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From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Subject: {ASSM} rp "Heart Ball 10" {Uther} (mf pett rom 1st msolo
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Date: Tue, 27 Jan 2004 07:10:07 -0500
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fsolo MF cons toys) [10/26]
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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, 2001, Uther Pendragon.  All rights 
reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading and 
keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as 
this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous permission.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.


                           #  #  #  #

                           Heart Ball 
                       by Uther Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net

 
Chapter 10:
Continued from Chapter 9

The snow had stopped falling by the time that Wayne and Shannon 
Bryant left church Sunday noon, but it was still blowing around. 
"Isn't it silly that the one waiting on the sidewalk wears 
special boots?" Wayne asked his daughter, "And the driver has to 
get by with simple galoshes over office shoes?"

"Well, they make practical dress boots for men.  Let me drive, 
and I'll go get the car for you."

"And let the whole congregation decide that I'm a cripple?  Tell 
you what, we'll walk out together.  You can still drive." Shannon 
wasn't too skilled a driver in the snow, he thought, but she had 
to learn.  Today was extreme in one sense, but nobody was going 
fast enough to make a collision really dangerous.  "And my 
clothes budget doesn't run to fancy boots."

"Look, Chick," he continued while they stumbled over the covered 
ruts in the ice, "if you have decided that you *won't* go to 
Albion, keeping your mother in suspense is really pointless."

"Absolute secrecy?"

He hated that, but he had brought the subject up.  "My lips are 
sealed."

"Steve may still be accepted at IIT," Shannon said.  "If he is, 
and he accepts, then I *do* want to go to Albion.  It's no 
farther from Chicago.  But choosing Albion *because* of 
Steve...."

They reached the car at that point.  "Let it warm up," he told 
her when they were both inside.  "You know. most people *don't* 
end up marrying their high-school sweethearts."

Unless they married them right after high school, but Shannon 
didn't want to do that.  "Dad, do you think that I don't know 
that?  Do you think that we don't?  Look at this hand; notice 
that there is no ring."  She revved the car once and then 
relaxed.  "We never quite say the word -- well, almost never. 
We've spent a year together, if you can call that 'together' -- 
and you and Mom treat it as if we spend every minute with one 
another.

"Anyway, I haven't quite stopped changing *physically*.  We're 
going off to college where everybody is supposed to change 
mentally.  Steve and Shannon love each other now, but what will 
be left of Shannon and what will be left of Steve in four years? 
And then, of course, it doesn't really stop.

"I can't see to drive," she finished suddenly.  Her eyes were 
full of tears.

"That's okay.  I got gas yesterday."

"Thing is.  What did the preacher say about God last month?"

"Talks a lot about God.  What in particular?"  If she wanted to 
change the subject, he would let her; although it was a long time 
since they had talked this way.  He missed that.

"He makes people with free will because he loves free will. Well, 
one thing that I love about Steve is that he is changing. If he 
stopped changing it would be a change for the worse.  Does that 
make any sense?"

"Plenty of sense.  And you're changing too; even if he stopped, 
it wouldn't guarantee a match.  You love Steven desperately, 
but...."

"You think it's puppy love."  She didn't think it was puppy love.

"Not at all.  It's just that he might be out for something else."

"That doesn't change things.  Yes, Steve wants into your baby's 
diapers, but it's *my* diapers; he wants to make love to Shannon. 
That's my one gift from Curt."

"Must you be crude?  And I didn't know you got anything good from 
Curt."  Concern for your daughter doesn't stop.  He didn't think 
of her as a baby, she was just the woman who *had* been his baby.

"Nothing he intended.  Curt told several stories about me, after 
we broke up.  But, even to the guys who wanted to think the 
worst, one thing was clear:  He tried to get something from me, 
he didn't get it, and he made me walk home.  So, when Steve asked 
me out, he wasn't looking for a quick lay.  He may want my body, 
but he didn't choose me because he thought that I was an easy 
target.

"Anyway, we talk.  We don't talk nearly enough since the summer, 
but we talk about things.  Lots of things, not only that.  There 
is no way that Steve would talk the way he does if he only wanted 
one thing from me.  And, as I said before, if he only wants one 
thing, he could find plenty of places to get it more easily. Even 
now, though it's awfully late, he could probably break with me, 
find another girl, and get her into bed.  So, if getting Shannon 
into bed was his only goal -- which it isn't, it would still be 
about Shannon.

"Does that make sense?"

It made quite enough sense that Wayne didn't want it explained 
any more.  Okay, Steven wanted -- beyond the obvious -- a 
sympathetic ear.  When Wayne had been his age, he'd have taken 
any sympathetic ear offered.  And, if they didn't *only* talk 
about "that," pretty clearly they talked a lot about "that."  On 
the bright side, while he wanted to thrash Steven for daring to 
want to get into Shannon's panties, the wording implied that he 
had failed.

Shannon, of course, was guileful enough to use that wording 
deliberately.  If that was the case, what was he going to do? If, 
weeks before her eighteenth birthday, their daughter was still a 
virgin, Allison and he were luckier than most.  Hell, they had 
Shannon; they were luckier than most anyway. "Meanwhile, you help 
Steven on his English."

"And he helps me in math."  Having said that, she hoped Dad 
wouldn't ask when.  "Really, he wasn't doing so bad until 
Shakespeare.  Now, I think he's got it."

"How long do you have?"

"The test's Friday-after-next.  Coming week's Act Four and start 
of Five.  Week after ends the play, then review, and the test."

"And you got through what the other night?  Act Two?"

"But Steve got the idea.  He's worked more since."

"But how do you know that he understood the later part?" Wayne 
didn't really want Steven to fail English.

Blabbermouth! she thought.  And she just hated to lie, especially 
since she hadn't talked with Dad like this in ages.  "We talked 
on the phone."

"Well, if you want to have him over again, I'll speak to your 
mother."  Not that Allison would object, but this conversation 
was under seal.

"Thanks, Dad."  She put the car in gear.  "By the way, you know 
you said only one night for Mrs. Green?"

"Yes?"

"She wants to know whether that applies to shorter nights?"

"How will she manage that?"

"Well, she dates sometimes.  If she gets home before eleven, does 
that count?  I don't see that it should, but I said I'd ask."

"Do you want me to say yes or to say no?"  Sometimes kids deserve 
the excuse, 'my parents won't let me.'

"What do you mean?"

"I thought that those kids were monsters.  And she won't pay so 
much for shorter hours."

"But I'll start later too, so I won't see the kids so much." 
Shannon said.

"I know that you can study during some babysitting times, but you 
need to study more; and you need to enjoy yourself, too.  I was 
afraid that you were going to cut way back on babysitting when 
you figured out the size of your surplus.  You seem to be going 
out of your way to get more."

"I like to see money coming in."

"And a penny saved?"  He wondered suddenly whether Shannon had 
ever heard that term.

"Is just sitting there.  It's only real when it is coming in or 
going out."

"I haven't talked to your mother about this."

"You said you wouldn't!"

"I'm changing the subject.  I haven't spoken to your mother about 
this suggestion which I am about to make.  You know all this talk 
about your babysitting money.  I'm going to propose that you set 
up a budget for the next year, what's coming in and what's going 
out.  I think that you should calculate special expenses and 
regular expenses -- some mad-money too.  Then I think that your 
mother should dole out the money according to that budget."

"An allowance."  Shannon had *not* enjoyed those days.

"Not quite."

"You want to put me back on an allowance, only an allowance that 
I have earned.  And you are nice enough to mention it to me 
before you and Mom decide."

"No!  This will be much harder on you than that.

"What I'm suggesting," Wayne continued, "Is for you to decide 
this allowance.  I want you to budget it.  I'll ask your mother 
to help; I suspect that I'm not the best choice for knowing what 
a girl will need her first semester in college."

"Can I think about the idea, or are you going to tell Mom now?"

"Think away.  Now, let's go in; she'll think we've died out 
here." 


                              - = - 

Rachel's e-mail ran: 


 
  
 
  

Dearest,   

I couldn't out run the storm and got stuck here.  It was a long 
night -- much too late to call.  

The phone here is  217-677-1116 The extension is 236, which since 
the room #  is 36, must be direct-dial in.  It's direct-dial out, 
so call me, and I'll call back if you hit an operator.   

I'll want to make the rest of the run in the early afternoon.   
So call when you can get privacy and we'll chat.   Only local 
trips for the two weeks after this swing.   I keep telling 
myself.  And home Wednesday.  Keep that in mind Until then, 
kisses everywhere.   

Roger, WLY   

 

 
 


She looked out Mallory's window to check the sidewalk.  It was 
buried nice and deep.  Steve was coming up the stairs carrying an 
ice-filled glass of root beer.  In January!  She shivered.  "Well 
dear, your walk home last night must have worn you out terribly. 
Maybe you should stick to essentials for the next week."

Steve knew the drill.  Either he was exhausted and needed to cut 
back on his dating, or he was full of pep and ready for any 
chore.  Probably it was shoveling the walk.  "Oh, I think I'll 
recover by tomorrow."

"Why don't you test your recovery with the snow shovel?  Now!"

"Let me log on and finish this drink."

"Okay," she said.  "Fifteen minutes."  If only all negotiations 
were so easy.

Half an hour later, Steve pressed the shovel into the first bit 
on the top step.  From the door to the street was a pleasure; it 
was  untouched and fluffy from the cold.  He didn't mind the 
exercise, really.

His mother had the special phone with the headset in her room. 
"Hello?"

"Roger?  It's Rachel."

"Darling!  Give me a minute."  She lay back and adjusted the 
headset so the earphones were comfortable.  The sound quality 
wasn't quite so good, and she did love the sound of Roger's 
voice.  But, really, talking to your husband was a two-handed 
job.

"So," she said, "you'll be home on Wednesday.  Before school lets 
out?  Your son will be home for dinner."

"That's strange.  I was planning to eat at the Y."

"After two weeks away from home cooking?"

"As an appetizer for home cooking," he said.  "God bless old 
Hauksbee!  And where is Steve right now?"

"Shoveling the walk."  While she was here in the warm bed 
stroking her own smooth breasts and wishing that they were 
Roger's hairy arms instead.

"Unnatural mother!  Sending your poor son out into the cold so 
you can listen to dirty phone calls."

"Your poor son walked home," she told him, "apparently across 
town from Shannon's house, at the height of the blizzard.  Got 
home near midnight.  He crashed.  Then she called me up at one-
thirty -- I checked.  Said that she hoped he got home all right. 
Gertrude had battery problems.  Earlier in the night, I mean."

"He walked there, knowing he'd have to walk back?"

"He's your son."  She'd wouldn't mention the garage man; the 
story was long enough as it was.

"You sure about that?"

"Absolutely, totally positive.  We came home tipsy.  You drove 
the babysitter home while I checked on Mallory.  And you came 
back just drunk enough.  You lasted and lasted and lasted.  I 
came, and then I came.  And when I was climbing again, I reminded 
you that I was open for your seed...."

"And you held my nuts to show what seeds."  His voice showed that 
he was in it, too.

"And you shot and shot and shot.  I felt that you'd filled me 
twice over.  First you, then your seed.  That was the night. That 
was the fuck."  The memory excited her.  His cock had rubbed her 
right there, where her finger was now, and rubbed there forever.

"Talking dirty are we?  Did I fuck you then?  Did I screw you? 
Did I dick your cunt?  Make love to you?  Swive you?  Put the old 
sausage in the hole?"

"No," she said.  "You Rogered me.  You drove me up the peak, and 
over.  Not once, not twice, you rogered me to climax *three* 
times.  Oh Roger!"

"Is it on?"

She flicked the switch on her magic wand.  "Is now."

"Rub it over my favorite creampuffs.  First the left one....  Now 
the right."  She brushed the wand over her breasts to his 
directions.  The rush was building, she felt her skin get warmer 
under the cold sheets.  "Don't touch the strawberries until... 
Now!  Are they nice and puffy for my lips?...  Are they straining 
upwards for my teeth?"  He had never actually bitten her there; 
neither of them wanted it.  But the *idea* of teeth slicing into 
her nipples drove her wild.  She dialed up the speed on the wand, 
which drove her wilder as she stroked those nipples.

He crooned to her over the phone lines.  She wanted more; she 
needed more; if he didn't speak, she would break away to get 
more.  "Now your thighs.  Let them carry the vibrations to your 
lips. You haven't touched your lips yet, have you?"  She hadn't, 
but it was a struggle.  The vibrations shook her thighs, which 
shook her lips, which shook her clit; but she needed more, more 
force, more directly.

"Put the vibrator on your right knee, slow it down.  Is it 
there?"  It was, and the slower vibrations shook her whole leg. 
"Now draw it towards you, slowly, slowly, more slowly yet as it 
gets closer....  Tell me when it touches your labium."  As she 
drew the wand downward she lost all consciousness of anything but 
those vibrations.

And then the wand touched her groin.  Fire sprang though her, 
fire filled that lip, fire burned her clit.  "Oh yes!" she said.

"Now take it up to the left knee and move it downward again. More 
slowly this time."  She tried to keep it moving slowly.  It sure 
*felt* like a longer time; it felt like damn-near forever. She 
was on the edge, so close that she couldn't catch a breath.

"That's me you're holding, Rachel" he said.  "Turn it down now; 
turn it down, and put it in."  He didn't have to tell her to do 
this part slowly; she was stabbing herself.

But she did ease it in.  She did feel those vibrations fill her. 
"Tell me," she gasped.  "Oh Roger, tell me."

"I love you, Rachel.  I love all of you."  The wand was almost 
filling her.  She let go to clutch the sheet.  "I love your 
luscious cunt.  I love your daring spirit."  Her body lifted 
itself, thrusting the wand's handle towards the ceiling.  "I love 
you.  Oh, darling!"  She was spasming now.  He kept cooing over 
the phone, "Come for me,  That's it.  Come again."

She spasmed, spasmed again and again.  Finally, she pulled the 
wand out and almost flung it away.  Roger, who had been 
encouraging her the whole time, said a final, "I love you, all of 
you; and I always will."  Then he left the phone while she tried 
to gather her breath and then her mind.

Roger returned to the phone.  "Yours?" she asked.

"No hurry," he said.  "You almost carried me with you.  The 
lotion is too hot, anyway."  Well it would cool fast enough on 
his hand. 


                              - = - 

Steve took a ten-minute break to warm himself when the walk was 
more than half-way shoveled.  When he came back the second time, 
his mom greeted him.  "Did you get it all?" she asked.

"Not that the wind won't cover it over."

"My hero."  Just because she had to reach up to kiss his jaw, 
just because it was a little bristly when she did, didn't mean 
that he wasn't still her little boy.  Steve moved back to unzip 
his coat.  These demonstrations embarrassed him, and he suspected 
that his embarrassment only added to Mom's enjoyment.

"Don't like my kisses?" she asked.  "Now, I know how to get you 
some you'll prefer.  Save one of your brownies for Shannon."

"Brownies?"  He could manage Shannon's kisses on his own, thank 
you.  On the other hand, a pan of brownies -- with both Dad and 
Mallory out of the picture -- were worth shoveling a walk any 
day.

"After lunch.  They aren't even done yet."  But she was laughing 
when she said that.  She didn't act like this often, especially 
when Dad was gone; but she did have these funny moods.  She 
looked excited, with a high color.  Of course, that could simply 
be from the heat of the stove -- or the heat of the shower, he 
could tell she'd taken one from the smell of her special soap.

"Going somewhere tonight?"  he asked.  Why shower in the middle 
of the afternoon?

"Tonight?  Those guys are lucky I'll show up for work tomorrow! 
Speaking of which, you'll never get home and back to Hauksbee's 
on time.  Do you want to pack a dinner?"

"I'll get something in town."  He had taken a bit extra out of 
his paycheck.  Unlike Shannon, he didn't need to be spending 
money to enjoy it.  On the other hand, learning that much of his 
check wasn't available to him had been something of a shock.  An 
extra thirty dollars in the back of his drawer would cover 
emergencies like a gift for Shannon's birthday.

Lunch was great.  It wasn't really Sunday dinner with Dad away, 
but the stew was plentiful.  He only had room for two brownies 
afterwards, so he carried a plateful up to his room. 


                              - = - 

The bus took forever to get to school, and he totally missed Dave 
that morning.  He was late for English, too; but he took another 
minute by his locker to shuffle Shannon's cards and get the book 
into his hands.  "So, Steve," Mrs. Foster said, "finally honoring 
us with your presence?"

"The bus was late."

"Sarah was on the same bus, and she beat you here."  The girl, 
who still had her coat with her, gave him an apologetic look.

"I stopped at my locker, Mrs. Foster.  I had to do it sometime."

"Perhaps you could tell us what is going on in the play."

"Which scene?" he asked.  "I just walked in through the door."

"Act Four, Scene Three."  Her tone implied that knowing the scene 
wouldn't help him.

"It's a very short scene," he said.  "First she gets rid of her 
nurse.  Then she comments on all the dangers of the poison -- 
fake poison, but she's not sure of that.  Then she drinks it."

"What are those dangers?"  Mrs. Foster was using a much gentler 
tone, but he could tell he wasn't out of the woods yet.

Carefully, he kept his eyes on her.  He knew this wasn't on the 
cards anyway.  "Well," he said, "she's not sure that Father 
Lawrence didn't give her a real poison to hide that he'd married 
her."  That didn't sound right.  "Her and Romeo.  And maybe the 
potion wouldn't work at all.  And maybe she would wake up locked 
in a dark tomb surrounded by the corpses of her family."

"Very good, Steve.  I just hope that you'll read the rest of the 
play, now that you know you can."

Steve brought out three brownies at lunch.  He cut one of them in 
half and passed the whole lot over to Shannon.  She took the two 
halves.  "You can have more, really," he said.  "I'm saving two 
for supper."

"Two brownies apiece.  Just that mine are smaller.  Really, 
Steve, that's not an adequate dinner."

"Yes, Mama.  I'm eating at Terry's Diner.  That's just dessert. 
Mom thinks I couldn't get home and back in time.  I agree."

"Want company?" she asked.

"Love it."

"I felt like kissing you in front of the whole English class," 
she said  "You did great!"

"Well, we could find another time.  Anyway, I didn't do anything. 
It's all your doing.  Almost said so, but she might not have 
liked hearing that you cleared up the play for me when she'd left 
me totally in the dark.  You're the one who deserves kisses."

"Well, I'm sure that we could sort out that problem.  Get my 
message about babysitting?"

"What's this about not wanting to see me?"

"Ask me there, okay?"  She suspected that what was bothering Mrs. 
Jensen was nursing Peggy in front of Steve.  She could understand 
her embarrassment; heck, Shannon didn't want to discuss this in 
the lunchroom.  Even though, she thought suddenly, it was about 
lunch.

That flicker of a smile accompanied by downturned eyes and a half 
blush got Steve every time.  Phil could have Tanya.  Shannon was 
sexier.  She never explained what had caused those looks, but 
he'd triggered them a few times himself.


Dave caught him as he walked out the door with Shannon.  He 
gave back the disk on the sidewalk across the street from the 
school.

He ordered the chili-mac with a side order of hashbrowns when 
they got to the diner.  "Cherry pie if you have it," said 
Shannon, "a cup of coffee -- plenty of cream, and a separate 
check."

"Come on Shannon!  You're my guest."

"I suggested the whole thing.  If you'd let me, I would pay your 
way too.  Don't fight about this, and I won't ask what's going on 
with Dave."  Not that she, and most of the girls, didn't know 
about Dave's little porn game.  Boys had the weirdest taste! Even 
Steve.  She saw that she had won.

"You're as bad as my dad," she continued.  "You know the money 
that I saved up from babysitting?"  She decided that amounts 
would embarrass Steve; she made more than he did.  "Anyway, I 
made a good deal more than I've spent.  He wants that money doled 
out to me like an allowance again.  Instead of seeing something 
and buying it, he wants me to budget everything ahead of time." 
She looked over at Steve for sympathy, forgetting that this was 
Steve.

"You want polite?" he asked, "or you want true?"  She turned her 
hand up.

"Look.  Look down the road a few years.  You're married.  Maybe 
not to me, but to somebody.  You make a salary; he makes a 
salary.  You say to him, 'Don't worry about me; I'll pay for my 
clothes and such.  All you have to do is pay the mortgage, 
groceries, car, insurance, things like that.'  Do you see a 
little problem there?"

"I'm not as selfish as you think I am."

"Shannon, there isn't a selfish bone in your body," he said. "The 
problem isn't selfishness.  The problem is that everybody is on a 
budget.  Somebody is going to control what you spend.  It can be 
you; it can be someone else.  We could set it up so that you get 
so many dollars a week, even so many dollars a day.  When that's 
spent, it's gone; and you wait for the next amount.

"But you already have two parents, and that's not what I want to 
be.  I don't think anyone else is looking for that job either. 
Will you try out a budget?  Just try it for me?"

The waitress saved her from answering.  When she sipped her 
coffee, Steve said:  "That would keep me awake all night.  I 
don't know how you do it."  He was going to let the question 
drop, which somehow pushed her more than insistence would have.

"Somehow doesn't go with cherry pie," she said when he offered 
her another brownie.

She went home to a real dinner.  He went off to work. 


                              - = - 

Shannon spent a good deal of thought on the budget issue in her 
spare time over the next day.  In the first place, she'd been 
right when she told her dad that Steve was thinking about her as 
a wife -- well, that wasn't quite what she'd told Dad, but close. 
That was very nice to know, but it was not so nice that he was 
thinking about her in a wifely role where she didn't meet the 
standards.

She was far from as stupid as people seemed to think she was. She 
knew she was irresponsible about money; half the fun was 
flaunting her irresponsibility about money.  Besides, she was 
responsible as a driver and as a student.  She was quite 
responsible answering the phone, which was important to her mom 
and an area in which Steve was simply awful.  She was responsible 
in managing the business of babysitting, and -- especially -- 
responsible in how she dealt with her tiny charges.

If you were responsible about *everything*, what was the use of 
being seventeen?  And she wasn't one tenth as irritating a 
daughter as her parents were irritating to her.

But Steve had raised an important point.  She was quite prepared 
to go on as a flibbertigibbet daughter for the next four years; 
she had no interest in becoming a flibbertigibbet wife. And there 
were two side issues.

In the long run, if she did end up married to Steve, she wanted 
to be the one buying his clothes.  Wives did that, and it wasn't 
as if Steve cared.  It was more that he bought the first thing 
that fit.  Lots of wives bought their husband's clothes, but 
probably not many wives who couldn't be trusted with the family 
money.

In the short run, it was the white wedding thing.  She would 
never say, "I went on a budget to please you; stop there to 
please me."  Steve would probably change his mind about budgets 
*fast*.  But making a few sacrifices to keep them together set a 
pattern.  More accurately, *never* making the sacrifice set a 
pattern.

She was fairly certain that she could operate within a budget if 
she had to.  Right now looked like the time to prove it. Besides, 
if she found it really hard, her parents would give her more 
leeway if she had proposed the plan herself.  Steve, also, would 
be a lot happier with a plan that she had accepted because he 
asked it than with a plan her dad had forced on her.

She thought this out during TV commercials, while walking to 
school, during class, and other spare moments.  She broke it to 
Steve when classes ended on Tuesday.  They were on their way to a 
dance-planning meeting.  "You win.  I'll talk to Dad about 
setting up a budget."

"It's not exactly winning," he said.  She looked at him.  "I'm 
not on his side against you.  I'm on your side against the world. 
I just think that this is something that you really should do. 
And I told *you* so.  But we're not all ganging up on you.  I'll 
never gang up on you."

"You think that I should do it, but you don't think that I should 
do it because you want me to?"  She could almost see that.  There 
were things she wanted like that; his phone calls for instance.

"Oh, it's perfectly all right that you do it because I want you 
to.  Better if you do it because it makes sense, but I'll take 
what I can get.  It's just that I didn't *win* anything. 
Certainly not win anything against you."

"Well, you and one part of me beat another part of me.  I really 
enjoyed being a spendthrift."  Her mournful tone was mostly a 
joke, but not quite all of it.

He caught the tone and the past tense.  "Well," he glanced 
around, "this isn't the place to kiss the spendthrift goodbye. 
Tonight?"

"Tonight."

They got to the meeting after it had already begun.  Heather 
Swanson was talking and holding up a picture of a Cupid.  "Well, 
Shannon -- oh there she is -- asked me to make one and find how 
long it took.  This took me five or six hours for just one.  So 
I'm withdrawing my suggestion.  It's way too much work."

"That's a problem," said Ken, "but it's not the problem that I 
saw."  Shannon saw Mr. Babaian wince, but Ken ignored that and 
went on.  "Heather can draw this, and it is beautiful.  Who else 
thinks that they could make one?"  There was only one hand raised 
in the whole meeting.  "So we can't have a lot of them.  On the 
other hand....

"Heather, could you make one more?  A reflection in the vertical 
line, but not quite?"  Heather looked pleased but puzzled.

"I so move," Steve began, "that the committee ask Heather to make 
another drawing and to let us use both of them in our decor.  The 
drawing could be a mirror image, and she can ask for suggestions 
from anyone she wants to."

That passed.  "Do I have a motion to go with the hearts as our 
main decor?" asked Ken.  Several people moved that, and that 
carried as well.

"Now," said Ken, "how many slow dances?  I'm going to assume that 
everybody wants some percent.  Lets vote with our feet this time. 
Mr. Babaian, will you be our midpoint?  Everybody who wants more 
slow dances than fast come to this side of Mr. Babaian, and 
everybody who wants more fast dances go to the other side of 
him." By having people move past the advisor, Ken got the 
committee to show that slightly more than half wanted more than 
65% slow dances, and a solid majority wanted fewer than 70% slow.

"Well, can I have a motion to play 65% slow dances?"  Shannon 
made that motion, and it carried.

"Work session the next three days after school," Ken said.  "Make 
two of them."

Gary had a ride for both Ken and Steve, "if you're leaving right 
now."  Still on school property, Steve and Shannon said good bye 
without a kiss.  Ken and Gary were both surprised how brief that 
parting was.

"I'll call you, Heather" Ken shouted.

"I owe Shannon big time!" Ken said in the car.  "You can tell her 
so."

"What happened there?  We got in one minute late."

"Heather's been bugging me about her decor scheme.  Much too 
fancy.  Instead of telling her why it wouldn't work, Shannon 
called her up and asked her to show how it would.  I'm supposed 
to have the brains in this school.  But, anyhow, Heather tried it 
out, figured out the hours involved, and could see that it 
wouldn't work.  But isn't it a work of art?"

They agreed that it was a work of art.  Ken got out first, and 
then Steve. 


Continued in Chapter 11
Heart Ball
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2001/01/18
2003/02/01
2004/01/27

Thanks to Neneh and to Denny for editing different 
stages of this story.

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

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