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 12
Continued from Part 11

When Shannon got to her locker before the first period class, Steve was there. He handed her the disk with his letter. "This contains good news and bad news," he said. "The good news is that Amy is at the Mayo clinic. Her parents took her there. They really think they can help her. I don't know any more than that."

"And the bad news?"

"It's in there. It's too long to tell."

So she figured that he'd grown tired of her. Still, he walked with her to class. Mrs. Foster went on and on in class. Luckily, she asked almost no questions, and none of those were directed towards Shannon. Shannon would almost certainly have noticed if they had been.

She spent the next few periods worrying. What was Steve doing? If he really liked another girl now, he shouldn't be waiting at Shannon's locker. How would he behave at lunch? How should she behave at lunch? Luckily, it was Tammy's birthday celebration. She sat with her friends; he sat with his friends.

Steve was almost relieved when Shannon went to a table of all girls. He didn't know what to say to her until she'd read his message. What would he do if she decided not to go with him on Saturday? He shouldn't have told her. On the other hand, if she went with him and they were discovered, that would be the end. In the best of all possible worlds, she would go with him in spite of the danger. In the best of all possible worlds, he'd have enough money.

He ate the meal he'd brought from home. He got neither a soft drink to go with it nor a dessert to eat afterwards. It was possible to eat that way, if not terribly pleasant.

Just before the end of the lunch period, he went over to Shannon's table to pick up her tray. "Thanks, Steve," she said. It was almost as if she hadn't expected it. Maybe she was talking so the other girls, or some particular other girl, would notice. Girls did that a lot. It seemed to Steve that they didn't have friends, they had rivals. Still, he liked people to know that he was her boyfriend, too. Maybe after she read the note, she wouldn't want the relationship known. Not really, it wasn't as if it was his fault.

After Steve had gone with her tray, Shannon tried to figure out where they stood. He clearly hadn't dumped her. Maybe that was in the letter. Still, if he was seeing another girl, that girl wouldn't like Steve paying attention to Shannon. Unless, just perhaps, the girl felt pity for Shannon because of her grounding.

Really, Steve was hurting himself by breaking up with her now. She would have gone all the way with him on Saturday, really she would have. And he had given her that expensive gift.

She spent the rest of the day stewing over his behavior. Her mom would have been overjoyed to see the way she rushed home through the falling snow. Her mom wasn't home to see, though. Shannon ran up the stairs to her room and locked the door. She popped the disk into the computer.

The bad news wasn't about his having found a new girlfriend, although his willingness to give up the motel was suspicious. There he had a chance to go all the way, and he told her she could back out. At this point, her mom came in the door and called her downstairs. She took only enough time to hide the disk.

She cooked the dinner and set the table. When they were done eating, she hurried to load the dishwasher. Then she went back upstairs to her "homework." She ignored her actual school assignments, though. Her only priority was reading Steve's letter again.

Okay, she could deal with his good news. She needed to contact somebody. Mr. Jensen's sister was the best bet. Either her or Miss Olson. No, Miss Olson had told her not to ask. Mr. Jensen's sister was named Foster. There were only a million Fosters in the phone book. She certainly couldn't call them all, maybe not even one; leave that to Steve.

Would he do it for her? Well, sure. The rest of the letter didn't sound like he had decided to break up. It was more like he was getting tired of her.

His bad news was silly. She had money; Mr. Jensen had paid her a hundred dollars. For that matter, she'd told Steve. Or maybe she hadn't. Even if he was tiring of her, she loved what he could do to her feelings. They should go to the motel.

So it was worth paying so that she could be sure that nobody would find out. His parents had sounded cool, but that might be only their mood right then. Parents' moods could change; look at her parents. Anyway, she remembered what had happened with Mr. Jensen. He'd told her mom because he had good news; he'd been sure that her mom would be happy to learn that Steve wasn't in trouble.

Could his mention of the problem be because he was tiring of her? Was he hoping that she would call off their relationship? The rest of the letter didn't sound like that. Certainly, "I love you" wasn't something he'd say -- hell! he'd written it down -- if he had another girl in mind.

And her "friends" would have been sure to tell her the news if he was paying attention to another girl. Secret admirers weren't in style. She could sneak off with Steve, but that relationship wasn't secret. The details might be, but he danced with her and took her tray back to the dishwasher in front of half their class in the cafeteria.

Decorating the gym was a thought. It would take care of her mom's suspicions, that was for sure. But she hadn't had Steve's hands on her for the longest time. She could bring herself off, but it wasn't the same.

But, and this was a big but, he hadn't included a fantasy.

Still, it took something to write "I love you." He had sexual fantasies about Jennifer Lopez. She wasn't supposed to know that, but she didn't mind.

Whatever. She wanted the date. Maybe she wouldn't take the last step, since he was tiring of her. Maybe she would. She was a bad girl now; since she was having the punishment, she might as well have the fun.

At this point, she went back to the homework. She'd write him after her parents were asleep.

Steve missed the bus to go to the committee meeting. It finished up some bits and moved all their material to the gym. They broke up early with nothing to do the next day.

There were two inches of snow on the walks when he got home. Since it was still coming down, he was in no hurry to shovel. Still, the more he got now, the less he would have to deal with later. At least, the wind wasn't bad; there was nothing worse than shoveling a walk clear and then having the wind fill it up again.

Before he could go out, however, his mom handed him a letter addressed to him. The envelope was from IIT. "They said no," he said after he had opened it and read it. He handed her the letter.

"It isn't quite 'no,' dear. You've been put on a waiting list. If all the guys they've admitted die off in a smallpox epidemic, they'll take you. I must say that you're displaying remarkable equanimity."

"I'm devastated, okay? Smallpox epidemics are quite rare this century. I think I should write the U of I."

"I think you should, too. I must say that you look remarkably undevastated."

"The U of I has a great engineering school."

"And they have places for education majors, as well."

He had better not spend all his money and come to her for more. She could see right through him. "Shannon will probably major in history."

"Sorry."

He shoveled before dinner. There were three inches by then.

He and his mom ate alone at dinner, and he went back for seconds on everything, even the green beans. In the first place, he was hungrier since he'd skipped dessert after lunch; in the second place, snow shoveling worked up an appetite; in the third place, his mom liked to see him eat her cooking -- veggies as much as anything, which was weird considering how little effort she put into cooking green beans. He might need her approval if he ran out of cash.

"Does the TV say how deep it will get?" he asked.

"Looks like snow through tomorrow." He'd traded shoveling during this storm and the next for brownies. Did he want more?

"I hope dad doesn't try to get home through this just because of me."

"I think he'll be sensible." Although she didn't know why she'd said that. She loved Roger -- she loved Steve for that matter, but neither one of them were likely to act sensibly.

"I hope so." For all of Steve, his dad could stay away all weekend. He had done so often enough.

Rachel hoped so too. Although Steve was getting thoughtful rather late in the day. He'd asked Roger to come back, after all.

Steve went to his room to read Shannon's letter. He added the quotes first thing.

He was glad she enjoyed the fantasies. Then he realized he hadn't written one last time. That was important, and he enjoyed them, too.

Couldn't she see that the "forceful shove" was to minimize her pain. But he couldn't point that out; he didn't want to put the idea of pain in her head. Didn't girls know these things? The girls in Mallory's bodice-rippers might be surprised, but that was history, before the days of sex-ed.

He answered the letter. Then he added another set of quotes.

Still, she was thinking of him on their wedding night, too. Well, she had been when she hadn't read his message yet. He did want white panties in his reality, and she had all but promised them. Much more important it would be their reality. She'd said it.

Actually, he did want to choose her clothing. It just wasn't a priority worth fighting over. He absolutely hated pantyhose, for example. He would rather take pantyhose off her, though, than have her resent wearing something else.

Still, it was worth mentioning. He closed that file and opened the story file. He killed the entire story from two days before, and started over.

Her objection to "one forceful shove," he realized, was an objection to it in a fantasy. If she wanted the fantasy of his going in the first time with no resistance, he could give that to her. She'd said that he didn't have to write about them being married. Should he write a fantasy about their having sex before they were married?

Not just now. Let her decide about the motel without that pressure. They would make out at the motel, and maybe go farther when they got to Champaign-Urbana. Long before this, he'd decided that he could wait until she was ready. He hadn't believed that it would be until their marriage, but -- if she wanted to believe that -- then he wasn't going to fight. If actually getting it wasn't worth a fight, her facing reality sure wasn't. He would start the fantasy with their wedding.

That would do it.

Still, he should watch his language. What was a good word for "cock"? There really wasn't one.

He changed it to:
> her chest to her neck. He was poised just at her
> entrance.

And he might have been too blunt about the white wedding dress.

Maybe "fantasy" was the wrong word for her dream of a white wedding. Maybe it was accurate, but not what she needed to hear. Maybe it was what she needed to hear. He decided to leave it in.

For that matter, as long as she wasn't going to have real sex with him, making out was easier if she knew she didn't have to keep her guard up. Actually getting it was maybe worth a fight; it was just that he wasn't going to get it even if they did have the argument.

Should they have bathroom breaks? After a reception, and food, sure. He'd need to brush his teeth even if -- slight chance -- he didn't need to piss. In a fantasy, no. Let's not put that in.

Great, no mention of pain. Shit! He'd forgotten the rubber. Well, this was a word processor. He went back to:
> When she gasped, he moved until he was kneeling between
> her legs.

And typed:
> He applied the condom.

After rereading, he closed that file and hid the disk in his backpack. He got out his homework. This part of English was easier than Shakespeare, but who looked things up in books these days? Mrs. Foster did deal with the Internet, as well; but it seemed like little Amy trying to teach him to walk. Mrs. Foster could use the Internet if she had to, but she wasn't at home there.

Shannon woke to the sound of her radio. Steve's letter! Sometimes sleeping on a problem gave you the solution, but maybe you had to sleep the whole night. She sure didn't have much of a solution.

Well, she'd make one up as she went along.

The bad news concerned Steve. If he was willing to call the motel off, he was willing to call the relationship off. She knew Steve -- she was surprised he didn't want to go to the motel with her anyway, and call it off afterwards.

Was money ever the problem? But that was Steve. He worried about money a lot. She could remember his pushing her about her budget, and how silly that looked now!

She hoped he still loved her. Did he? Would she know if he didn't? For that matter, would he? She wrote:

And, strangely enough, she did.

Steve set his alarm earlier than usual Thursday night. The snow was piled deep over their sidewalks when he woke up. He pulled on his clothes from the night before and went out to shovel it.

Rachel thought she had slipped into the Twilight Zone when she woke up Friday morning. Her son was already outside and working. "Are you feeling well?" she asked when he appeared, fresh-showered and dressed, at the breakfast table. He hadn't shaved, but -- then -- he didn't shave every day, especially since he wasn't having any more dates.

"I feel fine. I shoveled the walk. Not all the way across, but it's still snowing."

"Do you want a ride to school?" He probably wanted more brownies, maybe something else. Steve was transparent, but negotiations with him were more fun than negotiations with Mallory had been.

"That would be great. If I don't have to wait in this weather, I'll shave. Somehow, a scraped face feels the cold worse."

Roger, who usually shaved every morning, had made the same complaint. "Fifteen minutes."

And fifteen minutes later he was waiting at the kitchen door. He didn't even ask to drive. "Thanks, mom," he said before he slammed Gertrude's door at the school. Rachel remembered stories of changelings she'd read long ago.

Shannon didn't see Steve until English class. Well, he hadn't stopped at her locker very often before, either. That day, Mrs. Foster was droning on about research on the Web. She wished she could invite Steve over to her house to explain it.

They swapped disks at lunch. "I remembered to write another story," he said. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will. You write such nice fantasies." She wondered if he had written a fantasy about their time in the motel. Well, she'd see. Besides, there were people all around. Most of them were kids she only knew slightly. Still, you didn't say "motel" in front of them. What did you say?

"I have a solution to the money problem. Mr. Jensen paid me in cash. I still have it at home."

"Your cash isn't a solution." Still, he thought, it might be. He couldn't borrow from anyone because they would ask what he had done with it. Shannon would know what he had done with it; he could pay her back.

"You don't want to go?" Damn! Every word they said could be heard.

"I want to go," he said. "Do you?"

"I want to. That was never the question."

"The weather might change our plans." Actually, he thought, it might change his dad's plans. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Fine." They needed to talk, she thought, almost as much as they needed to do other things. "What's with this stuff in English class?"

He laughed. "You were so much help to me. Too bad you're grounded; I might be as much help to you."

"Well, someday I won't be grounded."

"Someday, we might be at the same university. I sent back my acceptance last night. Ooops! Well, I wrote it out. I'll mail it tonight. I had a lot of shoveling to do."

"Poor guy! You're overworked."

"Well, first of all, I promised to do the shoveling for this storm and the next two in exchange for your birthday brownies. Not, I'll admit, that I wouldn't have to do the shoveling anyway. But that made it worth while.

"And, second, somehow I don't mind the snowfall this time." If the snow kept falling, his dad wouldn't come home this weekend. They could have the house to themselves. He quirked a smile at her.

She was glad that he still seemed happy about the brownies. He was a nice guy. Indeed, her friends were still a little impressed with him. "It's not the right time for me to send in my acceptance."

"I don't care when you tell the U of I (as long as you meet the deadline). I'm waiting for what you tell me."

"If you're going there, so am I."

"That's what I wanted to hear. PDA."

"PDA," she echoed. Actually, she was looking forward to private displays of affection.

Shannon was much happier about their relationship when she left the cafeteria that noon.

Rachel actually touched her son's forehead when he came in from shoveling the walk that night. It told her nothing. Being still cold from the outside air, it wouldn't show that he was running a fever.

Now, Steve wasn't a lazy kid. He went to work quite dependably. Indeed, she worried more about his occasional crazy expenditures of energy like his walk home from Shannon's house in a blizzard than about his turning into a couch potato. He did his household chores quite faithfully, really. It just wasn't like him to do them without complaint.

"If Dad doesn't get back, do you think I could borrow your car Saturday morning? I'd drive you to work." he asked as she felt his forehead after dinner. Rachel was satisfied on two counts. First, her son wasn't burning up with a fever. Second, she knew what he was after now. He wasn't sick, he just wanted to borrow her car.

"Gertrude?" she asked "You couldn't get as much in there."

"Well, it would transport people, or something small." His excuse for borrowing the Jeep was looking like a worse idea all the time.

"I don't see why not. You'd pick me up too? And I'd have to get there on time."

"Sure." He got to school on time; he got to work on time; why his mom worried about his getting her to work on time, he couldn't see.

Steve opened up Shannon's letter when he got to his room. He already had the important information. She would go to the motel. Now, for the details.

He set the machine to add one more quote, and then he read:

Shit! There must be hundreds of Fosters in the local phone book, and with his luck he'd get his English teacher. Still, when he met Shannon in the morning, success would put her in a good mood.

And, if success was unlikely, he could report some effort. For that matter, getting Amy to the hospital was the first thing Shannon had ever asked of him. (Steve had completely forgotten the medicine.) She'd been grateful, and -- if that gratitude hadn't got him anything -- it just might have influenced her decision to go to the motel. He got the phone and plugged it into the back of his computer.

He started on the top of the Fosters in the phone book. They took more than a column.

"Hello," the phone was answered.

"Hello. I'm trying to locate the Mrs. Foster who is sister to Bill Jensen."

His only reward was a click. Some people didn't answer at all; others had answering machines. His fourth live contact gave him a different response.

"Hello. I'm trying to locate the Mrs. Foster who is sister to Bill Jensen."

"What's your interest in her?"

"Mr. Jensen took his young daughter, Amy, out of town for medical treatment. I can't contact him, and I'm trying to find out how Amy is doing."

"Tell me your name and telephone number. If she wants to contact you she will."

"My name is Steve Anderson. My girl friend is Amy's baby sitter. I drove Amy to the hospital once." He gave his phone number, and the man hung up. The phone rang immediately afterwards. "Hello?"

"Is this Steve Anderson?" It was the same voice.

"Yes."

"Did you just call asking about Sandra Foster?"

"Yes." Actually, 'Sandra' was extra information.

"Just checking the phone number. Thanks."

It was a couple of minutes later that the phone rang again.

"Hello."

"Steven Anderson, please." It was a woman's voice. He didn't recognize it.

"Speaking."

"This is Sandra Foster. You had some questions."

"Yes. I wanted to know how Amy is doing. My girl friend is her regular babysitter, and she's been worried about her."

"Are you the guy who drove Amy to the hospital that night?"

"Yes. The Jensens were at your place."

One hell of a lot of Jensens were at her place that night, but Sandy knew who he meant. At this point, she dropped all her doubts about talking about Amy. Bill was one thing, he'd been a pain since they were in grade school. Theresa was something else. She had even been sweet about Bobby's behavior, but.... Between Bobby's mother and the guy who got Amy to the hospital, Sandy knew which one Theresa would choose. She wouldn't blame her either.

"Yes, Steve. What do you want to know?"

"Basically, how Amy is doing. I heard that they took her to the Mayo clinic. Did it do any good?"

"They think she'll be much better." She gave him all the details and told him her phone number if he wanted to ask more questions later. "And I have your number, too. Do you want me to call you if I get any more news?"

"Please."

"I will, then."

Steve turned to the rest of Shannon's letter.

Shannon never saw money as a problem.

If they were going to be going out, he would pay for it. That's what boys did.

On the other hand: (1) She did say she would come. That was the important part. (2) There was no way he could reach her before tomorrow morning. (3) He might have to borrow that money. (4) It was one place to break a $100 bill. So he ought to be glad that she would bring the money. Then he could give her back smaller bills.

And she said that she loved him. That was the other important thing. He could leave answering the letter till later on the weekend. He needed to figure out the practical part.

They were going to check into a motel, so he would need a suitcase. He had one. Getting it in the Jeep would be a problem. What should he put in it? Somewhere he had heard about putting phonebooks in a suitcase to fool a hotel clerk. Well, he didn't want to do that. His backpack should do for weight.

Did he want to take the box of condoms? He knew damn well that Shannon wanted to wait until marriage. On the other hand, he didn't have to tell her. And maybe "white wedding" was her way of telling him that she wasn't ready yet. If so, he was glad she used that method. If she said "I'm not ready yet," he would either ask each time whether she was ready, and thus he would become a pest; or he would not ask, and thus he would demonstrate a disinterest which was really false.

So, taking the condoms was just-in-case. He didn't need to show them to her. He'd bought two shower caps on the same basis. Maybe sex would be messy; how was he supposed to know? Anyway, Shannon might want to shower. Even if they only made out, she might get all hot and sweaty; he did. And, just maybe, if they decided to shower, she might be persuaded to let them shower together.

He packed those in the bag. He put the box of condoms in one of his socks, and packed that in there. Then he put in his backpack. When that didn't feel heavy enough to him, he put in a couple of pairs of shoes. He hid the bag in his closet. Then he took the phone and phone book back to the hall stand where they normally stayed. He set his alarm to an earlier-than-usual time and went to bed.

Shannon saw no reason to write Steve just then. She should do that after they had spent the time together. But she did want to read his letter. As soon as the dishes were in the dishwasher, she went upstairs and put the disk from Steve in her computer.

Well, "taking off your wedding dress was more going along with your fantasy" was blunt. Steve, for all his lovely stories, was more often blunt than not. A white wedding was a fantasy. Of course, she could still dream of it. But, clearly, if she was going to marry Steve, it wasn't going to be as a virgin. Did she want to marry Steve?

She really didn't know. "As long as you both shall live" was scary. But she wanted Steve now. At least, he hadn't grabbed.

The next little bit was better, even if he had already told her.

She wasn't sure that Steve had decided before he got the letter from IIT. Still, it was nice of him to say so. Steve was nice -- that was a good description of him. If she wasn't worth trading his whole educational future for, he thought it was worth saying that she was.

Well, if white panties mattered to him, he would get them.

The letter was short, but he enclosed another story. She opened it wondering if he would sketch out their time in the motel. It had still been snowing when she came home. Maybe his dad wouldn't make it back. Would he still want to go to the motel, then? Would they have the chance? For that matter, his house was a long walk from the school.

Well, Steve had been a little less blunt. It wasn't quite a motel. It was a hotel.

And he certainly knew what he wanted. Did she have nylons she could wear tomorrow? She had already decided on the white panties.

He could make requests, demands, really. But he still made guarantees, too. Of course that condom had appeared from nowhere, but it had appeared.

Steve did have an imagination, these stories showed it. But his imagination had limits; he couldn't see that she might like taking off his clothes, too. Well, better a story in which he "quickly stripped" than an egotistical story of how impressed she was by his body.

The comment about the heart-shape of the hair on her mound was lovely. He still remembered from the summer. And the summer had been so much nicer, their time.

And he could listen. If he had turned down her request for a white wedding, he had listened to her about the nonsense -- the possible pain -- of the "forceful shove."

And the end! A climax was a "strange feeling." Steve didn't know of the times she had spent in bed alone, but she had more than one climax while they were making out. Still, it was a nice story. And it was sweet of him to tell her what he wanted (and -- even more important -- what he would provide) in a story.

Well, she had her choice. Would she go with him to a motel? Was that story what she wanted?

Really, it was things she wanted. She had also wanted the white wedding; she still wanted the white wedding, for that matter. But she couldn't have them both.

Yes, she would go to the motel with him. He'd promised to be gentle; he'd promised to take care of the contraception.

Besides, it really wasn't her time. Her period would start in less than a week.

She hid the disk before selecting the clothes to wear the next day. She had found some separate nylons and a garter belt. What was this thing with boys and pantyhose? She didn't think Steve was the only one. Maybe it was access. Would Steve want to make love with her still wearing the nylons? Of course he would want to; he wanted to make love standing up, for heaven's sake. But would she let him? For her first time? Well, she would see if he insisted. Then, it would depend on how she felt. One thing was that a good girl certainly wouldn't do that, and Shannon was finished with being a good girl.

Steve had specified what he wanted; her mom expected her to wear work clothes to decorate the gym. Between their conflicting expectations, there wasn't any space for Shannon to make her own selection. Which was unfair; it would be a special day for her. Still, that was the way things were.

She took the library book to bed and turned out the lamp when she got tired. TV shows were worth staying up for; books weren't.

Rachel waited for Steve to bring the phone back to the hall, then she waited for his light to go out. When he was safely asleep, she took the phone into her room. She retrieved the headset and plugged it in.

"Marriott Carlyle."

"Roger Anderson, please." And, she prayed silently, don't tell me he's checked out.

"Hello."

"Roger? I hope I didn't wake you." And she really hoped she hadn't interrupted him in packing to go home.

"Some calls are worth waking for. I wasn't really asleep, not even in my night clothes yet."

"Well, I can wait while you get undressed. And do you have the lotion warm yet?"

"I don't need it," he said. "I'll be home tomorrow."

"Roger! It is still snowing." Well... it had been snowing before dinner, which was the last time she'd checked.

"It stopped more than an hour ago around here. The interstates will be clear by morning."

"Even if you drove at the limit, and even you aren't crazy enough to do that..." Which was what she hoped, but she wasn't at all sure that he wasn't that crazy. "... you won't get here early enough. Steve is borrowing my car. It will be enough."

"I'll get there about noon. And I won't push it.

"Well, I'll be glad to have you home. Just make sure that you don't become a statistic."

"I won't. You know, I gave you two kids. You could confine your mothering to them."

"Fat chance." At this point, Mallory was gone, and Steve reacted to her advice worse than Roger did. "Anyway, I don't want you as another kid. I just want my husband for a few more years."

"Don't know why."

"You should have figured it out by this time," she said. "I like what you have between your legs, but you are even sexier between your ears."

"Only you would regard thinning hair as sexy."

"Grass doesn't grow on a busy street. But I meant the gray matter between your ears. I bet it's ticking away right now figuring what it's going to say to me tonight."

"I'll be home tomorrow night," he reminded her.

"And I'll be ready for you. But I want you tonight. Get the lotion ready."

"I'd rather save that for tomorrow night."

"You can do both. Besides, I don't want you feeling frustrated if the weather does you wrong or the state doesn't plow the roads. Come on, I'll take care of it tomorrow night. That's a promise. How long has it been since I danced for you?" she asked in her sexiest voice.

"Too long."

"Well, that's a promise I won't hold you to. But I want it long enough."

"Woman, you are impossible." But he was laughing now.

"Go undress and put the lotion under the hot water."

"You still there?" he asked a little later.

"I'm here, in bed. How about you?"

"I'm under the covers. All undressed."

"Did you pack your pajamas?" she suddenly asked.

"Sure! But I didn't put them on. Nice and warm in this room."

"You're incorrigible! Remember when the paper boy knocked?" They'd been eating a late brunch in the kitchen. He'd been stark. The boy had been collecting. She had invited the boy in, closing the door on the cold. Then, she'd realized that she didn't have any money, and had needed to fetch Roger his pants so he could get out his wallet. The only way from the kitchen to the bedroom led through the living room past the paperboy.

"It was worth it," he said, quite sincerely. That had been in the heady days before Mallory. They had made morning love, dozed together, awakened for an encore. There was a reason that they had been eating the first meal of the day well after noon.

"I suppose," she said, "that when Steve goes off to school, you'll want me to forget about clothes at home, too." Not that she would, not that she ever had -- outside the bedroom.

"Well, I can hope."

Roger was a dear. At her age, with her younger child about to go off to college, she would need to wear clothes. Naked Rachel wasn't sexy any more. Still, it was nice that her husband thought of her that way.

"I'm naked now," she said, "but there's nobody here to appreciate me. So, I'm covered up. There is nobody to see my breasts, nobody to see my naked ass, nobody to see my naked legs, nobody to see between them when I spread them as I'm doing now."

"I can see you. I might not be there, but I can see you in my mind's eye." She was sure he could; that was why she'd said that, after all.

"Can you see me spread my lips? Can you see my little woman peeking out?"

"Yes."

"Well, she can't see you. She's looking all over for you. There's nobody to kiss her, no finger to rub her. I guess I'll have to do it for myself. But it's not the same."

"Yes, love. But don't do it yet. Stroke your thighs. Just feather light strokes. Touch the insides just below your knees. Then draw your fingers toward your pussy, very lightly. Stop now. Go back to your knees. Do it again."

Rachel followed his directions while she could stand the teasing. Finally, when she couldn't resist any longer, she rubbed directly over her clitoris. She gasped.

Clearly, he could hear her.

"Have you been a bad girl?" he asked. "Has my Rachel been touching herself? Stealing a little relief before it was time? I should hang up now, just to show you."

"No, don't."

"I won't. I'm a forgiving sort. Just to show I forgive you, I'll let you turn on your magic wand now. Is it on?"

"Yes." She turned on the wand, and held it held close to her mouth so he could hear it.

"Now bring the wand back to your right knee. Stroke it down your thigh slowly.... Now bring it to your left knee." In silence, she stroked the buzzing vibrator down her thigh until it touched the outside of her lip.

She was panting by the time Roger changed the pattern. "But you've been neglecting your lovely breasts. I've always liked those. Back when I could only guess at the shape, I guessed at a shape I liked." Roger now claimed he'd obsessed about her breasts in class before he'd got up the nerve to ask her out on a date. Got up the nerve? she'd nearly thrown herself at him before he'd even noticed her. Anyway, that was long ago and -- however long it had felt back then -- a brief period. Once he'd had access to them, he'd always seemed to enjoy that access.

But she was chasing a side comment. "Bring your wand to the side of your left breast," he said. "Circle it at the base. Now slowly -- slowly -- bring it up towards the nipple. Don't touch the nipple." That direction was too late, and it felt heavenly. The vibrations went all through her.

Slowly, very slowly, she moved the wand back down her breast. "You did touch the nipple, didn't you?" he asked. However unclear the sounds from the wand were at his end, her mouth was right next to the microphone. He could hear every gasp.

"Before you said not to."

"Yeah," he said. "I could hear that. Don't rush, my love. You'll get there. Just enjoy the trip." And, of course, the longer the trip took, the later he'd get to sleep, the likelier he'd delay his start until a reasonable time.

"Bring the wand back to your left knee," he continued. "Now, slowly, ease it down the inside of your thigh. Put your left hand on your thigh just above the lips. Stop the wand when it touches your hand." She followed all his directions. She was aroused to the point of needing more, needing direct stimulation; but this was arousing as hell, and his words were almost as good as his being there.

"I'm completely turned on. I can feel the juice leaking out on my hand."

"That's great. I can well believe you're turned on. And I love to hear about that juice. Not as much as I love to see it, and feel it, and taste it. Still, I'm not there. I'll take what I can get."

"I'm lying on my back," she said. "I'm so wet that it's soaking all the hair on my lips. But that's only a little of it. It's streaming down my crack."

She could hear his breath sounding rougher over the phone. She had to hold off, it would be better for her -- and he would sleep deeply. She did hold off for minutes more. Then she had to say, "I can't resist any longer."

"Yes, my darling. Rub the wand down your right leg all the way. Feel it against your lips? Now turn it off for one moment. Slide it in. Does it go in easily?"

"Oh yes. I'm so juicy, it slides right in."

"That's me. That's me in you where I've been so many times. Now turn it on."

And she did. The vibrations took her away and she spasmed around the wand again and again. Finally, not able to bear the sensations and nowhere near coordinated enough to turn it off, she pushed the wand out of her to buzz alone on the bed. It must have been minutes later that she summoned the energy to reach between her legs to turn it off.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm great." And she was. That had been much stronger than usual, stronger than many orgasms when he was present. "Now it's your turn."

"I'll be home tomorrow night."

"So you will." She hoped that the mention of night indicated he was rethinking his starting time. She didn't want him on the slippery just-plowed roads. "And I'll have my way with you then. Do you think I won't be able to get you up tomorrow night?"

"Woman, you could get an erection out of a statue."

"Well, I'm not going to practice on a statue. But I've lots of practice on you. Maybe I'll dance for you; maybe you'll undress me; maybe you'll take one article of clothing off me every time I pause in the dance. Is the lotion warm enough?"

"I'm not even warming it."

"Well, go put it under the hot water. I'll wait."

"I'm back," he said after a little while.

"Do you remember the first apartment?"

"Fondly. It was a horribly cramped space, but I enjoyed living there more than any later place -- more than any other place I've ever had."

"Remember how we used to dance?" she asked.

"I remember what we used to wear."

"There wasn't enough to remember."

"There was lots of skin, he said. "That's what I remember about you, your skin. Seeing your skin, touching your skin, holding your skin, kissing your skin."

"Enjoyed that, did you? And here I thought all these years that what you enjoyed was when I kissed you."

"Oh yes! I can remember your mouth on me, but I can remember my mouth on you, too. You were so responsive -- still are, of course."

"But you decided that you wouldn't come tonight because that would mean that tomorrow night I might need to use my mouth. Am I that bad now?" she asked.

"Oh no!" He'd been gone too long; the sounds of her orgasm over the phone had raised too graphic pictures. He'd already been nearly hard when he'd come back from the bathroom. This conversation had increased that hardness to the point of pain.

"Are you ready for me?"

"God, yes!"

"Too bad the lotion isn't," she said in a teasing voice. "I'll bet it isn't even warm yet. You'll just have to lie there and remember my mouth around you back then -- imagine my mouth around you tomorrow night. You'll just have to wait, just as you kept me waiting a few minutes ago. I so wanted to come, but you made me delay it as long as I could. Do you feel the desire to come?"

"And how."

"By your own hand, tonight. By my mouth tomorrow -- or in my cunt? We have some time, we might as well decide this now. Which would you prefer? Tomorrow night, after I have danced for you and you have stripped me, should I suck you 'til you're hard and then take you into my cunt? Or should I just keep sucking 'til you shoot your wad into my mouth? Or would you like to do both?"

"I'd like both, but I'm an old man."

"You're not that old," she said, partly to reassure him -- partly to reassure herself. She didn't feel old enough to have an old husband. "I bet I could get you up again. 'Course, after that you wouldn't shoot so fast, you'd lie atop of me and drive in me and do it for hours and hours."

"Woman, you're torturing me."

"Now that's an idea. I could tie you up and suck you hard. Then I could dance for you. Of course, I'd have to remove my own clothes in that case. But, that's just part of the torture. I'd remove my panties, and you could see my mound while I did it. But then I'd drop my skirt and hide it while I danced around. We could start early, but some of it we couldn't do until we knew that Steve was sound asleep. Sooner or later, though, I could get to the point that I needed to get off. I could use the wand, since it would be too early for you to get off. 'Need' doesn't have anything to do with it. I would be nice and juicy by that time.

"Speaking of juicy," she continued, "do you think the lotion is warm yet?"

"It should be," he said. "I'm feeling awfully hot, myself."

"Strange. You might want to complain to the office. If you do, I'll hang up and call back later."

"Woman! I'll get the lotion."

He got it, and lay back on the bed with the covers beside him. "The lotion is ready," he said.

"Now spread it over your hand. I think, as a first step, I'd just kiss your cock. Touch it, don't enclose it. Touch it at the base, in the middle, and just under the head -- that nice place where there is that cute crack. I always like to kiss the skin of the shaft where it goes up there."

"Oh yes!"

"Then I'd enclose it, but just the tip." She could hear his breath over the phone. "Slowly, very slowly, push your hand down to cover the head. That's my mouth. Remember how my mouth feels there, make your hand feel like that. Then go down the shaft a little bit. Not all the way, maybe an inch. Now, back up to the head." She could hear him panting.

"Now, suddenly, drop it down to enclose the whole shaft. Are you at the base?"

"Yes."

"Too bad you can't enclose everything. Down there, I'd have my throat tight around your head. Well, come up slowly. Here, again, you can't lick the underside as you come up. I would. I'd lick everything; then, I'd lick that special place right at the base of the head. Then come down again. Now, very slowly, come up. All the way up. I'd tighten my lips around the tip as I left it."

"Oh, Rachel!"

"Now I'd be over you. And I'd steal a kiss from you. One kiss on my left nipple, one kiss on my right. It would be a minute before I'd slide down your body to find what I'm looking for. Then, I'd stop with my cunt just touching your cock. Is your hand there?"

"Oh yes."

"Just the little finger, now. Just the beginning of a touch. Then I'm slowly, slowly, sliding down your cock. I'm enclosing all of it. Then I'm moving up and down, up and down, all around you. I'm grasping all of you with all of me. Do it!"

She could hear him panting. Then the unmistakable sounds of his orgasm.

"Yes, Roger. Shoot in me. Shoot as you have so many times before. I'm spasming around you, clasping you tightly as you come."

Minutes later, he said. "Woman, the talents of your mouth aren't limited to kissing."

"But they include kissing. Get a good night's sleep. I'll need you rested. And when you get home, rested, restored, we'll see about the kissing. I'll kiss your mouth, since I've missed you; and maybe I'll find other places. I've missed a lot of you."

"You're wonderful."

"So are you. Good night."

And, after they had hung up, she did miss him. She looked at the wand speculatively before putting it away. She'd been intending to turn him on, but she was turned on too. But Roger would be home the next night. She'd save it all up for him.

Allison was trying to get herself ready to drive her daughter to school. Even though Shannon was preparing her own breakfast, there were too many things to do; and she was still in a morning fog. It didn't help that she was far from sure that this preparing for the dance was a good exception to Shannon's grounding. Then the phone rang. However she felt, clients deserved a helpful response.

"Allison Bryant speaking. How may I help you?"

"May I speak to Shannon Bryant please?" It was an adult man's voice. She recognized it vaguely. A teacher? Should she let Shannon talk about the preparation? Well, she could relent later or pass on a message.

"I'm sorry. She can't come to the phone." She didn't quite use the word, 'grounded.'

"This is Bill Jensen. I'm calling from Minnesota. I'm father to Amy, one of the kids Shannon sits for. She was interested in Amy's condition." Sure she was. Amy had been sick when she babysat. Still, it was an odd reason for an early-morning long- distance call more than a week later.

"She still can't come to the phone. I'd be glad to relay a message, though." Allison was trying to balance two feelings. This Jensen guy had let Steve visit Shannon in his house without even considering Shannon's parents and their opinion of that. On the other hand, he was the parent of a sick kid; she'd been there, and didn't want to add to his problems. Not that Shannon had ever had anything as bad as what seemed to bother Amy.

"Well, it's too long to put into a message. But we think the treatment was a success."

"Treatment?"

"She's at the Mayo Clinic. I'm calling from there ... near there. Shannon probably knows." Allison was willing to bet that Shannon didn't know. Hadn't Jensen been told about the grounding? Probably forgotten; had a sick kid after all. Even so, as far as Allison could remember, all he'd been told was that she couldn't babysit.

"Well," she said, "thanks for calling. I'll tell her that the treatment seems to be a success."

She went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Shannon, clearly on her best behavior, didn't even look towards the clock. They'd be late; Shannon should be glad she was getting out at all. "That was Mr. Jensen, your old employer. His daughter, Amy, is being treated at the Mayo Clinic. They think the treatment was a success." And, now that she thought about it, that explained the phone call. He probably just received the prognosis and was full of the good news. He was probably calling everyone who he thought would be interested.

"Well," said Shannon, "that's good news." It wasn't much news. He'd probably was prepared to tell her a good deal more. On the other hand, anything more might well require medical training to understand. She'd ask Miss Olson about it tomorrow. Let her mom object in front of the whole congregation to asking about a sick girl. Besides, that would be after the date with Steve; she could handle the extra restrictions then.

Steve had the whole timeline figured out. He'd get his mom to work a few minutes early. She had a key, and -- having bugged him about being late -- she couldn't raise any questions about being early. Then he could stop back here to grab the suitcase. Then he would get to school at the same time as Shannon. No sense in letting her get chilly. Everything was going according to plan.

Then the phone rang.

"Yo."

"I'm calling Steve Anderson."

"Speaking." If this was a salesman, it would be the shortest call of his day.

"This is Bill Jensen. I'm Amy's father, calling from Minnesota. I hear that you asked about her."

"Yes, Mr. Jensen." And Shannon had asked for this news. It wasn't all that much. Mr. Jensen either didn't remember the medical names of the treatment or was sensible enough not to tell Steve. Basically, they didn't expect a cure; they did expect an improvement.

"And," said Mr. Jensen, "we always expected that the condition would get better as she got older. These doctors reinforce that expectation."

Steve thanked him for calling. The conversation had eaten up all of his lead time, though. "Sorry about that," he told his mom. "Remember the baby I took to the hospital? That was her dad. They took her to the Mayo Clinic."

"Well, I can't expect you to ignore that sort of call. Just don't have an accident on the way to the office; we have enough time." She had enough time; Steve was running late. Still, he got back to the house, loaded the suitcase in the trunk, and drove to the high school at a safe pace. He couldn't afford a ticket. That would be another delay.

The call woke Roger from a deep sleep. He was tempted to leave another call, turn over, and catch another hour. Bad idea. He got up stark naked and rather sticky. By the time he got out of the shower he was awake. He dressed, packed carefully, and shaved. After a breakfast with three cups of coffee he felt awake enough for the trip.

The roads were clear by now. You could easily drive on the local roads. When he got on the interstate, and there was more salt than snow on the road surface. Still, he kept his speed down to the point where he was passed by more cars than he passed. Rachel would be at work and Steve would be decorating the gym whenever he arrived.

"Brrr," said Shannon when she got in the car. "I didn't know where you were. Still, I'm glad you weren't here when Mom dropped me off." Steve hadn't thought about that possibility; he'd expected Shannon to walk. He started the car, driving off sedately in case somebody who could recognize them came this early to decorate the gym.

"Phone call. I'll tell you later. Now, here's the situation. I'm driving Gertrude instead of the Jeep because Dad is somewhere on the interstate heading in this direction. We could risk my house; I'd really rather not."

Shannon wondered why Steve kept bringing that up. Too many things could go wrong. Did he have second thoughts about making love? The white wedding had been her idea for so long. She sure wasn't going to go all the way while worrying about his dad coming in the door any second. "I don't want your dad to find us. I brought the money; didn't I say I would?"

"That's another thing. I've enough to pay for the room. I'll be a little short until my next paycheck, but I'll make it." Unfortunately, if he didn't make it, this make-out session might be something his parents figured out. For that matter, they might even share their suspicions with Shannon's mom.

"Look, maybe this is something I don't want you to do to me."

"Huh?" Steve couldn't see what she was talking about. He'd always stopped when she asked him to. "But you agreed. If you've changed your mind..."

Shannon couldn't see why Steve was insisting on paying for this. She couldn't even see why she was insisting. But how could he insist that she surrender her virginity at this session and object to her contributing a little money? "I agreed to something we would both be doing. I thought that was what we were. Shannon and Steve together. You seem to think it's something you're doing to me." Or something he was taking from her.

"Look. I always pay for the dances. It's just something boys do."

"Your mom works. Is it her money or your mom and dad's money?"

"Sort of both." It was his mom's money, just as this was her car. But he'd heard one them say something like 'I'm short; do you have enough?' to the other a million times. And he was short, and Shannon had the money.

"Well, they're a couple. Are we a couple?" Which was, after all, the real question. Would she be doing this if they weren't?

"We're a couple. I've missed you."

"And, much as I've enjoyed the letters, I've missed you, too."

"So why are we fighting now? Anyway, you're probably safer if I don't go broke. We'll go halves. That'll leave me with enough."

"Here." She'd hidden the bill inside her bra. She unzipped her parka and reached up under the sweat shirt. A moment later, she held the bill out to him. He took it and put it inside his coat, tucking it into his shirt pocket. They hadn't quite gotten to the interstate when he turned in to the motel.

"Stay here." He walked towards the office.

"Do you have a vacancy?"

"How long?"

"Until checkout time."

"That's one p.m. You have less than four hours."

"That's long enough. I don't want to fall asleep at the wheel."

The man gave him the strangest look. But he also gave him a key. He inspected the hundred carefully before giving him the change. The room was near the end of the row. Steve started the car again and backed near the door. "Keep your hood up."

Shannon didn't want to be seen; still Steve made this sound furtive. She waited while Steve pulled a suitcase out of the trunk. What did he have in there? When she had followed him in the room, he switched on the light. The room wasn't dirty or shabby, but it didn't look like a home, either. There were two double beds filling most of the space. On the other side from where they were standing, there was a door which had to lead to the bathroom. There were lots of windows on two sides; light from the sun was streaming in those on the far wall.

Steve had imagined removing a veil from Shannon. The hood wasn't a very good imitation, but it was what they had. He pulled the string opening the bow at the neck of her parka. Then he pushed back the hood and clasped his hands behind her head. He kissed her first with his lips closed, then opened them and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

Just as his lips touched hers, Shannon figured out the symbolism. It was much better than wanting to hide her face. His hands were cold, and his face was colder. But the thought was warm. She hugged him during the kiss.

Steve removed her parka and leaned over to kiss her again, if a little clumsily. He hung her coat, and then his own, in the closet. He pulled off his sweater and put it on the shelf. When he came back, the kiss was a little warmer and lasted longer. Their tongues tangled. He caressed her butt. She wrapped her arms around him.

"This is fun," he said, "but I should give you the money now. We're going halves, right?"

One bill in her bra had been scratchy enough. Besides which, she didn't really expect to be wearing the bra much longer. "I don't really have a place to put it. Can't you hold on to it 'til later?"

That sounded sensible. "Later, then. And I should tell you something before we get to the serious part."

Shannon was disturbed. They were where they'd schemed to be, and he kept wanting to talk. What about the letters? What was so important? Had he found another girl?

But he went on talking. "I got a call from Amy's dad this morning."

Oh, that. "So did I," she said.

"Then you already know."

"I don't know anything. Mom intercepted the call."

"Well, I don't know much. The treatment seems to have been a success. I don't know what treatment. Doubt if I would if he had named it. Anyway, they think she'll get better as she grows up."

"That makes sense. That's your news?"

"That's it. Oh, and I sent the acceptance to U of I."

"Poor Steve. IIT doesn't see your worth. Well, I do." She kissed him.

He laughed. "In the first place, I was happier getting the rejection. I was going to U of I anyway. This just makes it easier at home. In the second, I doubt that IIT was considering quite the same merits you are. But I'll take the kiss anyway." He kissed her quite lightly.

"I don't think it's time to send my acceptance to the U of I yet."

"Fine," he said. "You have more problems at home than I ever had. I don't want to be another problem. I'm not laying demands on you."

She thought that was funny, considering where they were. He'd laid plenty of demands on her, just not about college schedules.

Concluded in Part 13
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 (and last) page in the series is:
Part 13

The first page in the series is:
Part 1

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