Four and a Half
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is Copyright, 1997, 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.

Four and a Half
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

"Well, Cat," Memere asked her, "do you want to take your nap on your pad or on Grandma Brennan's bed?"

"No!"

"That isn't one of the choices. If you come into my room I'll read you some stories first and lie beside you." Kate Brennan couldn't understand her four-year-old granddaughter's dislike of naps; siestas were such a luxury.

"Don't wanna nap."

"You don't have to want one. You're going to take one. You know that, and I know that. The question is whether we are going to have an ugly fight first or read some nice stories first."

"You talk like Papa." Memere did sound like Papa, and not just the way that everybody but Maman and her special friends and the people at school talked English like Papa did.

"Get your books and Wot, and I'll tell you a story that isn't in any of them. It's a short story, so we'll have a couple of books after. Dad books only." Wot, who had started out as a pink plush elephant, had lost most of his plush and was -- despite Jeanette's occasional laundering -- more gray than pink these days. He was, however, something between Cat's favorite toy and her constant companion.

Cat knew the difference between French and English. She even could say a few things in Spanish.

Finally, they were settled on the big, soft, bed. Cat giggled as usual at the waves that they made. Then Memere started in on her story.

"Even Dad was a little boy once. And when he was a little boy, he lived with Granddad and me. He was my baby just as you were Maman's baby."

"Not a baby. Cat's a big girl."

"Cat's a big girl now. But Cat was a baby once. And Daddy was a baby once. And even I was a baby once, can you imagine? Anyway, Dad grew up from being a baby to being a boy who learned to talk. And his favorite word was 'no.' Just like it's the favorite word of his favorite daughter. And when he said that he didn't want to do something, take a nap for example, guess who would tell him that he didn't need to want to?"

"You!" It wasn't that hard to guess.

"That's right. He didn't need to want to, and often he didn't. But he needed to do it, and almost always he did. Then he grew up and married Maman. And he wanted to have a child of his own, and Maman wanted to have a child of her own. And then they did, and it made them very happy. And the child turned out to be Cat, and that made them even happier still."

"And I was inside Maman." This was a really a puzzle to Cat, but everybody said she had been.

"And you were inside Maman, except that you weren't the Cat who runs and plays and talks. You were eentsy-teentsy. And then you came out, and you still were quite small. But you grew and grew and grew. And now you are the big girl who can take care of herself."

And big enough that she didn't need a nap. But they'd already had that fight, and the water bed was jiggly and giggly, and Memere hugged her close while she read.... Then the hug was too tight and she needed to go bad. She squeezed out. The bounces weren't fun anymore, but she got off the bed and to the bathroom just in time.

Kate Brennan woke knowing that she had just had a child in her arms. The slant of the light meant mid-afternoon. But something was wrong. "Bob," she called. "What are you doing?"

"Mikrate! Mikrate!" she heard.

Then she was really awake. It wasn't a son she had held, but the son's daughter. Cat banged out of the bathroom and ran in the door. "Did you wash your hands?" Kate asked. Cat ran back. And people worry about an energy shortage.

When Cat was totally finished, Kate wiped up some of the residue of her namesake's splashes. Then she used the facilities herself. It was an hour after the train was due. Counting the 15 minute drive and the necessary greetings at the station, the family could be getting back anytime in the next hour or two.

"Where's Tante K'leen?" Cat asked for what seemed the hundredth time. Cat was really getting better on the middle syllables, but Kathleen had threatened mayhem to anyone who corrected that particular pronunciation. Cat ran into Kate's room, climbed on the water bed, bounced for a moment, retrieved Wot, and ran back into range.

"I don't know, dear. She'll be here sometime this afternoon. Let's get your shoes on." This only took ten times as long as it would have with Kate doing the work, but she didn't have anything more important to do than holding her granddaughter. She tightened the laces on the gym shoes and double knotted them.

What next? Oh yes. "Do you want to help Grandma Brennan fix dinner?" Cat happily clattered down the stairs (clattering in rubber soles being another talent confined to the young).

"Where's Tante K'leen?"

"She's coming on the train, dear, just as you did. Granddad, Mommy, and Daddy went in the car to pick her and Charles up. The train is late, but I don't know how late. Asking won't make the train run any faster. Do you want a pickle?"

"Yes!" Cat definitely wanted a pickle. Then she remembered her manners. "May I have a pickle, please?" Memere got her a pickle and a saucer while she climbed up on the chair at the kitchen table. Memere got her two napkins, too.

Kate shuddered. Cat should be too young for pickles. Instead, the girl had gummed pickles before she had teeth. Well, it was better than sugary snacks. "Well, dear, we don't know when the others will get back; but they'll want a good meal soon thereafter. So what we are going to do is to get some chicken all ready to cook. We'll grill it under the oven when the time comes.

"The first thing to do is to wash the chicken. We don't use soap like we use on our hands, but the reason is really the same...."

The chicken was marinating, the pudding was done, and Pooh and Piglet were searching for Eeyore's tail when the car stopped in the driveway.

"Do you know who that is?" Kate asked. Now Cat could stop asking for her aunt.

Cat knew the sound of that car. "Pepere!" She ran to the door. The first person she saw, though, was Sharl.

Charles had to free one hand to turn the knob. Kath's father had led the way, but he now was engaged in holding the storm door open for the laden. So Charles already had set one suitcase down when he heard the cry of "Sharl!"

He dropped the other in time to catch the four-year-old missile which had launched itself into his arms. "I'm glad to see you, Cat," he said, "but we need to let the others in." He shifted her to a position more comfortable for carrying, and walked into the house until the distraction of his squirming burden and his fogged glasses disoriented him completely.

There was a bustle behind them as the last of the luggage was pulled in the door.

Kathleen didn't know whether she was more jealous that her god-daughter had ignored her for Char or that Cat had stolen her boyfriend's attention. She hung her coat in the downstairs closet, and saw Bob walking up the stairs with two suitcases. "You don't have to carry Char's bag up there," she said. "He's sleeping down here on the couch." Bob ignored her, as she had expected.

Char, however, took the hint. "Do you want to kiss Tante K'leen hello?" he asked Cat, who was playing with his hair again. Her hands patted all over the tight, kinky, curls. Kathleen could understand that fascination, though she knew Charles couldn't. Such hair might be common in the Black community, but it was still fun.

Char brought Cat to her. She leaned over for the kiss, and Kathleen took her in her arms. And a load she was too. "Catherine Angelique," Kathleen said, "what a big girl you are. You really have grown." Then she returned the kiss and hug. When Cat was done hugging her, she let her down to the floor.

Cat went on to hug her grandpa, then her maman on general principles.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Cat. Do you think that we could move over towards the tree to let the people with the suitcases past." Jeanette was proud of her child's affectionate nature, although she worried about her getting into trouble with it on the street. She also created a bit of a traffic hazard. And she was a getting too heavy to jump on Charles. Now, if she could only convince Charles of that.

Charles hung his coat in the downstairs closet. He headed upstairs with the last significant load of their luggage, Kath's smaller suitcase and a shopping bag full of presents. He'd been out of residency for six months, and his new income level might have led him to overdo the shopping. Only one purchase really counted, however. Bob was coming down as he went up the stairs.

Bob could see that there was room past Charles if he would only turn sidewise. Then he could see that Charles wanted him upstairs. He held out his hand for the shopping bag and headed back up. "I'm going to need your help in wrapping one package," Charles said when they were in Kathleen's room.

"Kathleen?" Charles nodded. Bob grinned. Surprise packages were his specialty, and he suspected that this surprise would be remembered for years.

Jeanette was a little miffed to find the door to her room locked when she went upstairs, but this was Christmas after all. The Brennans took the idea that one shouldn't know what was in the package until you opened it to ridiculous extremes, and Bob was the worst of all. Well, she loved him, and he loved her. In someone who loved you, taking things to ridiculous extremes was not a bad characteristic especially as he took that love to ridiculous extremes.

She loved his family, as well. Still, she couldn't help feel that her daughter's verbosity was only what they deserved. During dinner Cat dominated the conversation at the table where Jeanette had often listened to the volleys of talk in awed silence.

"Many first-graders at our school," Kate said over her grand- daughter's voice, "even a few of my third-graders, don't have the English vocabulary that Cat does." She was shading it a little, those third graders had been a constant worry. On the other hand, having the vocabulary of EMH kids twice your age is still an accomplishment.

"It's all your son's doing," Jeanette said. "I speak French to her."

"Mean Mommy goes to school," Kate heard. That couldn't be right. Did Cat resent her mother's being away from home?

"Maman and I," Bob said.

"Maman and I go to school. She learns Francais, and I learn Espanol."

"Could you be overdoing the language thing?" Kate asked. She didn't want to be that sort of a mother-in-law, but still.

"Inter-American has a fine record," Jeanette said, "much better than the average Chicago public school, for the level of general learning that their graduates receive. My daughter will grow up bilingual; if trilingual is a burden, then the French goes. We actually expected that we would drop it, but Cat doesn't want that right now.

"She has a Latina friend, and they hang out together. The school sort of encourages that. So she is learning heaps about Guatemalan culture at the workaday level."

"And," Bob said, "this is the preschool year. What is she going to learn this year? Language and getting along with others. Inter-American is the best school in the city for that, not that Chicago isn't full of schools for learning about getting along with people of different kinds -- for well or ill. She knows her numbers, though that, too, is more of a linguistic skill than a mathematical one.

"You said yourself," he continued, "that her English vocabulary was above age level. It's really borrowing trouble to worry about it's getting too low. Besides, Spanish has unsuspected bonuses."

"My husband has schemes."

"Bob?!" Nobody took Katherine's shock seriously.

"Well, yes," he said. "There are universities in South America which will accept guest lecturers who lecture in English. We can pop down there some summer when Cat is a little older; the pay will just about keep us housed and fed. She can go to the local school, which will run through the summer in the southern hemisphere. I'll bet that their standards are more rigorous than ours."

"They'd certainly be more rigorous on some things," his father said.

"Anyway, the girl loves books. If that keeps on, there is no way that she won't learn. Right now, she loves school, too. As you've said, her present English skills are well above grade level. And, much as I love her, I have put only a fraction of the time in with her that Jeanette has."

The adults stopped talking over Cat's head to listen to her glowing report on Conchita and Pablito. It took a while for Charles to figure out that the first was her friend and the second was Conchita's baby brother. Was Cat spoiled? In some ways. She certainly owned more books than any of the kids he treated would believe, more books than some of the clinic-kids' parents. She refused foods that she didn't like, interrupted adults without censure, stated her opinions with remarkable freedom. On the other hand, she didn't really interrupt the adults; they kept talking too.

He'd noticed that, except for things which were clearly adult, like drinking alcohol and coffee or driving cars, Bob and Jeanette enforced no rules on Cat which they weren't ready to obey themselves. Certainly, asking that a child wait to speak until no adult was speaking would be tantamount to demanding her absolute silence at the Brennan table. He realized that he was no greater a disciplinarian than her parents. She didn't launch herself at Kath the way she did at him, and that was because Kath had told her not to every time she'd tried.

"Not done," Cat said while scrambling out of her seat. "Mikrate!"

"Mic-TUR-ate," her father called after her as if pronunciation were the only thing exceptional in that statement.

"The first year I taught," Katherine said, "student-taught really, one boy raised his hand and said, 'I have to use it.' Well I couldn't imagine what he had to use, and -- before I figured that out -- there was a puddle on the seat of his chair. He was embarrassed, but it was really my fault. On the other hand, he was awfully embarrassed; I think the other children teased him about it a great deal."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Bob. "But Jeanette objects to the standard term."

"Standard?" asked Jeanette.

"'Piss' is certainly understood by all classes and subcultures of the English-speaking world."

There was another clatter, and Cat was back. "Darling," her mother asked, "did you wash your hands?" Cat held them out; they were still damp in places. "And what do you say in school when you need to leave the room for what you just did?"

"Need go bathroom!" She clambered back up onto the phone book on her chair.

"Bob may be weird, Katherine," Jeanette said, "but he isn't vicious -- certainly not to his daughter."

"Weird? Moi?" asked Bob.

No one rose to that bait.

The top half of the tree was already decorated with balls and lights. Charles lifted Cat so that she could fit the angel on the very top. It was a beautiful angel, but made from paper and foil. Then they strung popcorn strings around the bottom, Cat doing most of the work.

The family came near to filling the van, but Russ Brennan stopped to pick up three neighbors on the way to church. The family did fill half of the pew. Russ felt quite the paterfamilias.

At one point, he had thought seriously of moving to Chicago upon retirement; but then Kathleen had moved to Philadelphia at the end of her residency, leaving only Bob's half of the family in Chicago. Either town was one hell of a place to retire, but family was worth it. As it was, these Christmases were all he was going to get. Well, Bob and Jeanette made other trips occasionally; and just what Kathleen's schedule would be was a little unclear. Probably unclear to herself, too; she was an independent psychiatrist in a new town, instead of a resident.

He sat at the end, Kate next to him, Bob and Cat, Jeanette, Kathleen, and Charles nearly to the middle of the pew. Beyond Charles, there was a pile of coats. Not half the congregation would show up tonight, there was plenty of space. Until the prelude, people kept coming up to say hello: his friends -- shaking his hand while looking towards Cat, Bob's and Jeanette's friends, a few of Kathleen's friends -- Vi's friends really; she hadn't used "Kathleen" until she'd left home.

Then he tried to concentrate on the message about the coming of the savior, rather than his pride in family.

Kathleen had a marginally good voice, but a keen appreciation of musical ability. Singing next to Charles was always a treat. He kept saying that the choir directors of his youth hadn't ever asked him to solo. Maybe not, and he certainly hadn't had that basso profundo in childhood; but the black church had much higher standards than she was used to.

At the end, the kids had so much catching up to do that Russ gave a set of rides home and returned for them. One of the members of the church whom he regarded as an adult leader was actually Kathleen's contemporary. The girl who had been president of the youth group in Bob's freshman year had news of her daughter's engagement.

Kathleen slipped something in her father's hand as they were going out to the car. It was an addition for Charles's stocking, and he passed it on to Kate in their room. They gave Kathleen time to put up their stockings and then went down to put up everyone else's. They'd redecorated this last year, and he'd actually suggested adding a false mantle. Kate had more sense.

They looked at the tree once more, unplugged it, and went up the stairs to bed. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus," he said.

"Merry Christmas, Santa." Once in bed, they hugged each other tightly for a minute, then rolled over into the spoon position. The water bed sloshed under them but they were used to that now. It had been a long day, and he was soon asleep.

Kate, who had napped in the afternoon, lay beside him neither quite asleep nor anywhere near awake. She said a sort of prayer: "Thank you, God, for my grandchild, for both kids home for Christmas. Thank you especially for another year of Russ." She snuggled back into his arms. She could no longer remember how she had managed to sleep when he had been away so often; she faced the certainty that she would have to learn how one day soon. "Another year, Lord, give us another year."

But she wasn't one to concentrate on her problems. She had Bob and Kathleen, she had Jeanette, and -- most of all -- she had little Cat.

Cat hugged Wot. It had been a big day, and tomorrow would be, too. She almost remembered last Christmas.

Her parents lay a few feet away. When Bob's parents had bought a new waterbed, they moved their old queen-sized bed into Bob's room. He and Jeanette had found the bed a real treat the last three nights. But Cat had spent those nights in Tante K'leen's bed in the next room. She was much too old for a primal scene. Jeanette in her nightgown lay in the arms of a pajama-clad Bob trying not to notice the obtrusive presence of his erection.

"It's not as if we always have to do it," Bob said. She didn't answer. He wasn't talking to her; he was trying to persuade himself.

Kathleen lay next to Char. Bob's old twin bed was a foot away, but neither had considered using it. They'd been separated by 300 miles for four long years. They weren't about to sleep apart ever again.

And they weren't about to sleep quite yet. At first, Char caressed her and kissed her gently. Both of them were willing to give the others in the house time to go to sleep. Besides, Char enjoyed taking his time with her. But he didn't enjoy it one- tenth as much, she was sure, as she enjoyed his doing it.

The room was dim, the only light was what leaked through the curtained windows. But Charles was quite aware of Kath's growing tension beside him. Her ragged breathing and taut belly were only two of the signs. The nipple between his lips was turgid. And his finger could find more and more lubrication to spread over her labia and clitoris. When he judged her near, he inserted two fingers into her to rub her G-spot. He loved Kath's orgasms, especially when they were so clearly a response to his actions. The only downside was that he had to abandon the sweet breast to cover her mouth.

Kathleen thought that Char knew her so well. His professors had persuaded him to change specialties from obstetrics to pediatrics because they didn't think women would appreciate his huge hands inside their vaginas. Male doctors -- what did they know. She loved what his hands could do to her vagina, and all the other parts down there. Still, she was just as glad that she didn't have to share those sensations with a bunch of patients. Then she had no more time for thought. She gasped into Char's mouth as she came.

Charles felt his love contract around his fingers. After one more stroke, he withdrew -- knowing that all Kath's erogenous zones were too sensitive to touch just then. He lay beside her just touching along her arm and blowing gently across her hairline. "Oh Char!" she finally said. He could hug her then, still avoiding the most sensitive parts.

"Oh Kath," he responded. When she spread her legs, he knelt between them. He reached for the diaphragm case in her nightstand. After kissing her, he concentrated on applying jelly to the diaphragm. He could reach her so much better than she could reach herself, his fingers were appreciably longer. If they had to explain his applying the diaphragm to her, they could provide good excuses. His pleasure, though, was much greater than the mere appreciation of efficiency could explain.

When she drew her legs up, he kissed the insides of each thigh before spreading her labia with his left hand. He inserted the diaphragm with his right, pressing it snugly against her cervix with two fingers. He withdrew those same fingers only part way, stroking her entrance. By this time, Kath was usually vocal about her preference for another part of him in the same place. Tonight though, with her brother and niece in the next room, she communicated only by her looks. Well, the undulations of her body were a communication, too. Involuntary though they might be, they were more persuasive communication than her words ever were.

On his way to entering her, Char stopped -- as he always did -- to nuzzle her nipples. She grasped his head, half fondling his curls, half pulling his mouth against her nipples. When he moved on, though, she was even happier. He paused right at the entrance to cup her breasts with his enormous hands. Then he was in her, filling her, just where he belonged.

"Mmm," she said and shifted a little to bring him deeper.

"Mmm," he answered and kissed her forehead. He was too tall to kiss her mouth like this, let alone her breasts. He had each nipple between thumb and forefinger, though. He stroked them, twisted them gently, pulled them slightly away from her chest. When he started to do different things to each breast, she writhed from the sensations. He drove in and out of that writhing -- pressing against her clit when he was fully in, rubbing across her G-spot as he moved out. She spiraled higher and higher.

Tugging him deeper into her by his butt, she climaxed. His climax followed before hers had finished. When she collapsed gasping, he moved beside her. Minutes later, he pulled the sheet and blankets over them. She reached out to turn off the bedside lamp and cuddled against him. Her last sensation was of his breath stirring her hair.

The couch, with a sprig of mistletoe taped above its center, was reserved for Charles and Kathleen. Russ, Kate, and Jeanette each had a big comfortable chair near a side table. Jeanette's table contained two pencils and a steno pad. Bob sprawled beside the tree, and handed packages to Cat who 'acted as Santa Claus.' She opened her own packages at her mother's feet.

"Take this one to ta tante," Bob told Cat. She bustled over with a large package. Kathleen wasn't surprised to find a smaller package in a different kind of holiday wrapping inside the first. Bob was notorious for doing that. She carefully searched the wrapping paper before opening the next layer, and searched that paper before unwrapping the somewhat smaller box inside. Bob had given Cat a present for herself, and everybody else seemed to be watching Kathleen. Char, in particular, seemed to be giving her his whole attention. Well Bob's wrapping was worth an audience.

When she opened the box, it contained an even smaller box, looking like something from a jewelers. She wondered briefly where bob had got that, but it looked open -- though turned away from her. She turned the package around to see inside. A diamond ring appeared. Char slipped off the couch to kneel in front of her.

"Oh, Char," she said. "Oh, oh, oh, yesssss!" She burst into tears.

Charles took Kath's hands in his, and rose up on his knees as she leaned over to kiss him. But someone small pushed him so hard he lost his balance. "You made Tante K'leen cry!" Cat shouted.

"She's crying 'cause she's happy dear," her grandmother explained.

"She is?" Cat didn't cry when she was happy, and she sure wasn't happy when she cried.

"Yes, Cat. Very happy, deliriously happy. Oh, Char!" Kathleen held out the box and her hand for Charles to put it on.

The ring couldn't go past the first knuckle. "But," Charles said, "you have such small hands." When Kathleen held out their two hands against each other, the Brennan adults all laughed.

"Only in comparison with yours, Charles," Bob said. Kathleen finally slipped the ring on her little finger and walked over to let her parents and Jeanette see. Cat got up to look too.

"You knew," Jeanette said to Bob.

"I asked him to wrap it," Charles explained. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Well, dear, you succeeded."

"All your chitchat last night was wasted, Kathleen," Bob said. "Your friends have met your boyfriend, but they haven't met you fiance'. C'mon, Cat; nobody has any presents to open."

"Well, sir," Jeanette said, "you can't say this year what you did the Christmas before Cat was born."

"What was that?"

"This year the nicest present made it under the tree."

"That's true."

"Nicest present?" Cat had started listening when her name was mentioned.

"You, dear."

"Vraiment," her mother said. "Ton pepere t'appelle le mieux cadeau."

When Cat looked puzzled, Katherine explained. "It wasn't really you, dear. It was the news that you were coming. Your mother told us that she would have a baby, and we were all pleased. Just like now. It's not the ring that's the present, although it is a very nice ring. It is the news that ta tante K'leen is going to marry Charles."

"She is?" Cat wasn't sure what that meant, and nobody had told her about this before.

"Yes, dear. That's what the ring means."

"Okay." It was a very pretty ring, all sparkly; but Cat could tell that Tante K'leen wasn't going to let her wear it just now, and she had presents of her own to open.

The last present under the tree was labeled 'Wot.' "Let's not give it to him just now, dear," Memere said. "You and I'll give it to him after lunch."

There were bags for all the wrapping paper. After Russ read "King John's Christmas," it was time for lunch. The Christmas feast would be tomorrow, but the food today was plentiful enough.

Russ Brennan said the grace himself instead of assigning it. As well as the food, he gave thanks for "Kathleen's happy news."

The conversation ran every-which-way in the usual Brennan fashion. "Way back when," Russ said, "there were two kinds of people, blue collar and white collar. These days, women workers -- secretaries at least -- are called 'pink collar.' And here in the South we have green collars."

"Green collars?" Charles had never heard of those.

"Char," said Kathleen, "don't bite."

"You probably don't have them up in Philadelphia," but around here many people eat collared greens."

"Char," said Kathleen, "you bit."

"I thought it was only your brother."

"It's all of them. I'm not even sure that I trust Cat." Then she realized that this might not go over too well with her niece. "Really, I do trust her. But I don't know how long she'll be able to resist all her bad environment."

"On the subject of collard greens, dears. Is there anyone who really dislikes onions, or mackerel?" Charles had long believed living with Kath was an inoculation against non-sequiturs. This one from her mother, however, really threw him. He was too polite to say that.

Her son wasn't. "On the subject of collard greens, does anyone not like onions?"

"Well, collard greens are in the recipe, dear, and if people really hate them they should mention that, too. But I must say I've never been able to taste them. They're mixed in with two strong flavors."

Charles wasn't looking forward to eating collard greens cooked by a white woman -- especially cooked so you couldn't taste them. On the other hand, all of Kath's mother's meals so far had been delicious. And he was looking forward to reporting on the dish.

"Could I have a ring?" asked Cat.

"I give her an onion ring when I cook them in any dish," explained Jeanette. "You'll have to brush your teeth afterwards, dear." Heaven help her, it was catching. "You know," she explained to the rest of the table, "she is Bob's daughter."

"Are you sure?" That seemed to Kathleen to be an awful thing to call her sweet godchild.

"Positive. When she started looking at the world lying in my lap with her head upside down, I was certain that the hospital hadn't made any mistake." Of course, Jeanette remembered, it was The Kitten's satisfaction with her breast which had convinced her earlier.

That wasn't quite what Kathleen had meant. Still, she was content with that interpretation. Joking aside, she was loyal to Jeanette, and didn't want to raise any suspicions about her faithfulness in Bob's mind. Assuming that Bob had a mind.

"I could fix the original recipe, dear." Katherine was talking to Russ now. "I had planned on only one onion, seeing as many people don't like too many."

"We're seven. Do you want to fix it both ways? I'll eat either leftover."

"We'll do it that way. If you like onions, you'll like this recipe, dear."

Cat knew that this was addressed to her. Adults were always telling her that she would like new foods. They were usually wrong. Still, Memere didn't do that too much. Cat would taste it, not that she had any choice.

After supper Cat got talking about her last days in Chicago. "So I went to Conchita's, Pablito was sleeping, but when he woke up, I got to hold him. He's so tiny and warm; 'n then we went outside; 'n then Conchita's mom gave us some cookies; 'n then ...."

"Cat!" Jeanette broke in.

"Maman."

"Respire. ma petite! Tu es a bout de soufle."

"Oui, Maman."

Kate laughed. "I can remember when you were very small, dear, and visiting here for the first time. Your maman was so anxious for The Kitten to talk."

"Not Kitten!" said Cat. "Cat! Walk by myself." She stamped her foot to demonstrate.

"You are not a Kitten now!" Kate agreed. "You're a big girl. Although stamping your feet doesn't demonstrate that. But, Cat dear, you were a tiny, tiny, kitten back then. And Maman so wanted you to talk. Now, she wants you to give other people a chance to talk, too."

"Am I that transparent?" Jeanette asked.

"Dear, there is very little which you want for your child which I didn't want for mine. And mothers have very few ways of pursuing their goals."

"Did Bob really talk all the time, even as a baby?" Kathleen asked.

"He wasn't the only one, dear."

"I sometimes tell my little chatterbox," Bob said, "that she reminds me of her Tante K'leen at that age."

Kathleen swallowed several comments. It wasn't fair that Bob was five years older than she was; not even Char was going to believe a claim that she remembered him at four and a half. "Why Bob," she said finally, "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me."

"Not really, dear. Way back then, you were his special favorite. Do you think, dear, that this would be a good time to give Wot his present?"

"Yes." Cat had been wondering about that since Memere had mentioned it.

"And I didn't talk that much as a baby," Bob said. "They aren't babies after they've learned to talk." Cat being present, he didn't stick out his tongue at Vi.

"Well," said his father, "I do think you've caught up since."

"Let's do it upstairs dear." Kate gathered up the last package from under the tree, and Cat grabbed Wot. She was less enthusiastic now; this was starting to sound like nap time. On the other hand, nap time with Memere meant the funny bed and as many books as she wanted; nap time with papa meant her pad and three books -- two if she'd made a fuss.

Wot's gift was a book about an elephant, Horton Hatches an Egg. Memere read it to Wot, and then read Cat's books to her.

Bob called the other adults into conference once Cat was with Katherine. "Look. The school requires an hour of quiet time; so do we. I want to offer Cat her choice of adult to spend it with, but I can't commit you without your agreement. The parental duties are ours, after all."

"You mean to read to her and nap with her," Charles asked, "like her grandmother is doing? I'm available."

"That's good," said Bob, "because you're maybe the likeliest choice."

"You might have consulted me before you asked my fiance to go to bed with another woman," Kathleen said. "But I'll permit it in this case. And, of course, I'd be perfectly happy to take his place."

"You might mention to her that I'll have to go to the office some of the days that the rest of you are on vacation," said his father.

"Thanks, Dad," said Bob. "I'm not sure that we want to raise the future of this rule to her consciousness. I'll mention it Sunday, though."

Kathleen and Charles carried their gifts upstairs to their room while Jeanette recorded Bob's gifts on the steno pad. She already had Cat's and her own down. Everybody would get a nice thank-you letter -- typed, but signed by the recipient. Russ, his room taken, read a Scientific American in his favorite armchair. When Kathleen and Charles came down, Bob and Jeanette started to gather their family's gifts to take upstairs. "This is as good a time as any," Russ said. "I have something to talk about with all of you."

"You have the floor, sir," said Bob.

"It bothers Kate to hear me talk about this. So I don't want to have her around. When my will is settled there is going to be less than you might think, and Kate won't be mentioned."

Jeanette was shocked by the last, but Bob thought he'd caught the idea. "Joint tenancy?"

"Yes. With right of survivorship. She'll have the house, furnishings, and both cars. She's the beneficiary of my insurance policy. One of them; another is mortgage insurance. As to the rest, Kathleen gets half, Bob, Jeanette, and Cat get thirds of the other half. I suppose you'd say sixths. I have a few books and papers I'm leaving separately.

"Sorry, Charles," he continued. "I didn't know about your plans."

Charles could see that Jeanette was part of this family in a way he wasn't. Leaving aside the marriage having lasted more than a decade, Kath had told him about Jeanette's sacrifices to put Bob through grad school. Anyway, he was earning an indecent amount of money these days -- despite the time he put into the well-baby clinic. "I don't expect you to change it. It lessens my worries about protecting Kath's future, anyway."

"I just didn't want anybody to be shocked. One problem is Cat gets a trust. You two planning on another?"

"Not exactly planning," Bob said. "We went through a lot of worry before Cat. If another pregnancy happens, great; if not, we have Cat."

"Wouldn't it interfere with your college plans, though?" his Father asked Jeanette.

"One good thing about attending a Catholic university," Jeanette responded. "They won't ask, 'Why didn't you take precautions?'"

"They might think it," Bob said, "but they won't say it."

"Anyway, I've kept you long enough," Russ finished. Jeanette took her and Bob's presents upstairs. Bob carried Cat's.

When the packages had been set in their proper places, Bob held Jeanette's face for a long kiss. His hands left the face to pull her against him by the butt. When his hands moved up to her breasts, she backed away from the kiss -- though not very far. "Time for the mice to play?" she whispered.

Bob nodded happily. "Well...," she said in a still-low voice, and began to unbutton her blouse. After Bob bolted the door, they stripped in silence. In bed they kissed while Bob's hand roved. Then he kissed a path down to her breasts. He kissed all over both of these, avoiding the areolae. When he finally got to the near nipple, his hand went to the juncture of her thighs.

Jeanette felt the difference in Bob's kiss on her right nipple when he'd parted her labia. She knew he was grinning at the moisture he'd found. Let him enjoy his discovery; he would bring her enough enjoyment of her own. And he did bring enjoyment, rubbing one inner lip against the other before his finger went inside.

Bob had made a careful study of his wife's sexual responses. Knowing that this would be a one-orgasm session for Jeanette, he wanted that orgasm, and the build-up to it, to be as satisfying as possible. He rubbed her G-spot until she tensed, and then pulled his finger out to stimulate her labia and clitoris. He remembered to switch his mouth over to her far breast as he did so.

One of the conventions of their marriage was that Bob pursued her and Jeanette acquiesced to sex. Jeanette had established that convention, but sometimes she lost patience with it. For a while, she luxuriated in her feelings -- getting more aroused as Bob kissed one breast, the other, and back to the first. His ministrations to the surface of her genitals alternated with probes deep inside. However she was at a peak, about to come, needing to come, when he changed yet again. She couldn't plead with the house full of people who'd hear her. She could, however, stimulate him. She grasped Junior.

The evidences of his wife's arousal hadn't left Bob unmoved. He'd been board-stiff since his fingers had reached her moisture. Her hand around his phallus increased his desire past the point that he could stay outside her. As he moved between her legs, Jeanette spread them wider. She guided him where they both wanted him. She was so warm and wet around him as he went in. He stayed pressed all the way inside for one moment while he shifted so that his hands could cover her breasts. Then he began the age-old motions.

Jeanette welcomed Bob over her, in her. His sliding motions and his hands caressing her nipples pushed her arousal higher and higher. Then she pressed her mouth against his shoulder as she came. It was heaven, heaven forever. But forever ended, and she collapsed back beneath his warm weight.

Bob tried to hold back his reaction to the smooth friction of Jeanette's warmth clasping him. Then, when she clasped more tightly, he didn't have to hold back any longer. He drove forward one more time and spurted and spurted. When he felt his strength drain from him, he fell to his left.

His weight wasn't on her, but neither were the covers. When he could, he pulled blanket and sheet from underneath him and covered her more warmly. She snuggled back against him and they lay in the warm aftermath of love for a while. Finally, Jeanette spoke.

"We need showers. Would taking them announce what we've been doing to the whole world?" she asked.

"Will they really not know?" he answered. She thought about that for a while. Probably Bob was right. And they wouldn't smirk. She went to take her shower first.

Bob knew better than to suggest sharing a shower in this house. Even back home, Jeanette would only do that on special occasions.

When Jeanette didn't come down, Kathleen figured that she was taking the opportunity offered by Cat's absence. In one sense she approved; Kathleen had sexual needs of her own, and Jeanette was certainly entitled to satisfy hers. On the other hand, with Bob? She respected Jeanette in all sorts of ways, but she could never understand her infatuation with Bob.

When Bob and Jeanette came downstairs, they found his father cracking and eating nuts. Charles was looking through the bookshelves with Kathleen's guidance and comments. The books on the shelves were a fossil record of four Brennan's reading over time. Although all four had been active library users, and the bedrooms all had full bookshelves, there were an impressive number of books in the living room. "Like science fiction, Charles?" Bob asked. "Most of my SF is in my room. I'd be glad to pick out a few old favorites."

Charles laughed. "If I decide to quit my practice and move in here, I'll take you up on that. Maybe a couple of years later. I think there are enough books here to last me for the weekend. Have you read them all?"

"Those? No. Kathleen maybe."

"That's a myth. I haven't read dad's economics books or mom's art-history ones, except to look at the pictures. Jeanette has, haven't you?"

"A good many. Your mother selected a reading course when I developed my interest in French. Not all of those involve France, do they?"

"No. And all the French ones are back where Mom keeps them. You'll never really fit into the family."

Jeanette thought that the least she could do for a person who lent her a selection of books was to return them when they were read. Katherine had kept those books ever since her undergraduate days; she must value them. As if prompted by the discussion, Katherine came downstairs, preceded by Cat who bad Wot in one hand and a book in the other.

Cat went around showing the book to everybody. Then she returned to her grandfather, who offered her a nut. Katherine bustled into the kitchen. Jeanette, who felt she was putting too much work on her hostess -- not that Katherine treated childcare as a chore -- followed her and offered to help. Kathleen and Charles went upstairs. Bob looked at his father shelling pecans for Cat, and went to the kitchen to get another nutcracker.

He shelled one and offered it to Cat. "Let son pepere eat some of those," he said. "That's why he was opening them." Cat took the offered nut, but clearly thought the ones cracked by her grandfather tasted better. And her grandfather was clearly enjoying the process, as well. Bob shelled another one. "Here Dad," he said. They sat like that, Bob shelling pecans for Russ to eat, and Russ shelling pecans for Cat to eat. Finally, Katherine came in.

"Did you say you wanted an onion ring, Cat?"

Cat ran off to the kitchen. "Why thanks, Bob," Russ said.

"You spoil her, you know," Bob said. "Both of you."

Russ though about his answer. Bob could have ordered Cat away; he wasn't totally innocent of 'spoiling' himself. Finally he tried a gentle answer to see if it would really turn away wrath. "Grandparents' privilege."

Bob laughed. He shelled two more pecans, offered one to his father, and ate the other himself.

Memere had put a saucer and a napkin on the kitchen table. Cat sat on the telephone book, and Maman pushed the chair up to the table. On the saucer was most of a whole slice of onion. When Maman gave her a ring, it was much thinner than that; and she gave it to a standing Cat with her hand. "Thank you, Memere," Cat said before eating. Sometimes Maman would give her another ring; would Memere give her another ring like this? She looked up, but Maman shook her head. The two of them went upstairs to brush Cat's teeth.

"We thank, thee, Lord," Russ Brennan said for grace, "for the food which we are about to eat, the fellowship of our family gathered around this table, and for the gift of your Son -- which we celebrate this day. Bless this meal and this celebration. Please bless also the union which was announced this morning. May Charles and Kathleen have a long and productive marriage together. May they grow in love for one another and in service to their fellows."

"If you're hoping for more grandchildren, Dad," said Kathleen, "you're looking in the wrong direction with that 'productive marriage.' I'm starting on a career, and I can't afford the time for a pregnancy -- much less the time for childrearing."

"As a matter of fact," her father said, "I was thinking of the career when I said 'productive.'

"I'm sorry, Charles," he continued. "I think I slighted you this noon."

"I didn't think so." As a matter of fact, Charles had thought that he had happier news in Kath's acceptance than she had from his proposal. On the other hand, her father's saying otherwise could hardly be considered a slight.

"The topping," Katherine told them, "comes in two flavors. There is twice as much onion in the green bowl as in the yellow one." With the topping came brown rice, green beans, and a tossed salad.

"Try a little?" Bob asked Cat. When she nodded, he put a spoonful of brown rice on her plate with a spoonful from the yellow bowl on top. He gave her larger servings of the beans and salad. He'd served himself and passed the dishes on when Cat finished her serving.

"More, please," Cat said.

"Dear, you've done what you're required to do," her grandmother said. "But I do wish you'd try the other bowl as well. It has more onion, and I think you'd like it."

At her nod, Bob retrieved the rice and gave Cat another serving, then he put a dollop from the green bowl on it. The only other person using the green bowl was his Dad.

"Good," Cat said. "May I have some more."

"Wait 'till the brown rice has gone around," Bob told her. "You still have salad and green beans."

"I don't want any more brown," Cat said. "May I have more of the onions, please." Bob served her.

Charles shuddered silently. To his taste the stuff from the yellow bowl had plenty of onion flavor. Cat was eating something twice as strong without any dilution from the rice. Well, it was healthy. But not in extreme doses. "You're remembering this as something she enjoys?" he asked Jeanette.

"Yes. I was in the kitchen when Katherine fixed it. I'm sure she'll share the recipe."

"Fish is healthy, but not in large doses over time. It is likely to polluted with mercury salts. I'll look it up for you when I'm back and send you the maximum safe quantities. One can won't hurt her."

"That's all right. Send your figures. I'll save this for special occasions. Is tuna any better."

"Worse, if anything. Tuna are top predators." Jeanette took note. It might be easier to give up tuna salad for health reasons than the persuade Bob to stop dousing his with catsup.

"Is Russ in any danger, dear? He eats rather a lot of this dish. He found it on the Internet -- the recipe, not the food itself. It's supposed to be healthy for the heart."

"I'll send you the figures, too. But Cat is building up her bones, and mercury can be deposited there." Charles also figured that his host would be extremely lucky to live long enough to accumulate enough mercury in his system to be at risk.

The conversation turned to cheerier topics. "Well, dear," Katherine asked Jeanette, "how do you like being back in college?"

"Yes," Bob said, "Tell them about your interview -- and the book."

Jeanette was a little embarrassed at the attention, but the family did look interested. Her father-in-law even quirked his eyebrows. "Before actually registering, I brought in my transcripts, trying to get a feel for what sort of schedule I would need to get a degree. Anyway, I brought along one of my translations of Verne.

"The professor said something like, 'You won't get much credit for reading a book in translation, you know, especially Verne.' Only he pronounced it 'Vurn.' I'd marked the title page, and I turned there. 'You translated this?' he said. His voice was really different. I nodded. 'You realize,' he said after a short pause, 'that if somebody had asked my recommendation for this translation, I wouldn't have considered anyone holding the degree you seek.' Then we went to see the department chairman."

"And," Bob said, "she ended up with a two-and-a-half year program which will get her a major, a minor, and a masters."

"That's Prof. Schmidt's fault. I took an awful lot of English literature. Anyway, the English department will take French for distribution; and the Romance Language and Literature guys will take English courses for distribution."

"Not all the distribution," Bob added.

"No," Jeanette said "I'd taken other things at Grand Valley, too; and, of course, my freshman year was mostly distribution. But you know what subject I'd never taken a course in during my fifteen years of marriage?"

If any had guessed, they were too polite to step on the punch line. "History!" Jeanette said after a pause. "Everyone agreed, however, that a French history course would only duplicate what Bob had already taught me, so I'm taking a course in English history. And," she turned to Katherine, "do you know what your son has done?"

"Well, dear, you knew he read when you married him."

"Y'know," Bob said, "I never took a course in strictly English history. Nor even read a book concentrating on it before this. A few bios, of course." He had asked Jeanette's permission to read that book. Warned by PastorJim, long ago, he had always made it a point that Jeanette's books were hers. (Of course, PastorJim had said 'possessions,' but what possessions mattered besides books?)

"And you test me on the subject at dinner every class day." Jeanette didn't really mind. Still, she had expected more sympathy from his parents, let alone his 'how can you stand being married to Bob?' sister.

"You can take the teacher out of the schoolroom dear." But, Katherine meant, you can't take the schoolroom out of the teacher.

All the adults were puzzled. Charles was trying to picture the scene. The others couldn't see any view of dinnertime conversation which would exclude 'And what did you cover in History today? -- He said WHAT?'

"You did get something out of those translations, then, dear?"

"I got a great deal out of them. The publisher probably got burned. He paid me a 'kill fee' for the third book without even putting it in print. Not much money for the effort, I'll grant. But the effort resulted in an increase in my skills. I've been putting out effort to learn the language for years."

"For that matter," Bob said, "the publisher paid her more than her husband did for the previous translations, and those were harder to do and less fun to read."

"You might not pay me by the word, but I get food on my table and clothes on my back from your earnings. You talk like you're exploiting me." For that matter, if Bob's sources weren't entertaining the way Verne was, figuring them out was more intriguing than a jigsaw puzzle.

"Anyway...," Bob said. He really wasn't exploiting Jeanette now; he certainly had exploited her when she did drudge work while he went to school. "Anyway, I figure 'Jewels Vurn' and 'Zhool Vairn' are two different authors. Americans aren't much interested in 'Zhool Vairn.'"

Cat asked for another serving of the onion dish. Bob gave her two dips from the large tablespoon. "Finish your beans and salad before you start on that," he said. Cat took several bites of green beans. Then she took a little of the tastier dish. She decided she liked it even better alternating with the beans.

Bob finished last. He took big helpings and ate rather slowly; he had also dealt with Cat's needs. With the conversation flowing, nobody minded waiting for him to finish. Dessert was the remains of the pudding except for Charles. Katharine brought him the last slice of a pie she had made before he came. He noticed that she accommodated his lactose intolerance, which had been mentioned once years before, every mealtime.

Kathleen and Charles took clean-up duty. When they'd returned to the living room, everybody settled down to listen to "A Child's Christmas in Wales." It was the first time Charles had heard the piece. Even Cat sat silent through it, entertained by the voice if many of the words went over her head.

When the news came on, Charles stayed to watch it with Katherine and Russ. "Would you mind having the wedding here in town?" Kath asked him when he'd gone upstairs.

"It's only fitting. Mom would be hurt if we'd hold it in Washington, but -- after all -- she gets lots of time with us that your folk don't. You and I live in Philadelphia. The wedding is the bride's concern, too. That what you want?"

"But I'll wait for Dad to ask."

Russ and Kate Brennan were holding a parallel conversation. "Do you want to walk your daughter down the aisle of your home church?" Kate asked.

"I said that I wouldn't ask for anything more."

"So don't ask the Lord for anything more. Ask Kathleen."

"I said that I wouldn't ask for anything more."

"You are inflexible. I can't understand why I still love you." Although that very inflexibility was one of the things about him she'd always loved.

"You, on the other hand, are beautiful. And that's one reason I still love you."

"Your glasses are off. I'm a blur."

"A beautiful blur." He didn't need his glasses to see her, or need the light. She was imprinted in his memory. "And I could see perfectly well at table, and I thought then of how beautiful you were."

In bed, they kissed. "You're a romantic," she said. She spread open his pajama top, and kissed downwards over his body. She kissed both his nipples before opening the bottoms of his pajamas. She kissed downward again.

"Now, that's not inflexible," he said when she reached his phallus.

"Shhh. He's an old friend, and I won't have him teased." What she did to the phallus, though, could only be described as teasing. She kissed the top from his groin to its head. Then lifted it and sucked the entire head into her mouth. She licked the bottom from its base against his scrotum to the tip.

"You're so good to me," he said. He hadn't had an erection since the doctor had prescribed a new heart medication. He'd assumed that this would be the end to sex; Kate figured that it was a problem to be worked around. And work around it, she did. She licked all over his phallus before settling on sucking the head. She had her lips all around the top of the shaft, and her tongue licked the bottom of the head until he said, "Kate!" She sucked more heavily and pulled her head back so the shaft was stretched straight. He pulsed.

When he was done, she drew back until he slipped out of her mouth. She swallowed a few times and moved upward in the bed. He pulled a pillow onto his shoulder, and she lay there with his right arm around her. He adjusted the covers around them with his left hand. The water bed, which had bounced at each of their motions, sloshed into stillness.

They were soon asleep.

Cat, who was sleeping through most nights these days, would be horribly embarrassed if she had an accident chez Memere. Jeanette packed an alarm clock in addition to the one already provided for the room. It woke Bob at 2:00 a.m., and he woke Cat and guided her to the bathroom. He used the facilities after he'd tucked Cat back in bed. Then he cuddled up against Jeanette.

Since Cat had only awakened part way and was now deep asleep again, he needn't worry about her seeing too much. He pulled the skirt of Jeanette's nightgown up to waist level in back and pressed Junior between her thighs. He cupped a breast through her nightgown. Jeanette barely stirred. She was the source of Cat's sleep-like-a-log genes.

"I should warn you, dear," Kath's mother told Charles at breakfast, "that we hold a Christmas feast today. You don't mind my borrowing your fiancee for the preparations, do you?"

Well, Kath had been Katherine's daughter for more than 30 years; she'd been his fiancee for less than a day. "Should I object?" he asked Kath.

She laughed. "No. The kitchen time is as much a part of Christmas as the tree."

"You'll notice," Bob said, "that I don't get asked."

"Kate," her husband said, "doesn't waste words. And asking Bob's to express his opinions is like asking the sun to rise in the morning."

"So dears," Katherine changed the subject, "are you going to have the wedding here in town?"

"What's your opinion, Dad?" Kathleen asked.

"I said I wouldn't ask for anything more."

"Your father did say that, dear, and counts it as a promise to the Lord. But I would very much like a traditional wedding with you walking down the aisle on his arm. Remember how pleased you were to be a bridesmaid for Jeanette all those years ago? Don't you owe her reciprocation?"

"Matron of honor?" Katherine asked Jeanette.

"I'd be honored."

"And you have some old school friends still in town. Do you have anyone else you want to have as bridesmaid? Have you made that sort of friends in Philadelphia? Old friends from Chicago?"

Kathleen could see she was being manipulated. Dad wasn't about to ask. On the other hand, she didn't like the direction his health was taking. If her last interaction with him was teasing, she'd feel awfully guilty. Besides, the question -- aside from Mom's motives for asking it -- was one she'd need to think about.

"I've been thinking about Isis." Let Char think she'd been doing the thinking since he'd proposed. Actually, she'd had random thoughts about what a wedding with Char would look like long before they'd moved in together -- back when they'd been living in separate cities. "On the other hand, a bride is entitled to be the prettiest girl in her wedding party. That woman is stunning."

"The traditional way to handle that, dear, is by choosing bridesmaids' costumes. How would she look in yellow?"

"Awful! But I wouldn't do that to her. And I do want her to sing. Whether or not she's a bridesmaid, too, is her choice. You think Char has a good voice? You should hear his sister."

Charles didn't think he had a good voice. Isis, on the other hand, did; Kath wasn't the only person who wanted her to sing solos. "She's the one with the good voice. The good hair, for that matter." Good skin, too, but he wasn't going to say that to whites -- even Kath's family.

"Much as I like your family," Kathleen said patting Char's head, "they have no taste in hair. I think your hair is perfect, don't you Cat?" That opinion was the only one nobody at this table would dispute.

"Uh huh!" It was too far away to reach. Maybe she could get up and go around the table.

"No, you may not," said Papa. Which wasn't fair, Tante K'leen was touching his hair. But Papa was never fair.

Kathleen snatched her hand away as if it had been burnt. Mom didn't even have to say 'little pitchers have big ears,' though her eyes said it. "Anyway, you wouldn't want to look like her. The way you look is totally male -- totally masculine, I mean." Actually, she meant 'totally male'; Char sitting there, as he had sitting in class, oozed male sexuality. It wasn't anything he did -- it was what he was.

"Anyway, dear, figure out who you want to invite from out of town, and Russ can have Mrs. Baker make the reservations."

"Ooops!" said Kathleen. "Want your father and mother in different hotels?"

"Preferably yes," said Charles.

"Well, there are two decent hotels in town. Or there were...." Kathleen looked at her mother.

"Still are, dear."

"Anyway, Mom, you're right. I couldn't have a flower girl at a JP's office, now could I?"

The women assembled in the kitchen, with a chair there for Cat. "When you're tired of listening to me, dear, you may leave. You don't need any other permission. If you want anything else, ask Papa." Memere was usually interesting, but this wasn't. Cat went out to find Papa, Sharl, and Pepere talking. Their subject wasn't interesting either, but they were each willing to pay attention to Cat.

Curled up in Sharl's lap, she looked around the room. There was a TV, like Conchita had, in the middle of the far wall. "Telenovello," she said hopefully.

"I don't think they're broadcast down here, Cat," Papa said. "You can only get certain television programs in any one city. Wait 'til you get back to Chicago and visit Conchita's family again."

His father dug up the television listings from the remains of the newspaper. "Nothing in Spanish," he said. "Do you follow Spanish that well, Cat?"

"Those are soap operas," Bob explained. "The acting is over the top. I can follow the action, and I have maybe ten words of Spanish. I'm not sure I want her following the dialogue."

"Get one of your books, Cat," Pepere said, "and I'll read to you. You got lots of new books yesterday." Cat went for a couple of books. She brought Wot down with her and his book, as well.

Bob and Charles moved to the other side of the room to continue their conversation. "The debts are incredible," Charles said, "but so is the income. Kath is afraid we'll get trapped."

"There is that. The change isn't so dramatic for university professors, but we get one hell of a lot more than grad students do. Well, you're supporting a struggling psychiatric practice."

"Yeah! But what happens when it stops struggling? Kath is losing some patients when their insurance runs out, but she's gaining maybe one or two more than she loses each month. If it goes on like this, she'll be making more than I do in two years."

"Double income, no kids," Bob said. "Let her support you; put all your effort into the clinic."

"I couldn't do that to her."

"Ah! Look, every marriage is different."

"But you have a good one, I'm willing to listen."

"More what PastorJim told me. He gave us our premarital counseling. He said I was in danger of deciding things for Jeanette -- out of her best interests as I saw them. But I should understand that she was an autonomous individual. She should participate in the decisions. I've been struggling with that ever since. Now, maybe it's just me. I'm not really afraid of Vi's, Kathleen's, becoming your puppet...."

"I'm not afraid of her caving in to my decisions. I am afraid of moving from what we have now to constant squabbles."

"Well, yes. Some fights are fun; I suppose some aren't."

"You think I should fight with Kath the same way you do?" Charles was dubious.

"Definitely not. Making up with your sister is no fun. Making up with your wife, on the other hand...."

Charles laughed.

Cat left Wot (and the books) with her grandfather, and came over to join them. She soon had Charles up and swinging her around. Jeanette came in from the kitchen. "These your books?" she asked Cat. At her nod, she said, "And ta tante asks if I'm sure about your parentage. I'll take them up to our room. Dinner's all prepared, and I'm off to change my clothes. Want Wot up there or down here?"

"Down here," said Cat.

"I'll help," said Bob.

"Little pitchers," said his father. Cat knew she was the little picture he was talking about. She even knew something had been said which she wasn't supposed to hear. What was hard was figuring out what. It couldn't be that Papa liked to help Maman take her clothes off and put them on; he said that all the time.

Bob was the one to carry the books. "All four-year-olds leave things around," he said. "You shouldn't blame me."

"But, Bob," she said in her sweetest tone, "you're not four years old anymore."

He dropped the subject. They kissed while he unbuttoned her blouse. Then he kissed his way down her body to her jeans. Unsnapping them, he continued his path across her panties. She pushed him away to finish removing the clothes. "No more," she said when he approached her again. "I love you, too, but your mom and sister have to change, too." She got the dress she'd already selected from the closet.

Bob watched her slip it on. She even put on earrings before stopping for a kiss on her way to the bathroom to put on lipstick. He knew his chances for another kiss were dead after that operation, so he took two books that he'd borrowed from downstairs with him while she was using the mirror. She had a book of her own up there, one of the art-history books she'd already read once. Let her tease him again about his leaving stuff all over. But she wouldn't; Jeanette was a strategist.

The adults had wineglasses in front of them; Cat had two tumblers. Bob poured a little wine into one of those tumblers and followed it with about half the water from the other tumbler. Katherine's grace expressed thanks for the opportunity for them all to be gathered around the table, especially Russ.

"Now," Bob said after the meal was over, "It's time for Cat's quiet hour. Cat, do you want to choose the person you spend it with. You and Wot and that person will lie down; maybe you'll get a couple of books read to you. But I won't inflict a fuss on anybody else. If you'd rather throw a tantrum, I'll take you upstairs; the two of us will lie on your pad; but you will lie quietly for an hour."

Cat was tempted, she really was, but the opportunity to choose won out. "Sharl!" she said.

"Fine," her maman said. "We need to get you washed up first." They went upstairs. Cat used the toilet and washed her hands before Maman washed her face. She knocked on Tante K'leen's door with books and Wot in hand a few minutes later.

"Come in," called Charles. He patted the side of the bed. Cat put her books and stuffed toy on the pillow beside him and climbed up. Jeanette removed her shoes. Then Cat rolled over and snuggled against him. "Hoppy Toad first?" he asked.

"Please," Cat said and reached up to pat his hair. He didn't try to stop her the way Papa had. She took a deep breath to get his smell even though her back was to him. She sniffed again. Tante K'leen didn't smell much like Maman; Sharl's special smell wasn't anything like Papa's; but their bed smelled like Maman's bed often smelled. She sniffed again as Sharl began to tell another story about Hoppy Toad.

"Hoppy Toad," Charles began -- as always, "was hoppy. She went hopping along her way without a care in the world." Then she heard Freddy Frog sobbing. Freddy was having a bad-hair day. Hoppy solved Freddy's problem, as she always did. The story ended with, "And Hoppy toad was hoppy again." Cat snuggled against him. He hugged her for an instant before reaching for Wot's book.

He felt Cat drop off in the middle of the story about the Pooh-stick race. He finished the story for his own benefit. Besides, she might wake up if he suddenly stopped speaking.

Bob and Jeanette could hear Charles's voice in the next room, if not distinguish his words. It reminded them to keep totally silent. If Charles heard them, he might guess what they were doing; if Cat heard them, she might wonder. That ruled out the rocking chair. Unfortunately, the bed was close to the wall against Kathleen's room. They stood near Cat's pad, which was as far from that wall as one could comfortably stand. They only interrupted their kisses to remove one or another article of clothing. Finally, Jeanette pushed Bob away. She pointed to the bed. He got in, and -- at her gesture -- moved over to what was normally her side. She got in after him and lay on her left side with her back towards him.

Dear girl! He couldn't say so, but he adored her for that. Ever since their honeymoon, that position had been his favorite. After covering them, he caressed her and kissed her shoulders and the back of her neck.

At first, Jeanette luxuriated in the sensations Bob's hand and mouth brought. Soon, though, she wanted more. She bent further forward while reaching between her legs for Junior. She placed him where she needed him.

Bob had already been excited by the feel of Jeanette under his hand. When she grasped him, the excitement spiraled higher. Then, as he pressed forward as she pressed back, he felt his phallus slide into her smooth wet warmth. His right hand caressed her ear or played with her hair. His left moved from her breast to her cleft. She parted her legs in invitation, and he stroked the tops of her lips. Junior had parted her outer lips, and he could reach her clitoris easily. One touch, however, was enough just then. Meanwhile, he was moving in and out of her depths.

Jeanette felt Bob's gentle touches on all her sensitive surfaces, but she also felt his penetration of her innermost being. She grabbed her pillow as her feelings peaked. She couldn't restrain her gasp, but she managed to muffle it.

Bob felt her shove back against him more strongly than ever just before he felt the contractions around his phallus. The sensations pushed him over. He grabbed her hipbone to pull her even more tightly against him as he gushed inside her.

They lay together for a while. When Bob slipped out, he adjusted the covers over them. Jeanette reached out for the Kleenex box, passing one to Bob, while she used another to clean up herself and the bed. Bob wiped her butt from behind before using the Kleenex on himself.

Jeanette took clean underwear with her into the bathroom; she wore her robe. When she came back, Bob waited a few minutes to give others a chance. Then he took his own shower.

"Feel better," Katherine asked Cat as she came down from her nap.

Cat nodded.

"Would you mind," Katherine asked Jeanette, "if I took her visiting? All my friends have seen the photos."

"Sounds good," Jeanette said. "Want to go meet Gandmere's friends?" she asked Cat.

"Yeah." After a few minutes of Maman's fussing over her hair, she was ready. The first place they went, the woman gushed over her. She offered Cat a cookie and even offered Wot one.

"Sorry, Alice," Memere answered for her, "Cookies aren't in Wot's diet."

"What a strange name."

"You know Bob."

"I did before he grew up and became a professor."

"Well... He did become a professor. He thought Wot-the- elephant was a cute name." The woman laughed.

When they left the house, Memere made a call from a telephone she took out of her purse. "Mrs. Jacobs? This is Katherine Brennan. I have young Catherine Angelique with me, and we're making visits. Would you like to see her? ... No, she didn't. Does that matter to you? ... We could come by in a minute or two; I only have her for a few minutes.

"We are going to see the woman who gave you Wot, Cat," Memere said when she'd hung up. "Be on your best behavior, will you?" Of course she would. Hadn't she behaved well in this house?

When they got there, she showed the woman Wot. "Memere says you gave him to me," she said. "Thank you."

"It was much neater then," said the woman.

"Of course," said Memere. "When kids play with their toys and hug them every day, they get dirty. This is a well-loved toy."

"Jeanette was raised better. And I never took her calling in jeans. Come here, child." When she came there, the woman gave her a kiss until she wriggled free.

"We have to be going," Memere said. "I just think you deserved to meet her."

"Jeanette is thankless," the woman said.

"The next person," Memere said, "is a woman who teaches with me."

That woman greeted her with, "This must be Cat. You look like your pictures, Cat. And who is this?"

"This is Wot."

"How do you do, Wot? Should a shake your foot or your trunk?"

Cat had never considered, but she decided that elephants shake with their front feet. After the woman had done so, she looked at Memere. Memere lifted up one finger. The woman offered her a cookie and it tasted fine.

The people they went to visit next weren't home. "Time to get back?" Memere asked.

It really was. Back at Memere's house, Cat headed right for the downstairs bathroom. After she'd washed her hands, Memere got her a pickle to eat. "Better than all those sweets," Memere said. Two cookies weren't a lot.

"You don't have to answer now," Charles began. He and Kath were the only two upstairs.

"Double ring," Kath answered.

"Huh?"

"My patients would notice a ring, and yours wouldn't. So if I have to wear one, you do too. I won't wear one this size at the office."

"Okay. Thanks for your answer. May I ask my question now?"

"That wasn't it?" Kath asked. "Now you have me intrigued."

"How worried are you about our getting trapped in consumerism?"

"Aren't we?"

"Your brother suggested that one possibility is my putting in more time at the clinic. I'm not sure," he said. "I'm not the kind of man to live off a woman."

"This is different from your supporting me when I don't bring in enough to pay my costs? How?"

"Well, it is. Anyway, that is just investing in our future."

"But living off that investment would turn you into a kept man?" she asked. "Look. We have to face our future, but it isn't our immediate future. Your balance between clinic and practice is fine for now; I always disbelieve people who are going to do good just as soon as.... But we do have things to do. Debt is as much a trap as consumerism; we can't save the world with student loans unpaid. And my practice still isn't breaking even. Let's take care of that. However, let's schedule this discussion for a year from now -- first weekend in January; Christmas season is too full, already."

"Am I really a male chauvinist?"

"But I love you anyway."

Supper was light, but the conversation was heavy. At one point Bob was talking with his father about politics -- agreeing with each other though the tone of their voices could have fooled you, Kath and her mother were arguing over the nudity taboo as it should be applied to third-grade kids at school, and Cat was informing the table that everybody else had TVs, and her family should have one too. Charles happened to glance at Jeanette, and she winked at him. It was fun to be the audience.

Bob took the dishes out while Jeanette supervised Cat's bath. The elder Brennans watched the news. Charles and Kath went up to their room.

"Do you really think I'm a male chauvinist?" he asked Kath.

"Look," she replied, "there are worse types of male chauvinism than being comfortable with supporting me and not being comfortable with the idea of my supporting you. And half of it is that you want to do something, make a difference. You'd not have gone to med school if you hadn't wanted to make a difference; too many of our fellow students just wanted to make a million."

"That's part of what I feel. And I want to take care of you."

"And I'm glad you do. You do take care of me in many ways, and it makes me feel loved. And sometimes I want to take care of you, too."

"Oh, you do."

"That's love. It's just... Look, you think I'm too hard on Bob."

After Bob had moved to Chicago, Charles visited his place on some of the weekends he had off. Bob and Jeanette would take Cat to a museum or something just before Kath could get away from the psych hospital. He and she would make love on the sofabed -- once on the rocker which Bob had moved to the living room in invitation. They'd all share a meal when his hosts got home. He'd drive Kath back to her apartment that night and leave in the morning. It was much more privacy than the apartment that Kath shared with two other women, much cheaper than a motel. Charles thought that he and Kath owed Bob and Jeanette something. "I think the two of you are too hard on each other."

"Well, that's not going to change. But, if less frequently than a stopped clock, even Bob can be tight about some things. He talks about a 21st-century marriage. 19th century, the man earned, the man decided, the woman cooked and bore children. 20th century, the man and woman were equal in everything. In the 21st century, everything is up for grabs. So let's decide what's good for Char and Kath; whether it's appropriate for men and women isn't the question."

"We'll decide," he told her. "Even so, I'm glad I'm a man and you're a woman." He kissed her.

"Oh, yes," Kath said when they broke. She began to unbutton his shirt. "I'm glad you're a man, but it's still Char. You weren't the first man to have his hands on me, but you are the first -- the only -- one to have these hands on me. And they take me higher than anyone else's ever did."

When their clothes were fully open, they split apart to finish removing them separately. Once in bed, they kissed again before Char began his trail of kisses towards her breasts. She grasped his hair, enjoying the feel until it was time to steer his mouth to where she needed it.

There was a commotion in the hall a loud running sound and a rattling of their doorknob. They froze. "Cat," boomed Bob's voice, "come back here." There was more sound of running and then the door at the end of the hall crashed open. "Sorry, Dad," said Bob, "We've just washed our heir and can't do anything with her." After a pause and more running. "Gotcha."

"Put me down!" cried Cat.

"Not until you're dressed for bed," said Bob. The door to his room crashed open and then was closed more quietly. Char chuckled before resuming his kiss.

Russ Brennan was chuckling, too; but he made sure his door was locked before returning to Kate. "Serves him right!"

"Well," Kate answered, "I did take Cat visiting two places which gave her cookies. She may be on a sugar high."

"She may be on a sugar high, but she's Bob's daughter, too. Stubbornness bred true." Kate didn't express her opinion of how many generations of stubbornness were involved.

Kate Brennan had bought her last nightgown to wear in the hospital when she had Kathleen. She wore a pajama top. In bed, they shared a kiss while Russ unbuttoned it. He kissed a path down her neck and torso to her left breast. While kissing that nipple, he caressed and massaged her mound. When he kissed a path from one breast to the other, she spread her legs to allow him access to her center.

Russ took the invitation of Kate's spreading legs. He brushed his fingers up both thighs and played for an instant with her outer lips. He stroked her inner ones quite gently before parting them. Then he stroked between these. He moved between her legs before resuming his path of kisses to her nipple.

Kate slowly tensed under the ministrations of Russ's finger and mouth. When she felt his kisses move downward from her breast, she whispered, "Oh, yes." Even then, he took his time. But she felt his tongue on her lips, and then on her clitoris. After that, she paid no attention to the location from which she received the marvelous sensations; the sensations, themselves, filled her mind. Until they climaxed, and so did she.

Long a parent, she convulsed in absolute silence. Before the waterbed had stopped rippling, Russ was lying beside her. He adjusted the covers over her, and she snuggled back into his arms. She hadn't even attention to spare for the thought that she wouldn't have those arms for many more nights.

Kathleen and Char had gone back to less intense caresses when the noise from outside reminded them that they were not alone in the house. But the least intense of caresses form Char's marvelous fingers were arousing. He could turn her on with a hand on her arm. She played with his hair as he stroked her torso. Silently, he pulled on her shoulder until she turned over. Then, he stroked her back, raising goose bumps as he went. As the sounds from the next room died down, his fingers went from her back to her thighs. Finally, he parted her labia and plunged two fingers inside her. She trapped them.

Her first year at Johns Hopkins, all the women students gossiped about Kegels. They were a medical breakthrough, after all. She would be sitting in the women's room, and she would hear a rush from the next stall, followed by a pause, followed by another rush. Kathleen had already heard about Kegels, had already experimented with them; but in the new atmosphere of med school -- competitive about everything -- she'd worked seriously on them. The first time Char had slipped one of his magic fingers inside her, she'd clamped down on it. "Now," she'd said, "it's mine, and I won't let it go." He'd pulled it our easily, she'd been producing lubrication for an hour by then, but he'd chuckled. Since then, capturing his fingers had been part of their sex play. Normally, he'd say something, but he couldn't now.

She relaxed before rolling over. After grabbing the sheets she'd pulled off him by her turn, Char kissed her breast. He teased her thighs again before his fingers returned to where she needed them. Stroking his fingers within her vagina, teasing her labia, or brushing very lightly across her clitoris, he took her higher and higher. She couldn't tell him her love when Bob -- let alone Cat -- might hear, but she did pull him more firmly against the breast he was kissing. When he broke away to kiss her mouth, she went over. He continued to kiss and stroke while the fire coursed through her.

When he reached for the diaphragm, she thought to tell him that it wouldn't be needed, but they were being very careful. Besides, the insertion was sex play. It might be less fun than being stroked to orgasm, but it was still fun.

When Kathleen woke up the next morning, her body told her to take a tampon with her to the bathroom. Sure enough, when she removed the diaphragm, it was bloody. She cleaned up the diaphragm, herself, and the toilet seat which had received a few drops. Washed and dried, the diaphragm was back in its case when she left. There was a downstairs 'half-bath,' but this room got a lot of traffic with seven persons in the house. She'd delay her shower until others had met more urgent needs.

When everybody had gathered for breakfast, Katherine presented them with a platter of waffles. Jeanette was impressed once again. With the leftovers available, she'd never have cooked anything, much less stirred up waffle batter. She had one waffle; Bob had three of his own and then finished his daughter's second. Cat's eyes were definitely bigger than her stomach.

"So," Charles was saying, "Kath kept writing, 'Chicago,' and I kept writing, 'Cleveland.' By this time, we were both clear that another long-distance relationship was out. Then one time I wrote, 'Cleveland,' and she wrote, 'Philadelphia.' I agreed. I had to drag my chin up of the floor, but I agreed."

"Made perfect sense," Kathleen said. "Could have kicked myself for not thinking of it earlier. Char had connections back home -- not great connections, but we were both going to be starting out anyway. I couldn't function at all here; Char wouldn't be comfortable functioning here. On the other hand, the opportunities for psychiatrists are a little better than they are in Cleveland. And it is closer to you."

"And," Charles said, "since I see my mother and sister on a fairly regular basis, it's only fair to visit Kath's family -- you all -- when we can get time off."

They got up from the table with a flurry of remarks at how pleased the others were at this visit. If Cat didn't join in, her pleasure at the company of 'Sharl and Tante K'leen' had been manifest many times.

"Want a tour of the neighborhood?" Kathleen asked Charles a while later. On his assent, she said, "Jeanette, would you permit a little goddaughter time?"

"Fine with me. Cat, veux-tu te promener avec ta tante?"

"Oui, Maman. Oh Tante K'leen, may I please come with you?"

"Certainly, Cat. Get your coat."

"Et une echarpe," put in Jeanette. Cat set out with them with her scarf wrapped around her neck, but the hood of her coat was down. Jeanette having permitted this, Kathleen wasn't about to say that she thought it silly.

At first, they walked together, Cat holding one hand of each and skipping along. Soon, though, she ran ahead. "Stop at the street," Kathleen called. Char took her hand in his. Cat not only stopped, she turned and ran back.

Bob ran white clothes in the washing machine. He asked his mom whether she had anything to wash. He should have asked Vi as well, but he hadn't wanted to mention doing a wash while Cat was around. She was terribly embarrassed by her accidents these days.

The clothes were still in the dryer when the expedition got back. Lunch was leftovers. Jeanette heated the stuffing and gravy. Bob made turkey sandwiches with waffles instead of bread -- including a small one for Cat.

After lunch, Cat wanted Charles to spin her around. "Not now, Cat. I just ate." She'd just eaten, too, but the other argument would go over better. "Why don't we sit here?" He held her in his arms and sat down next to Kath.

Perhaps reminded by the presence of her aunt, Cat ran her hands through Sharl's hair. She liked him, and nobody had suggested a nap yet. She cuddled into his lap, pressed her face into his sweater, and took a deep sniff. The results worried her. She took another. He didn't smell like Sharl. "Sharl," she asked, "are you sick?"

"I don't think so, Cat. Why do you ask?"

"You smell wrong."

"My puppy dog," said Bob.

Jeanette saw the look on Charles's face. He took this seriously. Cat had stepped in it. "Qu'est-ce que tu sens?"

"Rien, Maman." Well, it wasn't really nothing. "Son odeur est moins."

Jeanette was puzzled. How could a smell be less? "Moins de quoi?"

"Moins de Charles."

Okay.... Charles's smell was less than Charles. Then a light dawned. "Are you wearing anything that you've worn to your medical office?" she asked Charles.

"Underwear."

"Which has been washed since?" He nodded. "Mon enfant,..." she switched to English. "Remember when I took you to that doctor's appointment? You insisted that Charles was around. I said not in that office. Did that office smell like Charles?"

Cat thought. It had been awfully long ago. "Oui, Maman." She was doubtful.

Jeanette could hear the doubt in her daughter's voice but she didn't share it. "Charles is a doctor. The same kind of doctor as we visited. What you've been smelling hasn't been Charles, it's been the things he handles. Remember that I sometimes smell different when I've been cooking?"

Cat could remember that, but Maman didn't smell weaker -- she smelled of strong things. "You're not sick?" she asked Sharl.

"I'm not sick, Pumpkin," Charles said. "I've just been away from the office and the medicines there."

"That's good."

The feast had extended the Christmas celebration into another day. Today, nobody was expending much energy. Jeanette thought that she should follow Katherine's example. "Would you like to visit some of Maman's friends?" she asked Cat. Felt weird to use that expression. 'Maman's' was neither French nor English. Still, the others should understand the question and answer. Cat's schedule was everybody's concern.

"Oui, Maman."

"After your nap, then."

Now that wasn't fair. Cat was awfully tempted to throw a tantrum right then on general principal. On the other hand, a nap here meant some of her favorite people reading as much as she wanted. She'd wait to throw her tantrum. She wasn't going to take any naps ever again after they got back home.

Jeanette waited until Cat had actually gone up for her nap with Kathleen to make the phone calls. When she'd scheduled some visits, she crossed paths with Charles, who was -- after all -- locked out of his room. "Poor man," she said, "your two admirers are off by themselves excluding you. And after finding out that the younger one doesn't love you for your self but for your profession. And the rest of the vacation has been Kathleen's family shanghaiing the planning of the day that should be central for the two of you."

"It's been a great time. I got the answer I wanted. You could make anything sound bad."

"That's true. And I think Cat likes your smell 'cause she likes you. And grateful I am; I wouldn't enjoy taking her to appointments she has to have if she hated them."

"And Kath, at least, asked whether I would mind having the wedding here. Can't say that her father shanghaied it," Charles added. "He didn't seem interested in having it here."

"He was pleased."

"He said he wouldn't ask for it."

"He said he wouldn't ask for anything more," Jeanette contradicted. "That's another kettle of fish. Look, if he's anything like his son...."

"Now, that's a safe statement."

"You see it. Why can't the two of them see it? Anyway, Bob has a horror of 'telling the Lord what to do.' If his Dad has the same horror, then the prayers of his mouth would have sounded somewhat ambivalent to you. And, remember, these are prayers I never heard; I'm guessing. But clearly, from what he said later, the prayers of his heart were answered."

"You think he's happy?" Charles asked.

"I think he's happy. Probably more relieved. Y'know, the wedding is only the start of things for the couple, although you might have less to work through than we did, seeing as you've already lived together. It's her parents who get to live happily ever after."

Charles laughed.

Upstairs, Bob greeted her with a kiss. Door securely latched, they continued the kiss until Bob had her blouse open and her bra unhooked. When he started on her jeans, she pushed him away. He took care of his own clothes while she finished.

Bob led Jeanette to the bed. When she sat down, he knelt to kiss up her thighs. He had her where he wanted her; with Cat only a thin wall away, she couldn't protest. Soon after his mouth got to her center, she was writhing silently. The bed wasn't quite so silent.

Under Bob's ministrations, Jeanette spiraled higher and higher. When she felt her climax coming on her, she grabbed a pillow to muffle herself. Then, just when she needed him most, Bob left her.

Alerted by her reach for the pillow, Bob stopped kissing his wife. He moved up across the bed over her and poised at her entrance. He slid into that heavenly refuge, so wet, so welcoming, so hot. He had to hold himself up, and there was a pillow between her face and his; but she grasped his back as he moved in her.

The twin surprises, first the absence of his tongue -- then the presence of his erection, slowed Jeanette's climb to completion, but only momentarily. As he moved above her and within her, her arousal grew and grew. She could only hug him tight as she gasped and came.

Bob drove in and out through the rhythmic clasping of her vagina. Helpless to control himself, he sped as she arched underneath him. Finally, at the last quiver around him, he thrust inward and spewed into that welcoming warmth.

Jeanette came down from her own peak enough to feel Bob spurt within her. Then she felt him collapse. He slid off her and sat on the floor. She threw the pillow off her face and gasped. After a few minutes rest, she grabbed a Kleenex. She held it against her groin as she pushed herself to a sitting position with the other arm. She wiped herself carefully after struggling to her feet. She threw on her nightgown and robe. After peeking out the door to be sure that nobody could see -- a totally naked Bob was still sprawled on the floor beside the bed -- she crossed to the bathroom and took a quick-but-thorough shower.

Bob managed to get up when Jeanette got back to the room. "What's the rush?" he asked as she started dressing herself in a new outfit.

"Cat and I are going visiting after she wakes up. I want to be ready for it. You might take your shower before your daughter needs the bathroom; she'll really need it. And you don't have to leer; I'd think your libido would be quite satisfied."

"'Satisfied?' Pleased, yes. Sated, no. The sight of you would draw the attention of a plaster statue." He did gather his clothes and put on his robe, though. When she was decent, he crossed to the bathroom to take his own shower. He was downstairs before Cat awoke.

When Cat did come down, Jeanette took her back up to wash her face, brush her hair, and change into a dress. She borrowed the keys to Katherine's car. "Je t'aime," she called as she headed out the door.

"Je vous aime," Bob responded in a language -- if not a sentiment -- unusual for him.

"Je t'aime, Papa," Cat called, proud to be included.

When they got back, Bob hugged Cat. Rather he hugged her shoulders while she hugged his knees. Then he and Jeanette had a sweet kiss. "Enjoy yourselves?"

"Pretty much. I remembered how much fun we had here, and then I remembered why we wanted to leave. Traci -- you remember Traci? -- told me that Cat was much too young to learn another language. She'd had trouble in high school. Now, I can remember that she did have trouble in high school French class. Still, she'd managed to learn English when she was much younger, which might have given her a clue."

He didn't remember Traci. Jeanette's friends were all a year younger than his, and it was hard enough to remember his friends. "Tell her that?"

"You don't remember Traci. One of the reason she had trouble in French -- other subjects, too -- was that you could never tell Traci anything." Bob laughed.

Katherine fixed a new meal for supper. Jeanette was torn between jealous awe and gluttony. She would have served the leftovers until they were gone, and Bob would have gladly eaten them day after day -- meal after meal, for that matter. On the other hand, the dish, stir-fried vegetables over rice (brown again), was delicious. Cat gobbled it up, maybe because there were onions along with the other vegetables. She even ate a decent amount of the brown rice. Jeanette thought that it tasted better than her white rice. Maybe the bran gave it a nuttier taste, or maybe Katherine could cook rice better, too.

The conversation after dinner was desultory. They were all feeling lackadaisical. When Cat dropped off, Bob carried her upstairs. He and Jeanette managed to get Cat to the bathroom and into nightclothes without too much fuss. She went back to sleep with Bob lying beside her on the mat. He was yawning by the time he got up. "Early to bed?" Jeanette asked.

"You want?"

"I think I'm done for tonight," she answered. They were nearly asleep when they heard Kathleen and Charles come upstairs.

Kath turned on the bedside lamp. It was a signal, though Charles didn't need the signal. Maybe a symbol, a reminder or long ago. They'd been alone on a picnic, out in the country where nobody could see them. They'd made love before eating, kissed after the meal, talked for a long time, made out. Finally, she'd asked, "Have another?" He hadn't -- from then on, he would pack a spare condom.

In the dusk, she'd pushed him back on the crumb-laden blanket. Still mostly dressed, she'd stripped him, kissing every part she'd bared. She'd teased him with her mouth for the longest time before taking him to ecstasy. After spitting it out on the ground, she'd said, "I'll never again do that in the dark."

He'd been disappointed, as disappointed as he could get when he was so replete. He'd enjoyed her attentions with her mouth that afternoon and previous times. On the other hand, he'd enjoyed her company, too. He hadn't been about to demand something she didn't enjoy.

It was days later that he'd discovered that she was quite serious about the words "in the dark." Fellatio was something that Kath would do -- would even suggest -- but only when they could have light.

Now, he sat back while she danced silently for him, taking off one piece of clothing after another. She didn't rush; she hung the clothes up rather than throwing them aside. When she was done, she said, "My turn." the first words either of them had spoken. She kissed him on the mouth before beginning to strip him. He was allowed to caress her while she did that, almost his only actions on these nights.

Finally, she lowered his boxer shorts. He had an erection, and she kissed it gently. After he lay down on the bed, she kissed all over him from his shoulders to his abdomen. Constrained to silence, he let his eyes plead for him. When that didn't work, he folded his hands as if in prayer.

Kathleen enjoyed the entire process. She even enjoyed the strip show. Stripping him was more fun, and reducing this big, powerful man to begging was even more fun than that. By this time, his penis had leaked a great deal. She licked that up, saving the underside and the glans for last. Every one of Char's muscles was tense; you could have bounced a coin on his abdomen. When she enclosed his penis with her mouth, he pressed his handds into the mattress until his hips almost rose off the bed. She licked him once before withdrawing her head slowly. He groaned as he popped out.

Well, there was a place or two on his inner thighs which she might have missed the first time. No. They tasted only of sweat. She was chilly; he had goosebumps. Why the sweat? She took a deep breath at the base of his penis to get the odor of his groin. She stirred deep within, independent of the odor she could detect. She'd read the explanation; but tonight was a time to experience the mystery, not a time to explain it. She wasn't about to tell him of her enjoyment, though. "All you peds smell alike."

"That's not funny."

"Sure it is. You just have no sense of humor."

The joke had brought him down from the edge she so enjoyed watching, though. She cupped his testes in the palm of her hand as though weighing them. The scrotum tightened up. She scratched the scrotum very lightly with one fingernail. Not only was his abdomen tense again, his penis was bobbing up and down.

She licked the base, then blew a thin stream of air on it. His face was screwed up in a rictus as if he were in great pain. But she'd done this before, and his thanks afterwards assured her that he wasn't. Once her lips touched his glans again, she could move by feel while watching his face.

Waiting for Kath to finish him was a torment, and Charles was sure Kath knew that. Finally, though, she slid her mouth down his cock. With her lips on his shaft, she licked the glans slowly. A grunt left his mouth as gallons left his cock. Kath didn't stop licking until it had all come out. Then she held it as she sucked to keep everything inside.

Kath watched Char tighten one impossible iota more. His face gave the appearance of agony and his hips did rise from the mattress. Then his penis was pulsing between her lips and his ejaculate was shooting into her mouth. When he collapsed back down, she made sure she had the last little bit. Then she moved over to the waste basket to spit it all out. Kathleen was a lady, and a lady doesn't swallow.

She covered Char with the sheet and blankets before donning her own nightie. She turned off the lamp and climbed in beside him. He was still breathing like he'd run a marathon. He always did on days she'd done all the work. She lay just touching him. He'd wrap her in his arms when he recovered.

Was she going to be lying by this man for the rest of her life? Would the satisfaction of watching him climax ever pale? Perhaps. Jeanette had seemed so deeply in lust with Bob (with Bob!), and she didn't seem quite that way any more. Kathleen could still remember being in this room when Jeanette and Bob were newlyweds next door. She could hear a lot, could hear the rocker when she was in the living room on one memorable occasion. This afternoon, she'd heard not one sound from that room, and she knew more directly what the sounds meant, now.

On the other hand, they had gone into that room in the middle of the day. And Jeanette looked quite content. She talked with her on the phone every third week, sometimes more; and Jeanette told of what made her happy and unhappy. The unhappiness wasn't over her marriage. So she could see contentment in her future as a good possibility. Mom was contented, too; her worries about Dad were over his health, not over his behavior.

So, Kathleen could look forward to contentment as a reasonable prospect. If Jeanette had found contentment with Bob, certainly life with Charles should deliver at least as much. She had fewer examples offering hope of a continuation of passion. Well, she'd work for a continuation of passion; these sessions each month were a good beginning.

The End
Four and a Half
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2004/01/01
2005/01/11
Thanks to Neneh for editing this, and to Selena Jardine for 
editing the French.
This is the last story (so far) in a series of stories about the 
Brennans.
The first story in the series is:
 "Forever"  
The directory to the entire series is:
 Brennan Stories Directory  
The directory to all my stories can be found at:
 Index to Uther Pendragon's Website