would have been unhappy there. I'm looking for a place to spread my wings and try things out. At Princeton, I'd have had to grind in order to get decent grades."

"When a father hears a daughter talk about spreading her wings, he shudders. I'll be much happier paying tuition than I would paying for an abortion."

"Not that way, silly." She hadn't been thinking about sex when she'd said it. If she had been, she wouldn't have mentioned it to Andre.

The Whitney boy wrote her again. He didn't suggest any sort of long-distance romance, not even a pen-pal relationship; it was a thank-you letter. She wrote him back and, remembering what had happened the year before, wrote a description of him and shorter ones of the other three boys in the diary where she kept her rhymes. If she heard from one of them again, she would know who it was. When the diary got filled up, she shrugged. She had lots of notebooks she hadn't filled. Nobody was interested in her French notes from last year, much less her algebra notes.

She tried to move from quatrains to sonnets, but found that this was too much like work. She did change over to hexameter. She tried some rhymes in French, which were an unmitigated disaster. Maybe she'd read some French verse over the summer.

Connie's grade in gym dropped back to a 'C' for the third quarter. The other grades remained at the 'A' level. She still worked hard in gym class the fourth quarter, despite telling herself that it didn't matter. Colleges had seen her transcripts; nobody would ever see them again. The gym class added archery in the spring. Connie found herself among the better markswomen. She wasn't a star, but competence was all she could hope for in a gym class.

And then, suddenly, it was graduation time. Andre and Helen both came up for the event. Maybe they each came up, as they traveled in separate cars. It seemed to Connie that Deb's parents, who had been divorced for years, looked more like a couple than her parents did. "I'm going to miss you, Connie," said Michelle.

"I'll miss you, too. Really, you were the one who welcomed me into the group two years ago." They hugged. Girls were hugging each other all over the campus; even Liz came up for a hug.

"She should ride back with me," said Helen.

"Are you going to go up to bring down her suitcase?"

"Look," Connie asked them, "what's a good half-way point? Kingston?"

They agreed on a diner outside of Kingston. If either had suggested another point, Connie would have accepted and ridden with the other for the longer distance. Connie chose to ride with Andre first. Helen was the faster driver, and would wait for the two of them much more happily than she would wait for Andre to pick up Connie. Her friends complained about being parented when they had grown up; Connie was tired of being the parent when Andre and Helen clearly had not grown up.

"Helen, I cooked dinner," were Connie's first words to her mom when Helen got back from work.

"Why, thank you, dear. Let me get out of these shoes and wash up and I'll be ready to eat. What did you do to your face?"

Helen, unlike the teachers at St. Wigbert's, didn't object to makeup, as such. Connie had been afraid that this one wasn't going to work. "Well, you know, I'm going away to college come September. And I'll be living a new life, maybe several new lives. I figured to try out some new faces to go with them."

"It doesn't work like that, dear. Let's eat and talk about it."

Helen explained that a woman started from her own face, which provided certain limits to what she could put on it. "That lipstick is for blondes, dear. Wait until Saturday and we'll shop together." Saturday, Connie talked to Helen, she talked to the saleslady, Helen talked to the saleslady.

She ended up with a much narrower assortment than she had bought the first time, but more expensive. "Well, what is the most dramatic makeup I can use without looking grotesque?" she asked when they had returned home. Helen selected it and put it on her. Connie scrubbed her face and did it over with Helen watching and commenting. Then she labeled the materials and cleaned it all off. Sunday, she wore last year's, much more reserved, face to church.

"Hello, Ted," she said after the service.

"Connie! You're back," he said.

"You know, Connie," Ted's mother said, "You're still welcome to sit with us. You don't have to sit alone."

Ted neither echoed that sentiment nor offered her a ride home. Connie concluded that he was probably no longer interested in her; perhaps he was involved with another girl. "When is the youth group meeting?" she asked.

"This Tuesday."

Monday, Andre stayed home from work to drive her to the driving school. She'd pictured the driving lessons as all occurring behind the wheel. She was shocked at how much classroom time was scheduled. They gave her a copy of the rules of the road, and Andre drove her to get her learner's permit.

"Learning to type and learning to drive," she said. "I thought I'd have a break from learning."

He laughed. "Well, these are motor skills. They'll be closer to your gym classes than to your English classes. And you wanted to learn to drive."

"Gee, thanks. Gym was the class I hated most."

"Are you sure you want that much makeup for your driver's license?"

Here she'd thought he hadn't noticed. Andre noticed so little. "Well, you suggested I try my wings by going to another section of the country. I figured that I'd present a new face as well, maybe several. This is my driver's-ed face."

"Your driver's license is your identification as well. Every time they card you in a bar. Well, you won't have to worry about that for two years. Oops again. It's five years now. Vote at eighteen, drink at twenty-one. You'll have a new license by then."

"I hadn't thought of that. I'm just trying things out. St. Wigbert's was so restrictive."

"You're trying things out a little older than most kids do; you're going to be a little younger than your classmates. That's a dangerous combination. You'll sort of be a college freshman and a high school freshman at the same time. Be a little careful, will you?"

"You don't want me to live at all."

"I didn't say 'don't experiment.' Trying things out is dangerous under the best of conditions, and you don't have the best of conditions. I'm not enforcing my judgment, I'm asking you to use your own."

The youth group was something like it had been the year before. A few new faces were there, one of them looked like a senior rather than a freshman; a few of the people she remembered were gone, including Curt. Rachel and, of course, Ted were there. Ted sat with the new girl; in the social time after the meeting, he introduced her to Connie as Jennifer. He told Jennifer that Connie was somebody who'd been in the group the previous summer.

Connie could hardly fault him for not having stayed faithful to her memory, not having been faithful to him the previous summer, when he had been around. But the other prospects looked slim. She was pleasant to everybody, though. Who knew what would happen the next month?

Wednesday, she had her first male teacher, and he was a disappointment. Connie was sure she wasn't a snob like Helen was, nor the entirely different sort of snob Andre was, but she was disappointed. Ray was forty if he was a day, and he was fat with bad teeth.

Sunday, she didn't feel that sitting with Ted's family would be proper, since Jennifer was in church with what was probably her parents and two brothers.

As it turned out, she didn't have to wait the month 'til the next meeting of the youth group. Ted called her up Thursday evening. "It was good to see you again," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't answer your last letter."

"No problem. You wrote the first one. It was good to see you, the others, but especially you."

"I was wondering if you would like to go to another movie."

"Would Jennifer approve?"

"Jennifer doesn't have anything to say about it any more."

'Any more,' Connie thought. Hmm? "I'd love to go."

They settled on the next Tuesday.

Friday, after driver's-ed, she went to the pool. She was late, and many of the kids from the previous summer weren't there. Bert was, and remembered her. "So fill me in," Connie said. "Who still comes?" Bert mentioned a few names. "And Kent? Does he ever show up?"

"Kent graduated and got a job."

Sunday was the Fourth. She didn't go to church in the morning, but she and Helen went to see a fireworks display that evening.

Tuesday, Ted took her to a movie and then to park. They got in back. He made out with her as if the intervening time had been a week. Caresses through the bra felt better now that the bra was snug. "Do you still have to be home by eleven?" Ted asked when that time was close.

"Probably. I haven't discussed changing it."

"Maybe you should. But breaking the curfew isn't a great lead- in." He took her home and kissed her briefly outside her door.

Wednesday, she registered for typing class. She'd start class Monday morning. When she got back, she was overheated and bored. Going out in the heat, even to go swimming, didn't appeal. Her library card had expired, and she knew enough about the hassles of renewing it that she wanted Andre or Helen along when she did that. It was ridiculous to be bored in a house full of books; even if Andre didn't want her poking through his study, there were shelves in the living room. Encyclopaedia Britannica didn't appeal. There was one shelf half filled with books Andre had written. When was the last time she had read one of his poems? When it had been about her, five years before.

She took down the first five books and lay down on the couch where she was close to the air conditioner. The old man wasn't half bad, and then she got to one of the erotic poems. This had been on the shelf accessible to her when she was in grade school? Reading about your parents engaged in sex was weird, weirder to see the affection he had felt for Helen. What the hell? She marked that one and went on. She winced when she got to "Next Act." Andre was not a sentimental poet, but he was such a sentimental parent.

Thursday, Ted phoned to invite her out for the next Tuesday.

Saturday, she took up two questions with Andre. "You know you don't want me messing around in your study."

"It's not that, Princess. It's just that everything is in an order, and nobody else can see it." Order? She sure couldn't see it.

"How about the books on your shelves? I'll leave a marker when I take one, and be careful to put it back just there."

"Well, I suppose so."

"And, in addition, could you take me to the library to get my card renewed? They want your signature, or proof that I live here. And I don't get any utility bills."

"You don't? I'd be glad to let you pay them. Okay, Princess. After lunch?"

Sunday, Ted gave her another ride home from church.

That afternoon, she looked through the clothes from St. Wigbert's. Anything looking worn, she bundled up. The trouble was the things looking new-but-modest. She was sure she didn't want to look modest next year. One skirt might work for youth group; some of the girls did wear skirts. Actually, all of them might do for typing class, she didn't know what girls wore there. She needed to decide her face for typing class, too.

Her rising time Monday was a good deal later than it had been at St. Wigbert's, but she'd had three weeks to get out of the practice of rising early. She felt both sleepy and pressed for time. She rushed the makeup and had to do it over. Luckily, the bus came just as she got to the stop. Even so, she was late to class. The teacher didn't comment, and other students drifted in after she did.

About three quarters of the class was female. Connie and the teacher wore the only skirts. Connie went to the cafeteria for lunch after class; there was an uncomfortable gap between the typing class and the driver's ed. She'd have to think how to fill it. She wouldn't have the need to read schoolbooks; that was for sure. She might ask the teacher about practicing on a classroom typewriter. A man with a tray stopped at her table. "Aren't you in typing class?"

"Yes. Connie Steffano."

He put the tray down. "Joe Morgan. I used hunt-and-peck for my themes last year. Never again."

"My dad warned me about that. I'm starting college in September, and want to know how to type by then."

"'It's a wise man who learns from experience, but a wiser man'-- a wiser woman, in this case -- 'who lets the snake bite the other guy.'" She laughed. It was funny; besides the guy looked decent. Joe dug most of a lunch out of his backpack. His tray held only a soft drink and a slice of pie. They talked until Joe had to leave for class. Nothing important, but a man had talked to her.

She retired to a ladies' room to remove her typing makeup and apply her driver's-ed makeup. This switching faces might not be such a smart idea. The trip to the driving lesson took two bus rides, but she was still early. Before catching the bus home, she bought an alarm clock.

Tuesday, she was on time for class. When Joe came in, he took the typewriter next to hers. She had made a conquest, and in a room of mostly women, too. When she looked around after class, she felt less triumphant. The men outnumbered the girls; more than half the women were as old as the teacher. Joe and she ate together in the cafeteria again, Connie bringing her lunch. Somehow, dessert and soft drink at lunch seemed overmuch to her, making her realize that she still had a St. Wigbert's conscience. In the conversation, Joe mentioned that he worked weekends. "Barman, Friday and Saturday four to two."

She felt a little strange reading Andre's poems for a sexual charge. But he'd given her permission to look at the books on his shelves. Some of the Lawrence poems deserved another reading; he had a large volume entitled Poetica Erotica. A lot of that was about as erotic as St. Wigbert's catalog. Some of it was good, though; she copied the page numbers in the back of her general-science notebook. Putting in bookmarks would make her nervous. She did too much looking to take herself over, but she was in a great mood for her date with Ted.

She changed her makeup for this. The movie date went as it had gone before. "Did you speak to your mom about changing your curfew?" Ted asked in a break in the making out.

"No. Look, I'm taking a typing course early in the morning."

"Yes?"

"Maybe she'd be more open to my staying out later on weekends."

"That's a good idea. Would this Friday night be too soon?"

"This Friday sounds great. Same time?" And, of course, Friday night wouldn't interfere with Joe, if Joe should ask her out. Which he might not. He might think her too young, and a bartender had to be 21.

"Same time. Same station." Then they went back to kissing.

She waited until Thursday to tell Helen. "You said I could change curfew, but I should tell you."

"Yes, dear. If the boy knows you are setting the limits, he'll be after you to change them. Much safer to let him think I set them."

"Well, I said midnight on weekends."

"That's fine, dear. But why won't I let you stay out late on weekdays? You aren't in class in the summer."

"But I am. I'm taking this typing class. And it meets at the community college at nine a.m."

"What? That was Andre's idea wasn't it? It will ruin your entire future. Never let them know you can type or you'll spend the rest of your life typing like I do."

Connie had a date the next night, and it was Andre's weekend away. She'd raise the issue on Monday. Sunday, Ted gave her a ride home and asked her out to a movie that Friday.

Monday over dinner with Andre, she raised the issue of typing limiting her opportunities. "Helen works in a law office," Andre pointed out. "I'd hate to break it to her, but they wouldn't have hired her as a lawyer even if she couldn't type. Look, you're playing with taking different roles. Type for four years in college. Then, if you want, ignore all your typing skills when you look for a job. But a degree will help you find a job, and typing will help you get a degree. You don't have to worry about flunking out, but -- really -- every paper you turn in, typing will make it easier to produce."

And how much did Andre know about college? Still, Joe had said much the same thing. She wanted to stay in class with Joe, anyway. But there was another point. "I got through grade school in seven years, high school in three. What makes you think I'll need four years for college."

"Need? No. Want? Probably. Getting through college in three years is, if not easy, eminently possible. Take summer classes. But I think you're looking forward to being in college. Learn more? Fine. They don't kick you out when you've got so many hours."

"You're feeling expansive. You sure you can meet all those tuition payments?"

"I've got a book at the press and another book one-third done. Not that both together will pay one quarter's tuition. I bring in more than it takes to cover my outgoes, including a hefty mortgage payment; and this house is nearly paid off. The cabin won't be while you're in school, but it holds a great deal of equity that I can tap. I'm not going to leave you much, but I'll pay for your education."

Tuesday, after she came back from the community college, she lay naked in her bed while reading the poems whose page numbers she had noted. She was all alone in the house, though the door to her room was locked. She hadn't had that much freedom since the days by herself at the cabin. She propped herself up on two pillows under her stomach, read a poem, played with her nipples, read another poem. She balanced herself on the knife-edge of coming. It was going on 4:00 before she fell off that edge. She turned onto her back and stroked directly on her cunny. Her climax was explosive.

That evening was the youth group again. Connie sat with Ted; Jennifer was sitting with another boy.

"I don't want to spoil a good thing," Joe said Wednesday. She looked at him inquisitively. "Look, do you have anyone special?"

"Not really special." She wouldn't call Ted 'really special.'

"Would you be willing to go out with me?"

"That would be something I'd have to decide if you invited me to go out with you."

He laughed. "Connie, would you come to dinner with me?"

"When?"

"This coming Monday."

"I'd be pleased. You want to pick me up?"

"Yes. Give me your address. Seven o'clock?"

Friday, she took the test on all the classroom stuff at the driving school. She thought she'd done well. Her competition hadn't impressed her, and most of those would go on to get licenses. The actual road stuff would be harder.

That night, in the movie, Ted put his arm around her and stroked her right boob. After the movie, he unbuttoned her blouse. He was much less skilled at it than Kent had been. He was gentle, though, in handling her boobs through the bra. And he was a much better kisser, touching her tongue with his rather than trying to stuff it in her mouth.

Ted had some sort of dislike of asking her for the next date during a date. He gave her a ride home after church and asked her for the next Friday. This was in front of his parents -- literally -- they were in the back seat.

Monday Connie got behind the wheel of a real car for the first time. These were going to be only one-hour sessions, unlike the classroom time. One hour was frustrating enough. The driving school had to schedule the driving times for individual students at different times than they had scheduled the collective classroom time. Connie got Mondays through Thursdays at 4:00. Since her instructor was no more attractive than Ray, she decided to forget her driving-lesson makeup.

That night, Joe stood in the doorway until she was ready to go. Apparently, he didn't believe in talking with the parents before a first date. Andre and Helen, who had nerved themselves up to be civil to Joe, were left sitting in the living room needing to be civil to each other. Connie could tell it was a strain. Joe took her to a pizza place where they sat in a booth. He brought her home without suggesting that they park, but kissed her good night at the door.

Tuesday morning, getting to class after Joe did, Connie chose a typewriter next to his. "Thanks for the meal," she said after the class broke up, "and for the time."

"Thanks for your company," he replied. "Care to do it again Thursday?"

"Thanks...." That didn't really accept his invitation. "Yes, thanks."

They talked. They always found something to talk about, however often they spoke together. "You going to take typing the next session?" he asked. The two sessions of summer school weren't really quarters, much less semesters.

"I haven't decided. Are you?"

"I think so."

Wednesday at dinner, Andre reminded her that Helen's birthday was a week from Thursday. "I've already bought the tie," she said. He laughed. All through grade school, she'd given him ties for Christmas and his birthday. Finally, she'd noticed that he wore each one the next business day after she'd given it, and never again. She'd never given Helen a necktie, but the joke extended to her.

"Look," she said. "Something else. How well do you want me to end up typing?"

"The better you type, the easier the papers will be. But you know enough now to get by. Typing your own thoughts will be practice, too, after all."

"So, if I wanted to go on, you wouldn't waste your money on it?"

"Would this sudden desire to take another typing class have anything to do with your classmate?"

"But I would concentrate during class on learning to type."

"All right, Princess, but make sure he's going to take the second course."

Thursday, Joe picked her up again, and suggested hamburgers. It wasn't the finest meal she'd ever eaten, but the company was a lot better than either of her parents provided. Afterwards, he parked and looked at her inquisitively. "If you do something I don't like," she told him, "I'll let you know." She had to wait for him to finish laughing before he kissed her.

If Joe didn't believe in parking on a first date, he didn't have any other rules for delay. When his hands went to her buttons, she pushed the hands away; but she didn't push him away. He could really kiss, the first boy she'd been with who was more exciting than Joan was. She might regret pushing his hands away, too. They were gentle, stroking her rather than grasping her; exciting even through two layers of cloth.

When he kissed her good night at the doorway, she didn't care that they might be treating the neighbors to a scene. He held her buns tightly and pulled her against him. She could feel his chest hard against her nipples and his erection nearly as hard against her belly. "Monday?" he asked as he let her go.

"Monday," she agreed as she fumbled with her keys.

Ted wasn't nearly as exciting the next night. Still, he was exciting, and he was more appropriate for her age, too. Somehow, she felt surer of controlling him. When he reached for her bra strap, she merely leaned back against the seat. "Why can't I," he asked. "You let me last year."

"I really didn't. When I didn't wear a bra, you couldn't unbutton my blouse."

"You'd do that?" There was real lust in his voice, but also awe.

"I did that. Whether I will again is something only the future will tell." Then he went back to kissing her.

As she got ready for bed that night, she wondered whether an extra year's acquaintance justified her giving more privileges to Ted. As she thought about them both, she found herself remembering Joe as her own strokes brought her closer and closer to a climax. He kissed better than Joan, could he do this better than Joan did?

Sunday at dinner Helen asked Connie out to a restaurant that coming Thursday. "Why sure," she said, "but it's your birthday."

"The company of my daughter is present enough. Leave at 6:30, reservation for 7:00?"

"Great."

After their date Monday night, Joe asked, "Thursday?"

"Ouch. That's my mom's birthday, and I said I'd eat with her."

"I understand."

"Do we really have to eat?"

"No. We'll find another day."

"I'll get back early; Helen doesn't eat late. Want to come by after?"

"Are you serious?"

"9:00?"

"Sure."

Thursday was her last driving lesson. "Do you think I'll pass the test?" she asked her instructor.

"Sure, gal," he said. "Just keep cool. Don't panic; don't freeze up. You know the rules; all you have to worry about is blowing it through nerves."

That evening, she and Helen got back to the house almost on the dot of 9:00. Joe was waiting. "Mom," Connie said, "Joe Morgan. Joe, Helen Steffano."

They spoke politely for a minute or two. Joe wished Helen a happy birthday. "29th?"

"Sure, and I had Connie at what age?"

"You're right, eleven doesn't sound reasonable." Helen, bless her soul for once, didn't correct his arithmetic.

"We didn't say where we'd go," Joe said when they were in the car.

"What's wrong with the usual spot?"

"I think I'm in love."

If he was, it was a mistake; but he was in lust, and Connie reciprocated. He brought her to such a height, she could hardly wait to get home and up to the privacy of her room. This time "creaming her jeans," if still an exaggeration, was less of one. On their parting kiss, she hugged him as tightly as he hugged her. Preparing for her date with Ted Friday night, she felt a little guilty . Ted was a nice boy. He was gentler; she'd known him longer; she enjoyed a social life with him aside from the parking; she generally enjoyed the movies while she could eat better at home than at the places Joe took her. He stopped when she told him to; he even excited her. He just didn't excite her as much as Joe did. So, when she dressed for her date with Ted, she left off the bra. He couldn't tell by looking, Connie despaired that anyone would ever be able to tell by looking. In the theater, however, he put his arm around her and touched her boob. She could feel him go rigid for a moment. Throughout the film, he stroked the side of her boob. When he stroked over the nipple, Connie was the one who went rigid. She moved his hand further back.

In the back of his car later she said, "The blouse stays buttoned."

"Yes, ma'am." And it stayed buttoned. He kissed her and held her boobs through the blouse. When he brought her back to the door a little after 11:30, their kiss was passionate, if brief.

Andre took her to the driving test Saturday. Having considered the advice he'd given her the last time and -- after all -- having abandoned her driving-school face, she wore her typing- class makeup. She passed the test, and got a real license.

Fair was fair. So when she went out with Joe on Monday, she left the bra behind as she had done for Ted. They went to a different burger place, and Joe didn't kiss her until they were parked. "Wouldn't the back seat be more comfortable?" he asked. After all, she got in the back seat with Ted, and the front seat of Ted's car was -- if anything -- more comfortable than Joe's. Besides, she had to establish a rule.

"I'll get in the back with you tonight, but the blouse stays buttoned."

"Certainly." When he touched her boobs through the blouse, he said, "Oh, Connie!" Then he went back to kissing her, tickling her, teasing her. Her nipples were harder than they had ever been, harder even than when Joan or Michelle had kissed them. His tongue became insistent in its thrust into her mouth, but this didn't annoy -- it excited her further.

She spiraled, went higher, but she couldn't go over when she was fully dressed. When he broke off and climbed into the driver's seat she was torn. She wanted to go on kissing him; she wanted to go home and bring herself off.

He held her buns during their final kiss, kneading them and using them to pull her against his erection. "Thursday?" he asked as he let her go.

"Thursday." She let herself inside and staggered up to her room. Her panties were more than damp this time; they were soaked. She dropped them and her jeans on the floor. She tossed her blouse down with them and lay on the bed to bring herself off. No teasing this time, no delay. Joe had provided all of that. She pulled the sheet up and dropped off.

Alarm or no, waking Tuesdaywas harder than it had been the first day of summer school. It was also hard to concentrate in class, every time she looked to her left, she saw Joe and blushed. She bought lunch, not having taken the time to fix some at home. They said hardly anything to each other, but they sat together so long that Joe was late to his next class.

After Joe took her out for hamburgers Thursday they got in the back seat. Joe's kisses were as exciting as ever, so were his strokes through the blouse. When she felt his hand warm against her boob, she didn't object. His mouth there, though, shocked her. But it thrilled her more. He licked one boob and sucked it, licked the other and sucked it, returned to the first boob. Finally, she pushed him away. "You said you wouldn't unbutton this."

"That was the last date. You only said that was for one date."

"That wasn't what I said."

Joe didn't act like she'd caught him in a wrong. He didn't look abashed as Kent had when she'd caught him. He stood his ground and argued with her. "Look," she finally said, "take me home."

He did and walked her to the door. She was determined to refuse him a kiss, but he didn't even try. She considered bringing herself off, but she'd completely lost the mood.

Friday, she went to school willing to make peace, but Joe wasn't in class. She already knew how to type well enough for themes; she was wasting her time and Andre's money.

The date with Ted didn't do a hell of a lot for her mood. He kept within the rules, but he didn't bring her to nearly the peak that Joe had. Sunday, she almost didn't go to church. It wasn't the sort of problem she was prepared to pray about. Ted invited her out the next Friday on her ride home.

Joe was back in class, Monday. "We have to talk," he said at the end of class. "Did you bring your lunch?" She nodded. "Eat outdoors?"

"Good idea." The community college not having much of a campus, they walked two blocks to a park and chose an empty bench.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I understood you to have specified one date only. I won't do anything you don't like."

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I don't think that's what I said, and I can't imagine what I would say to make you think that."

"May have been wishful thinking on my part."

"It isn't a matter of doing things I don't like. It's doing things I like too, too, much."

He grinned. "Sorry. Still, it's better to hear that I turn you on when you don't want to be turned on than that I turn you off. But you want to draw a line. Just make clear what that line is, and I'll respect it. Do you want to draw the line at your waist?"

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. I won't lie. Tell me you'd go all the way, and I'd try to scrounge up the money for a motel. Still, I'm not a rapist. Tell me to stop, and I will."

"I think my waist is a good line."

"And is it too late to ask you out tonight?"

"No. Let me think." She didn't want to go out for more hamburgers. "I'm cooking for my dad tonight, late dinner. Want to come by about nine?"

"Where would we go?"

"Same place. I'll have had dinner."

"Connie, you're wonderful. You're going away to college, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"The end of this month."

"Not much time. Mondays and Thursdays don't look like enough, suddenly."

They didn't look like enough when he was going to get more petting? Didn't look like enough when he didn't have to spring for dinners? Not great dinners, either. Had he just realized that they would soon lack the time together after class? "Two ships that pass in the night. We'll have to enjoy what we get."

"And class ends this week."

"That's right." Everything was drawing to a close.

They sat for a while in silence. A silence more comfortable than much of their conversation their last two times together. When his class was about to start, they kissed. It was gentle, then fierce. He gripped her buns, pulling her against his erection.

When she left, she went home. There was nowhere else to go. Andre and Helen each drove to work. Anyway, she'd told Joe that she was fixing Andre's dinner; why not actually do so? She decided on chicken, prepared it, and set it in the refrigerator. She cooked the chicken, as well as rice and broccoli, after Helen had eaten. Andre mixed the salad; he mixed good salads. "Special occasion, Princess?" he asked.

"Just realized I would be going away soon. That, and I didn't have anything to do this afternoon; driving is finished. Thanks, by the way."

"I'm happy. Feel like an adult now that you have a license?"

"Yes. It's a little disappointing, though. I don't want to tell either Ted or Joe. I don't think either one of them knows how old -- how young -- I am."

"You just may..." Andre stopped to rap on the table top. "...finish a second summer having balanced two boys. I don't know, Princess."

"Anyway, Joe's coming by later this evening."

"Well, as I said, I made enough mistakes at your age. I'll shut up and let you make your own. Made your reservations yet? Plane schedules might be tricky that close to Labor Day."

"I was thinking of going by bus."

"You're young, Princess, but half way across the country is too far by bus. Make air reservations, and I'll pay for them."

A few minutes later, Joe showed up. He parked in their usual place. "Stay here for a minute," she said as she got out. She got in the backseat and removed her blouse and bra. "Okay. You can come back now." He got in the seat beside her and kissed her, his hands only on her head. She pushed him back. "I want you to promise, not only for tonight, but for the rest of our time together, that you won't open any of my clothing."

"I promise."

"I was with Andre until you came. I didn't have time to remove my bra."

"I promise. May I kiss you?"

She nodded. His mouth was exciting on hers and his hands were exciting on her breasts. Then his mouth was exciting on her breasts. He kissed all over both before concentrating on her nipple. She needed more stimulation, more direct stimulation; and she couldn't get it while he was near her. He returned to her mouth for another kiss. His tongue didn't tease hers this time, it wrestled hers. His nails trailed lightly across her belly, making her shiver. She went higher and higher, but she couldn't go over. Finally, she pushed him away.

She looked at her watch. Nearly midnight. "You'd better get in front," she said. "Give me a couple of minutes back here."

She dressed while he got back in the driver's seat and started the car. She felt very self conscious standing outside the car and undoing her jeans to tuck her blouse in. Then she got into the seat beside him and buckled her seat belt.

His kiss at her door was every bit as passionate as the ones in the backseat. Upstairs, undressed, she relived his last kiss. Then she brought herself off, as satisfying an experience as any she'd had at the cabin.

The next morning she had difficulty concentrating on typing while Joe was sitting beside her. Afterwards, they ate in the cafeteria. "I'm going to miss you," Joe said.

"And I'll miss you, too."

"Thursday?"

"Definitely." They said almost nothing else, but Joe didn't leave until after his class had already started.

Then she had the whole day to herself. She brought some of Andre's books up to her room. She relived the previous night, read some of the better poems, thought of the night while playing with her nipples. After she brought herself off, she took the books back before taking a shower.

It was too late to cook for Helen. And she had a date with Joe Thursday. She really preferred to treat Andre and Helen equally, but this time she couldn't.

She took careful note of the time for their lunch Wednesday. Minutes before it was time for Joe's next class, she got up. "I'll walk you to class." Half way there, they came to an empty patch of hall. He kissed her, holding her buns. They didn't break until some kid going past whistled at them.

When she got home, she called the airlines to find what was her most direct route. She could get from Hartford to Milwaukee via Boston, New York, or Chicago. Nobody flew to Springfield except from Milwaukee. She settled on going through Chicago and leaving Saturday afternoon. She spent the rest of the day like she had the previous one.

Thursday, after leaving Joe in his classroom, she decided to make dinner for Helen after all. She didn't join her, though. She'd had lots of time to plan. When Joe parked after the meal, she said, "Stay here a minute, will you?" She got in the backseat by herself and removed her blouse and bra. Since she had planned on this, she hadn't seen the use of leaving it behind. "Okay," she said.

He got out and in the backseat with her. His kisses were as exciting as always, and they went everywhere: her mouth first, the rest of her face after that, her breasts, and then down her abdomen. She tensed as he got near her belt, but he left it closed and returned to her breasts.

He licked and sucked her nipples, stroked her back, returned to her mouth, tickled her ear outrageously with his tongue. He repeated each caress and repeated it again. When they broke, it was after midnight. While she put herself back together, he got into the front seat. Her panties were soaked, so soaked she worried that he could smell them. If he could, he didn't say a word.

Instead, when she joined him in the front seat, he said, "I could stay home instead of going to work tomorrow."

"Don't. And Monday,..."

"What time should I pick you up?"

"You've been feeding me long enough."

"Huh?"

"Would you like to come to my house for lunch Monday?"

"I would love it. What should I bring?"

"Yourself, an appetite. Don't bring wine, I get high enough just from you."

"You say the sweetest things."

"Noon?"

"I'll be there."

Friday was the test. She managed to concentrate on it rather than on Joe sitting at the next typewriter. She hoped he could do the same.

After she got back home, she thought about her situation. Ted and Kent hadn't been any problem; nor had Joe and Ted in the beginning. Now, though, she was beginning to actually care for Joe. Did he care for her? Did Ted? The last was more probable. Ted, after all, had broken up with Jennifer as soon as Connie reappeared. He'd feel hurt if he learned about Joe. Even more, she didn't want Joe learning about Ted. Even when the boys didn't know about each other, Connie's sense of fairness made her give one what the other got. Anyway, she was going off to college. She wouldn't see either one much longer.

That evening, Ted came by for his date. He tickled her boob during the entire movie. When he had parked, she said, "Stay here for a minute, will you?" She got in back and removed her blouse, laying it on the back of the seat she'd occupied a moment before. "Okay. You can come back now."

When he sat beside her, he looked at her naked boobs and said "Wow!" They weren't 'wow' boobs.

"You know what you did on the last date of last summer?"

"What?"

"I don't want you getting my blouse wet. This is the last date."

"Oh Connie. Not next week?"

He kissed her and hugged her close. When he drew a little back, he didn't break the kiss. Instead, he felt all over both boobs. When he did break the kiss, he took one deep breath before kissing her left nipple.

He didn't kiss the rest of the boob before concentrating on her nipple, and she had to move his face to the right boob when the left nipple got a little sore.

When the right nipple started to get sore, as well, she pulled his face up for a deep kiss. She looked at her watch after this was done. 11:40, and it would take ten minutes to drive back and walk to the door. She knew nobody would enforce the curfew, but this evening was over; this relationship was over. Helen had known something after all when she told Connie to let the boys think she was bound by a curfew.

"This is goodbye," she said. "I'm going to miss you." Strangely enough, it was true. Ted was a friend. When her friends had talked about kids they'd grown up with, they meant years and years, but she'd grown up with Ted over these past two summers.

"Church day after tomorrow? Youth group Tuesday?"

"I'll be rushed. Doubt if I'll have the time." She'd miss church. Her one purpose for attending youth group, on the other hand, had been to meet kids. She didn't want to meet any new ones; she sure didn't want to meet Ted again.

"Oh Connie." He took her hand in his and pressed it firmly against the front of his pants. "Oh Connie!"

She took her hand away. He'd spoiled it all. Kissing her boob as the last thing the precious summer had been a much better gesture. "The date's over. Leave me back here for a minute, would you?"

"But Connie."

"Would you?" She reached for her blouse. After a long pause, while he watched her and she avoided looking at him, he got behind the wheel. Dressed, she stood outside for a moment to straighten her clothes. She got in the seat beside him.

He walked her to the door when they reached the house. "Don't let's end like this," he said. Well, he was the person who had grabbed her right at the end. But when he moved in for a last kiss, he raised her face for it. It was sweet, gentle, not passionate. It was farewell.

"Princess," Andre asked the next morning at breakfast, "have some time?"

"What do you want?"

"I'd like to get you some traveler's checks. Bank closes early on Saturday; we both have to go."

"All right. Give me a few minutes."

She showered and put on her face. For a bank, she decided to wear a skirt and blouse, after all she had skirts to spare. When she came down, he said, "I suppose you want to drive."

"Want to put on a blindfold?"

"I'm not that bad, Princess. You aren't that bad, for that matter."

He wrote a check, and she signed her name on twenty traveler's checks. She folded them and put them in her purse. "Look," he said in the car, "Helen's paying the first quarter's tuition and room and board. The school will assess extra fees; schools always do. I'll give you a check; use it to establish a checking account. Write the school a check for your extra fees. They'll wait for the account to be set up; you're not the only student with that problem. Use these for other needs. Don't go hog wild, not that you're the kind of girl who would; but you'll need these for emergencies."

When they got back to the house, Andre went into his study. She got down one of the scrapbooks he kept on the shelf next to the books he'd written. It took a while to find, but she read again the article in the newsletter of Andre's company. It was an interview with a retiring president. "Back then, I was in personnel, and a question came before us. We required a high- school diploma, and we had an applicant who satisfied everything else, but his diploma wasn't from a real high school. All he had was a GED. We decided that was good enough. Every once in a while, somebody suggests that we require a college degree for new hires. I ask where they went to college. Then I say, 'Have any professors at the U of Connecticut ever heard of you?' (If they went there, I ask about professors at Harvard.) When they admit that no professors seem to have noticed them, I say, 'Well, some of them have written articles about Mr. Steffano in claims. Do we really need to establish standards he doesn't meet?'"

So Andre had gone to work with a GED, not even going all the way through high school. Now she could respect his command of English, but still! Where did he get off telling her about life at college? Well, that was Andre.

Even so, she would miss him. She cooked breakfast for him Sunday.

Monday, Andre cooked, and she ate with him. "I'd have expected you to sleep in this week," he said.

"I'll have to get up early soon enough. Getting out of the habit isn't worth it." Which was very true. After all, as he had never asked whether she had invited Joe into the house for lunch, she wasn't obliged to tell him.

She had to walk both ways to do her grocery shopping. Luckily, neither the distance nor the load she bought was particularly large. On impulse, she bought a bag of cotton balls as well as the food. She tossed a salad, set the table, cooked the cauliflower. She had everything ready for a western omelette when the bell rang. "Come in," she said. "It will be minute or two; I didn't want to turn the stove on until you showed up."

"Thank you, sweet lady." He handed her a bunch of flowers. She held them out of the way while they kissed.

She found a vase to put them in before she put on an apron. She generally didn't use them, but she could just picture the grease from the frying pan hitting her blouse. No only would that spoil the picture she wanted Joe to see, it might hurt. The sheer blouse was no protection for her boobs.

She put the vase of flowers on the table and served the meal. Joe held out one of the chairs for her, not commenting that the place settings were both on the same side of the table. They ate in companionable silence. "This is good," Joe said. He was obviously not including the cauliflower in that comment. He'd taken only a minimal serving and left it alone.

"Want more?"

"I don't want to be a hog."

"And I don't want any leftovers to explain."

"Am I breaking a rule?"

"No. Nobody made a rule, and I don't want them to start."

"Smart woman! Sweet lady and smart woman."

After the meal, she escorted him into the living room before she went back to clean off the table. "You know," he said, "This is the first ling room I think I've seen where you can't see the TV. Is it concealed by one of those bookshelves?"

"It's not here." The only TV in the house was upstairs in Helen's room, but that abswer seemed to satisfy him.

She came back carrying her blouse. She hung it on the back of the chair by the stairs. Joe was sitting in a chair whose cover was rough; she didn't want it against her naked back. She sat on the sofa, instead. "Join me?" He did.

He kissed her mouth, first with his lips closed, then -- for the longest time -- exploring her mouth with his tongue. His hands were on her back as he started to kiss down her neck. His first touch on her boobs was with his lips. Even then, he stroked over her back again and again.

When she was deeply excited, her nipple feeling hot and hard in his mouth, he slipped off the couch and lay her back. He kissed her mouth again, his tongue dueling with hers as his fingers stroked her boobs. He kissed her left nipple, and then a slow path down that boob and up the other to her right nipple. Then he kissed lower on her belly. Half of her feared he was going to open her waist band; half hoped he would. Instead, he kissed her belly button until she writhed. Then he kissed upwards again to return to her boob. His tongue entered her mouth again, and her tongue wrestled with it. He moved back.

"Turn over," he said. She wondered why, but she was too entranced to argue. She turned face down. He kissed her back, and up to her neck. A shiver ran through her as thrilling as the kisses on her breasts had been. She felt him stroking her thighs, tickling almost, as if he was drawing his fingernails up the material. His strokes moved up to her buns. Suddenly, she needed to kiss him. She turned back over and pulled his head down to meet hers. As her tongue explored his mouth, for once, his hand was on her mound. Caressing her cunny through the thick material of her jeans was useless, but he did it anyway. When his mouth returned to her boob, he sucked hard on the nipple and stroked right over her cunny at the same time.

She peaked, moaning as she did so. Suddenly, his hand and mouth on her were too much. She pushed them away. Instead of objecting or resisting, he returned to kissing her mouth. She needed her breath and pushed his head away again. "I'm sorry," she managed to gasp.

"That's all right. Do you want me to go?"

"Not yet." He held her shoulder and rubbed it, a caress that just fit her mood.

When she came all the way back, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Couldn't he tell what he had done to her?

He sat on the floor beside the sofa. She struggled up and patted the cushion beside her. As Joe moved there, she got a glimpse of how his erection was pushing at his zipper. More suave than Ted, which didn't strike her as all that great a compliment, he didn't try to draw her attention to it. "I don't want to end this," he said.

"Me neither." She didn't even have the anxiety she'd had so often before to get to her room to finish herself off.

"But I'm afraid I must. Can I see you again?"

"Want to come for lunch again Wednesday?"

"Can I?"

"You're invited. Don't bring flowers, though. I'll have to hide them."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. They are lovely. I'll hide them in my room. One question?"

"Yes."

"What vegetables do you like?"

He laughed. "I'm not much of a vegetable person. Lima beans as much as any, I suppose. You don't have to select your menu for me."

"Sure I do. Except that it has to be something I can cook. I never took home-ec."

"Never? You only know what your mom taught you to cook."

"It's not that bad." Helen had never taught her to cook anything. "Practically, but not completely. I'll see you Wednesday."

He got up and held out a hand to her. When she took it, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her fiercely. She stood behind the door to let him out. Then she carried the vase and her blouse upstairs. There was all that food in the refrigerator. She'd cook dinner for Andre again. Damn! that was two in a row for him without anything for Helen. Well, she'd cook Helen a cheese omelet; she'd just eat with Andre.

She did it that way. She threw out some of the left-over cauliflower and served herself the rest. It didn't taste very good cold. Andre, like Helen before him, got his freshly cooked.

Tuesday, she went into Helen's room. This, unlike inviting Joe for lunch when neither Andre nor Helen was home, broke a long established rule. She looked in Helen's drawers until she found the one that held bras. She had to look at several of these before she found one which still had a label showing its size. She took it back to her room to experiment with the cotton balls. It didn't really fit; Helen had a smaller ribcage than she had, if a larger 'chest.' Still, she found that she liked the look of the bra with some of the cotton balls added and then held against her.

She had to take the bus to get to a department store, so she bought three B-cup bras on that trip. It might be a waste of money, but so would coming back. On the same trip, she stopped off at the library for some cook books. The experiment worked. She returned the bra she'd borrowed, and put on her own A-cups. Something more to pack. She ate early with Helen that night, and then retired to read the cook books. She was a girl who learned by reading, always had been. Still, she didn't dare try for something fancy. And neither cookbook told how to cook Lima beans.

There were no fresh Lima beans in the store Wednesday. She was tempted to shop around, but that might take too much time. Anyway, the package of frozen baby Limas told how to cook them.

Joe praised her cooking, and said nice things about her in the living room afterwards -- if not quite about how he liked making out with her. Again, he stroked her through her jeans until he'd got her off.

"Friday," she told him, "noon Friday. But that is the end."

Friday, she cooked the most elaborate meal yet, featuring pork chops. She dressed in bra and blouse, socks with dress shoes, and skirt, unfortunately a St. Higbert's skirt and -- so -- not particularly sexy. His kiss of greeting was no less enthusiastic for that. He hugged her tight enough to feel the bra against him, though, and that brought a questioning look to his face. Instead of answering, she kissed him again.

The meal was a hit, though they talked more about their sad future. "Give me your address," she said. "I'll write. I'll have to give you my address when I do. I'll be in a dorm."

At the close of the meal, she left the dishes on the table to walk him into the living room. Instead of sitting on the sofa immediately, they had a kiss. When they broke, she took his hands in hers and moved them to the top button of her blouse. "I said I wouldn't," he said.

"I'm asking you to." He unbuttoned the blouse and felt her back while they kissed. She removed the blouse and lay it on the chair. She turned her back. "Now the bra." He unsnapped it, and she lay it on top of the blouse. "That's the end," she said, "and your clothes stay buttoned. Sorry to say it so negatively, but I need to set limits."

"So you do. And this is wonderful." He kissed her again, and led her to the sofa. This time, there was no pretense that he was sitting beside her; this time, she kicked off her shoes and lay down on the couch. He sat on the floor beside the couch, changing his position as he moved from kissing her face to kissing her boobs. She was already at a height of excitement when he started stroking her legs. She spread her legs to accommodate his hand; that's why she'd worn the skirt.

He kissed her mouth again when his hand finally reached her panties. Then he sucked her nipples in turn while stroking her cunny through the panties.

He stroked and sucked all through her peak. When she relaxed he moved his kiss to her forehead, but left his hand -- quite unmoving -- on her mound. She knew that the making out had ended, that more would simply annoy her, but the hand was almost as comforting as the kiss.

He sat up and watched her face as she came back. "Hello," he said.

"Oh, Joe." She didn't know how to express the way she felt.

"Oh, Connie. Oh, sweet, sweet, Connie." He bent down to kiss her. As their tongues tangled, his hand began moving again. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't respond, wouldn't be able to for hours. But her mouth was occupied with a kiss too sweet to interrupt. And, before she could tell him that her response was impossible yet, she began to feel a response. He stroked her thighs while continuing the kiss. Finally, breaking for breath, he pecked a kiss to the tip of her nose. "Connie," he said.

He looked into her face while he stroked her through her panties again. Then, when she felt the tension grow, he kissed her left nipple. Just as she went over, he sucked hard on her right nipple.

"Dear girl," he said as she recovered. He moved his hand to her shoulder and hugged her as well as he could in the awkward position. "Dear, sweet, Connie."

After a bit, she struggled upright on the couch and patted the cushion beside her. He sat there hugging her and kissing the side of her head. She didn't want to end this moment, sure didn't want to end this relationship. Still, the time had come. She shifted while trying to find the words for that.

"I know I promised to stay all buttoned and zipped up while I'm here," he said.

"But?"

"But could I please use the bathroom before I go?"

She laughed and led him up the stairs. She closed her door, and went downstairs to don her blouse. When he came down, they had one last kiss before he left. "This is goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye. I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you." They kissed once more before she opened the door for him.

She watched him drive away, and then shook herself. She didn't want to hide his presence this time, but she did clean up the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. She took a shower and donned clean clothes, fit for traveling. She put everything she'd been wearing but skirt and shoes in a pile, added all her other dirty clothes, and took them down to the washer.

When Helen came back, Connie said, "I had a guest here for lunch and fixed some fancy food. Enough is left for our dinner, if you wouldn't mind."

Helen looked at her. She was transparently considering whether she wanted a fight on Connie's last day at home. Finally, she said, "That's nice of you, dear. We'll eat after your father leaves for the cabin."

Andre got there before the washer had run its cycle. Where had the afternoon gone? "Walk me out to the car," he said.

She got in the passenger side, and he started the engine and turned on the air conditioning. "Well, this is our last time," he said.

"I'll write, call."

"Sure you will, and it's not your first year away. So why the long face?"

"Oh, Andre." Why did he have to be perceptive just then? He was so blithe most of the time. "I'm not really leaving you. I am really leaving Joe, and we said goodbye this noon."

"Find your heart was involved?"

"Damn it all, yes!"

"When you thought it was a quite different organ?"

"Andre!" Not that this wasn't accurate.

"Well, Connie, that's a risk involved in living. I still have a shoulder to cry on, if I can't provide any other help. Want me to stay home this weekend?"

"No." That was a generous offer, but this weekend was scheduled for Helen. He gave her the check he had mentioned. She sat beside him for another minute, then got out of the car. She watched him drive away.

"I'm doing a wash," she told Helen when she went back inside. "It should be done soon. Let me get the clothes in the dryer, and then we'll eat."

"Fine. This is your time, tonight and until the plane leaves. A few minutes is no bother at all. Did you put your sheets in too?"

"No. I should have, but I'm going to be sleeping on them again."

"No problem. I'll change your bed Sunday. I might not be the most domestic mother in this town, but I can wash sheets."

Their meal was spent talking about her plans.

In the morning, Helen drove her to the airport. She bought a People magazine before she got on the plane. She was starting a new life, and the kids she would meet would be part of a world she wasn't part of. This would be an introduction.

'Starting' was putting a good face on it. She was starting something new, true. But so many things were ending. Why was leaving Joe so much worse than leaving Michelle whom she had known for ten times as long, and with whom she had so much in common?