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, 2002, 2003, 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 11
Continued from Part 10

"I'll drive you to school," Steve's dad told him Tuesday morning.

"I still can't guarantee getting back," he said on the way to school. "I certainly will try, though."

"You don't have to, Dad. I just thought of the possibility. I would feel horrible if you got into some terrible accident pushing yourself to get home."

"I haven't gotten into a terrible accident yet, and I drive all over half the state."

English class was uneventful. They were starting on research papers. The next time he saw Shannon was for lunch. They had a table without her friends around, for once. Of course, lower classmen took the other seats; but each party ignored the other. It was as close as you could get to privacy in school.

They traded disks once again. "I liked your fantasy," she said after she had stowed her disk in her backpack.

"It looks like Dad is coming home on Saturday. Even if he doesn't make it, I doubt that I'll know that in advance." That should be clear to Shannon without anyone who might overhear getting the drift.

"Well," she said, "you did have another possibility. If that's our only choice, I can live with it."

"That's wonderful. You trust me, then." And he had better be worthy of her trust, he thought. After weeks of being deprived of Shannon, he wasn't sure that he could be.

"Of course I trust you. Haven't you always been trustworthy?" She wasn't sure what that meant. The one she really didn't trust was herself. After being deprived of his hands for weeks, after seeing what her parents thought she was, she wasn't sure whether she trusted him to stop or feared that he would stop. Still, there was only so much you could say with an audience around, even if they didn't seem to be paying attention.

They talked until they had to leave the lunch room. All that Steve could think of, however, was that Shannon had agreed to go to a motel with him. His father registered ahead, and he knew what he was doing. Steve would have to call around. The next time he could talk to Ken, he told him that he couldn't come to the meeting that night, but not why.

"We'll miss you," said Ken. The truth was that there wasn't much more to do until Saturday morning. "You know, you're the only person who still notifies me that you'll miss a meeting."

"Hey, I owe you. We owe you. And if Shannon can get out on Saturday, we'll owe you much more."

Steve was the first of his family home when the school bus finally dropped him off.

He ran to his room. Shannon would consider a motel. Maybe having Dad come home wouldn't be so bad after all.

He pictured them together. He pictured Shannon as she had been a few times at babysitting houses. But this time there would be no responsibilities to distract her. This time, no kids could possibly intervene. This time, no parents could come home unexpectedly. This time, they wouldn't have to keep one ear cocked for a car driving up.

How much would she let him take off? He would see her breasts, touch her breasts, suck her breasts. Would he see her mound with its lovely hair? Would he touch it?

Would she touch HIM? He could remember her sweet hand. Hurriedly, he opened his belt and pushed down his trousers and underpants.

But once he was finished, he still hadn't found the motel. He had to clean himself up and go get the phone and the directory from the hall table. He plugged the phone into the back of his computer and dialed the first number.

What he learned shocked him. The room would cost him upwards of fifty dollars. "Our checkout time is noon," one bored desk man told him.

"What is that?"

"If you stay the night, you can stay the morning, too. You have to check out by noon, though. If you want to stay the afternoon it's another sixty-two dollars."

After that, he asked the checkout times of the places he called. Most were noon; one was eleven.

This was much more than he spent for lunch-time treats for a week; this was more than his Internet service cost for a month. This was comparable to the application fees at the colleges. Sixty two dollars for a couple hours of a date was more than he could think of as a personal expense. But he couldn't turn down the opportunity. He desperately wanted to have that time with Shannon.

But the big worry was the problem of actually getting the money. He still had his check from Hauksbee's, and -- since he wasn't spending money on taking Shannon out -- a few dollars hidden in the back of his drawer. He could get the money for the motel, but then he would risk running out before the next payday.

And he couldn't tell anybody why. Hauksbee had been unsympathetic when other employees had asked for an advance, but he would always ask what they had spent it on before turning them down. The old man was, frankly, nosy. His mother would ask in even greater detail.

And, nobody would believe that he took Shannon to a motel to make out. A motel meant only one thing. And he could kiss Shannon goodbye if he even said "make out" in the same sentence as her name. Wave goodbye to Shannon -- no kiss at all likely. It was a miracle that the girl would even consider going to a motel with him; she sure wouldn't like being known to have gone to a motel with him.

Could he tell his mother that he'd lost the money out of his pocket? Impossible. For one thing, he wasn't that good of a liar.

There was only one chance. Mr. Jensen had said that he was grateful. Let him show that gratitude. It wasn't as if Steve wanted his money. All Steve wanted was the money that belonged to him, the money in the check. He would go to the bank tomorrow, and ask for fifty dollars more back than usual when he deposited the check. He'd better ask for sixty more, just to be sure. Actually, he was tempted to ask for a hundred more. He could just picture getting to the checkout counter ten minutes after noon. Or he could get there ten minutes before noon, and the checkout time had been changed to eleven.

Anyway, he would deposit the check tomorrow. He would ask Mr. Jensen for more money back than usual. If he objected, Steve would ask how grateful he was about Amy. It wasn't as if it was his money.

When his mom got back, he asked her for a second lunch to eat after school. He wasn't going to take the bus home before going to work. "Make sure you pack your toothbrush," she said. Her concern that he brush after every meal was normally a pain. This time, it stopped her from asking about other things.

Roger was going to head out again Thursday. Rachel was a good mother who wanted her family to eat together. It was just that she was happy to say goodbye to her man while their son was safely out of the way.

Steve took Shannon's disk up to his room after dinner. The letter was great. She liked his stories. She didn't complain that they were too sexy. She liked the gift and the brownies. She said she loved him, would -- he knew -- have to say that or break up with him. But saying it was one thing; approving of him was quite another thing. These days, she seemed to approve of everything he did.

She said that she would think about the motel. Clearly she had. Almost, it would have been better if she had said "no." Then he wouldn't have to tell her that they were too expensive. On the other hand, he thought about her in a motel room. He thought about Shannon, her body, her breasts, the neat place between her legs. Then he had to stop thinking about that. He'd already done that once, today. And there was a letter for him to write.

He decided to not write any more. He was getting himself all hot again. And he still had homework to do.

The news about the wedding clothes could be helpful. On the other hand, the blue panties weren't what he had in mind.

He deleted the description of the aroma. Shannon might not like that. Mallory's books -- books sold to girls -- never mentioned it. He decided not to mention any pain, though the books did deal with that.

Shannon read Steve's letter as soon as she got home. Steve didn't know any more than he had written the first time.

The story was something else again.

Shannon, at that moment, loved Steve more than ever before. He was worth everything else. Even being nice to her parents would be worth it if they allowed her to be with him again.

Ken had known since the first conversation that he would have to call Shannon's mother again. He could tell himself, though, that the call would be better if he made it at some other time. Tuesday night, however, was as late as he should go. And his conscience had been pricked by Steve's honest statement that he and Shannon owed Ken.

He waited until his mother went into her room. Ken wasn't supposed to know what she was smoking in there. Then he made his phone call.

"Bryant residence. May I help you?" The voice sounded like Shannon's; the words sounded like some business. Well, he could be businesslike, as well.

"Mrs. Bryant, please." A few moments of waiting.

"Allison Bryant speaking."

"Mrs. Bryant, this is Ken Dalton. I'm president of the student council. We spoke once before."

"Yes, Ken. I remember."

"What I was wondering was whether you had decided about Shannon's participation in the gym decoration Saturday morning." Ken would bet any money that Shannon wouldn't show. He could stand that if it made Steve happy.

Allison hadn't thought about that for days. Once, she had decided that she would never let Shannon out of the house for that. Then she had decided that she should do something to make up to Shannon for spying on her. Then she had forgotten all about the question.

The evening meal, however, had been almost civilized. And she needed to decide. Well, she and Wayne needed to decide. Then she rethought. Wayne wasn't bearing the burden of this punishment; she was.

"Actually, Ken, I haven't quite. I'll tell you what, Shannon has permission until she misbehaves again. I'm sorry if that puts you in a position of uncertainty. But that's the way it is."

That sounded better to Ken than what he was expecting. If Shannon got out, Steve would be grateful. If Shannon fucked up, it would be her fault.

"Well, Mrs Bryant, I have to take what I can get."

Allison thought that it was worth her while to tell Shannon. After all, she might modify her behavior if there was a reward in sight. And, if she didn't, having told her would put another punishment in her parents' quiver.

Shannon had finished her homework. She didn't plan to answer Steve's letter while her parents were awake. She was going over the story in her head while she changed clothes for bed. The knocking surprised her. "I'm not decent!" she called.

"It's Mom."

"Just a minute." Shannon pulled the nightgown down over her head and stepped into her slippers. She opened the door. "What is it?"

"I just talked to that Ken fellow again," Allison told her daughter. "He wanted to know if you were going to be at the gym on Saturday. I said that it was your choice. If you don't pull something nasty between now and then, I'll let you go. If you misbehave, even if you put on one of the moods you've been on recently, I'll pull the plug."

"Well, thanks for telling me. I did promise, after all."

"So you did. And it is within your power to keep that promise. I didn't promise." Allison turned on her heel and walked away. Let her daughter deal with responsibility for once.

Shannon's resolution to be obedient until Saturday didn't cover waking up in the middle of the night. After all, they had never told her not to. More important, that was the time to answer Steve's letters.

And on that thought, she buried the disk in her backpack and snuggled into bed.

Steve took two "lunches" with him in his backpack Wednesday morning. Another student was talking to Mrs. Foster in the hall, but he and Shannon had both taken their seats already. He turned towards her and mouthed "I love you." She smiled at him just before the bell rang. Then Mrs. Foster came in, and they had to talk about library research.

They exchanged disks at lunch. Some of her friends joined their table, but they were friendlier to him than they had been before. He knew his glumness wasn't helping Shannon, but he didn't want to tell her about the problems with the motel -- not that he could mention a motel in present company -- until it was in the past. What if Mr. Jensen wouldn't give him the money?

Roger was due home for a late lunch. Rachel took off her bra and inserted the diaphragm during a pause in lunch preparation. She had the table set when Roger walked in the back door. They kissed.

"Mmm," he said, touching her breast through the blouse.

"Lunch first." She thought of the meatloaf warming in the oven. It would dry out in ten more minutes, much less a pause long enough for lovemaking. Besides, this was his last day at home for nearly a week, and Steve was out of the way for hours; she didn't want a quickie.

They sat opposite each other in the kitchen. Occasionally, his ankle rubbed up her calf. Two could play that game, and her shoes were easier to remove. They quickly put their dishes in the dishwasher, working together with the benefit of years of practice.

"Save room for dessert?" she asked, heading barefoot into their bedroom.

"Dessert? What's for dessert?"

"I am."

"I always have room for that." He was working on her clothes by this time. She started on his. Still, he was wearing an awful lot of them. When he got her blouse unbuttoned, she broke to take it off and hang it up. He took the time to remove his own shirt and undershirt. He pulled her against him for the first kiss with his skin warming hers. She felt his hands grip her bottom cheeks and his erection press the zipper of his trousers against her belly.

He felt her nipples against his chest. He'd never doubted she wanted this; the flirting over lunch had only confirmed their pattern before his trips. Still, the evidence was welcome. And the actual feel aroused him. He licked her lips. Her tongue welcomed his. Her buttocks flexed under his clasping hands.

Rachel fanned her hands up and down her husband's back. She did enjoy the feel of skin. Then she pushed him back. Long married, she knew better than to attack his trousers before his shoes were off. He sat down on the bed and she knelt to untie his shoes. He ran his nails very lightly over her back while she did this. She pulled off his shoes and then the socks one after the other.

She pushed herself up with a hand on his thigh. He stood to kiss her again. He smoothed his hands upwards, stepping back to get access to her breasts. She stood looking at his face and enjoying the sensations of his playing with her breasts. When he bent to kiss them, she pulled his face against her. Then her hands strayed to his belt. He didn't straighten until his trousers had puddled around his ankles.

Then he unbuttoned the waist of her skirt and pulled down the zipper. He was in his jockey shorts, but she was completely naked. "Dessert," he said. He stepped forward, leaving his trousers lying on the floor and bending his right leg between hers. He pulled her against him in a tight hug. When he straightened, he was holding her up off the floor. Her thighs clasped his thigh tightly, and her weight pressed all her sensitive parts against his leg. She enjoyed the rubbing that generated as he took the few steps to the bed.

He kissed her forehead. "Dessert," he said. He lowered her to the bed and kissed her nipple. "Dessert." He kissed a line down that breast and up the other. Then he kissed down her belly. He kissed an elaborate circle all around her navel, then thrust his tongue into it. When she writhed at that tickle, he kissed further down.

He spared only one close-mouthed kiss for her mound. His attentions to her thighs, in contrast, were wet. To Rachel, they seemed to go on forever. Finally, she tugged his hair until his mouth was where she needed it.

He parted her outer lips with his thumbs. He licked up the edge of her inner ones. The taste was delightful. He licked harder and was rewarded with more of her fluid. Only the tip of his tongue touched her clitoris, and that was as gentle as he could make it. Still, she shivered.

He lifted his head to say "Real dessert." He kissed her thighs again, slowly zeroing in on her lips. She spread her legs, wanting him at her center now, knowing that his slowness would ultimately enhance her pleasure. She hadn't wanted a quickie, but Roger's schedule might drive her crazy.

Finally, his tongue licked between her lips again. He tasted one side, and then the other. He moved his arms upwards until his hands could reach her breasts. He cupped each breast with a hand, taking the nipples between thumb and forefinger in each case. He timed it so that he squeezed her nipples very gently just when his tongue reached her clitoris.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Yesss!"

Rachel was slightly puzzled that Roger wasn't using his finger yet. She stopped thinking, however, about what he was doing -- much less what he was not doing -- to enjoy the sensations that were coming her way. She was burning hot in the cool room. There was a fire in her belly, a hotter fire between her legs. That fire flared through her body, controlling it, moving it.

He enjoyed her writhing under his face and within his arms. When she convulsed, he clamped his open mouth over the top of her genitals and inhaled. Still sucking, he closed his lips slowly until they were on either side of her clitoris.

The fire consumed her utterly. When it left, it took her with it.

The tense, writhing, body under him suddenly went limp. Roger abandoned all contact except to lie with his face on her mound. She gasped under him; he gasped over her. His deep breaths brought the aroma of her arousal through his nose. Minutes later, he moved up in the bed beside her. He hugged her gently, being careful that he was neither touching the sensitive parts nor interfering with her breathing.

When Rachel came back, she felt Roger lying against one side and his hand on her other shoulder. She was contained in his arms, and in his love. She reached up and squeezed the hand on her shoulder.

"I love you," he said. "I'm sorry I have to go away." Well, he had to.

"I'm not sure I could survive another few days of that."

"'Of that!' Woman, we haven't begun."

"Well, I'll die happy."

He kissed first her shoulder, then her face, then her mouth. By the time he broke that kiss, she was out of breath again. He kissed a slow trail down her neck towards her breasts. While he sucked and licked her left nipple, his hand strayed between her thighs. He kissed a trail over to her right nipple while his hand was massaging her mound.

She was expecting his entry soon, but his kisses went lower again. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting another helping of dessert."

But the sweetness was all hers to taste. He licked the insides of her thighs, then her inner lips. When he stopped short of her clitoris, she spread her legs and lifted herself towards his tongue. His fingers entered her. That was what she had been missing.

Roger rubbed over the top of her tunnel until he felt the little bump which was her most sensitive point. He kept the pads of two fingers there while moving the fingers in and out microscopically.

"Ah," she said very softly. Ten years of murmuring into telephones and nearly twenty of keeping her voice low to avoid the kids' ears had trained her voice. Still, he knew her responses. Inaudible outside their bedroom, that exclamation told him that she was very close. He reached one hand up to touch a nipple. He licked her clitoris as lightly as possible. He pressed upwards with one enclosed finger, and then the other.

"Oh!" she gasped. She writhed under his arm and his face. Then her tunnel clenched at his fingers. Again, and yet again, she clenched him. When a spasm ran through her, he stopped all motion. As she relaxed back against the mattress, he removed his hands.

He moved up the bed beside her. He kissed her panting frame. "I love you," he said. "I loved my dessert."

"You too," she managed to get out. While they lay there, he occasionally kissed her shoulder or forehead. When her energy returned she kissed him. He sucked on her tongue, and then broke the kiss. He kissed down her neck and shoulder. He spent lots of time on both breasts before he got to her left nipple. The gentle suction aroused her. When he kissed down that breast and up the right one, his hand went to her mound. After the last one, she'd felt that she would be satisfied for days, weeks, maybe the rest of her life. Now, she wanted more of his hand. She wanted him, really, but she'd learned to wait.

Finally, she couldn't wait any more. He was kneeling between her legs and sucking on her breast. She tugged at his shoulders.

He was loving her response, and loving the taste of her nipple. When he felt the pull on his shoulders, he abandoned her breast for her mouth. Her tongue met his outside her lips. He covered it, explored her mouth. He felt her hand on his cock. He moved his own hand out of the way as she pulled him into her.

She was smooth, and warm, and running with liquid. She let go when he passed within her gates. He pressed forward until he was totally contained. Her hands gripped his butt. He moved his to cuddle her breasts. Her nipples, still firm, pressed into his palms. He rubbed over them, exciting them both.

When she rested her feet on his calves, he began the old in- and-out motion. He tried to move slowly, but she pulled his buttcheeks whenever he was going in. They sped. When he felt her convulse around him, that triggered his response. He slammed into her and erupted. They lay together panting for minutes.

He fell to her right and hugged her. She turned on her side and pressed into his lap. They must have dozed like that. He woke chilly everywhere he wasn't touching her. He got off the bed and pulled the covers up over her.

When he had finished his shower, she was awake. She watched him dress without getting up. He checked his wallet the last thing. "Spare any money?" he asked.

"Sure. Leave me the singles." He took her wallet out of her purse and took a ten and a five out of the wallet. He put the wallet back down beside the purse.

After he had dressed in outdoor wear, he picked up his suitcase. She followed him to the kitchen doorway. The windows onto the back lot were uncovered. He set down the suitcase and hugged her. His hands traveled over her naked back. "Love you," he said. "I'll try to drive back Friday night."

"Love you. Have a safe trip. Come home if you can, but don't take risks."

He picked up the suitcase and went out the door. She waited until the sound of the Jeep had merged with the other traffic sounds. Then she shivered and ran back to the bedroom. She crawled back into bed.

Shannon spoke with Steve for a few minutes between the end of homeroom and the beginning of the committee meeting. He was obviously distracted. Was he tired of their relationship, limited as it clearly was? Was he developing an interest in another girl? She couldn't tell, and -- short of blurting out the question -- she couldn't think of any way of finding out.

"I've got to get to the bank before it closes," he said. "I still haven't gotten my money for the next two weeks." He left without touching her. Of course, this was school; he wasn't allowed to touch her. Still, she couldn't tell whether he wanted to.

She spent the meeting with her hands busy cutting out hearts and her ears and mouth attending to other matters. Still, this was less fun than the earlier ones had been. She was careful to finish up the hearts she had been working on; this was her last meeting before Saturday. The kids around her talked of the coming dance and their coming dates. She knew she wasn't going to the dance; what she didn't know was whether she would have a date.

Walking home, she started to feel that the grounding hurt her in ways she hadn't realized before. It seemed to her that it had been a contest up to then: her parents had kept her from having fun, and she had caused them as much trouble as she thought she could get away with. They had ruined her business after she'd put so much work into it, but that was a business that wouldn't have lasted after September anyway. Now, though, she had to deal with Steve in privacy. And she didn't have any privacy, nor any chance to get any. Well, not until Saturday, anyway.

She was a little surprised about her feelings. Usually, when people didn't like her, she really didn't like them. She still liked Steve, even if he was getting tired of her. For that matter, she had been saying no to Steve for an awfully long time. Recently, of course, it hadn't been her 'no'; it had been her parents'. Still, she thought back to the summer when she'd pulled her shorts up. He'd been saying that she was beautiful -- she'd treasured his expression. Why had she cut it short?

She would need to read his letter; maybe he was worried about something else. She remembered his problems when she'd got her period. That had had nothing to do with him, but he'd taken it personally.

When she got home, however, her mom was there and wanted to supervise Shannon's cooking immediately. She didn't get to read Steve's letter for hours. Almost as bad, she had to swallow all her anger about that. Shannon had to talk to Steve Saturday; so her mom had to let her go; so she had to follow the rules as they were invented minute by minute.

The part of "Romeo and Juliet" that had resonated most with Steve was the speech about "parting is such sweet sorrow." Usually he didn't want to leave Shannon for any reason. Even when he left her arms to go to the john for a little relief, he had left reluctantly. Parting at the end of class or lunch period was worse and parting at the end of school was usually much worse. Usually.

Today, however, he wanted to get to the bank. He wanted to get a lot closer to Shannon than school rules allowed, and that was likely to cost money. Not having enough money to pay the motel and to pay for daily expenses was worse in a way than not having enough money to pay for the motel at all. How long could he get away with buying nothing in the cafeteria? A lot longer than he could get away with not buying gas, probably.

But, damn it, not telling Shannon was worse. He kept talking about, and writing e-mails about, being married to her. Well, married people talked about their money. He saw that at home often enough. When married people got as old as his parents and stopped having sex, that is what they did share. He wanted a life with Shannon. That meant that he wanted a life sharing with Shannon.

Besides, when her dad put her on a budget, she had shared with him. She'd been a little surprised at where Steve came down on that one, but she had told him about it. Well, Steve would share with her. Besides, if old Mr. Jensen came through, it would be because of what Shannon had done. She would deserve to know it.

When Steve came into the bank, however, Mr. Jensen wasn't at a teller's window. Steve couldn't see him anywhere. After looking around a bit, Steve approached the woman at the reception desk.

"Is it possible to see Mr. Jensen?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, he isn't in today."

"Will he be in tomorrow?" If so, how was he going to get the afternoon off? He could cut class. Telling his mom that he would need to stay after school another day would raise all sorts of questions. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to do things like that, it was that he needed a good explanation. It was, frankly, that his dad and mom were nosy.

"Not for the rest of the week." The answer was in a frosty tone. He was a customer, but she was an adult. "If you have bank business, there are plenty of other tellers who can help you."

"Well, I have bank business. Otherwise I wouldn't come in. But I also know his baby. His elder daughter, really, Amy. I wanted to ask how she was doing."

"Oh!" the woman's tone was much warmer. "That's why he took a vacation at this time of year. They're at the Mayo Clinic with Amy. They think that the clinic can help her greatly."

"Thanks. I'll tell my girlfriend. She's Amy's babysitter. Well, I still have bank business to do. Thanks."

"You're quite welcome. Is that how you know Amy?"

"Yeah. I had to drive her to the hospital once." Steve saw that the teller who had already turned him down once was free. He walked over to the line slowly enough that another customer got her. Then another teller was free.

He handed across the check and a deposit slip asking for $120 back. He could use more, but that was the least he could get by on. "I'm sorry, sir," the man said "but this account requires two signatures for a withdrawal."

He'd had this conversation before. "This is a deposit."

"So it is. And I can accept the check as a deposit easily. But I couldn't give you that much money back. The money you get back is the same as a withdrawal."

He had already made out the other deposit ticket. The teller gave him a funny look, but he counted out the seventy-five dollars back. Now, all Steve had to do was go two weeks on fifteen dollars.

The hell of it was that he could have got by easily if he'd saved up cash in his drawer (instead of only in his bank account) for a few months.

Shannon got a break after the preparation for dinner. She rushed to her room. Steve might prefer to tell her goodbye in an e-mail. He certainly wouldn't tell her in school. Was this his goodbye? Had she said no too often to him? The letter didn't really say. And there was a fantasy.

The comments about the gifts were nice. Still, maybe he'd figured out that she was already costing him too much. Even so, she hadn't asked for them. She hadn't even thought of the brownies. Well, the e-mail didn't sound like he was thinking of leaving her.

As for the white panties, she hadn't said she wouldn't wear them. Such things were her choice, but she could be reasonable. If white panties were important to him, and if he could hold back so she could wear a white dress, she could wear white panties, too. They weren't important to her.

The story went on beautifully. Finally, it got to the critical part. The "I love you" just before he entered her was wonderful.

The "forceful shove" wasn't.

She had been grabbed once, thank you. And however personally she had taken it, it had been a good deal less personal than a "forceful shove" would be just then -- and just there. Steve had been patient. Steve had been gentle. That was one of the things she liked about Steve. Maybe he was coming to the end of his patience, but right at that time?

And a fantasy, too. She might have understood his losing his cool just at the wrong time. She might even have forgiven him, maybe. But in writing out a fantasy? In cold blood, describing it as a forceful shove.

Then her dad arrived downstairs. She took out the disk and turned off the machine.

"At the end of tonight," Steve pointed out to Mr. Hauksbee during a quiet time, "you'll owe me about half of the next paycheck, right?"

Hauksbee just looked at him with an eyebrow crooked up. "Could you advance me some of that in cash," Steve asked, "say fifty bucks?"

"Well, maybe I could. But I won't! You knew the pay and conditions when you hired on."

"I'm not objecting to the pay and conditions. I do the work -- you know I do. I'm just having a little trouble getting the money out of the bank."

"Your pay is an expense. If I started paying in cash, Uncle Sam might just audit me. Look, I'm not your parent. If you're having money problems, go to your parents." If Steve did, of course, his parents would ask what he wanted the money for.

That night, his mom picked him up at the store. She stopped at the gas station on her way home. "Look," she said after the gas was already pumping, "I seem to have forgotten my wallet. Can you pay for the gas? You did stop at the bank, didn't you?"

"Yes." Fat lot of good it had done him.

"Well, could we settle up your car expenses when we get home? You are a couple of days late on paying them. No sweat! I haven't hounded you and I'm not going to start. It's just that I may be a little short of cash. Your father took mine, and I didn't get to the bank. Could we settle up when you get home? Want to drive?" If she wasn't carrying her wallet, she wasn't carrying her license. But he was always willing to drive. They changed places.

After he'd paid for the gas, he only owed her $8.23. She didn't even charge him the mileage for that night's trip. With the money he'd stashed in the back of the drawer, he now had $73.26. The cheapest motel cost $57, and he thought -- on admittedly inadequate evidence -- that "cheap" was a good word for that motel.

If he had to fill the tank once in the next two weeks, he wouldn't be able to afford to. And every time he stopped for gas, he filled the tank. He didn't have to, but his mom would wonder why he hadn't. And she had come to depend on him for filling the tank; that's why he had owed her so little this time. There were eight school days until his next payday -- that day was off -- and four work days. But that gas could be paid out of his next check, and he didn't have to eat school lunches; he didn't even have to buy desserts.

He'd made fun of Shannon's spendthrift ways, but he didn't really have many places he could cut back. He could make it, maybe. Still, he needed to be honest with Shannon. He told her his news before he even opened up her letter.

Did his opening sound like he was only interested in making out? Well, yes. And it wasn't the only thing he was interested in. But he couldn't think of another way to say it.

Her giving up looked like a smart idea. He just couldn't tell Shannon that. If he counseled surrender, which was the only sensible counsel by now, she would take it as HIS surrender. And, while he certainly missed his times with her, she was the one suffering.

But she would join him in the motel if he couldn't guarantee that his dad would be gone. For that matter, she would join him in this house. Would she come to this room? He pictured it, pictured her sitting here in his lap. He had things to do before he could complete that picture.

If he didn't need to tell stories about being married, could that mean what he thought it meant? How far would she go? No, that wasn't what she'd said. Still....

He did something on his homework, but his heart wasn't in it. He stroked himself in the shower thinking of Shannon in a motel room, Shannon undressing, Shannon allowing him to touch her. There he stopped.

In bed, though, he pictured Shannon in that very room, in that very bed. He pictured her allowing him to remove her clothes, pictured her allowing his hands to roam over her, pictured her hands roaming over him. On that thought, he erupted.

He tossed the Kleenex towards the wastebasket, turned over, and was soon asleep.

Shannon reread Steve's letter when she awoke to the sound of the radio, the radio he had bought for her, the radio she hadn't paid him for yet.

The letter didn't really sound like he wanted to dump her. It didn't sound like he was looking at another girl. And, if he was picturing "one forceful shove" into another girl, good for Shannon.

Still, she had decided that she'd said no to him enough times. She would be gentle this time.

She went back and changed "steps" to "blocks."

She reread the letter. It did sound like she was saying yes to sex with him, and she didn't want to sound like that. On the other hand, she had said no to him quite enough times, and she had to say no one more time about the shove.

For that matter, she didn't want to say yes to sex with him -- not in an e-mail, certainly. But she didn't want to say no to it, either. She might have said no to him too often, but she deserved some persuasion for the ultimate yes.

And her mom and dad hadn't left her any friends. They had punished her for doing what everybody did. So, if Steve insisted that they go all the way, that was the price she'd have to pay to keep the one friend she had left. But no forceful shoves.

And, schoolwork almost ignored, Shannon returned to bed to picture Steve being very gentle. Gently, he caressed her; gently, he kissed her; gently, just before her finger brought the climax, he entered her.

Continued in Part 12
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2001/01/18

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

The next page in the series is:
Part 12

The first page in the series is:
Part 1

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