Heart Ball
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, 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.

Heart Ball
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

Part 8
Continued from Part 7

Steve's parents were in their bedroom when he got home. He got himself a quick snack of beef stew. In his pajamas, he checked his e-mail. He had received two copies of the real story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, a reminder from Ken of the work sessions on the next two days, and an inquiry if he still played MUDs on-line. There was nothing from Shannon.

"Thinking about you," he sent her, and signed it "An Unknown Admirer."

When he went off-line, he slipped the disk from Dave into his floppy drive and looked through the pictures. Steve figured that once a day was about right. He could come more often than that, but he wanted to exercise some self-control. In the past forty- eight hours he had lacked relief. Not only that, he had been making out with Shannon and almost at the limit when Peggy interrupted. This wasn't a time for dreaming of Shannon; this was a time for something really dirty.

Dave had his own indexing system. Steve looked through the rear views until his cock demanded action. Then he switched to the pictures of rear entry sex. At the fifth couple, he shot into the Kleenex until it was soggy. He dropped that in the waste basket and took a last piss in the bathroom. He removed and stashed the disk, turned down the monitor, and crawled into bed.

He'd do homework on the bus. There was no sense trying to stuff his head when it had turned itself off.

Steve woke to the alarm in the morning. His recovery was complete, except -- ironically -- the he had the firmest morning erection that he had suffered in some months.

Dad being home, Mom cooked breakfast for everybody. "Want some spaghetaroni to take for lunch?" she asked. "There doesn't seem to be any stew left."

Instead of cafeteria lunch? "Sure. Thanks Mom."

"If you'll actually study this morning," Dad said, "I'll drive you to school. No 'just checking my e-mail.'" Well, he had a point; checking e-mail could take all the time available. And Mr. Babaian had all but told him that there would be a quiz that day.

"Thanks, Dad." He got nearly forty-five minutes in on physics, and left in plenty of time for the start of school.

"Shannon impressed me as a really nice girl last night," his dad said in the Jeep.

"I coulda told you that. I did tell you that."

"I meant 'nice' as a person, not her looks."

Steve sighed. His parents thought that he was so superficial. "That's what I meant, too. Look, Dad...." This was as good a time as any.

"Yes?"

"If you had the chance to change your life, you could have gone to a much better school, gotten a better education. Only, it would have meant never even meeting Mom. Would you have done it?" He seemed to be jumping back and forth in time. Could Dad hear what he was asking?

Roger Anderson could see where this was heading. "You're not really considering this Albino College?" That couldn't be right.

"Albion. And no. But what if IIT does accept me? What if I want to go to U of I instead?"

"Well, it's your choice. Your mother and I might think that your commitment to Shannon is a little premature, but we're seeing it from the outside. Everybody always does. If that last sentence makes sense."

"Sure. But you can see a little of it. Shannon is a class act, through and through. Question is what she sees in me."

"Don't sell yourself short, son. That's part of being a class act, seeing your potential. Just don't ruin all of that."

"Thanks Dad." They were turning into the parking lot outside of school. The thanks could have been for the ride, the advice, or the permission. He didn't know. It even could have been for the approval of his choice of girl. The approval wouldn't make much difference in his relationship with Shannon, but it would make his next eight months at home easier.

Shannon, who looked unhappy, sent him a questioning glance just before the class started. All he could do was shrug back. It wasn't really during class time, but Mrs. Foster asked them both to stay after class.

He'd decided to take the punishment in silence, however unfair. Mrs. Foster graded mostly on tests, anyhow. When they got to her, though, she had something else on her mind. "Look, that baby you said you took to the emergency room. What was her name?"

"Amy Jensen." Wherever this was going, he didn't see any sense in lying.

"And," Mrs. Foster continued, "you were babysitting for her?"

This was addressed to Shannon and she answered. "Yes."

"Well, the party where the Jensens were? The host was Ted Foster. He's some sort of cousin, third cousin twice removed or second cousin thrice removed, something like that, of my husband's. We aren't close enough to go to the party. They'd have to hold it in the gym. You know." The last was directed at Steve. There were larger Anderson clans in town, but his relatives weren't all going to fit into one house either.

"But," she continued, "we're close enough to hear the gossip. Ted's son, Bobby, was on the Internet when you called; he's been grounded for life. Ted's wife says that the mother thinks you two walk on water. I'd not go all that far, but I over-reacted to Steve's comment yesterday. I'm not taking those points. Here's an excuse for each of you."

She handed them the slips which would excuse their lateness to the next class. They started in Shannon's direction. "The kid is grounded for life, is he?" Shannon said. "I'll bet that his grounding ends before mine does."

"Shit!" Then he looked around, but no teachers were listening.

"Didn't check your e-mail?"

"Last night after work. I got a ride this morning if I spent all the time on homework. Dad approves of you."

"Can I come live at your house? My parents definitely disapprove of me."

"The last thing I want is to have you for a sister. Even in exchange for Mallory. I gather that they found out about our babysitting dates."

"You drove me home in Mrs. Jensen's car and didn't walk me to the door. Mom guessed the rest. About five hundred percent of the rest. I poured my heart out to you in that e-mail."

"And I'll read it. Can we finish this at lunch?"

"We'll have to." And she continued while he turned around and headed for class.

There wasn't a quiz in Physics. At lunch, Shannon laid out the rest of her punishment. "Thing is," she said, "they probably haven't finished yet. Dad asked for my TV late last night. They canceled my birthday party, my eighteenth birthday party." She wiped her eyes at that. "I'd better tell people." She'd made short work of her lunch, being quite hungry that noon.

He offered her one of his brownies, then -- impulsively -- all three. She took one, then broke the other in half and took that half. She left him to tell her friends that there wouldn't be a party.

There was a quiz in calc. It covered enough that he wasn't absolutely lost. On the other hand, the grade on that quiz wasn't going to do anything good for his GPA.

The hearts for the dance decor were much easier to prepare than they had been the previous day. He asked Mr. Babaian to repeat his explanation, and it made sense. His problems (except for his share of Shannon's) were clearing up; hers had just begun. What hadn't happened, despite Mr. Jensen's visit to the drug store, was that either one of them got any reward for their good deed. Well, he'd noticed something similar often enough before.

"Where was Shannon?" Ken asked him on the way home. "Will we see her tomorrow?" He had specified two meetings out of three.

"She's grounded. I doubt that she'll get to another meeting. I'm starting to worry about the dance itself."

"Grounded? What did she do? The dance is more than two weeks from now."

Allison Bryant had arranged her schedule so that she was home when Shannon was due. "I said ten minutes." It was nearly fifteen minutes after school let out.

"Come on, Mom. The busses don't even leave ten minutes after the ending bell rings. I had to get to my locker, arrange my books, put on my coat, and then trot home. You only count walking home. I'm not sure that I can make this schedule. I never did for Mrs. Green. Of course, if I slip on some ice and break a leg, that will cut out my social life for you." The walks along her path home were mostly clear, but there was sure to be more snow.

"All right. Fifteen minutes after the ending bell rings. Tonight, you'll need to start dinner at four-thirty. You can study till then." Shannon decided not to try her e-mail. Steve couldn't have replied; he was still at school. She suspected that her parents might block that connection to the outside if they noticed her using it.

And she did want Steve's reply. In the middle of the night, despite how tired she had been, she'd awakened and hadn't been able to go back to sleep. She had written Steve about her parents, and then about what he meant to her. She'd never quite said those things before.

Which meant that she was still tired. She'd make an early night tonight, what choice did she have? And so it was time to start on homework. She did so until her mom knocked on her door.

Some of the best times she'd had with her mom had been working together in the kitchen. This wasn't going to be one of them. For one thing, Shannon did all the work. Her mom supervised from a chair.

"Let me guess," Shannon said. "This isn't going to get me out of doing the dishes?"

"You're right. Look, one thing I'll give you. Anything you told me last night, you can change your story without penalty. Anything you forgot to mention?"

"Not really."

"Then tell me one thing. Steven called once when you were babysitting. He sounded very surprised at the news."

Shannon could feel herself blush. Someday she'd laugh at that mess, if she didn't die of old age first. "Remember that I told you that Steve was sensitive and picked up on things real well."

"Something like that." Allison remembered it very well. Shannon's boyfriend was sensitive, unlike her mother.

"Well, usually he does. But there are exceptions." She told the story of his being jealous about 'the visit from her friend.'

Allison wondered where Shannon had picked up that euphemism. Not from her mother, who had been careful to use the correct terms. Anyway, despite Shannon's emphasis on the study and the talk, messy genitals made the entire visit undesirable. She could believe her about the talk, on the other hand. Those kids could spend an hour a day on the phone talking about the e-mails that they had already sent each other.

Wayne Bryant looked up Nurse Green on the roster. She was on orthopedic, scheduled to work that night, and -- as he already knew -- on the second shift. He called the supervisor of ortho, and asked if he could speak with Nurse Green for a very few minutes.

"This is Mr. Bryant of the finance office," the supervisor told Nurse Green. "He needs five minutes of your time." Wayne hoped to keep it down to three.

"More to the point," he told her on the edge of a wide hallway, "I'm Shannon Bryant's father. She's babysat for you."

"Yes. She's very reliable."

"Fine. And you allow her boyfriend to visit while she's there."

"Yes," she said. "I suggested it the first time, then she almost made it a condition. I don't have any complaints, though. She always gets her job done, and with two boys that isn't easy."

Wayne had heard stories about those two boys, but that wasn't who he was worrying about. "Was Steven, the boyfriend, at your place last Saturday?"

"Well, he's usually gone when I get home. I get off at twelve thirty, you know. But last Saturday? The big storm? She told me that he'd been there."

"Well," Wayne told her, "I'll let you get back to your duties. But don't count on her for babysitting anytime soon. She's been grounded." He turned to go.

"Grounded? Why would you? She's such a fine girl."

But Wayne was in no mood to discuss parenting with some stranger, let alone such a failure at parenting as this one. And seeing that he was done, the senior nurse of the outgoing shift grabbed Mrs. Green. There was still a lot to do.

After dinner, Shannon filled and started the dishwasher while her parents watched TV in the living room. "Let's go up and make some phone calls," Allison said when her daughter joined them. "Which of your customers need a warning that you aren't available?"

So Shannon followed her upstairs to make the calls. She left a message on Mrs. Green's machine, feeling a little relief when she did so. About having to make the next one, she felt unmixed resentment. "Mr. Jensen, this is Shannon Bryant. First, how is Amy doing?"

"She's home now. Did your mother tell you what I'd told her?"

"Not really."

"Well, the attack didn't help, of course; but she's basically recovered. I hope your mother gave you the envelope if not the report."

"Just a second. Mom, did you get a letter for me?"

"I forgot!" Allison went to get the envelope.

When she got back, Shannon was saying, "They don't need a reason; they're my parents." There was a pause. "That might have been it. But I don't blame you." Another pause. "I'm sure that wouldn't do a bit of good. I'll just have to wait until they change their minds."

When Shannon had hung up, Allison said, "Shannon! We do have a reason, and you know very well what that reason is."

"Do you want to call back and explain? I'll give you his phone number. For that matter, do you want to make these phone calls? It's not fun telling parents who have trusted you to care for their children that your own parents treat you like one of those little toddlers." Shannon put the envelope in a drawer. "I'll save that for later, when I can read it in privacy."

Shannon figured that the customers who hadn't called in the new year didn't deserve a warning, and she made the rest of the calls. Most didn't ask why she had been grounded. For the others, she stuck to, "My parents think I did wrong." She gave recommendations to a few customers, but most already had their backups.

"Wayne," Allison called, "we're done."

He came upstairs at the next commercial and removed the phone and the jack to the modem. "You can keep the computer," he said. "It was supposed to be for homework anyway."

"I use the connection for homework," Shannon pointed out. "The Web is full of reference material."

"Well, dear," her mom said, "not every kid in your school is connected. Anyway, you can do research using my computer when I'm home and not using it. I'll need to check on you."

"I set up a new user name on AOL," her dad said. It goes from the computer in your mom's office. It is just for homework."

Her parents watched television; she did homework. There was enough of it to do, Tuesday's not having been quite completed, and Wednesday having passed in an emotional blur. When she was done, she read Mr. Jensen's letter. The hundred- dollar enclosure gave her ideas. She hid both away, turned off the light, and got into bed. For a long time, however, she lay sleepless and scheming in the dark.

Steve went to his computer and downloaded Shannon's e-mail as soon as he got home. He didn't really do the venison justice at dinner, much less the conversation.

"Still not recovered from your long night?" Dad asked.

"Well, I chose to sleep rather than do homework last night. I still think it was the right decision. But I'm running behind, and Shannon got grounded for having me over when she babysat. So my body's recovered, but my situation isn't. I don't know about my mind."

"Anything that little isn't worth worrying about," Dad said.

"Steve, really," Mom said, "helping Shannon break her parents' rules is breaking our rules for you. You should know that."

"It really wasn't breaking her parents' rules; she just didn't mention that I would be there. Now they are mad." Of course, what his mom had said was retroactive as well. Still, she wasn't threatening punishment.

"Please don't eat the daisies," Mom said. Dad nodded. Steve didn't ask. Shannon wasn't the only one with weird parents.

He actually spell-checked his response to Shannon. He'd spent less time than he usually did for a paper for school, but one hell of a lot more care.

What she would read on AOL would be:

He decided to print out a hard copy in case they had confiscated her computer,

He even copied the file onto a disk in case they had cut her connection but left her the computer. He put extra quotes into the file on disk so it would read the same (and so Shannon wouldn't foul up the attributions).

Allison gave Wayne some highlights of her evening while they were preparing for bed. "And then she told him, 'They don't need reasons; they're parents.' I could have strangled her. And, of course, the Jensens aren't going to listen to my side when they've heard hers."

"Can't quite blame them," said Wayne. "I mean, she asked them; what do they care whether she asked us? Mrs. Green feels that we're overdoing it, too, though I don't think I told her what our objections were. There was no polite way to express my opinion of her advice on parenting. The boys are hardly a recommendation."

"Shannon kept insisting that they didn't only pet. I'll believe that they talked. Why does she think that we got the second phone line? And she says that they studied together, too."

"Now, I'll believe they studied together. Look, let me just hold you." She pulled back the covers in invitation, and he did hug her. He could speak much more quietly this way. "Let me run this past you. What she did, beyond the particulars, the essence of what she did, is this. She constructed an elaborate scheme of dates at her babysitting appointments, and hid them from us. She was clearly willing to lie to hide them. How often she actually lied doesn't really matter. What matters is that she lived a secret for months, and she was willing to lie about it every day.

"Now," he continued, "I don't know how long this punishment is going to go on. Until she feels it, for sure. Her birthday and this next dance, the fancy one...."

"The 'Ball'?"

"Yeah. Those are clearly within the punishment. When those are past and we see some contrition, then we can ease up on the rules. But I really want to see the contrition first. What I see now is dumb defiance."

"You see dumb defiance," she told him, "because you weren't there to hear her describing our tyranny to babysitting clients. She's verbal enough then. And what do we do about her allowance? She's sure to have some money in her purse."

"Good! We want her to learn to budget. Dole out precisely what the school lunches cost. She has some cash above that, and no idea how long it has to last. That'll teach her to budget."

She grinned. "I don't know about contrition, though. Contrition is awfully easy to fake."

"Well, we won't ease things much until after Valentine's Day. By then, I -- at least -- might be willing to settle for fake contrition. After all, that still establishes the consensus reality. As long as she is saying that she didn't do wrong, we can't forgive her without agreeing with her. But these are just my opinions. I'm not going to relent without talking to you."

"I know. You just need to think these things out on a deeper level than I do."

He hugged her back to his front. "A different level. I'm still the guy who the hospital hired years ago to establish their accounting procedures." His hug pressed his semi-erection against her thigh.

Immediately, she pushed off his arms and moved away. "Wayne, you said...."

"I meant it. Look, different question. What is there about sex with me that you dislike so much?"

"It's not really dislike. We do it almost every Sunday and other times, too."

They did it maybe one Sunday in two. Every Sunday unless she was having her period, or was at the end of an especially bad week, or was especially angry at him. "Is it the mess?"

It was mostly that her body betrayed her with him. It was almost as bad as those talks he and Shannon had when they were away from the constraints of her presence. But the mess was one part of it. "Well, I have to shower before, and then I have to shower afterward."

"You don't have to, especially before. Couldn't you tell that just now?"

"I have to." She watched him climb out and into his own bed. "Thanks for supporting me with Shannon."

"Always!" he answered.

Shannon was rested and had her homework done when she got to school Friday morning. What else did she have to do? Mrs. Foster was beginning Act Five. Shannon and Steve weren't as far ahead of the class as they had been on Act Four, but they were clearly among those who knew what was happening.

"I used your questions," Steve said as they left the room. "Only the first scene, but I can catch up over the weekend."

"They took my connection away," she said. "Did you reply to my old e-mail? If so, I'll never see it."

"Talk at lunch," was all Steve could say before the streams going in opposite directions tore them apart.

At lunch, Steve wasn't as desolate as she thought that the situation deserved. "First," Steve said, "I wasn't trying to trick you. Never about anything serious. I'm on your side. Second, what did they do to your computer?"

"They cut off the connection. The modem is gone. I have a new connection to AOL. But it goes through my mom's computer. And I can only use it when she's watching, and only for homework."

"And your old computer? I mean the one in your room; I should have something so powerful. Does that still work?"

"Yeah, but it isn't connected. I can use any programs but the Internet ones, but I can't talk to you."

He held out a disk. "Just don't let your parents see this. Or anyone else, really."

"Did you read my e-mail?" He'd said something about tricking her, he must have read her letter.

"And answered it. And saved the answer on disk. Never mind what the file is called. It's not executable, and it's not a game. Open it with your word processor, same as usual."

"You're making this all very complicated."

"I'm trying to make it secure. Is your dad going to read your e-mail."

"Nobody can! It was connected to that computer. Until he reconnects the modem, nobody can use it."

"Shannon, it can be read from any computer which can connect to AOL. I installed that connection on both computers, but you can connect from your mom's."

"Well, Dad's not going to read my mail."

"Anyway," he said, "You write your answer on that disk. Monday, I'll have another disk -- and another message. You bring that one, and we'll swap disks. You put your answers on the scenes in Act Five on that disk, and I'll have mine on the other disk. We can even keep studying together."

"It's not the same."

"It's absolutely not the same. But it's the closest we can get. It's us against them; and the more contact we can have, the more points for our side."

"I want to hold you, and I get to read what you write. It's just not the same. You're taking this awfully easily."

"I'm taking what I can get. I have practice after all."

She did smile at that, a little ruefully. "That's not the same."

"It's a lot more different from your end than it is from mine," he said. She could see what he meant. "Anyway, I'm doing what I can. You got Amy to the hospital; you didn't cure her. Same thing. Figure out what would bring us closer -- what I could do to bring us closer. Then criticize me for not doing it. So what could I do to help bring us closer?"

She'd had an idea in her head since the previous morning, and his question brought it forth. "Could you buy me another alarm clock? My money, but I don't have the shopping time right now. Hauksbee's carries alarm clocks don't they?"

"Loud and wind-up or low and electronic. And the electronic come with radios but are cheaper without. Is Monday soon enough?"

"Sure, buy it Monday and give it to me at lunch on Tuesday."

"I can do that, but I meant delivery Monday. You're not going to tell me how it would bring us together?"

"Monday is even better. Actually, it might help a little bit, but I was thinking of helping me cope with them." He gave a nod which seemed to say that this goal was worth doing. "I woke up in the middle of night-before-last and wrote that letter to you. I've thought since that I could go to bed earlier than usual, and get up in the middle of the night. I've plenty of experience waking up when I was babysitting late. It isn't too bad unless you haven't had enough sleep anyway.

"Actually," she continued, "I could read and answer your letters then. So it would do something to bring us together."

"Helping you through this period is reason enough. It's just that bringing us together was what we were talking about. I'm on your side, Shannon. PDAs."

"PDAs." Public Displays of Affection were banned on school grounds. Some couples ostentatiously crossed the street and kissed or hugged at the end of the school day. Steve and Shannon had been among their number briefly. Now, 'PDAs' meant what kisses at the end of letters meant. The speaker would like to hug, kiss, or something, but wasn't allowed to. And, since the extreme of PDA was not defined, there was always something suggestive in the use. Shannon might have been saying that she would like to squeeze Steve's hand right then; she might have been suggesting that she would have liked to squeeze something else.

Shannon had looked forward to the last bell almost every school day since third grade. Now she dreaded it. But the end came, and she rushed home to meet her mom's deadline. Her mom wasn't there. The downstairs phone rang minutes after she got home. "Bryant residence, Shannon Bryant speaking."

"Nice to hear your voice, Shannon. This is your father. Your mother has an appointment. As you know, that means we don't know quite what time she'll be home. You have a dinner to cook. Tuna casserole, asparagus for the vegetable. The usual beverages and the dining room table set as usual. Ready for a meal at six. I might call from time to time, and your mother will be home when she's done with her customers. Is that clear?"

"It is very clear, warden."

Minutes later, she was upstairs reading Steve's letter. Some of it was delightful. She needed his support just then. But much of it was pressure, and she already had more pressure than she could handle.

When it was time to start dinner, she put the asparagus on to boil immediately, and then started on the casserole. Her dad hated soggy vegetables. Fifteen minutes later, with her mom still not home, she got another phone call. By now, she had thought through her response. "Yeah."

"Shannon, this is Dad. Haven't you learned how to answer a phone? What if it had been one of your mother's clients?"

"What if?"

"You know, you are mad at her right now. But she is doing that selling to pay your college tuition. You could at least cooperate on that."

"You're absolutely right, Dad. You're absolutely right. I could."

The conversation continued on that vein until she said, "Something's on the stove. Gotta run."

And she did turn off the asparagus as soon as she got back to the kitchen.

"I have an announcement," Ken began the meeting of the Ball committee. "One of the obligations of committee members is to sit at the entrance table for a while. A chaperone sits there, too, but the committee members are supposed to do the work. Anyway, in the past, I've taken almost all of that assignment. That isn't going to happen this time. I'm sorry to tell you so late. I'll take one shift, but the rest of you will have to take shifts, too."

There were murmurs at this, some resentful, some wondering what Ken would be doing when he wasn't sitting at the admissions table. Anybody else would be dancing with his date, but Ken?

Wayne knew Steven's hours at Hauksbee's. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief that Steven wasn't somehow on the cash register when he went in. Hauksbee himself made no comment on his purchase of condoms. If Allison resented the mess, he would control the mess.

Dinner was a disaster. Whether it had been caused by his phone call or not, he couldn't guess. But Shannon looked much too happy over the results to believe that it was a total accident.

Shannon retreated upstairs as soon as she had washed the dishes. Wayne decided to skip his evening drink. But there was no chance that Allison would cuddle in front of the TV screen with Shannon able to come down at any moment.

Shannon set her alarm for two a.m. She answered Steve's letter then.

And she wrote him her take on the content for all the scenes in Act Five.

Steve selected the clock radio before the doors opened Saturday morning.

When he got home, he started on his homework. After bringing his other classes up to date, he turned to English. He read the entire last act and then went through it with Shannon's questions. He'd got the job done, roughly, when it was time to redo his letter to Shannon.

The final version, both original stuff and insertions into Friday's composition, looked like this:

Once in bed, he pictured Shannon in a nightgown. It was short and far too sheer for January. The only response of the vision to the cold, however, was nipple erection. She soon took it off, stepped into the tub and stood under the shower. As she stood there, ecstatically facing the rushing water, Steve erupted. He fell asleep still picturing her washing and rinsing her erogenous zones.

The Anderson family went to church together the next morning. They were all happy to be together again and enjoyed letting others see that togetherness.

Shannon's family all went to church, too. Shannon, who enjoyed the Sunday socializing even when she was free to socialize the rest of the week, was eager to go this week. She wasn't willing to make it easy on her parents to take her there, however. She didn't reset her alarm, for example.

Allison thought that the moral atmosphere would be good for her daughter. Wayne, who thought that they all should be there every Sunday, wasn't about to pass up a chance for that ideal to be realized.

The atmosphere at church was much less supportive of her position than Allison had expected. Miss Olson, Dr. Wyatt's office nurse, came up to her and Shannon while Wayne was still parking the car. "I'd guess that you have all the customers that you want during the school year, Shannon. But Doctor is ready to recommend you any time."

"I'm not doing any babysitting these days, Miss Olson," Shannon said. "I'm grounded."

"Why?"

Shannon pointedly looked at her mom. "Well," Allison said, "we had some limits on dates, we knew when she was going out, and where, and with who. Then we learned that she had been seeing Steven every time she babysat." Shannon had betrayed them, anyone could see that.

But no one seemed to. When Wayne got there from parking the car, Miss Olson repeated her offer as if the grounding would lift in a week. After the service, another woman came up. "Are you Amy's babysitter?" she asked. Shannon admitted it. "Theresa can't get over how well you acted. She says that you and the boy saved Amy's life."

Shannon was feeling a little better by the time they left. Wayne could see it in her face when she got in the car. It was time to drop the other shoe. "Do you remember our little talk here last week, Shannon?"

He was, Shannon was sure, going to bring up her statement that she would only enroll in Albion if Steve went to IIT, Shannon thought; they bitched that she didn't tell the whole truth, but they would break a solemn oath. "Yes. So what?"

"I asked you when Steven was going to catch up on the play. You had every chance to tell me that he had studied with you the previous night. It's not a matter of his visits not coming up. It's not a matter of your being tired after your ordeal with the Jensen girls. You lied to me then."

"Dad, honest...."

"That's the problem isn't it? We don't know that you're being honest. I've told you that. So has your mother. Lying is immoral, of course; but it's also self-destructive. Now, when you tell us something, we have to ask if what you tell us is true. And it gets worse. Right now, Steven got to be with you because you lied to us. I'm sure he approved. But, somewhere, somewhere deep inside, he knows that Shannon will lie to get her way, or lie to smooth things over. Sometime you will say to him, 'Please believe me.' And that day he will remember that Shannon's word isn't to be trusted.

"Anyway, that's the far future. Usually, I would punish you immediately for lying to me. In this case, I won't. I can't ground you. But what you really did wasn't lie to us one evening, or lie to me one morning, though you did both. But what you did was construct a pattern of untruth. Every time you went out the door for babysitting, you lived a lie."

Shannon had thought about that attack, and her defense. "And when Mom told me there was 'plenty' in my surplus with her? She dodged and danced over that one. Why was that different?"

"Because your mother was prepared to tell the truth. We were looking forward to the time when you would take responsibility. You had handed her the responsibility, and you had to take it back. You, on the other hand, lied every time you had to choose between lying and getting caught. That makes the entire period a lie. So you are being punished for wrongdoing which covered a period of months. You still haven't even acknowledged the seriousness of what you did. And when you see that, you'll see why this grounding isn't for one week. But don't worry, we'll be done by September; we'll let you go off to college, all right." The ball was in less than two weeks. He said that they would end the grounding in nine months! A much-chastened Shannon went up to her room.

A little later, she returned down to cook dinner as her mom's assistant. When she was done stacking the dishwasher, she took the Folger's edition back up to her room.

The Jensens were at Ridge Baptist for the services. When it came time for prayers for the community, Pastor Richards mentioned that Baby Amy had been through a rough week but was back from the hospital. The entire congregation had been praying for Amy and her family since the asthma had shown up. When Theresa rose and said "Pastor," he nodded for her to add to his request.

"Pastor," she said again, "Amy was taken to the hospital by Steve Anderson, her babysitter's boyfriend. We'd originally told Shannon that she couldn't have him visit, but he went out of his way to bring us a prescription when Shannon thought we had run out, so we gave permission. Looking back, I see the hand of God in his getting our permission then; because that was why he was there Tuesday night. I'd like to thank God for his presence studying with Shannon when Amy needed him."

She sat, the pastor said "Amen," and the congregation echoed him. Theresa figured that, having told the Lord that the two kids were studying together, some of the people around her would think twice before telling their neighbors that they were doing something less benign.

Now, in the first place, Theresa had seen their books spread out, and hadn't noticed Shannon's braless condition. In the second place, however, she might not have changed her words if she had found a large puddle of their mixed juices in the middle of her and Bill's bed. There were only two sides in Theresa's world, and Shannon and Steve were on Amy's side.

And her audience was easy to persuade. The people around her felt -- if not at all so strongly -- some shadow of her emotion. The abstract moral question of whether teenage couples should meet in private might compete with the abstract moral question of whether it were meritorious to rush a sick child to the hospital. (Although, even then, some parents might take the second question personally.) There was nothing abstract about Amy, however. They would see her after the service, one of theirs; she was adorable so often; it was so difficult to avoid interpreting her cheerfulness as bravery.

Steve didn't wait for evening to finish his letter to Shannon. Again, he put in the quotes when he was done.

...

And, midafternoon though it was, he took that fantasy and two pieces of Kleenex with him to bed.

The entire family were couch potatoes after supper. His dad finally turned the set off at 10:30, and they dragged themselves to bed.

Shannon decided that she wasn't going to be able to transcribe all the notes on Shakespeare that evening. She went downstairs and cooked supper as skillfully as possible.

"Well, dear," her mom asked after dinner, "do you remember our discussion on budgets?" Shannon nodded. "Well, there are some things in the budget which you won't be needing for some time to come, but I do have your lunch costs for next week."

Shannon counted the money she had been handed. It would cover lunch, except for dessert. "Thanks, Mom," she said. Every little bit helped. "Did you put the offering in?"

"Well, that has to be your decision, money you control."

"How about I ask you to put it in or give it to Dad? I do control it, just not for another purpose." Dad and Mom were not quite in synch over church. It was one more chink she knew about in the enemy's armor.

"That's fine," Allison said. "That's the way we'll do it."

Wayne and Allison knew their Shannon. This looked more like the calm before the storm than it looked like surrender.

"Well," said Wayne when Allison had joined him in his bed, "Friday's dinner could have been an accident. Or she might have reconsidered since; she hasn't done anything like that for the last two days. I did give her a stiff lecture over the phone; and she did tell me that she had something on the stove."

"Wayne, I got home before the asparagus should have gone on the stove. And she was much too easy about the allowance. She accepted the allowance reduction because all is fair in war, and she definitely is at war."

"Well, tonight," he said, "let's concentrate on the other." He continued to share his thoughts, though, as he smoothed the night gown over her skin. "I know that this is almost as hard on you as it is on her. I did just a little supervision Friday evening, but I can call home only so often. We can only surprise her by your absence very rarely."

"And you aren't the one to supervise her cooking," Allison said. He could handle meals when it was absolutely necessary and either the recipe was laid down for him or they abandoned her meal schedule to let him make one of the few dishes he knew.

The mild pressure of his organ had been so offensive Thursday. Tonight it was just a bit early. Since he wasn't doing anything about it, neither did she.

Wayne kissed her shoulder. He had to whisper when he was so close to her ear. "I'll help where I can, though. Don't hesitate to tell me when you see something I can do. One thing I will try, I'll have a talk with Dr. Wyatt -- hopefully Monday. Maybe he'll take a little of Mrs. Olson's pressure off." He stroked her breasts through her nightgown, hoping it wasn't too early. He felt her push back against him.

Allison was floating. She appreciated the strokes, but her body wasn't yet fighting for control. He held her in the spoon position, nibbling her neck and playing with her nipples through the cloth.

"Really," he whispered, "these outsiders are pains in the neck but a compliment, too." He kissed her ear and then around her neck to the back. "Does talking like this bother you?"

"No. Besides, I want to hear how they compliment us."

"Well, they look at what we believe is the nadir of what Shannon could be." Talking so seriously while playing with her lovely nipples was weird. He remembered his grandfather's telling him that a guy who could steer a car while kissing a girl wasn't paying enough attention to the kiss. "And what they see is one of the better teenagers of the town." There was all this cerebration on top, but his hardness was pressed into the softness of her hip on the bottom. "They are telling us that the standards we set our family are ones they've abandoned long ago."

Suddenly she sat up and pulled away from him. He feared that he'd talked too much and had lost his opportunity. Instead, she pulled the nightgown up. He helped her take it off. Lovely naked Allison was revealed to his eyes and hands, lovely breasts, lovely butt, exquisitely lovely mound. "You're a delight to the eyes," he said; and she was an even greater delight to his hands.

"And the bit about the offering?" she asked. This was shameless self promotion; she knew that she'd done that right. Still, he'd been talking about her, and she wanted to hear a little more about herself. He'd be talking about her body soon enough. "I wish I could have consulted you."

"Ah, but you did." He kissed her near breast, on the side not the tip. "You carry a little bit of me inside your head after all these years." He wanted to mention the other little bit of him that would be in her soon; the concept was clear, but the words wouldn't come. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut. Mentioning all those years to a woman who thought that age had dimmed her beauty hadn't been such a bright move.

He kissed her mouth while his hand played with her breasts. Then stroked her belly while he sucked her nipples. She was responding to him, nipples rising, legs parting. He reached down to stroke her thighs, which lifted to welcome his hand.

Well, she'd had his attention for a good long time. And her body did carry her around with few troubles for her age. She let go of her control; let them have their fun. And from the moisture down there, she could tell it would be fun indeed.

On the way from one nipple to the other, he kissed down the side of one to the firmness between them. He sucked there for a moment while he brought both hands up to press the lush flesh around his face. He breathed in her odor then, inhaling until he was inhabited by her just as he was surrounded by her.

As his mouth climbed the other breast, his hand strayed downward to her cleft. Parting the lips, he found abundant moisture. It had almost spread itself, but he rubbed and tickled just to make sure. And he so loved the feeling. He felt her tighten, her knees rise and spread, her breath quicken under his mouth and roughen to his ear. He'd almost forgotten the rubber.

She was ready, readier than she usually was. Then he left her for a moment or two, while her excitement sank slowly. He put something on; was it one of those "tickler" things he had tried once? No. It was smooth as he entered her.

The excitement climbed again. He was stroking within her, playing with her nipples. She joined her body for a moment, or an eon. Fire struck her, passed through her, left her once again apart. But he didn't follow on to his own completion; he was still moving, still exciting her.

This was paradise, if a paradise with which Wayne was familiar. She clasped him as intimately as ever, even if the friction was milder. He stroked within her, not -- for once -- needing the slight changes of rhythm to delay his culmination. She welcomed him; she pressed herself against him; she spurred him with her heels; she spasmed around him. And still he went on, careful to press home on each stroke.

She was responding again. "Oh love!" he said. "Oh darling, darling, darling, WIFE!" And, on the last word, he thrust harder than before.

She couldn't believe that he was still going on. Still less believable was that she was responding again. This time she joined her body well before it reached its peak. She climbed with it, felt its warmth -- and then its heat -- as truly hers. Nearing the goal, she heard him speak, his usual praise for her body and then the last word, "wife." He loved her, not just her parts! And, too soon for her to complete that thought, the parts took over. She felt him reach his completion. He drove into her, gushed into her, collapsed on top of her.

He lay there, crushing her body which had collapsed at the same instant. She couldn't breathe, but it was her decision to hug him. She was his wife; he was, whatever his other desires, her husband.

Finally, he could move -- and needed to move. He managed to keep the rubber on his rapidly shrinking phallus. Then he stripped it off and rolled it out. He dropped it into the wastebasket, and wrapped himself in a piece of tissue. She was still there when he turned back towards her place. "Stay a minute," he said.

She hadn't the energy to move, anyway. And his arms held her warmly without straying onto the sexy parts. He pressed against her down below, but not much; and he was wrapped in something to keep the mess off her. She nearly dropped off to sleep, and was sure that he had. She moved the blankets back.

"I'll miss you," he said.

Silly! she thought. Her bed was only two feet from his. She appreciated his thoughtfulness as she walked to the bathroom. Nothing was seeping out for once, but she still needed a shower.

He barely woke when she returned, but he noticed that she lay facing him from her bed.

Continued in Part 9
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2001/02/07
2003/01/25
2005/02/03

This is one of a series of pages holding the novel Heart Ball.

The next page in the series is:
Part 9

The first page in the series is:
Part 1

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