Chapter Two

   In the bathroom, the whispers were excited.

   "Do you think he saw anything?" asked Gabriella.

   "Probably not," said Daphne.  "But it was soooo exciting to do that!"

   "I feel ready to play for real," sighed Gabby.  "This is so naughty!"

   "We're just teasing him a little bit." said Daffy quietly.  "It's just
for fun."

   "I wish I could really see it," sighed Gabby.

   Daphne stopped, in the middle of putting on her shirt.

   "I thought you were the one who was all outraged that he's our uncle!"

   "I know," whined Gabby.  "But it looked HUGE last night.  I couldn't
BELIEVE it!"

   "Maybe he'd let us see it," suggested Daffy, her face flushing.

   "Don't be an idiot," snorted Gabby.  "He IS our uncle."

   "I know, but I'd sure like to see one ...  for real I mean."

   "Let's just get our practice session out of the way," said Gabriella. 
"Maybe we can do an extra rub afterwards."

   "You know that's not a good idea," chided Daffy.  "We need to be horny
to play our best."

   "If it gets any worse, we'll play better than we've ever done, tonight,"
giggled Gabby.  "Now, come on.  He's got to shave.  We can't stay in here
forever."

   ======================================

   When the girls came out, Bob was ready.  He had a hotel bathrobe on, and
his clothes in front of his crotch.  He told the girls he needed a quick
shower, and then they'd go get breakfast.

   In the bathroom, when Bob got in the shower, he beat off immediately. 
He watched his spunk shoot out and drift in the water toward the drain.  He
shaved in the shower and, by the time he was done, was able to beat off a
second time.  He came just as hard and felt drained when he finally shut
the water off.  He heard a hair dryer going outside, as he got dressed.  He
looked to make sure his slacks were smooth in the front, and sighed with
relief when they were.  He went out to find that both girls had wet their
hair at the bar, and were combing and drying it while they waited for him.
They both had appointments with the hotel stylist later that afternoon, so
all they were doing was getting presentable until then.

   Things seemed to settle down to the purely routine during breakfast, at
least as far as Bob could tell.  The girls were excited, but then, who
wouldn't be if you were going to play for thousands of adoring fans later
that day?  The instruments had been taken to the concert hall, where they
were under lock and key.  A limo was waiting for them, and the girls spent
the time during the ride peering out at the scenery as it passed.  Bob
couldn't help but watch the girls.  He shook his head, at one point, amazed
that they had so captured his attention.  He'd been around them all their
lives, but they'd never affected him like this.  He tried to put it out of
his mind.

   The practice session helped, somewhat.  They were brilliant, playing as
well as they had ever played.  Both were flushed and sweating when it was
over.  Bob sat, like any others who were within range of hearing, amazed
and awed by what he'd just heard.

   Then it was lunch, and appointments in the afternoon.  They got their
hair done before they did interviews with the local arts media.  Bob had
nothing to do.  This was all old hat to them by now, and all he could do
was stand and watch as they charmed the press like they had charmed him. 
They looked his way more often than he thought they would, always with
smiles on their faces.  When the interviews were over he got twin hugs that
were just a little more prolonged than what he usually got from these two.

   "This is exciting, huh?" he asked, as he ushered them toward the limo.

   "You have no idea," sighed Daffy, taking his hand.

   They had just enough time to grab a bite to eat before it was time to go
to the Royal Albert concert hall, with its distinctive circular
architecture.  At this point Bob was a bystander.  The staff of the venue
and the girls all knew what to do.  All Bob could do was stand and watch as
final preparations were made.  He stood backstage, getting in the way,
primarily.  He moved, whenever it was obvious he was an obstacle to
progress, and finally the stage manager sent him to see the lighting
director.  That august personage turned out to be a geek, about the same
age as Bob.  He'd already received the instructions to illuminate the show,
and was sitting in his booth, a vast array of electronics in front of him.
He was reading a magazine when the stage manager ushered Bob in.

   "Ellow," said the man, his accent strong.  "Wot 'ave we 'ere?"

   "Bob Hazzard," said Bob, sticking out his hand.  "I'm the stand-in
manager for the girls who are playing tonight."

   "Well," said the man, standing up and shaking Bob's hand.  "Welcome to
me cubby 'ole.  Glad ter make yer acquaintance, Guvner."

   "I think I was just in the way down there," said Bob, looking through a
picture window at the seats where the audience would be sitting.  The stage
was lit with work lights.  "I'm kind of new at all this ...  standing in
for the regular manager."

   "It'oh be fyne," said the man.  "We got ever-fing under controw, we do."
He motioned to a chair against the wall.  "Ave a seat, Guvner, and we'ow go
over the program."

   Bob sat and was treated to an instructional session in which the man
referred to the program lighting notes, pushing buttons, sliding some knobs
and twisting others, explaining what each series of actions was intended to
do.  There was a separate sound board, in the orchestra pit, where the
recordings of the concert would be made.  Bob was amazed to learn that the
lighting was intended to control, at least to some degree, the noise of the
audience, to include applause.  At certain points, before and after a piece
was played, the house would be totally dark.  Bob learned that people
rarely clap in total darkness, and wait until they can see something. 
Additionally, if the lights went down suddenly, people would stop talking
almost completely, whereas if the lights faded slowly, chatter went on,
virtually undiminished.  Use of darkness was intended to buffer the
beginning and end of the music, so that applause wouldn't cross over and
ruin the start and finish of the music.  Further, appropriate lighting
could set the stage, so to speak, for whatever kind of performance would be
presented.  Something lively, or funny, as a musical, might call for lights
to roam and flash amongst the crowd, energizing them.  Tonight's schedule
called for various portions of the hall to be lit with colors, changing
slowly, as if the colors were drifting from one spot to another.  That
would have a calming effect on the crowd, and settle them down.  All that
was done with computers that controlled the pre-show lighting.

   By the time the tutorial was done, people were streaming into the
auditorium, taking their seats, or chatting with others they knew.  Though
he was invited to stay in the lighting booth, Bob wanted to be back stage
when the girls came out to go on stage.  He threaded his way through
security, using a badge he had been given, but had forgotten he had, until
he had to produce it to get through a curtained alcove.  He waited by the
girls' dressing room door, remembering not to disturb them just before the
performance.

   Then, a stage hand was there, rapping on the door, and announcing there
were five minutes until the curtain went up.  Bob checked his watch at
least six times before the door opened and the girls came out, holding
their violins.  They were flushed and giddy.

   "Oh, Uncle Bob," gushed Daffy, throwing the arm that held her bow around
her uncle's neck.  She pressed herself against him, and kissed him on the
lips, a kiss that was neither appropriate, nor expected.  Her eyes flashed
at him as she pulled away, leaving him teetering.  Then it was Gabby's
turn, and she kissed him just as passionately.

   "We're SO glad you're here," she whispered, kissing him a second time.

   Before he could reply, the girls were walking away from him, suddenly
calm and regal, with the measured stride of a ballerina, one foot being
placed almost directly in front of the other, the toe striking the floor
first, and then the heel.  They stood, side by side in the wings.  Daffy
turned and looked over her shoulder at Bob, who was still standing where he
had been kissed.  She suddenly looked twenty years old to him, and all
woman.  He saw the flash of pearly white teeth, and she turned away as he
groaned.  He felt his penis begin to inflate.

   Another stage hand appeared, and took his elbow.  He was led to a chair
in the wings, where he could sit comfortably.

   "You must remain quiet at all times," whispered the man.  Bob nodded,
and sat, relieving the weight on his suddenly weak knees.

   ======================================

   Bob had been to exactly one of their professional performances, back
when they first started playing important gigs.  He had heard them play
countless times, at home, and had played with them dozens more.

   He had never heard them play like this, though.

   They played eight compositions, using various mixes of instruments. 
They took no intermission, but went from one to the next with only time for
applause and for the crowd to settle in the darkness before they started
the next piece.

   Bob was in awe, the entire time.  His erection was forgotten as the
music reached inside him and gripped him in places that made tears flow
from his eyes, or made his face split in an almost painful grin.  It was
magnificent.  THEY were magnificent.  He felt supremely lucky to be able to
be here, only yards away from them, as they worked their magic.

   Then, suddenly, they were walking toward him.  The crowd was going
crazy. Now they walked with heavier feet, tired smiles on their faces. 
They knew they had done well.  The lights went down, but this time the
crowd didn't stop.  Rhythmic clapping developed, and a deep resounding
chant of "MORE ...  MORE ...  MORE".

   The girls seemed to see Bob, and flowed toward him.  Now both of them
hugged him at the same time, as he stood to greet them, a smile on his
face.

   Gabby's hand, holding a bow, captured the back of his head, and pulled
his face around for another kiss.  This one almost made him faint.  Her
lips were warm and hungry, and the kiss lasted until Daffy pulled him away
for one of her own.  Their bodies rubbed languidly against him.

   Suddenly they were gone, back to the stage, the crowd even louder than
before, and he was left to sink weakly into the chair.  He couldn't believe
what had just happened.  Those were not the kisses of young girls.  Those
were the kisses of women who needed a man, and needed him badly.  Bob had
been kissed like that before, but only in the most heated of make out
sessions, and usually only before he slid his aching prick into a welcoming
hot pussy.  He found he was out of breath and sat limply as the crowd
finally went quiet.  A stage hand brought Gabby her cello, handing it to
her as if it were a precious jewel.  Her back went erect as she scooted
forward on the chair, and her legs straddled it.  She leaned into the neck,
her head tilted and Bob wanted to be that cello.

   The encore, as was their habit, was a mournful goodbye, slow, sweet and
melodic, the harmonies of the two instruments soothing the soul.  It
tapered to a final set of thirds, and the lights died with it.  In total
darkness, the girls, who could see the dim lighting back stage, left the
stage to thunderous applause.

   This time they skipped right by Bob, who was still sitting, and went
directly to their dressing room.  The crowd thundered on, demanding more,
until their hands were too sore to clap any more.  The cries dropped to the
normal sound of excited people talking about what they had just
experienced, and the house lights came up just enough so they could see to
leave.  Bob sat for five minutes, drained.  Then, forgetting completely
that he was to leave the girls alone for fifteen minutes after the show, he
lurched to his feet and went to the dressing room door.  He couldn't wait
to tell them how insanely proud he was of them.  He saw reporters,
gathering off to one side, and felt protective of the girls.  It was that
protective instinct that made him enter the room quickly, and slam the door
shut behind him, to lean against it.

   He was prepared to burst into sobbing tears of gratefulness to them, to
laugh wildly with the energy that was building in his chest.  He was
prepared to be giddy with praise.

   He was NOT prepared to see two naked girls, each with two fingers deep
in her pussy, heads back on their chairs as they frigged themselves to
orgasm.

   The noise of the door made them both lean their heads forward at the
same time, their eyes open in shock.  Bob understood that shock instantly.
He didn't understand why they were doing what they were doing, but he
understood that he shouldn't be there.  The electricity of the incident
jolted him as if he'd received five hundred volts.

   "SORRY!" he gasped.  The door knob was still in his right hand, and he
turned it as he whirled, opening the door only far enough to slide through
it as if he'd been shot from a cannon.  He was surrounded instantly by
reporters, and a flash went off.  Instinct, again, controlled him for the
next few seconds, as his hands went up and he gasped "They're not ready
yet! Back up!"

   Reporters, as they often will, asked him questions.  They didn't really
know who he was, but he had come from the girls' room, so he must be
somebody important.  They peppered him with questions that he didn't hear,
because he was in shock.  The flash of cameras blinded his eyes, but not
his mind, which still saw clearly naked breasts heaving, one set with
bright pink nipples, the other with dark ones.  He saw clearly the hands,
covering their most private places, but with fingers obviously penetrating
them deeply.  And, as his ears shut out the babble of voices all around
him, he heard the deep rasping panting of two girls, about to get their
cookies.

   "BE PATIENT!" he thundered, pushing a reporter who was right in his
face, a microphone pressed almost against his lips.  "HAVE SOME FUCKING
MANNERS!" he screamed.

   There was a sudden hush, and people shrank back, even if only a foot or
two.  He heard someone mutter "Bleeding Yank!"

   He turned the anger he felt at himself, for lusting after his nieces,
against the media.

   "They're just GIRLS!" he yelled.  "If you want to talk to them, you'll
treat them with RESPECT!" The flood of emotion in his gut found an outlet.
"And if you WON'T ..." he yelled.  "then I'll keep them in that dressing
room all NIGHT!" He scowled at them murderously.  "Now ...  BACK UP AND
BEHAVE LIKE ADULTS!" he screamed.

   A woman stepped forward, apparently unafraid of Bob.

   "Will you give each of us a few minutes alone with the girls?" she
asked, "so we don't have to compete?"

   Bob blinked.  He didn't have any instructions to cover this.  Everything
he'd said up to this point had been the result of anger at the way they
were acting.  He had no way of knowing that Deliah, had she been here,
would have walked the girls slowly through the crowd, letting them decide
which questions to answer, and which cameras to face while they spoke.  But
they'd keep moving, regardless, to the limo that she would know would be
waiting outside the doors, to get them away from the press.

   "If you'll behave," he finally said.

   The crowd actually sighed, and backed away some more.  He heard a
muttered voice say "You think he means it?"

   "Two minutes," Bob said loudly.  "You'll each have two minutes to talk
to the girls.  Line up!  Anybody who pushes or shoves or any of that crap
doesn't get diddly!"

   "Diddly?" came a voice.  "Wot's that?"

   Bob heard someone educate the clueless reporter, as he turned around and
tapped on the door.  It was as he opened it and slid through that he
remembered what he'd seen.  With that in mind, he faced the door as he
slammed it shut.

   "You decent?" he panted.

   "Yes," came Daffy's strained voice.

   He turned around to find them in jeans and T shirts, looking completely
normal, except for the fact that their hair was still up, and their makeup
still on.  They had been interrupted in their routine.  He had no way of
knowing that his presence in the room, and then his abrupt departure, had
fired the girls passions enough that they took up where he had interrupted
them, talking to each other, for the first time in a long time while they
masturbated.  The orgasms they reached were ...  exceptional.  After that,
though, reality had set in.  They had dressed quickly, embarrassed to the
core at what he had seen.  They had forgotten to remove their makeup.  As a
result, they looked years older than they actually were.  Bob felt pain in
his balls.

   "I promised the reporters you'd give each of them two minutes," he
panted.  "They're acting like animals."

   This was something the girls were familiar with, and it gave them
something to concentrate on other than their embarrassment.  It wasn't what
they usually did, but their routine had already taken a hit, so they
adapted with the flexibility of youth.

   "Okay," said Daffy, simply.  "We're ready."

   "Wait!" squealed Gabby.  "The instruments!"

   The girls turned to pick up the violin and cello, from where they'd been
laid when the girls ran into the room and helped each other strip.  They
were placed in their shipping containers, and locked.  Then they checked
the other violin, which had been put away by a stage hand, and ensured that
it was properly packed.  THEN they were ready to leave the room.

   Bob opened the door and stepped out.  Only the task of dealing with the
press kept him on track.  They had actually formed a weaving line.

   "Remember," he said, his voice only a shade above normal.  "Respect!"

   The door opened, and the girls came out, smiling.  They walked to a
curtain, so that it would form a natural backdrop, knowing that
photographs, or film would be taken.

   Then, they performed again.  This time, it was the press they conquered.

   Bob stood nearby, but not close enough to get into any of the pictures.
He calmly announced when each reporter's time was up.  Only one ignored
him, and tried to continue.  He took the microphone out of the reporter's
hand by force.  After that, there were no more incidents.

   ======================================

   Even at only two minutes per media group, it took them twenty minutes to
get done.  One reporter tried to go to the end of the line, but another
dimed her out to Bob.  When the cheater stepped forward again, he said
"We're done here," and took the girls elbows to take them out to the limo.
Pictures were taken of him leading them away, and of them getting into the
limo.  It was dark outside, but the limo driver was there and they all
climbed in.  The seating configuration happened to allow Bob to sit, facing
the back, while the girls sat side by side, facing forward, and facing him.
After the babble of voices, it was very quiet in the interior of the limo.
It stayed that way as the vehicle began to move.  Bob looked at the two
girls.  They looked delicious.  He fought the temptation to remember them
as they had been, splayed out on chairs, naked, rutting against their own
fingers.  He closed his eyes, afraid they'd be able to see into his brain.

   After perhaps two minutes, Daffy couldn't keep silent any longer.

   "We can explain, Uncle Bob," she said softly.

   Bob opened his eyes, but looked at the roof of the car, above their
heads.  There was a moon roof there, closed, but with the lights of the
city flashing by through it.

   "You don't have to explain anything to me," he said.

   "Yes we do," said Daffy.  "We love you, and we know you don't
understand, and we don't want you to think ...  badly of us."

   Bob's mind raced.  He thought back to what he'd heard them do, with just
a little wood, and some strings stretched across that wood.  It was
phenomenal.  He remembered his own emotion, and what it was like to feel
yourself playing.  He'd never played like THAT, but he still knew what it
felt like to make music.  It WAS an almost sexual sensation, and it struck
as deeply as sexual sensations did.

   "Maybe I do understand," he sighed.  "I make music too.  Not like you,
but I know a little about what it feels like to make music."

   "Really?" came Daffy's hushed voice.

   He smiled wearily.  "Maybe I understand just a teeny, tiny piece of what
you must feel like, when you've played like that.  It was magnificent."

   "Thank you," said Gabby.

   "I mean it," he said.  "I've never heard you play like that.  I can't
believe I haven't gone to more of your concerts.  I feel like if I ever
miss one again, I'll just wither away and die."

   "It's like that every time," said Daffy, feeling better now.  He hadn't
yelled at them ...  hadn't called them sluts.  He wasn't frowning and had
said the most beautiful things.  "We can't help but feel ...  that way,"
she went on.  "Mom knows about it," she said, feeling like she needed one
more bit of justification.

   "Well, she didn't tell me about THAT," chuckled Bob.  He had been
worried that the girls would hate him for intruding ...  for destroying a
trust that he had been told to keep, even if he wasn't told WHY he was to
keep that trust.  "I'm really sorry I embarrassed you."

   "Oh THAT's okay," said Gabby, feeling much better too.  "We didn't mind
YOU coming in, even if it was a little embarrassing."

   "A LITTLE embarrassing?" gasped Daffy, looking at her sister with wide
eyes.  She turned back to Bob.  "We were just afraid you'd hate us."

   Bob felt something tear inside him, and his heart hurt.

   "I could never hate you ...  either of you.  You're my girls," he said,
feeling like he was about to cry.  "I love you."

   The girls DID cry, relief flooding them.  They surged forward to envelop
their uncle in squirming bodies.

   "OH THANK YOU," moaned Daffy, burying her face between his neck and
shoulder.  "We were so afraid." Gabby buried her face on the other side of
him.

   "I'll always love you," moaned Bob back, his arms full of wriggling
girls.  "I love you too much," he confessed.

   Both girls pulled their faces away from him, looking startled.

   "How could you love us TOO much?" asked Daphne.

   "I have feelings for you I shouldn't have," he moaned.

   Both girls thought about the night before, when his boxers had been
tented out so obscenely.  They looked at each other, their eyes meeting,
but didn't say anything.  They went back to hugging their uncle.

   "You can't love us too much," sighed Daffy into his neck.  "It's not
possible."

   "Me too," sighed Gabby on his other side.  "I agree."

   Bob felt himself begin to stiffen again.  While the girls might not
understand what he had meant, he did, and he was still trying to conduct
himself with decorum.

   "How about some ice cream?" he panted.

   The girls, sensing that he was uncomfortable, pulled away from him. 
They agreed that ice cream was a great idea.  Gabby looked around and found
the phone that went to the driver.  Like a pro, she activated it, and asked
the driver if he knew a place they could get some.  Within minutes, the
driver announced that they had arrived.

   ======================================

   If you've ever gone out for ice cream, chances are you didn't do it in a
limo.  Bob was still dressed in his tux, while the girls were dressed like
millions of other teenagers.  It was inevitable that people would assume
Bob was the VIP, and that the girls were his groupies.  That role reversal,
when it was recognized, appealed to the girls immensely, and they had great
fun pretending to fawn over Bob, while passers by wondered who this lucky
man was.  They weren't bothered, though, and stood in line with everybody
else, the girls hanging off of him like they were attached.

   "What are you doing?" asked Bob, at one point, as Daphne reached up to
kiss his cheek.

   "They all think you're somebody important," she whispered.  "I'm showing
them how important you are to me."

   "Knock it off," he growled.  "You two are hard enough on me as it is."

   Daffy giggled and kissed him again.  He couldn't push her away without
making a scene.  They got their ice cream, and the girls wanted to sit
down. They started making plans ...  out loud ...  to feed him spoonfuls of
his ice cream, and sigh loudly.  He took them back to the limo instead.

   "You're no fun," said Gabby, grinning.

   "You two are incorrigible," he muttered.

   "We just wanted to feed you your ice cream," she simpered.

   "And I just wanted to paddle your little bottom," he said darkly.  "And
I want you to know that the only reason I didn't was because somebody out
there might recognize you, and it would get splattered all over the
papers!"

   "Ooooo," Gabby kept simpering.  "He's mad at us, Daffy!"

   Daffy tried to put on her most grow-up look.  Bob's attitude about
catching them masturbating had released something in her that made her feel
older than she was.

   "You can spank us when we get back to the hotel," she said, her voice
silky.

   Gabby spoiled it by laughing.

   "He can spank YOU, maybe," she giggled.  "But not me!"

   Bob ignored them and looked at his watch.

   "Another big day tomorrow," he said forcefully.  "You two need your
beauty rest."

   "You're as bad as Mommy," said Daphne, sulking on purpose.  She was much
better at that than she was acting the vamp.

   Bob had watched Gabby work the phone and he picked it up to tell the
driver to take them back to the hotel.  It was quiet as they ate ice cream,
reveling in the sweet taste, after sweet emotions had flooded them all.

   It was Gabby who kicked things up a notch, when they walked into the
room.  She was excited in a way she usually wasn't excited, after a
concert. She recognized that excitement as being horny, which was unusual.

   "You know," she said suddenly, turning to face Bob.  "Sometimes ... 
when we play, and it's special ...  like tonight ...  we ...  um ...  need
to go again ...  sometimes."

   Bob stared at her.  "Go again?" he asked, confused.

   Daphne blushed easily.  "You know ...  like when you barged in on us."

   Bob closed his eyes, and groaned.

   Gabriella, who was feeling much like her sister, jumped on the
bandwagon.

   "She's right.  You can call Mom and ask her ...  if you want to." She
cocked her head.  "What time is it at the hospital ...  anyway?"

   Bob felt panic setting in.  "I'll just go in the bathroom," he blurted.
"Call me when you're ...  done," he gasped.  He ran for the bathroom door
and slammed it behind him.

   Daphne giggled.  "He's taking this much better than I'd have dreamed
of," she said.  "Not that I ever dreamed anything like THIS would happen."

   "You want to?" asked Gabby.  "We've never done this ...  but I want to."

   In minutes, the girls were on their bed, naked, feeling thrills like
they'd never felt before.  Their uncle was right on the other side of that
door ...  right over there ...  and he knew what they were doing!  The
thrill of that sent them to new heights as they rubbed and probed.

   "What ...  do you think ...  he's doing ...  in there?" panted Daphne.

   "Boys ...  do it ...  too," gasped her sister.

   "Ooooooooo," squealed Daphne, thinking about that, and cumming hard. 
Gabriella was right behind her.

   ======================================

   Bob was, in fact, doing exactly what they suspected.  He stood, spraddle
legged, his tux pants draped over the sink.  He was still fully clothed
from the waist up, and still wearing his socks.  Their boldness about it
all had inflamed him almost beyond his ability to retain control, and,
knowing what they were doing ...  out there ...  just on the other side of
the thin door between them, had him spurting all over the toilet within a
minute.  He was pounding his meat so violently that he couldn't aim, and
what was supposed to splat into the water in the commode, went hither and
yon instead.

   Then he had to clean up.  He used a damp towel to do that, looking
carefully for bits of semen as he panted to recover his breath.  After that
he had to figure out how to leave the room.  He thought about getting
completely dressed again, but he was so drained, and they were so bold
about it, he decided that his boxers were good enough.  If they could
parade around in their skimpy things, then he could too.  He waited, not
all that patiently, for them to invite him back out.  He was too distracted
to really think about the particular set of boxers he was wearing.

   All he thought about was that at least he wouldn't be tenting his shorts
out when they saw him this time.

   ======================================

   The girls waited until they had regained their breath.  Now that they
were sated, they felt sleepy and tired.  The events of the day bore down on
their young bodies.  They listlessly slipped into their sleep wear, and
Gabby went to the bathroom door and knocked on it.  Then she scurried back
to bed.  As boldly as they had gone into this masturbatory session, both
girls were suddenly shy, and when Bob walked out of the bathroom, both
girls were facing away from him, under the covers.

   "Night, you two," he said softly.

   "I love you," they said in tandem.

   They didn't ask for a good night kiss this night, and he didn't give in
to the temptation to give them one anyway.  Instead, he just went to bed.
