Friday
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, 1998, 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.

If you have any comments or requests, please E-mail them to me at anon584c@nyx.net.

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.

Friday
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

Whole modules have been written over crash weekends. (And many of them have been rewritten over the next month, but that's another story.) Never, however, in the history of the world has anyone who is going to leave the office at five p.m. on Friday written a line of code after noon. The department works enough midnights, it doesn't sweat the small stuff. So, when I walked out a little before 11:30 and two minutes after Mary, no-one would have dreamed of clocking my time.

Ironically, Mary caught an elevator before I got there, and we rode down separately. I slowly caught up as she walked north. It was an even day of the month, so she went first. Easy to remember, she has two; I have one. She turned into a building which we hadn't visited in months. We rode up without speaking and I followed her off on the eleventh floor.

She hit the down button. No one was waiting with us, which gave her a little advantage in her preparation. The elevator was nearly full, but they made space for the two of us.

"Anyway," she said in a quite low voice, "the stuff around the door keeps the drafts out, but it creates a seal for the whole apartment. If the door opens while you're taking a shower, the shower curtain blows inward."

"Probably," I said, "even if you're not taking a shower." I didn't know where this was going, but it was the obvious comment.

"Maybe," Mary said, "but you notice it more when it's coming towards you. Anyway, there we were. At first, he'd been scrubbing my back. You know how the dead skin accumulates back there where you can't quite reach it."

"I use a loofah on a stick," I said.

"That can't get the right pressure, but I'll bet it gets your back clean before it wants to do your front. Anyway," she said in a rising voice, "I wasn't using a loofah; he wasn't using a loofah; he'd just abandoned the washcloth, for that matter. Then the curtain blew in on us. Someone had opened the outer door."

"My God," I said, "Your husband?"

"Worse!"

"Worse?" I exclaimed. "How could it be worse?"

Mary looked around the elevator. Our fellow riders tried to pretend that they hadn't been listening. "I'll tell you later," she said.

We left the building with the crowd and continued about two blocks north. I led her east a block, and then into the large office building on the north side of the street. We rode up in the elevators serving the middle set of floors.

We walked along the hallway while those waiting got the down elevator. Unfortunately, others came along while we were waiting for the next one. "You live in an apartment," I told her. "That makes a difference."

"I think so," she said. "Making a difference, I mean. I certainly live in an apartment."

"Well, you've seen my place," I said. "But I've made changes since then. I've put up a fence. I still keep the front lawn well-mowed."

"I'm glad," she said. "I like a nice-looking lawn."

"And so does she," I said as the elevator finally came. "She likes a good-looking house. And she's never denied that I keep up the property, and that is a lot of land to keep up.

"I want you to understand this," I continued after our group had crowded on the elevator. "I would never try to keep a sheep in an apartment."

"Wouldn't be practical," she said.

"At least without consulting my wife," I said. "But, out there, we have such a large back yard."

"Yes."

"That it did seem practical. And then there's AIDS.

"I would feel despicable," I continued in my most sincere voice, "absolutely despicable, if Sally were infected by some disease that I brought home from an encounter with a prostitute."

"I'm sure that you would," she said. "And you wouldn't feel particularly happy for having it yourself."

"No," I said. "But the child would be the worst. So, you see, the sheep was the logical choice. But I wanted a woman's opinion. I think it's just the pregnancy talking, but if it's a man-woman thing I should make my peace now. She said that I should have consulted her. I felt that she had been effectively consulted when she said 'no' so often when I....

"Uh, let's continue this in more privacy." And I glared at the rest of the people coming off the elevator with us.

The rest of the walk to the hotel was in silence, though she shook with laughter once or twice. She took out her card without any discussion as we approached the desk. I'd won that one, and Mary is always a good sport.

     The End 
     Friday 
     Uther Pendragon 
     anon584c@nyx.net
     1998/01/11   
     2000/02/16
     2001/08/30
     2002/03/11
     2004/04/23
For another story involving another couple, 
see:
 "Windmill Saga"  
This story is coded (MF best preg).
The code, best, means: Bestiality, sex with animals.
For more on the story codes and how to use them to find the 
sorts of stories to interest you:
"Story codes for readers" 
This story is indexed at:
 Games 
The directory to all my stories can be found 
at:
 Index to Uther Pendragon's Website