Trust
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, 1999, 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.

Trust
by Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net

Riding in the backseat of the car, Sarah had to reassure Mom again. "I can take care of myself for the weekend. You're not depriving me of anything by going off together." Actually, it was rather cute that her parents still took 'second' honeymoons.

It was even cute that her mother always prepared meals for Sarah before going on these trips, although she thought that leaving a message on the recording machine: "Working late, fix yourself and Dad some toasted cheese sandwiches," was perfectly adequate food preparation otherwise.

"There is food in the refrigerator. Do you have your keys, dear?"

Sarah brought them out of her bookbag, jingled them, and dropped them back in. It had been three years since she had forgotten them. Mr. Madison trusted her with the lives of his twins, her own mother didn't trust her not to lock herself out of the house for the weekend.

Meanwhile, Jim Madison was playing cowboy with his three-year-olds. Sarah was great with them, but he couldn't ask her to provide roughhouse time. The housekeeper, Mrs. Simpson, was even less appropriate; she didn't really approve of his wrestling with the boys. Besides, a boy needs to experience his father's strength. He wished that Sarah would show up, though; he needed to get this show on the road. Actually, he needed to seee her smile before he drove through the cold to the firm's annual dinner.

"Don't tell Mr. Madison," Sarah confided to her mother -- not for the first time, "but watching Daniel and Kenneth is fun. They need to learn that bath water belongs inside the tub, but they haven't a mean bone between them. They're just a couple of clowns."

"Well dear, you've almost raised those twins since they were what? A week old?"

"About that." Their mother had died without, as Mr. Madison often said, ever seeing them.

Jim was glad when the doorbell rang. About time, he was getting winded. "That's Sarah!" he said. Daniel didn't look very happy at the news; Kenneth looked almost about to cry. Okay. Let them dress up in monkey suits and go to the firm's dinner. He'd stay home with their pretty baby-sitter.

At Mr. Madison's house, Sarah kissed Mom and Dad on their cheeks. They waited until the door had been opened for her before driving off. She turned in the doorway to wave goodbye.

"They're going out of town for the weekend," she told Mr. Madison, noticing that he was wearing a tee-shirt and had received an extra blast from the door as she'd held it open too long.

Jim didn't mind. It was more important that the boys remembered that Sarah was fun. Separation anxiety fading away, they each gave her a hug before she went to heat the dinner Mrs. Simpson had left. After she came back, Sarah giggled at the three of them for a few minutes. He'd always thought her smile cute, even before the braces came off. He put extra drama into the play to prolong the giggle.

Sarah sometimes thought of them as the three Madison boys, although she had scrupulously followed her mother's advice to always think of her employer as "Mr. Madison," rather than the early-proffered "Jim." Ken was trying to rope a steer while Dan was riding a horse. Mr. Madison played both roles, tossing his head for Ken while walking on all fours with Dan on top of his back. When the rope finally landed, he collapsed gently enough that Dan landed with hardly a bump. Since he was a crippled animal, they both had to shoot him with their fingers. His death throes were impressive, if not particularly equine. Then he left her with the boys while he escaped upstairs.

Jim couldn't see any reason why the firm needed a black-tie dinner to hand out the bonuses and announce new partners. Sometimes, he thought that he spent more effort on playing office games than he did on the practice of law. Maybe in a year or two, when he was a possible candidate for a junior partnership, he'd feel more excited.

Although he was virtually certain that Sarah would stay downstairs, he scrupulously kept the bedroom door closed while he stripped and put on his robe for the eight-foot trip to the bathroom. He wondered if she could tie a formal tie. He really missed having a wife at times like these.

Then he admitted to himself that the reason he needed a wife was not to help him with dress clothes, although Valerie had done so. He missed the companionship, someone to talk with, to laugh with, to share his worries about the children. Most of all, he missed sharing a bed.

Sex with Valerie had been loving and exciting, after-sex had been comforting. He could remember one time, just possibly the night that the twins were conceived. They'd talked about how they enjoyed one another, without having to swing from the chandelier. "Quite convenient," she'd said, "since the house didn't come with a chandelier." She'd lain in his arms while he nibbled at the back of her neck and they mentioned less and less likely sexual positions. These had been silly, but also slightly arousing; and she'd wiggled her hips against him whenever she felt him stir.

Not that he'd been able to get very hard after the previous session. They had been kissing and flirting since before dinner. Could you flirt with your lawfully wedded wife? It had sure felt like flirting. While he watched from their bed, she'd taken twenty brush strokes to her hair, removed an article of clothing, then taken twenty more strokes. By the time that she had stood there in her panties, pretending to decide between nightgowns, he'd been ready to explode. After she'd yielded to his insistence that she wear no nightgown, he had been able to strip off those panties and smell her arousal. Then he'd begun to pet all of her and to kiss the important parts.

He'd entered her when she'd seemed almost ready for her climax and then stroked within that slickness. And stroked and stroked, and gritted his teeth, until she did climax around him. While he had waited for her, his own orgasm had built up pressure like a boiler with the escape valve tied shut. As soon as he had heard her soft moan, he'd come and come while shouting above her. Yes, they had enjoyed one another. And there'd been absolutely no danger of a second erection that night.

This night, in contrast, he was hard as he stepped under the shower. In the pouring water, he stroked himself. Somehow, he didn't like to use his memories of Valerie in these times; besides, they had seldom done it standing up, making his present position unrealistic. So he remembered a picture of a large- assed blonde bending over. Yeah! He could picture penetrating her, stroking in her. Before he could come, however, the shower washed off all the soap he was using as a lubricant. He soaped his hand up again, moved back, and started over. He imagined the tight, hard, butt bumping into him; he imagined the dark head lifting at his strokes. He tightened his hand, moved faster, and came into the stream of water.

A moment later, however, he was aghast, shocked that his picture had changed from the anonymous blonde from his magazine stash to Sarah. He rinsed off and got out quickly, leaving the cold water running to wash away any evidence of his onanism. Two or three times in the past, he'd imagined Sarah while he was lying half-asleep in his bed at night; but this time she was downstairs in the house. He'd have to face her any minute.

What he would have done without Sarah, he couldn't imagine. The hospital had left a message on his answering machine while he was at Valerie's funeral. There was no medical reason to leave the boys in the nursery, so they couldn't bill insurance. Please have some way to get them home within forty-eight hours. The message had been one blink out of five on the machine when he got back home, one blink out of nine by the time that he could face calls that night. Sarah had been a lanky kid with good references, a temp hired in desperation. That opinion changed when she had taken the time to teach him how to diaper a newborn. It had changed more a week after that; his loss finally hit home, and he had hugged her bony frame while he cried himself out over it. He had not started looking seriously for a housekeeper until just before Sarah headed back to high school in September. She had been his first choice for child care ever since. He had noticed the previous fall that the only person besides the twins to whom he still mentioned Valerie was Sarah, who had never met her. Sarah had earned his trust and given him hers, unearned as far as he could see; he wasn't about to betray it.

Not daring to get close enough to have her tie his tie just then, he managed to do it himself. He went downstairs and immediately to the coat closet. He was running a little late,and the boys would fuss if he drew out the parting; a clean break was best for separation anxiety. Neither was the real reason for his hurry, however. Sarah got the boys lined up on his way to the door.

"Be good for Sarah, now." As if they were going to mind him once he was out the door. As if they weren't always better behaved for Sarah than they were for him. "Hug and a kiss." He picked up Daniel for his enthusiastic squeeze, replaced him with Kenneth for a gentler hug and a longer cuddle.

"Good night, Mr. Madison," Sarah said. They were standing four feet from the door in a line: Dan, Ken, her. He didn't offer any hugs or kisses to her, though, just walked out into the cold. She picked up Ken for a little second-hand hug. "One book each, then supper." It was as important to him that she read to the twins as that she feed them. He trusted her, after all; and Daniel and Kenneth were adorable.

Once in the garage, Jim unplugged the heater for the engine block. He ran the car for a minute to let it warm up, wishing that he could rev himself up as quickly. Then he headed back downtown in the lawyer-solid but associate-modest black Buick with matching child seats on each side of the back seat. For all the cold, the snow was too light to interfere with traffic. He could set his mind on automatic pilot until he got on Hiawatha. Hell, the car probably knew the way.

Sarah could never figure out why people got the twins confused. In the beginning, sure. But Ken had a very different personality than Dan, a slightly thinner face, and an opposite cowlick. They ate, played, and then listened to another book. She gave them half her attention while they played and she plowed through AP calculus. They were perfectly capable of entertaining themselves, just needing a little appreciation for what each was doing.

Mr. Madison had been somewhat leery of her taking calculus in high school. "You're sophisticated enough to handle real calc. now," he'd said, "but few of your classmates -- hell, few of your teachers -- are. They'll have you memorizing formulas." So he'd given her some coaching over the summer, talking about deltas and epsilons. It hadn't been any help for the first six weeks of class, but she noticed her classmates getting confused about things that were obvious when you thought about them his way.

Teeth brushed and tucked in, the boys waited for her return while she cleaned up the mess in the bathroom. She thanked heaven that it wasn't a bath night. Between the wait and the tiredness, they were asleep before she finished the book.

She lay down on top of his bed, taking the side next to the window. She told herself that it was only for ten minutes, so she wouldn't have to come back upstairs if Dan cried. Really, though, Dan hadn't had a nightmare in months. She lay there in the dark unwinding -- but also breathing in his scent.

She had a serious crush on her employer, and one more than three years old. It was sick, but she couldn't help it. She had thought of finding someone whom she trusted to talk it out with, but the only one she trusted for deep conversations was him.

These days, Mrs. Simpson came in mornings to clean and took the twins to preschool when she left at noon. When Mr. Madison had taken out-of-town trips, Sarah had stayed overnight on the bed in the spare room/office . Really, Mrs. Simpson deserved a vacation this summer; why couldn't Sarah keep the house and stay in the spare room? He cared more about the quality of the child care than about the quality of the housework, after all. And, some night, she might need to come in to this room to ask him something. If she were in a nice sexy nightgown, he might just realize that she was a woman -- and do something about it.

Or she could stay in the spare room tonight, telling him that she didn't want to ride home in his car when he had been drinking. He had apologized for that before, not that she could see any lessening in his skill. There wasn't anyone at home, after all; and he could go shopping in the morning. The only trouble was that she hadn't brought a nightgown. Not that the ones she owned were sexy.

Then she might crawl into his bed when he was asleep. He'd slept next to his wife long enough that he might accept the shape of a woman next to him in the night. He still slept on one side of the bed; when Mrs. Simpson hadn't been there she could see the piled up pillows and rumpled sheets on the side next to the door.

She let herself imagine it once again. She would slip in the bed on the window side and lie apart for a few minutes. He would stir and she would press herself against him. Their night clothes would melt away while they kissed. She would be bearing up his warm weight when he realized who she was.

"But Sarah!" he would say.

"Hush," just like she said to Dan when he had a nightmare. "It's all right."

"But you're a woman. I hadn't realized." And he would feel all her womanliness, her breasts and the hair between her legs. His touch would be appreciative; he would tell her how nice she felt, how adult she had grown, and how sorry he was that he hadn't noticed before. They would hug each other while he stroked her and stroked her. She tried to simulate that with her own hands, but the clothes were in her way.

She pushed her top up and her tight jeans down. She brushed her nipples with her left hand and stroked her groove with her right. "Oh yes!" he would say. "You're a woman indeed. I should have noticed." And then he would stroke her there, right there, just there! She shook under the combination of her own real hands and his imagined ones.

As if! She hadn't the nerve. And he would never trust her with the twins again. And her parents would never buy the idea that she needed to sleep there when he was home. She got up convinced that she had to work on the one about coming home from college. He'd believe that she was a woman then; girls went to high school, women went to college. But she should save her daydreams for her own bed in the privacy of her own room. What if the twins had seen her?

The dinner went as Jim had expected until the new junior partners were named. He was one of them, a year before he had any reason to expect it. He stayed a little later, accepting congratulations and trying to decline drinks from partners who were happy for him and some associates who pretended to be. He was half an hour later than he had expected and with a little more alcohol than the legal limit when he started the drive home.

Going home, though, he noted that the aspect of the promotion which pleased him most was that it was something new to tell Sarah. They'd talk about the kids, about what she had been reading, and then he could mention that he was now a junior partner. She'd be happy for him, whether she understood the peculiar hierarchy of law firms or not. And he'd have her companionship a bit longer. Her family was gone, too. She'd probably be less anxious to get home on time. Sarah always talked to him for ten or twenty minutes after he got home, then he drove her home. Knowing that the kids were alone for the minutes of the drive, they never lingered in the car. And it was easier to keep his hands off her when he needed them on the steering wheel.

Sarah carried the baby monitor downstairs with her and put the living room back together in about twenty minutes. Then she got out Bennett's book on the Pastons, originally his wife's. School was assigning her all the science that she wanted to learn just then.

Reading his books was an old habit. She'd been used to doing homework on babysitting assignments, but he he'd hired her first in the summertime. The first time that he'd come home to find her reading one of his books, he'd asked several questions. She'd apologized, "I know I should have asked permission."

"No," he'd said. "But what did you think of the book?"

He knew so much! It was more than the twelve years between them; it was that he'd kept learning for those twelve years. Still, he'd always treated her as an intellectual equal. Maybe that was just his natural courtesy, but it might also reflect how little he'd known about the first subject that they'd needed to discuss. She'd been scared of taking charge of two newborns for such long periods; but she'd clearly known more than he had, although he'd read books on that subject, too. And he'd respected her greater knowledge.

Mothers, however ignorant -- and she'd known a few who hardly knew which end of a bottle went in the baby's mouth -- had a way of smiling at you. Sarah could read that smile; it said, "However much you know about babies, I know that baby. I held her and grew her inside my body." Hair color apart, and their hair might well darken before they were his age, the boys were carbon copies of Mr. Madison; but genetics doesn't give you that possessive certainty. When it came time to have her babies and feed them at her breast (breast-feeding mothers were twice as smug), Sarah would try to be nice to her babysitters. She'd have been on the other side, after all. But she would know that she had known that child for nine months in a way that no one else ever would, and could still satisfy needs that no one else could. Something like that might just be why her own mother thought that she knew more about Sarah than Sarah did herself.

Anyway, Mr. Madison had always treated her as someone autonomous, not as a product of his will. He'd dug deep into those conversations as he'd dug deep into work, and for the same reason. They'd be discussing the kinkiness (his word, but it fit) of particles in quantum mechanics; he would turn from her, shudder, and say: "But she never even saw them; Valerie never got to see her children." A few minutes later, he would be all right. She had read his books to entertain herself, and then to get a subject to distract him, then to be the person that he believed her to be, finally to entertain herself again.

Before she started to work for him, school had taught her that books contained answers. For him, they contained questions. It was his own fault that he would have to find another babysitter this fall. Brown University wanted the girl who read more than was assigned; the girl whom she had grown into to please him.

During the school year, she only sat during his weekend shopping times, occasional business trips, and nights like this one. He still didn't seem to have a social life. The conversations had fallen victim of her curfew the first year. Then she had found the books, The Joy of Sex and More Joy on his shelves, and she had no longer wanted to discuss her reading. One night, as she was getting into her coat, he'd asked: "What have you been reading these days?" Her face had burned. "That's all right," he'd said after a minute. "I know that class work can kill your interest in other reading." But, the next time that she had dared approach that shelf, there had been a copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves on it. The top edge of that book was spotless, unlike the dustiness of his other books.

For months, though, he'd only asked about class work. That's when he started drilling her on her algebra. He hadn't bought the idea that she couldn't get those concepts. "Algebra's supposed to be hard," he'd said. "It's another way of thinking. But it's a lot easier for you than turning over is for the twins. You just don't work at it as much." By the time that the boys had gone from turning over to crawling, she'd been getting 'A's in algebra.

And getting congratulatory hugs from her boss. Although that day was gone forever. She heard his car roll into the drive. She'd thought a lot about him, maybe she'd dozed some; but hadn't read a page of the book. That was all right, she had saved him some real news. News far worthier of a hug than any report-card grade. She opened the door for him.

"Thanks, Sarah, were they any trouble?"

"Now, Mr. Madison. The twins are perfect angels."

"Angels? They adore you, but I can't actually believe that they left the living room looking like this. Not even for you."

"Okay, rambunctious angels. But they don't try to be destructive, it's just the nature of three-year-olds. I don't mind laughing all night and then straightening up."

"You don't have to, you know." Let's stick to the question of cleaning up, and off the issue of her laugh; Sarah had the most enchanting laugh in the world, and the sweetest smile. "I can clean up; I pay you for the peace of mind I get from leaving them with the person I trust most in the world. Since they were babies."

She let him think back to the wife he still missed.

"It's just that she never got to see them," he said.

"She sees them every day. You've done a fine job. She must be proud of you."

If the dead could see, she would be able to see his thoughts as well. Would she be proud of this dirty old man of thirty? "Along with you and Mrs. Simpson, I've done a fine job," he said. "Maybe you most of all."

"I love them dearly, but you'll have to find somebody else when I go away to college this fall." That put the subject on the table.

"Is it certain then?" She'd had acceptance from two schools with better reputations than the state university, but her parents didn't have the cash. He'd decided to offer to lend her the first year's tuition if worst came to worst. He'd gladly give her the whole thing, if it weren't for appearances. But that went further than anyone would ever believe was gratitude towards a babysitter.

"Brown came through with enough scholarship money." She saw his face light up. He took a step towards her, then stopped. He could have hugged her in congratulations. Bunches of kids would on Monday, and none of them would matter.

It was all that he could do to hold himself back from kissing her. It was a perfectly innocent occasion for a kiss; he'd kissed her when she got that 'A' in first year algebra.

Why was he trying to fool himself? He was incapable of giving her an innocent kiss, or only one kiss for that matter. This girl attracted him so much, but the twins deserved better than having their favorite person afraid to enter their house again. And she deserved respect from him, not a grope in the dark. Anyway, they could talk about her and leave his promotion for extending another talk.

"You must not have included my character recommendation, then. I specifically wrote it to keep you here at home." He'd taken two weeks trying to put into words how trustworthy she was.

"You did no such thing. I knew that I could trust you."

"I should have. Okay, I'll start looking down the B list. We'll miss you, though."

"And I'll miss you, all of you." She would never be able to tell him how much. But there was a lot to tell him about her future plans. She'd told most of this before, but he always seemed interested.

"Well," he said an hour later, "I'd better get you back. We said eleven, and it's after midnight."

"I told you that my parents are away for the weekend. Besides, I'm eighteen, not a kid needing to be watched." Being looked at was what she needed. Not that Mr. Madison would. She'd always be a kid to him.

"We'd better break this up nevertheless. It's just that I enjoy these talks so much, and I've started missing you. Months early."

"I like the talks too. You know, you're the first adult who spoke to me as an equal." In all ways but one.

"And now you are an adult yourself." And in ways which haunted his sleep lately. "Want to take a last check?" He needed to look in at the boys before driving her home. She often went up with him.

They crept up the stairs with her going first. She was a good girl, who had earned his trust and gratitude. She trusted him, trusted him not to look at her well-rounded butt climbing in front of him. That trust was totally misplaced.

The twins were dead asleep, breathing noisily and smiling sweetly. "Angels!" she mouthed at him. Asleep like this, they were.

She had no more excuses to stay here rather than go back to her empty home. When they stopped at the door to look back, she blew each twin a kiss. Then blew one at him. It was all in fun; he couldn't complain.

He couldn't resist. No one could be expected to resist that grin. He pulled her into his arms to give her a real kiss. Knowing that he was destroying nearly four years of trust, he kissed her as if she were the last woman he would kiss in his life. She very well might be, but it was worth it.

Sarah hadn't realized that it was a dream until then. This one had been so realistic, so detailed, had lasted so much longer. The kiss was much more thrilling as well, thrilling enough that she forgot the dream part and treated it as real.

The girl Jim had kissed over her good grades had been lithe and muscular. The woman in his arms now was all yielding softness. She flowed into his arms, breasts pressing into his ribs, her stomach soft against his growing erection. When her mouth opened for his tongue, he forgot everything else. Then they overbalanced. He threw a hand outward to prevent that fall, and it banged against the door.

In the stillness, this sounded like a cannon shot. They pulled a little apart, and both glanced guiltily over at the cots. The boys never stirred. Once asleep, outside stimuli had little effect on them. Even so, they tiptoed down the hall.

She hadn't been done with that kiss, though. And he'd started it, she was entitled to start one, too.

He tried to concentrate on the guilt, but lust was winning out. And she hadn't seemed to mind. Then she said, "Well, you kissed me." Before he could figure out what that was supposed to mean, she was in his arms again. She had tense muscles again, but not to hold herself up. Taking a half step back to regain his balance, he held her as she clung to him. It took her two attempts to find his mouth, but her kiss was wet and urgent when it reached its target.

Sure that he would scold her when she was done, she made it a kiss worth any scolding -- invading his mouth with her tongue. Then she snaked her arms under his tux one at a time. That was a real hug; she could feel his warmth and the muscles moving under his shirt.

Miraculously, he wasn't resisting at all. Instead he held her to him and kissed back. He knew what to do with his tongue, and she followed his lead. When she felt him hardening against her belly, it wasn't an embarrassment or a silliness as it was with boys. It was an acceptance of her and her adulthood. She relaxed against him and concentrated on their kiss.

He didn't need to hold her to him, but he used his left arm to hug her anyway. His right hand roved all over her back, caressed her neck, tweaked her ear. Her breasts were unreachable in this close hug, but his chest was doing its best to memorize the soft pressure with hardness in the centers. He reached her butt and, unable to leave it, kneaded that incredible resilience through her jeans. Meanwhile, his tongue explored hers, tasted her lips and teeth, returned to the delicious sweetness on the underside of her tongue. His right thigh was between hers. Through his suit and her jeans, he couldn't really feel the softness against it. Nothing was stopping him from imagining it, however; imagining its softness, imagining even its perfume.

When she had to breathe, she hugged her cheek against his and breathed in his scent. His hand remained on her ass, rubbing and squeezing. She felt his breath on her neck and then his lips on her ear. Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders with his hands and stepped back. She regained her footing.

"Oh Sarah," he said. "I shouldn't."

Yes he should. She took his hand from her shoulder and led him into his bedroom.

The undressing finally convinced her that this wasn't another dream. She was in sweatshirt and jeans; he was in a complicated dress suit. The clothes took too long and were so clumsy, not fading away at all. In her underwear while his fancy shirt still hid most of his shorts, she hesitated. He stepped forward and kissed her again. Then he turned her away to remove her bra. When his mouth was nibbling on her neck and his hands were holding her breasts, the reality caught up with the dreams and surpassed them.

He'd seen the outline of these breasts grow from bumps against her tee shirts to the present globes. His mind had stripped her often enough that he was certain of their appearance. What he learned now was their softness and their heft. He kissed and sniffed at her neck, finding her soap and her sweat, the odor of girl.

She whirled in his arms and kissed him briefly. Then she attacked the studs on his scratchy shirt. He caressed her until she reached the last stud, first her back and then her breasts. He tossed the shirt towards a chair, then stripped off his tee shirt. She got a glimpse of his erection peeking out of his boxers. He turned away, closed the door, and returned to her. The window let in the curious brightness of a suburb covered with snow, but otherwise the room was dark.

He threw back the covers and eased her down on the chilly sheets. He kissed her and caressed her all over. Then his mouth found her breast while his hand found her thighs. He rubbed her through the panties for a moment. "May I?" he asked, with his hand on the elastic of the panties. She nodded and raised herself.

He watched the center of her femininity emerge as he pulled the panties down. Her short, slightly curved, hair was black in the dimness. Wasn't all pubic hair tightly curled? A mound pointed at him in mimicry of passion as she raised herself to allow the removal, a shadowed darkness in the duskiness of the room. Then the scent reached him, the odor of arousal, the odor of woman. He stopped moving, and she writhed to push the panties off the rest of the way. This motion, over before he could react to its beginning, revealed a flickering glimpse of her ultimate sweetness. He stripped off the boxers' inadequate cover and slipped in beside her, but with his head on a level with her breasts.

She felt his chill for a few minutes, but his mouth on her breast generated enough heat to make up for it. His hands were everywhere, then his hand was parting her legs, icy where she had been warmest. Her discontent wasn't with the chill, however. From the first kiss, a need had been growing down there. He dallied on her thighs when she needed him on her center. She spread her knees as he finally parted her lips. Only a few of her shivers were due to the coolness. She had known that his hand would feel utterly different from her own; she just hadn't known that it would feel this way. Still far from her climax, her emotion was already flowing from her eyes as tears.

His hardness ached. Only the lovely feel of her breast in his mouth anchored him there and prevented his pouncing on her. He stroked up her thighs, pausing until the relative temperatures were more nearly equal. Then he parted those soft, slight, lips. And struck oil! The moisture, revealing that she also wanted him, drew him like a magnet. Still telling himself that she needed more time, with his mouth still playing with her responsive nipple, he moved between her legs. The sheets between them made him break all contact until they were rearranged.

She'd dreamed of a moment almost like this. He was larger, though, and hairier. Things like clothes and sheets kept getting in their way. He said almost nothing, certainly not anyhing like an apology for overlooking her womanly maturity for so long. On the plus side, his mouth on her breast was more exciting than she had ever imagined; and her hands had never stroked quite this way. But they weren't really hugging. She welcomed his climbing above her; she would really clasp him.

Now, naked between her naked legs, he fumbled like a schoolboy parting her lips again. Darting a kiss to her mound, he was blessed by a lungfull of her scent. Sparing only a brief kiss to the breast that he had neglected, he rose above her and eased himself into her valley. One journey up and down confirmed her moisture with nerve endings infinitely more sensitive than those of his fingers. Placing himself at her tight entrance, he straightened as her thighs rose to embrace him. He looked straight into her face as he lunged into her.

Thus, he saw her wince as his invasion tore her.

"Oh, Sarah!" he said. Dropping down to whisper his apologies in her ear, he felt an entirely different sort of dampness on her cheek. "God! I've hurt you. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...." He hadn't quite meant to hurt her, but he hadn't considered her pain. He'd only been a rutting animal intent on burying his cock in the body without an ounce of respect for the spirit that had trusted him this far.

Penetration had been part of her intellectual understanding of the sex act, but her finger there hadn't brought the pleasure it had brought in her valley. Consequently, she had left penetration out of her daydreams. The pain should have been expected, but it probably was milder for the lack of anticipatory tensing. Anyway, with Mr. Madison in her arms and whispering in her ear, she wasn't going to let something like that bother her. Her arms wouldn't quite reach around him, her legs were spread much wider than she had thought, and his legs were hairy on her thighs; but she adjusted to the new situation quite easily. She locked her ankles together to give the hug with her legs, and used her hands to feel all over his broad back. This was really better. "Much better," she said aloud.

Jim was startled, but reassured. While his mind had been wallowing in remorse, his body had been pressed against, and into, a lithe girl-woman. She has holding him rather than pushing him away, and she'd said that she felt much better. He shut up, and began kissing the tears off her face.

She buried her face in the corner of his shoulder and sniffed his scent. Occasionally she kissed his neck. His kisses were now all over her face: temple, eyebrow, hairline, and forehead. She didn't know how long he could find new places to kiss her, but she was eager to find out -- especially eager since his chest rubbed across her sensitive nipples every time he moved. Her legs felt awkward, though. She reluctantly dropped her feet down to the bed. Feeling farther from him that way, she pressed her abdomen up against his for a moment. She felt him slide a little further in when she did that. When he raised his head, she kissed his neck, easing herself down on the bed in relaxation as her attention shifted.

Being inside her tightness was paradise. Restraining his desire to move within her, Jim kissed his way across her face. Her legs locked around his and her kisses on his neck were inarguable signs of acceptance. But only when she had pressed up first did he allow himself to stroke within her. He pressed inward, he savored the tightness around him as he withdrew to the edge, he pressed slowly inward once more. Once loosed, however, his body escaped all control. He moved faster, and then was pounding into her. He tried to warn her of the impending flood: "Sarah, love, I'm..." Then he drove into her as if aiming for her throat. He pulsed, and pulsed, then collapsed with a groan. He tried to fall to his left.

She felt his motions tease her as his fingers had but somehow more deeply. The arousal built slowly with his first strokes, but was overtaken by a different kind of excitement. He was going wild above her and inside her. He grimaced, called to her, and then was moaning above her. She was at once a desired woman and a curious girl. Male orgasm was nothing like the tension and relief she experienced. Immediately after he drove her into the mattress, he pinned her right arm. She was leaking below and had her first doubts about this sex business. Then she looked over at his face. He was breathing like a diesel bus, but he was beaming at her. She'd thought his previous smiles were sweet; this one was glorious.

They lay looking into each other's eyes while her left side got chilled from the lack of blankets.

He realized that she was smiling at him. That must mean that she had forgiven him. He shouldn't forgive himself, but all he could think was that he felt good. This was Sarah, bright faithful Sarah; and she was his for this moment, if not for much longer. This was also smooth skin and lithe womanliness. And warmth. Why was female warmth different from the electric blankets -- from even the warmth of the boys?

"Turn away from me," he asked later, "will you?" After she complied, he fitted himself to her back with one leg pressed to the crack between hers. He tucked the covers over her carefully.

She wasn't sure that she could sleep in this position, but -- after he began hugging her gently and holding her breast -- decided that sleeping didn't matter. She shivered at his kiss on the back of her neck. "You know," he said after a long snuggle, "I left the car in the driveway and not plugged in."

"Won't start in this weather. Couldn't possibly drive me home."

"It might, if we got dressed and went out now."

"What a repulsive idea. Are you going to put it in the garage?"

"Leave this warm hug and get dressed again? What a repulsive idea."

"And to think I was so excited this afternoon about going to Brown."

"You are going to Brown! I'll marry you, but you're going to Brown." Their bodies lay together, but their minds were suddenly apart.

Jim was as shocked at himself for that statement as he was about the near-rape. He was a competent if not great litigator, and a truly first-class negotiator. Lawyers don't blurt things out, even in their personal lives. Did he want to marry this girl? Well, yes. He wanted to be married; he loved and desired Sarah; she and he and the boys would make a family. Besides, he had missed this so much. This lying together.

On the other hand, what did he have to offer? He was a better bedmate than he had shown, but she would never know that now. He shouldn't have blurted his proposal out. There were difficulties galore. And he did love Sarah, which was much more complicated than simply desiring her. He'd rejoiced in every step of her development from the gangling girl he had first known. She deserved a first-class education. Even at Brown, coming home to a wife's responsibilities would stifle the play of one mind against another. He had a lot to offer in the purely material plane, but a lot less if they were to move to the east coast.

Sarah was nearly in shock. The papers filled with practice signatures, "Mrs. Sarah Madison," had been torn to shreds and buried in the garbage years ago. The best she had imagined had been a few nights sneaking into his bed. She let herself think about being his wife. Hugs and kisses like they had shared in the hallway, sex with him, lying in his arms almost every night. She'd experienced this cuddling business for about half an hour, and already she was addicted. She could see again and again the smile he had given her, they could talk every night -- after the twins were in bed, of course -- but the twins were a pleasure in themselves. There had to be a downside.

"Where is Brown anyway?" he asked.

"Providence."

"Look," he said, "I have to make a pit stop." He grabbed a robe from the closet before leaving the room.

Jim cursed himself as he stood in front of the toilet. He'd taken advantage of a young girl's trust, and now he was trying to bully her into marriage. Now that the erection was down, he should start thinking with the other head. Still, Sarah hadn't shown any revulsion. Maybe he could string out this fantasy while she let him down easily. Maybe she had been curious about sex. Sure, she had been curious about sex; she was a teenager, for God's sake. And if she had been, what an introduction he had given her! Instead of going out with a boy she loved and both of them fumbling a little, she had accommodated an experienced older man who had blundered a lot. Still, he carefully lowered the seat. Better than knocking on wood, it signified that there was a lady in the house -- in the house for now, at least. After tonight, could he live without her? Could he live with himself if he tricked her into throwing away her life?

He returned to the bedroom briefly to rummage in his handkerchief drawer. "I do love you," he said. It was his only clarity at the moment. He returned with two of the softer handkerchiefs wet and two of them dry. "Would you like to wipe yourself off?" She reached out a hand for the cloths. "I'm going to turn on the baby monitor." She might appreciate a little privacy.

Sarah knew that this took sixty seconds at most. She took that time to dash into the bathroom herself. She wiped herself with the wet handkerchief, getting a lot of goo -- "Semen" she thought -- with a little pinkish tinge. Was she pregnant? No, the last tampon had been Wednesday. She hadn't needed that one, but it was too soon after her period to worry about pregnancy.

TP after using the toilet dried all of her, leaving the dry handkerchiefs untouched. She washed out the handkerchiefs that she had used and was shivering by the time she dried her hands. She'd seen the downside. Mr. Madison was a gentleman. Having "taken" her virginity (was any virginity ever offered so willingly?), he had felt that he needed to propose. He'd think more clearly in the morning. Well, at least she had an excuse to kiss him again. He couldn't claim that she was a little girl any more; so maybe they could make love again, as well. She was surprised to find the bed empty when she got back, but he brought her bookbag when he came. The contacts case was in there.

Watching the sleeping boys always steadied his thoughts. He tucked the covers back around Daniel, not that they would stay that way. The monitor was already on. He went down to the living room to see if she'd left the other end there; she often did. On the way back with it, he grabbed her bookbag. She might need something, and she carried the damnedest things in there. By the time that he returned to his room with these, he knew what he wanted to say. First though, he watched her take out her contacts sitting up in bed. Her breasts were half covered by her arms and half revealed. Why did that look sexier than seeing them all? He swore again that he wouldn't trick her into marriage. She had trusted him with too much.

As soon as she closed the contacts case and dropped back to the bed, he snuggled against her again. "Look," he began, "I'm not your parent."

"I think I knew that." This time, along with the other comforts, he was warm. She pressed back against him. He kept his hand to himself, though. She'd love to package that restraint and give it to some boys she could name, sending all of it where he could never get it back.

"You know that perfectly well. I, on the other hand, sometimes sort of forget. When I do, kick my shins or something. Whatever our future relationship, it is one of equals; and where you go to school is ultimately your decision. On the other hand, if you give up your best chance -- give it up because of me -- I'll feel guilty as hell."

Their future relationship had gone from 'marriage' to 'whatever,' but that was only to be expected. She would take what she could get. "I understand completely. It is my decision to make, on the understanding that you'll lay a permanent guilt trip on me if I don't make it your way. That shows you're not being parental."

"Put like that, ...."

"It does sound a little tiny bit parental. Now doesn't it? Consider your shin kicked." Taking what she could get, she reached for his hand.

"It's cold," he warned her. But he let her place his hand on her warm breast. Let? His groin stirred at the touch. "Okay, I'll be totally selfish on the next part." He kissed the back of her neck and gently squeezed her breast, quite selfishly. "I can see that being married to me would be a real drag on your life; I can't see any compensating advantages. So it isn't a case of 'Jim will marry Sarah.' But I do wish that you would think about it seriously for another day. I love you."

Despite her resignation, she started to cry when he got to the part withdrawing his offer of marriage; the next words didn't seem to fit, however. "Think about what?"

"Marrying me."

"I will."

"Really? You'll really consider it?"

She had meant that she would marry him. She was tired of thinking about it. What he'd asked, however, was for her to consider it; adults don't jump into things like marriage. She would consider it. But considering it seemed to call for more than a back-to-front cuddle, delightful as that felt. She turned in his arms and pressed a kiss against his nose. He moved higher in the bed to make it a real kiss. Soon he had both arms around her.

"You'll actually think about it? You're not just saying that?" Feeling her lithe length press against him, he found a much better use for his mouth than the questions that she had ignored. His tongue explored her mouth as his hand explored her body. He eased her down flat while still in the kiss, then broke it to kiss her face. He worked his slow way down to her breasts, trying to treat them equally this time. His left hand played with her ear while his right stroked her thighs. She opened these invitingly.

Although she felt that it had taken him far too long to notice her feminine curves, he was making up for lost time tonight. Sarah lay back under his kiss and his petting. Then he kissed places that had never felt sexy before. She vaguely thought that the top of her head and her kneecaps would be erogenous zones if he kissed them. She'd known about her nipples, but he drew exquisite feelings out of them, far beyond her previous imaginings. He spent the longest time stroking the edge of her mound just where her labia began. Finally, he parted her labia and approached her center. He used two fingers, and such large fingers, just missing her most sensitive point. The excitement built and built.

Assuming that her portal was still sore, Jim was careful to avoid it as he stroked her cleft. Recognizing her tension for the onset of plateau, he decided to kiss her mouth for a minute or two. The stimulation on her breast would feel new by the time that she needed it to bring her to climax.

She felt herself tense. His mouth found hers, his tongue found hers, his fingers finally found her clit. The tension spiraled upwards until she shuddered and came. But the sensations didn't stop. His fingers, moving more slowly and lightly now, tickled her again and again. She writhed under the glorious feelings. She finally had to turn her mouth away to breathe. He stopped moving but rested his hand on her belly. When he kissed her ear, she shuddered twice more. These were much less intense, but they seemed to cast her adrift into wonderful rest. Then his whispers in her ear woke her.

"Sweet Sarah, darling Sarah," he said. "I love you, sensuous Sarah." She was sensuous, too. She'd climaxed so soon! She'd been absolutely silent, but quite obvious. Would she let him watch some time? How much light would she accept while making love? Selfish question! How much would she be comfortable with? God! He'd missed the experience of a woman's response as much as he'd missed the clasping warmth of a woman's interior.

"Finally noticed, huh?" She didn't know why she was grinding it in. He'd just been awfully nice to her.

"Noticed?" Had she known of his love for the past years? Had it taken her this long to respond to it?

"Noticed the sensuous bit. I haven't been a little girl for a long time." She was surprised that it still hurt.

"Remember when I kissed you in congratulation for getting all 'A's in your majors?"

It was warm, she thought, and you'd come into the house carrying your jacket and with your tie pulled down. You were wearing that blue pinstriped shirt with short sleeves. I was coming from the boys' room and told you about the report card when I reached the bottom of the stairs. You hugged me so hard that the tie pin bit into my newly-sensitive breast. Not that I cared or that the bulge could be seen without a microscope back then. You kissed me on my mouth, which I kept closed like an absolute idiot. Then I kept hugging you until you said something about the heat. Then you kissed the top of my head and escaped. Yeah, I have a faint memory of something like that happening. "Yes, I remember," she said.

"Well, you were stopping being a little girl back then. I decided hugs and kisses were no longer appropriate."

"I got all 'A's in every single course the first marking period of the tenth grade."

"And I was proud of you. I told you so."

"Telling doesn't count! You didn't kiss me so. I did two extra-credit reports in health to get that last 'A'." And never made an effort in health class again, 'B's were good enough for a minor subject.

"I suppose that a kiss now wouldn't make up for it."

"Well, you could try." He did, gently, then -- when she hugged him hard -- fiercely. Afterwards, he rearranged the two of them. Her head was on his shoulder, feeling him breathe. His arm under her head was warm against her left side. This was another cuddle, even better than with her back to him. "You know so much." Well he did, but that wasn't what she meant. "About this, I mean. About marriage? Would it always be like this?"

"Depends. Emotionally, this is our first time -- your very first. That's special." The wedding night is special too, he promised silently; I'll handle that one better. "Physiologically, I'm supposed to have known something about women, about one woman especially. But I'm out of practice, and I don't know anything about you in particular. I'll learn." He looked for a way to say that responding was also something that you learned, but that would sound like he was blaming her. He certainly wasn't going to mention the days when married couples tumbled into bed, too tired even to kiss; this was a night for romance.

"And you'll teach me?" She wanted him to be happy, too. She wasn't worried about his getting better. For that matter, any climax more intense than that last one would kill her. She was interested in spending the rest of her life in a cuddle like this. Well, maybe a few glorious experiences like the one he had brought her just now. Special celebrations, perhaps.

"We'll learn together. I'm your companion in this adventure, not your guide." As if that last phrase were needed after the way he had mishandled her defloration. But he could improve; he'd been gentle with Valerie, after all.

"And certainly not my parent." His shoulder gave an interesting view of his laugh. It sounded different from right there, too.

"Certainly not." This is what marriage provides. He could get sex from his own hand, if not sex as soul stirring as her tightness had given him. But you can't lie on your own shoulder and breathe warmth, and you can't puncture your own pomposity. He'd find some way of being a good husband to her, to make up for not letting her go. He'd forgotten; after tonight, he might be bound to her in another way. "Um, speaking of parents...."

"Sometime Sunday evening. But I'll have to be home in between to pick up the mail and eat a couple of meals. They'd call a doctor if they thought I'd gone two days without raiding the 'fridge."

"Not quite what I meant. Do you think that we started a baby?"

"Not really."

"When will we know?"

She counted up in her head. "Three weeks and a couple days. I think that we're safe though."

"So do I. But I've got to get to a drugstore before we do that again. We don't really know whether I've made you pregnant, and won't for nearly a month." Could she go to a gynecologist without a parent's permission? He'd look that up on Monday.

He hadn't felt this relaxed in three years. He hugged her a little, feeling her warm litheness against his arm. That pressed her soft breast against his ribs, her lovely -- but not particularly soft -- belly against his gut (he'd have to work out more to deserve this litheness pressed against him) and even the hardness of her mound against his hip. She hugged him back, adding an emotional icing to all that wealth of physical pleasure. His arm would be asleep in the morning, but the present sensations were worth it.

"Sarah, darling, ..." he murmured.

"What did you say?"

"Sarah, darling, ..." he started over in a much firmer voice.

"You don't need to speak that loud. I heard you, I just wanted to hear it again."

"Sarah darling, darling Sarah, sweet Sarah, beloved." She pressed against him on that one.

"And what should I call you? You're still 'Mr. Madison' in my mind."

"Jim. The question is what the kids should call you."

"Sarah. They already have a mommy."

He didn't like 'Daddy and Sarah' for a parental unit, but the twins did call Sarah by name.

"Jim," she said.

"Beloved," he answered.

"Do you want me the other way? With my back towards you?"

"Would you?" After she turned, he very carefully tucked the corners around her. She giggled softly at the picture of him doing the same thing for Dan. She didn't object, though. It made her feel loved as she drifted off.

She awoke in the middle of the night, however, in a panic. She didn't know where she was, and some man was holding her. It took her a minute to adjust and find her way out; she was used to getting out of the right side of the bed at home. By the time she left the bathroom, she remembered all the good parts. She did turn the hall lights on, though; she kept them on when she was watching the kids overnight. On the other hand, she wore a nightgown and bathrobe those times. Now, she felt exposed in her nakedness.

His warmth was welcome when she returned, and he only flinched at her coolness once. Then he hugged her again. This was a lovely feeling. She'd fallen asleep thinking that they would be married, however; and now she was utterly convinced that they wouldn't. Wherever that conviction came from, it didn't come with any reasons.

Nor did it come with any lessened affection for Mr. Madison. He was a wonderful person, even aside from being warm. She needed to think this out rationally; if she said 'yes,' it had to be 'yes' forever. Well, he'd given her time to think it out. Her back was getting nice and warm, but her front was still chilly. She took his arm and draped it over her. Instantly, he cuddled her breast. "You're so cooperative," she said.

"Hmm?"

"I wish I'd brought my robe." There was something silly about commenting that he was willing to hold her breast; most of the boys in high school would have been glad to hold her breast. It just felt right when he did it.

"Wear mine. I'll find some pajamas when I need them." Sweet girl, use anything you want. Share my life. Anyway, the boys just might tell somebody if they saw her naked. He kissed the back of her neck and her shoulder.

She felt him begin to harden against her hip. He wanted her again? Well, why not? She could ask him how to shape herself to hold him better. She rolled over on her back to allow him access. When he didn't move immediately, she turned further towards him so that they could reach for a kiss. His kiss was enthusiastic, and she was soon lying flat while he kissed over her face and neck and shoulders. Meanwhile, his hand was stroking her upper body, but mostly her breasts.

Once he finally got around to noticing her breasts, he sure did notice them. Mmmm. And he made them feel so nice, too. It was an effort on her part to keep her own hands out of her crotch; but he was setting the pace, and he -- after all -- had the experience. But she wished he would hurry a little bit.

He had been a little nervous about kissing her mouth; he must taste like gym socks. Kissing the rest of her was pure pleasure. Finally, he couldn't resist those lovely breasts. Right after he eased his head under the covers, he heard her say something, maybe hum something. Whatever it was, it was encouraging. He kissed the lower slopes of her breasts and stroked her thighs. They opened for him sooner than he expected, so he stroked the sides until he was ready to kiss her nipple.

Then he sucked the nipple while he stroked along the edges of her moist lower lips. She gasped and tensed. He had to smile. "Did you like that?"

She was bathed in a sensuous haze, with gently erotic additions every time his hand or mouth found a new location. Suddenly two wildly passionate sensations burned through her without a heartbeat in between. She gasped. Then his teasing voice asked if she had liked it. Hardly described what she had felt. But she was spared the need to answer. His lips returned to her nipple, his fingers entered her groove, and she sank into pure sensation. He was bringing her to the moment, she could feel it loom over her, then he abandoned her breasts to kiss her belly. Was he going to ...? Did she want him to ...? But he returned to her breast, and she need not consider anything but the present sensations.

Feeling her body tighten under his hand, Jim couldn't resist one kiss to that wonderful, firm abdomen. He got a stronger whiff of her odor, however, and had to remind himself that he wouldn't have any contraceptives until much later. Her breasts were beautiful, and the nipples responsive, but he had promised himself to watch her face when she came. So he abandoned those lovely, lively nipples and broke free of the covers before he allowed himself to touch her clitoris on every pass. Her tension grew greater and he pled to see her climax.

She opened her eyes to see that he was staring into them in the faint light. "Come for me," he whispered. "Come for me, darling Sarah." She tried to tell him that she would, that it was inevitable. Before she could frame the words, however, it was too late.

She soared upwards but never escaped his arousing fingers. And then she crashed. It had never felt like this, never in all the times she had stroked herself. And before the aftershocks were quite finished, he was holding her -- cherishing her -- in his arms. She lay there gasping, but still bathed in love. "I did," she said.

Then they were both laughing. She had many questions, but she fell asleep while he was kissing her shoulders.

They were awakened by two boys climbing onto the bed for their Saturday morning roughhouse. Sarah's presence was a pleasant surprise to them, but nothing could conceivably interfere with the scheduled tussle. Ken finally tired of the play and crawled over to lie more quietly on Sarah. His face against the sheet over her unbound breast felt a little odd to her, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I should have warned you," Jim said. "Parents have all sorts of extra expenses, but we really save on alarm clocks." She'd had the wakeup when she'd stayed before, but not the wrestling match. Jim finally escaped Dan long enough to dress, the pajama idea forgotten, and pull the kids back to their room to change.

Sarah grabbed the robe as soon as they were gone. She took a quick shower and "brushed" her teeth with her finger. She was dressed in the previous night's clothes when she caught up with the males at the breakfast table.

"Cheerios or Captain Crunch?" Jim asked. "There are eggs and bacon, but you'd have to fix them yourself." Sarah would have cooked breakfast at home, but the idea of eating something real in front of three people having cereal deterred her here. She settled for a small bowl of Cheerios and two cups of coffee. There was no OJ, not even a can in the freezer; she checked.

Jim searched out a heavy-duty extension cord from the cellar and used it to plug in the heater in the engine block. The kids, who went through separation anxiety every time that Sarah came to the house to babysit, decided that they wanted her attention rather than his when both were available. That was okay. He couldn't fault their taste, and watching her was a pleasure. Soon, Daniel turned on the TV.

Sarah couldn't really get into the pleasure of the stolen kiss when the adults adjourned to the dining room. She was dreading the discussion afterward. "You asked me to think about it," she said when they broke. "I really haven't had thinking time yet." She was still certain that the answer was 'no,' but he deserved a reason. For that matter, she deserved a reason, and she didn't have one yet.

"That's okay." Jim was pleased that she was going to give it serious thought. The problems being immediately obvious, the longer she took to think, the likelier it was that she might actually accept. In this particular case, no news was very good news. "I only want to talk about today and maybe tomorrow."

That, Sarah could handle. "I want this afternoon by myself. I'll try to do the thinking then. I need to be home Sunday by three or four. My mother left me two meals in the 'fridge. If you don't mind my inviting myself over...." Jim made a sweeping motion of as if ushering her somewhere. "I'd like to come back this evening, heat up the two casseroles and share them with you, with you three. Then go back home again at maybe two-thirty. They won't be back that soon, but the house needs to look lived in."

"And you'll stay the night?" That seemed pretty clear, but he'd like to hear it again.

"I'll stay tonight. If you'll have me." As if he would ever refuse her. "I can't stay tomorrow night, but..." she gave him such an impish grin that he had to resist dragging her up the stairs into the bedroom, "... the twins have been taking really reliable naps these days." The idea of Sarah in the daylight had him instantly hard. He pulled her into his arms.

This kiss she could enjoy wholeheartedly. She flowed into his arms and pressed against him. Their tongues explored each other, his hardness pressed into her belly, his hands caressed her back and butt while hers clasped each other behind his back. When she finally broke the kiss, it was to check on the living room.

He tried to get behind her on her return. Finally, he had to take her by her shoulders and turn her around. Then he could scatter occasional kisses across the top of her head while he petted her whole front. She contented herself with pressing her back against him. He discovered what she already knew, that the complicated front of the jeans hindered any exploration of that area. She had just decided to lower the zipper for him when he broke to check on the kids again.

And so it went, hot kisses interrupted by one or the other making sure that the the boys weren't doing anything to endanger their bodies. While the younger generation vegetated on the sofa ingesting harbormaster homilies, the older generation engaged in active play. Sarah was on Daddy's lap with his hand up her top when the twins went looking for them. Jim had to adjust his erection with three pairs of eyes on him. Then he carried hod while the boys built two towers with Legos. Sarah practically dressed herself over again before she relieved him.

"Thanks," he said. "Is there anything you need from the store. Besides the obvious, I mean. A toothbrush?"

"Yeah." That would save carting things back and forth. "And a shower cap. Could you stock up on orange juice as well." She wished that she could get a real sexy nightgown, but asking him to buy it would pretty much spoil the effect, anyway.

After Jim got back and the frozen foods were put away, everybody got in the car to take Sarah home. To her relief, there were no messages from her mother on the answering machine.

When, nearly four years before, she had been offered a job babysitting twin infants for most of the summer, she had set down the advantages and disadvantages in two columns on a sheet of paper. She started that process again.

First, she still had a crush on Mr. Madison. He was unfailingly considerate; although he could forget to be conventionally polite, he always thought about the other person's need. Well, he had always thought about hers. And he knew so much. Her face warmed; he knew as much about pleasing a woman as he did about American history. The twins had to be on the plus side, as did their basic agreement about child-raising. It felt cold-blooded to put money on the plus side, but she suspected that the negatives were going to be mostly practical. It sure was a different life than most 18-year-old brides could expect. (She didn't even consider getting married before the summer. Weddings took time.)

On the other hand, the crush had to die whatever she decided. Women didn't have crushes on their husbands. For that matter, women didn't have crushes; girls did. Across from "crush," she wrote "Jim." She had some chores to do, and did them then. While her forebrain was otherwise engaged, some other part put "Mr. Madison" in a box.

The next obvious problem when she came back to the paper was that she wasn't a recluse. Jim and the twins were wonderful people, but three wonderful people wasn't exactly a social life. A baby sitter sees more trapped wives than she needs to. She couldn't quite see bringing her friends into the new family circle, any that would be still in town. Some of her acquaintances at school would be impressed with her new status, but she wouldn't want to call them friends -- those sure as hell wouldn't be the ones she would want to introduce to Jim as her friends. Nor could she imagine Jim's colleagues treating a college freshman seriously. Her parents would be there -- unless she were in Providence -- but they wouldn't be particularly approving.

Which was just the opposite of what she wanted; her parents got on her nerves sometimes, but she wanted them to be proud of her. Why, she thought, was it so bad to fall in love with a man of thirty whom she had known for nearly four years and marry him? If she had met a boy in her class this spring, had a torrid affair, got pregnant, and married him, her parents' disapproval would have lasted two or three months.

But this was a more complicated question than she had thought. She couldn't really make the decision before she figured out what kind of marriage should be in the left-hand column. In some ways, moving to Providence was the best solution. Instead of Jim's friends being shocked by Sarah and Sarah's friends being shocked by Jim, they would present Jim-and-Sarah to a new social group. A surprise, perhaps, but not a shock. On the other hand, why was the school name on her diploma so important to her career when a job break would put a real crimp in Jim's? And the two of them couldn't move again and again. Did she want to live in Rhode Island the rest of her life? Sight unseen?

Otherwise, she could go to the university here; she could marry Jim and have a commuting marriage; she could get engaged and wait four years for marriage. Damn it! She wanted to sit up in dorm rooms arguing whether truth was beauty over take-out pizza; she wanted to sleep in Jim's arms every night. After last night, she couldn't believe that she wanted the first more than the second.

And she had never felt like that before, like he had made her feel twice in one night. The mere memory turned her on, and she began to remove her clothes to see how far she could reproduce the sensations. She had the house to herself for once, after all. Then she stopped herself; tonight and tomorrow were for Jim's hands, not hers. And, she thought, for his mouth as well. She could remember the sensations, though.

When he returned from Sarah's, Jim put away the groceries and then the rest of his purchases. He cleared out a place in the locked file cabinet in the spare room for the extra contraceptives and for Sarah's things. How long anything could be hidden from Mrs. Simpson was another question. He put the new low-wattage bulb in the lamp on his side of the bed and taped a small bag to the back of the headboard; he taped a wrapped condom just above it. He'd done enough fumbling in this relationship.

Then, despite the boys' best attempts to keep him distracted, he had no choice but to think. Thank God that he did most of his work in corporate law and bankruptcy. Working in inheritance or divorce law would have meant virtually starting over in the new state. Precedent differences between circuits were arcane enough that any lawyer would have to look those issues up, in any circuit. He already dealt with different states' versions of the not-so-Uniform Commercial Code. But did corporations take their major cases to Providence firms? He didn't want to commute to New York, and Boston had more law schools than courtrooms, wedging in there would be impossible.

He didn't like 'Daddy and Sarah' for a parental unit, but the kids already had a 'mommy,' albeit in heaven.

For that matter, Sarah had a scholarship offer from Brown. That had been based on her family's financial statement and a letter of reference from her disinterested employer. They might just object if she showed up as a woman married (or even engaged) to the above captioned employer, whose financial statement would have looked quite different.

They had to deal with her parents. His litigation skills were no threat to Darrow's memory, but he was a negotiator. He and Sarah could offer a long engagement in return for acceptance of any engagement at all. This should be done soon, if done at all. He had entertained them at his house several times, mostly in celebration of Sarah's birthdays. They could be invited for dinner, ostensibly to celebrate the offer from Brown. Sarah would take the kids upstairs and return with an engagement ring on her finger; they would be confronting them on his ground, with the implicit threat that Sarah could simply stay here if things got nasty. Not that her parents got nasty. Still, he should break the news while Sarah was upstairs. They had the power to hurt her with their words, but those wouldn't hurt him.

And there was the firm. Turning down a partnership was a slap in the face however nicely one did it. The next firm, and most of his experience wasn't in areas where sole practitioners got work, would be leery of putting much effort into developing him. Finding a next firm wouldn't be a snap for that matter.

Sarah was a delight, but also a challenge. She was properly respectful to "Mr. Madison" while never backing down in the areas where her expertise exceeded his. How long would it take her to see through "Jim" when she experienced him on a day-to-day basis? She was still growing up, and likely as not to outgrow him.

His wedding night hadn't been his first time with Valerie. Anxious to make it as memorable for her as if it had been her first experience, he'd asked what would make it special. "Really," she'd said, "court me as if we didn't have any past at all. Take all the parts slowly, start with kissing as if that is where it will end." Doing so, he'd found his pleasure in her pleasure greater than any previous experience. They'd had 'quickies' in their marriage, but he'd known how to make the experience a special occasion from that night onwards. He had more patience at thirty than he'd had at twenty-two; he could make Sarah's wedding night even more thoroughly arousing.

He loved Sarah, was convinced of that as soon as he had allowed himself to think about it; but in his experience love conquered damn all. Love made many things more bearable, and some things -- like embolisms -- much less bearable. It sure didn't help to increase billable hours. Well, not his love.

The twins pulled him out of his funk. They read and roughhoused until lunchtime. The boys much preferred his cooking to the meals that Mrs. Simpson left, mostly because he cooked hot dogs for both lunch and dinner. During their naps, he took a shower and then cleaned up a contract. Sarah was right, they slept like logs these days. His thoughts turned to making love to her in the daylight. He'd take the whole nap time, petting her to visible orgasms for most of it. His thoughts kept him away from legal work until the kids awoke.

They did their best to exhaust him until Sarah finally phoned. "Jim," she said.

"I'm here, and I love you."

"I love you too," she said, "love you very much. Can you guys come pick me up?"

He noticed that her bookbag held something bulky. Night gear, he supposed. When she got her coat off, however, his attention was drawn back to the present. Sarah in jeans and a bulky top had been a pretty girl. Sarah in a good dress was a beauty. She was even wearing makeup. "You're gorgeous. Isn't she pretty, guys?" The boys agreed that she was pretty.

Sarah supposed that the boys would agree that anything was pretty, it wasn't one of their important categories. But her face grew warmer on Jim's compliment. Would he still like her after tonight?

She came back from the kitchen to see Jim turning in circles with a boy on each shoulder. Jim's strength still occasionally surprised her. Knowing what one of those boys weighed, she would never have tried two of them. On the other hand, her mother had put a lot of effort into the meal that she was about to serve them. By that time, they would probably all feel nauseated. She sighed over three little boys spinning around in front of her. But they were all laughing in glee, and she soon joined in. Jim got the boys to sit on each side of her for a book before dinner; he went to set the table.

They ate in the dining room across from each other. She got Dan on her side, and Jim got Ken. The Madison males clearly preferred the ravioli to the Vericheesey Casserole. "The thing is," she explained to Jim, "that these need to look like I made one meal out of each. That means leftovers from both."

Jim could see her point. He dropped the spoon back in the ravioli and took another serving from the chickpea dish. Having conceded something, he brought up his prime goal. "Get any thinking done this afternoon?"

"Yes I did. Let's talk about it after the little pitchers are asleep, okay."

"Okay," he said. He had his answer anyway. There were ways of saying yes without the boys catching on; details could easily wait until later. If she was going to turn him down, though, why did she need to have two meals consumed tonight?

The boys had grown quite blase about having two adults to play with. Between dinner time and bath time, they mostly played on their own. To save Sarah's good dress, he administered the bath while she watched from the doorway. He mopped the bathroom out while she read them a story. "And now, since you've been such good boys," she said when he checked on the end, "Daddy will read you a second story."

They struggled to keep their eyes open through that, not very successfully. When he came out, the bathroom door was closed and the water was running in the sink. Her dress was hanging in the closet. He changed into pajamas and got into bed. He turned on the light on his nightstand, hoping that Sarah would accept that much light. She came into the room and slid into the window side of the bed, dressed in robe and nightgown.

"Oh please," she said, "hold me." When he put his arms around her, she burrowed back into him, facing away.

"You don't need to beg like that," he said. "I always want to hold you."

"The first thing that I want to say is that I love you very much, and I'm grateful for all that you've been in my life." She had dreaded saying this, but he deserved a reason. She stopped there.

"But," he said.

That made it easier, somehow. "But this is my time for leaving nests. I remember when I got the letter from Brown. Heck, it was just last afternoon, but it was across a great divide....

"Anyway." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, I thought that it was really your fault that your babysitter was going away to school. If I hadn't met you, I would still be looking at books for answers rather than questions."

"That's not true, you know." His breath stirred her hair, but his voice was low enough to be perfectly comfortable an inch from her ear. "At least, it's not particularly likely. You were one very intelligent girl interested in books. I didn't say, 'read those books'; you chose to read them. You were just like a supersaturated solution waiting for a crystal; I was merely the man who had the privilege of introducing you to a way of thinking. Half the teachers you've had since would have been honored to do the same."

She wondered where he got those ideas about teachers. "Whether or not that's true, whether I was just a supersaturated solution waiting.... Anyway, you were at least the crystal that did come along.

"I am, to some extent, your creation. I'm a woman who has to ask those questions and make up my own mind." She wasn't saying it clearly; it had been clear this afternoon.

"And you need to be at Brown to do this?" He sounded remarkably gentle.

"I need to be away from my influences. I don't mean to imply that you would stifle me."

"I don't think that I ever stifled Valerie."

"More to the point," she said, "you never once tried to stifle me. You asked questions. The only ideas of mine that you ever derided were when I thought that some things were too hard for me to understand. You were a wonderful nest. I learned to think critically here in this house.

"And now I have to fly by myself." There, she'd said it.

"That being the case, why are you here dressed like this?" His voice sounded sad, but not terribly so.

"I thought that there would be less distraction to this discussion if I had something on. You're wearing pajamas too."

"Not quite my point. Why aren't we talking in the living room, waiting for me to drive you home?"

She was confused. Didn't he want her? "Look, we made love. Then you asked me to think about marriage. I didn't think that you were conditioning one on the other."

He hadn't been, really. "I just hadn't imagined your accepting one without the other." Now he was quoting old songs. "Are you going to take the robe off, then?"

"Is that my job? I thought that it was yours."

"It can be." It would have worked better vertical, but it would be fun any way at all. "May I leave the light on?"

"Yes, if I can look too."

"Anytime." Somehow, the idea of her wanting to see him was even sexier than the idea of his seeing her. He started to kiss her forehead and eyebrows.

By the time he got to her mouth, the robe was peeled back and he was petting her through the nightgown. And there the action stayed for a while. His kisses alternated between long invasions of her mouth and excursions all over her face and neck. His hand smoothed the nightgown over side and belly and mound and thighs, but always returned to her breasts. Finally, needing more of him, she reached over to unbutton his pajama top.

Jim felt his erection tighten almost to the point of pain. He rolled away from her when his pajama top was loose. He tossed it towards the foot of the bed, meanwhile scraping the bottoms down with his feet. This last maneuver took more time than he'd expected. By the time he turned back, Sarah was out of her shell and had covered herself again.

Appreciative as she was of Jim's attention to her breasts, Sarah had expected something a little more direct. But then what did she know? It was clear, however, that removing the nightgown was easier for her than for him. When he escaped her attentions, she stripped. His struggles with his bottoms suddenly struck her as a ridiculous exercise in modesty. She'd seen him get dressed this morning, after all. What would he do if she flipped the covers off his side? He had said that she could look "any time." But he was back beside her before she could act. He kissed her deeply without touching her with his hand. When he finally resumed petting, his hand was a bit chilly; but she suspected that this wasn't why her nipples went achingly hard.

Finally snuggled against her, Jim found that she was warm, and she was naked, and she was smiling. Most important, she was there! Torn between the desire to skip everything and just drive into her and the desire to lie beside her forever to watch that smile, he kissed her. He tried to warm his hand between his thighs during the kiss, but the smooth curves just inches away were too enticing. Soon he was caressing all of her skin that he could reach. This time, when he left her mouth to kiss down her lovely neck, there was no impediment at all. He soon reached her breasts. Then he kept licking and sucking the smoothness as long as he could resist the call of those sweet, stiff, nipples.

Sarah had been thinking of this night, between bouts of trying to put her feelings into words that wouldn't wound him and slogging through her homework. She'd felt quite ready for him when she'd walked through the door, even before all this petting and kissing. Not that the petting wasn't nice, not that exploring his mouth and having him explore hers wasn't fun, not that his suction on her nipples didn't bring exquisite pleasure, but she felt that it was time for more. She'd intended unbuttoning his pajamas to be a subtle hint. When his hand stroked the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, she spread them wide as another hint. Much more of this and she would abandon subtlety to grab his hand and put it where it was needed. Maybe she'd grab something else instead.

Jim wanted her moist warmth desperately, but wanted her pleasure even more. When she opened her legs, he climbed between; but he used that opportunity to nestle his head between her breasts. A soft smoothness pressed against each cheek as he kissed the bone between them. He'd been ignoring the one to his right for far too long. He licked up the bottom of that breast until he reached her nipple. There, he nuzzled and sucked while his hand explored her nest.

The word appealed to him. This might be her time for leaving nests, but it was his time to enter one. And such a sweet, warm, juicy nest it was too. Soon, it opened further and raised an inch towards his hand; the greater access was slight but the invitation was delightful. He sucked the nipple and played with her labia as long as he could stand it. Then he stroked upward through that juiciness until his finger brushed across her clitoris. Her whole body twitched. He brought his head up to watch her expression as he did it again.

She was burning up. Although he had dragged the covers downward when he had climbed between her legs, his lips and hand had heated her more than the air had cooled her. His fingers on the sensitive folds between her legs at first relieved some of the hunger in her lower belly. As they continued to tickle and tease there, however, the hunger doubled and redoubled. She closed her eyes to get every bit of the sensation that she could. Her legs fell aside, and her pelvis raised itself without consulting her mind at all. To her, it felt as though her clitoris was reaching upwards for his touch. At last, seeming hours after she would have brought her own hands there, this yearning reach was rewarded.

As though she had put her finger in an open socket, the thrill shot through her. She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her and grinning. When he touched her center again, she had no more attention to spare for sight. She could feel her climax gather around her, and not a moment too soon. She was distracted, however, by his lips on her abdomen. Again, she wondered if men really kissed women down there. It had always seemed unhygienic, but she needed something there; right then a mouth would have done wonders. Instead he kissed her right breast and abandoned her center altogether while he did something over her head.

Jim couldn't resist. That lovely slender abdomen had tightened for him. He pressed his mouth on it to feel the hardness under the softness. Kissing her there brought more of the scent of her arousal to him. Having had two orgasms the night before, he should have found control easy. He was thirty, for God's sake. But moving up to the breast until he could reach the condom took all the control he could manage. Finally, he got the condom out and rolled it on. Resting on his left arm, he parted her labia once more with his right hand. He rolled his finger around the inside of her entryway, enjoying the tightness while easing it. After drawing some of that lovely moisture up her slot to the magic button once more, he fit himself to her. Finally balanced over her, he looked at her closed eyes.

"Oh Sarah," he whispered. She looked at him. He watched her as he moved inward. Her eyes widened at his entry, and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. Her legs raised slightly as he felt himself slide into that tight warmth. Even through the latex, he could feel her walls hold him. When his groin finally pressed against hers, she smiled slightly and then closed her eyes again.

While his hand played with her lower lips, she began to fear that he was starting over once again. Then she felt something else press against her entry. She hadn't really felt his entrance last time except for the first twinge; she concentrated on those sensations now. But, instead of moving, he called to her. When she looked into his grin, he began to move inward. It was many sensations at once: being rubbed, being stretched, being filled. She was holding Jim in her arms and her legs and her body. Then he was pressing against her center in a new way. As she lifted her legs around him, those sensations became even more exquisite.

Jim savored the feeling of Sarah's welcoming clasp around his phallus, savored even more her smile of pleasure and the slight adjustment of her legs. This time, by God, she was enjoying it too. Part of him wanted to watch her face like this for a long time, but another part was screaming for action. He adjusted himself so that his elbows carried his weight, leaving his hands free for her delectable breasts. Then he began stroking: out, inward, shift around while all the way inside, out again.

As he watched, her face lost its smile and became tense. Her legs rose around him until her heels rested against his thighs. Her areolae puffed up beneath his fingers and around her stiff nipples. When her feet began kicking at the covers, he stopped to reach back and throw these off. Then he began stroking again, slowing the tiniest bit when she pressed against him. He could feel her belly tighten under him and see her face grimace as if in pain. Her heels drummed on his thighs.

She'd dreamed of his hands on her breasts and his body above hers. Now, though, she could hardly spare the attention for those pleasures. The sensations of his strokes within her and against her center held her attention, thrilled her spirit, possessed her body. She needed to move under him, and the blankets bound her for a moment. Then she was free from every restraint but the delightful one of him pressed against her and within her. She spiraled upwards until the tension broke, throwing her against him. She clasped his arms in her hands and his essence much more intimately. Timelessly, she was pressed against him in this fashion.

If she'd brought him delight by having an orgasm had in his arms in the dark, she brought him ecstasy now. He could see the passion cross her face, feel it flow down her body pressed against his and up her legs tightened around his, and then feel her clasp him where they were joined. It happened again and again, as he held himself back to witness it. When her face finally relaxed into a smile, he resumed his motions as slowly as he could.

The climax swept through her, owned her, pressed her to his body, and then abandoned her. His renewed movement after she collapsed was a surprise. Soon, it was also a delight. She need never again be jealous of the smirking mothers, she thought just before the spiral began again, for she too held the one she loved deep within her. Then she felt pulled away from him into herself. She tried to hold on to his hips tightly, but she was swept away into sensation, and joy, and glory. He called her, but she couldn't answer. When she returned, he was a weight on her. A beloved, comforting, weight; which soon turned into a crushing, asphyxiating, weight. When she poked his shoulder, he rolled off; then he put a hand out to hold her hip against him.

He saw a Mona-Lisa smile underneath him, then a delighted grin, and then a renewed tautness in her face. She stopped looking pretty as her orgasm approached but looked even more beautiful; the grimace was her response to him. He almost lost it when she reached down to his hips and pulled him against her more tightly. Then he stopped watching her face as his own sensations took control. He drove faster and faster into the tight warmth. As he felt the familiar tightening in his loins, she suddenly clasped around him. "Sarah," he moaned. Then he drove into her, pulsed into her, poured into her, and sagged onto her. When she poked his shoulder, he could barely roll off. A minute later he managed to cover them with the sheet and to pull her against him weakly.

"I used to dream of that," she said. "Well, not of that."

"Anything you want changed, we can change." He moved his hand from her hip to her still-panting abdomen. "You want to be on top, or side-by-side? Were any of your dreams out of Joy of Sex?"

"No! My dreams weren't disappointed. They were just a little weaker than the reality." Like a firecracker is a little weaker than an A-bomb, but she didn't say that.

He kissed her. "You say the sweetest things," he said. When he had to break the kiss, she pushed down on his shoulders. He kissed his way down to her breasts. "Comfortable?" he asked. She wasn't, really. She was pressed up against the headboard for some reason. She moved down in the bed, and he resumed his kisses on her shoulders.

He stroked her smooth belly. Her breathing was beginning to even, but he could still feel the sexy flexure under his hand. He moved down again to kiss the side of her breast. She turned until the nipple entered his mouth. Sweet girl! He sucked as lightly as he could.

"You're trying to make me really sorry to leave you in the fall, aren't you?" she said. She'd held him within her, and now he was suckling at her breast.

"I'm trying to make it as good as possible for you," he said, moving back from paradise to so as not to talk with his mouth full. "Do I need an ulterior motive? Do you really mean that? That we have until you leave in the fall?"

"If I can manage it, we do. You really ought to take more trips out of town."

He was a bit puzzled. Did she want to accompany on those trips? The logistics, with the office arranging his hotel and travel but not hers, were daunting. Then he twigged. "So you can come watch the kids, you mean?" That might work, a couple of overnights 'babysitting' when he was really here. For that matter, her babysitting might last one night longer than the real trips. An increase in evenings when he needed a babysitter might work too. That wouldn't provide nights lying beside her like this, though. Still, take what you can get. "I'm a junior partner now. That probably won't change the frequency of my real trips, but it's a plausible reason."

"You are? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought one celebration was enough for one night. Actually, I was being devious and saving it to extend our conversations another night. Anyway, consider your services in much greater demand this summer."

"You really enjoyed those talks?" she asked.

"Well, this way is an improvement. But I took what I could get." That earned him a kiss on his forehead. When she turned so her back was to him, he continued, "I still am in a way, but I'm amazed that I can get so much."

He removed the condom and dropped it in the bag at the head of the bed. Then he moved up to hug her. When they were snuggled together, he smoothed his hand down her belly before cradling her breast. "Do you know that you have a sexy belly?" he asked. "The breasts and hips were obvious however loose your top, but kissing a sexy belly was a pleasant surprise." He tucked the blankets around her. They froze at a sound from the monitor, but Daniel -- or possibly Kenneth -- went back to sleep.

She pushed back against him. His mention of kissing her belly reminded her of the questions those kisses had raised. Well, she had always felt that she could ask him almost anything; and in this situation, she should be able to ask him more. "Do people really kiss there?"

"Bellies? I did yours, although I might have chosen a moment when you were a little distracted. Or do you mean lower?"

"Lower."

"Yes they do. Would you enjoy my kissing you?" He'd just said anything she wanted; did he want to ask her to wash off the spermicide he'd just deposited there?

"I don't know. I feel..."

"Ambivalent?"

"That's a good word." Queasy would have been a good word, too. But she also felt curious.

"Well this isn't a good time. For one thing, someone -- who shall remain nameless -- just spread that area with a bunch of lubricant that contains a spermicide. Tasting you would be a pleasure." Now he could say it without seeming to reject her in the least bit. "I would rather, however, that it be just you. The second point is that simply diving in isn't quite the idea. It should be part of a build up. We can bring that up another day." He started kissing from the point of her shoulder towards the corner of her neck. "Anything that you want to explore, we can."

"Well, after all, it is my time to leave my nest." She could feel an ill-concealed laugh shaking his abdomen against her back and the breeze from it cooling her shoulder.

"And I'm available?"

"You make that sound horrible. But I'm not the sort of girl who cuts notches on her headboard. I don't think that I ever will be. I've enjoyed sex with you. I suspect that you are a very good lover, but I also suspect that I would enjoy sex with someone less skilled. Follow me this far?"

This was a girl who could only hint at cunnilingus? Jim would never understand the female of the species. "I think I'm still on board."

"So," she continued, "I'm rather glad that the first person I trusted this far was technically skilled. But I'm much more relieved that you are worthy of that trust. There's no other man or boy that I trust anywhere near as much as I trust you.

"You're 'available' in a very special way. I love you, I respect you, I trust you. There aren't any candidates out there to compete with you. I'm not about to start an affair with any of the boys in my high school; I just wish that you could take me to the prom. So I'm your girl for the next six months. If you'll have me, that is."

"You know that I'll have you. I've lusted after you for a lot longer than that. And been concerned about you for longer still."

"And I expect that I'll be nobody's girl for a long time at Brown. At least in this sense. But I'm making no promises. On the contrary. I do love you, and respect you, and enjoy talking with you. I'm going to look for other people at college who I can respect and enjoy talking to them. Men and women. And I will not avoid any relationships with men that could lead past that stage and into bed. Is that fair warning? Until I leave, I'm yours; after that, I'm nobody's. Until I'm somebody's."

"That's fair. I might have wanted more, but I was reconciled to having much less." And he would have the love, too; since she would leave him without hating him, she need never develop that hate. Losing wasn't fun, but if you had to lose, he'd rather send flowers to her wedding than to her funeral. And they had half a year, if only they didn't get caught. And, of course, this way he wouldn't ruin her life and have to live with the consequences.

"Look," she continued, "I don't want to sound like a new-age airhead." She took a breath. This was as hard to say as the other had been. "I haven't been channeling or using a Ouija Board. But I do love you. Valerie loved you. So I know what she thinks. From both of us, it's time for you to start dating again." She waited for him to explode. He loved only three persons, unless you believed what he said about her. She felt safe discussing the boys, but Valerie was a dangerous topic beyond agreeing that her end was tragic (which it certainly was) and that she would be proud of the boys (which anybody would be, let alone a mother).

"I see. This week?" He felt a little hurt.

"I was thinking of September as more appropriate."

He was instantly sorry. The gibe hadn't been worthy of the occasion. Sarah was being perfectly honest with him. But being turned down hurt. "Sorry."

"So am I." Lying like this, having turned it down, she thought about living with Jim and the boys. Maybe her own children, too. In so many ways, it would be ideal. And yet, and yet... "I'll cry over leaving here, but I'm looking forward to going there. Is that hypocritical?"

"Just the opposite." If there was only one adult in this bed, it wasn't the sulking boy. "Beloved, have you ever felt that you were dealing with three babies in this household?"

"No. Not really." Then she thought about watching him play with the kids. "Hardly ever, actually." Jim's chuckles brought warm, ticklish, breath against her back. She felt safe in his arms. It was one more home from which to venture forth, but it was home.

The End 
Trust 
Uther Pendragon 
anon584c@nyx.net
1999/06/09
2001/08/17
2002/07/18
For another story involving an evolving 
relationship, see:
 "Whither"  
This story is indexed in the subdirectory: 
 Mf Older Man - Younger Woman  
The directory to all my stories can be found 
at:
 Index to Uther Pendragon's Website