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Message-ID: <61019asstr$1297714201@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Good Advice - F" -- Uther -- MF
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Date: Mon, 14 Feb 2011 15:10:01 -0500
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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.


Good Advice - F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

MF

Carolyn Nolan couldn't decide whether she was trying to express her
love for Bill or to show him up. Maybe both. Bill Pierce was a
wonderful guy in many ways -- sexy, generous, courteous. He would
be almost perfect if he weren't so opinionated. So cooking him a good
meal before they went to pre-marital counseling was expressing a love
for his good qualities. Cooking it on a night when he had said
specifically that cooking was impractical just might put a tiny crack in
his certainty that he was always right.

She'd finally taken the car, although she didn't have a permit to park on
campus. After lunch, she took all her books with her. She planned her
menu. She hadn't seen a pressure cooker, so pot roast was out. She
made a fine meat loaf, if she said so herself, but the last meal she'd
cooked for him had involved ground beef. She didn't want him to think
that everything she cooked did. (Especially since that was too close to
the truth.) Lamb chops -- she could cook lamb chops. He'd given her
$25 in cash for grocery shopping, and lamb chops for two -- if on the
high end of her menu options in cost -- wouldn't stretch that. She
stopped at a supermarket, got the chops at the meat department, when
she saw the size, she only got two. She got a pound of rice and some
frozen asparagus. She didn't think he had any in his freezer. She got  a
head of lettuce, some cukes and radishes, a bottle of lemon juice, and a
bottle of French dressing. If he didn't like French, she'd find out later
what he did like.

In the apartment, she studied for nearly three hours before it was really
time to start cooking. She started on the rice, using the only saucepan
he had with a close-fitting lid. She got everything done except for
actually cooking the asparagus and grilling the chops. Bill came home
before she expected him. She greeted him with a kiss.

"Mmm. Everything went well." He must mean the commute. "We have
lots of time, really. It's not 6:15 yet. Still, shouldn't you get your coat
on? Better to have the extra time to dawdle at the restaurant."

"We're not going to a restaurant. Wait two minutes, and I'll have dinner
on the stove. Wait here." The kitchen was quite visible from the living
room -- a wide opening, not a door. Still, he stayed where he was put.
She came back when the food was cooking, the coffee had begun,  and
the timer was set.

"It wasn't even two minutes," he said. "You're remarkable, but what can
you cook in that little time?"

"That wasn't the cooking; that was the culmination. Now, get your coat
off." After he hung his outerwear and his suit coat in the closet, they had
a much better kiss. His tongue played with hers and his hands clutched
her ass. She hugged him until the timer rang. She turned off the stove
and served the asparagus into a bowl and placed it on the table. By
then, the chops were done. She turned off the gas. She got the salad
bowl out of the 'fridge and dished up the rice. She set those bowls on
the table. She got two plates and a fork, and she knelt down by the grill
to put a chop on each plate. She put the plates on the table, and called
Bill.

"My! Fancy! You're a wonder." He tasted his chop, took some salad
and tasted it. "This is delicious. If I wasn't already engaged, I'd propose
to the cook."

"Too late. I'm engaged."

"Two ships that pass in the night." He praised, and ate heartily, his
chop. He praised the fluffiness and the flavor of the rice, and took
seconds. He praised the salad and ate a large amount of it. He carefully
didn't mention the asparagus. Now she knew why there wasn't any in
his freezer. Well, live and learn. She'd eat up the leftovers before they
spoiled.

"You cooked. I'll wash," he said at the end of the meal. They still had
time before the scheduled 7:30 meeting. He was, so far,
accommodating that way.

"Do you know how to clean off a grill?"

"No. Maybe you can show me. It looks like that one will be used."
Well, it wouldn't be used that much.

"Let's let it cool down." She went into the bedroom to do some more
studying. With him around, she couldn't sink as deeply into the books
as she'd like to. She could, and did, read her Economic History.

They got to the church a little early. Pastor Jake answered the
community-house door when Bill rang. He got down some data first.
Bill was 36. This was the first marriage for him, too. Then, he sat back
and put down his pen.

"Each of you have been telling me about yourselves. Now tell me about
the other. What would you say is your greatest compatibility as a
couple? Carolyn?" Compatibility? Now that was an idea. They must
have one. Oh, yes, one had come up.
      She: "We both think pop grammarians are jackasses."
      Jake: "You're getting married because of that agreement?"
      She: "Oh, no. We didn't find that out until after the engagement."
She didn't think that would impress.

"Bill?" Jake had stopped waiting for her response.

"Well, she's a woman, and I'm a man. All the best marriages start that
way." As did all the worst marriages. She could see Jake thinking that,
although he kept a splendidly straight expression.

"What are your thoughts about children?" That was addressed more to
Bill, which was ridiculous, Jake -- everybody in the church -- knew
Bill's opinion of children.

"That will have to depend on Carolyn's schedule." Bill had, at least,
learned that much. But what did that mean? When could a professor
take time to carry a child for nine months, let alone bear one? Did she
even *want* children? Would Bill tolerate a marriage that didn't
give him children? Did she want to go to her grave childless?

The two men had sat silently for some unknown time while these
thought stirred her mind and, probably, her face. Then Pastor Jake
broke the silence.

"Look when were you planning to have the wedding?"

"February 17, that is..." That was the first Saturday in class break, but
he didn't wait for the explanation.

"And when was the engagement?"

"Last Saturday." She was still doing the answering. She could tell him
about the past.

"Well, I've been thinking that you were precipitous. Maybe I was,
instead. Let's schedule this conference for another time. I know your
schedule is tight, Bill, and I have church meetings with other men with
the same tight schedule. I like to leave Saturdays open, but this is the
sort of session for which I keep them open. Can we schedule Saturday,
the 20th?"

"It would have to be afternoon," she said.

"Three p.m." She looked a question at Bill. He nodded and looked a
question at her. She nodded.

"Saturday, 3:00," Bill said.

"And you know what sort of questions I'll be asking. You can't plan out
your entire marriage in ten days. And, when you do plan it all out, those
plans will come unglued. But you need to have the marriage planned
beyond the wedding reception. But let me leave you with one thought.

"Sexual attraction is a fine aspect to a marriage. It is, though, merely
one aspect. It is not a solid foundation." Why did he think they were
basing their marriage on sexual attraction? Not that they weren't, but
where did he find out? But she didn't ask that. They left, drove home,
and climbed the stairs to the apartment in silence. Once inside, Bill hung
up their coats and kissed her before asking his question.

"What do you think of kids?"

"I don't really know. I don't have to ask you that, do I?"

"No. Let's get that grill clean." And, so, she showed him how. She then
chased him into the bedroom while she studied at the kitchen table. She
reviewed for the seminar and, then, finished the economic history
reading. At nine o'clock, she got her bathrobe from the bedroom. He
looked up from where he was lying on the bed when she came in, but
they kept their silence. When she came back in her robe, he got up and
took his own robe into the bathroom. She inserted the diaphragm, got
into bed, and turned on the lamp. Somehow, going to bed separately,
even when sleeping nude, seemed more married. They'd been lovers
stripping each other slowly in the living room; now, they were an old
couple meeting in bed.

He turned out the overhead light and got the contraceptive out of the
drawer before dropping his robe. He put the contraceptive under his
pillow before getting into bed.

"Want me to try to get warm before I hug you?" Good idea.

"Please."

"What did you think? ... Of Jake's questions?" She didn't know what
she thought. She'd already told him that about kids.

"Well, he's right. We have been planning things, but less a marriage than
living together." Buying a double bed and a bookcase wasn't really a
lifetime plan.

"Well, the next three years are the budget crunch. And we have said
we'll get a larger apartment. And we've said you'll do what's best for
your academic career. If we haven't said I'll keep working at Andalusia,
we've both been assuming it. In case you're interested, they're more
likely to promote me -- though not soon -- than to fire me." She
realized that she'd been assuming that he'd keep his job.

"What's best for my academic career with the restriction that I stay in
the Chicago area." Well, she'd got that out.

"Well, yes. I was afraid that you'd look at that and refuse me."

"It isn't that bad. I won't have to choose between a junior college here
and Harvard. If I have a chance at Harvard, and we're talking decades
in the future, I'll have a chance at Northwestern or -- at worst --
Loyola."

"Or the U of C."

"I'll never get a job at Chicago." She'd never get an offer from Chicago,
and she probably wouldn't take it if she did. She didn't want to quarrel
now, and her opinion of the Chicago School was certain to cause a
quarrel.

"I got the take-home figures for next year. That's still short-term, but we
can work out a budget. I'll read real-estate ads in the *Trib* on
the El tomorrow, maybe the next day, too. That will give us some
figures for larger apartments in Evanston. Can you estimate your
clothing expense?"

"Look, I've been thinking about that. Where I teach will influence what
I wear, travel costs, and lunch costs. But the salary has to cover that.
Why don't we just say that I'll plan on my present clothing expense, If
it's more, it'll come out of my salary. Nobody will offer a salary which
doesn't cover that much."

"And total up your other expenses -- lipstick and the like. Anyway,
we'll put together a budget. What else do we have to decide in these
ten days?" Aside from children, and he wasn't pushing her. Of course,
she was pushing herself, and he must know that. Well, the future was
pushing both of them, much more the future than Pastor Jake.

"Why I like you."

"Well," he replied, "I didn't know you did."

"He's right, you know. Sexual desire is an insufficient basis for a
marriage."

"So just move in." His tone was joking.

"Too late. I showed everybody the ring." Her joke contained a hell of a
lot of truth. Probably, his did too.

"Well, if it's a weak foundation, we should be sure to give it plenty of
exercise to strengthen it." He reached across to her left shoulder. He'd
waited long enough; the hand was quite warm.

She turned her head for a kiss. Their lips gently touched and their
tongue only touched tips. His hand stroked to her left breast, continued
on to just short of the nipple. Then he moved it off to her side. The
pause was brief; he got up on his elbow.

"Manage the covers, would you?" That was a reasonable request. She
made sure the sheet and blanket were tucked around his shoulders
while he kissed over her face and caressed her breast. When he came
in for a serious kiss, his hand stroked down over her stomach. When it
got to her delta, she spread her legs a little.

For the longest time, though, he ignored the invitation. He stroked his
fingernails across her delta. He caressed each thigh separately. He
rubbed her external lips against one another. When, finally, he did
stroke in her cleft, it was several fingers at once. He didn't spread it
wide, those fingers were all behind one another. His kisses went from
her mouth to her throat to her right breast. He reached her nipple just
before he touched her clit. He licked the nipple and stroked the clit until
she was close.

Then his kisses jumped to her right nipple. His hand was absolutely still,
not helping at all. She raised her hips to rub her clit over his finger. He
moved his fingers down her cleft. He rubbed one against each lip, but
they were nowhere near her clit. He started kissing down her breast,
too. When he got to her throat, she couldn't stand it any more.

"Bill!" she moaned. He responded by covering her mouth with his. His
finger returned to her clit, though. The strokes were wonderfully
exciting. She was close, then even closer...

She flew. If she moaned, his mouth caught the sound.

When he left her mouth, she needed the breathing space. She gasped in
one breath after another while he kissed her forehead and her ear. His
finger began to stroke her lips again -- slowly, gently, enticingly. He
trailed kisses down her throat towards her breast. By the time he
reached her nipple, seemingly hours later, she was close again. While
he sucked on her right nipple, he removed his hand completely. She
might have reached to put it back if she hadn't noticed that he was
digging under his pillow. Then he was moving across her leg. Poised
over her, he used his hand to spread her lips. He stopped, barely
inside, to kiss both breasts. Then he filled her, even stretched her.

"Carolyn," he said. But it wasn't the time for speech. She pushed up
against him and, then, moved her hips back. He caught her rhythm, and
moved deeply into her, out until her entrance held only his tip, deeply
into her again. His motion was agonizingly slow, and she hung there -- if
you can hang there lying flat and swinging your hips up and down -- for
a minute. Maybe it was an hour -- maybe a life time.

Then she flew again, and he drove into and out of her while she flew.
Then he thrust himself deep into her and against her while he pulsed.

He lay on her for moments afterward. It was a pleasant, warm, weight
at first, but she was happy when he moved over. She rolled to her side
of the bed to give him room, and moved back against him in the spoon.

"Love you," he said to the back of her neck. "I checked about the
license. The major requirement is that each of us get a test for venereal
diseases. There are fees and a brief waiting period after the exam, too,
so we shouldn't wait too long. Anyway..." Anyway, he'd made the call
he said he would.

"Do you ever worry that there's something we're forgetting absolutely?"
she asked.

"All the time," he answered. "We get down in the front of the sanctuary,
and Jake says: 'Wait a minute, you haven't done this. I can't perform the
ceremony.' Well, we'll ask him next time. It's more likely something we
haven't thought about which makes it damn hard to live together." Not
that there weren't things she *had* thought about which would
make it damn hard to live together.

"Someday, you'll have to give me a list of the foods you don't eat. And
do you mind adding a pressure cooker to the shopping list, maybe a
better pot for cooking rice?"

"Sure and another wastebasket, I'd think. You probably need one on
your side."

"Well," she admitted, "your additions are going to be cheaper than
mine. I thought of a cookbook. I don't know how to cook many things.
But I want to wait until after the ceremony. Mama is likely to give me
one."

"Well, women have more than one cookbook. Have you ever seen the
shelf in Gladys's kitchen?"

"You're not marrying Gladys. Get very clear about that. I'm not going to
exhaust *one* cookbook in my entire life. I just want to add a
few recipes to my repertoire before you get sick of the ones I can
cook."

"I've thought of something earlier, don't think I mentioned it," he said.
"For our weekly food budget, why don't you think of how many meals
you'll cook in a normal week. Then tell me the number, and get a
grocery budget to supply those. I'll figure out the eating-out budget for
the other meals, at mid-range restaurants. That total is our food budget.
When exam time or something makes you want to cook less, we'll eat
out, but more cheaply. For a girl who asks for McDonald's and pizza,
that shouldn't be too great a sacrifice." Well, he was the one used to
eating out. Wouldn't the sacrifice be on his part?

Was this what marriage was like, sleepily talking business after sex?
Well, they'd have other times to talk when they weren't so rushed....
But, really, two people in the same bed, what did she expect them to
talk about? Current events? Baseball scores? What did Mama and
Daddy talk about in bed? Her, probably, at least when she had been at
home. You think so much about sex during adolescence, but Jake was
right, there was more to marriage than sex.

The conversation went on, weaving them into something closer to
marriage than the sex had.

That morning, Bill made sure she stayed awake. He cooked her
breakfast again.

"Look," she asked between bites, "Can I make some more phone calls
from here? They sort of involve the marriage." She sure didn't want to
discuss contraception over the hall phone with the entire floor listening.

"Sure. And that doesn't restrict it.... I mean that you can make phone
calls, and they don't have to be about the marriage. Obviously we can
afford only so much on our long-distance bill, but you're the person
who wants to be careful about expenses." Well, he did too. But she
knew what he meant. Actually, she had only thought about local calls,
but she'd call Mama again, too. She deserved to know that the
wedding wouldn't be fancy.

Somehow, when she was on the bus going to class, she discovered that
she'd made her decision about children. They'd have one -- God willing
and all that -- but only when she was in some sort of permanent
appointment. Colleges had to give some sort of maternity leave didn't
they? Anyway, a college giving a one-year appointment would be
pissed off if she spent most of it gravid and a vital segment of it in the
hospital or at home. She'd tell Bill, and she'd hope he would agree.

She starred in class, partly because she arrived long before the seminar
and reviewed. She ate lunch in the residence hall and came back to the
apartment by bus. If she were going to run up the long-distance bill,
she'd at least avoid car expenses. Her first call was to Gladys.

"Hagopian residence." Was it a residence? Well it was a decent-sized
house.

"Gladys, this is Carolyn Nolan."

"Yes, Carolyn?"

"Well, one of the things I should do before marriage is go on the pill.
That takes a prescription. Do you know a Gynecologist you would
recommend?"

"Dr. Gabel does an excellent job. Do you want his number?" She took
it down. "Look, Carolyn, this is none of my business, but..." Damn few
statements were always accurate, but she'd never known that statement
to be less than 200% correct. On the other hand, Gladys had been a
friend, and she'd rather hear it from her than have her tell others.

"Go ahead."

"Y'know. Lust is different from love.... You and Bill have a lot, but do
you have enough to build a marriage?" Right on two counts. She and
Bill had a rocky foundation for a marriage, and it was none of Gladys's
*damned* business.

"Well Gladys..." How could she put this? "It's not the question of what
basis for a marriage would be best." That wasn't it. "Let's say that I was
going to marry someone else -- say Keith. Skip all the other reasons I
shouldn't marry Keith, Would you be happy if you knew that I still
found Bill much more desirable than Keith?"

"I think I see your point. But couldn't you just scratch that itch and go
on?"

"Some itches just get worse when you scratch them." And Bill,
whatever his other faults -- his myriad of other faults -- was a skilled
and thoughtful lover.

"Well, I said it was none of my business, but I blame myself for
Thanksgiving." And, in some way, she should -- or credit herself for
Thanksgiving.

"Well, I'm thankful for that Thanksgiving feast. I'm sorry you feel this
way. I'd thought of asking you to be my matron of honor."

"Carolyn, You shouldn't. Certainly, you have friends your own age."

"Yeah, Three roommates, for example. And, if I asked one of them, I'd
make two enemies for life." Gladys laughed.

"There is that. But remember that the part after the honeymoon is lots
more important than the part before."

"Did you tell Barbara that?"

"Fewer, although she would deny this, than a hundred times." And, they
parted friends, if not in agreement. Her next call was to the doctor.

"Dr. Gabel's office. The Doctor is not available."

"I'd like to make an appointment. I was referred by a patient."

"Yes, ma'am. Is this an emergency?"

"Not a medical emergency." A social emergency, maybe. "I'm engaged
to be married, and I wish to go on the pill."

"Yes ma'am. That will require a full examination. Does next Tuesday
sound like a good time?" It sounded like a bad time for an examination.
She'd have her period by that time.

"How about the week after?"

"Tuesday?"

"Would Thursday afternoon be possible?"

"Certainly." The settled on 2:30.

"One more thing. As I said, I'm getting married, and the license requires
being examined for venereal disease." She didn't want her, even a
stranger on a phone, thinking that she thought he might have one. "Does
the doctor do that?"

"That's a blood test. We can have that done and issue the certificate
you need. Shall I put that on your appointment?"

"Please." And that took care of the easy ones.

"Hello?"

"Mama?"

"Carolyn. Have you settled on the wedding date yet?"

"Yeah, pending your approval. The first Saturday in semester break is
February 17. Can you come for that?"

"For our daughter's wedding, we can come."

"And we're talking about something very simple."

"Carolyn! But I only have one daughter!" As if she wouldn't have
noticed a sister around the house.

"Thing is, Mama, that we have lots of expenses facing us these next few
years. A big splurge now might mean that I had to take a job that
would wreck my future." The reality was not that dramatic, but drama
naturally fitted when talking to Mama. "We only have so many
resources, and you can't ask us to spend them to please you."

"But, Carolyn, the wedding is Daddy's expense, not yours." That was
nice to hear, although she knew the social conventions.

"Thing is, Mama, we were depending on your paying the tuition on my
next semester. I'm not sure you can afford both." And, while she hadn't
consulted Bill, that would be a fair trade for Mama's running her
wedding.

"Well, we were planning to do that. We've already mailed the check."
Which she'd bet anything was a fib. Mama wouldn't know even if it
were true. Daddy paid the bills, and didn't tell Mama when.

"Well, in that case, we'll think about the wedding again. Bill isn't here
now. And I can't speak for him." Mama heard concession, and soon
got off the line.

Well, she had studying to do. And, since she had only her books for the
seminar, she studied that. When she had Saturday's prep done, she
decided she had enough time to change books. She left a note for Bill:
      Pick me up at the church at 8:30.
She took the bus. At the residence hall, she packed all her clean underwear
and another sweatshirt and pair of jeans in her book bag. There was
just enough room left for her Friday books. She left her
economic-history book in the bag. She studied Money and Banking
until she was satisfied that she could handle it the next day. By then, it
was almost time for dinner. She put the book in her bag and took it and
her coat down to eat.

From there, she walked to the church. If she was a little late for choir
rehearsal, Miss Armbruster didn't complain. Bill was waiting at the top
of the inside stairs with the other non-singing spouses. As had become
their habit, they delayed their greeting kiss until they were in the car.

"I'm assuming that you ate," Bill said. "I had some of that sloppy-joe
stuff on the rice. Micro-waved, it isn't a bad mixture." He could eat
left-overs when he wasn't taking her out. Good! Because left-overs
would be a major part of their diet soon. She wasn't going to cook
something special seven days a week.

"I ate. After all, I have a meal plan. And I had just committed you to
more outgo." He looked her a question. "A tux and my corsage, I think.
You've already bought the rings. Mama wants a fancy wedding. I
explained that we expected them to pay next semester's tuition instead.
She said that they would cover both."

"Um, when did I expect them to cover next semester's tuition?"

"While I was on the phone to Mama."

"Well, we're one couple. You can commit me. Especially for something
like that. But what made you leave me so suddenly?"

"Let's understand one thing. I'm not leaving you every time I go back to
the Residence Hall. I have things to do there. I have things there. I have
different courses Monday, Wednesday, and Friday than I have
Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I have to change course materials, I
have to change clothes. What I don't have to do is explain myself every
fucking time."

"You sure you don't dye hour hair." Which was a wild non sequitur
even for Bill. Did he think she was that old?

"You've seen the hair that women don't dye often enough."

"Seen it? Yes. Often enough? No. But redheads are supposed to be
the ones with the temper."

"Well, you lose. You got the brunette with the temper."

"Okay."

"I left you a note. I should have been explicit that I was going to eat,
maybe. I thought you could figure that out from the time. I'm used to
being around people who can see the obvious."

"So I asked. I didn't assume the opposite; I checked. Assuming things
about you hasn't really worked well for me. And we're going to be
married. You're going to live there all the time. I think that's what
*really* bugs you, not my question."

"Well, I'll have that as my residence." Echoes of Gladys's 'Hagopian
residence.' "I won't be there all the time; you're not there all the time."

"But, aside from the days you know I'll be gone, I expect to tell you
when I won't be."

"And I told you, if not that I was gone -- I repeat that I'm used to
people who could have figured that out -- at least when you should
pick me up."

"And I did, didn't I? Do you want to go home now?" They'd been
sitting in the parked car all this time.

"Yeah. Look," she said as he drove away, "I'm an individual. I have
to have some space in my life."

"Well, we're both individuals. We have, however, agreed to join our
lives together. For the life we've chosen to have together, you need to
do some things to please your school and your future employers. I have
to do some things to please my present employer. I think I've been
flexible about that. Then we have to please *ourselves*. But it's
more than your pleasing your own damn self. I don't think I've been
pressing in on you." And he really didn't. Taking charge was so much
his nature, that he never noticed when he did it.

"You don't? Well, wise up. You press in on me every time we talk."

"Then, next time, say, 'This is something your pushing me on.' Be real.
Be specific. Talk about something I've done, not something you think I
am."

They got to the apartment in silence. He still took her coat. Was she a
guest or did she live here? Did she want him to take her coat? Did she
want him not to? Was it what he did or what he was? Their kiss, if not
as friendly as usual, was still hot.

"Was dinner long enough ago?" He asked. "Want to go to bed now?"

"Look, about Jake's question on children. I've decided."

"Yes?" They were still standing there in the living room.

"I think I could go with one, but the time has to be settled. A permanent
employer will have some sort of maternity-leave policy. Nobody giving
you a one-year contract will want you dropping the class in the middle
of the semester. So, we'll have to wait until I'm settled."

"You didn't say this last night."

"I just saw it this morning," she admitted. "I think my questions jelled
into an answer in my sleep."

"Last night, what did I say? If he asks me again, what should I say
differently?" Well, he'd said it depended on her schedule, and -- with
plenty of additions -- that was what he should say again. "You know,
you know more about your field than I do. But you think I don't know
anything about it. I know that wants are infinite while supply is limited.

"Well," he continued, "I want Carolyn, lithe and slender and active, in
my bed every night.  I want you to be a baby machine, turning out a
new infant for me to play with every year. I want you singing in the
choir so I can say, 'that sweet tone; that's my wife.' I want you sitting
beside me, with my arm around you down in the pew. But the supply of
Carolyns is even more limited than most supplies. I can't have all of
these. I'm not going to abandon you, or even scream, because one or
the other isn't available.

"Now, was that what the earlier fight was about?" It couldn't have been.
But she could see why he was suspicious.

"You really think of me in your bed that way?" she asked. She wasn't
lithe. She was more than fifteen pounds overweight. And she hadn't
been particularly active.

"Sure, and 'every night' is a tiny fraction of what I *want*. But
Carolyn isn't the only supply which is limited."

"Your desire is limited?" That was what he was saying, wasn't it?

"My ability to perform," he said, "is quite limited. My desire seems to
be limitless. Isn't that what you say about wants. Anyway, when we're
not making love, after we've made love, I can hold you in my arms.
That's another pleasure." He was saying he liked to cuddle quietly?
Weren't boys always after more, only accepting the quiet cuddles as a
limit the girl set?

"Oh, Bill, I like to be in your arms, too."

"Then why aren't we lying like that? And, if something more develops,
we might just enjoy that, too." And she did enjoy sex -- "something
more" -- with Bill. He made quite an effort to increase her enjoyment.
This was a sensible suggestion, whatever its source.

"My bathroom time first?" She had to remove her face. Diaphragm?
Well, she had other things in the bedroom.

"Certainly." So she went into the bedroom for her robe and diaphragm,
then into the bathroom. When she came out, he went in. She was
waiting for him, naked in bed with the bedside lamp on, when he came
in. He turned off the overhead light, dropped his robe over the chair,
and took a contraceptive out of his drawer. His erection was at about
half-mast. He lay on his side of the bed, apparently warming up his
hands before touching her.

"Do you really think of me that way?" she asked. Lithe, and slender,
and active?

"Oh yes. You have to know how sexually desirable you are. After all,
am I the first man who has wanted you? The breasts, sure. But also the
hair. I may have been the first man to ask you to allow me to brush it.
Was I the first to want to touch it?" Well, he certainly wasn't the first to
run his hands through her hair. Jeff had messed it up rather than caring
for it. "And your buns. You must have noticed how guys look at you
when you're walking away." Girls did, and complained about the more
obviously ogling boys. It wasn't particular to her.

"And you don't look at any other woman's ass?"

"I never said that. You are especially pretty. That doesn't mean that all
other girls are ugly. I've looked at plenty of girls; I've only proposed to
one." He reached out a hand. "Warm enough?"

"Yeah." Bill had his faults, but he was considerate about that. He got up
on his elbow and leaned over for a kiss. His tongue was hot, even if his
cheek was still cool. His hand went to her breast. When, some time
later, it stroked down over her stomach. He broke the kiss to talk.

"See? Sure, I'm interested in the destination, but I like it here, too.
You're so soft and firm here." She tightened her abs. "Yeah.... Now
look away from me." When she did, he kissed her ear. That tickled,
and she turned her head back. He stroked her cleft and clit while
kissing her forehead, nose, mouth again, chin, throat, and down to the
left breast.

He was sucking her nipple when she flew. He kissed down between
her breasts and up her right breast. His hand, which had been still,
began to brush over her clit again while he sucked the right breast. She
was close, so close, when he moved off her breast.

"Let me watch," he said. He stared into her eyes and kept rubbing her
clit, until she flew again. "Oh, Carolyn. Oh darling," he said. He got
between her legs while she was recovering. He kissed from the nipple
of one breast down the valley, up to the nipple of the other and back
until she reached for him. She noted that he already had a contraceptive
on his penis. Good! Now to get it where she needed it.

"Bill."

"Yes." He raised his hips slightly, and then moved them towards her
under the guidance of her hand. She spread herself with her left hand
while placing him just there. "Carolyn!" He moved into her, filled her,
stretched her.

She put her hands on his hips as he adjusted himself. Then he was
driving in and out. His chest just brushed against her nipples. As she felt
herself get closer, she pushed up against his downstrokes. She was
close; she was even closer.

She flew. And he moved back and forth through her clasping before
falling on her even more heavily than before. She could feel him pulse
deep within her as he lay on her. She was feeling his weight as a burden
before he rose slightly, reached between them, and rolled over to her
right. He took the covers with him, but soon returned them. She felt him
turn further, then the lamp clicked off. Soon, they were spooned
together. He was hugging her with his arm between her breasts, and she
was hugging that arm.

"Mmm," she said.

"Mmm. Love you. Do I need to develop more diversity?"

"Hunh?" He'd lost her again.

"In love making. I'm enjoying myself, but do you need more ways to go
over?" She figured he meant kinds of orgasm. Were there kinds?

"You do great." And he did. His faults disappeared when he was
engaged in sex.

"Well, fine. And if you need more later... Hell! If you want more later, if
you even wonder whether it could be better, then tell me then. Okay? I
want to be the best thing that ever happened to you, the best thing that
you could imagine happening to you."

"Bill. In bed, you are."

"Thanks. And thanks, I guess, for the honesty of the qualification. Still
thinking about Jake's comment on building a marriage on sex?"

"Well, he's right. We're walking into a ripsaw. On the other hand, what
choice do we have? It's not like we could start over and find a better
basis for our marriage."

"That's true."

"I asked Gladys what she'd think if I were to marry Keith while lusting
after you?"

"Isn't Keith a little young for you?"

"Yeah. But I was making it personal for Gladys. One of the guys from
my seminar would look fine to her. She saw my point."

"Look, on the budget. Find out --  Hell, you may know already -- what
we'll be paying for your last year. You do have one more year after this
one, don't you?"

"More or less. Depends on how long it takes to write the dissertation.
Which depends, among other things, on how complex a problem one
looks at. It has to be fairly complex. They won't let you get away with
term-paper stuff. It depends, also, on how well I'll be able to
compartmentalize. You're teaching during the day, and you come home
to write at night. People have gone years before they threw in the
towel. For all I know, people have finished dissertations after years of
work."

"Especially at the U of C. But didn't we say that you weren't going to
be teaching?"

"We didn't say it that strongly. I'm not going to take a teaching job that
either takes me away from you or crowds out the dissertation writing."

"Okay. Your field. My field is the budget, and -- I'll admit -- I hadn't
thought of tuition until you told me you'd squeezed another quarter's
tuition out of your mother." Well, she hadn't *squeezed* it -- not
quite. "It seems to me that big things, especially big things like tuition
which only come up occasionally, need their own budget line. Rent,
too, even though it comes up every month. Then little things we add
together, and each of us gets an allowance of pocket money. So we
don't put EL fare or lipstick into the budget. But add it up carefully, so
we don't short you."

"You're going to put me on an allowance?"

"And me. And you'll see that my allowance is bigger. I can skimp on
some things, but not lunches. I eat too many of those with my
coworkers." She didn't like the picture of being on an allowance, but he
made it sound reasonable. And the hugging made this conversation
quite pleasant. She drifted off to sleep.

The next day, she found that she was well-prepared for all her classes.
She realized while waiting for the bus back after lunch that she was
living in a fool's paradise. She was doing fine in class participation,
would probably do fine on the exams. She hadn't done a word on her
papers, hadn't even thought of them, since she'd been back. Well, she
was scheduled for a shopping trip the next afternoon. After that, it
would be her period. She would have to cut Bill off, anyway; she could
work on her papers then. And, if push came to shove, she'd turn in the
fist draft of the Money and Banking paper. She needed to put real time
into the Regional Economics paper.

She walked away from the bus stop and went to the library. She'd sort
of picked a topic over Christmas for the Regional Economics paper --
the inter-regional price differentials for steel -- and it seemed too late
to
change her mind now. Anyway, even though it had been a different
class, her last paper for Kindle had been local and extensive over time.
This would be national, and essentially a slice of time. She got lost in
her work, and got home after Bill did.

"Sorry. I was at the library."

"I could have picked you up there."

"Yeah. I should have called and left a message." They had a nice kiss
with her coat open before he got his own coat on and took them out to
eat.

"Have you done anything about the budget?" he asked in the restaurant.

"Look, Bill, do we really need that before the wedding?" He looked
surprised, but thought about that for a minute.

"Not, I suppose, *really*."

"Well, I woke up. I've been doing fine on my daily stuff, but I haven't
touched my papers. We're going shopping Saturday, but I wish we
could postpone anything else that's not required before the wedding
until afterwards. I need more study time."

"You're the one who said we needed a double bed."

"And so we do. I'm not saying that Bill is wrong. I'm saying that I was
wrong, and not about something you could have known."

"Okay. We still have to see Jake, though. He won't perform a service
without the counseling. And we need the license, which means we need
to get the blood tests."

"I've scheduled mine. Can you get yours?"

"Sure. I just expected to do them together."

"Well we won't." She thought for a moment. "Do you have a
typewriter? ... At home, I mean."

"Sure."

"Can I use it?"

"Sure. Should I get it out when we get home. It's not the best."

"Well, student papers aren't graded on quality of typewriter." Although
a paper written on two sorts of typewriter might look too messy. She'd
see. "Could you get it out when we get home and show it to me? I don't
need it right now."

He did. It was, at least, elite. She typed a few lines and put it away. He
tried to do it for her, but she wanted to know how to take it out and put
it away.

"Now, I have typewriters in both places -- useful."

"You could just move in," he said.

"That would be even more work. You're not going to see much or me
for the next few days. And, now, what space can I have to study
tonight? There are classes tomorrow."

"What works best? Kitchen table?"

"Yeah." And she studied in the kitchen while he hid in the bedroom.
When she went in for her bathrobe, he was lying under the covers in his
underwear reading a paper. "Back soon," she promised. When she
came back, he went for his own bathroom time. She took the
opportunity to insert her diaphragm and climb into bed. When he came
into the room, she belatedly turned on the lamp. "Sorry."

"No problem." He turned off the overhead light. "I could probably get
from here to there in the dark, if need be. But I'd just walk back and
forth turning it on." He put the contraceptive under his pillow, got in,
and hid his hands in his armpits. "Same rule -- warm hands?"

"Yeah, but lie on your back." When he did, she got up on her elbow
and started kissing over his face.

"Huh?"

"This will keep you quiet." She kissed his mouth. This time,
*she* was the one exploring *his* mouth. "This is for
being so cooperative today," she said when she broke the kiss, "and for
being more cooperative later when I need you to be."

"I'm starting to like what I hear less than what I feel." Well, she was
liking what she had to say less than what she was doing. Being in
control because he couldn't touch her with his cold hands was certainly
unfair, but it was fun.

"I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not economics more."

"Actually, you could."

"Actually, I could. Actually, I suspect, he could, too. But if you can't get
excuses from poetry, why do they make you learn so much of it?" He
laughed.

"I warn you. My hands are getting warm, and when they do, I'm going
to ravish you." She shut him up again. His tongue, at least, was plenty
warm. So, when she was done with that kiss, she moved up his body
so that her left breast was at mouth level. He kissed it and licked it; then
he sucked it. She raised a little and moved so that her right breast could
get that treatment.  Apparently deciding his hands were warm enough,
he pulled her ass towards him. He kept sucking on her nipple while he
squeezed one of her ass cheeks and then the other. She tightened the
muscle he was squeezing.

"Mmmm," he said around her breast. She raised herself again.

"Didn't your Mama teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"

"She tried. I'm unteachable about some things." She suspected that he
was unteachable about everything. She dropped onto her back, letting
him struggle with the covers.

"You know," she pointed out, "we're not only going to have to get a
new bed but new sheets and blanket as well."

"Yeah." He seemed less interested in the budget discussion than he had
been. You'd think something else had his attention. He stroked the
bottom of her right breast, and from there to her delta. When he tried to
go further, she opened her legs to accommodate him. After a little
teasing of her lips, he went right to her clit. She lay back to let him work
his magic. He kissed her face, her throat, her breast. As he sucked her
nipple she could feel that she was close. Suddenly, he abandoned her
nipple to speak.

"Yes, Carolyn. Cross over. Let me watch you cross over." He stared
into her eyes but kept stroking her clit for what seemed like hours
more. Then she flew. "Yes," he said. "Yes, darling." Then he went back
to sucking her nipple until she was quite finished.

"Yeah!" he said when he dropped down beside her. "You are so
beautiful, so erotic." He kissed her shoulder until she reached for him.
"Uh huh, I'm not ready. Do you want me now?" She wanted something.
When she nodded, he got the contraceptive from under the pillow and
put it on. He got between her legs and opened her with his hand. The
tip of his penis was just inside her entrance as he adjusted his position.
He put the palm of his hand on her lower stomach and upper delta. She
felt him enter her, fill her. He shifted above her to cuddle her right
breast in his hand. "Love you," he said. Then he began to move.

The feel of him within her, the rub of his thumb on her clit, the brush of
his chest on her nipples, the sight of his face above her, were all
exciting. And she savored all these sensations until her attention drew
inward. Then all she felt was tension until she flew.

"Carolyn," he said. "God!" Then he was pulsing within her. Then, he
was a warm, dear, weight over her. Then, he was an oppressive,
stifling, weight over her. Then, he moved off. "Sorry." He discarded the
contraceptive and clicked off the lamp. They settled into the spoon.

"You know," she said, "I don't think we'd lose track of each other in
this bed, even in a double bed, if the lamp were off. It would save
electricity."

"But I like to watch you." He liked to watch her? When she flew? Well,
that seemed clear. Did she want him watching her? It was a very
private time. On the other hand, she couldn't deny that he contributed.
He was an artist in arousing and satisfying her, and -- she supposed --
he was entitled to enjoy his art work. All the same, he sounded weirder
and weirder. Warm, though, against her back. She drifted into sleep.

"Good morning, sweet Carolyn." This greeting on awakening didn't
startle her. The kiss, though, was scratchy. She got up and grabbed her
robe. It was chilly! The bathroom was chilly, too, and she ran the
shower hot while she did her chores. She turned it off and ran back to
bed.

"Shower that fast?"

"Didn't really shower. That was for heat."

"Okay." He did, however, shower. When he came out, she went in
again with her clothes. She was dressed from the ankles up when she
came out. "Eggs?" he asked.

"Yeah," he cracked them and put them in the pan. She sat with her first
cup of coffee and watched him cook. While she ate, he dressed.

"Look outside," he said. She did. The streets were covered in snow.
"Can you drive in this?"

"Not very well." Her driving experience was years old, not all that
extensive, and in Arknasas. They got snow, but less than Illinois did.

"Why don't I drive you and leave you where you want? I'll park near
the EL."

"Okay. Residence hall. I have a pair of boots." So that is what they did.
"Pick me up at the library at nine would you?" she asked him before the
parting kiss. "I really have to study. I'll eat." But it wasn't until she
got to
Economic History class that she found out how much she really needed
to study. Professor Walther assigned a term paper. This late? She
wasn't the only one cursing under her breath. Well, she needed a C or
better, and -- really -- better than a C in Economic History wasn't
going to matter much. Kindle would be her dissertation advisor. Her
grades on Economic-History tests were more As than Bs; her paper
needed to fit the minimum terms. And the bastard didn't deserve any
more work after assigning a paper this late in the term.

She went to the library with a tentative plan -- even a tentative title,
Supply, Demand, and the School Marm. After the Civil War, or
so she had read somewhere, there were more women than men in New
England. (After the Civil War, there were probably more women than
men in every spot in the USA.) The educated and unattached New
England women either worked in the clothing factories -- unacceptable
to their class image -- or went off to be schoolteachers somewhere.
Hence the frontier 'schoolmarm,' beloved of cowboy movies. Well the
first data confirming that story were in *Historical Statistics of the
United States*, the population of the New England states in 1870
had been skewed as to sex. She dove into the other statistics. She
needed at least one memoire, and by the time she left for Money and
Banking, she had the call numbers of two possibles. After lunch at the
residence hall, she went back to the library and dug.

Before dinner, she had her note cards filled out. It was a shallow idea,
applying economic arguments to non-economic activities, and scantily
sourced, but if Walther wanted more, he could give his students more
warning. She went back to more meticulous work on the paper for the
Regional Economics seminar.

When she crept out of the library at 9:00, the Packard was there. They
inched home.

"And how was your day?" he asked.

"Bastard assigned another paper this late. And how was yours?"

"All sorts of holes today. Representatives are used to driving to see
their doctors. Look at how we're going. Half the day was worse....
And which bastard was this?"

"Walther. Economic History. I'm going to blow him a load of hot air
and take the lowered grade. C is good enough for Economic History."

"Don't cut off your nose to spite your face."

"I'm not, although I'd love to turn in a bomb disguised as a paper.
Prioritize. Bastard isn't even in the department. He definitely won't be
on the dissertation committee. Look, grammatical, well-typed, proper
citations properly used -- he can't give it an F. And, with my test
scores, a D paper will average out to a C in the course, maybe even a
B depending how I do on the final and how he weights it."

"I don't know anything about your situation. I'm only reacting to your
temper. Just don't let your anger with him do you damage."

"I'd think you'd be glad to see my temper aimed at someone else."

"Yeah. But I don't want it to harm you."

From the look of the sofa, he'd been watching TV in her absence. That
was great. Her crunch times weren't TV times, and their affair hadn't
been a TV time, anyway. What would he do during her next crunch
time? Whether she studied in the kitchen or the living room, he couldn't
have TV. Even in the bedroom, she could hear it. Well, this had
demonstrated that crunch times were library times. She could reverse
her previous practice and spend days here studying texts and evenings
in the library researching. He could have his TV time alone. And after
her head got tired of the library work, she could come home to his
loving.

And his loving this night turned out to be a great reward for her coming
home.

He wanted to spend morning time in bed cuddling.

"That's great for those of us who get weekends off. Do you want me to
make breakfast?"

"No. Why don't you shower first?" When she came out, she dressed
while he fixed breakfast. They ate together. "The way I see it, I drive
you to class, pick you up from class, drive us to the EL. We go down
by the EL, shop Carson's, and come back by the EL. Somewhere in
there, we'll have to have lunch. Probably better up here, although the
Loop isn't so crowded on Saturdays."

"Why don't I pack a lunch you can bring with you? I'm just getting used
to the convenience of a car again. You want something with you, you
put it in the car."

"Yeah." Which could be agreement with her observation or her
suggestion. It could also be a simple grunt to keep the conversation
going.

"Why don't I make more of those sloppy joes?" There had to be some
left, and the buns looked untouched. "Do you want one or two?"

"For lunch? Two." She made sandwiches and backed them in a bag she
found, The mixture was frozen now, but it would thaw over time if left
on the kitchen counter. This lunch needed fruit, and she asked Bill to
stop at a market on the way to her class. She bought four apples, and
told him to bring two of them with the lunches. He did, also a good
supply of paper napkins. They ate sitting in the car outside of Brooke
Hall. As he started the car, he had another question.

"How is you cash supply doing?"

"Fairly well." $25 went a long way for a woman who was provided
with free rides almost everywhere. "But I can't buy what we need
today."

"Nah! I have a card at Carson's. We'll have to get you on that, too." A
long pause while she tried to understand, "too." Along with him? Then
he changed the subject. "So how did class go? This is your most
important one, isn't it?"

"Fairly well. If I didn't stand out as much today as I did on Tuesday, it
wasn't a weakness on my part. The others have got their minds back
from vacation, now."

"While your mind never goes on vacation."

"It went on vacation, maybe went to sleep, about the papers. And,
then, that bastard, Walther, assigns another one."

The EL had plenty of room, Carson's was a little more crowded. When
they chose a bedstead, she looked at price tags. When it came to
choosing mattresses, Bill warned her not to.

"The question is what firmness is best for you. They'll last more than a
decade, 4,000 nights. A $40 difference is a penny a night." He could
talk all he wanted about their both being frugal. He didn't seem frugal to
her. He even persuaded her to get an electric blanket with separate
controls for each side. She took the aprons, but they scheduled
everything else for delivery. He picked up a form to get her name on his
charge card.

Back home, she needed to get to work.

"I need to work. Do you want to hide in the bedroom, or should I go
back to the library?"

"Um? How about I do the wash? I'll need to come and go a few times,
but I'll be out of the house except for that. I won't even kiss you when I
come in or go out the door." She agreed. He had only one more
interruption. "Where are your dirty clothes? And do I need any special
directions?" She had almost none.

"I've been taking them back to the residence hall. I plan to wash them
there."

"A bad use of your time if you're in crunch mode."

"Well, I can study while the washer and dryer run." But it was generous
of him to say that, even if his alternate use of her time was making out
with him -- and she suspected that it was. She would certainly prefer
that to sorting out clothes.

"When I'm done with the wash, I'll get take-out. Okay?"

"Thanks," There were times when his take-charge style was annoying.
Taking charge of accommodating her study needs was definitely not
one of those times. So she ground through her class work, first
Regional Economics, then from the Friday classes. He did come out
and in more than she would have thought laundry really required, but he
didn't speak until she was typing up her rough draft of the
Economic-History paper. She'd decided that his typewriter and hers
produced copy that looked different enough that she couldn't hand in
something which had pages from both machines, but she could use
either -- even both -- for a rough draft. She was tempted to type the
end notes for her Regional Economics paper on his machine. But
Kindle would probably regard that as paying too much attention to
trivia.

"When's a good time to break for dinner?" Bill asked. He put some
Chinese take-out down on the table.

"I can break now." Indeed, she needed a break.

"Leave that end. We can eat on this end." But she straightened out the
papers while he set the table with plates and such. He got the place
settings awfully close together, even considering how much space she
was taking up with her papers. Well, she wanted to sit next to him, too.

After dinner, she started attacking the paper, correcting typos, crossing
out words, circling sections and moving them with an arrow to a better
place. Meanwhile, he put food away and washed dishes. When he sat
down at the other end of the table and watched her work, she got up
and took her paper into the living room. He went into the bedroom.
She went back for her books when her editing was making the paper
worse, not better. She smoked her second cigarette of the day while
studying. That meant that she was two behind the schedule. Marriage to
Bill was going to mean some tobacco-less weekends. Still, she thought
of him waiting in the bedroom -- in the bed? It was the narrow bed,
and they would be getting a better one. Its narrowness, however, had
possibilities that they hadn't explored. She was about to start her
period, and the bed would be delivered before she was ready to have
sex again.

She gave up. She was ready, really, for Monday and as ready as she
could be at this point for Tuesday. She hadn't much more work she
could do on the papers here, and she hadn't any attention she was
ready to pay them. She got her stuff together, put the typewriter away,
and went into the bedroom. Bill was lying on the bed.

"I'm keeping your place warm," he said.

"Thanks, but you might move into the center." She got her diaphragm
out of the drawer. He didn't seem to be paying any attention, but she
felt nervous anyway. "Can I borrow your robe?" It was warmer than
her own.

In the bathroom, she made all the preparations for the night but one.
She came out in his bathrobe, and nothing else. He was lying on his
back in the middle of the bed, but too near the headboard for her plan.

"Could you move down 'til your feet are just at the edge of the bed?"
Obviously puzzled, he did as she had asked. She drew the covers
down, bunching them at the level of his knees. "It's time to put your
contraceptive on." She had her diaphragm in; she would probably start
her period tonight or tomorrow; but she didn't want to give him the idea
that contraception was a sometime thing.

"But..." He started to do as she asked, but why had this request
brought hesitation when the others hadn't? Maybe Little Bill wasn't stiff
enough. She got into bed and held him until he was rigid. Bill applied
the contraceptive. She straddled him on her knees, and then carefully
eased each leg under the covers. She brought them up over her
shoulders, but not very well.

"Could you help get these over me?" When he did, she opened the
robe. Moving up in the bed, she leaned over enough so that her right
nipple went to his mouth. He seemed glad to cooperate. He kissed,
licked, sucked on the nipple, went back to kissing it. This was fun, but
unbalanced. She moved so the left breast received the attention.

"Can I use my hands?" he asked while she was shifting breasts again..

"Sure." He stroked her breasts, her sides, her hips. Soon he had one
hand on her lips and the other on the inside of her right thigh. When she
shifted breasts again, he got a finger between the lips, right at the top.
He rubbed one while brushing the other. Sometimes that finger brushed
over her clit; sometimes it just missed. This was supposed to be her
game, but he was distracting her. Well, it was such a pleasant
distraction. Still, she pushed his hands away when she reached for Little
Bill. "Keep the covers over me." He pulled them around her shoulders
when she sat up. She shuffled back a bit, held Little Bill in her right
hand and spread herself with her left. When she settled back, he went
right in. She adjusted her feet a little more and sat up straight.

She was sitting on Bill's groin and he was totally within her. He pulled
the covers farther forward so she and he were in a tent with only a
small gap in front. She grabbed his hands and pulled them to her
breasts.

"Support them." He had a hand on each and a finger on each nipple.
She rested her own hands on his shoulders and started to move her
hips up and down. He filled her and then rubbed against every inward
part as she rose. As she moved down carefully, Bill's hands supported
her breasts; with no pull on her back, it was better than a bra.

She concentrated on getting the best feeling from rubbing over his
penis. As she moved, she was getting closer and closer. When she
flew, she dropped down, first onto his groin, and then forward onto his
chest. The last pulled him out.

"Are you all right?" he whispered into her neck. She was lying on him,
but a little higher in the bed.

"Yeah. Are *you*?"

"I'm great."

"Should I move?" She didn't like him to lie on her too long, and he -- at
least -- used his elbows.

"Not for me. Are you okay? If you want to go to sleep like this, I'm
willing." Well, she didn't. She started to extricate herself. Her legs
weren't functioning too well. She got to the bathroom and began her
chores. She removed the diaphragm and put in a Tampax just in case.
Well, more than in case. Her flow was likely to start during the night.
When she got to the bedroom, he got up.

"Things to do," he said. "Taking the contacts out, for one." She heard
the toilet flush, too. She put her diaphragm and jelly away, and made
the end of the bed where her antics had pulled out the covers. She put
his bathrobe on the chair and got into bed. When he came back, he
was naked.

"Sorry! I didn't need to keep your robe. I figured it was warmer for
that."

"For what you did, no apologies are necessary. Have any more
positions we haven't tried yet?"

"No. I just thought that we'd complained of a narrow bed, but we
hadn't used the vertical dimension enough. I wanted to do it while we
still had the bed." He turned off the overhead light and got into bed
before answering.

"I don't want to discourage you, but it will be days before they deliver
the bed." She waited until he'd turned off the lamp and they'd snuggled
close to answer.

"Thing is. I'm about to start my period."

"Well, that's probably not the position to try during your period. Still,
I'd get most of the outflow, and I'd consider an extra shower a low
price to pay for another of those.... That's why you're wearing your
nightgown?"

"Yeah." Discussing her period was bad enough. Having him see the
string would be horrible.

"So what are the rules?"

"Well, I figure that we go to church together and you drive me back to
the residence hall. I'll spend the next several days there. I'll be in
touch.
I really have lots of studying to do."

"Look, that we can't have sex is reasonable, if not pleasant. That I can't
see you is unreasonable." It wasn't unreasonable; it was just something
Bill didn't want. No wonder he got on so well with Alice; he thought
just like a two-year-old.

"Well, as I said, I'll be in touch. Don't make me dread those calls."

"Can I touch you now?"

"Above the waist and through the nightgown." But he only cupped her
breast and cuddled against her. She thought she felt an erection against
her ass. "You came didn't you?"

"Yeah. Explosively. It's just that this is a sexy position." Well, she felt
sexy, too. And they fell asleep like that.

By the morning, her period had begun with a vengeance. She changed
her Tampax, dressed, and ate. Bill's habit of keeping the alarm set at
the same time every morning left them with a long time before church.
She went over the Economic-History paper one more time. Then Bill
wanted to discuss their meetings over the next week. "No" didn't call
for a very long discussion. They went over what of the budget they
could. After he drove her to church, they went their separate ways.
Ironically, the choir members expected her to be a newly-engaged
woman breathlessly expecting her wedding. She played that role.

During the sermon, Sharon, the best alto, nudged her and pointed. The
back of the sanctuary had a tall wooden wall separating off a narrow
space.  She could see something come into view over the top of that
wall, go down, and then come into view a little further along. She
realized that it was a baby. Somebody -- almost certainly Bill -- was
pacing invisibly and lifting the baby above his head regularly. The choir
loft was high; the rest of the congregation was facing the front instead of
the back. If Pastor Jake could see, he didn't let it interrupt the delivery
of his sermon. But the choir's attention was definitely on the bobbing
baby.

"Well," Sharon said as they prepared to support the congregation on
the next hymn, "you're marrying him. I'm not." Lucky Sharon. On the
other hand, Sharon's Luke seemed to be bland as butter, and he was
seriously obese. Carolyn had a hard time picturing them even having
sex, much less having he explosive sex that she and Bill shared. Didn't
Sharon fear being smothered?

"The choir saw a baby bobbing up and down over that wall in back,"
she asked when she was in the car with him. "What's its name?"

"Beatrice. She's as bad as you are. Sheesh! One's teething and one's
bleeding, and neither one wants to be held." She didn't appreciate being
compared to a teething baby, but let that go.

"No! The wall."

"It has a Latinate ecclesiastical name -- one I've  heard and forgotten."

"And Beatrice has a last name?" she asked.

"Bell."

"So Ray and Lily gave you what you wanted?"

"Sort of. The Ferris wheel game tired me, though," he said. She couldn't
figure out what he meant.

"Ferris wheel?"

"You get a good grip on the kid -- usually under the shoulders. You
raise it up high close to you and let it down further away. At the best of
times, the path is a fairly narrow oval. You do three or four cycles, and
then you hold it mostly sitting on one arm for a while. Except Beatrice
didn't want to sit on one arm; Beatrice wanted to go up again. It very
soon looked less like a Ferris wheel than like an elevator. Even so, it
was exhausting." Well, Beatrice could get what she wanted from Bill,
whether it suited his convenience or not. Could Caroline?

After lunch, she buckled down to outlining the paper for Regional
Economics. That told her where she needed specific figures, and she
spent several hours at the library digging them up Monday went about
the same way except for class, and so did Tuesday morning.

After lunch on Tuesday, she was feeling more forgiving towards Bill and
was getting tired of library research. She pulled books out of one of her
bookcases and piled them on the floor. She took the bookcase with her
on the bus to Bill's apartment. After putting it where it would live until
they moved, she went grocery shopping. She made him a meatloaf, put
it in the cold oven, and wrote out directions for cooking it. She looked
in the 'fridge for a snack. After she'd taken one apple, she wrote "EAT
THE APPLE" on the cooking directions note. She dug through his stuff
in the living room until she could find one of his cards. She called the
number.

"Andalusia Pharmaceuticals."

"Bill Pierce, please." This was followed by clicks and a buzz.

"Andalusia Pharmaceuticals. Mr. Pierce's office."

"May I speak to Mr. Pierce, please."

"Who may I say is calling?" It should have been "whom," but she wasn't
paid to instruct people in economics, yet, much less in English.

"Carolyn Nolan."

"Yes, Miss Nolan." That was Bill's voice.

"Come straight home, tonight. I'll leave you some food. And eat that
apple!"

"I was scared to. Wouldn't it prevent you from getting your doctorate?"
Silliness. What happened to the eavesdropper for whom she was "Miss
Nolan"?

"Nope. Goodbye." She hung up. Well, a good day of physical effort.
Time to get back to the books. And she did. After dinner, she prepared
the work for the next day. It wouldn't do to let class work slide to finish
the papers. She was called to the phone.

"Carolyn Nolan speaking."

"Carolyn! How good to hear your voice. Have I ever complimented
you on your telephone technique?" Then he broke in while she was
answering. "The meat loaf was delicious. And I ate the apple."

"Did you have any more of the lettuce?"

"Um." He sounded guilty.

"I'm glad you eat out so much. Restaurants will, at least, serve you
veggies and salad."

"Anyway, I saw the bookcase. Plastic?"

"If you load it evenly, it works fine."

"And you brought it all the way here?"

"Pick it up," she told him. "It's not that heavy."

"Well, the books will be. I'll move them." He was being as bossy as
ever, but he was right. One shopping bag load of books on the bus
would be a struggle.

Thursday, shortly after dinner, she was called to the phone again.

"Carolyn Nolan speaking."

"Bill Pierce here. Why don't you pack some books to move? I'll pick
you up, drive you to choir practice, get upstairs any books you bring
along, and drive you back." That would take little extra of her time.
Packing the books was no worse than walking to practice. She did it
his way. He was waiting downstairs and took her grocery-bag of
books from her. He carried it to the car and put it in the trunk. She
opened her own door to get in -- you could hardly fault him on that
when he was handling a heavy load.

"Look," he began when he'd started the car.

"No! You look. I'm grateful for the help, but I'm not up for an argument
before I'm obliged to have a relaxed tone." Which was not quite
bullshit. It was the sort of thing that a non-singer wouldn't know enough
to challenge. Miss Armbruster would lead them in a minute's breathing
and pure tone production before they started singing.

"Very well, but do I have you for Saturday?"

"After lunch on Saturday." That was in the future, and 'after lunch' was
a marvelously ambiguous time period. He left her off at the church and
picked her up at the church to drive her back to the residence hall.

"I'll bring down another load of books, if you want," she said.

"Fine, I just stacked those up."

"Quite the best way. I'll have to arrange them." But when she stared to
load books, her roommates wanted an excuse to meet Bill. They went
down together, each with a shopping bag full. When he'd got the trunk
open and arranged the bags in it. they all went back to the entrance
area to get acquainted. Bill was on his best behavior, and the girls were
impressed. Even so, she got back upstairs not much later than she
would have if she'd walked. The room looked emptier with the books
and bookcase gone. She'd been neglecting the class work for the
papers, so she studied for Friday that night and for Saturday the next
afternoon.

When she got out of Brooke Hall, Bill was waiting in the car.

"I'm going back to the residence hall for lunch," she told him.

"Fine. I'll drive you. What time should I pick you up?"

"The appointment is at three."

"Don't you think we should talk first?" he replied. Well, they should
have talked before dragging Jake into this.

"One thirty?"

"One thirty it is." When he got there, Mary, Heather, and Diane wanted
to bring down another load of books. She packed for them and got
there last. They'd worn their coats and were all standing around the car
talking. She handed her bag of books to Bill, who put them in the trunk.
Then he said goodbye to the girls and drove away.

"You've made three conquests," she told him.

"They merely want to meet your fiance. They wouldn't have given me a
glance it you hadn't been wearing that ring." Maybe -- maybe not. They
seemed to like his style, what they'd seen of it. She would have liked as
much as they'd seen of it, too, if she hadn't seen more. "So what do we
tell Jake?"

"That we aren't planning for the ideal married couple. We're planning
for what's best for Bill and Carolyn." She'd thought that much through.
"If you were planning on a great start for a marriage, you wouldn't start
with Bill and Carolyn. But, when you start with Bill and Carolyn,
marriage looks like the best option." He laughed.

"Doesn't sound like you're exactly starry-eyed," he commented.

"Look, don't get me started."

"You never finished your list of my faults."

"Every time I start to set them down in order," she told him, "I discover
a new one for the top of the list. Well, anyway, the next time we fight
we'll qualify for marriage counseling." This marriage was looking like a
worse idea all the time. What could she do? You could break an
enbagement over something he'd done; you couldn't break one over it
having been a bad idea all the time.

"Is that a promise?" He waited. "Well, children? Sometime, but when
you're more settled in a career."

"*One* child when I'm settled in a career," she corrected him.
"Whether we'll have more depends both on our experience with that
child and on the career."

"Okay. And we'll live on a balanced budget as soon as you have any
real teaching job."

"You're not counting teaching assistant as real?"

"Not as far as salary is concerned." he said. "I'm sure the work is real,
but, after all, it's not like you were lazing around now." He had a point.

They got there a few minutes early, and Jake was there already. He led
them back to his office.

"Well," he asked, "have you thought about things?"

"Thought about plenty," she answered. "Got decisions on fewer.
Y'know, you tell us that sex is a bad foundation for a marriage. Well,
we aren't looking for the ideal couple to form a married pair. We're
looking at 'What should we do with Bill and Carolyn?' Take my own
case, for instance. If marriage to Bill based mostly on sex is risky, how
risky would it be to marry John Doe when I'm much more strongly
attracted to Bill, sexually?"

"Well," Jake said, "millions of married women think Clark Gable is the
sexiest man in the country." Clark Gable? What century was Jake living
in? Still, the point was valid.

"Yeah," she agreed. "And they have absolutely no access to Clark
Gable, and they see him up on the silver screen and get their sexual
charge. Then they go home and work it off with their lawful husband.
It's a little different when you're talking about a man who you see every
day."

"And," Bill put in, "on the issue of planning for Bill and Carolyn, that
covers chores as well. I'm sure that Dan has some things he does and
Gladys has some things she does. What our planning for chores is that
Carolyn will do them in her slack periods and I'll do them in her crush
periods. That will take re-planning when she gets her degree, but it
doesn't make sense to plan for that time in the abstract. When I can't
handle the chores -- I'm thinking of cooking dinner -- then I'm in charge
of getting take-out."

"Well, I'm more interested in whether you've thought things through than
what your answers are. And it sounds like you've thought things
through. Budget?"

"That's not complete," Bill answered. "I know that everybody says that
they'll have more in the sweet bye and bye. But we will owe tuition next
year, next academic year, and we'll have a second salary a year or two
after that. We're agreed on hanging tough until she gets a teaching job."

"And children?"

"That's also dependent on her schedule." Bill was still giving the
answers. "One child when she's settled enough to get maternity leave."
Now, Jake looked at her.

"Yeah," she said. "We figure that any plans for a second child need to
be made after we learn what living with a child is like. Also, of course,
there is a question as to how much maternity leave the unknown
employer will be happy about giving me at an unknown time."

He had other questions, but nothing earth shattering.

"And we have one," Bill said. "We know you won't perform the service
without a license, and that is in process. We both have a nightmare of
getting to the church in front of all those guests and then you stop the
service because something is missing." Jake laughed.

"The nightmare is understandable, but not based on reality. I'd perform
the service for you dressed as you are now."

"Not if my mother has a thing to say about it," she put in. "She wants
the whole nine yards."

"Fine. I was going to say I wouldn't perform the service with either of
you naked or something like that. Really, I've known ministers who
performed a wedding service in a hospital where one of the party was
scheduled for desperate surgery. If you want an elaborate service, we'll
want payment for the church, for myself, and for Miss Armbruster. You
need her permission for another organist."

"That's no problem," she said. "My mother isn't going to import an
organist I don't know." Not if Mama wanted her cooperation, she
wasn't.

"And," Bill said, "although her parents are planning to pay for the
wedding, I'm good for any deficiency. I don't think here will be one, but
mistakes happen."

"And," Jake said, "I don't stop the service to ask for my check. Do you
want to have the reception in the fellowship area?"

"I'll ask Mama, but I'd bet against it. You don't allow Champagne in the
church."

"Nor betting." But Jake was making a joke. "Do you want to invite the
entire congregation?"

"Sure," she said. "Probably some will get written invitations and some
won't. But this is our church home, whatever Mama thinks, and we're
not planning to shut anyone out of their home. Closer to the time, we'll
say so -- or you can -- in church."

"Want to finish stacking the bookcase now?" Bill asked when driving
away from the church. When she didn't answer, he asked another
question. "Look, tomorrow is coffee hour. Sure Jake can issue the
invitation in service closer to the time. Do you want me to... would you
object if I issued a general invitation then?"

"Go ahead." She thought some more. "What would going back to the
apartment mean?"

"You'd get to set the rules, but I can look at you."

"Okay. Let's go by the residence hall. I don't have the right books." He
drove there, waited while she went up for her books and -- then --
while she smoked a cigarette.

"Maybe," he said after she got in, "you'll call your mother during a
break in the library work. We need to know precisely what she expects
from us. I don't want off the top of her head on the phone, but can she
write us. I have visions of her showing up Saturday morning asking
'Who is the photographer?' Y'know I said I would follow your
decisions as to the wedding, but I do need a portrait-style photo of you
for my desk."

"Yeah. You talk about accommodating me all the time, but I think you'll
be expecting me to accommodate you."

"Maybe so. After all, I'm not talking about accommodating you so
much as accommodating your profession. And there are
accommodations you'll have to make to my profession. You'll have to
entertain, sometimes, and when entertaining, you'll have to play a role.
Everybody does. Don't tell me academics don't." She wouldn't tell him
that academics don't. Some of the papers she was writing right now
were playing a game. Professors, of course, don't play *that*
game. But she was close enough to see some of the games they did
play. How many papers were based on 'this is information that the
profession has to know,' as opposed to 'this is publishable, and I need
another publication desperately,'?

"So, I'm to be the contented hausfrau?"

"No. I won't expect you to lie. But you'll serve something closer to the
lamb chops than to the sloppy joes. And, while you won't tell them that
Richard Nixon was the best president since Herbert Hoover, you won't
argue when they say that, either." Well, nice to be warned. Still, what
could she do? She was happy to show off her best cooking skills, and
the lamb chops hadn't been much of an accomplishment. They'd been
tough -- wrong season for lamb. Keeping her mouth closed when she
heard idiocy wasn't her style -- and Richard Nixon was just barely the
best president since Lyndon Johnson -- but keeping your mouth closed
was an academic game, too.

So they called Mama. She promised to send a list, copies to both
addresses. So far, Mama wanted Bill to wear a tux and Carolyn white.
Just whom a white dress would fool, Carolyn couldn't tell -- certainly
not Mama. She got books out of bags and onto the bookcase. Bill had
cleared the top shelf of his bookcase, and that was helpful.

"Study time, now," she told Bill.

"All right, but let me brush your hair before you come to bed." The man
was seriously weird. On the other hand, brushing her hair wasn't one of
his bad points. When she finished her late-night cigarette and went into
the bedroom, he was asleep under only the sheet on her side. The new
electric heater was on, and the room was warm. It was late, and she
was sleepy, too. But a promise was a promise, and *something*
had to be done to her hair.  When he woke, he seemed happy enough
to do the brushing. She relaxed under the hypnotic rhythm of the brush
strokes. She got the blanket spread over the bed and he turned off the
heater before they got in. Lying in his arms, she was warm, almost too
warm, and very content.

In the coffee hour after church, Bill got up and went where practically
everybody could see him.

"Most of you know that Carolyn and I are getting married. The date is
February 17th, in the afternoon. Every one within sound of my voice is
invited." There was a murmur of congratulations, although only the date
could be news. She got up.

"I'd like to notify parents of small children that, although they are
certainly included in the invitation, the Bill Pierce baby-sitting service
will not be available. He'll be otherwise occupied." There was a good
deal of laughter, but it was interrupted.

"Mommy," called someone's falsetto imitation of a child, "what is that
strange woman doing up there with *my* Bill?" The laughter
grew louder, and Bill joined in.

She'd left her current textbooks in the car, and Bill drove her straight to
the residence hall. Her time as a fiancee was over; now she was an
economics student.

"And when," Bill asked, "will I see you again?" Good question. She
thought out what she needed to do, what she could reasonably expect
to do before her brain shut down.

"How about nine o'clock tomorrow. Call before, okay?" Being a social
cynosure and an economics student had their times, and their pleasures.
But being a lover had its times, too. And it *definitely* had it's
pleasures. "And finish up the salad." It was beginning to go bad. They
shared a long kiss before she walked away.

The end
Good Advice - F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2011/02/10


These same events from Bill's perspective:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/pie_03m.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 planning their marriage:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/gus_02f.htm
"Life is Complicated - F"

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