index


Message-ID: <62271asstr$1343905802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Compromise - M" -- Uther -- MF
Lines: 2208
Date: Thu, 02 Aug 2012 07:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


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, 2012, 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.


Compromise - M
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

MF


Eric Stewart did not have much excitement in his life. He worked in the
Cook County States Attorney's Office, which prosecuted about half the
crimes which went to trial in the state of Illinois. Some of his colleagues
prosecuted murderers, drug dealers, or perpetrators of intricate frauds.
Eric was one of the guys who prosecuted traffic cases.

He sang in the choir at Aldersgate, and the former choir director had made
a habit of asking every possible singer in the choir to sing a solo at
least once a year. She had never asked Eric for a solo, and he couldn't
blame her.

He had gone on dates in high school and college. (The sex ration at Kent
College of Law was too unbalanced to leave any woman students who had to
settle for Eric.) After figuring out the system after law school, he'd had
dates and even two affairs. What he'd never had was a romance. Girls had
found him boring; women found him boring; he, when he was honest with
himself like now, found himself boring. And the women who would give him
more than a passing glance tended to be boring, too.

Actually, interesting women were willing to be friends with him, as long as
the friendship was totally platonic. Carolyn Pierce, for instance was
pretty, buxom, bright enough to have earned a Ph. D., and sexy enough to
marry a guy whom she claimed had no good qualities outside of bed. Carolyn
was enough of a friend to have asked him to be godfather to Paul, one of
her twins.

And Carolyn had introduced him to Candy. Candy was a student of Carolyn's.
What was more important was that Candy was a great beauty. And Candy needed
help he could give. Suddenly, Eric's life wasn't boring any more.
Unfortunately, the reason Candy needed his help was that she had been
raped, and he could introduce her to the woman in the States Attorney's
Office who ran the section dealing with rape. So the first beautiful woman
to know he was alive was now afraid of men. Carolyn had brought her to
church to get some support from some young women, and he had tried to
prolong the acquaintance by offering her rides. She, however, hadn't come
back after 2 visits.

1979 was drawing to a close, it was already December 15th. The calendar
would say that he had lived 30 years next March 29th. The truth was,
however, that he hadn't lived at all.

Then the phone rang.

"Eric Stewart speaking."

"Mr. Stewart, this is Candy." It was, and his week was looking better
already.

"Hello Candy. Nice of you to call. Is there something I can do for you?"
Please say yes. If, on the other hand, you merely called to chat that would
be great, too.

"I know it's late."

"Not at all. I don't go to bed for hours yet." And he would be happy to
have her wake him up, but he shouldn't come on too strong. He should keep
this light.

"Well, it isn't late to talk, but it's late to ask for a ride to church."
Not really, though had she called earlier he wouldn't have been in the funk
he was in this evening.

"Not too late. Your place? I mean pick you up at your place? Let's see,
church starts at 11:00. I don't like the driving conditions; let's say half
an hour. Leave your place at 10:30. Is that okay with you?'

"That would be fine."

"Is there anything else you want me to do? I mean come in and meet your
folks?" Would they want to know who their daughter was driving off with?
But he was thinking of high-school rules, and Candy was a college student.
His college dates hadn't lived at home.

"No. Can you be in front of the door and still in your car at 10:30?"

"Sure." Though he might block the street if there were no parking spaces.
"I might have to circle the block, but I'll be there within 2 or 3 minutes
of the time you set."

"That would be marvelous."

Well what else could he do for her? "Does Claire know you're coming?"

"No."

"Would you like her to know? Want me to call her?"

"Could you?"

"I can try. Who were the others?"

"Gwen and Joan."

"Well, I'll try for them. I can't place Gwen."

"Thank you very much."

"You're quite welcome, Candy. In front of your house at 10:30 tomorrow?"

"Yeah." He would see her again. And he was useful to her.

It was Saturday night. Would grad students be at home, or would they be out
on dates? He looked through the church directory, circling Claire's and
Joan's names. If Candy wanted them, he might have to call them again. The
only Gwen in the directory was a child in a family he knew vaguely. This
was not the girl he had seen with Candy, not by more than a decade.

Claire was home. She was already planning on church, since this would be
coffee hour. She would be glad to sit with Candy.

"Does Carolyn want me to take her out to lunch again?"

"I don't think so. I'll drive her back after church." And, if Candy was
willing, he'd buy her lunch, too.

He left a message for Joan that Candy would be in church and to call him
back however late. Despite his resolve, he didn't wake up for Joan's call.
She left a message on his machine that she would try.

He did wake up to his alarm. He usually didn't set it for Sundays. He left
the apartment more than 2 hours after he did on weekdays, and usually woke
up in plenty of time without an alarm. This, however, was an important day;
he couldn't take the risk. In the shower, he found himself thinking of
Candy. He thought about her so much that he masturbated. The way his
thoughts were going had to be controlled. Women knew when you wanted them
sexually. Usually, they took that as a compliment so long as you weren't
blatant about it. Candy, however, was understandably nervous about men's
desires. He'd taken a back seat to other guys for years because girls
thought that he was dull. With Candy, his advantage was that he was safe --
which was only another way of saying dull.

Still, it was an advantage.

He let the mist from the shower dry off the mirror before he shaved
carefully. He put on aftershave before eating breakfast and brushed his
teeth carefully afterwards. He listened to the radio until 9:30, and then
dressed in his best suit. He'd bought a red 'power tie' before discovering
that it didn't really make him seem powerful. He wore that. He considered
his overcoat, but with his luck somebody at church would ask why he was
dressing fancy. He went out to start his car at 9:50. He got to Candy's
house in plenty of time.

He was a little worried that she would get cold feet, but the third time he
circled the block, she was in front. It wasn't quite 10:30 yet. He stopped,
and she got in before he could come around to open the door. Well, it was
cold out there.

Then he was driving her, and they had plenty of time. That was one
responsibility fulfilled but she had asked another of him.

"Claire said 'yes,'" he reported. "Joan said 'maybe.'" That was the
information she wanted. There might be more information she needed. "Look,
there is something I should warn you about. After service on third Sundays,
the church holds what we call a Coffee Hour. There is coffee, something to
eat." That sounded misleading. "(Not a meal, maybe donuts), and
conversation. You can decide to deal with the coffee hour or not. Probably
your friends would introduce you to some others of your age if you do. You
can make the decision at the end of service. Tell me, and I'll deal with
it."

"I don't know." And how could she know? He'd just sprung it on her.

"Well, as I said, you have to decide at the end. You want to go, and we'll
go."

"You're so kind, Mr. Stewart." Not as kind as he'd like to be, and he
definitely didn't want to be 'Mr. Stewart.' The twins called him Eric. Why
couldn't this beautiful adult?

"Well, if you want to return the kindness, call me Eric."

"Thanks. Eric."

"You'll find that Aldersgate doesn't deal much in last names. I'll bet
Claire doesn't know mine." He hoped she didn't. He'd had to go through the
directory looking for a 'Claire' and a 'Joan.'

"I can let you out in front and go park," he said when they got near the
church, "or I can park and we can walk back together."

"I'd rather walk with you." And he'd rather walk with her. Even though her
preference was probably a reluctance to walk into a building where she
might not know anybody in the congregation.

Claire was there, as she'd said she would be. She sat to Candy's left and
he sat to her right. If Candy sat closer to Claire, he'd had her company to
himself in the car. The important things right then was for Candy to regard
him as safe and depend on him. She had Claire's support because of him.
When Joan came in, she took Candy's right. Even so, the 4 of them were
together in a row. If Candy got what she wanted in church, then she would
call him for a ride to church.

Joan and Claire were a lot less permissive about coffee hour than he had
been, and Candy agreed to attend. Well, that was all to the good. It would
be more connections to Aldersgate, and he was her conduit to Aldersgate.

"Look," he told Candy, "this is a time for you to meet your age group. It
isn't my age group. Why don't we split up until you're ready to go?"

When she had talked as much as she wanted with her table, she came over to
his. He'd been conscious of her throughout the time, and he got up before
she got there. He said goodbye and walked her to the door. Well, she wasn't
among strangers now, and the weather was still nasty.

"Why don't you wait here, again?" She was agreeable, and he went and got
the car. Again she reached it before he had her door open. "Claire's a nice
woman, isn't she?" he asked when they were both inside and he had the car
moving again.

"I think she's wonderful." Which, since he was Candy's access to Claire,
was very good to hear.

"Look, as I said, Coffee Hour isn't really a meal. Shall we stop on the way
for a real Sunday dinner?"

"You have been so kind, already." He had enjoyed every minute of it, at
least every minute since she'd come out of her door.

"Well, I'm a bachelor. I cook some meals, but not Sunday dinner. It isn't
as if I had a meal waiting for me at home. If you refuse to eat with me,
I'll just visit a restaurant after dropping you off. Solitary eating isn't
as dangerous as solitary drinking, but it's rather sad. When I'm eating
alone in a restaurant, I always think the other diners are looking over and
saying, 'Poor man; he doesn't have any friends.' Think of it this way, I
saved you from a long bus ride, and you'll save me from the pity of
waitresses."

"You're a nice man. I'm sure you have many friends."

"A few, but I'd rather be eating with you." Careful! He was beginning to
sound like a suitor instead of a nice man.

"Thank you, Eric, I'd be happy to eat with you."

Perhaps her appetite had been cut back by the coffee hour. She didn't eat
much, and she refused dessert.

"Look," she said, "I told some people I'd be there next week." Now that was
good to hear.

"Okay. Same time for pick-up? Earlier? I really don't think later would
leave any time for traffic jams."

"I should have asked you before committing you." No she shouldn't. She
could commit him to anything. It would have been nice to hear about it
earlier, as it would have been nice to have been asked for the ride this
Sunday earlier, but only because he could have enjoyed the anticipation.

"Well, I can't remember what I said precisely, but my understanding was
that I was available any time you wanted to come."

"And I kept you out of choir." Yeah. He should have told somebody. He
hadn't thought of choir since she had called.

"You didn't deprive them of much. Aside from a little sexual balance, I
contribute very little to the choir."

"But don't you enjoy singing?"

"Yes, but I enjoy sitting with you much more." And now he was starting to
sound like a suitor again. Well, in for a penny in for a pound. And she had
promised some new friends, friends whose phone numbers she probably didn't
have, that she would be in church next week. "Look," he finally asked,
"what is your easiest day? What day has the least school work?" What school
night would hamper her studying least if she went on a date?

"Well, I have fewer classes Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays....  But I
have Physical Education Tuesday afternoon." Monday night wouldn't do,
anyway, and Friday was probably too late if he was going to give her a ride
Sunday. Okay. In for a penny in for a pound. Wednesday it was.

"So you have the least prep for Thursday. Would you be willing to have me
take you out to dinner on Wednesday night?" She didn't answer at all. The
silence in the car was leaden.

"Nothing else is contingent on your answer," he finally said. "I'll still
pick you up on Sunday morning. You want to think about it?"

"Yeah." Now that was a fast answer. Was she afraid to give him a refusal in
the car? She should never be afraid of him. But she would afraid of men for
a long while now. Anyway, he'd offered her time to think; he would give her
time to think.

"Well, why don't I call you tomorrow night? Will that be enough time for
thinking about it? Really, I don't need the decision before Wednesday, but
my mother told me that inviting a girl for a date on one day's notice was
bad form."

"Fine, call me Monday night." After parking he started around but she got
out of her side before he reached it. She didn't seem nervous, though, when
he walked her to the door.

Well, he'd blown his chance. He'd moved too fast. Christmas Eve was coming
up, and with it the Christmas Eve service. He should have waited a week and
invited her to that service. Then he could have suggested taking her out
for dinner before. Okay, that was one day's warning, but it was around a
church event, and she wanted to participate in church events.

Instead, he'd jumped ahead and scared her off. It turned out, though, that
he hadn't scared her off. He called when he said he would.

"Candy?" when he got her. "This is Eric Stewart."

"Yes, Eric, how are you." Well, at least he wasn't 'Mr. Stewart' any more.

"I'm fine -- better from your calling me by my first name. And how are you?"

"I'm doing fine."

"Have you decided about my invitation?"

"What do you have in mind specifically?" That she had decided to refuse he
could accept. He might cry in secret, but he would understand. That she
might accept was his hope. That she'd forgotten? That didn't sound
favorable, nor even likely.

"A meal together, another restaurant unless you have a particular liking
for one of those we've eaten at together."

"Dinner with you Wednesday night? Why, thank you. I'd be delighted. What
time?" Okay! First, she had accepted. And, second, she had wanted a
specific invitation, probably because she was being overheard.

"Sorry. I didn't pick up your hint. Would 6:30 at your place be all right.
I'm flexible, but if it's too early, I'll have to come straight from work.

"6:30 Wednesday. I'll be ready. Thanks again." Well, that thanks was in the
wrong direction.

"And thank you. Good bye."

Now, he had a date to look forwards to. Since he hadn't blown it that time,
he also had a careful courtship to plan. He should plan for a year. Candy
was currently not too fond of the male sex -- afraid of men. Moving too
fast would be stupid. If he moved too slowly, however, she would be ready
for more than he was providing. Such a girl would have plenty of men
willing to provide what she wanted.

He thought about getting her a Christmas present, but he thought that might
be pushing it too far. On the other hand, she might give him one and
embarass them both. Still, that didn't look likely. He'd leave that until
next year.

Now that he had started, or -- at least -- she had accepted that he would
start on Wednesday, he had advantages over any likely competition. He
couldn't take her to college dances, but he could take her to real
restaurants -- not burger joints but places with tablecloths on the table.

What was the protocol with parents these days? He didn't want a secret
affair with her; he wanted a courtship. And a courtship meant meeting the
parents. And, of course, the parents would say that he was too old. On the
other hand, he wasn't a would-be rock star. His salary might be
embarrassing among lawyers, but it was better than a college kid had. He
decided that he would run his ID though a Xerox machine at work. If they
asked who he was, he'd prove that he was who he said he was. If they
didn't, and it was quite possible that she would come out without his
seeing her parents, the paper would stay in his pocket.

Since he'd worn his best suit Sunday, he wore his second-best suit to the
office Wednesday. He shaved again that night before heading towards her
house. The parking was as bad as ever. You should walk up to the door
rather than honking from in front. On the other hand, there was the problem
of her walking all that distance. Well, let her choose.

"I'm parked a ways away," he told her when she came to the door. "Do you
want to wait here while I drive around the block?"

"They say you have to come in and talk with them." Okay. That was one
contingency he'd considered.

"Sure." He met Mr. Wharton. Candy's mother was present, but didn't come
forward. This was going to be a cross examination. Well, he'd been trained
for those, and he'd bet Candy's father hadn't

"Here." He handed him the Xerox. Always establish that you're forthcoming
with all the facts by presenting more of the facts that you want known than
the other side asked for. He was a prosecutor, but he knew the tricks
defense attorneys used, even for DUIs.

"What's this?"

"I thought somebody might question my bona fides. That's a Xerox of my
driver's licence and my ID from the States Attorney's Office. I am who I
say I am, and you can file that ID away.

"Why are you interested in Candy?" Stupid question. Weren't tons of guys
interested in Candy? And it wasn't for her cooking skills.

"Because, in case you haven't noticed, your daughter is beautiful. I've
also seen her interact with the children who are my godson and his brother
-- Professor Pierce's children. She did quite well with them, and her
personality shown through in that interaction."

"Aren't you awfully old for her?" Well, yes.

"By a decade. On the other hand, she's an adult. I respect your interest in
seeing that she's not involved with someone misrepresenting himself. I
think that you'll agree that the question of whether I'm too old to date
her is one that she's capable of deciding for herself."

"Well, she's my daughter."

"And you want to protect her. On the other hand, she's a college student
and an adult. She wants to make her own decisions." Which any 19-year-old
did. Since Candy was listening, that would remind her that dating him was
asserting her own judgement. "I'm perfectly open to telling you about
myself. I've delivered copies of the ID that you're more likely to consider
than she is." Go on, ask me what I am, my work. My work is much more
impressive than I am.

"And how did you two meet?" Well, had Candy told her parents about the
rape? And, even if so, was that something she wanted mentioned. They hadn't
talked about it since he'd delivered his report on the non-prosecution.

"We were both guests of the Pierce's. Carolyn Pierce is Candy's economics
professor."

"Dad," Candy broke in, "Eric's the guy I reported the rape to."

"As you can see, that was a legal matter. While I told her that she would
have to tell you some time, my telling you would have been a breach of
confidence. What happened is that she told Prof. Pierce. Prof. Pierce,
while she was born in Arkansas and now lives in Evanston, is enough of a
Chicagoan to say, 'I know a guy.' Candy shouldn't have told a guy her
professor knows; she should have told the cops."

"Actually," Candy said, "Prof. Pierce said that. I didn't want to."

"So, she told me, and I got her an appointment with the person who is in
charge of rape prosecutions."

"And they didn't believer her. Do you?" That was very cruel. Was he being
hard on the States Attorney's office, which could spill over onto being
hard on him? Was he being hard on his daughter?

"Well, I believe her. What the person with the responsibility didn't
believe was that she could get a conviction. That is a lot different from
not believing the witness. She believed her."

"The cops believed the guy?" That wasn't the issue. Besides, nobody on his
side believed any accused about anything.

"The cop, with whom I have never discussed the case, might have believed
the guy. Probably not, though; detectives don't believe much. Again, what
he believed was that the suspect couldn't have been proven guilty. In a
trial, the jury isn't asked, 'which one do you believe?' They are asked,
'has this been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt?' That is a hard standard
to meet."

He finally moved off the rape. He didn't have any more questions, but he
repeated his previous ones. They didn't like this date. They couldn't
prevent it, but they could delay it. That they did.

"Glad I didn't make reservations," he said as they headed for the car.

"I'm sorry," she said. She'd started describing the rape by saying that she
had been stupid. She shouldn't do that.

"Well, you didn't do it." he said when they were in the car. "You have to
learn to stop apologizing for what you didn't do. I make quite enough
blunders on my own. I make it a rule that I never apologize for anyone
else's actions. Anyway, I understand their concern."

Unless she had pulled the southern-belle trick of eating before she went
out to eat, which didn't seem likely, Candy had a small appetite. Maybe she
was more nervous than he'd thought. Well, there was one thing here to tempt
the weakest appetite.

"The cinnamon rolls are to die for. It doesn't sound like much of a
dessert, but people come here for just those."

"I couldn't."

"And I shouldn't." He wouldn't gluttonize in front of her when she wasn't
eating. "I'll pass them up this time. I think you're good for me."

They talked about her school progress while they drove back. This was
finals week, which he hadn't known, and she didn't think she had done well.
Maybe the nervousness wasn't about him.

"Thank you for coming with me," he said when he'd found a parking space.
She was close enough to home that she shouldn't be afraid of him, but this
would be a much more comfortable place for a goodnight kiss than her front
porch.

"Thank you. I really enjoyed myself."

"I'm not going to grab you, but do you think I might be permitted a kiss?"
Fuck! He'd asked too soon. She was struggling with some issue.

"I shouldn't even have come on this date with you," she said. Did she have
somebody she thought of as her steady? Not, certainly, the rapist. If she
shouldn't be going on dates, why had she gone on dates with that sleaze
bag? And, if it wasn't that someone else was entitled to her exclusive
interest, it must be that he just didn't pass muster.

"Was it that bad? Was I that bad of a dinner companion?"

"You've been great. {b}You{/b} have. I've been misleading you." Well, she
hadn't been misleading him, and now he'd made her cry.

"Now, you can't have misled me. You didn't say anything but that you'd go
to dinner with me, and you went to dinner with me. I might have hoped for a
kiss afterwards, but I definitely didn't invite you because I thought you
would."

"No. It's worse. I think I'm pregnant." Shit! And he'd been planning a
long, slow courtship to get her to the point -- in maybe a year -- where
she might consider a proposal. Well, she didn't need a proposal after a
year. She needed a marriage within 9 months, well within 9 months, and at
least one of those months had passed.

"You do? Look I'm sorry."

"You don't apologize for something you didn't do." Well, he was apologizing
for not doing it.

"Well, that was an apology for something I did, or rather for something I
planned. I had this entire, long-drawn-out courtship planned. But that's
not what you need. If you're going to have a baby, you need a marriage
soon, not a year-long courtship. Candy, will you marry me?"

"I can't." Why couldn't she? "I'm afraid of kissing you. Marriage means
sex, and I don't know that I could go through with it." Well, yes marriage
means sex, but he'd lived nearly 30 years without Candy. He could take his
time getting to the point that he could have Candy that way. But she was in
tears, and they had more talking to do than this parking space would hold.
Finish this talk on Sunday?

"Well, I shouldn't have turned the motor off. The car's getting cold, and
we haven't begun to discuss this. Shall I pick you up for church Sunday?"

"You still will?" Yeah. He wanted to. Did she?

"I still will. Same time?" She nodded. "We'll talk after." He walked her to
her door. She was afraid of kissing him, so he kissed her hand as a
compromise.

"Sunday," he said.

Well, that was a real revelation. Poor Candy. The mother-fucker had not
only raped her, he had knocked her up. He spent the drive home feeling
sorry for her. When he got back to the apartment and was lying in his bed,
however, he saw that his own chances were suddenly better. His instincts
had been correct. She didn't need a long courtship. She needed a fast
marriage. Nothing that she had said suggested that there was another
possibility on her horizon.

The shit-head wasn't much of a possibility. He'd raped her in the first
place; he'd called her a liar in the second place. He was a college
student. Even a basketball star didn't have all that great a financial
promise unless he was pro material, and the guys on the TV leading the
draft picks didn't come from the Flames.

She could, of course, raise a kid by herself. Plenty of women did, but it
wasn't a great experience. She could probably get support from the perp;
he'd admitted intercourse. But his financial prospects weren't any brighter
for paying support than for supporting a wife while he was still in
college.

She should become Mrs. Eric Stewart. Marriage to him {b}was{/b} in her best
interests. Persuading her to marry him wouldn't be conning her or
defrauding her. He might be a junior member of the lowest-priority team in
the States Attorney's Office, but he was, nevertheless, a litigator. Let's
see how he could persuade her.

She had 3 choices, really. Well 4, but she didn't need a husband to get an
abortion.

She could swear off men forever. That might sound tempting right now, but
it meant a fairly lonely life. After all, the supporting feminists were
ones Carolyn had found for her. She didn't have contact with a group
herself. Then, too, a single mother had more problems. And a single mother
{b}trying to get through college{/b} had even more.

She could reconnect to males slowly and gradually, crossing one line after
she felt comfortable about having crossed the last. That had been his
program for her before she dropped her bombshell. Presumably, that could
lead all the way to marriage. If she chose that course, he'd be around
hoping that the male she was reconnecting to would be himself.

She could get married first, married to a man who would accept that the
reconnection would proceed slowly. That, of course, would limit her choices
of men; most wouldn't accept a marriage on the promise of intimacy in the
distant future. If he didn't see any likely competitors for her favor, he
damned-well didn't see any competitors with that amount of patience. Well,
he was probably her only candidate.

She'd said that she wouldn't do the third. That however was something like,
'I couldn't do that to you.' If he was willing, then she wouldn't be
yielding if she changed her mind. And it would be better for a baby to be
born with a father to care for him. Sometime, she would start thinking in
terms of what was best for the baby.

If she opted for the first, he was shit out of luck. But she hadn't opted
for the first to the extent of refusing to go on a date with him. If she
opted for a mild form of the first, he would continue to drive her back and
forth to church; he would continue to take her to occasional dinners. He
didn't think she could go off men forever, and, when she redecided, there
would be one man as far in her life as she would allow.

And, if she opted for the second, he would suggest that she try things out
with him. She knew the social rules; a girl could go forward with a guy,
but she couldn't go back. Well, he would promise her that he would let her
go back if she crossed a line with him and found that this made her too
uncomfortable. He'd kiss her, and if that was too much, he'd stop kissing
her until she thought it was worth trying again.

And, sometime, she'd find the nerve to accept him all the way. On the way
home from the office Thursday, he stopped at a drug store and bought a
package of Trojans. That night, he called Dennis, the choir director, to
tell him that he wouldn't be singing for a while. He called before dinner
because choir rehearsal was later that night.

"Christmas Eve?"

"Have I been to enough rehearsals? Well, I don't know. Expect me if you see
me, and only if you see me in the choir room. I may just be in the
congregation." Dennis might not be happy, but he was pleasant. They both
knew that Eric was no great musical performer.

"You're looking well," he said when he picked Candy up Sunday. It was an
opinion honestly felt. She had always been beautiful, but she had also been
hangdog. She didn't actually look chipper, but she did look calmer.

"Thanks. You always look nice. I feel like I'm underdressed when I'm with
you. Do you own anything but suits?"

"Yeah. I even own a couple of pairs of jeans, which isn't to say that I
could fit in them. But think for a minute. What do you wear to school?
Jeans?"

"Yeah."

"But I don't think I've ever seen you when you weren't in a skirt. So you
dress up for Sundays. I, on the other hand, wear a suit every day to the
office. So I don't dress up at all for Sundays."

"That's a weird way to look at it. Not everybody at your church wears
suits."

"Not everybody, not half as a matter of fact. But there are men who don't
wear ties. We're mostly a live and let live bunch. On the other hand,
lawyers, businessmen, guys who wear ties every day wear them to church,
too. Some of the Northwestern folk wear sports coats. Dan Hagopian told me
once that a professor could teach his class in his shirt sleeves so long as
he had a sports coat hanging in his office."

"Sounds silly." She actually smiled.

"Oh it is silly. But every profession has its silliness." They were
companionably silent until he crossed Howard. He wasn't near the church
yet, but she seemed to feel that leaving the city called for her to make
the declaration.

"Look," she said, "I'm awfully grateful for your offer. But this is my
problem, and I've got to deal with it."

"Well, I was planning to wait until after service. We have a lot of talking
to do. But I disagree almost totally. I didn't make an offer; I made a
request. I made it earlier than I had planned to because I thought that
waiting was a bad idea. Even so, it was a request that I had planned to
make at a later date.

"You think your kid is your problem, and so he is, but a kid isn't solely
your problem. Do you think that Carolyn, Prof. Pierce, goes off in a corner
with her kids and deals with them without help? Now the first help she has
is the father of the kids, and I can see why you don't want him involved.
But other people help, too. Some of them are paid; some of them, like me,
are friends; some of them like the Sunday-School teachers are part of the
church; some of them are part of the community.

"Parents depend on a community. So do people with other sorts of problems.
The first thing that Prof. Pierce thought of for you, well the second thing
after you'd reported to the official authorities, was a support network.
Well, the official government let you down. The support network seems to
have worked better. But there are all sorts of support networks, and you
shouldn't think you have to go on your own because the most regular network
has failed you. And I don't mean the States Attorney's Office, although we
did fail you. The father of your child failed you one hell of a lot worse.
You can force him to pay some support, but you can't get blood out of a
turnip. But you're not going it alone. Nobody else does. Look, we'll talk
later."

Candy, who had sat in a back corner the previous week, joined Claire, Joan,
and Kurt in a pew nearly half-way down, with him trailing after her. Kurt
was so obviously interested in Joan that Eric wasn't bothered by him. The
three women sat together, and he sat beside Kurt. After church they all
urged Candy to come to Christmas Eve program the next night. She looked at
{b}him{/b}.

"Sure, if you want. I know the time."

"Let's start at the end and work backward," he said in the car. "The
Christmas Eve program is late but not all that late. it starts at 8:00
p.m., and isn't in the sanctuary. What I thought of, despite the rule
against inviting a girl at the last minute, is my picking you up at 6:30
again. We could eat and make the program. Does that suit?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Let's deal with the more important issue. Do you see yourself as
avoiding men for the rest of your life?"

"No. I'm sure I can shake this. It's just right now, it's too much."

"Okay. I understand why it's too much. I said, way back, that I wouldn't
take it personally if you wanted to ride in the back seat. Well, if you're
off men, and as far as you're off men, I won't take it personally."

"You're a sweet guy, Eric." He was, really, a selfish guy. He wanted her,
and he was willing to pay what that cost.

"Then, too, if you're going to get over it, you'll do that in stages. I
won't force any stage, beyond the ones I've forced already. If you feel
ready for some stage, and try it, and -- after trying it -- you feel that
you really weren't ready for it, I won't take that personally, either."

"You mean sex?"

"That is really one of the stages, but not the one I meant. I was thinking
of kisses. If you think you could risk a kiss with me, and then figure that
was a mistake, I'm not going to insist on another one."

"I think I'm at that level now."

"Good, because I've been wanting a kiss from you for a long time. But let's
put that off for another minute and let me finish my thought. You're right.
Sex is the last stage."

"I've only had it once, and that was..." Now, that was interesting! She'd
been a virgin before she had been raped. That meant something, but he
couldn't see what right now.

"What you had, Candy, was rape. That isn't sex. Maybe he had sex; you
didn't. I'm not the world's greatest expert, but there is a difference.
Anyway, it is one stage, and -- while I've said that you'll choose the
stages and I won't -- I'll say that you're not ready for that stage yet.
And, I'll bet, you've done some of the stuff in between. Some of that,
you're not ready for yet. Anyway..." It was time for him to articulate the
choices he saw for her.

"If you're right that you'll overcome this, and I'm right that you'll do it
in stages, then I see you as having two choices.

"One, you go through the stages and, when you're at the stage where
marriage is appropriate and you have someone with whom you want to have a
marriage, you get married and go on to the next stage.

"Two, you get married, married to a guy who'll bear with you while you go
through the stages. Then you go through the stages with him. Admittedly,
the marriage will require a certain degree of intimacy which you're not
quite ready for, yet. But I can wait for most intimacy until you feel
comfortable with it."

"I don't..."

"It would take a while to get a 2-bedroom apartment, but I could do that."

"I wouldn't feel honest doing that."

"Well it might be better for the baby, but it's your decision. And, of
course, that's what I see as your possibilities. You're in a car with this
being thrown at you, although some of it is merely saying your situation
out loud. It's your decision, and it will continue to be your decision.
But, getting back to what you said earlier, do you think you're ready to be
kissed without freaking?"

"Really, yes."

"Well, you're not ready to be kissed by the driver of a moving car. Let me
get this over." A little later, he found a legal parking space. "Okay. Why
don't you give me your hands?" He loosened his seat belt before taking each
of her hands in one of his.

He leaned over and kissed her with closed lips. He let her hands go and
went back to his seat. "Was that okay?" She nodded. He leaned over to kiss
her again. This was longer, but still closed-mouth. "Look, I'm not grabbing
you." He reached his right hand up to cup her head. Then, slowly, he
returned to kiss her. He used his hand to pull her into the kiss. He was
really enjoying this when she pushed him away. Immediately, he relaxed his
grip on her head and pulled back.

"Was that too much?"

"Not really. I pushed to see what would happen."

"I let go. I'll always let go. Well, this was fun, but I was going to feed
you when this started." He started the car and drove to the restaurant he'd
intended. It was a Vietnamese restaurant in Uptown, chosen mostly to give
them enough time on the drive to have their talk.

They both had bowls of soup. It was the first meal he'd seen her finish.
They talked of inconsequentials, but he'd been thinking. Kissing her in the
car had been marvelous, but the car wasn't the place for kisses. The
steering wheel cramped him. Maybe she was ready to come to his apartment,
not now but tomorrow.

"Y'know, what about my picking you up earlier tomorrow? Maybe 6:00?" She
looked at him steadily, probably reading his mind.

"Sure. They say that the dress is casual for the program."

"Yeah. It's not a worship service. It's mostly about kids."

"Will I see you in jeans?"

"As I said, I'm not sure that they'll fit. You won't see me in a suit;
that's for sure. I don't work Christmas Eve."

"But I can wear jeans?" Sure, and she might wear tight jeans which would
reveal her shape.

"I'd love that."

"And they won't embarrass you in the restaurant." Nonsense. He wished more
people who knew him could see him with her. That would improve his
reputation whatever she was wearing. And he certainly wouldn't take her any
place where her clothes would embarrass her

"As I said, I admit that I'm a lawyer. Nothing embarrasses me. I wouldn't
take you somewhere where {b}you{/b} would be embarrassed." He planned the
restaurants ahead of time, of course, but he could change his choice if it
looked like the wrong choice.

After he drove her home, he said, "Unbuckle your seatbelt, but don't get
out." She followed directions. "Now, do you think you could kiss me?" He
turned towards her, and she met him. He let her have control, but he held
her face in both hands very gently. She kissed his lips, kissed over his
cheek. She pushed his hands down, and he let her. She returned to his lips
and licked them. When he opened his mouth, her tongue met his. It was the
most exciting kiss he'd ever had. Then she pulled back.

"You are wonderful," he said. They got out of the car and he walked her to
the door. "Candy?" he said. She looked at him. He bent down and kissed her,
his tongue entering her mouth for the first time. After a moment, he drew
away. "Thank you for a wonderful time."

He spent much of Monday cleaning up his apartment, including the bedroom
that he was certain she wouldn't see. While he worked, he thought about her
statement that she hadn't had sex before the rape. He had been right; if
she hadn't had any other sex, she hadn't had any sex. She was still a
virgin. If she no longer had her hymen, she had never said 'yes' to sex.

In some abstract sense, that made her more desirable yet. He didn't desire
her more than he had; it was impossible to desire her more than he had. But
it meant that the act would be all the more frightening for her. She had
only one memory, and that was of violence.

He picked Candy up at 6:00, and returned to the Chinese restaurant to which
he had first taken her. He'd noticed before that they had fairly fast
service, and he thought they wouldn't have much business on Christmas Eve.
He was right on both matters. They got fortune cookies a few minutes after
7:00. He put his hand on hers before she opened the cookie.

"Look, when we're done here, I'd like to take you back to my apartment."

"You going to show me your etchings?" He was surprised she knew that phrase.

"Only the etchings you want to see."

"Okay." He removed his hand and they both opened their fortunes.

"You will meet a beautiful blonde."

"Don't believe anything a lawyer tells you." They smiled at each other.
They were lovers. They weren't going to be physical lovers, but they had
gone from a beautiful girl and a guy who was helping her to being lovers.

At the apartment, he took her coat and put it with his in the closet. She
was in tight jeans and a blouse that clung to her breasts. Her shape was as
arousing as he had guessed. They stood kissing. When her mouth opened, he
ran his hands down her back to her lovely rear. She didn't stop him. Their
tongues played for minutes. Then he let go and stepped back.

"Candy?" He slowly reached towards the top of her blouse. He tried to look
in her eyes while he opened the button, but he had to look at what he was
doing instead. "Let's change the rules to the more usual ones," he said as
he was opening the third button. His hands were trembling now, and brushing
against her breasts as they did. "I won't ask permission, but when
something scares you, stop me."

"It all scares me. When I want to stop you, I will." Well, that was what
they had to do. For that matter, it was scaring him, too. He had got the
last button open, and he kissed her again. Her tongue tasted so sweet.

After the kiss, she turned around when he put a little pressure on her
shoulder. He slid his hands under her blouse to feel her smooth skin. She
tensed for a moment, and then relaxed. He pulled her back so that her seat
was pressed against his cock. He kissed along the line of tendon on top of
her shoulder from where it went into the shoulder bone itself to her neck.
Her breasts were calling his hands.

"I said I wouldn't grab, but I have to." He brought his hands slowly to her
bra clasp, and she didn't stop him. When the clasp was loose, he moved his
hands around, slowly again, until they held her magnificent breasts. They
were so smooth, so soft, so warm. They fit his hands as if he and she had
been designed to stand like this. Although she was young, her nipples were
prominent and firm under his fingers. When he kissed down to her shoulder
again, bending to do so pulled his groin back from her seat. He pulled her
back until his cock could feel both cheeks against it.

This was heaven, and he could stand like this forever. Then he suspected
that he'd stood like this too long. He rotated his left hand over the front
of her breast, raising his watch into visibility. They weren't missing the
pageant, but they were close to running late.

"It's time.... If we're going to see the pageant, the time to get ready is
now." He was speaking very low, but close enough to her ear for her to
hear. If she chose to ignore it, he would be happy. Happy? He would be
ecstatic. But the choice was hers. He'd promised that the choice would
always be hers, but, when she made her choice, he didn't like it. She
straightened, moving her seat off his cock. He took his hands off before
she needed to remove them.

"Do you want to finish dressing in the bathroom?" he asked her. She did,
and he heard the toilet flush. Good idea. He could go at Aldersgate, but
that would mean abandoning her upstairs. He used the john before they got
their coats on.

The program had several parts. The pageant was just like last year, except
that Baby Jesus was played by little Traci White. Janice, her mom, was
within grabbing distance for the entire performance. Paul, threatened with
a trip home before Santa appeared, didn't do his sheep imitation during the
actual performance. Candy congratulated the boys on their acting, and Paul
gave his imitation then. Bill apparently felt that it was only a minor
violation, and both boys got to sit on Santa's knee.

Bill and Carolyn took the boys home then, but Candy and he stayed for the
singing.

"I'm glad you came," Joan told Candy.

"So am I," Candy said. That was quite nice to hear. He had no illusions.
She saw him in 2 contexts, Aldersgate and the Office. The Office had failed
her. As long as Aldersgate satisfied her needs, the guy who drove her there
satisfied some needs. Then, too, in her old neighborhood, she had some
circle of friends. At Circle, she had some circle of friends. Probably both
circles included boys or men. At Aldersgate, she was with Eric. Everyone
but Carolyn and Bill saw it that way, and Carolyn didn't seem anxious to
claim Candy.

She waited while he got the car. He got them going towards her house. She
seemed bemused. Was she thinking about the program? He hoped she was also
thinking about the time with him, because whatever she was thinking about
she was pleased with it. Well. if she wasn't thinking about their make-out
session, she wasn't, at least, worrying that they'd gone too far or having
flashbacks because of it. If she weren't pregnant, he would have been very
happy about the progress that they had made. And the pregnancy should be
pressing her rather than him. He'd marry her in the delivery room if that
was what she wanted.

"Enjoy yourself?" he asked.

"Yeah. Both parts." That was wonderful to hear. "You're not only a nice
guy, you're part of a nice group, too. I felt at home there."

"Going back Sunday?"

"Of course." She didn't know what a change that marked in her. the Sunday
after Christmas, attendance would be very light, and it wasn't only that
many students had gone home. She had become a regular.

"Am I going to see you before then?" He wanted to, but he didn't want to
push. Besides, this had been so pleasant that he didn't have anything to
offer that was as good. They could go to his apartment to make out, and she
had said that she enjoyed it, but he knew that he had to offer something
public for a date. She took a long time before answering.

"I don't think so. This has been great, but we've been moving too fast."
Well, if they were going to get married before she began to show, they had
been going none too fact. But the reluctance which slowed them down was
hers. The decision had to be hers.

"Well, you set the limits."

"I've been moving too fast. I'm not accusing you of anything." That was
good to hear. She needed to feel in control as well as be in control. If
she felt in control with him, then that was an advantage he had over any
possible rival.

"10:30 Sunday Morning," he said. That was another advantage. She would be
with him after (and before and during) church. He would have a great deal
more of her time than any new rival.

"10:30 Sunday Morning," She echoed. Then, after he had parked, "Walk me to
the door." Which he would have done anyway, but it was both a prohibition
and a permission. They weren't going to have any goodnight kisses in the
car, but they were going to have one on her doorstep unless he misread her
completely.

"Of course."

And he hadn't misread her. He gave her a lover's parting kiss at her door,
clasping her in his arms when he did. She didn't object to the clasp.

"Love you," he said, but she went in without answering.

Even so, it had been a great time. Candy had started her recovery from the
fright the rape had given her, and she had {i}started with him{/i}. He
thought again about her virginity. She had rejected his offer of marriage
before they had gone through the stages. If they got to the point of actual
sex and she chickened out from that, he would make a similar offer again.
He would explain to her that she had not said 'yes' to any man, and that
that first 'yes' was traditionally -- if that tradition was seldom honored
by their contemporaries -- said after the service.

The program, too, had been a great time. She was becoming part of the
community, and they were a couple in that community. He wanted them to be
Candy and Eric Stewart, and being Candy-and-Eric was a good start. It was,
in itself, quite pleasant.

He would, of course, liked to have more time with her this coming week. If
she didn't want to go further, then they could make that the rule. If she
thought that they had gone too far, then they could confine themselves to
kissing. Kissing Candy was a quite pleasant experience. Still, her
statement that they should wait a week because they were moving forwards
too rapidly suggested that she expected to move forwards on the next date.

He had a few presents from family and friends that he opened on Christmas
day. He got lanyards from Paul and Johnny, and a picture of them from
Carolyn and Bill. Even so, the gift he would treasure from this Christmas
was the one he had opened the night before.

Service businesses reopened the next day, and his office didn't. He got all
his suits but one to the cleaners, did his laundry, restocked his shelves.
The next two days, he went in to the office and caught up on all his paper
work. Traffic court was closed for the year.

While he had a woman who came in Friday mornings while he was gone to do
his serious cleaning, she was off between Christmas and New Years. He
expected Candy to come back to his apartment on Sunday, and he spent much
of Saturday cleaning and straightening.

Sunday morning he made his bed with fresh sheets. He knew she wouldn't
actually see the bedroom that day, but she was setting the pace, and he
would have it ready whenever she thought her pace called for that stage.
With the same thought, he opened the box of Trojans and tore one off the
strip. He put it in the drawer loose. After all, while he wouldn't press
her, her pregnancy would. He would always be prepared, though the provision
of a Trojan was a little contradiction to her pregnancy pressing her. She
thought she was pregnant, but he hadn't heard that she had checked on it.
If she was mistaken and he {b}did{/b} get her pregnant, he would go from
being her comforter to being her tormentor damned quickly.

And, of course, there was always the danger that she had decided that she
had gone too far too soon, that she wasn't going to return to his
apartment. He prayed that she wouldn't decide that, but he had to be
prepared to take such a decision with good grace.

He was circling the block for the second time when Candy came out of her
house. Another car was coming, and he didn't get out to let her in. He
started up as soon as she was buckled in, and soon they were headed east on
Belmont.

"Did you have a nice Christmas?" he asked her.

"Fairly nice, surprisingly enough. And you?"

"Really, the pageant was the acme of my Christmas celebration. I gave and
got a couple of presents, but the celebration is really about kids. I did
get handmade gifts from each of the twins." Now, he was talking about
Christmas presents. Should he have bought her one? "Should I have got you a
present?"

"I'm glad you didn't. I didn't get you one." Which was about what he had
concluded.

"Yeah. What are we?" They weren't yet lovers. He was her suitor, but she
seemed to still be rejecting that. He was the old guy who gave her rides to
church, but he wanted to go beyond that. And, really, they had gone beyond
that on Christmas Eve.

"Friends."

"I'll go with that." He wanted to be her friend. He wanted to be more, but
his only chance of being more was working up from being a friend.

Joan and Kurt were at the service. They sat in the same pew with them, with
Joan and Candy side by side. He was a little jealous of Kurt, who was
sitting close enough to {b}his{/b} girl to touch her, but Candy was far
from ready for that yet.

He'd been a little heavy on the oriental restaurants lately, so he took her
to a fairly nice generic-American one.

"Would you like to see my etchings again?" he asked when they were in the
car.

"I'd like it very much." Well, 'very much.' She was happy with what they
had done. Would she be willing to take the next step? He had had access
above her waist. Would his hand have access to her genitals?

Once there, he got their outer wraps off fairly quickly. Kissing in coats
was a mistake when they were inside. Then he had a lovely time kissing her
and exploring her mouth with his tongue. She offered no resistance and
showed no nervousness when he unzipped her dress and unsnapped her bra. He
could feel her wonderful breasts but not see them. She'd taken off her
blouse Christmas Eve. He could try to take off her dress, but he might mess
it up.

"Really, shouldn't you take off your dress and hang it up?" When she did,
he removed his own shirt and undershirt. Her skin felt so wonderful on his
fingers, he wanted to feel it with his own skin. She had also taken off her
bra. She still didn't look nervous, but this was  definitely a step. He
should enjoy this step and see if she could enjoy it, too.

He could see her lovely breasts as she walked towards him. He could feel
their softness against his chest as they kissed. Skin met skin; lip met
lip; tongue tip met tongue tip. He took her to the sofa, and they sat down
for more kisses. Sometimes, he looked at the lovely shape of her breasts.
Sometimes, he felt the soft smooth underside and firm nipples. Sometimes
they shared a kiss. Sometimes he kissed her face or ears or throat. Those
nipples, though, were looking more and more tempting. He kissed down to her
breast and then along the top of her breast to the nipple. He lapped it
with his tongue, and then sucked it between his lips.

That was wonderful, and so was another shared kiss while his tongue tried
to taste every surface of hers. But she hadn't seemed nervous of this step.
Maybe she was ready for another. He'd love to strip her of her damned
pantyhose and explore the secret warmth that she sheltered between her
legs. He wanted to plunder those secrets, but his violence would lose him
her trust, and that would lose him everything. Well, she had taken another
step. If she stopped here, but enjoyed this much, she would be ready to do
more at some later time. He should give her the choice.

"If I remember," he asked while looking her in the eye, "he scared you when
he took off your pantyhose?"

"Yeah."

"You might want to take off your own this time." She didn't take the
suggestion; she didn't cower in fear; she didn't make an alternative
suggestion. She sat like she was thinking about his suggestion. He went
back to kissing and petting her. If they weren't to go further, they could
still do more of this.

Then she sat up. He stopped his kissing and caressing, as he'd promised he
would always do. Instead of rejecting him, she was taking off the
pantyhose. It was a process, and he waited until she was finished.

"Oh, darling. Darling, darling, Candy." She had made another step. She had
given him access to her sweet thighs. He kissed her again, moving her into
that kiss with his right hand on the back of her head. First he held her
far breast in his left hand. He teased that nipple until it, too, firmed.
He passed his hand over her torso and leg to her knees. He caressed her
thigh, moving slowly but certainly towards her secret center.

When she stopped him with her hand, he pulled back. He even broke off the
kiss. He'd promised that she could set the limits, and he would keep that
promise. He understood that she could accept even this much only because
she trusted him to stop when she said to.

Instead of setting new limits, she took his hand and returned it to her
thigh.

"Just checking," she said. She had been testing him, and he had passed the
test.

"You are in control." His stroked the smoothness of the inside of her
thigh. He watched his fingers until she pulled him back into the kiss.
During the kiss, he moved his hand inward. She had said that she had been
checking, not that this was the limit. She didn't resist that, and even
pulled his shoulders so that he was pressed more firmly into the kiss. Her
panties were decorated with lace, and he felt all over them without trying
to get inside. The firmness of her mound was sweet to feel, and he could
sense the softness of her nether lips. When he felt those, he thought that
her panties were moist there. This was a second step for the day, and he
was willing to stop there.

She widened her legs, though, and moved her seat a little towards the front
of the sofa. He took that as an invitation and slipped a finger into her
leg hole. The lips were soft, and there {b}was{/b} dampness between them.
This was his left hand, though, and the angle was both uncomfortable and
restrictive of any movement. After a little exploring, he removed his
finger.

"I really think you should be sitting up here." He touched his lap. She got
up, and he helped her sit there facing his right. In the process, he eased
her panties down a bit. He wasn't taking them off -- that was another step
entirely -- but he was allowing his finger more room to sneak in on the
bottom. Now, his right hand had much better access than his left had had.
Instead of zooming in, he held her far breast and then her near one. He
caressed her thigh all the way to her mound. He gave her a chance to stop
him, but she didn't take that chance.

When the index finger of his right hand slipped through the leg hole, it
had enough room to move. He stroked along her outer lip. Her breath caught,
and he prepared to withdraw, but she wasn't stopping him. He parted her
lips and there was more than dampness. She was juicy. He brought some of
that juice up to her clit. Again, she stiffened, but she made no move to
stop him. He kissed along the top of her breast. When he reached her
nipple, he began to lick it. He alternated licking and sucking while his
finger stroked her lips and clit as slowly and gently as he could.

When she stiffened this time, it was so obviously an arousal rather than a
rejection that he kept up his motion. His posture was uncomfortable, and
the edge of her panties was beginning to abrade that back of his finger. He
didn't allow any of that to interfere with the important sensations. He had
his love in his arms, and she was close.

Then she shook in his grasp. It wasn't violent, but it was an obvious
orgasm. He straightened his back and withdrew his finger.

"Oh, Candy. Oh, Darling." She supported her while she slumped in his arms.
When she straightened, she turned her head towards his for a kiss. This was
the sweetest kiss he had ever had, and her tongue chased his into his mouth
when he thought the kiss was over.

"Oh, Candy," he asked when they broke from that kiss. "Are you okay? Was
that okay?" The kiss seemed to have answered that question, but he wanted
to be sure.

"That was wonderful." And now that she had said so, she wasn't going to go
back on it.

"Should we stay here?" he asked. "Or should we go into the bedroom?" She
had taken several steps. She had several more to take, but they all really
should be in bed. The last one she had taken, really should have been, as
his legs nearly going to sleep from her weight told him. In bed, they could
kiss. He could caress her whole body. He could even kiss much of it. They
could both be comfortable.

They would go further another day, but they would go further while lying
down.

She was thinking again, not rejecting what he'd said but not accepting it,
either. Well, it was her decision. He kissed her shoulder, where the kiss
wouldn't distract her from her thoughts, and went back to watching her
thoughts reflected on her face. As the calculation went on, a thought
occurred to him. What he had proposed didn't really deserve this much
consideration. Had she misunderstood him? Did she think he had proposed
sex? That was more than one stage beyond where they had gone, and he
thought that one stage at a time was best for her -- least likely to panic
her. He kissed her shoulder again, trying for reassuring but conscious that
she was unlikely to be reassured. On the other hand, if she were taking
this much time to consider it, that would mean that she thought sex with
him was a possibility sex with him {b}this afternoon{/b} was a possibility.
And her reason for refusing marriage was that she would never be able to
have sex. If she was considering sex, even if she turned it down for this
afternoon, then that reason no longer applied. He went back to kissing her
shoulder. His legs were getting a little tired, but let her think as long
as she wanted.

When she decided, she got up from his lap. When that intention was clear,
he hurried to move his arms so she wouldn't feel like he was confining her.
She didn't reach for her clothes. Instead she headed for the bedroom. He
watched her sexy seat swing her panties for a moment. Then he followed her.
She lay down in the middle of the bed.

"Candy, darling." She might have decided to have sex -- he might also have
misinterpreted the reason for her long period of deciding and her present
posture. But, if she had decided, his promise was that she could change her
mind at any point. And watching from the bed as he made his preparations,
stripping and putting on the Trojan, could change her mind. It might make a
woman more confident about sex than Candy was change her mind. He knelt on
the bed to kiss her. During the kiss, he used each foot to push his shoe
off the other foot. He kissed her breasts, tasting each loveliness equally.
He ended on her nipples before raising up on his knees. He brought his
hands to her panties.

"Let me" She let him remove her panties, raising her hips as he pulled them
down to her thighs. Then, when he shifted in the bed, she brought her legs
close together and raised them. He took the panties all the way over her
feet, and she lay flat with her legs slightly spread.

She was as lovely, maybe more lovely, between her legs as anywhere else.
The last cover of her secrets was a patch of curly brown hair. It was
starting to puff out a bit with the constriction of the panties removed.
Her thighs and her belly above the hair were creamy white. He stroked her
thighs, and then the mound. He kissed her breasts, licking her nipples
before venturing his hand towards her last secrets. He was supporting
himself on his left hand.

He appreciated her smooth thighs as his hand stoked upwards. He wasn't
grabbing; he was, as always, giving her time to stop him. He wasn't
dawdling, either. When his fingers touched her hair again, he stroked along
the outer lips once before parting them. She was still juicy, still
responding to him. He held the inner lips between thumb and forefinger. As
gently as he could, he rubbed them against one another.

When he parted them, his middle finger found the source of her juice. He
stroked that up between those lips towards her clit. He sucked hard on the
nipple of her far breast just before his finger reached her clit. Her
sudden intake a breath was his reward. He sucked more gently as he stroked
slowly down to her center and up over her clit. He kept his touch as soft
as possible.

Her body gradually stiffened and tensed. This tension, he knew, wasn't
fear. He kept stroking gently, but moved his head to her near breast. He
sucked that nipple, tonguing it when the suction was strongest.

She bucked into his hand and gasped. Her orgasm! He let go to shove his
trousers down and off. He opened the drawer of his night stand and
scrabbled in it to find the Trojan he'd taken out of the box. He opened the
packet and rolled it down his cock. He moved until he was between her legs
and then leaned over to kiss her forehead.

"I love you, Candy. May I? Candy, dearest, please say yes." He had been
patient, but seeing her orgasms and touching her sexiness had wound him
tight. He needed this. He brought her hand to the base of his cock to show
her that he was wearing a Trojan. She didn't say anything. "Please say
yes." He was sounding desperate. Well, he {b}was{/b} desperate.

"Let me see." She wanted to be certain? She was merely curious? Well, she
had asked, and if he didn't want to be her second rapist, he'd better get
further from her center. His cock was attracted to it like they were
magnetized. He reared up straight on his knees.

"Please say yes." He was begging her. So much for this being about her.

"Yes." Loveliest word in the language.

"Darling!" He dropped down and caught himself by his hands on the mattress.
Then he reached between her outer lips again. He parted her inner ones and
moved so his cock was between his fingers. Looking her in the face, he
pressed slowly into her. First, her warmth was over his tip. Then he felt
her smoothness slide all around his head. She was clasping him, but it
wasn't constrictive. Then a looser clasp was sliding over his head while
his shaft was hugged. Finally, she was holding all of him.

His eyes had been on her face all that time, but only then could he spare
any attention to what he was seeing. She, too, seemed to have her attention
inward, but she didn't seem to be in any discomfort. Nor did she look like
she had changed her mind. He kissed her lightly, not opening his lips.

"I love you. May I move?"

"Sure." She seemed to have forgotten that this act would be impossible for
her to bear, that she couldn't marry him because this was impossible.

He withdrew slowly, savoring the sensations along his shaft and his head.
When his head first felt the extra tightness, he moved into her again. He
checked her face again. Finding no resistance, he moved out again. Being in
her was heaven, and moving in her was even better. He tried to move slowly
to savor all the sensations, but he was driven to move faster. Then faster
yet. His desire was boiling up inside him.

"Darling!" He thrust, trying to bury himself in her warmth. Then he pumped
his love into her. He lay on her softness, and she embraced him. As he
recovered, he realized that he must be crushing her even so.

"Sorry," he said. He moved to the side, but there wasn't much room. She
moved away from him but reached back to him. He took her hand and moved
closer. Their clasped hands lay between them. "Was that okay? Were you
frightened?"

"I wasn't frightened at all. You were very gentle. It was fine." That was
good to hear. She was lying on her back, and he dropped her hand on her
leg. He moved to lie against her side and hug her lightly.  He kissed what
he could reach without effort. Physical effort was beyond him just then.
That had been the best sex of his life, as far beyond his experience with
other women as that experience had been beyond masturbation. It had drained
him utterly.

Well, her reason for not marrying him was now moot. They should settle some
things. The first, of course, was her pregnancy. He was quite willing to go
back to a long courtship or, at least, a long engagement if her fears were
baseless. He would be the guy, after all, who had been willing to marry her
to save her reputation. That should trump anything a rival could offer.

"Look can we talk? You've said that you think you're pregnant. Have you
been to a doctor?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"You don't look pregnant. Well, even if you are certain, you should go to a
doctor. I don't know all that much about pregnancy, but I've been in the
choir when pregnant women have talked. They all visit the doctor." Even if
she were, and she probably was, their plans would be much better grounded
when they {b}knew{/b}.

"I've told Mom. Maybe I'll ask her about doctors. I don't like talking to
her about it, though. She doesn't believe I was raped. She thinks I wanted
to have sex with him."

"Well, when we're married I'll be paying your doctor bills, or -- at least
-- my insurance will. I don't see anything wrong with starting early.
Really, it's just investment in having a safe pregnancy, and most of the
pregnancy will be during the marriage."

She didn't say anything to that. She was thinking again, but what was there
about his statement to think about? She was a middle-class woman in
Evanston, not a hillbilly. Middle class urban women went to doctors when
they were pregnant.

"You have to talk to somebody." It seems he'd been telling her that all the
time. "Do you know your gynecologist? Doctors have ethical rules, just like
lawyers do." Which didn't seem so convincing now he'd said it. "Not a great
recommendation, I know. but we mostly obey legal ethics. Honestly, we do.
Anyway, go to your doctor. I'll pay, and he'll keep silent." He was going
to be her husband, and the sooner they were certain, the sooner he'd be her
husband. If she didn't want to talk to her mother, then he could start
paying the bills a little early.

"I don't know." That didn't seem encouraging. When they {b}were{/b}
married, she'd follow Carolyn's advice or some more recent mother. All the
women in church did. On the other hand, this was a catch-22. She needed the
certainty of the pregnancy to get her to decide for the wedding. And, here,
he wasn't simply being selfish. The sooner the wedding, the less the gossip.

"If you don't want to ask your mother for a name, do you want to ask Prof.
Pierce?"

"Huh!"

"As I said, the women in the choir gossip with each other. They don't talk
to me about such things, but I hear. I've heard her say nice things about
her gynecologist." Damn it! He'd heard them say nice things about Priscilla
Circle, too. Candy was probably eligible, he'd never heard of UMW being
stuffy about church membership, and the new circles were notoriously
independent of the chapter. She, however, wouldn't want to mention the
pregnancy before the marriage, and a pregnancy, or a young kid, was one of
the unofficial requirements for Priscilla Circle.

"I won't talk to Prof. Pierce until school starts again." Was that 'won't'
as a refusal or 'won't' as a prediction? Well, although she had been in her
house once, she probably expected to deal with Carolyn at school. He could
try.

"You could call her on the phone. I have her number. She is almost
certainly at home now." They, after all, had gone out to eat after church,
and they had got home long ago. If the Pierce family had gone out to eat
after church, despite any delays caused by the boys, they would be home by
now.

Candy got up and started to pull on her panties. She hadn't said that she
would call or that she wouldn't. Well, back then, she hadn't said that she
would go into the bedroom, either. He got the church directory for her.
When she was fully dressed including pantyhose and shoes, she went to the
phone. He went into the bedroom to get dressed himself. He could hear her
side of the conversation.

"May I talk to Prof. Pierce, please." A long silence.

"Prof. Pierce, this is Candy -- Candy Wharton. I hate to bother you again."

"Eric gave it to me. I hate to bother you at home, but I have a question
and you've helped me before." That's right. He could call Carolyn when he
wanted to -- and she could tell him the time was inconvenient when it was
-- but Candy was a student. On the other hand, Candy could ask this
question, and he could not. Damn!

"I want to talk to a gynecologist. I need to talk to one. And I don't want
to ask my mom. Do you have the name of one?"

"I can get there." Another long pause.

"Thank you very much.... Goodbye." He went out in his stockings.

"I'll call him Monday," she said when she saw him.

"Good. What's his name?"

"Gable." That could have several spellings, though fewer than Hawthorne's
7. This one, he found in the book, was spelled 'Gabel.' He made out a blank
check to that name, and gave it to Candy. Another worry had occurred to
him, though.

"Look," he told her, "maybe you should be checked for venereal diseases as
well as pregnancy." She looked aghast. "I trust you, but I don't trust
{b}the MF{/b}. Miss Murphy thought he might make a habit of something like
what he did to you. Don't, for God's sake, have nightmares about that. Just
check it out." For that matter, they would have to be checked for syphilis,
at least, before they got married.

"Okay, I will." Great. One problem settled. Now, however, they were both
dressed. The afternoon had ended, but he didn't want it to end. Well, the
choice was hers; the choice was always hers.

"I don't know what to do next," he told her. "We could stay here. I have
eggs and I could fix you an omelet for dinner. We could go to a movie and
eat out. We could even go to a movie and come back here, for that matter,
but I wouldn't take you to a place where the food is cooked as badly as I
cook."

"Why don't you take me home?" Well the choice was always hers, and that
choice was always the girl's. Trying to lock her in was false arrest if not
kidnaping.

"Well, there are a lot of reasons against it, but come here." She did, and
she cooperated with the kiss. Then he got his shoes and their outerwear. He
took her home. Well, what was the next stage? Not the next stage of her sex
life, since they'd reached the last stage, and she hadn't been frightened.
What was the next stage of their relationship? When, to be very
short-sighted, was there next date? Tomorrow was New Year's Eve. They had
enjoyed a wonderful Christmas Eve, but he didn't think he could provide
anything like it for New Year's Eve. He really wanted to stay inside and
avoid the drunk drivers. He wanted to be their prosecutor, not their victim.

"When can we get together again? Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, but it doesn't
have to be tomorrow. Truth to tell, what I like about being with you, is
{b}you{/b}. I'm not all that enthused about taking you out drinking
somewhere."

"Well, I know I said that I would think things out last week, but I didn't
think things out enough. I really didn't expect that." Well, neither of
them had expected to go that far. He hadn't intended to push, had she felt
pushed?

"Darling? Did I push you too far?"

"You didn't push. The situation did." That was good to hear. Right at the
end, he had been pushing, or -- at least -- begging. "I was going to go
along with you until the fright got too bad. The fright was going to get
too bad long before we got to actual sex. I trusted you to stop when I said
'no.' Hell! You even asked me to say 'yes.'" Which was a much more
favorable way of putting it than 'begging' was.

"Well, yes. I said I'd go forward until you stopped me, but right then I
thought that you should have more opportunity to stop." And, which he
didn't want to say, asking for a yes was the opposite of rape. He wanted
that contrast.

"Eric, you're a wonderful guy." Which was also great to hear. She wasn't
expressing love, but she was expressing that he was near the top of her
preference list.

"I love you." He did, more than before, and he hadn't thought that
possible. She didn't love him, and she didn't say she did.

"So, I really think we should wait 'til next Sunday."

"Your choice." And, of course, that did mean that they would meet Sunday.
It definitely didn't sound like she was going out with another man, and --
of course -- the campus where she could meet other men was shut down.

He kissed her at her doorway again and went back to his car. He spent the
ride back and much of the evening reliving his experience. She was
wonderful. Sex with her was wonderful. Then he went out to a local
hamburger joint for dinner, a place he'd never take Candy but cheap. He
started thinking about the rest of the time with her.

He was a fucking idiot! He had taken her for granted. She had said 'yes' to
him, the first man to whom she had said 'yes.' They had experienced the
ultimate togetherness, an orgasm which had transcended any other he had
ever experienced. And, then, he had taken her for granted. The last time he
had proposed to her, she had turned him down. Certainly, they had -- she
had, really -- overcome that objection. But his proper response to that
should have been to propose again, preferably on bended knee. Instead, he
had assumed that the problem was taken care of, and that her answer had
changed. Anyone with the brains of the average cabbage would let the lady
change her own mind. And taking her for granted was a horrible omen for the
marriage.

Then, too, marriages meant weddings, and weddings meant engagements. Women
cared about weddings and engagement rings. They cared about proposals, too.
He had denied her the one and had silenced her about the other two. Well,
they would eat after church. If she gave him time, and she was always so
understanding, he would take the time to make it up to her. Probably, they
should talk in his apartment. There might well be details she might not
want to discuss in public. Besides which, the apartment would be their
first home. If it was the scene of his blundering, it should be the scene
of his making up for it.

The next day, which was New Year's Eve and, thus, not a work day, he spent,
planning out what he would do and the decisions that they would make. He
usually ate only breakfasts and weekend lunches at home, but he ate in
another diner that noon and cooked himself an omelet for dinner that night.
He really disliked traffic on New Year's Eve. He realized on the First that
he had planned too much. Candy was not only a person who could have a voice
in the decisions, she was a person who was entitled to a say in what
decisions they made. He thought, for the first time, of her child not only
as a problem in her life, but as a person in their future.

Well, people didn't have to know everything. The boy should be his son as
far as anyone outside the family knew. Carolyn and Bill would know better,
but Carolyn' knowledge had come when Candy was her client -- well, student.
He didn't think that gossip fit in with what professors saw as professional
ethics. Bill was easy. Holding his mouth would be the price of holding the
baby. It might be harder inside the family, but Candy would need his help
in child care; she would accept his voice as equal to hers in the decisions
over child care. And, actually, he would be willing to give her a little
precedence in child-care decisions. Like housework, that was traditionally
the wife's prerogative.

Traffic Court reopened on the 3rd, and he went back to work. These ideas
kept circling in his head at night, though. On Friday, his house was
cleaned, and on Saturday he neatened everything except his bedroom. He
neatened the bedroom Sunday morning before leaving to pick her up.

She came out the third time he circled the block. They spoke of
inconsequentials on the way there. The day was cold but dry, and the wind
was low. He didn't ask her whether she wanted to be let off at church
before he parked the car. They were a little early, and sat about where
they had sat before. When Claire came in, she joined them.

"Look we have to talk," he said when they were in the car after service.
"Why don't we get take-out and eat in my apartment?"

"Sure."

"I was thinking Thai. Would you rather have pizza? Something else?"

"Thai would be fine." She was always so agreeable to his suggestions. Well,
sometimes she had thought long and hard about them, but those were serious
decisions she had to make. They got 3 boxes of Thai food and headed back to
his place. He got everything out and seated her. Now was the time.

"Look I took you for granted last week. I'm sorry. I never want to take you
for granted again. You never said you would marry me." He knelt down to
say, "Candy, darling Candace, will you marry me?"

"Get up and go sit down. This will be a long conversation." That didn't
sound good. On the other hand, she could say 'no' as fast as 'yes.' "I'm
carrying a child," she continued. "How do you plan to treat that child?"
That sounded almost as if she was taking the marriage as a given. Still, it
was a question, and it deserved an answer.

"Well. I have thought about that. In the first place, it's rather nasty to
punish a kid for what his father has done. That becomes ridiculous when it
is for what his father has done to his mother. This will be your baby, and
you'll love it. Well, I love you, and I will love him, too." That was
really the bottom line. He would love anything that was associated with her.

"You keep saying 'him.' I sometimes say 'her.'" That wasn't a serious
matter. One of them would be wrong, and change their expression. Saying
'it' sounded unloving.

"Well, I will love him or love her. Have you been to the doctor, then? Are
you sure?"

"I've been to the doctor, but I only saw him on Friday. Doctors take New
Year's day off. I don't have the results yet. He's not sure. I fairly well
am." Well, she might think she was sure, but she didn't seem to be making
decisions the way she would be when she was.

"Well, then the rest of what we say isn't, 'Candy's pregnant; this is what
we will do.' It's. 'This is what we will do if Candy is pregnant.' That
doesn't apply to the proposal, although it may well apply to your answer,
and it's almost certain to apply to our time line." It really applied to
her answer. It even applied to his proposal, in some way. He wanted to
marry her if she were pregnant, and he wanted to marry her if she were not.
The marriages, though, would be different.

"Then, Eric, in answer to your question, and if I am pregnant, then I will
marry you."

"Darling!" He needed to kiss and hug her.

"Finish your dinner." Her tone was forceful. The words were a little ironic
coming from her. She so seldom finished hers. Even so, he went back to his
Pad Thai.

"Well in line with the discussion of how we would raise the child, I
propose that, in all but the biological sense, it will be my child. There
are a few people who will know different, but really very few, and those
are your friends. Claire and them are your support group; they aren't going
to gossip about you." That was really what he'd thought about. He'd thought
through this much more than mistreating her child.

"Well, when the baby is born they'll all know." They won't know much. Only
a few would know much. Except, that, if she demanded child support from the
douche-bag, he could claim some time with the kid, and that would have
legal complications for what they needed to tell the school district. For
that, matter, what were the obligations on birth certificates? That,
however was a bunch of bridges to cross when they came to them.

"They'll all know that it was conceived before the marriage. A few old hens
will cackle about that. Aside from the three girls, who will be getting
their degrees and scattering to the 4 winds in a few years, only Carolyn
and Bill will know it was conceived before we met."

"And people they tell." Well, yes.

"Didn't you tell Carolyn as a confidence to your teacher? I don't think
she'll be tempted to gossip. And Bill is easy. We're talking about a baby,
at least in the first instance. If I say he can hold my baby, he damn-well
isn't going to say it isn't mine. For that matter, as little honor is given
to a boy by saying he's my son, it's more honor than saying that he's the
son of a rapist. Bill isn't going to tell you anything detrimental about a
baby he's held."

"Well, if I'm asking you to treat her -- or him -- like your own child, I
can hardly object to calling it your child."  And that was her position.
Well, they might have disagreements as time went on, but other couples did,
too. They were totally unlikely to disagree as much about child-raising as
Carolyn and Bill did, and the twins were Bill's sons.

"Some people in the choir and their families have heard me call you 'Miss
Wharton.' If they remember when, and few of them will, they'll only think
that I was pretending a distance from you for some reason. After all, I
asked you for a conversation then. They didn't know the subject. For all
they know, I was trying to patch a lovers' quarrel."

"And, of course, Mom and Dad know."

"And they have the least reason to gossip of anybody. People around Miss
Murphy know. That's a legal confidence, but the office often treats
information coming in as only confidential in terms of not going out. I'll
speak to Miss Murphy, though, and ask her to keep it from going further.
She doesn't owe me any favors, but you're a victim. She'll do practically
anything for a victim who'll come forward."

"Claire told me that Prof. Pierce made me out to be some kind of hero."

"For the NOW crowd? You probably are. For Murphy, if you're not a heroine
-- you waited too long for that -- you are..." How to express a
co-operating witness to a lay person? "what she needs to operate." Candy
thought of herself as damaged goods, which was all very well if it led her
to accept his proposal. It was unrealistic, though, and might interfere
with her later life.

"Which reminds me. You go to worship in Aldersgate. You don't take
communion. Are you Catholic?"

"I'm hardly anything. Lapsed Lutheran if there is such a thing. I just feel
so dirty."

"Well, don't!"

"That was a stupid thing for me to say," he continued. "You can't help how
you feel. But communion isn't for the extra-pure, and anyway, what the
bastard did to you doesn't have anything to do with how pure you are....

"Anyway." He was talking too much, but he'd thought of these things. "To
change the topic, do you know when the doctor will call you?"

"He won't. I'll call him Tuesday."

"Okay. Tuesday night, do you want to go shopping with me for an engagement
ring?" Was he supposed to select it himself and bring it with him for the
proposal? Well, it was a little late for that, and, besides, he didn't know
anything about a ring.

"You want that?"

"Well, we're planning on the basis of assuming that you're pregnant. If you
are, you said that you will marry me. If that's the case, then we're
engaged. That calls for a ring. We really owe it to your parents to tell
them first. You don't want to go home and wave a ring in their face the way
you do with your friends. Since men don't get rings, I'll tell some of my
friends at work. I'll leave it to you to wear the ring in church. I'll just
stand close and look proud."

"And hold my hand." Now, that he would always be willing to do.

"Definitely. Whenever you let me. Only your right hand, though, until the
news gets out. Really, though, when do we tell your parents? And how? And
who? I mean do you tell them or do we tell them? I could take the 3 of you
out to dinner."

"Well, let's do it a little different." So she wasn't always going to
follow his lead blindly. "You keep paying for my dinners."

"This is only the beginning. I plan to pay for your dinners for decades to
come." Until death us do part, with a few exceptions for potlucks and
office dinners.

"Yeah. But then I'll be cooking them." And that was good to hear, too.
"Anyway, why don't I get Mom to invite you for dinner one night? We can
tell them then."

"Okay. You still have my card?" She did. "You can call at the office or
leave a message here. Probably, both would be better. I've missed messages
at the office."

"Okay."

"And where are we going to meet Tuesday? You want me to pick you up at your
place?"

"That would be nice."

"I'll find a jewelry store in Evanston. Or do you want to shop on State
Street?"

"Evanston is fine.... We'll be living here, won't we?" Well, yes, but what
did she mean by 'here'?

"If you mean here," he rapped the table, "just for a few months. If you
mean Evanston, I'd like to stay in town, stay at Aldersgate."

"Yeah." Her word could mean anything. Her tone implied approval of the
church.

"Should we be married here? Married at Aldersgate?" The wedding, though,
was the prerogative of the bride and her family. Candy had some problems
with her family, and he didn't know what they were. Well, he was on her
side, but she needed a family, too. The community offered by Aldersgate was
all very well, but the kid was going to need a grandmother to bake cookies
for him, and that had to be Candy's mother. Mom and Dad were in Moline.

"Sure."

"Of course, your parents, your mother especially, will have something to
say about that."

"Maybe."

"Well, you might have dreams. I don't want to cross them, especially
without hearing them." She was only going to have one wedding; it should
be, as far as possible, the one she'd dreamed of. "I have something saved
up; I was going to go into private practice. That can go towards a wedding."

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it."

"I'd like that. Once again, your parents might have some other plans."

"What do they say about home?" What did who say about home? Frost?

"'Home is where, when you have to go there they have to take you in'?
That's Frost."

"Well, when you have to go there, and they take you in, that's home." That
was an affirmation of Aldersgate. That was great. She had a history, a
history he had no part of, in other places. At Aldersgate, she was half of
Candy-and-Eric.

"Timing is, still assuming you're pregnant, the sooner the better." He
should remind her.

"People will talk." She hadn't liked the reminder. And he knew some of the
people who would talk. On the other hand, the choir was a great place for
gossip, and they damned-well wouldn't gossip about {b}him{/b} there. Dennis
wasn't the only one conscious of the sexual imbalance.

"Darling, people will talk anyway. The great thing about gossips is that
they find something else to gossip about very soon."

When they had finished talking, they shared a long kiss. If her hands
stayed on his waist while his wandered her whole torso, her tongue was as
venturesome as his was. They shared another kiss, sweet if shorter and less
erotic, on her front porch. He restrained himself from calling her Monday
and early Tuesday. He parked and came to her door between 5:30 and 6:00
Tuesday night.

"Well, do you have news for me?" he asked when he'd got the car onto
Belmont heading east. That was, by far, the better direction to be headed
at 6:00.

"Yeah. I called the doctor's office. He agrees I'm pregnant. Really, I
think a rabbit agrees that I'm pregnant. I don't seem to have any venereal
disease."

"We have to get tested, at least get tested for syphilis, for the wedding
license. I'll check and see whether that test will fit their bill.
Everybody has to get that test."

"Yeah. I know." Well, she probably knew more people who had been married
recently than he did. He just assumed that he was more knowledgeable about
statutory requirements, and probably he was in general. That didn't mean
that she was ignorant.

The ring she selected was a fairly modest one. They got wedding rings, too,
and the jeweler fitted them to their fingers.

"Look," she said when they were back in the car. "You're right about
telling Mom. Why don't you  bring the ring with you when I wrangle an
invitation?" So they did it that way. They tried an Italian restaurant that
time, and he took her home afterwards. Almost their only kiss of the trip
was on her front porch.

Wednesday she called him at the office to invite her to her house for
dinner on Friday.

"I'll bring the ring." As his office mate was out, he couldn't be
overheard. "Do you want me to propose again in front of them? Seems like
that's as good a way of telling them as any."

"Might as well."

"I love you."

"Friday, then, 6:30," she replied. "Bye."

"Bye." Well, she'd been where she could be overheard. On the other hand,
she never said 'I love you' to him. Well, if that had been one of his
requirements for the marriage, he should have told her. And, her loving him
really wasn't. He'd like her to have that feeling, but he suspected that
she couldn't produce it. And if she didn't love him, their relationship was
better if she didn't lie about it.

He got home and shaved again, showered and put on his best suit. He parked
by her house and waited until it was almost time. When she opened the door,
she came outside, not dressed for outdoors, for a brief kiss. There were 4
people on edge while they stood around the living room and then sat at the
large kitchen table. The parents took the ends, and they put him across
from Candy. What they thought that seating arrangement was preventing, he
couldn't tell. The food was good and he said so. Then it was time for
business. He wiped his hands on the napkin before hunting the ring case in
his inner breast pocket. He fumbled the ring out while his hands were under
the table.

"Candy, give me your hand." When she did, he slipped the ring up her
finger. It was a tight fit over the knuckle, but he managed it. "Candy
Wharton, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Eric Stewart. I will."

"Obviously," he said to the others, "this wasn't the first time I asked
that question. But this is why I begged for this invitation. Candy and I
are engaged."

Mrs. Wharton's answer shocked him. "And do you know that she's carrying
another man's child?" This was Candy's mother. She was supposed to be on
Candy's side. If a defense attorney had betrayed his client, he would have
reported him to the ARDC. There was no Parent's Registry and Disciplinary
Committee, but maybe there should be.

"Yes, Mrs. Wharton," he managed to answer. "Candy has told me all about it.
That is one of the reasons that we think that the marriage should be soon."

"Well what do you do?" That question was from the father, and it was the
sort of question which should be asked at this juncture. It was much better
than the mother's, at least.

"For work? I'm a prosecutor in traffic court for the States Attorney's
Office. I handle everything from DUI to contested parking tickets. Not too
many people contest those."

"Pay well?" Well, that depended.

"Depends on your standards. The States Attorney doesn't pay lawyers
particularly high salaries as lawyers' salaries go. On the other hand, it
is quite a decent salary compared to what many other occupations pay."

"Stable? Are you guaranteed the job?" Not guaranteed, but more certain than
most.

"We don't, even though the States Attorney is an elected post, usually turn
over the personnel when the top man changes. Most people who leave the
office do so because they think that they can do better. As I say, many
lawyers make more."

"Doesn't make you sound very ambitious." And that was one of his weak
points, one which Candy might not know.

"I'm not. I have looked at becoming a solo practitioner for years. A solo
practitioner who really hustles can make more that I make. The guys who
really rake in the bucks work for the big partnerships. They've never tried
to recruit me, and I can practically guarantee that they never will. But a
solo practitioner who spends every hour of every day searching out clients
can do very well. Somehow, I didn't see myself doing that."

"Well, you're talking about supporting a family, now."

"Don't get me wrong. I make over the median income for a {b}family{/b}, let
alone a single individual. I'm not starving. And I've put something away.
The first year or two of solo-practitioner work wouldn't pay the rent. You
have to build up the business. So, I've been putting some money away in
case I ever quit and go into business for myself." Now he was dithering.

"But you haven't done that." And her father saw the problem.

"But I haven't done that. I've read that every newspaper reporter has a
novel in his drawer he works on occasionally. Well, everybody in the office
with the exception of a few supervisors -- and I'm not certain about them
-- has a business plan for the law office he's going to open using all the
experience he's built up in court. You see, most lawyers are consultants.
You go to them to draw up a contract or incorporate a business. The guys
who actually appear in court are litigators, and we think of ourselves as
special. Well prosecutors are litigators who spend more time in litigation
than most defense attorneys do." And the traffic guys spend more time in
court than the guys who work on the more serious crimes. That didn't make
them, to be honest, better litigators. "Of course, there are problems with
our experience, too. But we dream of going over to the dark side and making
a killing. Not too many of us actually do it."

"Well," Mrs. Wharton said, "you make {b}enough{/b} money." Nobody made
enough money, but he wasn't going to mention that. "Honestly, John, he's an
attorney not a gas-station attendant. What I want to know is what you've
discussed about the wedding."

"Not a hell of a lot. I'd like it to be at my church, Aldersgate United
Methodist, in Evanston. It's a pretty church, and Candy has been there.
There are people who know both of us."

"Well, I don't know."

"Honestly, Mom," Candy said. "I've been to worship in Aldersgate more than
I've been to worship in every other church in the past decade."

"Well, it's not our church."

"But it's the church where the minister knows Eric's name. Does the pastor
at Portage Park Lutheran know mine? I don't know his." There was more than
that. And he wasn't going to let the harridan have her way when Candy
wanted what he wanted.

"If Bob Lawrence doesn't know your name," he said, "he's not doing his job.
You've been there several times, and while you usually go out the back with
the choir, you have gone out the back."

"They come in the back of the sanctuary," Candy said, "and the pastor
stands there shaking hands after the service. There is another exit, in the
front of the sanctuary which leads into the Fellowship Hall." Oops! he'd
spoken confusingly. So much for boasting of his being a litigator. "They
call that going out the back. Confused me the first time. Anyway, Eric is
right. The last time I shook the pastor's hand, he called me by name."

"Well that's no reason to choose someone to marry you," said Mom.

"It's damn well a reason to choose not to be married by someone."

"Lots of people get married by pastors they haven't seen before asking him
to do the job." Well, {b}lots{/b} of people did. Those people, though,
weren't in any position to dictate the choice of church. They didn't attend.

"Mom," Candy said, "the kids I went to Sunday School with are scattered to
hell and gone. I don't know them any more, and they don't know me. The kids
I went to high school with will come to Evanston if they are in town. They
don't know Portage Park Lutheran any better than I do. I have a few friends
at Aldersgate, and Eric has more. And I want to have friends there." And
that last was the best reason.

"Sure," he said, "plenty of people get married in a church which they will
never visit again, standing in front of a minister they will never see
again. Those people, excepting a few soldiers and wayfarers, aren't members
of a church. I think Candy has found a church home, and I know that I have.
It seems to me that you use your church home for that sort of ceremony."

"Well," her father said, "if you're expecting us to pay for a big church
wedding..." Well what was really necessary was that her father give the
bride away. Eric was prepared to pay for everything if he needed to.

"I don't see the sense of that," Candy said. "The people are going to see
my belly bulge in a few months. Why make a spectacle of myself parading
down the aisle all wrapped in white?"

"What are you saying?" Mrs. Wharton asked.

"A good dress, one I already own. One bridesmaid, also in street clothes. A
small ceremony." Well, a simple ceremony would be great. One without the
church invited would be a mistake.

"Let's talk later," he said.

"Well," Mrs. Wharton said, "you certainly surprised us."

"Well," Candy said, "Dinner is finished. Why don't you and Dad go upstairs
while I say goodbye to Eric?" Was the discussion finished? It was if Candy
said it was. And she might intend 'saying goodbye' to include some
communication as well as some kissing.

"Candy!" her dad said.

"Well, would you rather {b}we{/b} went upstairs to say goodbye?" Candy
asked. Her parents left the table and went up the stairs. He and Candy got
up but stayed downstairs. She got him his overcoat.

"She's your mother," he told her. "You have to forgive her. I'm not sure I
ever will."

"For what?" Candy had been angry during the discussion, but she hadn't
seemed as perturbed as her mother's betrayal deserved.

"For telling me that you were pregnant with another man's child."

"I'd already told you." Yes, and so she should have. But that was
{b}her{/b} secret to reveal.

"Yes, and she could well have made sure of that after I'd gone. It would
have been one hell of a shock, and not the sort of thing which can be
disguised. But {b}you{/b} should have told me before you accepted my
proposal. There was no excuse on God's green earth for her to tell me.
None!"

"I was trying to see where she did you wrong."

"She betrayed her daughter. She betrayed my future wife."

"Anyway, is that what you had to speak to me about?" He'd said that they
would talk later. And the sooner the better.

"No. Consider this. A simple wedding is great. But the church will expect
to be invited. You want their support. Acknowledge their interest."

"And they notice my bulging belly a couple of months later?" Well were they
supposed not to notice it if they hadn't attended the wedding? On the other
hand, attending the wedding was some sort of gesture of support.

"So, they stood in support of you. They, some of them, will still be in
support of you. Look, a marriage which begins too late is better than a
marriage which ends too early, and they've seen those without fainting.
Don't decide now; think about it." And, he knew Candy. She would think
about it.

Sunday, when he offered to drop her off while he found a parking space, she
raised her left hand, still in mittens. So they parked and walked back
together. She removed her mittens the first thing. It wasn't until they
joined Claire and Kurt, though, that they got their first comment. Clair
held Candy's hand in both of hers and turned it this way and that while
admiring the ring. After church, Joan did the same.

Other women joined the admiration contingent as they waited, hand in hand,
to shake Rev. Lawrence's hand. He waited to let those without business get
out first, and that gave plenty of time for the women to admire the ring.

"We need to talk to you," he said to Rev. Lawrence when they got there.
"This week preferably."

"Well, I try to avoid Monday appointments, and Tuesday is taken. Wednesday?"

"Wednesday evening," Eric said. Candy didn't seem to disagree. "Can I pick
you up at 6:00?" he asked her. "Can we have dinner later?"

"Sure."

"Then let's try for 6:45," he told Rev. Lawrence. "We allow half an hour
Sunday mornings, but rush hour will slow us down." Rev. Lawrence agreed.

"What is this?" Candy asked when they got to the car and he was driving her
to the restaurant. "Why do we have to meet with him?" Oops! Information gap.

"Sorry. If he's going to marry us, and I thought you said you wanted that,
then we go in for counseling beforehand. It's something everybody in the
church knows, and I forgot that you didn't."

"So, he has to talk to us before he performs the ceremony?"

"Yeah, and he more or less got that message that it was about a wedding. I
clearly said that it was talking with us."

"We are an us, aren't we?" That sounded nice. They were an 'us.' They were
a couple.

"Yeah. And we'll be more so in the future. Which reminds me. We'll keep my
apartment through June, right?" He'd thought of this before, and then other
matters kept being more important.

"Yeah."

"So do you want me to get a double bed? Another twin?" She thought. It
wasn't one of her long considerations, but he could tell she was giving it
consideration.

"A double."

"Do you want both of us to pick it out? We may need to replace some of my
furniture later, but I don't want to get anything now that we'll have to
replace again." At some point, they were going to have a household, and she
would be the senior partner with respect to the household. At this point,
they would be starting in his old apartment. They should transition
smoothly.

"Why don't we go shopping together?... Tomorrow?" That sounded great.

"Pick you up at your place, or meet at the County building?" He'd be happy
picking her up at her place until she moved in after the marriage. On the
other hand, shopping would be best in the stores in the South Loop. Driving
west from the Loop and back didn't make a whole lot of sense.

"County Building. You get off at 5:00?" Officially, he did. He could do it
earlier, but she didn't sound pushed.

"County Building. Ground floor elevators. 5:00." She apparently agreed. She
may have nodded, but his eyes were on the road.

They weren't the best-matched couple in terms of ages, but they both seemed
willing to shift to accommodate the other. That might well turn out to be
more important than being the same age or academic achievement.

The end
Compromise - M
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2012/07/31


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

The first adventures of Eric with Candy:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/ste_01m.htm
"Why Me?_3"

Another story about another couple moving towards marriage:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_09m.htm
Wedding Bells - M

The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm
<1st attachment begin>

<HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy>
<1st attachment end>

----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+