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Message-ID: <40024asstr$1040609409@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} rp "Forget All That 05" {Pendragon} (MF rom wl lac) [5/12]
Date: Sun, 22 Dec 2002 21:10:09 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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, 1997, by Uther Pendragon.  All 
rights reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading 
and keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long 
as this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous 
permission.

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

     If you save erotic stories, and you prefer that other 
household members not be exposed to them, I recommend that you 
use a file zipped with the PKZip option -spassword.  (Where the 
password that you choose would, presumably, not be "password.")  
This still leaves the titles of the files and the fact that they 
are encrypted open to anybody.

    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.


                         FORGET ALL THAT
                       by  Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net



Part Five:

Bob points out that I am fifty times The Kitten's age and 
argues that a week to her is like a year to me.  I'm not 
persuaded that it works like that.  Still, each day is an 
adventure at her age.  She'd recovered rapidly from whatever 
trauma had resulted from the train trip.  Katherine, who had 
stayed mostly in the background so that her husband could get 
granddaughter time, was now an old friend whom The Kitten hadn't 
seen enough for the past two days.  And the beads were still 
fascinating.  

Bob brought the rocking chair down the first thing in the 
morning, and I was ensconced in it when he brought The Kitten to 
me.  Katherine had made waffles for breakfast again.  I ate last, 
but otherwise was treated like a queen.  Katherine suggested that 
Bob and I might want to have some old friends over to meet The 
Kitten.  "Vi is going back Sunday dear.  You wouldn't want to 
drag The Kitten on that trip."  (The train north is late with 
notorious frequency.  The trip would take less than an hour each 
way, but might last five hours including the wait.  I did 
*not* want to take The Kitten into that.)  "Why don't you 
set up a party for then.  It wouldn't kill any granddaughter 
time.  I can take care of the munchies." 

When we agreed, she reached out her arms and said, "Come to 
Grandma Brennan, dear."  The Kitten reached out her arms in 
return.  Bob and I made our list and the calls while she played 
with The Kitten.  

Lunch was light but on time.  Bob and I played hooky again, 
leaving Katherine to the baby-food wars.  I swear that she was 
wearing the same clothes when we returned, and they were 
spotless.  That woman never fails to impress me.  She handed The 
Kitten to me immediately on our return.  "Maman," said The 
Kitten.  

"Yes, darling," I replied.  "Ta maman."  I gave her a big 
smacking kiss on the top of her head.  Satisfied that I was on 
call, she soon tried to see the rest of the room.  I can't 
believe that it helps to do this lying back with her head upside 
down, but that is the method she uses.  Half her genes, I 
constantly remind myself, come from Bob.  

We all moved into the kitchen to watch Katherine prepare 
dinner.  Bob held The Kitten for a while.  He had been doing his 
share of the diaper time, but not getting his share of the play 
time.  "Isn't she the cutest baby in the whole world?" he asked 
for the umpteenth time.  

"I believe so, dear," his mother said.  "But I might be 
somewhat prejudiced." 

"Nonsense.  Sober fact." 

He was doing "This little piggy...." when I asked his mother 
about his life before I met him.  He studiously ignored the 
account, putting all his attention on The Kitten.  

Those stories led to what the courting of Jeanette Jacobs 
had looked like from the home front.  Not much, apparently.  "He 
said almost nothing dear.  From the time that your father 
permitted him to drive you on dates (and I've never faulted your 
father on that, though Bob was always a careful driver) until 
the letter arrived asking me to deliver the enclosure to you (and 
Bob always was good enough to put some news in the cover letters; 
more than half the letters I ever received from him were cover 
letters those two summers), I never saw your face.  Of course, 
you knew that.  

"Anyway, when a high-school boy who misses most of the 
football games starts going to every girls' track meet, you 
suspect something.  It was like the discovery of Pluto.  You 
couldn't see it but you knew it was there from the behavior of 
the other planets.  Or was it Neptune, dear?" 

"Both actually," said the man who wasn't listening to this 
nonsense.  

"Maman," said The Kitten.  Bob immediately gave her to me.  
She hadn't intended that, but she is going to learn the meaning 
of that word.  

"And then," Katherine went on, "there was the time that Russ 
set him up for the road-construction job.  Russ wasn't half 
furious.  He'd pulled in a favor from a friend, after asking Bob 
if it were a good idea.  Everything, as far as we could tell, was 
set up.  Then Bob said that he had to think about it, and could 
he borrow the car the next day." 

This is an important event in my relationship with Bob.  I 
sent a loving look toward him, expecting one back.  He was 
staring at his mother flabbergasted.  

"Anyway, Bob took him to work before driving to school.  He 
picked him up after work.  He didn't say a word about road 
construction.  That night he gave Russ the application for the 
work, all signed and filled in.  Russ said that the only thing 
that kept him from strangling Bob was that Bob looked so happy he 
doubted that he would have noticed." 

Bob looked so shocked that I was glad that I was holding The 
Kitten.  I don't seriously believe that he would ever drop her, 
but still.  

"We finally figured out what must have happened," Katherine 
continued.  "We couldn't fault him for consulting you, although 
'The other party did right,' doesn't diminish Russ's anger any 
more than it diminishes anyone else's.  Just the opposite, don't 
you think, dear.  It's one thing to forgive your neighbor's 
faults and quite another to forgive the damage which your 
neighbor does to you with his virtues."  She didn't really expect 
an answer.  Which was nice, since I didn't have one.  

"Anyway, all we could picture were those two preadolescents 
whom we drove to those dances.  You two were so cute with those 
innocent good-night kisses."  (Innocence is in the eye of the 
beholder.  Those good-night kisses involved closed mouths, but 
they nearly melted my braces before we got rid of the chauffeur-
chaperons.  Then we could touch as well as kiss.)  "We'd seen Bob 
mature, of course; but our picture of you hadn't changed.  
Brought to consciousness, that couldn't be right."  Bob had 
recovered by that time.  I handed The Kitten back to him.  

"Russ, however, was both grateful that you had saved his 
bacon with his friend, and impressed that you had taken the long 
view.  We had come to expect the long view of Bob." 

(I don't recall Bob asking directly if he should go away for 
the summer.  It was whether I thought that we might have a 
future.  I believe that he was so sure that having a future made 
going away the right choice that he hadn't articulated that.  
Maybe not.  It had been the high point of my life that far, but 
not a time of clear communication.) 

"Oooh," The Kitten said.  

"No, Kitten," said Bob.  "It's not August.  It's December.  
Say day- som-brrrr."  To be fair, The Kitten's pronunciation of 
"Aout" is at least as accurate as Bob's pronunciation of 
"Decembre." 

"Does that ever change?" Katherine asked at the third 
repetition.  

"She'll grow out of it," I answered.  

"Yes, dear, but will he?" 

"Maman," the Kitten said suddenly.  Bob handed her back to 
me, and I gave her a big kiss.  "Maman," she said happily.  

"I am being sorely wronged," Bob said.  "My conversation 
with my daughter *has* changed over time." 

"Hush," I said.  "I think that The Kitten has just figured 
out the meaning of 'Maman.' Here Kitten, I'm Maman." 

"Oooh," she said.  I kicked Bob before he could respond.  

"It will happen, dear," Katherine said.  But I wanted it to 
happen *now*.  She went back to food preparation, and her 
next comment was on the spice she was using.  "Powdered ginger 
loses half its flavor, but I only use the real root for major 
feasts.  I wouldn't want to use it around the baby, anyway, since 
the juice stays on your hands.  Gorgeous smell, though, from 
chopping ginger." 

Even with merely-powdered ginger, the dinner was a feast in 
my book.  Chinesish, it featured chicken and vegetables all 
stirred together and put on a bed of rice.  Katherine, wouldn't 
you know, stir-fries in a wok.  

After dinner, though, she left us to go to her room and 
read.  She figured that her husband would monopolize The Kitten.  
He did until she wanted the familiarity of her mother.  Bob took 
the far end of the couch, I lay with my head on his lap, and The 
Kitten lay partly on me and partly against the back of the couch.  
I didn't trust her near the edge; that girl has no respect for 
the law of gravity.  

I was fully ready to doze through another Brennan debate on 
politics or literature, but that was not to be.  Katherine came 
downstairs soon after I got The Kitten back.  This must have 
reminded Bob; or, perhaps, he wanted both his sources present to 
see if their memories agreed.  

"Were you really furious with me back before I started the 
road construction job?" Bob asked his father as soon as Katherine 
was in the room.  

"Wouldn't you have been?" his father answered.  "You had 
been asked, and raised no objection.  I had called in some 
favors.  My family can't work for the corporation, but Jeremy had 
taken a job with another firm.  He had been an ally, but we had 
exchanged no more than Christmas cards for several years.  Then I 
called him up and asked him to find a job for you.  He had to go 
down several levels.  If you hadn't shown up, he would have 
looked ridiculous.  

"Anyway, he comes through.  Then you ask for time to think 
it over, and you want to have the car for that day.  Meanwhile, I 
keep trying to think what I'll do if the answer is 'no.'  So, 
finally, you show up in the parking lot at the plant, fifteen 
minutes late." 

"I was on time," said Bob.  "You were still in your office." 

"If you were an hour later," his father said, "I'd still 
have been there.  The CEO doesn't wait around in the parking lot.  
You come sauntering in, obviously walking on air, and give me the 
keys.  I'm too afraid of my reaction to ask until we are alone.  
So, I wait until I have started the car to ask.  I can give our 
conversation word for word to this day.  

"I say, 'Are you going to take the road job?' 

"You say, 'Y'know, I really think she really likes me.'" 

I couldn't help laughing.  The Kitten complained, but she's 
held on through worse.  Bob was laughing, too.  He reached over 
to help me hold The Kitten on.  

"Well, you may laugh now," Bob's father said.  It sounded 
like he was near laughter, himself.  "It was not funny at the 
time.  The only reason that I didn't slit your throat on the spot 
was that you were so clearly anesthetized that you wouldn't have 
felt it.  I drove home very carefully under the speed limit.  If 
I hadn't concentrated on that, I would have been going ninety.  
You went straight to your room.  At dinner, you handed me the job 
app. with your signature.  By the next evening, you were almost 
normal.  Normal for Bob, I mean.  

"What could I do?  You had decided the way I wanted you to." 

"It was mostly my fault," I said.  

"Well, you indicated that you might have liked him, unless 
there was another girl out there who I never heard of.  (And we 
hardly heard of you.)  But he could have worked that summer if 
you didn't like him.  All that sweat would have helped him 
forget." 

"It was perfectly logical," Bob said.  

"I saw your face, sonny boy.  Logic had nothing to do with 
it." 

"Logic had everything to do with it," Bob said.  "If I went 
to work that summer, I would have had to leave Jeanette.  We were 
having a wonderful time together, and leaving her would tear me 
apart.  It would also, I hoped, have cut into her happiness.  
(That doesn't sound right.)  In the long run, however, I knew 
that this job made my chances better all through college.  If we 
had only another year, it wasn't fair to Jeanette to cut the 
summer out of it.  If we had a long future, then she would share 
the benefit; we could both survive the parting.  

"I could swear that I told you that I would take the job." 

"I'm not sure that you were communicating very well that 
day," I said.  "My first impression was that you were asking me 
to elope.  I wasn't old enough to get married without 
permission." 

"No wonder he was walking on air," Katherine said.  "He was 
newly engaged." 

"We weren't exactly engaged," said Bob.  It wasn't anywhere 
near an engagement.  It had been closer to a mutual confession 
that we had each already thought about marrying the other one.  

"He was remarkably disengaged," his father said.  "It was a 
miracle that he got the car there without an accident." 

"I'm not sure that we ever got engaged," I said.  

"Well, dear," Katherine said.  "I can remember two kids who 
came home from college with a date all picked out.  If they 
weren't engaged, I don't know what they were." 

"I don't know," I said.  "That day -- the one which bothered 
you, sir -- was 'It is possible that we might, perhaps, someday, 
be the person that the other would marry.'  And we picked the 
date in college.  We spent most of that semester picking the 
date.  I don't know that we ever really had a time when we 
decided to get married." 

"If we had known that the date was up in the air, dear," 
Katherine said, "we might have argued about it." 

"Not," said Bob, "if you had known the alternative dates."  
It was more complicated than that, to use one of Bob's favorite 
phrases.  "Anyway, we were engaged by that time.  There just 
never was a time when we got engaged." 

Three Brennans were silent, an event to record for 
posterity.  Really four Brennans, I'm a Brennan too.  The fifth 
Brennan saved us from the record books.  "Ooh," she said.  

"No, Kitten," said Bob.  "It's not August.  It's December.  
Say day- som-brrrr." 

"How can you claim that you have changed that," I asked.  
Bob ignored me through four repetitions and until The Kitten was 
clearly tired of the game.  

"How soon they forget!", Bob said.  "Originally, I told her 
to say Novembre."  We all laughed, but my laughter disturbed The 
Kitten, who didn't like being shaken and said so.  I decided to 
take her upstairs.  "The rocker is still down here," Bob reminded 
me.  

"Bring it," I said.  It's easy to get used to being served.  
Anyway, I was going to use the bed for that feeding.  

Bob didn't object in the slightest.  After bringing up the 
rocker he left for the bathroom and came back in his robe.  "Can 
I help you off with your slacks?" he asked.  That's a service as 
well, despite his ulterior motives.  I raised my hips to help him 
remove my slacks and then my panties.  He pulled the sheet up to 
The Kitten's waist before coming up to the head end of the bed.  

He kissed my nose and all over my face before settling on my 
mouth.  It was a warm, wet, kiss.  The Kitten could go without a 
French lesson this night; I liked her father's French much more.  
Finally, however, Bob broke the kiss.  He scattered some kisses 
on my torso, and two on The Kitten.  She shrugged in discontent.  
"You're wasting those," I said.  "Save them for her mother who 
appreciates them more." 

"I dunno," Bob said.  "The Kitten's wiggles don't prove that 
she doesn't like them.  Her mother wiggles when she appreciates 
the kisses the most."  He swept the sheet off to attack my navel.  

It wasn't really fair.  He was using a nursing mother's 
instinctive protection of her infant as bondage, keeping me 
motionless under torture.  So I dug Bob under his ribs with my 
free hand.  He grunted and moved beyond the range of my arm.  To 
be more precise, he moved to the foot of the bed and started 
kissing at mid calf.  He raised my leg to make his access easier, 
which was not going to work when he got where he was heading.  

I went back to murmuring to The Kitten in French.  Rather 
than anything complicated like the experiences of the day or her 
father's degree of progress, I stuck to "Ta maman t'aime, ton 
papa t'aime, nous t'aimons, ..." Bob's kisses on my thigh 
tickled, but they excited me in another way as well.  If Bob 
didn't hurry, he'd be in danger of drowning when he reached his 
goal.  I wanted him to hurry, but I loved the sensations of his 
slow progress.  My murmurs to The Kitten had become simply "Douce 
Catherine, belle Catherine, habile Catherine...." 

After a few decades during which I had to resist writhing, 
Bob finally reached his goal.  He kissed my mound and then lifted 
me by the legs to fit something under my hips.  I was too far 
gone to inquire and too busy with The Kitten, who didn't like the 
upset.  He kissed my outer lips before parting them with his 
fingers.  The first touch of his tongue on my inner lips almost 
drove me crazy.  I grabbed The Kitten, who was almost done, by 
her diapered seat.  Then I let myself writhe.  

Bob stayed with me as well as he could.  He licked at my 
inner lips until they parted.  I was ashamed of the messiness I 
could feel down there, but I knew that Bob wouldn't mind.  "Oh 
beloved," he said before starting to lick it up.  

"Bob, please," I gasped out, louder than I had intended.  I 
couldn't reach for a pillow, I was holding The Kitten with both 
hands.  Bob stopped the infernal teasing.  He licked up my valley 
with steady strokes.  My tension seemed to build forever; but his 
first sweet, sucking, kiss shattered the tension.  And it 
shattered me.  Fire swept through me in regular waves, and I went 
very far away.  

When I came back Bob was holding me by the shoulders and 
murmuring in my ear.  "Sweet girl," he said.  "Darling bride, 
lovely woman, beloved wife.  I love you.  I adore you.  I desire 
you.  I cherish you.  You are the most wonderful woman in the 
world...."  It was very nice to hear; but, as I lay recovering my 
breath and my brains, it sounded awfully familiar.  Bob had said 
similar things to me many times, but that wasn't it.  

This wasn't a major puzzle.  I basked in the glow of what 
Bob was saying to me and what he had done for me.  There was only 
this question tickling the outer edge of my mind.  Then the 
answer came to me.  Aside from the language, what Bob murmured to 
me was remarkably like what I had murmured to The Kitten.  

I tried to keep my laughter silent, but both of them were to 
close to miss it.  "What's so funny?" Bob asked.  The Kitten was 
less articulate, but even more disapproving.  

"Take your daughter," I told Bob.  "I didn't change her."  
And why should I change her?  Maybe we could stay with his 
parents until she is toilet-trained.  

While he was changing her, he asked, "Are you okay?"  I was 
fine.  I had attained a climax and a revelation.  Oops!  I hadn't 
inserted the contraceptive.  

"No.  I haven't had my time in the bathroom tonight."  I 
would get up in just a second.  Meanwhile, I took a rolled pair 
of towels from under my seat.  

When The Kitten was in her crib, and the Kitten-goes-to-
sleep tape was playing, Bob looked out.  "Someone's in there," he 
said.  He came to bed and snuggled against me.  "Will you ever 
tell me what was so funny?"  I snuggled even closer to him.  He 
felt nice and warm.  

I woke up with a *really* full bladder.  I grabbed my 
robe on the way to the bathroom.  I sat there trying to decide 
whether to insert the diaphragm or not.  Of course, I hadn't 
thought to bring it with me.  I had to make another trip to 
insert it.  I also brushed my teeth and cleaned myself up 
generally.  

Bob's warmth felt comforting after the cool bathroom.  He 
stirred in his sleep.  A hand came out to hold my breast.  Since 
the nipple was rather sore, I moved it down.  After resting on my 
stomach for a while it moved even lower.  Bob began kissing the 
back of my neck.  Glad that I had inserted the diaphragm, I 
turned on my back.  

Bob wasn't awake enough yet to raise himself for a real 
kiss.  He contented himself with kissing my shoulder while his 
hand played with my mound.  When he tried to move to more 
sensitive areas, I spread my legs to help him.  

I was not yet certain that anything was going to happen.  I 
don't know quite when The Kitten wakes for her middle-of-the-
night feeding; since I usually go through those in a trance 
state.  If she interrupted us, we probably wouldn't resume.  Even 
without interruption Bob could fall back to sleep, although the 
likelihood of that was decreasing by the minute.  

I certainly wanted something to happen.  I wanted several 
things to happen, in fact.  First, I wanted a real kiss.  I 
removed Bob's hands from my sensitive flesh before rolling over.  
I put it back, however.  He wasn't awake enough to avoid hurting 
that area if I moved into one of fingers, but I certainly didn't 
want to suggest that those fingers were unwelcome.  Once on my 
side, I gave Bob a real kiss.  Our tongues met and parted and met 
again.  Then he thrust his tongue into my mouth.  His fingers 
became busier below.  My lover was awake.  

When he had caressed me into readiness, I rolled onto my 
back.  He didn't take the hint.  Instead, he continued to explore 
my mouth with his tongue and my valley with his fingers.  Beyond 
readiness, well into need, I tensed as the heat spread through me 
from the fire his fingers were igniting.  I didn't want to take 
this trip alone.  "Bob, please," I cried.  He rolled over and 
positioned himself.  He slipped up and down my valley several 
times, then found my entrance.  I was so anxious that I pushed 
back against his slow entry.  

Once he had filled me, he stopped to say, "I love you." 

"I love you too," I said.  "But I want you to move."  He 
kissed me first, but he finally began to move in and out.  His 
slow steady strokes soothed my need.  Then they intensified my 
need.  The fire was peaking within me, moving my hips up to meet 
him faster than he was coming forward.  The tension spiraled 
upward, but couldn't find relief.  Aching, I grabbed his hips 
with both hands and pulled him into a faster rhythm.  That 
intensified the ache, and I know that I moaned in frustration.  

Then everything shattered.  The flame leaped within me, 
poured through me in waves, passed out of me.  Blissfully sated, 
I felt Bob take his last strokes while he was already pulsing and 
spurting deep inside me.  We rolled over half way, taking his 
weight -- and most of the covers -- off me.  

My next awareness was of The Kitten's crying.  Her diaper 
was full; and I shoved the special, only just before feeding, 
pacifier in her mouth.  She spat it out and cried more loudly.  
It works for Bob, but his breasts don't leak when she cries.  I 
gave up on the diaper.  I glanced at the bed on which Bob was 
sprawled over a tangle of sheets and blankets.  I took The Kitten 
to the rocker.  

I was nursing a stinking baby, sitting naked on a hardwood 
rocker, in a cool room, with semen dried all over one thigh and a 
little more leaking out onto the seat.  The Kitten was harder on 
my nipple than was really comfortable.  I was conscious of every 
single discomfort.  

The individual discomforts, however, couldn't overcome my 
general satisfaction.  

As The Kitten settled down to her usual rhythm, I told her 
about our first visit to Paris, all about it.  I usually look 
forward to the day when she can talk.  However I know that later, 
when she finally understands the words, I'll miss these little 
uncensored chats.  


Continued in Part six.
FORGET ALL THAT
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
1997/12/24
1999/12/30
2000/09/10
2002/12/22

This is the fifth segment of the last story (so far) in a 
series of stories about the Brennans.

More of the story can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/fat_b.htm
Parts 4-6 

The first story in the series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan/forever.htm
"Forever" 


The directory to the entire series is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/brennan.htm
Brennan Stories Directory 

The directory to all my stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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