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Heart Ball
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, 2001, 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. |
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Heart Ball
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Steve was wearing a down coat. Better to sit in a cold car than to risk a walk from the car running out of gas. He turned the engine off. Theresa had a hard time fitting her key in the door. "Peggy needs you" was the first thing that Shannon said to her. She dropped keys, bag, and coat on her way to the chair. Her left breast had leaked badly. She fumbled open her blouse and opened the bra on that side. Shannon put Peggy in her arms, and the baby latched on. The intensity hurt at first, but soon they both relaxed. She heard the front door slam; was Shannon gone? Shannon handed Peggy to her mother, and started cleaning up the mess. She closed the door, picked up the keys and dropped them in Mrs. Jensen's purse, closed the purse and put it on the table. She hung up Mrs. Jensen's coat in the closet. She took her backpack into the bathroom with her. When she came out, she was wearing bra and pantyhose; her shirt and skirt were decently buttoned and neatly arranged; her eye makeup was back on. Mrs. Jensen had what Peggy needed, that was for sure. She donned shoes and sweater and packed her schoolbooks into her backpack. Should she take Steve's? They had their first class together. "How's Amy?" she asked. "They're keeping her for the night -- maybe the next day or two, but she's past her crisis. Did I say how grateful we are for what you two did? Could you get me a pen and paper and something to write on? A book or something." Shannon brought Mrs. Jensen a school notebook opened to a blank page. It was long past time for this night to end. She wanted to call her dad for a ride home, but she didn't want Mrs. Jensen talking about Steve in front of him. "To whom it may concern," Theresa wrote. "What is your boyfriend's name? Steve what?" "Steve Anderson." "To whom in may concern,
"Theresa Jensen" "Give this to him when you go out, would you? My checkbook is somewhere in my purse. If you could find it for me, I'll write you a check. Better yet," Theresa still felt at the edge of collapse, even with Peggy in her arms; and she wished that Shannon wouldn't watch her, "you write the check and I'll sign it. I don't think that I could calculate the hours, and you deserve something extra, anyway." Shannon was still trying to figure out why she should give the note to Steve when she went out with him, and she didn't want to figure out what extra she deserved. Let them figure out what extra she deserved, everybody would be happier that way. "Where is Steve anyway?" "He's waiting to drive you home." "Look, let's settle up next time. You don't need me for anything else tonight?" "No." Shannon must see how embarrassed she was over being seen. "He'll drive himself home and call me and tell me where it's parked. Bill will pick it up later. I'm sorry." She started to cry. "I can't handle this." Shannon gave her a brief hug. "You're doing fine. Dr. Wyatt is giving Amy what she needs; you're giving Peggy what she needs." She put the car seat on the floor by Mrs. Jensen's feet. She put on her coat, buttoning everything for the outside cold. Her backpack actually went on her back, and she piled Steve's books together. "When should I give that paper to Steve?" "When you go out there. It's his permission to drive the car." "Goodbye. Hope everything works out." She made sure that the door locked when she shut it, and walked over to the car. Steve looked like he was asleep. She pounded on his side. Steve looked up and there was Shannon. They got his stuff into his backpack and her backpack onto her lap. Shannon felt that the kiss before she buckled up was perfunctory. On the other hand, sitting beside Steve again was quite a relief. "We survived," she said. "And Amy survived. I told them about having given her two pills. Let's get you home." The drive was silent until he pulled up in her driveway. He grasped her hand. "Love you," he said. "Love you." But she was less reluctant to leave Steve than she had been since going out with him. What kept her in the car was that she was too tired to open the door. She sighed, opened it, shivered, and hurried to her door. Steve waited until the door closed, then she heard him drive away. "Who brought you home?" her mom asked. "Look, it was a night from hell. Let's talk in the morning." Steve left the Golf in the Jensens' driveway, and the keys in their mailbox. The walk home revived him, then it froze him to the bone. He fell into bed in his underwear. Rachel Anderson didn't set her alarm any later for her day off. It was a snooze alarm, and half the pleasure of sleeping in consisted of half-waking, thinking "It's Wednesday," and slapping the button. This morning, however, after she did so there was still an annoying -- although very low -- buzzing. By this time, she was awake enough to need the bathroom. Coming out, she traced the buzzing to her son's room. His alarm was ringing -- hadn't he come home the night before? She burst in, almost tripped over his coat, and saw the mound under the covers which must be Steve. She checked for breathing, thrown back fifteen years for one moment. His chest was moving, but he didn't respond to her hand at all. This was a case for the Chinese water torture. She moved the clock as far away as the cord reached, and brought a dripping-wet washcloth back from the bathroom. Pulling the sheet down from his face, she dripped a bit on his face. He kicked. She squeezed. Be blinked, thrashed, turned over, but didn't seem to awaken. The next squeeze went into his ear -- an accident, but an effective one. "Holy hell! Leave me alone!" He turned over. She watched for a moment as the alarm started to penetrate. One arm came out and slapped where the button was before she had moved the clock. She squeezed again, but the washcloth yielded only half as much. "Let me sleep." "School day. Work day for that matter. I'm the one who deserves to sleep. Get up!" "I'm not dressed," said Steve, sounding nearly awake. "I've told you before about wearing underwear to bed. Pajamas will keep you nice and warm, but allow the air to circulate. You probably smell like a gym sock under there." She had to talk about something; it might as well be the health tips he ignored. "Mom!" "Here." She threw him the jeans from the floor. "Pull these on. I want you to take a shower, late as it is." She grabbed his robe and left the room. She handed the robe to him in the hall. He was wearing the jeans, his tee-shirt, and one sock. She went in and turned off his alarm, putting it safely back on the nightstand. By now, her alarm was sounding again; she shut it off and dressed for the day. What a way to begin her day off. Even so, she started breakfast for both of them. Steve took a second cup of coffee. "Why can't I stay home one day? I'm exhausted. Let them treat it as a ditch, if they want." "Let's get this straight. You are ready to give up on this performance-standard thing. I run your hours until you go off to college. I supervise your homework; I decide whether you can go on dates; I set your curfew?" "Mom! One day?" "You had no business staying out with Shannon so late. You are supposed to choose times that won't wreck you for the next day." "That's not exactly what happened." She cupped her ear to signal that he should say more. "Shannon was babysitting. One of the kids got sick. I took her to the emergency room. I didn't see Shannon again until the parents were located. I drove her home, returned the car, and came right home. It was not the most romantic evening in our lives." "I don't want to hear about your romantic evenings. I'll tell you what, though. Since you were such a great hero, I'll drive you to school this morning. You've already missed the bus. I won't cut back on the performance-standard rule if you don't do it again." "Well, I think getting a sick child to the hospital is performance. The kid's mother thought so too." "And I'm sure that Shannon's parents are praising her to the skies. Taking care of those kids is her duty, her performance. Getting you to help is an accomplishment on her part. Meanwhile you have to get to school and get some grades." "Feel all right?" Allison Bryant asked her daughter as she served breakfast. Normally Shannon should make her own, but it had been quite a night. "Tired. I hope none of the teachers pops a quiz today. And there is a meeting after school, too. I just hope Amy does okay. Gah!" She dug into her food. "Sounds exciting," said Allison. "I'm not sure I know what happened exactly. How did you get Amy to the hospital? How did you get home? You know that your father would have been glad to pick you up in an emergency." "Even that late," Wayne put in. "Look, I'll give you a blow-by-blow tonight. A neighbor drove her to the hospital, okay?" It was hard to keep her eyes open in class; but then, it often was. Steve got caught nodding off in English. "What were you doing last night, Steve?" Mrs. Foster asked. "If you must know, I was driving a sick baby to the emergency room. I'm not paying attention very well this morning, and you can mark me down for it; but it is not a moral fault this time." It wasn't like Steve to mouth off to teachers like that. "I'll mark you down for attitude as well," Mrs. Foster said. "That was a very brief reformation that you showed yesterday." Robert Kirkland sometimes wondered if the bank had ever had enough business to justify the size of its lobby. It certainly didn't have enough these days. Which left a desk for his law practice far enough away from the next desks to give his clients privacy -- a privacy which they seldom desired. He stopped by Charlotte for his messages and the news. The president of the bank could, in theory, terminate his month-to-month lease on the desk in the corner; but he would have to justify that to his board. The lobby gave Kirkland exposure, but it also gave the bank an image of providing a range of services. And, of course, he paid rent. Charlotte, on the other hand, could say, "Kirkland? The lawyer? He's not at his desk. I don't know where he is." She could also say, "Mr. Kirkland is in court today; he'll be back this evening from about four to five." And she could say "Mr. Kirkland stepped out for a moment; why don't you wait for him?" when he was in the john. Keeping Charlotte happy was much more important to his business than keeping the bank president happy was. He listened to the news she shared. "Bill Jensen's baby, Amy, is back in the hospital. Poor Theresa." Charlotte was one of those who remembered when Theresa had worked at the bank. "Bill's nephew got put on the internet for Christmas, and yanked off for monopolizing the phone lines. Their babysitter had to act by herself. She sent Amy to the hospital with her boyfriend. Theresa praises them to the skies. Anyway, Amy's better this morning; but you might put her in your prayers." At his desk, he did bow his head for a moment. The bowed head was to keep Charlotte happy, but -- since he was there anyway -- he did pray for Amy. Bill Jensen stopped by his desk on his break. "How do you do, Bill? I was sorry to hear about Amy." "She's better," said Bill, "but that was what I wanted to talk about. Still have that rule on consultation for bank employees?" "Nobody's waiting." The free first consultation took only his time, which was often free. It generated some business. It kept bank employees happy with him "Look, this is what happened." Bill told the story of Steve's driving Amy to the emergency room in Theresa's car. The part about his being questioned by the police wasn't particularly clear. If the cops thought the kid had stolen the car, why hadn't they taken him in? "Look, here's my card. Give it to him next time you see him. If the cops arrest him, he should call the pager number. I'll show up and deal with them. Let him know that he is hiring me if he does call me. "But I don't think he will become a client. Here's how it goes. They could have taken him in right then. If they didn't, they may well not be pursuing the matter. Which is fine. "You said the girl gave him permission to drive the car?" he finished up. "We weren't there, which was the whole problem, but she must have." "Implicit permission, anyway. If this actually goes to the police station, let alone the court, I'll check all this out in the law books, but I don't expect that to happen. Anyway, did your agreement with the girl mention the car?" "Theresa is willing to swear that she gave the boy permission." "You should tell her to never swear to anything false, especially when it is both unnecessary and implausible. You didn't mention the car when contracting for her services, but now -- thinking about it afterwards -- do you think that your state of mind when you put her in charge of the house included giving her that authority?" "Certainly." "Does your wife?" "Absolutely. She's damn grateful for what those kids did." "Then we ask the girl the same question. If she agrees, then you have three parties to a verbal contract who agree that she had that authority. A contract is a meeting of the minds. Verbal contracts can cause all sorts of trouble, but the minds met in this verbal contract. "If you gave her the authority to permit the boy to drive the car, then he did it with permission. The state has some sort of level of proof to meet, It may well be beyond a reasonable doubt. It's not a question I've seen before." "Pardon?" Bill said. "Pardon me. I was getting off into complexities which don't matter. The police may well be dropping this. If they aren't, they should talk to you -- or your wife. The answer is that he did drive the car, the babysitter did give permission, and she did have authority. You might also point out that he drove your baby in your car to the emergency room. You won't sign a complaint. "It isn't the sort of case that the police want to pursue." "Well, he drove it afterward. Theresa asked him to drive her home, and then drive Shannon home." "At that point, there is no question that he had permission. Now, I think that I do have a paying client." He went to greet him where Charlotte had asked him to have a seat. After dealing with the lawyer about Steve, Bill took care of Shannon's pay. Theresa had pointed out that she deserved something extra. She also deserved something special. He wrote a check for cash, and pulled a one-hundred dollar bill out of his drawer. It was a nice fresh, clean, bill. Someone who preferred cash might get a charge out of the denomination and the freshness. He'd take the pay and the news to Shannon this afternoon after seeing Amy. Wednesday was his early day. Rachel Anderson had lunch ready to go when she heard the Jeep in the driveway. Roger kissed her at the doorway, pulled off his gloves and put them in his pockets, and kissed her again, He kneaded her hips during the second kiss. "Now," he said, "that is a welcome." "Lunch will be three minutes," she said. While he fetched his luggage and washed up, she heated the frying pan to toast the cheese sandwiches. He came up behind her. "You could take the stew to the dining area," she said. "Sure I could." But he moved his hands up from her waist to her breasts, instead. He ground his semierect penis into the crack between her asscheeks. "Eat first. You're going to need your strength." "Boy, the honeymoon is really over." "Happens," she said, "to most couples who have a kid in college." Roger was her lover, but he was also her family. And feeding her family was almost as primal an instinct as sex. When they had eaten, however, they shared a sweet kiss. She pulled Roger against her while his hands smoothed her dress down her back again and again. They finally stopped on her hips for a squeeze. She leaned back to unbutton his shirt. "I left room for dessert," he said. "Wanna move this to the bedroom?" "Somebody was boasting about the kitchen over the phone." "Want that?" "It's nice and warm," she pointed out. She'd left the oven on after the brownies were done. The high butcher-block table which separated the dining area from the kitchen proper had been cleared. Rachel had obviously been thinking about this. The drapes were closed over the doors out to the deck, but then they often were in winter. Not that anyone was likely to be able to see in. She followed him over to the end of the table. When he took off her dress, he saw a large wet spot on the skirt. She was left wearing slippers and a bra. She returned to his buttons while he removed the bra. She jumped; he lifted; and she was perched on the table. He stood between her knees. Her breasts were now high enough to kiss easily. His first approach included roving hands as well as sucking lips, but he withdrew enough to remove his shirt and -- in one moment totally abandoning contact -- his undershirt. She leaned forward for a deep kiss. Tongue played with tongue; breasts pressed into chest; four hands roved. He kissed down from her mouth. He took his time on neck and shoulder. He kissed all over the smoothness of her breasts and the valley between. He licked and sucked each nipple while his hands stroked her thighs. Rachel had been anticipating this all day. Hot words and a cold vibrator might get her off, but they were poor substitutes for her warm lover. She sank back on the table as Roger's mouth trailed lower. When he finally reached her mound, however, he jumped to the inside of her thigh. She felt the sensual tide rise as his sucks and licks crept up her right thigh from just above her knee almost to the crease where her leg met her groin. When he got a nose-full of Rachel's odor, Roger almost dived in. He was tempted to abandon his play for immediate kisses to her center; hell, he was tempted to drop his pants and give her genitals what they really needed. But that would be better this evening, when she'd already had an explosive orgasm earlier. He retreated to her other knee and approached her center even more slowly. With her desire now fully stoked, though, he could suck almost as hard as he wished. A kiss on one side of her lower lips, a kiss on the other side; Rachel needed more than teasing. She spread her lips with her hands so that Roger's next lick would strike within them. She was spilling her nectar now, and he was lapping it up. He licked one side of her valley, licked the other side; she writhed. When he finally touched the button on top, she grabbed his hair to press his mouth against her. Still he teased with soft licks which just missed her clitoris. She sobbed, writhed, and soaked his chin with her juice before he sucked there. She'd been pulling him into her groove as hard as she could pull; she'd been trying to push her clitoris into his mouth with thrusts of legs which were simply dangling in the air; she'd been crying in her desire and frustration. She'd been just this side of a climax, and she had needed it. Then it crashed into her. She pulsed, pulsed again and again. It tore through her. The tearing was glory. Then the tearing was a joy. Then it was agony. Then there was nothing. He stopped licking as soon as Rachel stopped responding. One last soft kiss for those lovely, liquid-soaked lips. Then his kisses were for the belly, now quivering with her gasps for air. After granting her two minutes' grace, he lifted her knees onto his shoulders. He had her breasts in his hands when he bent to her cunt again. She was so sensitive this time that his tongue on her lips almost hurt. Still, she spiraled upward. The climax took her, gathered her up, shook her, and left her gasping on the table. But this time Roger was supporting her when next she noticed the outer world; he was holding her legs against his warm chest. "I love you," Roger said. It was the first thing that either of them had said in ten minutes. This was one thing that phone sex didn't give them. Hearing her orgasm was nothing like seeing it, to say nothing of smelling and tasting it. He lowered her legs to his waist. He did love her; he loved her orgasms and her spasmic response to them. That didn't mean that he really enjoyed her heels kicking his ribcage. "I love you, too," she said. It took all the breath she could manage. His fingers entered her as he bent to her breasts. As he kissed them, his finger searched out the little bump on the top of her tunnel. Rachel felt overwhelmed. She crossed her ankles behind his back to keep her legs on that unstable platform, His mouth was on her right breast, a hand on her left one. Two fingers of his other hand had invaded her vagina, exploring gently but relentlessly. A different stimulus, this rubbing nearly allowed her to catch her breath before she spiraled upwards again. He heard her breath grow ragged and sensed the tension in her belly beneath his chest. These, much as he welcomed them, were only warning signs. The actual orgasm gripped his fingers. "Oh, Rachel," he said. When she tightened around them, he sucked hard on the nipple in his mouth. When the grip loosened, he resumed his stroking. After a final flutter around him, she relaxed all over. Even her legs loosened their grips on each other and slid down. He left his fingers within the liquid warmth. "Oh, Rachel!" he said. "That was so wonderful. You are the loveliest woman, the loveliest sight in the world. And you feel better than you look." He watched the mottled skin return to her normal pinkness, saw her nipples reassert themselves, saw her gasps change to deep breaths. "Help me up," she said. "I'll help you up to the sky." She shook her head. "Can't." "Sure you can. Question is whether you want to. Come on...." After a long moment, she nodded. He slid his fingers across her G spot again, moving very slowly. He kissed each nipple briefly and then sucked hard and long at the valley between her breasts. He kissed slowly down to her mound. He only licked above his fingers, but she was flowing so freely that he could taste it even so. Her clitoris was withdrawn, and he touched the hood with just the tip of his tongue. He lapped up the neighborhood, though, and increased his pressure on the inside. Despite her denial, she certainly could respond to the double stimulation. She moaned this time just before she came. When her gripping tunnel held his fingers still, he licked directly over her clit. When she relaxed her grip, he rubbed her G spot again. Finally he sucked when he rubbed. He was rewarded with a stronger and longer grip. Then she collapsed onto the table. He went to her head, grabbing some paper napkins from the table as he passed. He wiped his face before kissing her forehead. Then he kissed each eyebrow. He wiped his hands as clean as he could. He kissed her near shoulder and waited for her breathing to return to normal. When she puckered up, he kissed her on the mouth. They didn't try tongue-play this time. He kissed her forehead again and asked, "Want help up?" "Minute." A bit later, "Wanna try?" He helped her straighten up on the table. She sat there for a few minutes, and then came into his arms. He straightened while hugging her, stepped back, and set her on her feet. She grabbed her own clutch of napkins and held them between her legs. They both walked to the bathroom, she sat on the toilet seat while he drew the tub. He steadied her as she eased down into the hot water. He washed his hands and wiped his face with a washcloth before leaving her to her soak. He unpacked and changed his slacks. Somehow there were two smears of wetness on his right pants leg. He lay down for a minute, but forced himself to rise when he started drifting off. Rachel would be much happier if the table were cleaned when she got out of the tub. Besides he probably had room for another bowl of stew. Rachel had turned the hot water on again when Roger knocked and walked in. "I'm an old woman, mother of a college girl in her twenties," she said. "I am not the sort of person you should make love to when I'm lying on a wooden table. Besides, you gave me two hickeys." "Can you dress so they're hidden?" "Between my breasts and here." She pointed to the inside of her thigh. It was almost to her groin. "Somebody suggested the bedroom. Somebody else insisted on the kitchen." "Look," he continued, "we have a problem." She raised her eyebrows. "Your juices were all over that table. Enough that some dripped to the floor. More soaked in. In a few hours Steve is going to be sitting a foot or so from where that puddle was. Now, Steve isn't the most perceptive kid in the world. Still I keep reminding myself that the boy I dandled on my knee is now old enough to vote. (Damn! I'm not old enough to have a kid of eighteen.) Anyway, he probably knows what pussy juice smells like by now." "He's always so oblivious," she said. "Sure, and that's half the problem. Most kids his age have accepted that mommy sometimes enjoys daddy in bed. I don't want his first realization to be that Mommy enjoyed herself on the table where his food is prepared." "Somebody else enjoyed himself, too. Is it really detectable?" "Dearest, I had spent all that time soaking my face in attar of Rachel. I was saturated. My sensitivity to that odor has to be at an all-time low. I smelled it before I walked in the dining area. I'm soaking it up with bicarb; then I'll use bleach. What happens if we greet Steve with a meal in the Jeep? Then we can drive him to the drugstore." "Get me my robe, will you?" She decided on spaghetti instead of the traditional Dad's-home venison. Spaghetti not only was a good meal for an in-car picnic, the odor of a good spaghetti sauce would mask anything in the kitchen. "I'm not here," Steve said when Ken started to mark attendance at the meeting. Several kids laughed. "My parents are picking me up in forty minutes. I just thought I'd see what I had to do tomorrow." "Well," said Mr. Babaian. "Still it is generous to give a little extra time." After Heather showed how to cut out the hearts, Mr. Babaian came over to the table where Steve and Shannon were sitting. "By the way, Steve, one tiny point. You said, 'I so move,' when you made the motion about the cupids." So much had happened since then that Steve had to think back. "Um, yes." "Actually, 'I move that whatever' would have been better. When Ken asks 'May I have a motion for adjournment?' that's when you say 'I so move.' That's because you don't state the motion. When you state the motion you move.... Are you following this?" "Not too well. It was so long ago." "Steve, it was yesterday." "Steve had a long night," said Shannon. "I was babysitting this girl who got sick. Steve drove her to the hospital for me, and he didn't get home till late. Maybe he had better concentrate on the art lesson today, and cover the civics when he's awake." Mr. Babaian laughed. "Maybe he'd better concentrate on physics tonight. We'll cover Robert's Rules of Order another day. Your girl?" he asked Steve. "Yes." "Keep her. You'll never do better than that." He went off to another table. "I don't see it," Steve said. "Admittedly you're a pretty girl. But I got written up in Mrs. Foster's black book for saying one tenth of that." Shannon shrugged. "Look for the Jeep when you leave," Steve continued. "Maybe there'll be a piece of venison for you." Bill Jensen held a children's book on his lap as Amy watched the television. He'd used the surface to write his letter to Shannon. He'd expressed his gratitude, he'd mentioned the pay, he'd explained why the lawyer felt that Steve was in no danger. What more was needed? Oh yes. "Amy, do you want to say thank you to Shannon for taking care of you when you were sick?" Amy nodded her head and went back to watching the televised art lesson. He put "Amy says thanks" in the letter. He'd been planning to read the book as his last act, but it wouldn't compete with the TV. He kissed her goodbye, got a truly warm hug, and saw that she was concentrating on the screen when he waved from the door. He'd considered Shannon's being home and nobody being home. (Would he leave the letter with a hundred dollars in cash in their mail box? What if there were a mail slot in the door?) The actuality was that Shannon's mother was home. "She has a meeting after school. I don't know how long it will last but it can't be that much longer." "I just wanted to thank her for what she did last night." "And what did she do? I got the impression that there was an emergency, but don't know any of the details." So he told her everything from his perspective. He stressed that they had given permission for Steve to be present. He told her the lawyer's opinion that Steve wouldn't get into any trouble over the car. She seemed interested in the history of the permission for Steve's visits. That was a bit odd. Shannon hadn't had much time to tell her about the previous night, but you'd think that the incident of the medicine bottle would have been worth mentioning. Then he corrected himself; he wasn't all that important in Shannon's life. He'd felt like a heel, but probably one more adult heel hadn't impressed her that much. He ended with detailed assurances about Amy's current health. When he repeated his statements about Steve's legal situation, she stopped him. "I'm not certain that I can follow all of that. I'll get you Steven's phone number, but this is one of his nights at the drugstore. Maybe you should call later or tomorrow." When he felt that he had overstayed his welcome, he left the letter with Mrs. Bryant. He figured that he could catch Steve at Hauksbee's later on. When Shannon got out of the meeting, the Cherokee honked at her from the school parking lot. Steve got out to help her in. "Want a little spaghetaroni, Shannon?" Steve's mother asked. "It's macaroni with spaghetti sauce. You know Roger, don't you?" "Yes." She'd met both of Steve's parents several times, been at their table for dinner. "Hello Mr. Anderson -- Mrs. Anderson. I'd like just a little, I'm due home for dinner." She got a paper plate with a few noodles, a brownie, and a cup of coffee. With the coffee, Steve's mother passed her a carton of cream -- an unopened carton of cream. "You shouldn't have mentioned that," she told Steve. He merely shrugged. "Yes, he should have," his Mom said. "Now, if you want to change him, and don't have the illusion that you can change much, change a bad habit. Keep him from walking all over town in the middle of a blizzard." "We've talked about that," Shannon said. "Now, Mom." Steve had been nagged from two sides for that walk. He'd bitten off a little more than he could chew comfortably, but it hadn't deserved all that comment. "I knocked on the door; she let me in. I was already there; I already needed to walk home. What did you expect her to do?" "Shannon," his Mom said, "repeat after me. 'If you ever do something that stupid again...'" "If you ever do something that stupid again," Shannon began, after all she had worried about Steve out in that cold. "'I won't kiss you again for a month,'" his mom concluded. "I won't kiss you again for three days," Shannon said. "It's that simple," his mom said. Nobody commented on the alteration. Shannon finished up her noodles, took a sip of coffee, and started on the brownie. "You do these so well. Have you considered teaching Steve the recipe?" "Heavens forbid! These are my only means of influencing my menfolk at all. But Steve did buy a kiss with one of my last batch did he? That is true love, or true lust -- which is the best you can expect from teenage males. I was afraid that he would decide to eat it himself." Shannon looked at Steve. This had lost her totally. "I shoveled the sidewalk." Steve said. "Mom claims that she worried about the damage to me from my walk home, but she had me slaving away bright and early the next morning." "Early the next afternoon, and he didn't look all that bright to me. Anyway, I kissed him as a reward; and he said 'Aw mom.' So I gave him an extra brownie to trade for a kiss from you. I knew that he valued those." "He's shared his brownies with me several times, but he doesn't ask for kisses in exchange." "Shannon doesn't sell her kisses," Steve said. Although they did bet with kisses from time to time. Trading kisses for something sounded just slightly like whoring. Shannon couldn't believe that she was talking about, joking about, this with his parents. Her parents were reconciled to his kissing her, but they didn't laugh about it. "I wish that my mom and dad were as cool about this as you are." "Seriously for a minute," Steve's mom said. "Don't blame your parents. I had a daughter as well, and I worried much more about her. That's the way parents are. For that matter, that's the way our society is. We don't put a strict curfew on Steve. Don't need to. He gets you home on your parents' schedule, and he's home half an hour later. Medical emergencies excepted, of course." Steve directed his dad on the route to Shannon's house. "Face forward!" he said. While Shannon was facing forward and trying to figure out why, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Then he got out, helped her out, and walked her to the door. "Love you," he told her. The kiss in the Jeep was recent enough that they just held hands for a moment. This tiny party was over, although neither wanted it to be. "I love you," she responded. "And I'm serious. I really like your parents." He wasn't convinced. When she'd gone inside he climbed back in the jeep. "Worried more about Mallory than about me, did you?" he said when he sat down. "That couldn't have been because Mallory's behavior -- let alone her claims about that behavior -- gave you more to worry about. Shannon's parents should be worrying about her. After all, she's dating Steve." "Now, dear," Mom said, "you had your wild times, too. Different times. I used to worry that you would get yourself killed. Not that I'd have been happier if you had died frozen to the sidewalk. It's just that parents don't worry about their sons' dating. Presumably, when they're with their girlfriends, they aren't speeding and risking car wrecks. I worry less when you're with her; her parents worry more when she's with you. Sons can be a pain in the neck, but they don't get pregnant." "Get pregnant! Mother dearest, if Shannon and I were doing what you suspect, and if by criminal neglect or sheer bad luck she did get pregnant, what would I do?" "You'd propose," Mom admitted. "But that doesn't put the risks in balance. First, I wasn't worrying about Shannon; her parents are. They'd answer that question with a lot less certainty. Second, such a proposal doesn't balance the risk. Sure, you'd end up a parent much sooner than you would want; but you wouldn't have to carry the baby. And somehow the girl ends up not going to college much more often than her husband does. So never tell her that she should go to bed with you because you're taking half the risk. It's a lie, and your own mother will tell her that it is." "And, while holding your girlfriend's hand as she recovers from an abortion is a lousy way to spend a weekend," (Roger Anderson felt that this alternative really needed to be mentioned) "it doesn't compare at all with the pain of undergoing one." "Sheesh! My own parents think that we are doing the deed." "No, son," Dad said, "we think you are considering it. All these comments would be a little late otherwise. Anyway, you don't want to tell us whether you are; and we're sorry if it sounds as if we're prying. We just want you to act responsibly." Steve had thought of responsibility in terms of the rubbers from Hauksbee's. Now, they were laying a whole different load on him. "And I'd prefer to arrange for my own kisses from Shannon, thank you very much. You don't have to manage that part of my life for me." "Grouchy mood, are you?" Dad asked. "Shannon thought it was funny." They let him off at Hauksbee's. He was early for work, and they had left the Honda in the parking lot. "Well, Shannon," Allison asked her daughter when the three Bryants had begun eating. "You had a big day last night. Why don't you tell us all about it?" "All right. You know that the Jensens went out later than usual. They were at an anniversary party for his sister. They left me the number. Things were going great for a while, but then Peggy woke up hungry. Her mother had only left her half a bottle, and I gave her that. I was thinking about calling them -- no hurry, but Peggy wasn't going to be satisfied for long -- when Amy came out. She looked bad. I gave her the pill and cuddled her for a minute or two, but she wasn't getting any better. "Okay. Now it was hurry time. I called and the phone was busy." "Busy?" asked Wayne. "Don't they have call waiting?" "The Jensen's do; I don't know about the sister-in-law. Anyway, it was busy. I called a couple of times, and it stayed busy. Meanwhile, Amy isn't getting any better. I finally call Dr. Wyatt. He tells me to get Amy to the hospital. The phone still doesn't answer. "Now, you are going to get mad. But I called Steve. He drove over, took Amy to the hospital, and stayed there until Mrs. Jensen came home. "Peggy was driving me mad. Not her fault, but she was hungry and desperate. She figured that I had milk where her mommy did." Shannon blushed at that. "Finally, the hundredth time I called, I get through. They go to the hospital. Steve drove Mrs. Jensen home -- not immediately. Steve drove me home. You know the rest." "I," said Allison, "know the rest. So Steven drove you home?" "At the time, Mr. Jensen was still at the hospital; Mrs. Jensen was feeding a very hungry baby. Who did you expect to drive me home? I could have called Dad, of course; but Steve was there -- and dressed." "And he drove you home in his car?" "Yeah. His mother's car, really." "So why did you get out of a Volkswagen Golf when you got here? And why didn't I hear Steven, who always walks you to the door, walk you to the door this time? And why did you tell us that a neighbor drove Amy to the hospital?" "Well, that was true. Steve is a neighbor of theirs. It's all the way across town and he lives very close." "Shannon, 'Steven drove Amy to the hospital -- he lives much closer than we do,' is not a complicated sentence. Or you could have told us that Steven drove and that you would explain the circumstances tonight. Calling him 'a neighbor' is certainly misleading. But that still leaves two questions. The Golf, and not coming to the door." "I didn't want him coming to the door," Shannon said, "because I wanted to avoid just these questions." She took a deep breath. "He couldn't get his car started. It was an emergency. He took her car -- Mrs. Jensen's. She approves, highly approves." "But why," Wayne had entirely forgotten that he was supposed to let Allison handle this matter, "didn't you call me? I can see calling Steven first, sort of. He lived closer. But when he told you that his car wouldn't start, you could have called me. You should have!" "Okay!" Shannon was close to tears now. "Steve was already there, okay? He was there; he called home to get the car from his mother; she wasn't home. So he took Amy to the emergency room in her mother's car. He was right there; the car was right there; Mrs. Jensen approved later. And she asked him to drive me home afterwards. He did. I'm sorry that I didn't check with you to see if you thought that you were sober enough to drive. Okay?" Wayne shut his mouth. He had been well under the legal limit that night, but there were enough evenings when he hadn't been for that to hurt. He didn't -- bar the rare party -- go to bed drunk, but he seldom went to bed totally sober. At that point, he remembered that Allison had asked him to keep out of this interrogation. "And Steven just happened to be at the house that night?" Allison asked. "Yes! It just happened. And I'm damn glad he was there. He solved the problem." Her parents were looking at her. Her dad had his mouth clamped shut; her mom quirked an eyebrow. "All right, he's visited me there before. He's met Amy, and she loves him. Darn lucky too. She really wanted her mommy; I was definitely second place; she fought against going with Steve. Who knows what she would have done about a stranger?" Allison sat there and stared at their daughter. Wayne had to say something. "Look, Chick, you are making this much worse. Your mother knows something. I don't know how much." He suspected, indeed, that Allison had run out of her knowledge. Shannon was unraveling without Allison's prompting now. "Anyway, you've lied enough that nobody is going to trust your word. Why don't you try the truth? It could hardly work any worse." Time at work dragged worse than it ever had for Steve. He was awake, and standing up helped him stay awake; but just standing up took effort. To make it worse, the store seemed busier than usual. At least that kept Hauksbee from riding him. The time came, however, when the last customer in the store was at his register. With a few exceptions, customer flow was unpredictable. The old man walked up to his end of the store. "Sorry," Steve said. "Long day after a short night." "What a coincidence," Hauksbee began. "I was just going to describe your performance tonight, and 'sorry' was the word I'd chosen." Luckily, the door opened just then. "Mr. Hauksbee," Amy's father called out, "could I have a couple of minutes with Steve?" Carl Hauksbee didn't like his employees to conduct private business on paid time, but the Jensens were fairly good customers. Even so, the two steps back which conveyed his silent permission didn't take him out of hearing range. "First," Bill Jensen began, "I'd like to thank you for what you did for Amy last night. The second thing is that I've talked to the lawyer at the bank. He thinks that the police will drop their interest in the car. If they ask us, we'll tell them that Shannon gave you permission; and Shannon had the power to give permission under those circumstances. Anyway, here is his card. You can call him if you are arrested, but that means that you would have to pay him." "So," Hauksbee put in, "you're changing careers, Steve. No wonder that you find being a sales clerk so boring tonight; car theft is so much more exciting." Steve could hear the joking tone in his boss's voice. He just didn't appreciate the joke. He looked at Amy's father. "He didn't steal the car at all. It was an emergency." Bill Jensen was determined that he wouldn't get Steve in trouble for what he'd done for Amy. "My daughter was sick, and Steve and Shannon couldn't reach me. Dr. Wyatt told them to get Amy to the hospital. Steve drove my wife's car." "Well, Steve knows I was only teasing him. But nobody is going to suffer here for following Dr. Wyatt's orders." Carl Hauksbee thought that he might just get that on the record. They were busy from then until lock-up time. "One thing puzzles me, Steve. Why didn't you tell the police why you were driving the car?" "Well, he didn't really ask. I was in the emergency room. Amy was God knows where. The cop kept staring at me. I don't see how they could follow up, though it was nice of Mr. Jensen to tell me. But sitting there with a cop staring at me and nothing else to do made me worry. I think I told Mrs. Jensen that." Shannon felt as if her world were collapsing. Mom just stared at her. Finally, Dad broke the silence. "Look, Chick, you are making this much worse. Your mother knows something. I don't know how much. Anyway, you've lied enough that nobody is going to trust your word. Why don't you try the truth; it couldn't work any worse." Yes it could, but she was at the end of her rope. "All right," she began. "Dad, remember the bad flu that had all the nurses out?" She turned to her mother, who was still staring at her. "I am telling it. This is where it began. "Anyway," she continued, "I had a date with Steve, but Mrs. Green was in a panic. She finally suggested that I have Steve over for a visit. She popped for pizza, and he and I ate with the boys until I got them into bed. This was a Tuesday, maybe a Thursday. Anyway, the next time she wanted me, I asked if Steve could come after work. She hemmed and hawed, but it was okay when it suited her. After a while, I asked other customers. Some said yes; some said no...." "And you got their permission, but not your parents'?" her mom asked. "Sure. It was their house. Anyway, I was getting more customers than I could serve, so I concentrated on the ones who said yes. Usually, Steve met the kids, but only once. I didn't want some kid waking up and saying, 'Who are you?' He met Amy a couple of times, though. And Peggy on almost every date at the Jensens'. Not that Peggy has much of a memory for people yet. I mean, I do the work, but Steve helps when he can. He got real good at reheating Peggy's bottles. And we usually neaten up a place that allows Steve to visit." "You developed a real system, didn't you?" Allison felt the pounding in her temples and the tension of the muscles in her back. She tried to keep all that out of her voice. Shannon never knew how to deal with her mother when her voice got like that. This time, she played it straight. "I suppose. You sort of have to when you're taking care of somebody else's kids. Anyway, the Jensens were about the last people to agree to Steve's visits. I was there alone, and I used the last pill -- Amy's pills. I panicked and called Hauksbee's; they came home and found Steve on the front porch. Mr. Jensen was nasty about it until he heard why I had called Steve. I think that they changed their mind in apology. And they are damned glad they did, too, today." "You had Steven visit every time that you babysat anywhere?" her mother asked. "Yeah. Well, not quite, but you aren't going to be less angry 'cause of the exceptions. There were short nights when he worked. There was New Year's Eve...." "And Steven drove you home after?" "Sometimes. Less often than not, really. Not ever from Mrs. Green's for instance. He left long before she got home. He might leave before the parents got home, depending. He could have the car or not. Usually, after work, he had it." "And he didn't walk you to the door." "I asked him not to." "Wayne," Allison said, "would you excuse us?" "Sure. I'll go...." "Stay here. We'll leave." "I'm not done," Shannon said. Indeed, she'd barely started her meal. "Oh yes you are. We'll go up to your room." Shannon thought better of arguing. They walked upstairs and shut the door without saying another word. Her mother took the chair and looked at her for one long minute. "Have you had sex with Steven?" she asked. "What do you think that I am?" "If you ask that question again, you'll get an answer you won't enjoy hearing. Have you and Steven had intercourse?" Allison was on the horns of a dilemma. Taking Shannon to a gynecologist just now would be granting permission for her sex life. If she were already doing the deed, however, or on the verge of it, she needed contraception immediately. "No! I'm going to wear white on my wedding day, and wear it honestly. He understands that, understands it better than you." "What did you two do in those hours in other people's houses -- those hours you hid from your parents?" "We did lots of things. You think we only made out; but we talked, and we studied together." "Did you put your mouth on him? Down there?" Shannon was horrified. The idea was revolting and the question showed how perverted her mother thought she was. She had, after all, considered sex. Steve hadn't even asked for this kiss. "No. I've only touched it once or twice." "And has he done that to you?" Shannon decided to tell the whole truth this time. First, lies had really failed. Second, she hadn't had sex with Steve. That was important, and she felt -- half superstitiously -- that the truth would convince her mom of that much better than a convenient lie. Third, the coming punishment would probably be the maximum that her parents could produce. The truth wouldn't make it worse. The most important reason, however, was only a shadow at the back of her mind. She needed to ask some questions. Dad was a lot easier to talk to than Mom, but impossible to approach about some things. She and Mom had had The Talk some time back, although the school sex-ed classes had covered the biology a lot better. Now, however, she knew perfectly well what would happen if she and Steve did one thing or another. What she didn't know is what that meant. Was it so important? Was it so wonderful? Did it hurt? Was it worth the hurt? She had no relatives in town but her parents, no woman she could go to. Some of her friends had more experience, and she had heard their confidences. But her friends were her age. And what about Steve's latest attack? Making out was something else. There were bad things which made you a bad person, like murder, adultery, and robbery. There were bad things which everyone did, like taking the Lord's name in vain, or not honoring your parents. Making out was definitely in the second class; you shouldn't, but everybody did. Sex, however, made you a bad person -- a bad girl at any rate. The problem was, however, that over the past year or so, a good many of her friends had done it; and they were still good girls. Still, she wanted to stick to making out. Steve could kiss her breasts; he could pet her down there. They wouldn't go any further. And Steve had taken 'no' for an answer, or had he? Sucking on her nipples was part of making out, it was instead of sex. What was nibbling on her neck? What was kissing the inside of her elbow and the palm of her hand? Was it just another kind of making out? Was it the beginning phase of real sex? "Has Steven kissed you down there?" Allison had waited an awfully long time for an answer to her question, much longer than she thought Shannon needed to give her a truthful answer. "Not really. I think he wants to, though. Is it as magic as the books make it sound?" These weren't things she discussed with her mother, but -- if they were breaking those barriers tonight -- there were things she wanted to know. There were things she needed to know. Allison did not like the twist this conversation was taking. Whatever she'd done, she'd done with Shannon's father; and that wasn't a subject that she wanted Shannon to hear. Anything else she'd done, anything she'd done before him, Shannon really shouldn't hear. Anyway, they were discussing Shannon's past activities and why those were wrong. They weren't going to go into future activities, except to say that those would be much further in the future than Shannon might have thought coming home this evening. "What did you do? Not studying, not talking -- though I'm sure I wouldn't enjoy hearing what you talked about. What did you do last night before the baby interrupted you?" "You want to hear all of it?" "I don't want to hear any of it. But I'm your mother, and I think I had better." "Well, before he got there, I took off my bra and put the shirt back on. We kissed for a while, and he unbuttoned the shirt. Kissing is much better when you're skin to skin, but we kept the shirts in case Amy would come out. You know, one button and we're covered. "Anyway, you're sure you want to hear this?" "I'm fascinated. What was Steven wearing?" "An open shirt, same as me. And he was wearing jeans, of course. I was wearing a skirt. We both we're in socks. I'd taken my pantyhose off." "And your panties?" "I was wearing them. It was the tail end of my period, for heaven's sake. "Anyway," she continued, "we kiss with our shirts open, skin- to-skin. Then he kisses me all over: face, neck, arms, the back of my ears. You two will say, 'Evil Shannon; our daughter's a loose woman; she lets Steve kiss her breasts.' And so I do." Maybe she did a little more than 'let' Steve kiss her there, but the main point was accurate. "And when he kisses my nipples, it turns me on. I knew it would long before he did it. The thing is that Steve kisses me all over; that turns me on, too. My arms, the palms of my hands, the inside of my elbow. Is that making out? And he scratched my back. That doesn't sound like much, but it feels gorgeous. "After that he did kiss my breasts -- he kissed my mouth and other places, but mostly my breasts. And petted me, too. "We had just finished when Peggy started to cry. After that, I told it about how it was. Except that I only buttoned my shirt and later Peggy attacked my breasts. "Anyway, Steve will take 'no' for an answer. And we are going to make out -- what did you think we were doing when the dance or movie got out and we took an hour to drive home? An hour you allowed us? The problem is that kissing and nibbling at my neck and ear and elbow -- elbow for God's sake! Is that making out? Steve will take 'no' for an answer, but he'd be awfully willing to take 'yes' for an answer. Are we making out or is he taking us further?" Allison had been told more than she wanted to hear, and less than she believed. Could Shannon, who'd started the night telling a bunch of whoppers, be trusted when she said that she hadn't yet done the deed? Allison almost believed her. On the other hand, what Shannon said told loads about what she hadn't said. If Steven had kissed her breasts and petted her, Allison knew what parts of her daughter he had petted. "Well," she said, "maybe a break in your busy schedule of making out will let you decide for yourself. I have to talk to your father, but I'll tell you now that you are due home ten minutes after school lets out. No extracurricular activities, no dances, no dates. And, since you have such problems telling the difference between babysitting and dates, no babysitting. Stay in your room, except for bathroom breaks, for the rest of this night. No snacks. "You, my girl, are grounded." Allison told Wayne her sentence. "She says that they haven't done the deed. I don't know whether to believe her. How long has she been wearing skirts to babysitting jobs?" "Huh?" "Never mind. I didn't catch on, and I did notice it. She's been wearing skirts so she didn't interfere with Steven's wandering hands. I don't know, Wayne, everything I've done for years was about Shannon. You have the hospital at least. I'm a total failure." "Let me hold you." "Wayne?" "Nothing beyond that. Just let me hold you." He climbed onto her bed. They were both dressed except for shoes. He did hold her, cuddling her on his shoulder. "Listen, you've done lots beside Shannon. Maybe the real estate was to pay her tuition, but you performed a service to earn that, a service for your customers, a service for your boss. "And Shannon isn't a dead loss. Now isn't the time to tell her that, but she did take care of the kids. I've been thinking. We're still her parents; we've been betrayed, but that's not what we should be thinking about." "What about? About how great a hero Mr. Jensen says she and Steven are?" "No. Let Mr. Jensen tell her that. She did wrong. We aren't out for vengeance for her betrayal of us; we are out for a daughter who won't do something like that again. As her parents, we have the responsibility of teaching her to do right. And, this is the hard part, I can't put my finger on her crime." "Oh Wayne!" Couldn't he see how badly Shannon had acted? "Hear me out. Yes, she behaved immorally when she was hidden away with Steven. Certainly, she lied like a trooper when you questioned her. She did wrong, but neither of those is the essence of the wrong she did. Let me think about that overnight. Anyway, I have three ideas. I'd like your thoughts on them. "The first is that she needs a heavy punishment, and we don't have time for a long-drawn-out one. I'd like to make it as intense as possible. What do you think of barring her from television?" "It's an idea. I've already told her no social life." "Does that mean no birthday party?" "It pretty much has to. And she's been looking forward to that for months." "Well, it wouldn't be punishment if it didn't include what she really wanted. Anyway, I want it to be intense; I don't want to drag it out. She had what? Five or six months of making out." "We already have our gift planned." "And that will make a great graduation gift. Let her suffer a bit now. Anyway, the second thing I would like is that the specifics that she told you don't count towards the severity of her punishment." "She didn't tell me anything. At least not anything we couldn't have guessed." "All the same, if she has something to tell you, let her do it. We can't punish her for that. The third is going to hurt. But I think that we have to. We don't try to break her away from Steven." "I said no social life." "Oh, she can't date Steven for a while. But, when she can date, she can date him. When she can go to dances, she can go with him. Does that make sense?" "I suppose. And you're right about confiding in me. But her romance with Steven was cooling anyway. I'm not sure that he won't find somebody else to date while she's locked away." All Wayne said was "Umm?" He hugged her more tightly. "Oh my God!" she said. They still went to the dances, the public announcement of their romance. What they had dropped was meals together and movies. Instead of sitting in the darkened theater while Steven put his arm around her and felt the side of her bra-clad breast through her blouse, she kissed him 'skin to skin.' Then he kissed those breasts and did more. And they did that often enough that Shannon would have had to cut back to go on a movie date. "I don't see how I could have been so blind." Shannon, who was never hesitant to express any dissatisfactions she felt, hadn't mentioned that Steven was asking her out less. For that matter, many weeks, the babysitting appointments she took wouldn't have allowed more dates. And Steven, who found the oddest reasons to call her and then spent an hour on the phone after his one-minute question had been answered, almost never called when she was babysitting. And Shannon had taken to wearing skirts to babysit. Shannon knocked on the door then. "Look, can't I at least go down to get my homework?" "Of course, dear," Wayne answered. "I'll be out in a minute." He pulled his shoes back on. They walked down together, and Shannon picked up her backpack. She looked towards the kitchen, but he shook his head. "Do you know," she asked, "how long it's been since I was sent to bed without my supper?" "One hour, certainly less than two." "I mean before that." "You don't know what a quandary you've put your parents in. If you had asked Steven over once or twice, we'd ground you for a week -- more or less. You were sneaking around for what? Six months?" "Less. And it was only Mrs. Green at first." He shook his head. "Look, you two have always made it a rule that I got some credit for honesty. About what I told Mom...." "Honesty! You told more lies at dinner than I think I've ever heard at one time." She had, indeed, told more lies than could ever have worked. He wanted her to be honest, at least with Allison and himself; but he was also worried that his little Chick was going out into the great world with no idea of when lies weren't working. This was the wrong time to tell her how to be more effectively dishonest, but she needed that knowledge. "But after. I answered Mom's questions perfectly honestly. Don't I get any credit for that?" "Well, you did something shameful. And hid it elaborately. When you went upstairs, I knew that you had done something shameful. The very stream of lies that you covered it with told me that. I don't see how being specific about precisely what shameful thing you had done mitigates the punishment. We haven't been talking about what you did hidden away so much as your hiding it away. And, of course, the lies you told to cover that." Shameful! Shannon walked up the stairs in what she hoped was dignified silence. She and Steve had done nothing shameful. Nothing at all. Sure, she hid it away. Didn't her parents lock their door? There was a difference between keeping her activities with Steve private and believing those activities were shameful. Her parents were simply trying to keep her a child. Her dad knocked at her door as soon as it latched. "What punishment have you thought up now?" she said. "Your television. May I have it, please?" She unplugged it and handed it to him. "And, Chick, your mother already told you that you can't have any social life. That includes your birthday party. Your friends deserve to know that." "My birthday! My eighteenth birthday!" "Sorry. You chose what you did; we didn't. If you didn't choose when we would learn of it, you risked that we would learn at this time. You're grounded." |
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