|
For These Gifts
This material is Copyright, 1996, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission. All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. |
|
For These Gifts
|
|
"Funny." He dropped the bag on the couch before meeting her at the doorway. "I'm getting out of shape. Maybe I'll go back to working road construction next summer instead of office stuff." They kissed. "Tired of me already?" she asked. He kissed her again and reached for her breasts. "Pot's boiling," she said. He followed her into the kitchen and watched her dump the macaroni into the water. "You have a point. I couldn't go two days without you, much less a season." "Bag would be lighter if you washed every week." "Time would be almost twice as much, and the cost would be greater." She wasn't sure that the inconvenience was worth it. "Well, you let me manage my side of the household chores. I guess I can't fight about your managing the laundry part." "I love you, Mrs. Brennan." "All you want is my body." "Not all." "Speaking of the other one percent, go away! Dinner is coming together." He took no offense at her wanting space to work. While she cooked and served, he remade the bed with new-washed sheets. The dinner conversation was mostly about Jeanette's supervisor who expected a normal week's output in four days. "You have a four day weekend, though. What do you want to do?" she asked. The smile spreading across his face turned into a leer before she continued. "Well you can't. I have to work Friday. Anyway, your professors expect a little studying. Do you want the games tonight, though? It is the end of your week." "This week is your choice. Is that what you want?" Bob felt that he was walking on eggs. Jeanette often asked for something by offering it. On the other hand, she occasionally convinced herself that her disliking something was proof that he wanted it. Then she might be a martyr giving him something when he could easily wait until Friday. "I think it is. Do the dishes first, though. I'll need a clean kitchen tomorrow. Thanksgiving dinner as a late lunch okay?" "Great. Fixing a treat?" "Turkey slices. We're living high on the bird." She was appreciating the smell and feel of new-washed sheets when he came in. The "games" were choices of sexual behavior, new positions on the Fridays when he chose, mostly old ones on her weeks. "Game?" he asked. "Do you think that you could be very gentle with your wife?" She wanted to curl up in a ball and have him hug her. She thought that she might just scream if he touched her. Why had she asked for games on a night when she didn't know what she wanted? "Do you mean let you alone?" He thought that was carrying "games" a little far even for Jeanette, who had called her first game "Missionary." "No. I mean be gentle." Jeanette seldom showed emotion. Her style was to take it all until she exploded. Tonight, however, she was visibly frazzled. After lighting the candle and turning off the overhead light, he got in bed beside her and petted her far side. His hand didn't even pass near her breasts. He had, perversely, a raging erection. Her most seductive advances had seldom had the effect on Junior that this request for gentleness did. He ignored it as best he could and concentrated on her. His mind searched for a subject interesting enough to gain her attention yet far enough from them to relax her tension. "Have I ever told you how the Battenbergs became the ruling house of Europe?" "No. Didn't know that they had." So he droned on the story of how Prince Albert's branch of minor royalty had come to genetically dominate the royal house of England, then those of Russia and Greece. It was a splendid choice. These were people of whom Jeanette had heard, but about whom she didn't care. She let the day become the past. The next day was a glory, not a worry. She hadn't planned enough fancy dinners to see one as a chore. He shifted on to his back with her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. His caresses began to include her breasts. Under his slow seduction, her relaxation moved to a different sort of tension. He rolled her onto her back and scattered tiny kisses over her forehead and cheeks. Her legs spread for his hand as her mouth opened for his tongue. He clasped her entire vulva when they first kissed. Slowly, two fingers parted her outer labia and traced the line of her inner ones. He parted these as well, entering into her warm, moist valley. Slowly, and as lightly as possible, he stroked that moisture upward. Her tongue pressed against his, following it as it retreated to his mouth. He sucked it while reminding himself "Gentle, be gentle." She forgot even the morrow as the present moment became sweeter. He resumed lip kisses when her tongue retreated. She spread her legs wider, her leg brushing his phallus as she did so. He responded by easing one finger into her tunnel, then widening that opening by pressing down. He withdrew that finger to spread the juices it had found up to her clitoral area. He had long experience being gentle there. He smoothed the moisture into the surrounding folds, just missing the clitoris itself. Then he returned for more lubrication before he stroked, ever so lightly, over the bud itself. She gasped in his mouth and tensed under his arm. His tongue returned to explore her mouth as his finger repeated its journey. Soon, she tugged at his shoulders in silent signal. He clambered between her legs as she spread them further and raised her knees. His hand returned to spread her labia. He held his torso above her as he eased himself into her. Rooted in her, nestled into the cradle of pelvis and thighs, he shifted his arms so that his elbows held him up while his hands cupped her breasts. When he began his slow movements, she matched them. He brushed her nipples with his thumbs while he stroked within her warmth. She tensed and started to speed their tempo. He drove in and out forgetting all about gentleness. His culmination came an instant before hers. He was already pulsing as he buried himself fully into her clasping depths. She felt him fill her, throb in her. She felt the sweet pulse of his seed hit her before her own tension peaked. Her hands clutched his shoulders as her center clutched his. She was all tension, and then she collapsed. He held himself above her as they both gasped for air. He was ready with tissues when she squeezed him out. Then they lay side by side. He carefully patted her on the shoulder. Avoiding the sensitive areas seemed part of being gentle. She knew he cared for her. She loved him, and felt much better about the rest of the universe, too. The relaxation, however, was only partial. She wished that she could have more. She reached for the patting hand and moved it from her shoulder to her groin. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you had." He used to ask. When she said that his asking bothered her, he tried to pay special attention. He'd done so, and it certainly had felt like she'd had an orgasm. "I did." She immediately regretted asking. He had done what she asked. Now she knew he was spent. She wondered if he felt inadequate. He shouldn't. Would he feel annoyed at this demand when he wanted to drift off? He finally understood that she wanted more of him. The darling! He knew that he could arouse her passion, but it was a rare treat to be asked for his. "Oh love," he said. It was much too soon for Junior to be engaged in this one, but it stirred at this evidence of Jeanette's sexiness. "Wonderful woman, should I still be gentle?" "Please." "Tell me when anything isn't." He rolled so that he could kiss her again. He played with her outer labia while engaging in short, separate kisses in her mouth. He had hardly kissed her breasts tonight, and remedying that oversight would be a pleasant task. He kissed a spiral up the far breast. Before he reached the nipple, he parted her labia. He realized that the plenteous moisture wasn't all hers. He spread it upward, managing to brush her clitoris and suck her nipple at the same instant. The twin touches sent a shiver through her. She felt herself start on the familiar journey. As she slipped deeper into her passion, she relaxed more into trust of her husband's comforting guidance. Her relaxation freed her passion. The spiral sped toward the inevitable conclusion. "I love you," she heard. Then the suction was on her other breast. She passed from shuddering tautness, through undulating pleasure, to blissful repletion. He watched her accept him, then forget him as she sensed only herself. He made a mental note that he had to do something especially nice for Jeanette as gratitude for her expression of desire and trust. He felt her belly tighten and then her hips buck. He felt and saw her utter relaxation. He'd had dried cum on his penis, he did not want it on her clitoris. He slipped out of bed and returned with a wet handkerchief. "Do you want me to wipe you, or do you want to do it yourself?" "Me." "You want more?" "I want to be hugged." He blew out the candle and complied. "Am I pushing the idea of games too far?" "No. You may be seeking relief under the wrong statute." "You sure that you don't want to be a lawyer? You lost me on that one." "'I, Robert, take thee, Jeanette,' something, something, 'Wilt thou love her, cherish her, comfort her and keep her, as long as you both shall live?' When you need comfort, I'm supposed to be here. Not a matter of what day it is, who chooses the game. When you need cherishing, I've sworn to cherish you." For a moment, she thought that he had mixed up the wedding formula. Then she knew that he had the spirit of the vows engraved on his heart. She snuggled harder against him, and pulled his arm where she could hug it as he hugged her. "I suppose you want a song too," he said. He wondered what he would do if she said "no." "The whole nine yards." She was luxuriating. She knew that she was taking more than her share that night. She made a note to find something nice to do for Bob. She knew that he was keeping his promise, not making an exchange; but she had taken the same vows. "Bob loves Jeanette," he droned. "Bob loves Jeanette, Bob loves Jeanette, and I love you." When he started the second verse, Jeanette kissed each of his fingers once. Bob kissed his sleeping-in wife and started his morning. While he showered and ate, he struggled with a problem. Jeanette had only meant to tease a few weeks ago. "I'm captured by a sex maniac," she had said, "and he pretends to be such a Christian, too." He'd ignored "sex maniac." He should have ignored the second part as well. Instead, he had said, "Ah, but Christians believe that sex within marriage is right." "You don't pray that way" was all she'd said. Three things had been clear to him immediately. Jeanette was right; Jeanette didn't care, she was only teasing; he did care. He wanted to be the adult whose faith was founded on scripture, reason, tradition, and experience. He was still mostly the adolescent whose God was a projection of his snickering peers. He was still elated because Jeanette had asked for his petting. Would he give thanks for the meal, fine as it would be, and not for the greater pleasure? The coffee maker gurgled its readiness. Jeanette had had her extra hour. More brooding would take him nowhere. He poured a mug and took it to the bedroom. "Coffee," she said. "I knew there was a reason I married him." She gulped the mug and then headed for the bathroom. Benefited by the extra sleep, she realized that this was a special day by her second cup. She shooed Bob out of the kitchen and began to work. Jeanette had been planning this feast since Bob had turned a birthday bonanza over to the household accounts. It featured plenitude; they would have peas and corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and (Stovetop) stuffing, turkey to make it Thanksgiving, and mince pie to make Bob really thankful. (Remembering his cherishing of her the night before made her extra happy about that touch.) She made her own coleslaw and her own gravy. Jeanette gloried in being a housewife when she had the materials. When she fetched Bob, he looked truly impressed. He seated her, and she waited for grace. "Look," Bob began. "Pastor Jim warned us about this, but I've done it anyway. My family goes around on Thanksgiving and everybody says what they're grateful for from the past year. Not one thing, but sort of a list. "Brennan Senior rules aren't our rules, and it's not fair to spring it on you, but I'd still like it if we did that." "It's not exactly the weirdest thing that your family does. Do you want me to go first?" "Please. I'll sort of put my list into the prayer." "The year? Well I've been planning on being married to you for years, and this year I am. I'm grateful for Greg's gift. All the disasters which didn't happen. Finding a job. And I'm grateful for your cold. Now you'll know that when I'm negative about messy sex it isn't rejection of you." He waited, then raised an eyebrow. She nodded. "Almighty Father," he began. That was the easy part. "You have given us so many gifts that I should be grateful for, health, sight, a roof over our heads and food on our table. But You, who know everything, know that all my real gratitude this year is for the woman who shares my life. "And most of all ..." Here he took a breath, started to go on, and then exhaled and took another breath. "I am most grateful for her passion and her acceptance of mine. I know that she said no with no help from me for years when that was a virtue. I know that this trained her to say 'no,' and that this is mostly my fault. I know that her first impulse is to say 'no.' But her mind and her love for me have overcome that. "I thank You for that mind and for the body which says 'yes' so often and so well. I thank You, as I thank her, for her cheerful acceptance of an unfair share of the pressure that money brings on our house. In the category of things I'm not grateful enough for, I thank You for all the housework that she does. "I thank You for my father's continuing life and health, for the gifts that Jeanette has mentioned, and for the feast which is before us and the cook who put it there. In Jesus' name, amen." "Amen," said Jeanette, but she reached for his hand rather than a fork. They looked at each other for a minute, but everything seemed to have been said. "I love you," she finally said. It seemed inadequate, but it was the truth. "I love you, too," he replied. She knew that. He'd even told his God so. They dug into their feast. They ate to repletion and went for a walk. What good the exercise did for their digestion was undone by a late supper of the leftovers. A few slices of turkey held over for sandwiches, two sweet potatoes, and a third of a pie were all that the refrigerator saw of the great feast. They went to bed late. Their lovemaking, although restricted by both torpor and bloat, added one more comfortable satiation to the holiday. Bob's torpor continued through most of Friday. He read the assigned material for two classes and produced a fair amount of note cards for an upcoming paper, but he did all that lying in bed. It was mid-afternoon before he finished putting away the laundry which he had washed Wednesday. At this point, he felt a twinge of conscience; he'd not been acting as grateful as he'd said he was. He neatened the apartment according to his lights, if not up to Jeanette's standards. At work, Jeanette did her usual job. She burst six-ply forms of vile-smelling carbonless copies, and put each copy in a separate place, four of them file folders which changed from one form to the next. Her enjoyment of the previous day hadn't outlived the alarm clock's ringing. She glowered through the day with a temper not improved by a co-worker's calling in sick. The longest day, however, ends, as does the longest sulk. Bob greeted her with a kiss and a hug. The dishes from last night had been put away, and the cooking utensils were washed and on the drainboard. The table was set. Life was looking better already. "Anything else I can do?" he asked. "Ramen tonight. Can you crush the bricks." "I appreciate your trust in my incredible strength, but crushing bricks is beyond even me." He pulled out three packages and started kneading them, though. "What are those things in the package called, then?" "Du-jours. What else?" She gave him her most parental look, and he returned his most unrepentant one. After dinner, Bob pulled his chair back and gestured toward his lap. She sat there and cuddled. "You have two days ahead of you," he said, "and not even games this evening." "I don't dislike the games." He looked awfully doubtful. "I don't always dislike the games. Look, what is your agenda?" "Moi?" He tried to look innocent. It was not one of his successful faces. "I remember when the first summer of road-building was first offered to you. You came to me and said something like, 'Do you want to get married?' ..." "It was more like, 'Have you ever thought that sometime we might get married?'" "I thought you were talking about eloping that night. Instead you were planning that high wages in four months would make this more affordable in four years." "More like three. I liked what we had, I wanted it to continue in the summer -- which it couldn't if I were in another state; but I figured that (if it were to continue indefinitely) that the money would eventually be more important than that time." "So I finally figured out then. But I know that you have long-range plans. What are they?" "I plan to be married to you for fifty or sixty years. Long enough for you?" She just looked at him. "Okay. In this arena, I'd like us to do it seated, standing, and doggie style. There is a position which has you lying on your back with your knees raised and me lying on my side sort of under those knees. Call it a T. And there is karezza, which means get a real comfortable position and move as little as possible. There are variations of some of these." "First of all, 'doggie style' sounds horrible." "Now Jeanette...." "If you want to do anything like that, you'll have to find a much nicer name." "Well, you are fox, not a dog." "You're starting to think. You have a while." "But you're immune to my wiles." "You want to try something tonight?" "Do you mean that?" "What is this 'seated' business?" "I love you dearly." "I'm just too comfortable to get up." "Well, you'll have to, but only briefly," he said, completely forgetting about contraception. When she finally went to take care of that detail, he moved a chair into the bedroom and stripped. Petting had brought back fond memories, but he preferred it when it didn't end in lonely frustration. Jeanette came in wearing a robe, but flared it open to hug him. Their kiss lasted until Junior rose between them. "So what do I do?" she asked. He sat on the edge of the chair. "Come towards me 'till I'm between your legs.... Four more inches. Now sit down." "Aren't we awfully far apart?" "We'll change that in a minute. Give me another kiss." As she leaned forward to do that, her breasts brushed his skin. She shivered slightly. He parted his legs and, with them, hers. She had to grip him more tightly to keep from falling back. He turned his nails backward and stroked them up her thigh. When he reached her folds, he played with the outer lips for a minute before passing two fingers between them. He reached moisture immediately. He stroked this up her valley until she gasped in his mouth. His hand made two more journeys before she broke the kiss. "Now what?" she asked. He leaned back and took hold of himself with the hand that wasn't stroking her. "Now you come forward and sit on me as you do when I'm lying down." It was a little clumsier than that, but she reached the critical point where he was poised at her entrance. "Very slowly," he said. She lowered herself as slowly as possible. Finally, she was resting on his legs again and he was totally engulfed. He pulled her hips to him and began rocking back and forth. After a minute or two, he sat straighter and changed to a rolling side-to-side motion. She brushed his hair back to kiss first his forehead and then the tops of his ears. He looked up and she bent enough to kiss him. "Are you feeling adventurous?" he asked as that kiss broke. "Ihm hihm," she replied. She felt that this was adventurous indeed and was certainly not expecting any more. He stood! She gasped and held on tighter. She crossed her legs behind his hips, while he pulled her against him. He took a couple of steps to the bed and then stood swaying back and forth with his toes under it. All their hands were engaged in holding them together; none were available for caresses. The motion not only moved him in and out of her but also rubbed their groins together at every stage. Jeanette always felt a giddy rush when Bob lifted her. That added emotion to the more specifically genital stimulation. She was right on the edge. Bob's muscle tension and steady, single- gaited, pistonning drove him over first. His twitching organ and spurting seed took her with him. Her fingers clawed into his shoulders, her legs tightened around his hips, and her vagina clasped his phallus. Embraced everywhere, Bob swayed, throbbing in the rivet which joined them. He was also trembling below that point, and his over-stressed muscles collapsed when his orgasm was over. He'd considered that risk back when his mind had been functioning, and he was poised so that they would fall on the bed. Jeanette had often felt like she was soaring during her climax. Occasionally the end felt like a drop to the bed but never had it felt like such a tumble as this. She bounced a little on the mattress. Then Bob was collapsed with his face on her belly and his knees on the floor. She recovered her breath long before he did. When he began kissing her above the navel, she laughed. "That was fun," she said, "but I don't think that I'd like it every night." It was a minute before he answered. "You'd probably like it as often as I could do it. That was fun, as you say, but also work." "Dunno. You were impressive for a guy who was complaining about the weight of a laundry bag recently." "Motivation." They busied themselves wiping, arranging, returning the chair (Bob could picture crashing into it in the night), turning off lights, removing a robe, and all the other burdens which impetuous lust lays on tired repletion. Finally, they snuggled together under smoothed bed clothes. "I love you desperately," Bob said when he was comfortable. "V'you too." She was already dropping off. "But I really messed up the wedding vows." "Does that mean we aren't married?" "Messed them up the other night. Looked them up later. They go like this: "I, Robert, take thee, Jeanette, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, and thereto I plight thee my faith. "'Comfort' comes in an entirely different part of the service." "I'll forgive you this time. But I want something." "A song?" "Nope!" He was disappointed. He knew he couldn't sing, but he thought that she liked that particular song. "Instead I want you to say the vow again." He repeated it until her breath signaled her sleep. He dropped off soon after. Saturday, Bob waited until 8:30 to even start the coffee. Jeanette wandered through the kitchen on the way to the bathroom before it was done. She downed one mug before her shower. Two mugs later, she was awake. "Have I ever mentioned that you look beautiful?" "What do you want from me this morning?" She was smiling, but he thought the accusation totally unjust. He was responding to the past night rather than seeking any future benefit. "Absolutely nothing. Indeed, I have to hit the library today. Do you want anything from me before I cut out?" "Want me to pack your lunch?" "Already did." And felt overflowing with virtue thereby. She glanced in the refrigerator. The turkey was untouched. The bread supply was diminished. "PBJ and...?" "What's with the 'and'?" "Take an apple." She handed him one. "Grape jelly is fruit." But he added the apple to his bag. "This evening okay for FRC?" "Sure." Their kiss was more passionate than was sensible for a parting. She giggled when he readjusted his trousers before leaving. They each spent solid hours working, he filling note cards, she filling a vacuum-cleaner bag. If thoughts of the previous night occurred more often to her, they interfered more with his work. He checked out two mysteries for her before he took his lunch break. He stayed in the library until it closed, but Jeanette had expected that. Dinner was ready soon after he got back. They ate and he washed dishes. Jeanette was scanning FRC when he got to the bedroom. This section covered times just within their horizon. Jeanette's grandfather had told her stories of the Pacific Theater. The talk began on new information and perspectives, and finally ended on whether it made sense for Jeanette to continue trying to follow one of Bob's courses. "I don't know if I'd have put in the effort you have without expecting credit," he said. "I'll get credit. Someday I'll be Professor Brennan's wife and the History Department is never going to look at my transcript. They'll talk to me, though. I don't want to sound like an ignoramus." "You're not an ignoramus." "Compared to you, I am. That's okay. I just want to be a secret ignoramus." He laughed, then he kissed her deeply. "Your mind is so twisty. I love it, too," he said before kissing her again. She responded wholeheartedly to the kiss, pulling his head to her and thrusting her tongue at his. The last hour of discussion had been accompanied by his light caresses and a few hugs. She was ready to take this show on the road. Bob, however, had another road in mind. He slipped down the bed and reached for the pad that they kept nearby. "The light," she said. He doused it. In the sudden dark, he slipped the pad against her hip. She raised herself and then squirmed to get squarely on the pad. He slipped under the sheet and between her legs. He started kissing her a little above her left knee and trailed kisses up her thigh. He continued on past the sweet junction and over her delta and belly. He kissed the path up her breast to find a nubbly areola and a nipple reaching out to him. There he licked and sucked as his pleasure briefly overrode his dedication to hers. On recovery, he kissed his way down the breast, across the valley, and up her right breast. There he feasted again. Meanwhile, his fingers had been teasing what his lips had skipped. She felt the sensations as separate pleasures at first, a licked nipple one moment and a slick finger stroking her labia the next. The sensations soon merged into a single wave of desire peaking as her nipple was sucked deeply at the same instant he brushed lightly across her clitoris. He kissed the nipple goodbye and squatted back on his knees. One hand returned the covers over her as the other held her labia open for his tongue. The heady odor and sweet taste drove him to a tender lingual assault, first on her labia and then on her tiny clitoral bud. Lips met lips at the same time he slipped two fingers into her sheath. He felt the slight bump within her and stroked it with the tips of his fingers while he sucked gently over the top of her cleft. She was pressing on his head through the covers. He continued with his fingers as he felt her stiffen. Then he closed his lips until he was sucking the clitoris itself. Jeanette was floating on sensuous pleasure. Wave after wave of it poured from her genitals, and she reached down to press Bob's head to her to keep the waves flowing. She felt herself stiffen in expectation. Then his lips deserted her. He rose under her arm and the covers until his lips were on her mouth. His tongue had just thrust into her mouth when he passed between his fingertips at her entrance. This thrust was slower but deeper. When she was full below, his lips moved from her mouth to her hairline. The changes set her back one beat, but she stiffened again at his second stroke. Then her tension spilled over into completion and she was undulating under him and around him. From far away, she felt him roll them to the side. He felt her stiffen and shifted his attack. He moved from her mound to her mouth as fast as he could. While kissing her, he was adjusting his hips to enter her body. He spread the entrance of her marvelous cunt with his fingers as Junior passed inside. He pressed between those slippery, clutching walls until her mound was supporting him. Then he straightened and kissed her forehead before beginning to move. He held himself so his ribs brushed her nipples as Junior stroked through her inner depths. She clutched around him almost immediately. He pressed within her and switched to a side-to-side motion that rubbed his pubic area over hers. When she seemed to stop, he rolled her sideways and pulled the pad from beneath her. He rolled back and resumed stroking within at the new angle. She was clutching around him again, and he could no longer resist. He stroked in her clasping warmth, then pounded into it, then raised his torso on that one pivot as he pulsed and poured into a quivering welcome. When he rolled her back, Jeanette felt him touch her inside and out in a new way. She pulled his hips to her through the quilt. Her body took her back to joy but she still felt his motions. Then she felt his discharge. Then she felt his weight and her lassitude. When they could bring themselves to move, the covers were in a tangle over them but mostly off them. There was a wet mess under them but partly on them. Neither particularly cared. They moved off the mess and dabbed it up. They adjusted the covers and snuggled under them. "Love you," he said. "Love you." She really meant it. She looked for a way to say it better. "Anne going to have the baby with her in church tomorrow?" "Usually does." "Wake me in time for church, okay?" Briefly, he thought of the two books for her in his backpack. He decided that they would be as pleasant a surprise at lunch as they would have been at breakfast. "Did I mention that you are the best wife in the whole world?" "Have you been sampling again?" "Don't need to. I have the best." He placed his arm between her breasts and gave her a tight hug. She hugged the arm for a minute and then took his hand in hers. She placed it on her breast. He cupped it while he sang them both to sleep. |
The End For These Gifts Uther Pendragon anon584c@nyx.net 1996/11/23 Rev. 1997/01/05 1997/04/26 2000/03/19 2001/11/05 2002/09/25 2003/10/18 This is one of a series of stories about the Brennans. The next story in the series is: "For Now" The first story in the series is: "Forever" The directory to the entire series is: Brennan Stories Directory A story of another couple using another technique to deal with another stress is: "Snarl" The directory to all my stories can be found at: Index to Uther Pendragon's Website |