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Message-ID: <60919asstr$1294942202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Holidaze - F" -- Uther -- MF
Lines: 3196
Date: Thu, 13 Jan 2011 13:10:02 -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, 2011, 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 nogardneprethu@gmail.com.

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.


Holidaze - F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
MF

Carolyn Nolan loved her family, really she did. Some days, true, they drove
her up the wall. But if, this summer, she was anxious to get back to
Northwestern, it had little to do with feeling stifled at home. It hadn't
all that much to do with her classes at Northwestern, although those were
becoming more and more fascinating. What she wanted to get back to was her
evolving relationship with Bill Pierce. The man could be infuriatingly
opinionated, but he also turned her on. He'd invited her for a dinner date
when she had been on her way home. The delay hadn't been thoughtless,
although it had turned out to be inconvenient. Thoughtfully, he'd waited for
her exams to be over. A thoughtful Bill Pierce was, if difficult to believe,
a real gem. And he seemed interested in her; he'd always seemed interested
in her.

She got back a week early hoping to see him in church. Maybe he'd ask her
out before classes began, she'd have lots of time -- though probably he
wouldn't. Bill was older and a businessman.

"Welcome back," he said after service. She wasn't in the choir, yet, and
they went out the same door. "Did you have a nice summer?"

"Restful after exams. And you?" Let's talk. Better yet, why don't you take
me to lunch so we can have a really long talk? But he wasn't telepathic.

"Pleasant, if a little hot. Can't say that Chicago climate doesn't give you
variety, sometimes it's too hot, sometimes too cold, and sometimes too wet."


"And your luck on the baby front?" Bill was notoriously fond of kids, the
younger the better. He walked babies in the back of the church when they got
restless and their parents wanted a little break.

"The Bells are awfully possessive, but I have hopes for the Robinsons."

"Poor Bill. You should start a family of your own." Whoa girl! It sounds
like you're volunteering. While she liked Bill, that was a step -- several
steps -- too far.

"A bachelor has no children to speak of." Not that she believed that of him.
"Besides ones own would grow up."

"Somehow, I can't picture you with a claim on kids without your holding them
in your arms. Secret sins, I can believe; a secret family, I can't."

"You, on the other hand," he said, "look too innocent to have any secret
sins." She didn't want to look innocent to him. She'd worn her tightest
jeans and a blouse which showed a little cleavage on their first date.
Talking in church meant he'd almost always seen her in church clothes.

"I'm not innocent at all."

"Well, if you tell me, you still won't have any secret sins." She gave that
the laugh it deserved. Sometimes -- but only sometimes -- Bill was a wit.
She walked away slowly enough for him to catch up and ask her for a date. He
didn't. He didn't even offer to drive her home.

Their talk the next week was as friendly, and as fruitless. She went back in
the choir. That cut her interactions with Bill down to the once-a-month
coffee hours, but maybe he would be more interested if she looked harder to
get.

She'd fought enough with Bill, and she knew his politics. She figured that
wearing her McGovern button to church would be simple provocation. Many of
the other students wore theirs, but she noticed that the older members
seemed to think that political buttons weren't appropriate church costume.

Gladys Hagopian invited her for Thanksgiving dinner for the second straight
year. Gladys was a fellow member of the choir, and she and Dan were great
people. They were the age of her parents, but not at all so stuffy. When she
go there, she found that there was another guest.

"Bill?" She asked. The day was looking even better

"Hey, this wasn't my idea," he replied. That cast a little gloom over the
day, after all. Gladys intervened.

"It wasn't the idea of either of you. Guests don't get to veto other guests.
Now, be nice and sit down." And they were seated side by side. Keith
Hagopian was seated on their side of the table, which put their chairs quite
close. Barbara, who was quite pregnant, and her husband made up the other
side.

Dan, who was a professor and knew what was important, asked what her grades
had been the last semester. Bill complimented her on them. She got off on
her paper, which had been more important than the exams.

"Professor Kindle was quite nice about my paper on Chicago as a
transportation hub. I called it, 'From the Chicago River to O'Hare."

"And how long is that?" Bill asked. Well the time wasn't the important part,
although the title might have suggested that. And he sounded interested.

"More than a century. Chicago was first settled and grew because of the
river and its mouth. Then railroads came here because it was a big city --
other reasons, of course, but the railroads went from city to city -- the
bigger the city the better. Then, because it was an even-bigger city and
because it was already a transportation hub for railroads, O'Hare became a
major airline and air-freight hub. Sorry!" This was a Thanksgiving party,
not a seminar -- and a family Thanksgiving party to which she was a
non-family guest.

"I know what it means to have written a paper on a fascinating subject which
doesn't fascinate quite everybody," said Dan. "Damn frustrating."

"'Not quite everybody'" Keith said, "means his entire family. And they're
the ones who got frustrated."

"After all, it's better than the minutiae of pushing pills."  Dan was
ignoring his son. But he'd been too patronizing towards Bill.

"Minutiae, maybe, but Bill can make his work fascinating."

"Maybe, just maybe, the fascinating part was less the speech than the
speaker. Just maybe." Gladys was getting too close to the truth. She felt
her face warm.

Then, thankfully, the conversation turned to other things. Keith got to
report his school progress. It seemed to Carolyn that he was -- despite his
father's academic prowess -- participating in a rite of passage into
middle-class adulthood rather than in a search for facts and truth. Then
Barbara reported her more basic experiences. Even Bill was interested. Of
course he would be; the result would be a baby.

"Don't worry, Bill," said Dan. "You're invited to next Thanksgiving, too."
Presumably he'd get to hold Barbara's baby then.

"Bill's a baby freak, Brian." Barbara's husband was the only one not in on
the joke. "You can trust him not to hurt them, but you might keep your eye
on the door next year just in case."

"Now, Barbara, I always give a kid back when asked." Bill was chuckling. He
didn't mind the teasing.

"By an armed mob of parents," Barbara finished for him. Then, "Really, Bill,
isn't Carolyn too old for you?" She'd been thinking of Barbara as her own
age, which left her puzzled. Then she saw where this was going.

"Too young?" Bill was a little slower. "She is hardly jail bait. She's a
grad student, older than you are if she didn't skip a grade or a year in
college."

"Too old," Keith explained.

"Like twenty years too old," Barbara said. Bill caught on.

"Now, Keith. You've clearly been enjoying the stuffing." Bill was
understating it. Keith had disposed of more than half the generous amount of
stuffing that his mother had made. "That doesn't mean that I expect you to
skip the pie. You like more than one kind of food, and I like more than one
kind of person." Great, she and Alice were pie and stuffing. The question
was who was the stuffing and who was the pie.

"Speaking of age, Brian, aren't you ashamed of yourself for knocking up an
immature girl." Dan was skillfully diverting the discussion. And he was
spanking the more guilty of his kids.

"But I didn't. Barbara is an adult when she's in Cincinnati, able to give
informed consent. She may revert to childhood in Evanston, but I knocked her
up in Cincinnati."

"'Revert to childhood'?" Barbara retorted. "You'll pay for that, mister."
After this, though, the conversation got less confrontational. The meal was
truly a feast, enjoyable even aside from the company. But Gladys crowned her
gifts that night.

"You'll take Carolyn home, won't you?" she asked Bill. Bless the woman! And
he accepted; what else could he do? The ride was mostly in silence, though.
She couldn't think of anything, and then she asked the second question in
her mind. She obviously couldn't ask why he no longer invited her on dates.

"Which am I, the stuffing or the pie?" That totally lost him.

"Huh?" He was a sexy, handsome, guy. He had been polite since she got back
in town. He wasn't, however, the sharpest pencil in the box.

"You said that Keith could like both stuffing and pie, and you could like
both Alice and me. So which am I?" He paused for a moment.

"You're definitely the pie. A big, beautiful, pie in the window of the
bakery. And the bakery is closed -- locked up. I can drool outside the
window, but I can't get the pie." By this time, he had parked.

"Why do you think the bakery is locked?" Whoa, gal! He may hear you offering
more than you intend. Well, how much did she intend to offer? He wasn't
going to be her date to the senior prom; if he wanted to lead her to bed,
she would see how that road went. On the other hand, she wasn't jumping into
bed just yet.

"Because I was an ass, but..." He'd taken her wrong, and not about
interpreting the offer too generously. He turned off the engine. This
conversation was nowhere near a stopping point.

"No! What makes you think it's locked up?"

"Look, we have a bit of unfinished business," he started on another tangent.
"You were telling me about my greatest faults when we got distracted. Maybe,
if you finished that list, we could go on."

"One evening of blowing off wasn't the end of the world. I don't want to go
over ancient history. You've been a perfect gentleman since."

"If you don't want to go over ancient history, would you be willing to go
out for dinner this Sunday. It seems ridiculous to think of dinner right
now, but we'll be hungry again by then." He <b>could</b> be funny.

"Much sooner than then. Thanks, I'd like to go out with you." And she hadn't
begged for this date either -- hinted, maybe, but not begged. And his
density, not his reluctance, had made the hint necessary.

He walked her in, but didn't kiss her although she gave him every
opportunity.

After church Sunday, they ate at a nice, but not fancy, restaurant. He drew
her out, asking about her courses. Maybe she was too responsive -- maybe
just too particular in her reports.

"Look," Bill said, "I like to watch you when you talk. I like the sound of
your voice. But you've taken more prep than I have in economics, and then
you take this course what? three times a week?"

"Yeah."

"It's a compliment that you think I can absorb a ten-minute summary of a
quarter's course. But I'm not quite that smart." Clever, <b>sometimes</b> he
could be damn clever.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. But also don't blame me if I don't get everything."

"That's fair," she conceded. "Look, the details vary -- they vary
infinitely. But one problem keeps coming up in all those details. You sell a
medicine for blood pressure, right? So do some of your competitors." He was
nodding in agreement.

"Dr. Smith prescribes your drug for one patient. The patient improves
dramatically. Dr. Smith is sold on your drug and keeps prescribing it. Dr.
Jones prescribes your drug to one patient, and the patient doesn't improve
at all. Dr. Jones goes over to your competitor's drug.

"Now, you can't deal with that, even if you know it, in figuring out your
sales strategy. The detail is too small. Similarly, economics can't explain
actual consumer choices. Johnny choked on this brand of cereal once;
Johnny's mama never buys it again. Fred scores for the first time while the
Pepsi commercial is on. Fred drinks Pepsi 'cause he finds it much sexier
than Coke. And on, and on, and on. We have to simplify.

"But what simplification actually holds the data? And what is a result of
actions versus what is a result of accident?" Damn it, she was getting all
abstract again! "Look, what was the greatest and longest-lasting drop in GNP
since the Great Depression?"

"You're going to tell me that it was the last one." His economics education
had been by ideologues. Since he knew she wasn't one of the neo-classicists,
he figured she was preaching an opposing ideology.

"Nope! it ran from 1944 to 1947. GI Joe went from freezing in a foxhole on
Omaha beach eating C Rations to marrying Rosie the Riveter and living in a
Levittown bungalow eating meat loaf. It was much cheaper; his standard of
living as measured by GNP went way down. Nobody complained.

"Anyway, that drop in GNP was clearly due to the end of the war. Indeed, if
you analyze GNP into separate factors, every factor except defense spending
soared over that period. But what of slighter changes? Does dropping GNP --
GDP today -- mean that the government is mismanaging the economy, or is it
due to extrinsic causes?" Or, for that matter, did it really represent an
improvement?

"Why did they rename GNP?" Probably he was being more sensible about the
subjects to discuss than she was. This could be explained over a meal.

"They didn't quite. They still measure both. It's just that Gross
<b>Domestic</b> Production is a better measure of the economic health of the
country. You take GNP, add income payments to the rest of the world, and
subtract income receipts from the rest of the world. It isn't that different
for the USA; there are huge differences in some countries where the
industries are owned by foreign investors. Look, why not keep that fact in
mind, and I'll wait for them to assign me a class before I give another
lecture."

"That's fair." And his response was fair, too -- more than fair, really.

They talked about people they both knew for the rest of the meal. His
near-decade of membership gave Bill a wider picture, and his interest in
babies over that time meant he was acquainted with more than half the kids
there now. On the other hand, the choir gave her a window into the
functioning of the church he didn't get. Three members of the official board
were in the choir, and -- among friends as they were in the choir -- didn't
hesitate to discuss issues in front of the others.

He drove her home, invited her out on Wednesday on the way, and walked her
to the door. This time, when she turned towards him, he kissed her good
night. It was as thrilling as the first one had been. She could feel him
firm against her stomach. Well, it was a mutual desire. He finally broke the
kiss. When she went through the door, the entertainment room was full of
couples doing more than she had done. Maybe they would go inside next time.
Her after-church cigarette had been delayed, but it tasted better for that,
and for the memories which went with it.

Preparing for Wednesday, she thought out a brief -- comprehensible to laymen
-- description of each of the courses she was taking this semester. She
might not use them, but they would be better than getting bogged down in her
frustration like she tended to do when she winged it. She wore her tightest
jeans again and a blouse that revealed her cleavage.

They went to another Chinese restaurant. She used one of her prepared
descriptions, but mostly they talked about his work. Again, he parked when
they got back to the residence hall. He kissed her at the inner door, but
she broke away.

"Carolyn," he began, but he stopped when she touched a finger to her lips.
She unlocked the door and led him in.

"You can come this far," she said while unbuttoning her coat. He unzipped
his as she led him further away from the doorway. She let him approach her
for the kiss, but she put her hands under his coat when he began kissing
her. He got the ides. They were standing there, hugging and kissing, but
only the kissing was visible.

When he licked her lips, she opened her mouth. His tongue on hers, his hands
on her hips, her nipples hardening against his chest, his penis hardening
against her stomach, were all thrilling. She raised her hands from his waist
to hold his face while she kissed all around it. His hands went up to her
breasts. Even through her bra, his touch was arousing. Then his finger
traced along the tops and inner sides that the clothes left exposed. She
shivered, but pressed against him.

"Carolyn," he finally said. He took her hand to kiss it, then turned back to
the door. She watched leave before she went upstairs. Her panties were damp
and it wasn't <b>only</b> all the sweat from hugging in a warm room inside
coats.

He called the next night. When her name was called in the hall, she went to
the phone.

"Carolyn Nolan."

"Bill Pierce, here. Look, what are your Saturdays like?"

"Class in the morning." Indeed the Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday,
Regional-Economics seminar was by far the most demanding, as well as the
most interesting, course she was taking this semester.

"Would you care to come for lunch afterwards?"

"That would be great."

"I got so involved with the Carolyn present last night that I forgot the
Carolyn yet to come." Which was cute. "Look, should I pick you up at your
dorm? your classroom? and when?"

"Outside the building I take the class in would be great. Do you know Brooke
Hall?"

"I can find it."

"Then maybe 12:15." The class got out at noon, but there were always
discussions afterwards.  She dressed for class, not for a date -- sweat
shirt, but, still, her tightest jeans -- but he'd chosen the time. When she
went out, his car was there, and he didn't look disappointed at her costume.


Lunch was fine. They were back on her classes as a discussion topic. Having
a boyfriend from another generation and a right-winger on top of that sure
eliminated music and current events.

"Look, this place doesn't serve drinks," he observed as they were ending the
meal. "Would you like to come back to my apartment for a nightcap?" His
place? fine. Drinks? Did he intend to get her drunk to seduce her? It would
work better if she were sober.

"Okay." And it was okay. When they settled on his sofa, he seemed to have
forgotten all about the drinks, which was fine with her. The kiss was as
exciting as his kisses always were, and he knew more about making out than
he did about economics. She kissed him back and let his hands rove. They
were a little chilly under her sweat shirt, but they warmed her again when
they caressed her bra. When she leaned forward, he took the hint. But the
loose bra and the sweat shirt tangled uncomfortably.

"Let me," she said pushing him away. He watched as she took off both.
"Aren't you a little overdressed?" Indeed, he still had on a white shirt and
necktie. Without saying anything, he stripped these and his t-shirt off.
When he started on his shoes, she took off her tennies.  If he was going on
to his pants, she should find a way of stopping him. But he didn't.

He kissed her again, and all that skin touched. It felt much better, and he
licked the inside of her mouth until she almost melted. When he broke the
kiss, it was to kiss over her face and down her neck. She held his head
against her, knowing where he was headed, but glad he didn't just jump
there. She was a woman with breasts, not a pair of breasts with a woman
attached as excess baggage.

When he did get to the breasts, he kissed down to the nipple on her right
breast, and then jumped over to the nipple on her left. Soon, he eased her
down on the sofa. After a brief kiss on her mouth, he was on the floor,
sucking her left nipple. One hand rested on her forehead like a parent
checking for fever; the other was stroking her thighs and groin through the
jeans.

She had a brief thought that the jeans were his own fault. If he'd said,
"Let's go to my apartment after your class and make out," she'd have gone
back to the residence hall to change into something more appropriate. He'd
only mentioned lunch, and he'd got her in jeans.

Then sensation swept thought away. He was kissing her left nipple and
tweaking her right one. She held his head to her. When the nipple began to
be a little sore, she pulled him over to the other one. His hand wasn't
there any more, anyway. It was fumbling at her side, trying to open the
jeans. This brought her back from the enjoyment of her sensations. She
pushed his head away and laughed.

"You'll never got those down while I'm lying down." This seemed to take him
aback. He thought for a moment before he spoke.

"Would we be more comfortable in the bedroom?" Well, he'd be more
comfortable for damn-well sure. He was on the floor while she was on the
sofa. On the other hand, the sofa fabric under her back wasn't the softest
thing on naked skin.

The real question was whether she wanted this to go further. And, if he'd
leave her left nipple alone for a while, she really did. This guy was sexy
to look at, even sexier to kiss. When he got to the serious stuff, he didn't
disappoint. Since she didn't have her diaphragm in, there were limits. But a
bedroom wasn't beyond those limits.

"Sure." She let him get up first and then accepted his help in rising. It
would have been easier pushing against the sofa arm, but much less romantic.
He ushered her into his bedroom. Again, this was less practical than his
leading the way, but more romantic.

Inside, she stripped off jeans and pantyhose -- these had runs, fine for
keeping warm under jeans, not what she'd wear under a skirt to church. That
wasn't where his attention was, obviously. She decided to let him do the
work if her panties were going to come off. Instead, he kissed her standing
-- again skin against skin, although his pants were still on. He led her to
the neatly-made bed. She'd give odds that Bill only made it when he was
expecting company, on the other hand, it was a twin bed; he didn't expect
company every night. He folded the covers down to the foot of the bed, and
then folded them down again. At his gesture, she lay down, crowding over on
the left side of the bed. He started to say something, but he got in to her
right instead. She shoved her feet under the covers; part of her would be
warm, anyway.

He touched or nearly touched all along her right side, and that grew warm.
He licked and sucked her nipple, then kissed all over that breast. His hand
stroked her stomach, then her thigh, then moved towards her crotch. She
opened her legs as far as she could, not much in this position, to encourage
him. Encouraged or not, he took his sweet time. He brushed over her delta
but returned to her stomach. From there, his hand inserted itself inside the
waistband. She didn't worry about that. The panties were old and had lost
their elastic. She'd only worn them because the pantyhose would keep them up
and the jeans would hide them. When he'd tickled all over her delta, he
shifted so he was kneeling on the bed.

"Lift up." his hands were on her panties. Fine. She lifted. When he'd taken
her panties off. he went back to sucking her nipple and his hand went to her
cleft. Soon, he had a finger inside the cleft. He stroked some of her
moisture up to her clit and then brushed across it with the gentlest
strokes. Meanwhile, he kept sucking on her nipple.

Warmth spread through her. She was no longer cold. He was taking her there,
and she sighed to tell him so. She grew tenser, raised her head to watch him
at her breast, brought her legs together.

She flew. And he kept rubbing and sucking until she was done.

She was vaguely conscious of his thrashing around on the bed next to her
while she recovered. Then his face was inches above hers.

"Carolyn, lovely Carolyn, say yes." He was practically covering her body,
and when she closed her legs, they met at his knee.

"No." She didn't have her diaphragm in.

"But you'd be safe." He showed her an open contraceptive wrapper. She looked
down to see his penis covered with the contraceptive. It was still no, but
he'd shown a little responsibility.

"No." Still, he'd done her a service, and she could do him one. When she
shoved his shoulder, he fell to the side. She reached down to feel his hard
penis. "Poor Little Bill. All dressed up and no place to go." she began to
move her hand back and forth over him. The lubricant didn't make the feel
too pleasant, but she could ignore that.

Suddenly, Bill exploded in laughter.

"You're sweet!" He kissed her mouth for the longest time. Then he kissed
down her body. He didn't seem interested in what she could do for him.
Instead, after a long time kissing both breasts, he headed even lower. He
kissed her stomach, tickled her navel with his tongue, and kissed down to
her thighs. Then he was licking her cleft. She hadn't received many kisses
<b>there</b>. His were the most exciting.

She flew. He kept licking, and she kept flying. Finally, she pushed his head
away. She rolled over, and he got behind her to hold her. His penis was firm
against her ass, but he wasn't trying to put it in -- wasn't even close.
Finally, she recovered and turned around. With him lying like that and
taking up half of a twin bed and more, it wasn't easy. She reached down --
her left hand, this time -- she was lying on her right side.

"Now, let me take care of Little Bill." She held him somewhat firmly and
moved her hand back and forth along the tube. Bill seemed more than willing.

"Yes," he said. Little Bill throbbed in her hand, and the condom was filled
by his stuff. She wiped her hand on the sheet. The lubricant was less mess
than the stuff would have been.

"Happier now?" she asked.

"Some day, I'll understand you."

"You're not supposed to. Haven't you ever heard of feminine mystery?"

"I suppose. I don't really think they had you in mind. But mystery you are.
Turn around again and let me hold you." This time, he crowded onto the edge
of the bed to allow her more space. "Want covers?"

"It would be nice," she said. He was keeping her back warm but all the
motion had pulled her feet from where they had been the only warm part. He
covered her and went into the bathroom. She heard the water run. When he got
into bed behind her, his penis was cold. His hand was cool on her breast,
too, but she didn't complain. He moved her hair off the back of her neck and
kissed her there. She shivered.

He kissed the back of her neck again. She shivered again, and she thought
she felt him chuckle.

"I never got you that drink," he said suddenly. She clasped his hand to her
breast.

"Not now." She needed him against her back, not getting some silly drink.
"Do you really drink in the afternoon?"

"Occasionally. I couldn't say, 'Want to go back to my apartment and make
out?' now could I?"

"I don't see why not, except I wasn't going back to your apartment. I'd
never been here."

"Okay," he answered. "Want to come here tomorrow afternoon to make out
again?" That was ridiculous.

"Are you crazy? Look, I don't ask you to meet me on weekday afternoons. Some
of us don't get the weekends off. I lost study time today. Not complaining
-- this was great. But I have to make the time up before Monday morning."

"Speaking of schedules," he said. "I asked you out on Wednesday. Would
Tuesday or Thursday have been better?"

"Is this an invitation?" Now that she could interpret his invitations, she
could insert the diaphragm beforehand. She'd wear sexier underwear, too.

"Not really. First you tell me which day is most convenient, and <b>then</b>
I invite you."

"Wednesday is fine."

"Miss Nolan, might I have the pleasure of your company at dinner this coming
Wednesday?"

"Why, Mr. Pierce, the pleasure would be mine." Which didn't really answer
him. "Thank you. When should I be ready downstairs?"

"Would six-forty five be too late?" Why he thought that would be too late,
she couldn't tell.

"Six-forty five it is."

She got through the studying for one course that night. In bed, she
considered the direction this romance was taking. She'd always been
attracted to Bill physically. And that attraction was certainly justified by
her experience. The man's kisses were exciting. He might be the most
arousing man she'd ever made out with. And, if his kisses on her mouth were
exciting, his kiss down there had provided one of the strongest orgasms of
her life. She really looked forward to screwing him. Physically, to answer
Mama's question in a way Mama would never hear, her romantic life was
beautiful.

The question was Bill's personality. She hadn't persuaded him about
economics, and that wasn't all his fault. She'd started way too far in.
Still, he was merely keeping his opinions in check. On the other hand,
keeping his opinions in check <b>was</b> courteous. She'd objected less to
his opinions than to the smug certainty with which he'd expressed them. And,
with Little Bill all ready for a screw, he'd taken 'no' for an answer. He
hadn't been happy; she really wouldn't want a man to be happy at learning he
wasn't going to get to screw her. But he had accepted that it was her
decision to make. And, afterwards, rather than pouting, he'd kissed her
<b>all over</b>.

And he had taken precautions. She didn't want to trust a man about
contraception, but being willing to take responsibility was a plus. She
drifted off to sleep with her hand between her thighs and her imagination
picturing Bill there.

In the morning, between dressing for church and going down to breakfast, she
checked her diaphragm. The tube of jelly was nearly used up and the date on
it had expired long ago. That was a sell-by date, but that wasn't the sort
of risk she wanted to take. Back in her freshman year in college, she'd
skipped a period. It hadn't been late; it hadn't been. During that month
she'd aged a decade, lost a boyfriend, and gained a diaphragm. Since then,
she hadn't had sex with that boyfriend, and hadn't had sex <b>without</b>
the diaphragm.

After service, Bill offered her a ride home. He parked and started to get
out of the car.

"No." They might as well have their goodbye kiss here. And they did. It was
quite a nice kiss, too, with Bill keeping his hands above her waist -- as a
gentleman should in broad daylight. He didn't leave until she was in the
door, so she had her after-church cigarette upstairs in the john the smokers
used. She got down to lunch earlier than her Sunday usual, anyway.

That afternoon, she dug into her books. Not only was she ready for Monday's
classes, she got ready for Tuesday's class as well.

Monday, she went to a drug store and bought another tube of jelly. She'd
worried about some glitch -- Evanston was blue-stocking if it wasn't
blue-nose -- but there was no problem at all. The clerk rang it up as if all
the coeds bought their contraception from that store. Maybe they did. Maybe
she looked like a married woman -- there were plenty of married women
younger than she, as Mama was always reminding her. More likely, the clerk
didn't even notice the purpose; all that interested him was the price.

That night, she planned out some foreplay. Men tended to be goal-oriented.
They got to the main event too quickly. She figured out a game that they
would both enjoy.

Monday and Tuesday she kept up her schedule of doing the prep for the
day-after-next. Wednesday, she skipped her morning shower. When she got back
from classes, she showered, shaved under her arms, deodorized, and packed a
shopping bag with clean clothes suitable for classes, but not actually
ragged. Then she set her alarm and went to bed to read her text on the
Economic History of the United States. This course required twice the
reading but half the thinking of either of the other MWF classes. She read
the book until it was time to prepare for her date.

She inserted her diaphragm, dressed in a clean bra and her sexiest panties,
put on new pantyhose, and the best dress that she had never worn to church.
She put her brush, her cosmetics, and an unopened pack of cigarettes in the
shopping bag. She wrote "don't worry" on a piece of notebook paper and left
it on her pillow. Her roommates might not notice that she wasn't in her
room, but they wouldn't do anything about it if they checked and saw that
note. Then she fidgeted for ten minutes until they paged her from
downstairs.

The meal was delicious, as meals he treated her to always were. The
conversation was pleasant, too. He asked about her day, and she used two
more of the descriptions she'd thought out for her  courses. The
economic-history course had arrived at the 1890s, and he could understand
what they were learning. He invited her to his apartment, which was
convenient. He wasn't sure what she'd have said if he'd simply taken her
home.

When they were in the apartment, he took her coat. That was a start. When
they'd enjoyed their first kiss, she modeled the dress for him.

"Like this dress?"

"It's lovely. I already said so."

"Well, if you want it, it'll cost you another kiss." He willingly paid the
price. His tongue was in her mouth while his penis pressed against her
stomach. "Okay. You can take it off." He took it off and laid it across a
chair. The air was, if not actually cold, on the cool side to be standing
still in a slip. Well, it was his turn, anyway.

"Now, <b>you're</b> definitely overdressed," she told him. "I'm willing to
pay the same price." And she gave him a fine kiss, with <b>her</b> tongue,
for once, exploring <b>his</b> mouth. Then she removed his tie before buying
his shirt and undershirt in the same way. She lay each article of clothing
on the sofa.

"I think it's my turn." Well, that was fair, and his kiss was more than
fair. When he grabbed her ass to pull her closer, she grabbed his. It was a
nice, firm, ass. He lay her slip over her dress.

"The shoes are separate kisses." She'd even be willing to pay him separate
kisses for each sock, while he'd get her pantyhose for one. He kissed her
sweetly and erotically. Now, they'd established that a kiss involved hands
on asses. Then he knelt to remove her right tennie.

Instead of coming up for another kiss, though, he grabbed her ass and kissed
her delta. It was through pantyhose and panties, it was on the delta rather
than on the cleft. Still, she could feel herself flowing from the kiss and
its evocation of the one Saturday.

"My turn, now, she reminded him when she was standing in her pantyhose. He
stood, kissing her breast as he passed it. The kiss was long and
enthusiastic. Then she knelt to untie his shoe. She thought for one second
of returning his kiss while she was down there, but it was way early. They
had three more kisses with her bobbing up and down each time before he was
barefoot.

Then, he kissed her. If he was anxious to end this game, he wasn't showing
it. After a kiss that she'd have regarded as very fair pay for the
pantyhose, he kissed down her neck. When he touched the clasp of her bra,
she could guess where the kisses were heading. But that wasn't her schedule.
She pushed his hands down to the waist of her pantyhose. She had to pull her
panties up while he pushed her pantyhose over her hips. When he knelt again
to get the pantyhose off, he saw him staring at her delta. He rose rather
than kissing it again. He kept looking on his way up. He was harder than
ever against her stomach for the next kiss.

She started on his pants during that kiss, but with no great success. When
she could see what she was doing, she opened the pants and lowered them to
his ankles. Little Bill was peeking out through his sorts. She had to
chuckle.

"Bill liked his view," she noted, "and Little Bill wanted to have a view,
too." He adjusted his clothes while she lay the pants on the sofa. She
modeled the underwear for him. "Like these panties? The sexiest pair I own.
They don't make sexy bras with D cups." Actually, they did, but she needed
the support that this kind gave.

He disagreed. "Bras with D cups are already sexy. Come here." She did, and
they kissed before he gestured her to turn her back. He kissed the side of
her throat before unsnapping the bra. He returned to that kiss while his
hands smoothed over her breasts. Both hands reached the nipples
simultaneously "Mmm."

"Mmm," she agreed. They cuddled as much as they could while his hands were
busy. But this, fun as it had been, was starting to get both chilly and
inappropriate for the living room.

"But I'm getting cold." she said and headed for the bedroom. He followed
her. "Can I get in?" she asked. "Under the covers?"

"Certainly." But the game wasn't finished.

"Let's do the last stage on credit, and we can pay when we're warmer."  She
removed his shorts, and then raised her arms to demonstrate his access to
her panties. He pushed them partway down but she <b>was</b> getting cold.
She finished the job and dashed for bed. He soon joined her. She was chilly;
the sheets were still cold, and his skin next to hers cooled her further.
But she knew this would pass, with two of them producing heat in this
enclosed space. And his kiss <b>was</b> warm. She made sure that they were
tucked in and accepted  the tribute of his mouth. His kisses strayed from
her mouth to one of her breasts.

"Oh, yes," she said when he reached her nipple. She stroked his back and
then his nice, furry, chest. "Furry," she said. He chuckled. His hand, which
had been stroking her right breast, slid down to her delta.

"Furry," he said. Well, yes, she was furry <B>there</b>. Then his caresses
passed the joke stage. He parted her cleft and began stroking her clit. She
needn't have worried about <b>this</b> male; he was quite determined on
foreplay. He was quite good at it, too. She sank down to let the lips on her
nipple and the finger on her clit take her where she wanted to go.

She flew, and he kept stimulating her until her flight was quite over. Then,
he let her alone while he tossed and turned beside her.

"Carolyn, lovely Carolyn, say yes." He was showing her a wrapped
contraceptive. Well, fine. But they were greasy and she wasn't going to get
her fingers greasy. Besides, she wanted another minute's rest.

"Put it on."

"You're saying yes?" What was it? The man needed the magic word, or
something. Well, her diaphragm was protecting her. Let him have his magic
word.

"Yes," she said. He applied the contraceptive. When he moved above her, she
readjusted the covers. She put a hand on his chest to stop him until she was
ready. Then she guided him inside her. He stopped at the entrance, and then
drove hard until his penis was buried in her. Up until then, his behavior --
as opposed to this speech -- had been reliably smooth.

"Are you all right?" he asked without moving. Not really -- she was turned
on enough to want his motion, not his conversation.

"Move." And, with that encouragement, he did move, and move well. She found
herself moving in rhythm with him. When she was close, he stopped again. He
kissed her breast and began rubbing her clit. When he resumed his strokes,
they were even more exciting. She hugged him with her legs and let her body
take over. It threw her up at him more strongly than he was driving down
into her. She grabbed his shoulders as --

She flew! He stroked though her contractions, and then throbbed within her
contractions. All this felt wonderful.

"God!" he exclaimed when his throbbing began. "Love you," he said when he'd
gone to lie beside her. That was nice to hear.

"Oh yes. You were great..." And he had been great. She could get addicted to
his style of expecting her to climax before they began to screw. But
something early on was bugging her.

"Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"Huh."

"You asked if I were all right," she reminded him.

"Well... Sometimes..." There was a long pause. Either he was thinking up an
elaborate lie, or he was trying to find a way of admitting to an
embarrassing truth. "Sometimes, her first time hurts a girl." It was an
embarrassing truth. God! Did she act like a scared virgin?

"First time?" Of course. She'd turned him down earlier. So she must have
turned down every man before him. "You know, you're a good lover, even a
thoughtful lover, But you're awfully egotistical."

"Why?" Because ego goes with a penis like ham goes with eggs. But she should
say it little more gently. She had, after all, enjoyed the penis.

"Because a woman says no to you doesn't necessarily, in absolutely all
cases, without any possible exceptions, mean that she says no to every man."

"Well, I didn't say that it did." Certainly not. He had, though, assumed it.
"After all, when you told me that you wouldn't date me if I was the last man
on earth, I didn't say that this meant that you would never date anybody...
Unless, of course, I did turn into the last man on earth. Anyway..."

"Anyway?"

"Anyway," he continued, "it wasn't just saying no. You were perfectly happy
to make out with me, naked, on a bed -- in my bedroom in my apartment. It
isn't as if I coaxed you that far. I don't mean that you were loose, or
anything." She wasn't loose, which implied that she could be persuaded to do
any man's will. She was a decisive woman who decisively wanted sexual
pleasure. The problem was that her choice to provide that pleasure was an
egotistical male chauvinist. "I just mean that you seemed happy with making
out with me, and quite opposed to the next step. I figured that it wasn't
about me; then I figured that it was about you." Well, it was about her, and
-- being about her -- it was none of his God-damned business. "So, maybe,
you'd done all the rest before but not gone all the way." Not 'gone all the
way?' Was Bill born a decade ahead of her, or a century? Well, he should
learn about boundaries, and he wasn't the person to understand gentle hints.

"Still, it's a quite personal matter. It's not something you should ever ask
a woman."

"I asked if you were all right. When you said you were, I went on. I didn't
ask if you were a virgin. Indeed, if you hadn't been so insistent, I
wouldn't know now... Well, I'd know about your state now, but not your state
then."

"Still, your assumption was egotistical." Which was the end of it, as far as
she was concerned, but not as far as he was concerned.

"And speaking of word choices and my ego..." He started.

"Yes? Were we speaking of word choices?" They had sure-as-hell been speaking
about his ego. But it wasn't his word choice that was wrong; it was the
whole idea of asking.

"There are some parts of them that men don't enjoy having described as
little." That was a puzzle.

"Little? Oh, Little Bill. I didn't say that he was a little penis; I said he
was Little Bill. You're what? Six feet?"

"Almost exactly."

"If he'd been even one foot long, we'd never have done this. So, however big
he is of his kind, he's still little for a <b>Bill</b>."

"I wasn't happy," as if his happiness was very important.

"For that matter," she continued, "if you had a son, he'd still be Little
Bill if he topped you by a head." At which point, he beat a retreat.

"Keep my place warm, will you?" He went out the door and into the bathroom.
She could here pipe noises. Had this been their first argument. She could
ask him.<blockquote>"Was that our first argument?"<br>"Our first?
Hardly."<br>"Our first as a couple."<br>"Oh. Are we a couple?"</blockquote>
It wouldn't be worth it. He came back and snuggled against her.

"Chilly," she complained. Touching him felt chilly, but it also felt sexy.
She curled against his skin.

"Can't see why you feel that way. I feel nice and warm." He was joking this
time. When he curled his arm around her, she hugged it to her breastbone. It
was partly to hug him when most of him was in back of her; it was partly to
keep the chill away from her sensitive nipples. She really should get up,
but this after-sex cuddling was too nice.

"I don't want to bring up an unpleasant subject," he said, "but when do you
need to get back?" Fair question, if a little premature. Anyway, they'd have
to set at least one alarm clock.

"Should be by 7:30. The dining hall stops serving at eight, but the
selection gets bad earlier than that." She did not want oat meal for
breakfast.

"Should we start now?" Which was a weird question. "Dining hall? Didn't you
get enough to eat?" Which was even weirder. Dinner had been great, but she
hadn't even skipped breakfast after Thanksgiving dinner.

"I eat three times a day..." Then she finally saw what he was talking about.
"Or wasn't I invited to spend the night?"

"Well, I'm totally willing to have you spend the night -- willing? I'm
delighted. I just hadn't thought it possible." Which was all right. He
hadn't mentioned it -- neither of them had mentioned it. But she hadn't done
her before-bed stuff, and she was dying for her last cigarette of the day.

"Since you brought it up," she asked, "what do we need to do in the morning?
I'd like to shower. Can I use yours? I brought a travel alarm. I can set it
so that I'm out of the shower by the time you usually wake up. I don't want
to be in the way."

"You're distracting, but not disrupting." Cute! "My alarm is still set for
fifteen minutes before my regular time. Do you require more than that much
time for a shower?" He was being practical, now. She could do it in that
time.

"Nah! that's great. I need longer to put on my face, but I can do that while
you're dressing. Can you drive me to the residence hall before 7:30?"

"Sure. Won't they ask questions?"

"Never do," she assured him. "They may guess, but you'll drop me by the
door. No public good-bye kisses before breakfast. Not that I haven't seen a
few." Still, she thought those had been boasting -- either on the girl's
part or on the boy's. Bill, thank the Lord, was unlikely to brag to their
fellow church members that she had been his conquest. What he said at
lunch-time to his fellow-executives was another question, but they didn't
know her. As if reminded by the mention of kisses, he kissed the back of her
neck. It was still an erotic charge. "Yeah," she agreed. "Anyway, I still
have to prepare for the night. I'll be back." She walked to the door and
opened it. Her shopping bag was against the far wall. She got out her
nightie, her brush, her cosmetic bag, and her pack of cigarettes. Bill
didn't seem to smoke. Should she go out? Should she put on the fancy stuff
she'd worn here or tomorrow's clothes -- without showering first. She could
put her underwear back on and the classroom outer clothes. But Bill had
followed her out.

"Look, do you mind if I smoke here? I can go outdoors, if you'd prefer."

"Why, Miss Nolan! Seeing you like this I'd take you for a total innocent,
and now I learn that you're an addict to the vicious weed." His voice was
laughing, and -- considering that 'like this' was totally naked and recently
screwed -- she wasn't going to take him seriously. "Do you mind smoking out
here in the living room?" A reasonable request. She got her nightgown on and
opened her pack. He brought her an ashtray and a book of matches from the
kitchen.

He picked up his pants from the sofa and took them into his room. He came
back wearing a robe and went to work on the rest of his clothes. When he'd
taken them away, he started hanging up her dress and slip in the living-room
closet. He put one strap of the bra around the hook of the hanger holding
her slip. Then, he walked over to where she was sitting.

"Would you let me brush your hair?" He asked.

"Let?" It wasn't a game; it was a job.

"You have beautiful hair, and I'd love to brush it out. You can tell me if
I'm doing it wrong."

"Go ahead," she said. He stood behind her, and took up the brush. He brushed
the back, caught in a snarl, and started over at the bottom. He pulled up a
chair and sat behind her. He brushed the bottom of the hair for minutes, and
then started up higher on every stroke. She wasn't sure he was accomplishing
anything, but it felt like a caress. Then, slowly, his brush strokes covered
more and more of her hair. He never pulled as hard as she did, but -- when
he stood again -- the brush was covering the hair on the back of her head
with every stroke. "Mmm," she said and pulled against the brush.

"Mmm. Your hair is gorgeous. And so pleasant to feel, too." He brushed the
back until she'd finished the cigarette. She'd always heard about a hundred
strokes a night but never had the patience. Maybe she could get him to do
the hundred strokes. Not tonight, though. She took the brush from him and
finished the sides which he'd barely touched. She set the brush down and
took her cosmetic bag into the bathroom. There she used the facilities and
removed all her makeup. She found him lying in bed with the lamp on.

"Close the door?" she asked. It seemed a weird way to treat the empty
apartment.

"Please yourself." He rolled from the far side of the bed to the side
nearest the door. After closing the door, she walked around the foot of the
bed while he turned over on the door side. "I kept your place warm," he
said, facing her way. And, he seemed to have done so. When she slipped in,
the covers didn't chill her. After they had shared a kiss, she turned and
backed into his lap.

He cupped her right breast with one hand and moved her hair off her neck
with the other. His kiss on her neck was much longer than his kiss to her
lips had been, and equally arousing. They simply cuddled, and she started to
drift off. It was earlier than her usual bedtime, but she had a sleep debt
that she was planning to clear up over her holiday at home. Then he kissed
her neck again. She was quite aware of his penis pressed against her ass,
and it seemed to be getting firmer. He kissed her again, the shoulder this
time, and his fingers started stroking her nipple. Were they going to sleep,
or were they going to get serious again?

"Look," she asked him, "do you have another of those things?" He seemed to
be thinking about his answer, although the drawer he kept them in was right
behind him. His penis was responding to her question, though. It hardened,
and he moved so it was lying between her ass cheeks.

"Yes? Yes, I do."

"Do you want to use it?" she prompted.

"Always. Do you want?"

"I'm willing."

"I'd prefer eager, but I'll take willing." What did the man want? She'd
moved in to his apartment with barely an invitation. He moved the top part
of his body away from hers, although he was still pressed against her legs
and ass. There was the sound of the drawer, then he was back against her
again, even though his arm wasn't around her. He pushed her nightgown up to
her waist on her right side and then in back. His hand was cool where it
brushed her. Then his penis was hot against her ass, much hotter without the
thin cloth of the nightgown between them. But the touch didn't last long. He
rolled away, and she clutched the covers to keep them on her. He couldn't
have far to roll in this bed. Then he was back, and the touch of his penis
was cooler.

"Lift your leg," he said. They were going to do it this way? And where was
the guy who was so dedicated to foreplay? But she lifted her right leg. His
fingers were cool spreading her lips, and his penis was cool against her
cleft. "Help me in," he said. His penis seemed to throb when she took it in
her hand. She got it into her vagina.

Once ensconced, Bill remembered about foreplay. (Was it <b>fore</b>play
after they were joined?) His hand stayed on her delta, and one finger was
against her clit. When she closed her legs, it was <b>pressed</b> against
her clit. Still, his motions there were very gentle. After a few strokes, he
moved his penis a little in and out of her. This position didn't seem to
allow for violent motion. After a few more strokes with his finger, he
rolled his pelvis forward. That put him deeper, and -- when he did it again
after a few more finger strokes, she rolled her hips back to meet him.

He began to kiss her while he wasn't moving -- her shoulder, her back, the
back or side of her neck. The total area wasn't much, but -- what he could
reach -- he covered well and enthusiastically. His finger did nothing that
hers couldn't, and -- in this situation -- didn't do it as well. But the
motions deep inside, the kisses, the sense of being held, gave an entirely
different flavor to her arousal.

And aroused she was. Rolling her hips back into the strokes of his penis
started to be a natural motion. She felt herself grow tense in anticipation.

"Carolyn," he said. She flew! He moved his hand from her delta to her hip.
He pulled her to him as he drove himself through her throbbing. "Love," he
said, and again, "love, love."

As she came down, Bill didn't stop moving. He was slightly slower in drawing
back, but he became more and more forceful in pushing in. His hand now
clutched her hipbone almost painfully tight as he pulled her back into his
thrusts. The kisses had ended, but she could feel his breath on the nape of
her neck. He was almost gasping.

The motion within, the possessive grasp, the sense of being highly desired,
started her arousal again. It seemed to her that this was going on forever
-- his exciting but unchanging pace, the panting breath warming her back,
the feeling that she had lost his attention at the same time that one part
of her had become his obsessive desire. As her own emotions peaked, nothing
she was sensing from him changed at all.

When she flew, however, he groaned. His last thrust was the hardest of all,
and his grip on her hipbone was painful. Then, he was throbbing within her
throbs.

"Gah!" he said, then he relaxed behind her. Even his grip relaxed, but she
removed that hand with hers. "Sorry," he gasped. The slowing rhythm of deep
breaths on the back of her neck was a new aspect of sex. Somehow, she felt a
sense of triumph at what she'd put him through. She liked Bill, but for a
few minutes then, she had owned him. He slipped out of her, but not -- she
could feel -- quite everything. She reached between her legs and pulled out
the contraceptive. She brought it out of the covers.

"Here," she said. "This is yours."

"Uh." his hand went up her arm to her hand. He took the contraceptive from
her. "Thanks. Sorry." She felt him shift and a slight 'thunk' as it hit the
bottom of the waste paper basket. "I don't think any got out." Well, the bit
oozing down her hip told her that he was wrong. His cluelessness
demonstrated her wisdom in not entrusting contraception to any man. When
they both had their hands under the covers, she pulled his into a hug
against her breastbone again. His breath on her back evened towards sleep,
but she probably dropped off before he did.

The buzzing of the alarm which woke her was a strange sound, not her alarm,
not the travel alarm. not one of her roommates', even had it been as muted
as her roommates' alarms were. And, when she awoke, she had a warm body
right behind her -- a warm body whose penis was pressing into her thigh.

"Good morning, Carolyn." Oh, it was Bill, and she had come to his room quite
voluntarily. Indeed, she had come <b>in</b> his room quite enjoyably. "Who's
first for the bathroom?"

"Me." which was selfish but necessary. When she'd relieved herself, though,
she went back to the bedroom. "It's your house. If you want to shower first,
that's okay." He got up, quite naked and with a fairly-full erection. He
gathered up his underwear and a robe. She heard the toilet flush and, then,
the shower run. She got her clothes for today and the other things she would
need in there from her shopping bag. With nothing else she could do until
the shower was free, she got yesterday's clothes out of the closet and put
them in the bag. Was he a neat-freak or something? Anyway, his hanging her
dress up for the night probably prevented a bunch of wrinkles. The hour or
so before she hung it up again wouldn't mess it up too badly.

"All yours," he said when he came out. He was wearing the robe over the
tee-shirt and -- presumably -- the shorts she'd seen him carry in. A weird
sense of modesty -- she could see him naked but not in his underwear. Well,
if she were going to do this again, she'd bring her own robe. "Eggs do for
breakfast? All I do is sunny side up."

"That would be fine." She'd planned to eat at the residence hall, anyway.
She could hardly carry this shopping bag full of clothes to class. She went
in and showered. Then she put on the lipstick and brushed her teeth and
hair. The brush didn't seem to have any hair on it. Had Bill cleaned it up?
Was he really a neat freak? She came out dressed except for her feet.

"Start the eggs now?" he asked.

The two eggs were good and he'd served bacon, too. A little crisp, and not
very warm, but there wasn't any grease on it.

"Toast?" he offered.

"No thanks." He got dressed while she ate -- came back in a necktie to watch
her finish the last of her coffee.

"There's more coffee. More eggs, for that matter."

"No thanks." She'd drink coffee at the residence hall and was always
conscious that she drank too much.

"Anything else you have to do before we leave?" He picked up a kitchen
timer.

"Not really." She got up. If he were in a hurry, she could get her coat on
in seconds. He, however, put the timer down and sat down.

"Then come here." When she did, he pulled her into his lap. "We need to
leave at 7:15 if you're going to get there before 7:30. That leaves us a few
minutes. No kissing in front of the dorm, you said." Then he looked at her
expectantly. The kiss she gave him was in a strange position. Like this, she
was above him. He kept his hand outside the sweatshirt. After a while, the
timer rang. He lifted her off his lap.

The man was strong, and he'd never used that strength to hold her. Well,
that night in bed he had. But that was passion, not trying to force her
against her will. They got their outerwear on. He was wearing a different
suit today.

"And, speaking of schedule, if a strange mane were to ask you for a date,
would Saturday or Sunday be more attractive." Good question. Christmas
vacation started Saturday; she'd go home Monday.

"Well, my dates recently have been with a <b>really</b> strange man." He
chuckled, giving her time to think. Well, her period was very likely to
start Sunday. "Probably Saturday, but I'd want time to get back to the
residence hall beforehand."

"Well, then, lovely Carolyn, may I have the pleasure of a date with you on
Saturday? Why don't I pick you up after class, drive you to the residence
hall, and wait for you downstairs while you gild the lily?" Which was a
sweet way of describing her changing her clothes, which she'd have to do
now. Her real purpose had been to insert the diaphragm.

"Thank you. I'd be delighted."

He dropped her at the door to the residence hall, and she went in directly.
She decided to take the shopping bag in with her and leave it at a table.
She had pancakes and another cup of coffee for breakfast, feeling
delightfully sinful and self-indulgent about all the calories. She took the
bag upstairs, unpacked and sorted the clothes, gathered her books for the
day, and waited while her roommates bustled in and out of the common room.
They weren't smokers, and she had her morning cigarette outside before
heading for class.

She'd done her work Tuesday night, while -- she assumed -- the others had
done their's the previous night. Perhaps because her mind had had more time
to digest it, perhaps because she was in so good a mood, she more than held
her own. That afternoon, after a light lunch and her second cigarette, she
got to the library to study for her Friday classes.

Those classes, the last in those subjects before vacation, went well. Her
study for Regional Economics went reasonably well, but was interrupted by
twinges. She used a tampon Friday night -- just in case -- and it was soaked
Saturday morning. Now she would have to call off her date with Bill. But she
didn't have his phone number; she'd had it once, but had torn it up and
thrown it away in disgust when she found it in her end-of-school-year
sorting of her possessions. Well, she'd meet him and tell him. She changed
her tampon before starting to class, and packed two more. That class didn't
go as well, but Professor Kindle smiled tolerantly at the disjointed class
discussion.

"Well, it seems that vacation has begun a little earlier in your minds than
it the University calendar. So be it. We'll revisit these questions when we
meet again, and I'll expect all of you to have thought about them once or
twice in the coming weeks. Merry Christmas. Happy New Year." He let them out
early, but she had to wait for Bill. She changed her tampon again. Her first
day was always a flood. She was tempted to put the diaphragm in and hope
that it would block the flow. But she could imagine the disaster that might
cause. If Little Bill came out bloody, Bill would explode, and rightly so.

He showed up early, and she came right out.

"Now this is a pleasant surprise," he said.

"Enjoy it. The next surprise is less pleasant. I have to call off our date."

"What did I do now? I haven't spoken with you since you were agreeable to
this date." Some things in life weren't about him, but he never seemed to
have learned that.

"It's nothing you did."

"Then what is it?" The man wasn't going to let up. The engine of the car was
running, but he wasn't going anywhere.

"If you must know, if you're so fucking nosy, then I'll tell you. I have my
period."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." But he sounded more relieved than sorry.

"So why is that better?"

"Try to hear two sentences as though you were a man. 'I don't want to make
love to you.' Or 'I don't want to make love.' Do you see that the second one
sounds much better, even though the consequences are the same?" For that
matter, she'd rather hear the second from him. Being a man had nothing to do
with it, except for the easily-bruised ego.

"Well, yes."

"And, now that we know the problem, we need to know how to deal with it. You
still need to eat, don't you?" The man didn't give up.

"Well, yes. But I have meals supplied at the residence hall."

"And we need to talk. If you're going away, I need to know for how long.
You've been to my apartment, but I need to have your address in case I want
to send you a Christmas card."

"Actually, while I've been in your apartment, I don't know the address."
Sometime, she'd get his phone number again, too.

"So, why don't we go out to eat and discuss these matters? I won't touch
you, I promise."

"Do you have a reservation?"

"I'm scared to take you to Manfredo's," he said. "Last time I did that, I
lost you for a year."

"McDonald's?"

"Deal. You are a cheap date, aren't you?" On the way to McDonald's, he asked
"Big Mac? Two? Shake?"

"What's with this? You think I'm too thin?" Actually, she was seven pounds
overweight when she last went on the scale.

"You're the perfect shape. I just like nurturing that shape. If you need to
work off the extra calories, I'd be happy to provide some exercise."

"Exercise? You keep driving me everywhere?"

"Vertical exercise? That's so passe'." She blushed. He grinned at his lewd
comment.

"Anyway," he said. They were in line by then, and it was a short line.
People preferred to eat inside in December.

"One Mac. A shake is okay."

"Chocolate?" The man had guessed her vice.

"Yeah!"

"Two Big Macs, two chocolate shakes." They got their food, and he paid. He
drove into the lot, but stopped in the middle "Look, we can eat here. We can
go back to my place. I already neatened it up. You don't want me to waste
that, do you?" Well, he didn't seem to be a neat freak. "I promise I won't
touch you." He made it sound so reasonable. What the hell! It wasn't as
though she were a virgin afraid of an assault. He knew that she was in a
repulsive state.

"Okay," she said. She held the food while he drove. He opened her door and
took the sandwiches and one shake before she climbed out.

"Here," he said handing her the other shake. "I need one hand." He opened
doors and led her in. After taking the shakes and putting everything on the
kitchen table, he took her coat and hung it up. He grabbed something from
the table that held his telephone before joining her in the kitchen.

The food was good -- the chocolate shake sinfully good. She was indulging
herself this week, but Christmas was coming. Her diet was about to go down
the toilet anyway. He tore a sheet off a small pad, it seemed to be a
prescription blank with a medicine already printed in. He handed her a pen,
forgetting that she was a student. She wrote her parents' address on the
back of the sheet. He handed her one of the sheets with his address and
phone number written on the back.

"Now," he said. "When are you going, and when are you coming back?"

"Monday. Saturday, January sixth."

"What time?"

"They're both morning flights," she told him. "I've got the specifics
written down, but not on me."

"Okay. Can you call me with the particulars of the return flight? Including
airline and flight number?" She nodded. "And now for more immediate issues.
I've obeyed your rules; I intend to keep obeying your rules. I don't think
it's demanding of me to ask that you make your rules explicit."

"I was one hell of a lot more explicit than I wanted to be." She blushed
again to remember it.

"You were quite explicit about the situation. That doesn't communicate the
rules. If I had my druthers, we'd put a towel down on the bed and go at it
like bunny rabbits. That's not your preference, and your preferences rule.
But I can't guess your preferences. I won't see you for another three
weeks." He seemed to assume that the first thing she'd do after getting back
was to get back together with him. The arrogance of that assumption was
mitigated only slightly because that was her plan. For that matter, he'd see
her in church tomorrow. "So, how much more than seeing can I do now? Can we
kiss? Can I touch above the waist? Everything else but?" The last sounded
quite attractive, if equally disgusting. She could fly under his hands, and
it felt much better than under her own touch. On the other hand, when she
felt the string, she pushed it aside so that it wouldn't get in the way. If
he touched the string, she'd die of shame. "Will you sit on my lap and tell
me what you want for Christmas?"

She decided. "Stand up, hands at your sides." She stood up, and gave him a
kiss. She was allowed to use her hands, and so she held him by his ass while
she pushed her tongue into his mouth to explore it. When she drew her mouth
away, she found that she was grinding her stomach into his erection. "Now, I
need a cigarette. Please take me back to the residence hall."

"Sure." He got her coat and his own -- then led her to the car. "Look," he
said when he was driving away. "Remember when I told you that I would
understand you some day?"

"Yeah."

"Don't hold me to that promise, okay." She never expected him to understand
her. She was feminine mystery. She went up to her room. After changing her
tampon, she lay down without anything on between bra and socks. She covered
herself with a sheet, although her roommates wouldn't open her door unless
there was a fire. She touched herself just right.

After a few minutes, she flew. She imagined that it was Bill's finger.
Somehow, this imagination was sexy while the reality would have been
shameful. She flew again. For the fourth time, she lit a cigarette. When she
flew, she puffed frantically. Then she was done. She put out the cigarette,
and changed the tampon again. It had been only a few minutes, but -- somehow
-- these times flooded her. She was much calmer -- and fully dressed -- when
she called Bill with her flight data.

Sunday, she sang in the choir for the last time in 1972.

"You'll be missed for the Christmas-eve program," Miss Armbruster told the
students who were singers. "This happens every year."

Bill was waiting by the basement stairs when she came out.

"Drive you home?"

"Why, thank you."

"Want another Big Mac?" he offered when she was in the car.

"The dining hall is going all out for this meal." Why was she explaining to
this man? Wasn't 'no' good enough for him? "Sort of a celebration of how
much less they have to do over the next two weeks disguised as a send-off...
Anyway, you feed me too much."

"Well, you'd starve if you only ate what I feed you. Anyway..."

"And, in case you have forgotten, I'm going home. I'll come back ten pounds
heavier. Anyway?"

"Anyway, the answer is no, and I can take your no for an answer." He parked
well short of the entrance to the residence hall. "Same rules apply?" He put
his hands down.

"Yeah." He was fun to control. She took his face in her hands and kissed
him. Their tongues wrestled. Then she let him go. "Goodbye." She got out of
the car and walked away, not looking back.

The next day she flew from O'Hare to Little Rock with two suitcases, one of
them empty in expectation of loot.

She had gone through a struggle with her family the first two years of
college. She'd been an adult, and Mama and Daddy had kept thinking of her as
a kid. Now that she was a graduate student, they still did, but she'd
stopped minding. She was an adult; her world saw her as an adult. Mama and
Daddy's delusions were their delusions and quite unimportant. Besides, it
was fun to be a kid at Christmas.

The last mail before Christmas brought a card from Bill. Although they had
exchanged addresses, she'd forgotten to get him a card. Back home, she not
only avoided talking about her lover, she avoided thinking about him too.

"You have a secret admirer?" Mama asked when handing her the card. Opening
all the Christmas cards without looking at the address could be quite
innocent. There had been more than half a dozen each in recent deliveries.
On the other hand, Mama could be quite nosy. Bill had signed the card "A
Secret Admirer."

"Secret from you, at least." Bill had quite distinctive handwriting.

"And how is your romantic life going in Chicago?"

"None at all in Chicago. My romantic life in Evanston is going quite well."
Mama reached over to grab her left hand for close examination. As if! Had
Carolyn been wearing an engagement ring, Mama would have known about it
before she got her gloves off. "Not that well. Actually, a lot better for me
than that. I'll probably finish classes this year. I'll need a teaching job
while I write my dissertation. That means I'll be out of Evanston except for
a few conferences with my adviser until the commencement when I get my
degree. And, probably, forever after. Marriage isn't in the cards for years.
Not this time, and not that place."

"My hair will be pure white before I'm a grandmother."

"Mama, there is only one bathroom in this house. I know you're dyeing your
hair now." So it wouldn't be pure white, or even a little grey, if Mama
lived to be a hundred.

"Knowing it is one thing. Saying it is another. Anyway, brat, it's only grey
now, and you're the reason it's grey."

"Well, I'm working on turning it white." She'd told her nothing but the
truth, if not the whole truth. Bill was not only a sexy lover, he was a
convenience. They struck sparks -- all kinds of sparks -- but it was better
for her future to be attracted now to a man who would be quite impossible as
a husband and who had no interest in being a husband. Once she was on a
faculty, and away from the fatal attraction of Bill, she would have time to
meet someone suitable.

Since she was a kid in her parents' eyes, she got loads of presents -- even
a stocking. There was more than could fit in her suitcases. When she got to
the airport Saturday, she checked both suitcases; She carried a shopping bag
with her largest gift, a new coat still in its box, on the plane. Getting
the stuff home on the EL would be a pain, but a taxi from O'Hare wasn't in
her budget.

When she got off the plane, Bill was waiting.

"Bill! I didn't expect you."

"I, on the other hand, have spent the last three weeks expecting you." Which
was sweet. Bill could be sweet, if he could also be a pain. They had a nice
kiss. His tongue tasted fine but acted aggressive. He groped her ass. Well,
it was nice to be wanted, and she wanted him, too.

"You have more luggage?" he asked.

"Better believe it." She held up her shopping bag. "This is what wouldn't
fit." He took the shopping bag and walked her to the right luggage carousel.
When she'd got her bags, he decided that the one on wheels was hers to pull
while he carried the small suitcase and the shopping bag. There were days
when Bill reminded her of her parents, although he recognized the fact that
she was a sexual adult. Recognized? He delighted in her sexual adulthood.
But he tried to take care of her when they weren't in bed. Sometimes it was
annoying, but picking her up in his car made up for a lot of the annoyance.
He set her bags down when they got to an exit.

"Why don't you wait inside until I fetch the car?" he asked, but she was
dying for a cigarette. People were smoking inside, but she wasn't going to.
Actually, cigarettes tasted better with the warm air from them contrasting
with the cold air on your cheek. When she shook her head, he picked up the
bags and carried them to a vacant place on the sidewalk. He hurried away
while she got out her cigarette and lighter.

She was mostly done by the time he pulled the car up in front of her. He got
the luggage in the trunk and the shopping bag in the back seat. She ground
out the last of the cigarette and got in. He closed her door before getting
in his side. Bill was always the perfect gentleman in small things. He
seemed to be concentrating on his driving, and she let him decide when they
should begin talking again.

"We're going directly to my apartment. You can go back to your dorm just
before classes begin." Sometimes, he told her rather than consulting her.
She needed her diaphragm. Did he think she took it home with her? Well, she
was being a little unfair. She'd never told him that she used a diaphragm.
Still, she decided what she would do. Although his program did sound
attractive. And, he had come to the airport for her. That counted for a lot.


"That's sweet of you, but I have to go to the residence hall." But she
didn't want him to take that as a total rejection of his program. "If you
want, I'll come with you after."

"As if you had any question about what I want. Well, what I really want is
to pull over and take you right now, but I'll take what I can get." Bill the
cave man. It wasn't really convincing.

"Fine, But I'm really not into love in a car, especially not in January."

"Well, I can love you in this car. I just can't strip you. Beautiful as
you'd look, I can see that it wouldn't be practical." Taking another meaning
to the word 'love' was cute. But the statement was one reason why he wasn't
a convincing cave man. Bill always thought of what was practical.

At the residence hall, Bill parked the car where he could wait. She got her
bags, but decided to leave the coat.

"If you're checked out, you'll have to check in again," the man at the desk
droned. Why one had to check in and out for periods back home, she never
understood. Mary claimed that the rule dated back to some time when they'd
had a curfew, but Carolyn couldn't believe that Northwestern had ever had a
curfew for graduate students.

"I'll take care of that." She got the bags up to her room. She unpacked
both, then packed the smaller one. She needed her church clothes and school
clothes for Monday. She'd come back before class, and so books could stay
here. She inserted the diaphragm and then packed the tube of jelly in with
the cosmetics. She put her traveling clothes back on and was ready to roll.

Bill looked glad to see her when she got to the car. Did he think she'd get
cold feet? He drove her to his apartment, parked the car, took the suitcase,
but left the shopping bag to her. Once in his apartment, they were host and
guest; he hung up her coat before he hung up his own. He was in a sport
shirt, the first time she'd seen him without a coat and tie.

Then, they were lovers. They had a long kiss. His hands stroked all over her
body, and she could feel his penis harden against her stomach. She wondered
how many minutes would pass before they got to bed. But he was always
surprising her about that. The cave man who had wanted to strip her and
mount her in the car started a conversation when they were safely in
privacy.

"Welcome home. You're looking great."

"That's because Mama stuffed me. You always want me heavier. You're looking
great, too. I haven't seen you without a coat and tie before. Well..." Well,
she had. She'd seen him naked, in fact.

"Well... But you look just like you belong here. And Santa thinks you belong
here, too. He left a package for you." He handed her a small box with a big
address tag. It had her name but his address. He hadn't pushed his Santa
claim to the extent of disguising his handwriting.

"Bill you shouldn't have." And he really shouldn't have. He'd sent her a
Christmas card, but he'd warned her of that. Now, she'd have to get him a
gift, and he'd know it had been bought after she'd received hers. That
wasn't the basis of their friendship. She'd given her roommates cheap gifts,
but she and Bill exchanged their bodies, not Christmas gifts.

"Well, open it first, and then decide." When she unwrapped it, it was a
jeweler's box.

"You really shouldn't." He <b>really</b> shouldn't have. This looked like an
expensive gift. She was a woman taking her pleasure from her body -- and
his, not one trading her body for jewelry.

"Open it, already." When she did, it was an engagement ring. Well, he didn't
think of her as a bought woman. This was better, or -- maybe -- worse.

"Oh, Bill!"

"Carolyn, will you marry me."

"I have to think." And think she did. In the first place, he could be
arrogant and bigoted. No, in the first place, he was sexy as hell. More than
that, she was powerfully attracted to him. His penis, even his fingers or
his mouth, could bring her deep satisfaction. But it went beyond that; his
very presence brought the arousal that led to the satisfaction.

Okay, marriage to him would be a constant hassle. But, she suspected,
marriage to anyone else would be a second choice. Did she want to spend her
life in bed with a man who aroused her somewhat less? Worse, she was an
honest woman; if she married someone else, would she admit to him that she
found him less arousing than a man she had turned down? Did she want to base
a marriage on a lie? She at least wanted Bill in the way he wanted her.

On the other hand, he could be insensitive. His personal insensitivity, she
could stand. She was frank, and could tell him. He was, if insensitive to
others, not all that sensitive in the other way. Beat him over the head with
a baseball bat, and he could take the hint. He'd changed his behavior in the
past, and she was the sort of person who could change his behavior in the
future.

His social insensitivity was less bearable. She'd never heard him say a word
against Blacks or Jews, but he'd sounded off lots about the poor. And his
having swallowed neoclassical economics hook, line, and sinker was
unbearable. Maybe not for 99 women out of a hundred, but she was thinking of
Carolyn -- who was in the 1 percent. Did she want to spend the rest of her
life sleeping with the enemy? And he didn't approve of smoking. He let her
smoke, but was that something he would expect her to change?

"Would you still let me smoke in the house?"

"Certainly... Or is that a trick question?" This was no time for trick
questions. "When it's my house, I make the rules. I permit your smoking.
When we're married, <b>we</b> will make the rules. Technically, I won't be
permitting you anything. I certainly won't be prohibiting you smoking, or
anything else." Okay, good answer. He believed that he believed it. Did he
really believe it? Did any man? Well, it was something he could be reminded
of. But that wasn't the main point. They could go their own ways on that.
She couldn't bear their going their own ways on economics, and -- having
granted her freedom on the first -- he might well be more insistent on his
freedom on the second.

"The question is..." How could she ask this? "I really haven't persuaded you
about economics. That's my life."

"Not really." Well, he was honest. She didn't want him pretending. She was
out to persuade, not bribe. "You know more than I do, I'll admit that. Do
you know more than Professor Becker does?" Good question, whoever Becker
was.

"More to the point," she said, "you and I know less than either Samuelson or
Friedman. And they are at loggerheads. I'm not asking you to yield to my
greater wisdom -- really you'd only be yielding verbally to get me to yield
sexually. But, if I do live with you, will you listen to the arguments? I
think I can persuade you. I don't go by 'Samuelson says this, and so it must
be so.'"

"Yeah. Long ago, Dan told me that you'd know the arguments for your
positions." Which was almost agreement, but not quite. "I'll listen. After
all, I don't love Becker. I do love you."

"Well, that seems to be it." And it did seem to be it, too. On the other
hand, she'd been no more explicit than he'd been at first. "I do like you,
too. Yes, Bill, I will marry you." She held out her finger for the ring. The
cylinder going into a circle seemed an awfully suggestive piece of
symbolism. The ring was a little large, which -- if anything -- made the
symbolism worse. She didn't think Little Bill found her too loose.

"The jeweler said he could adjust it." Bill saw the practical, not the
symbolic. "He's open until five. Want to do that now?"

"Now?" She had expected to celebrate the engagement in bed. For that matter,
she had expected bed before he brought up the matter of the engagement.

"Or Monday night. We're limited by his hours, as well as our own."

"Let's." Bill's practicality was, after all, the practical solution. She
wanted to show off her ring, which meant wearing it. She certainly didn't
want to lose it, which meant not wearing it loose.

Bill's jeweler measured her knuckle. "You want it to go over that knuckle,
but not too easily. Some people have enough fat in their fingers that rings
need to be larger, but you have nice slender fingers." While they were
there, they selected the wedding rings. When the jeweler asked her whether
Bill would wear one, she looked at him. It wasn't a make-or-break issue for
her. He looked indifferent, so she opted for two rings. She didn't know how
many other women felt the sexuality radiating from Bill, but she wanted any
who did to know that he was taken.

Back at his apartment, they finally started for bed. It wasn't any rush, but
the direction was clear. First, they had a sweet kiss, with their tongues
playing tag. He moved back and pulled his hands from her ass. Before she
could pull him into a closer hug, she felt his fingers on the buttons of her
blouse. When she shrugged out of it, he kissed down her neck to her chest.
When his hands went to her bra clasp, however, she pushed him back.

"It's my turn," she said. She unbuttoned his shirt and lifted his tee while
he was pulling the shirt over his head. If one of them were going to be
wearing less, let him feel chilly. She kissed over his hairy chest and
sucked his flat nipples while his hands were raised removing the tee.

"Hey!"

"Turnabout is fair play." He'd kissed her, after all. Anyway, his
displeasure didn't seem too serious. When his arms were free he pulled her
into a hug for a serious kiss. This time, when his hands went to her bra
clasp, she simply hugged him tighter. It went on like that, with them
kissing what skin they'd bared until they were naked. She headed for bed
first; he didn't seem to feel the cold as much as she did. When he followed,
he reached for the drawer to get out his contraceptive. Like the courtesy of
opening the car door for her, this taking responsibility was one of Bill's
good points. She wasn't about to tell him that she didn't quite trust him.
Actually, she did trust Bill -- she was marrying him wasn't she? It was his
contraceptive she didn't quite trust. On the other hand, she wasn't sure she
was ready yet.

"All right?" he asked. "I'm going to assume permission. I'm not going to ask
you any more." Permission, fine! When he didn't have permission, she'd
scream. But what had happened to Mr. Foreplay?

"Quite right. That's why I'm here, but let's kiss first." And the kiss was
as sweet as any that had gone before in the living room. It was more
comfortable, too. Their lips were on a level, not their feet. Lips were much
more important, although she did rub his shins with her toes. When he broke
the kiss, it was to kiss lower, down her neck to her breasts. Mr. Foreplay
was back -- she might have misunderstood his comment about the
contraceptive. And, when his hand went to her delta, she welcomed it.

He sucked her nipple and brushed her clit until she flew. He spoke her name
before she came down, and then he was in her.

"Oh darling," he said. Then they were staring into each others eyes while he
stroked deep within her. She'd not come down completely before he began, and
she started to respond almost immediately. His chest hair was tickling her
nipples delightfully. He was so dear! She gripped his flexing ass to pull
him tighter on his in-strokes. He looked almost comically grim above her.
Then her focus blurred and she flew!

As she flew, he kept moving inside her. Then, he was pulsing inside her.
Then, he was lying on her. He was heavy, although his arms still supported a
little of his weight. She moved her hands from his ass to his waist and
hugged him.

"Love you," he said. Then, when he'd moved off, "Sorry." Then she rolled
over with her back to him and he snuggled closer.

"Mmm," he asked her back. "How was your Christmas?"

"Warm inside and cold outside. I'd thought I made out like gangbusters. I
didn't realize Santa left his best gift up here."

"You forgive me for the joke then?" What needed forgiveness? If he'd treated
her like she thought, that would have been a fault. If anything, she should
apologize for her suspicion.

"Sure. Nothing to forgive. I felt like you were calling me a kept woman 'til
I opened it. I don't mind being a fiancee. And how was your Christmas?"

"Great, now. Actually, if I hadn't been worrying about this, I'd have been
quite happy. Vi Robinson is due in early February." Bill could make fun of
his own foibles.

"That's Bill. Babies are important. Get any gifts that came before
February?"

"A delightful one just today. Seriously, I got a book and a tie from my
parents. I got the usual from my fellow workers, and gave them the usual."
That, too, was Bill. The news that a baby he might get to hold was coming in
two months counted. What people at work gave him didn't. His dismissive tone
about his family was more worrying; she'd just signed up to become his
family. But was she any better? Here she was luxuriating in the afterglow,
and she hadn't told Mama that she was engaged.

"Really," she said, "speaking of Arkansas, I have to go back to the
residence hall."

"Must you?" He hugged her more tightly. "It's cold out there, and I'll get
lonely."

"But I should call Mama. I have to tell her about the engagement."

"You can call from here." Bill was generous, really.

"Really?"

"Dear, this isn't the ceremony where 'with my worldly goods, I thee endow.'
That's later. But I do think I could spring for a long-distance call."

"Could we be dressed for it?" That seemed silly, Mama couldn't see over the
telephone. Still, she'd feel better. Mama would want to talk to her fiance,
and that was fine. Engagements were public. Her sex life was private,
especially private from Mama.

"Sure. Want me out of the house to give you some privacy?" He was
<b>really</b> generous. Okay, it was right after sex, probably his
second-most generous moment. (Right before would be first.) Still, he was
offering, not being asked.

"Nah. I'll put all your faults in a letter."

"Once you said that would give your hand cramps."

"I've got a typewriter," she reminded him.

She got dressed faster. While he was finishing up, she got her coat out of
the box and hung it in the closet. When they were both ready, he gestured
towards the phone. She dialed and held her breath.

"Hello?"

"Mama?"

"Carolyn? Are you in trouble?" Well, probably, but not what Mama meant.

"No, I'm okay."

"Are you sick? Did the plane crash? No, Did it have to land somewhere else?"
Even Mama could figure out that she wouldn't call about a plane crash. The
hospital maybe, the morgue more likely, but not her.

"I'm in good health and in Evanston, incompatible as those two are."

"Then what's wrong?" This was the woman who complained she didn't call home
often enough.

"Listen for once!"

"I'm listening."

"Y'know how you always ask about my romantic life? Well I'm now engaged."

"Do I know him? Is this your secret admirer? Is he in your classes? What
does he do?" Mama had been eager for her to get engaged. Now, she wanted to
pass judgement.

"He's right here. Want to talk to him?" And give her a rest.

"Yeah." With that permission, she handed the phone to Bill.

"Mrs. Nolan?"

"No, although that might have been a better idea." What would have been a
better idea? He was going on. "I'm Bill Pierce, William on my driver's
license. I'm a regional sales manager for Andalusia Pharmaceuticals. We're
an ethical drug company. When you go to the pharmacy with a prescription,
you may well be getting one of our products." Explaining himself. At least
Mama gave him more time to speak than she'd ever given Carolyn.

"Well, we haven't discussed that yet." Which could be anything. All they
<b>had</b> discussed was smoking and economics. "She wanted to tell you
early. If you want to hear all the details, you can't expect to hear them
before all the plans are made. Do you want to talk to the one who'll be
making those decisions?" Now, he was getting tired of talking to Mama. She
obviously wasn't tired of talking with him.

"No. I want to keep her always. That means a marriage. And that means a
wedding. The wedding is a necessary condition, not something I wanted
particularly." Well that was a nice statement. But Mama kept talking. Then
he handed her the phone.

"He says he doesn't have the wedding all planned out."

"Yes, Mama." Bill was being very flexible about things he actually cared
about. He wouldn't be inflexible about the ceremony.

"Does that mean that you could have it at home?" They were going to have
their wedding at home. Just not at Mama's home. "Or are you just going to
elope without inviting your parents?"

"It will be up here, and of course you are invited."

"What do his parents think?" Do his parents even know? Does he plan to tell
them?

"Well, we told you first. Bye Mama, I love you."

"He's the one you should be loving." There was a click. Mama was never one
to waste an exit line.

"She said that you're the one I'm supposed to be loving." He laughed.

"Sounds like a great idea. Before or after we go out to dinner?" Probably
not what Mama meant by 'loving.' The dinner sounded good, and he didn't
expect her to be a kitchen slave.

"Well, we <b>are</b> dressed." On the other hand... "Actually, you proposed
without knowing whether I could cook. Maybe I should make us something."

"Breakfast, maybe." He kept wanting to feed her, but breakfast was really a
better idea. The man was practical.

"Breakfast certainly." Which meant she'd have to cook something he'd like
with the ingredients on hand. Western omelet?

But he was more interested in a kiss, and that did take precedence. When he
turned her to kiss her ear and the side of her neck, she finished her
thought.

"You have eggs, I know. Do you have onions and green peppers?"

"Onions, probably." he answered. "Green peppers certainly not. Maybe you
should survey your domain." Would the kitchen be her domain? Well, he was
marrying a student. He'd find out how few things she could cook. Maybe she
was being unfair to him. His first idea was to go out. He didn't seem to
think of eating at home except for breakfast.

She did check out the kitchen. He had onions, and not in too bad shape,
either. On the other hand, they were in the refrigerator and beginning to
go. Well, western omelet for breakfast -- how about sloppy joes for lunch?
Make a big batch, kill the onions, and freeze what they didn't eat. He had
room in his freezer and some plastic containers which would hold two frozen
portions. What he didn't have was any kind of apron. She wondered what his
cleaning bills were like. He had milk that smelled all right -- okay, she
was stereotyping bachelors, but he did keep onions in the 'fridge -- but no
cereal. If this was going to be home, she'd eat cereal for breakfast. That's
what you did at home.

On the way to the restaurant, they stopped at a grocery store. It didn't
seem to carry aprons -- where did you buy them? Maybe Mama would bring a few
when she came to the wedding. No, that would be too late. He paid, which she
expected, but he added a carton of Kools to the order. He'd noticed her
brand.

After dinner, she put the stuff away. She looked around one more time,
planning changes. He <b>had</b> said it was her domain. Then she joined him
on the couch for some TV. They spent more time kissing than looking, but his
hand tended to squeeze her breast when there was a gunshot or explosion from
the set. At the news, he straightened up.

"Are you really interested?" Tonight?

"Nah. They won't have the real news." She flashed her ring. But she had
other desires. She'd had two cigarettes today. "Look, same rules about
smoking? It's all right in the living room?"

"Sure. And, if that feels too restrictive, we can renegotiate." He was still
being generous. It wasn't too restrictive in this apartment. If they got
more space, he'd said that they would negotiate.

"It's fine, but you might want to make your night preparations while I smoke
it."

"Fair enough." He got out the ashtray and book of matches again, although
she had seen where he kept them. When he went into the bathroom she lit up.
Then she unpacked. She kept her night-time needs  on the lamp table next to
the sofa and hung Sunday's clothes in the closet.

"All yours." He'd come out of the john before she'd finished her cigarette.
She finished it, stubbed it out, and threw it into the garbage. He didn't
want them around. Then she rushed through her bathroom time and went back to
Bill. When she took off her robe in the bedroom, he had another request.

"Now, I've been keeping your side of the bed warm. Do you really need that?"
So she took off the nightgown, too. He was right. He would keep her warm.
She wondered suddenly if he owned any pajamas. Then they were kissing. The
kissing led further. But when she started to play with Little Bill, he
stopped her. "Early days, yet." Apparently Mr. Foreplay was back. And she
welcomed him. He licked and sucked both nipples. He brushed over her clit
with infinite gentleness.

"Love you. Share it with me," he whispered when she was almost there. The
erotic request was enough. She flew, and he sucked and stroked until she had
quite finished. While she was lying there, he kissed down her breast and
stomach to her delta.

She had begun to recover when he moved between her legs. She hadn't noticed
him putting the contraceptive on, but she hadn't been noticing much right
then. Instead of entering her, though, he began kissing her thighs. That
brought her arousal back.

He licked her clit until she flew again, and his mouth was on her until
she'd stopped flying. She was about to make the effort to push his head away
when he moved himself. He lay on the bed beside her while she brought her
consciousness back from where he had scattered it. He was holding her close,
which helped the reintegration. When she started to reach for Little Bill,
he had another request.

"Could you move a little away?" He seemed to want the spoon again.

"Sure." She got in the position, leaving him room to get closer to her and
further from the edge. "Like this?"

"Delightful." The room went dark, and he snuggled against her back. "Do you
have enough room, now?"

"Just enough. You know, you're going to have to get a double bed."

"Yes, <b>we</b> are." The man was emphasizing that they would be a family
making joint decisions. She could live with that. "And what other new
furniture will we need? With a double bed in this room, we won't be able to
fit much else in. But you need some sort of dresser."

"Will we keep this apartment?" So much for joint decisions.

"Until June, at least. I have a year's lease. Maybe later, we'll get more
furniture, but we shouldn't get anything now which we don't want to keep.
One thing you'll need is some sort of study desk or typing table. It will
have to go in the living room." Well, if he were planning without her
participation, he was planning for her needs.

"You picture me moving in, don't you?" Clearly he did. She wasn't sure she
did.

"Well, I'll get another key on Monday. But I was mostly thinking about after
the wedding. You'll be moved in then. When will that be, anyway?"

"You talk as if it's my choice." Which was another, if by no means selfish,
hole in collective decisions.

"Well, it is."

"If I said tomorrow, you'd agree." She felt like teasing just then.

"Well, tomorrow is impossible. We'd need a license, and I know the County
Clerk isn't open on Sunday." He had either taken her seriously, or was
teasing on a whole different level.

"Yeah, right. You're just trying to escape now that I gave you my lily-white
body in exchange for your promise."

"Seriously, If you want the wedding as soon as possible, I'll call the
County Clerk Monday. Probably, I should anyhow. We need to know what the
requirements are, whether we both have to go, and when they are open. Am I
right that you have nothing after noon Tuesday and Thursday?"

"Yeah. Studying, but no class."

"Okay. I can take a late lunch and meet you downtown any afternoon. That may
be necessary. Seriously, when do you want the wedding?"

"Seriously? You're taking all the fun out of this conversation." Then she
thought about the question. "But semester break makes sense. The room and
food contracts can be cancelled then. I'll have some time, and so will my
friends. Look, something you should understand: sleeping together every
night is great, but I'll need study time -- lot's of study time some weeks."

"Sure. And when crunch time comes, I'll either cook or get take-out. I'll
come in here and leave you alone to study. I won't be jealous of a book."
That was nicely put.

"It's a deal. If I let you flirt with Alice, you'll let me sleep with my
books."

"Deal."

"You sure you don't want me to take care of Little Bill?" she asked. He
should get his.

"Not tonight. How about in the morning?" That meant renewing the jelly on
her diaphragm.

"Yeah, but I need to do some stuff when I wake up."

"Of course." His were the last words either spoke that night. Sleeping in
Bill's arms felt strange, still, but she knew she would enjoy getting used
to it.

The alarm startled her. It sounded strange. When she raised her left hand
towards her face, however, memory started coming back. There was the strange
weight of a ring on that hand. Yes, she was engaged to Bill, and that was
his alarm. It was also his hand which patted her thigh immediately after.
She'd have screamed a minute earlier.

"Good morning, sweet Carolyn." That was Bill, and she was safe. What time
was it? What day was it?

"What time is it?"

"Way early. Want to sleep longer?" That was an attractive notion, but her
bladder was demanding attention.

"Want to, but need to..." She headed for the bathroom before completing the
sentence. Running around naked was embarrassing enough. She grabbed her
bathrobe on the way to the bathroom. When she got up from the toilet, she
got her cosmetic bag from the living room and returned. She was awake now,
and remembered that he'd said something about making love this morning. She
renewed the jelly on the diaphragm and then brushed her teeth using his
toothpaste. When she returned to bed, he went out.

She was lying down on what was now her side of the bed when Bill returned.
It was only a little after seven, plenty of time. And he was taking his
time, too. They had a nice, long, closed-mouth, kiss before his tongue eased
into her mouth. That kiss lasted minutes before his hand started stroking
her breast. When it went lower, hers followed suit.

"Careful." He put his hand on her wrist, warning her -- although not forcing
her -- to stay above his waist.

"Well, you're doing it."

"Yeah, but I'm a one-shot. You have a whole six shooter." She wasn't sure.
Had she ever come six times in a session? For that matter, he seemed to want
her to come twice -- extremely generous, not to mention sensual, but it
wasn't six.

"You've never seen me come six times in a row."

"No, but I'd love to. Probably not on a Sunday morning, though." That was
Bill, even when he was being sensual or romantic, he was always practical.
And, when he was being practical, he always had a point.

"Miss Armbruster would kill you." After all the extra time she'd put in
rehearsing the students in mid-December for the hymns they'd be singing in
January.

"Her best singer, hors de combat." Which was a gross exaggeration.

"Hardly her best singer," she corrected him, "third-best alto." Having
stopped her explorations for this discussion, he'd continued his own. He
kissed each nipple before answering. Which raised a question.

"You're really going to do it this morning? Not like last night?" How often
did she need to renew the jelly on her diaphragm?

"Did last night disappoint you?" he asked while stroking her clit again.
Well, it hadn't disappointed her. If he wanted her to fly three times a day
to his loving, she was happy. She just wanted to know which of those times
he intended to ejaculate within her.

"Hardly." Don't want him to get that idea, just want information I can't ask
for. Well,... "But if you're going to need it, shouldn't you have the
contraceptive out now?" He immediately got the contraceptive, but put it
under the pillow. Wasn't she supposed to see it? He'd been pretty blatant
with it the first time. But he was talking.

"That's something else we need, another pillow. I keep saying I love you,
but..." He kept saying that? He hardly ever said that.

"Not often enough. Actually, I'm kind of glad you don't have two pillows."
After all, it made her feel that she was not the latest of a series of women
in this room.

"...But I keep being surprised by who you are. I mean..." He was stroking so
gently over her clit again.

"I'm still the feminine mystery?" And that's what she intended to remain.

"Yeah. By the way, I do love you." Maybe not the most absolutely romantic
way of expressing that. On the other hand, he was really exciting her now.
"But I keep planning a way to seduce you with a ploy, keep the rubbers in a
drawer so they won't intrude on your maidenly modesty."

"Or under your pillow." She was arguing with only half her mind -- maybe
only a tenth. She was <b>so</b> close now.

"I'll know right where it is when I need it. Put it an inch lower on the
sheet and it would skid anywhere on the bed when we move." He sounded so
reasonable, so cool. As if the mind was unaware of what the hand was doing.
And it was taking her -- slowly, painfully slowly -- to the brink of
ecstacy.

"Okay." She shut up. She couldn't think when she was this close. Then, she
flew. And he held her while she flew.

She was quite done when his hand left her. Even so, although he was close
beside her, she missed him. Then he was there -- right there, in fact.

"Carolyn, I love you." Then she felt herself opened, spread, occupied. He
moved back and forth above her, creating all sorts of interesting sensations
within.

He held her breasts in his hands, and stared into her eyes. When she mouthed
a kiss at him, he mouthed one back and then began to move. His fingers
rubbed her nipples while his penis rubbed her insides.

Never far off her excitement, she was aroused by all these motions, all this
care. Various parts of him were exciting various parts of her, but he was
watching <b>her</b>. There was love in his face, and lust, and calculation.

He paused in his motions to kiss her nipples. She was close, so close, she
moved against his motion, pressing her delta against his as he entered. So
near, so very near.

"Come for me darling, come with me," he said. Then he buried himself in her
and throbbed. Hearing that, holding that, she flew. She flew carrying him
with her.

And, when the flight was over, he was still there, lying on her, lying
within her, and so dear. She hugged the dear weight to her.

When he moved off, though, it was a relief. She was back, and she had things
to do. She'd said that she would cook breakfast, and she'd promised to sing
in the choir today. That was why she'd come back Saturday, really, that and
the fact that the first days of class were always a hassle with the other
things that were undone. And, now, the undone things were a hundred times as
great. This had been wonderful, but it was probably time to return to the
mundane world.

"Love you." That was much better than 'by the way.' On the other hand, did
they have time?

"How long do we have?"

"Hours. It's not even eight yet." Well, there were hours of work to do.

"Well, I'll need more time to cook breakfast.... Do you have any aprons I
haven't seen?"

"Aprons? No." Well, she hadn't thought he had.

"What do you do about cooking spills? Don't they send your cleaning bills
sky high?"

"I cook in my robe and underwear. I wash both at the laundromat."

"So I should cook in my robe?" That might work.

"Or borrow mine... Look, I didn't think all that far ahead. Mostly, I was
thinking about having you in my bed, if you call that thinking. Then I was
trying to figure out a way to persuade you. Not until you accepted did I
think of us together in the light of day." Such a practical man, <b>most</b>
of the time. "So, I still haven't planned it through very thoroughly. You
can cook in my robe; I can cook -- I've done it most mornings for the past
decade; we can go out to eat. Nothing's cast in stone." Well this was.

"This is. I'm cooking a western omelet."

"Okay. Want my robe to protect you?"

"Okay. You can shower and dress while I'm cooking."

"I'd rather watch, but we'll do it your way." He was emphasizing his sexual
interest, for some reason. <b>That</b>, she'd never doubted. He got the robe
for her, but he stayed there to watch her as she put on the bra and then the
robe. For that matter, he watched her get on the rest of the underwear
before he went to take his shower.

She peeled, washed and diced the onion, washed and diced the pepper. Then
she washed her hands again and started on the eggs. She put a little butter
-- he didn't have margarine -- in the pan and warmed it up. Then she started
the coffee. He had a fancy machine to make it. When he came out of the
bathroom, she turned the fire up under the pan. Then she got everything
together. The omelet turned out well, if she did say so herself.

"Delicious meal. I think I'll keep you." Bill was complimentary, if arch.
The amount he'd taken was more complimentary.

"I'm glad you liked it. Now, it's my shower time." She got her makeup case
and new underwear into the bathroom with her. She took the diaphragm out and
rinsed it off. She left it in the case. It took, really, less time to insert
it than to take it out, renew the jelly, and reinsert it. She wished he
would be specific as to his schedule for sex; then she could meet it.

She showered, used her deodorant, dressed in the underwear, brushed her hair
more carefully, and put his robe on again. She should have retrieved her
own.

He greeted her with a kiss when she came out. The kiss was nice, tongues
stroking each other instead of wrestling. The caresses were nice, too, but
when he started to remove her bra, she stopped him.

"No. It's time to dress. You're dressed for church."

"Be my guest." He leered at her. Undressing each other was fine, at the
proper time; her doing a reverse strip-show for him wasn't.

"I will. Do I dress out here, while you're in the bedroom? Or do I bring my
clothes into the bedroom and dress in there while you're out here?"

"Well, I'd choose option three, but since you've got the clothes out here,
call me when you're ready." She'd have to keep remembering that Bill wasn't
good on hints but accepted 'no' when it was clear enough.

She finished dressing and went back into the bathroom to put on her
lipstick. When she knocked on the bedroom door, she was ready to start for
church.

He tried to start kissing again. If he'd kept his hands under control, they
could have had more kisses when they were appropriate.

"Nope," she told him. "Lipstick." So he grabbed her hand to kiss. It was
both silly and sexy. When he planted a wet kiss in the middle of her palm,
it turned sexier. That wasn't going to get them out the door, so she pulled
her hand away and got her coat.

"New?" She'd heard stories about men not noticing women's clothes -- their
wives' clothes, actually. Bill wasn't at that stage yet.

"Christmas. From my parents."

"Pretty." Then he got out his own winter wear. She had a nice,
close-fitting, pair of leather gloves which was suitable for church. It
would not, she saw when she tried to put the left one on, fit over the ring.
She took her right glove off and went back to the mittens which were warmer,
but made her look like an Eskimo. They hardly matched the coat.

Riding in the car, she realized she really didn't need any gloves. Living
with Bill would bring annoyances, but it would also bring some pleasures
beside the sexual. He let her out at the walk leading to the basement
entrance, and went to park the car. The door wasn't open. When she looked at
her watch, she realized that she was way early. She'd allowed for the walk
that they hadn't made. Bill was waiting at the top of the steps.

"Nobody's there," she told him.

"We're early. Try this door." The door to the parlors was open. She went
down the inside stairs. Miss Armbruster was just opening the door to the
robing room.

"Carolyn, you're back."

"I told you I would be."

"And you're always reliable. But delays happen; people get sick. I always
worry. The truth is that I always worry about everything. Well, you're one
less worry." They hung up their coats. When Miss Armbruster turned to her
again, she saw the ring. "You're not only back; you came back engaged."

"Well, I got engaged here. Bill Pierce -- you know him."

"Yes." Which didn't sound like she did. Bill didn't sing very well, which
meant that he hardly existed to Miss Armbruster. At this point, Gladys came
in.

"Carolyn!" She'd seen the ring right off. "Bill?" Carolyn nodded. "Well, I
wish you two the best of luck. When's the wedding?"

"I figure spring break. We don't have a lot of plans yet. He proposed
yesterday." As more came in, they clustered around her to admire the ring.
Several asked if it were Bill; nobody asked who had proposed to her. Carolyn
got the impression that few had been as surprised as she had been. Of
course, none of them had the worries about the marriage that she had. They'd
come to the wedding, throw rice, and forget it.

"Finally caught Bill, did you?" asked Bruce. He taught Biology at the
University, and both he and his wife sang in the choir.

"Now Bruce," said Gladys, "the question wasn't if they were caught. The
question was when they would acknowledge it. If she'd gone up to Bill last
May and said, 'I think a June wedding would be best, don't you?' he'd have
proposed right then." May? She hadn't been speaking to Bill back in May.
Miss Armbruster got them all out, up the stairs, and into the choir loft.
Then, they were singing and not gossiping. During Communion, though, Bill
waited for her and took it kneeling beside her. That was sweet of him --
possessive, too -- which was sweet, itself.

When she was out of her robe and back in her coat (not wearing the mittens
this time) she got to the stairs as Vi Robinson came out of the Ladies'
room. She saw the ring.

"Carolyn! Congratulations. Bill?" They keep asking that. She nodded.

"And he tells me that you have some news, as well."

"Yes. The due date is sometime around the fourth of February ."

"No, dear." Gladys had caught up to them. "The due date is precisely
February fourth. The baby will come sometime around that date. I can
guarantee though, that it won't be a month early." Vi thought about that and
saw the dates.

"And why couldn't you have told me that last week?"

"Because, Vi, I didn't know that last week." They went up the stairs
together at Vi's pace. Gladys seemed braced as she walked behind Vi just in
case Vi would slip. There was a group at the top of the stairs, including
Bill. She was now one of the women whose husbands -- well, in her case,
fiance -- waited for them to get out of choir after church.

"Congratulations, Bill." said Vi, as she was reaching out to him. This group
clustered around as the choir had. Pastor Jake came back while she and Bill
were the center of attention. He added his congratulations to the other's,
then got down to business. Weddings, after all, were his business.

"Yes. And we'd like you to perform it." She was speaking for Bill without
consulting him, but it wasn't any great stretch.

"That's great. Can you come in for counseling?" She hadn't thought of that.
Bill seemed to have; maybe he was just faster at thinking on his feet.

"Well, you work weekends, and I come from the Loop. Why don't you two set
the time? Everybody knows my constraints."

"Wednesday evening?" Pastor Jake was looking at her. "Trustees aren't
meeting this month. They meet at seven, so I know that's free."

"Pushes dinner a little bit." Despite what he'd said, Bill was taking
charge. "How about 7:30?"

"Is that agreeable Carolyn?" the pastor asked. He, at least, wanted her
opinion.

"Perfectly agreeable, Pastor."

"My office?"

"Sure." Now she answered for both, although the answer was obvious.

"Dennis is here, Vi." That was Dan from the door. Vi went out to her car,
and the rest of the group trailed out.

"Well," Bill said as he was driving home -- <b>their</b> home -- "now
everybody knows."

"Everybody in the church. I still have to tell the guys at school."

"And my work." Yeah. Two of them were engaged. Two of them had news to
share.

In the apartment, they had a long kiss. When Bill wanted to go further,
though, she refused.

"Nope. I've got to cook. Lunch will be late enough. And you've got to go
back in the bedroom while I change. I'm not cooking in my best Sunday
dress." Instead of obeying -- or even arguing -- he stopped in his tracks.

"Look," he said after a minute. "You're going to be moving in, right?" What
did that have to do with anything? And he was pushing her again.

"Not right away."

"Fine. But some stuff. It's ridiculous for your stuff to be out here all the
time. My mistress, fine." [Was that what she was?] "My wife, absurd. So why
don't you start the kitchen work while I shift closets? Don't put anything
on the fire, but get stuff out. I'll be only five minutes." This seemed
reasonable. Bill was always more believable when he was being practical than
when he was leering lustfully.

When she had gone as far as she could in the kitchen without danger of
getting something on her dress, he was almost done with his move. She
noticed that he hadn't touched the makeup bag.

"Okay?"

"Fine. There are still a lot of hangers on my side of the closet. Take any
you need. I didn't sort them out, yet." She figured he meant to take
<b>empty</b> hangers. She dressed in her school clothes, not counting
underwear, and put his robe on top of everything. She hung up her dress and
-- when she'd considered the alternatives -- her slip.

"I figured since it's got splatters on it already..." He didn't seem to be
paying attention, let alone making objections, She went to work. Bill
watched the final preparations and set the table when she asked him to. He
got out water glasses and cups for the place settings. Water glasses were
fine, but did they need coffee on their day of rest?

Lunch went over as well as breakfast had. The coffee cups remained empty,
Bill not forcing the issue. He had his coat and tie off, but got a little
sauce on his sleeve. That didn't seem to bother him.

They cleared and he washed. She left his robe hanging in the bedroom closet
and was sitting on the sofa when he returned to the living room.

"Want Television?" Why bother? What was good on Sunday afternoons, anyway?
When she shook her head, he sat down beside her. They had a kiss, and he
seemed as content with mild caresses as she was. There was a lunch to
settle.

"What sort of wedding do you want?" he asked, "a fancy one?"

"Let me think." She had three roommates, and if she made one of them maid of
honor, she'd make two enemies. On the other hand, who from back home would
even want to come to her wedding? Well, that wasn't the issue, really. A
real fancy wedding would be nice, sort of. On the other hand, her life was
academic, and she would be faced with some choices over the next few years
where the best option for her future might mean a few thousand dollars a
year less salary right then. And she'd cut down her options already; the
Chicago area had plenty of colleges, but not nearly as many as the rest of
the country did. (On the other hand, her dissertation conferences would be
easier to arrange if she would be living in Evanston.) "Well, do you have
scads of money salted away?" She really didn't know much about Bill. He
might have a trust fund or have won the lottery.

"Not really. Not at all, in fact. I got a nice raise back in July when I was
promoted, and I didn't take a vacation then, either, which saved some. I
only bought some suits. I felt quite flush. The ring, on the other hand,
sank all that, and I'll still owe on the ring for years. Why?"

"Look, the next couple of years decide my future. I'm going to be writing a
dissertation while teaching at some junior college or something. <b>They</b>
won't get anything out of the dissertation, so they won't give me any slack
to work on it. And putting enough work in on my dissertation will be
critical to my future. So will performing at least adequately as a teacher."
She was running on and on. He didn't know that, and he <b>sure</b> wouldn't
be able to see the relevance.

"So, I may have to make decisions between maximizing earnings in, say, '74
and making the best impression on my peers. And that means, really,
maximizing earnings over the rest of my life." Now, she was clearly stating
the dilemma.

"So, I'd feel much more comfortable saying that I could make decisions for
the next three years without looking at how much I'd earn than I would
spending a lot of money now."

"That means the honeymoon, too?" he asked.

"I suppose so. Is that okay with you?"

"That's fine with me. I was planning on spending the honeymoon in bed, and a
bed in Acapulco doesn't sound any better than a bed in Evanston... really."

"Warmer though."

"Yeah,"he agreed. "You find this apartment too cool, don't you?"

"The apartment is warm enough. It's not warm enough for the costume you want
me to wear."

"That's unfair. I don't want you to wear any costume." But he got her point.
She raised her hand to show him the ring. "Okay." He did want her to wear
the ring, if nothing else. He picked her up and sat her in his lap. "Got to
surround this girl with body heat to keep her from freezing to death." And
he did his best to, if not surround her, get his hands everywhere at some
time or other. Aside from occasionally moving her head to meet his lips with
hers instead of with the ear he was aiming at, she cooperated. After a
while, he quieted and cuddled her.

"Y'know," he said, "space heaters are cheap. We're getting all sorts of new
furniture for the bedroom. We could get a space heater, too."

"All sorts?"

"Double bed. Dresser for you. We need a new night stand, too, for your side.
If you don't have a clock, or you want to keep it in the dorm for a while,
we'll get you another clock. We could get you one that matched mine, which
wasn't all that expensive, but maybe you'd want to distinguish the alarms."
That reminded her.

"Look, I don't want to sound like I'm rejecting you...."

"You don't want an alarm clock? You wouldn't have to set it, even. But how
do you make class?"

"And breakfast. Let me finish." He could be as bad as Mama. "This is about
waking up. I wake up more slowly than you do. When I'm awake and have
figured out that I'm in Bill's bed quite willingly, then I can enjoy your
petting. If the first impression I get is a man's hand on my breast or close
to my delta, I'm likely to scream." He laughed.

"Okay." Whether he'd move slowly in the morning or it was okay that she
screamed wasn't clear. "Problem is, that I wake up a little slowly myself.
And the first realization this morning was that the sweet body beside me was
Carolyn's. I'm not sure I can remember to go slow." Well, she couldn't
criticize waking up slowly, and -- really -- the more frequently it
happened, the easier it would be. She didn't wake up in the residence hall,
or even here, thinking she was back home. She woke up here thinking she was
in the residence hall.

He moved the hair from the side of her neck and nuzzled her there. They were
silent for a while. His hands and lips were a little arousing, but mostly
comfortable. Then he set her back down beside him.

"Look, after the wedding, you'll be living here. We'll look for a larger
place." Nice for him to make those sorts of decisions, although there was
nothing she could really argue with. "The question is between now and then.
I'll get you some keys tomorrow. Stupid not to have planned ahead. You'll
have study space when I'm gone -- when I'm here, too, though it'll be kind
of cramped." She had study space already, and -- if her bedroom was even
more cramped --  she had the main room when her roommates weren't using it,
or when they were studying themselves. On the other hand, she could see what
he was getting at. He wanted her moved in. He paused so long she wondered
whether he thought she should say something, then he asked a question. "Do
you have a driver's license?"

"Arkansas,"

"Well, the Illinois license can wait until we're married. You'd have to
change your name, anyway. When I get keys to the front door and to the
apartment, I'll get my car keys duplicated, too. Mornings, you can drive me
to the EL stop and go on to campus." The picture he painted was quite
domestic. She could see why it appealed to him; it had the same appeal to
her. "Monday, you can't get in. We'll go out to eat. Tell me where to pick
you up. Wednesday, we'll be pushed to get to the church. We should eat out
then, it will be faster." She couldn't see why. If he was to be in the
house, she could have a dinner on the table when he got home. "Otherwise,
you decide when to cook. We'll go out to eat unless you're feeling domestic.
If you want take-out, however, warn me before hand. Fair?"

"I'll give you plenty of warning when I want take-out." Those would only be
crunch times. And, really, he was trying to be fair, he was trying to be
generous by allowing her to choose when to cook and when to go out. He was,
however, making her feel stifled with his decisions. And she did have a meal
plan all paid for. And she did have studying to do. Afternoons, especially
afternoons she spent cooking, as well, wouldn't be enough time.

"Do you have another meal planned for tonight, or do you want to go out? I
figure we stay dressed until dinner, and then come home and get
comfortable."

"No." Let's keep this simple enough for Bill to understand.

"No to which? Do you want to have sex now? Or do you want to abstain after
dinner?"

"No, I don't have another meal planned, and I don't want to go out to eat. I
want to go back to the residence hall soon." After all, she not only had a
meal paid for, she had a ring to show the rest of the women at the meal.

"Well... I can't keep you if you want to go. Do we still have a date Monday
night? I can't give you the keys earlier." She'd been right. He could take
no for an answer. If you hit him alongside the head with a two-by-four,
you'd get his attention.

"Sure, we have a date Monday." Actually, he hadn't asked her for one, but
let's take this one small step at a time. "You want me to come here that
night?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then let's make the date for after dinner." She did have that meal plan.
"Seven thirty, or is that too early?" It had been his time for the Wednesday
appointment after all.

His hands had absolutely stopped caressing her. He had an arm around her
shoulder, but that felt awkward -- as if he wanted to take it away, but was
afraid to make that definite a gesture. This was clearly the end of this
cuddle. She got up. What should she pack to go back? Well, she was wearing
her school clothes. Her traveling clothes and her Sunday dress could stay
here. She wasn't moving out. She was establishing a boundary. The dirty
underwear should go back. She'd take her brush and makeup. Everything else,
except for what she was wearing, could stay. The fancy gloves? Well, would
she wear them before her wedding? And, after the wedding, everything would
be here. She took the pile of clean underwear from her small suitcase.

"Is there a place I can keep these here?"

"Oh, yes. Here..." She followed him into the bedroom. "This drawer okay?" He
pointed to the third one down.

"Sure." He pulled the bedspread up over the unmade bed. He pulled out the
drawer he'd indicated, and dumped the contents on the bed. He picked up the
liner paper, which had fallen out. He put it back in the drawer, and put the
drawer back in the dresser -- maybe half way in.

"All yours. We really have to get more space for you. I can rearrange a
little, but we need another dresser."

She put the underwear in the drawer and closed it. She got her coat on, and
picked up her suitcase. It felt as light as it had going home.

"Want to drive me back?" She was, after all, a long way from the residence
hall.

"Sure." He got on his coat and took her suitcase. He looked surprised at its
weight. He led her to the car and opened her door. He put the suitcase in
back and got in. "7:30, your dorm? Right?"

"Right." And, since he was being reasonable, she kissed him goodnight in the
car. There was a different guy on the desk than the previous night, but the
refrain was the same.

"If you're checked out, you'll have to check in again." She did, and then
went up to her room. Mary, Heather, and Diane were all crowded around the
only window in the common room.

"What's up?"

"Look what Diane got for Christmas," Heather said. She looked out the
window. "See the blue Volks?" She more-or-less could.

"I drove it down from Milwaukee," Diane said. "I'll give you a ride later."
They talked about the car and Diane's 'really sweet' parents for another
minute while Carolyn removed her mittens in her coat pockets. "And that's
the news from Milwaukee, Carolyn," Diane said. "What happened in Arkansas?"

"Arkansas? Nothing ever happens in Arkansas." She faked a yawn and covered
it with her left hand.

"<b>That</b> doesn't look like nothing," said Mary. All three crowded around
to examine her ring.

"Well, it didn't happen in Arkansas, either. It happened right here in
Evanston."

"Do we know the guy?"

"Name's Bill He's a member of my church."

"Older guy I saw trying to lick your tonsils one night?" asked Heather. She
hadn't seen Heather in the room, but that behavior sounded a lot like Bill.
She hadn't had any other man's tongue in her mouth for a long time.

"I haven't had any tonsils for the last decade, but yes, Bill is older than
I am."  They kept asking questions, many of which hadn't been decided yet.
"Guys, look. He asked me to marry him. He didn't ask me to marry him on a
specific day with a specific ceremony."

"And you didn't have it all planned out first?" Mary asked.

"Nope. I had nothing planned out. I'd just got done telling Mama over
Christmas that he was not a marriage type romance."

"Fooled her."

"Fooled me."

They kept talking, and she got updates on what Christmas had been like for
Mary and Heather. They went down to dinner together. There, if the
excitement and congratulations were more muted -- there were women in the
residence hall whose names she didn't know -- they continued. Upstairs
again, she got her belongings ready for the resumption of classes and her
mind ready for the next day's classes. The last thing she did was to get
herself up to speed for Tuesday's regional-economics seminar.

In her three classes Monday, the engagement was a minor sensation. It was
minor because they were there to learn something rather than to socialize.
Monday afternoon, warned by her experiences before the vacation, she studied
the assignments for Wednesday. She went down to Dinner early, and set her
alarm before she went back to reviewing the regional economics. She might go
into that class as newly-engaged, although it would be old news to more than
half her classmates -- they shared one or more of her other classes -- but
she wasn't going to go in as a ditzy female who let that distract her from
studying.

The alarm rang at 7:10. She made her preparations. Those included resetting
the alarm, although she didn't pull it out; she could just see herself
falling into bed late Tuesday night with the alarm set for 7:10 p.m. She'd
never wake up in time for her first class, let alone breakfast. She figured
she could get away with wearing the same clothes to class Monday and
Tuesday; she usually did. She had new underwear at the apartment. If she
were to wash the clothes here and keep clean clothes there, she'd need more
underwear. She packed her makeup and the jelly for her diaphragm into her
book bag with the books and notes for the seminar. She was dithering by the
time the desk paged her. Bill was three minutes early. Leaving the usual
note on her pillow, she took her book bag down with her.

They greeted each other verbally, Bill walked her to the car and opened the
door. When he got in, she leaned over for a kiss. She broke it soon, though.

"We're gong to a better place for that, aren't we. Watch out; I just applied
lipstick."

"You did taste different." He started the car.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't a bad taste, only a different one." Upstairs, he opened
the door to his apartment, then he handed her a ring of three keys. "They
all work. This is the apartment; that's the downstairs door; the car key is
obvious." He took her coat and hung it and his in the closet. He hung up his
suit coat, too. They had a long kiss. "I shouldn't have given you the keys
yet." They were in her jeans pocket. When he hugged her, they dug into her
leg -- his too, probably.

"You shouldn't have put them on such a big ring," she told him.

"Well, I wanted to keep them together, and that ring was right there where
they duplicate keys. You can do with them what you want."

"I can't just move in here." She had classes, for one thing. They didn't
have space, for another.

"Yeah, but after the marriage, you'll have to. We need more stuff. What? I
gave you another drawer below the one you used, but we really need another
dresser. Women have a different style, don't they? I cleaned out a shelf in
the medicine cabinet. You've already said double bed. Night stand. Study
desk. We can't get more closets 'til we move. What else?"

"Book case."

"I can clean out some space in that one." He pointed to a half-full, totally
inadequate, piece of heavy furniture.

"Bill, do I leave the books I need to study for my courses in the residence
hall?"

"No! Even before the wedding, I want to think of your studying here." He
could think of her studying anywhere he wanted. When he was at work, she'd
choose her own location. The question was whether he could let her study
when he was home.

"Well, if you dumped all of your books," something which that selection
suggested would be no great sacrifice, "that wouldn't hold my
currently-needed books, much less my residue." And she wasn't going to
discard her residue. She hadn't sold a textbook in years, and -- though this
detail could wait on a larger apartment -- if this would be her home, it
would house the books from her childhood.

"So what do we do?" he asked. Good question. She sat down on the sofa, and
he sat down next to her.

"Suggestion. They sell light bookcases in the campus bookstore. I already
own two. I buy another." [After all, she had more books that fit in the ones
she owned.] "I put it here. I move a bookcase worth of books here. Then I
move that bookcase here. Then I move another load of books here. That goes
on until I'm moved in." That would barely fit. The study desk would have to
be small.

"I think of your moving in clothes. You think of your moving in books."
Well, her life was books. "There's so much I haven't thought of. But you
speak of your moving the books and bookcases. At that end sure -- unless
there is a way of getting me permission to go into your room. But not on
this end. When it's getting them up here, when it's getting them from the
door into the car, then that's <b>our</b> task. What else haven't I thought
of?" Well, apparently this was going to be a planning party instead of a
petting party. Probably a good idea.

"If I'm going to be living in both places, I'll need some things in both
places. It's silly to move my brush back and forth."

"I bought you a toothbrush on the same thought. It's on your shelf in the
medicine cabinet. Can you use my toothpaste?"

"Shouldn't I be asking that?" Not that she had asked. Brushed teeth were to
the advantage of the person being kissed, after all.

"Not what I meant," he replied. "Can you stand the taste?"

"Sure."

"Look, come the wedding, it will be one purse. Before then, do you need
help?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, ask if you do. For that matter, you might find yourself grocery
shopping without me. Give me some warning, and I'll get the cash.

"Since we're on money," he continued. "I bank downtown, Amalgamated. Makes a
lot of sense; I'm downtown five days a week during business hours. Shall we
continue that? We'll have to get your signature, but I figure that we can do
that after the wedding. After all, Carolyn Nolan won't be on the account
then. Carolyn Pierce will." So much for consulting her. Plenty of women kept
their maiden names. Still, probably she shouldn't; this was going to be a
rocky enough marriage already. And he might be making decisions for them,
but he was saying a joint account when she had said that she wouldn't be
earning much money.

"How do you picture our budget?"

"After we're married? Before then, as I said, we'll be dealing entirely with
unexpected events. A furniture budget doesn't make much sense when we have
to get loads of new furniture over a couple of months. A little more in
June, too, probably.

"Anyway," he continued, "what I heard you say was that we should limit our
outgo to my income. Then you aren't forced to take a job that limits your
future. Sometime, we should sit down and figure it out. One thing is that I
don't know what your expenses will be." And, really, if she went teaching,
neither did she -- probably wouldn't know until she got there. Would they
expect a woman teacher to have new outfits every day of the week? Well, her
teaching clothes could come out of her teaching income.

"Something like that. But that limitation won't last forever. In a few
years, I'll have my doctorate, and the best-paying jobs will be the best for
my future." And the best paying jobs <b>in the Chicago metro</b> would be
the best for her future <b>in the Chicago metro</b>.

"The limitation will last much longer than the budget will, I'll bet." She
wouldn't take that bet. "Right now, I have more questions than I can count.
And, whatever we do, there will be something we don't foresee. I pay a third
of my health insurance, and that will be more. On the other hand, income tax
will be less. I'll check on both those when I've told my boss about the
wedding. Have you decided on a date?"

"Didn't we say semester break?"

"I think so, but that isn't a date." Of course. It was a period, and a
period which Bill probably didn't know. She wasn't sure about the dates,
either. Semester break loomed larger in her consciousness than February did.

"You know, our communication problems aren't all due to just us." He
responded by quirking his brow. "Semester break is a set time to me, to
Northwestern students -- probably faculty, too. It doesn't mean a thing to
your boss or coworkers. I bet everybody you gave that card to except me knew
what 'ethical drugs' meant. Two countries separated only by a common
language." He looked <b>real</b> confused. "Somebody's description of the US
and England. I think it was Winston Churchill. Anyway, that's us. Sometimes,
it's you and me, but sometimes it's your world and mine." Was this an
insight?

"Maybe." Not an insight he was sharing with her. "All sorts of people have
all sorts of different language problems. Come here." He helped her into his
lap and cuddled her. He started kissing her neck and caressing her legs
through her jeans. "Y'know, what you said, I read some language poohbah. He
wrote that 'finalize' was businessmen being fancy when they meant 'finish.'"
That sounded reasonable.

"And it isn't?"

"Nope. When you finalize a contract, you put it in the terms that are going
to be signed. Both sides, hopefully, know what the contract requires." He
might know what 'finalize' meant; he didn't know what 'hopefully' meant.
"When you finish a contract, then you complete it, fulfill it, perform it.
Two entirely different stages. Sure, both are some sort of end point, but
they are different end points. Language purists, who never negotiated a
contract, or fulfilled one, either, don't have a use for the distinction. So
they make fun of those of us who do." At last! Something they agreed on.

"Yeah. One of those columns got passed around one of my classes. The idiot
had said that 'out of the work force' should be called 'unemployed.' Except,
<b>not one single person in the entire country</b> is in both categories at
once. If you're unemployed, you're looking for work; if you're looking for
work, you're in the work force. Your Alice isn't counted in the unemployment
figures, for example."

"She's hard at work, just not at work on anything she's paid to do -- nor,
nine times out of ten, anything she's permitted to do. Is she really counted
as out of the work force?"

"Not really. They start at sixteen. But I'm not in the civilian labor force.
They take a survey. They ask how many people in the family are working that
week, how many are seeking work that week."

"They say."

"They say. You object to the size of the federal government. One of the
expense is for people to take that phone survey. Each one calls a family,
asks a few questions, calls another family. They <b>could</b> be replaced
with teams of private investigators shadowing each family member. They'd
catch the people who weren't really looking for work and the people who had
jobs paid under the table -- although those jobs could be reported with
perfect safety. People think that the government's left hand knows what its
right hand is doing. <b>But</b> how much would those investigators cost?
Really, you know, it isn't that important."

"Unimportant?" His hands grew still. "Isn't that the data you're so proud of
studying?"

"Sure. But what we study is the changes in the data. Three percent is about
the rock-bottom for the unemployment figures. Do you really believe that
anything like 3% of your fellow citizens lie about something like that.
Anyway, when the numbers change, we have enough other evidence that the
change is real; it's not just more people lying. Politicians in office
always want the counting methods to change when the figures show bad times.
If you threw out the thermometer, you wouldn't know how high your fever was,
but you wouldn't be less sick."

"You take this personally, don't you?" He'd noticed.

"Damn right, I do. There are people working their asses off to gather
figures to tell us what is going on in this country. And I live on those
figures -- less present figures than past figures. Then some of those
figures are printed in the newspapers. Then some crooked politician gets the
figures from the newspaper and makes up some way those could be misleading.

"Look, I had a friend" [gender carefully unstated] "once who was into
fighting about evolution."

"He didn't believe in evolution?" Gender assumed. Well, his assumption was
correct. She wouldn't go into how deep the friendship had been.

"He believed in it. He wasn't content to ignore the people arguing against
it. This was in Arkansas, remember. Anyway, he pointed out that the
Creationists had given up on biologists. They were arguing against what
schoolchildren know. They claim that all the animals that gave rise to
fossils died at once, and sank into the sea. The dinosaurs sank to the
bottom because they were the biggest and heaviest. He pointed out that
dinosaurs you learned about as a kid were all <b>big</b>. The oldest
dinosaur known, and -- therefore -- the deepest excavated fossil dinosaur,
was the size of a chicken. Creationists don't have to explain that dinosaur,
'cause they aren't interested in anybody who knows that much.

"Anyway, your right-wing friends are like that. The figures reported in the
newspaper are people who report that they are looking for work. The survey
also reports the people reporting that they are too discouraged to look for
work, but the conservative politicians don't have to explain those figures,
because only a few people study them. So they claim that the people
reporting that they are looking for work are lying about that. What they
don't tell you is that when there is an uptick in employment, the number
reporting that they are too discouraged to look drops and the number
reporting that they are looking rises. So the first result of a thaw in
unemployment is a rise in the number of unemployed. Paradoxical, but
well-verified.

"Now," she wound down her tirade, "it is very easy to explain why more
people <b>do</b> look for work when they hear of a friend being hired. It is
damn-well impossible to explain why more people lie about looking for work
when the employment numbers rise. Can you?"

"Look," he replied, "we started talking about us. Maybe it's my fault. I
thought we could talk about us and then move from talking to doing. Now, you
want to talk about my right-wing friends. They aren't really my friends, and
I can't see any way to move from talking about them to doing." Well, he was
right about the second. If they weren't his friends, how come he was their
mouthpiece?

"Well, if you're interested in doing, why did you stop?"

"I didn't know whether we were fighting or making love." You can't do both?
It seemed to her that they often did both. But this reminded her of the last
time he'd stopped when cuddling her -- their last cuddle, actually.

"Look, Bill, I really like you. Sometimes, though, I have a little problem
establishing boundaries with you. You aren't exactly the most perceptive guy
dealing with that. Anyway, I decided that -- when we're alone and I think
you've crossed one of my boundaries -- I'll tell you straight out."

"I wish you would," he said. The man wasn't subtle, and -- apparently -- he
knew he wasn't. "But your voice sounded awfully angry just then. I backed
off. Anyway, when I tried to read your boundaries at the end of last school
year, I got them. Then, what I didn't get was when you changed them. Maybe
you should tell me that, too."

"The end of last year? You were interested in a date. Then, when I came
back, you weren't interested any more." And she couldn't, even now, figure
out why he'd changed.

"I was plenty interested. But, you told me very clearly that we would talk
in a friendly fashion at church. You would not go out with me. I was afraid
that any pursuit was more likely to change the first than the second."

"Let's get this straight," she started. They should get something straight.
This whole relationship was a mess. "I tell you I wouldn't date you if you
were the last man on earth, and you kidnap me to talk over Big Macs. I tell
you I won't change my air reservation for you -- change it when my father
was expecting to meet me at the airport -- and you decide to leave me alone.
That's the opposite of what I said. I said that I'd be clear."

"It wasn't like that."

"What was it like?"

"What had I to lose?" he asked. That wasn't really an answer. "You'd said
you wouldn't date me if I was the last man alive on earth. Would you say
that you wouldn't date me if I was the last man alive in the Solar System?
On the other hand, you said quite clearly that we'd talk in church. When you
'weren't talking to me' we really talked, but not in a friendly manner. You
wouldn't go out on a date, but you would talk to me. I saw that as a threat
-- if I kept bugging you, you would stop talking to me in a friendly
manner."

"Bill, it's not just our worlds." She twisted around in his lap and leaned
back so she could kiss his cheek. "It's also us." He helped her straighten.
Then he was kissing her neck and holding her breasts. That was fun, but when
his hand went under her sweatshirt to the bra clasp, she got up off his lap.
"You're planning this to end in bed, aren't you?"

"Well, yes."

"Then let's go there. If I have space for my clothes, I'll use it." Then,
too, she had to remove her makeup and brush her hair. She got her stuff out
of the book bag.

"Will you let me brush your hair? You can tell me what to do." He was
seriously weird. On the other hand, that was sex play of a kind, and it was
better than fighting over his second-hand opinions.

"I'll get too cold."

"Couldn't I brush it while you're still dressed. It's so lovely." So he
brushed her hair. She did the usual in the bathroom. He'd left the bottom
shelf empty except for a new toothbrush still in its plastic tube. She broke
open the tube and brushed her teeth. She could leave stuff here and at the
residence hall. She'd need to buy another of everything except toothbrush,
but most of that stuff wore out. If she bought more jelly, she wouldn't want
to leave it in the medicine cabinet. What the hell! She'd put it under the
pantyhose in her drawer. He went into the bathroom when she came out. She
stripped in the bedroom and went to bed naked. She lay on her side, with her
own pillow. The sheets were chilly.

"Pillow is new," she greeted him. He turned on the lamp, turned off the
overhead light, and dropped his robe. He was as naked as she was when he
came to bed. Before answering her, he opened the drawer in his night stand
and slipped a wrapped contraceptive under his pillow.

"Bought it this noon. Should have asked your preference." Did she have a
preference in pillows? They'd been provided by schools for years, and this
one was more comfortable than those, maybe because it was new. For that
matter, Mama had never asked her preference in pillows. then she chuckled.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"I've read about pillow talk for years. I just realized that now I've
engaged in it."

"They don't mean... Well, really it is." That was funny, too. He moved his
hand from his armpit to her stomach. He must have been trying to warm it.
The thought was kind, if the effect was imperfect.

He brought his hand back to rest on the mattress. He levered himself up on
his elbow, then went back to stroking her stomach. He leaned over to give
her a kiss. He cupped her left breast while tasting her lips. When his
tongue thrust into her mouth, he stroked her nipple. As his hand went lower,
his mouth followed it.

He licked and sucked her nipple as he rubbed her clit. She was close, so
close, when he stopped. He fumbled by her side for a moment, then climbed
between her legs. He opened her lips with his fingers, and stroked her clit
as he sucked on the right nipple, then the left, then the right again.

"Want me?" he asked from between her breasts.

"Oh, yes." She wanted him, wanted something, desperately

"Then put me in." He returned to her nipples. As she guided him to her
entrance, he rose from her breasts. Then, he thrust deeply into her. He was
staring into her eyes as he stroked in and out. He was riding high, rubbing
her clit on every stroke. She was close again, then closer.

She flew. He kept up his penile strokes for a moment. Then he thrust hard
and throbbed deep within her. He put his hand between them as he came out,
then cuddled against her side. She turned on her side, After turning off the
light, he held her tight.

"You okay?" he asked. Did he think he'd hurt her?

"Oh, yes.... You?"

"Great." He put his hand on her breast, and they fell asleep that way.

She was still in his arms when she woke. This no longer felt so strange.

"Sweet Carolyn," Bill said. "Do you need your bathroom time first?" She did,
and took the offer. When she came out, he was waiting at the door. He
showered while she drifted back towards sleep.

"What time is your first class?" he asked from the doorway.

"Eleven."

"What time should I set the alarm?" Set the alarm? She should get up. He
watched while she did. He was fully dressed in a suit and tie. "I love you."
Whether he loved her because he was watching get up naked and scramble into
a robe or for some other reason wasn't clear.

"Can you wait while I fix breakfast?" What would she fix?

"Made my own. I have to leave, Kiss me goodbye." So she kissed him goodbye.
His hands slipped under her robe, and gripped her ass. The kiss was more
suited for starting something than for ending anything, but he broke it,
grabbed his coat, and went out the door. The clock, when she checked it,
said nearly eight. She took her shower.

She couldn't simply wear her diaphragm all the time. She took it out. When
she'd dressed, she put if in its case, and the case and jelly in the third
drawer under her pantyhose. She could insert it here. Bill wouldn't ask why
she was going into the bathroom. She broke out the cereal, and had that for
breakfast. He'd left some coffee for her, and she needed it.

She considered actually taking the car -- he'd clearly offered it -- but
parking on campus was a hassle. She could take the bus, but she had lots of
time, and she needed to clear her head. She found the walk was long and
chilling, and the book bag got heavier with every mile; next time, she'd
take the bus. Even so, she got to Brooke Hall with more than an hour to
spare. She found a quiet room, studied her books, found another quiet room
when the first one was used.

She got to class before Professor Kindle. As the students came in, they
clustered around her to admire her ring. Then Professor Kindle walked in
from the hall where he stood until it was time for class to begin. Everybody
performed better than they had in the last class, but Carolyn thought she'd
performed better than most.

"Every place has a maximum land rent for each use," she said. "That is the
economic profit that the particular use can generate there if the rent is
free. Now, for some uses, the rent may well be negative. A hot-dog stand in
the middle of a Kansas wheat field, for example. The highest maximum will
determine the use which gets it, with one strong caveat. For many uses, the
maximum land rent goes down drastically when there is a competitive firm
nearby, those uses are dispersive. So two lots next to each other which
would, in some abstract sense, be ideal as locations for grocery stores
won't <b>both</b> hold grocery stores. In such a dispersive situation, the
potential grocer may have significant bargaining power, and pay less than
the land is worth to him."

Several students quibbled about her analysis. And it was incomplete; any
paragraph would be. But Kindle didn't join in the quibbles. At the end of
the class he asked her to stay after. That could be good or bad. He might,
for that matter, have noticed the ring and want to congratulate her.
Noticing things like that, though, wasn't really Kindle's style.

"Miss Nolan," he began, "you are a good student and seem to think originally
as well as absorb information. I expect you to overcome the remaining
hurdles and go on to your doctorate. I can't, in good conscience, however,
recommend you as a teacher." She was about to ask why not, when he went on.
"You haven't demonstrated any accomplishments in that sphere; at least, you
haven't demonstrated any that I am aware of.

"Therefore, I've recommended you for a teaching assistanceship for the next
semester. I think the department will take my recommendation." She thought
that the department would take his recommendation, too. Indeed, this late in
the semester, she was probably already on their tentative schedule. Kindle
was being cautious. He'd got some secretary's word on the schedule before
talking to her. She'd have to redo her plans for her courses next semester,
but that would be easy.

"Why thank you, Professor. Just one thing." She waved the ring in front of
his face. "Next semester, I'll be Mrs. Pierce, not Miss Nolan."

"Well, they can deal with that. You won't be the first woman to get married
in school. When did you get engaged?"

"The proposal was last Saturday."

"Considering the excitement, your performance this morning was truly
impressive." High praise, very high praise, indeed, by Professor Kindle's
standards!

"Thank you."

Well, she'd told everybody, now.

The end.
Holidaze - F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com


These same events from Bill's perspective, can be read in:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/pie_02m.htm
Bill's experience

The first adventures of Carolyn with Bill:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/pie_01f.htm
"Get a Room - F"

Another story about another couple preparing for marriage:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/gus_02f.htm
"Life is Complicated"

The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm
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