The Making of a Gigolo (9) - Amanda Griggs by Lubrican

   Foreword

   This is the ninth in a series of stories about how Bobby Dalton was
transformed, from a normal teenaged boy, into a man sought after by many
women.  His story starts with "The Making of a Gigolo - Tilly Johnson", and
there is much information in that first story, and the ones that followed
it, that will be useful to you in understanding what happens in this story.


   For your fullest enjoyment, and because parts of each story are
continued in succeeding ones, please read the stories in order.

   Bob Chapter One

   1972 - Fall

   Florence Dalton felt both silly and excited.  The excitement was easy to
understand.  She had her hand tucked into Ted Brandywine's arm, as they
approached the school gym.  She was on what she thought of as her first
real date.  That she was nineteen, and had been on many dates before didn't
occur to her.  She'd been out with boys before, but that had been just to
see what the boy was like.  This was the first time she'd been out with one
she already liked.

   She knew what Ted was like.  She'd known him for more than a year, while
he'd been her mother's lover.  Somehow, surprising both of them, an
attraction had developed between them.  Neither had sought that.  Ted loved
her mother, and loved being in bed with her.  Florence was getting all the
sexual attention she needed from Bobby, her almost twenty-four year old
brother.  Neither had wanted to hurt Mirriam, Flo's mother.

   But this attraction, strange and scary to both of them, had affected
their day-to-day lives, and it eventually came out.  Both were surprised
when Mirriam, instead of being jealous or angry, encouraged them to find
out if it was a deep attraction, or just a crush.  That was only partially
an altruistic surge of love and concern for Florence, who she was worried
about, because Flo didn't date.  Mirriam was unaware that, while Ted was
thrusting his strangely bent penis into Mirriam, and making her happy,
Bobby was thrusting his long, thick prick into Flo and making HER happy. 
The greater reason for Mirriam's generosity was because she was afraid
that, if Ted kept lavishing his physical love on her, she'd get pregnant
again.  She' had just given birth a few months before, and it had been an
agonizing pregnancy.

   So, while Mirriam loved the attention she got from Ted, it was dangerous
attention, even though she was on the pill now.  She didn't exactly come to
the conclusion that if Flo got pregnant, it would be much more suitable,
but if someone would have suggested that to her, she would have nodded in
agreement.

   When the dust from the disclosure of their interest in each other
settled, Ted asked Florence on a date.  In his mid-thirties, Ted had no
idea how to plan a date for a nineteen year old woman.  He understood
Mirriam, and knew what she might appreciate, but taking her daughter out
was different.  So, taking the easy route, he invited her to the Halloween
party at the school, where he taught third grade.  Everybody liked a party
...  right?

   That, in fact, was why Florence felt silly.  She was in costume, and she
felt about the age she was supposed to look.  Ted was in costume too.  Her
mother had made both costumes, on the sewing machine at the farm that had
made so many of Florence's clothes before.  They looked professionally
made, because of that, except for the hair, which was a mop head, dyed
flaming red, and draped over Florence's natural hair, which was light, and
pulled back into a pony tail under the wig.

   Her dress was red gingham, and the fabric was thin enough that, through
the white checks, her darker skin could be seen in a gauzy kind of way. 
There was lace around the hem of the bottom, which was good, because she
would have been afraid to bend over in the dress otherwise.  The lace fell
to the middle of her thighs.  A white apron concealed what would have been
a generous view of the insides of her breasts, because the pattern Mirriam
had found in her piles of patterns made the neck scoop so low that Florence
didn't have the right kind of bra to wear with such a thing.  When she had
complained to her mother about that, Mirriam's response had been pragmatic.


   "We don't have time to go shopping for that.  Just go without a bra. 
The apron will cover everything."

   Now, as she and Ted walked toward the doors to the gym, she felt her
breasts jiggling and bouncing in her loose cotton dress, and the cool
October air teasing her thighs, all the way up to the new, pink, and
extremely feminine panties her mother had put with the outfit.  Where in
the world Mamma had found red and white striped knee socks, Flo had no
idea. All she knew, after looking in the mirror before Ted picked her up,
was that Raggedy Ann had never looked quite this old ...  and young at the
same time.

   Ted Was dressed as Raggedy Andy, of course, with his sailor hat, red
gingham shirt, made of the same cloth her dress was, and dark blue, almost
ludicrously loose pants, that went to just below his knees.  Mirriam had
found the same red and white striped socks for him.  Finishing out his
costume was a wide white collar on his shirt, and a huge, floppy black bow
tie.

   "I feel so silly," she breathed, feeling her loose breast press into
Ted's arm.

   "You don't look silly," he said softly.  "You look good.  In fact, you
look so good that I'm in big trouble, here."

   "Thank you," she said, giggling.  "Why are you in trouble?"

   "Your mother said I could take you out, not lust after you," he said.

   She squeezed his arm, pressing her warm breast harder against him.

   "Then don't lust after me," she said.

   He looked over at her.  She had round, red spots of lipstick on her
cheeks, like he did, and Mirriam had done something with other cosmetics to
make Flo's eyes and lips look large and cartoonish.

   "Like that's ever going to happen," he sighed.

   "This is so strange," she said.  "Being here, with you, I mean.  Mamma
has been so sweet about all this.  I still feel guilty."

   "We're just on a date," he said, uncomfortably.

   "Yes," she said, looking up at him.  "But you're lusting after me ... 
and I don't mind that."

   "Oh wow," he moaned.  "You can't say things like that to me, Flo."

   "Why not?" she giggled.  "You said you were lusting after me."

   "Yes, but you're not wearing thin pants," he sighed.  "If you keep
saying things like that, they won't let me in the gym!"

   She giggled again and leaned forward, shamelessly, to look at the front
of his pants.

   "It's not so bad," she said.  "If it doesn't get any worse," she added.
==================================== For being at a party that involved
kids who ranged in age between nine and thirteen, Flo was having a great
time.  There were lots of adults there too, of course ...  teachers, and
some volunteer parents, who were running the games.  She joined in the
juvenile fun, dropping a string, tied to the end of a branch, over a sheet,
and then pulling it up to find what her safety pin had "caught".  In this
case, it was a pair of big red lips, made of wax, that could be gripped
between the teeth, or just chewed, until the flavor was gone, and all that
was left was a pale pink wad of soft wax.  She put them in an apron pocket
for later.

   She got into a competition with Ted at the dart game, where six darts
were given the player.  The more balloons you popped with your darts, the
better the prize.  She just wanted to pop more balloons than he did,
though. They played three times, Ted paying a quarter for each of them all
three times.  When Ted had one more dart left, they were tied, over all,
with fourteen balloons each.  She tried to distract him by clutching his
arm, and rubbing her breast against it, and by talking to him, with her
mouth close to his ear.

   "Leave me alone, woman!" he said, in a playful snarl.  "This is
important business here!"

   "It's just balloons," she cooed, digging her forefinger into his side.
"I should win.  I'm the poor defenseless girl."

   "Ohhh no you don't," he said, pushing her away from him.  "Women's lib
is here to stay.  This competition is important for me to win!"

   "Why?" she asked, her voice coy.

   "Because to the victor go the spoils ...  that's why," he said,
grinning. He casually tossed his dart, and suddenly, the score was fifteen
to fourteen.

   "Play again!" she pouted.

   "No way," he said.  "I'm quitting while I'm ahead."

   The amused parent in the booth handed Ted a Teddy Bear, made up to look
like Frankenstein.

   "That's your spoils?" laughed Flo.

   "Nope," he said airily.  "That's must my prize.  I'll claim my spoils
later."

   "Ooooo," she said, feigning little girl fear.  "I'm so scared!"

   "You should be," he announced gravely.

   She laughed and ran a few steps to the next booth, which was a ring-toss
game.  Looking over her shoulder she bent forward just a little, and
wiggled her butt at Ted.

   "Please," said the woman running the ring-toss.  "My little girl is
right over there!"

   "Sorry," said Flo, standing back up.  She blushed.

   "Get a room or something," said the plump, plain woman in the booth, her
voice disgusted.  Part of her disgust was because she'd never looked like
this Raggedy Ann girl, and knew she never would. 
======================================== Florence behaved herself, feeling
properly chastened.  At least until they got to the dance floor.  Whoever
was selecting the records to play either had a sense of humor, or
remembered what it was like to be in Middle School, with hormones beginning
to flow through barely teenaged bodies.  That was obvious because every
fourth song was a slow song, where the kids could experiment with that
delicious new pressing of male to female bodies.

   The younger kids danced mechanically, going in square patterns, as
they'd been taught, carefully thinking about where the next step was
supposed to go, so that no toes got stepped on.  The twelve and
thirteen-year-olds, though, were less conscious of their feet, and more
conscious of the fronts of their bodies, as they pushed, rubbed and
explored.

   Florence may as well have been thirteen or fourteen, as she danced with
Ted.  It was all new to her, and deliciously exciting.  Her soft, round
breasts, beneath the thin cotton, and not much thicker apron, squashed
against Ted, and his hand stroked her lower back in a one inch circle. 
Their other hands were properly out, away from their bodies, and she kept
her head off his chest, her eyes looking into his.

   He steered her toward the corner of the dance area, where it wasn't so
well lit and, during a turn, she felt him press his loins against her.

   "We have to keep dancing," he whispered.  "Even when the song is over."

   "Why?" she asked.

   "Because I can't let anybody see the front of my pants," he whispered.

   She pushed against him gently, and felt the "problem".

   "We can't keep dancing," she said, grinning.  "We'd look silly."

   She giggled as the music stopped, and Ted turned, apparently examining
the wall.  She stood, her back to him, as if she was watching the kids
gyrate as a rock and roll song came on.

   Two songs later he turned around.

   "OK," he said.  "I'm good for a while, I hope."

   She resisted looking, but smiled.  "You make me feel good," she said.

   "You make me feel horny," he replied.

   "Ted!" she chided.  "This is only our first date!"

   "I am in SO much trouble, here," he moaned.

   The thrill she felt, at his so obvious excitement, made her feel pretty
and feminine, even in her silly outfit.  She had an errant thought that
she'd need Bobby badly, tonight, when she got back home.  She might even
need him twice.  ================================================= The rest
of the party seemed to fly by, and soon Flo was sitting next to Ted,
holding his arm, as he drove toward the farm.  She couldn't believe what a
good time she'd had.  She couldn't wait for a good night kiss from Ted
either.  She hoped Bobby was home, and not off somewhere, like he had a
tendency to do lately.  The last two Friday nights, his bed had been empty,
when she'd gone to see him.  He wasn't at breakfast on the following
Saturdays either, but had shown up later, as if nothing was odd.

   He pulled into the drive to the house, and, when he got to the yard,
turned his lights off, before circling to park the car.  It was late, and,
while the yard light was on, there were no lights on in the house.

   "I had such fun tonight," she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder.
"It's too soon for it to be over," she pouted.

   "We could do some stargazing," he suggested.

   "Ohhh I'd like that," she said.  "It's chilly, though."

   "I have like three or four blankets in the trunk," he said.

   He got out, opened the trunk, and came out with an armful of blankets.

   She looked up, her arms holding herself because of the chill.

   "We need to get away from the yard light," she said.  "Come on."

   She took him behind the barn, where the inky blackness was almost
complete.  Slowly, their eyes adjusted, though, and soon they could select
a place to put the blanket.  Flo kicked at an old bale of hay, left there
because one of the wires holding it together had snapped, and it couldn't
be picked up without it falling apart.  Taking the remaining wire in her
hands, she lifted, and the bale bent in the middle and burst.  She kicked
the now loose hay around, making a mattress, and Ted put a blanket down on
top of that.  She went to one edge of the blanket and got down to scoop and
pile hay there, making what amounted to pillows at the edge of the blanket.
When she stood up, she had pieces of hay all over her.

   "Don't want to get that on the blanket," said Ted, stepping forward to
brush the hay off her front.

   His hands brushed here, and there, sliding over her breasts entirely
more than was needed.

   "It's sticking to the apron," he said.  "Let's just take that off."

   She turned her back to him, and felt flutters in her belly as he untied
the apron in the back, let it fall down her arms, and then tossed it to one
corner of the blanket.  She looked down.  What had seemed like pitch black,
earlier, was now something else entirely.  As their eyes adjusted to the
dark, the starlight was almost astonishingly bright.  She could clearly see
that all of the insides of her breasts were now exposed.  He went past her
to lie down, and patted the blanket next to him.  She went down on hands
and knees, and saw him look at her cleavage.  She felt the butterflies
dance more actively in her belly, and took longer than needed to pat the
blanket into place, before lying down on his arm, which had had stretched
out.

   Then he couldn't get the other blankets over them, because he had only
one arm free, and they had to sit up, to arrange the blankets over their
feet and legs, before lying down again, his arm under her neck, and her
head on his shoulder.  She pulled her wig off and tossed it to one side. 
Her pony tail was in the way too, so she reached and pulled the rubber band
from it, shaking her hair loose, before settling her head on his shoulder
again.

   They lay there silently for a minute or more, staring up at the bright
pinpoints of impossibly old light, that was making its way to their eyes
after traveling millions and millions of miles.

   "This is nice," she sighed, wiggling closer to him.

   "This is wonderful," he sighed back.

   "How did this happen?" she asked.

   "Us?  This?" he asked.

   "Yes," she said.  "I've always liked you ...  but not like this."

   "The first time I saw you, I saw a younger version of Mirriam," he said
softly.  "Then, as I spent more time around you, I learned that, while
you're similar in many ways, you're very different too."

   "I love my mother," she said.  "I don't mind being like her at all."

   "I love her too," said Ted.  "That's what makes this all seem so
strange."

   "I know," said Flo.

   "It's not the same, between us, though," he sighed.  "Your mother and
me, I mean."

   "Why?" she asked.

   "She's worried about getting pregnant again," he said.

   "Oh," said Flo.

   "We still love each other," he said, somehow feeling able to talk about
this, even though the woman in his arms was his lover's daughter.  "But it
makes it tense.  At least if it's during her fertile time."

   "I thought she went on the pill," said Florence.  Saying that made her
try to remember if she'd taken her own pill that morning.  She couldn't
remember, as usual.  She'd have to check when she went in the house.

   "She did, but it's not always effective," he said.  "She still worries."


   "Then just make love to her when she's not in her fertile time,"
suggested Flo, who, somehow, felt comfortable talking about this while she
was in the arms of her mother's lover.

   "I guess I could do that," he said.  "I think we got spoiled while she
was pregnant.  We could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, then."

   He was quiet for a while.

   "But what about you and me?"

   Florence wasn't quite at the point of thinking of them as "us".  She was
having the time of her life on this date, but there was no "Ted and Flo"
... not at present.  She took the time to think about that.  There was
clearly a "Bobby and me" in Flo's mind.  That relationship was well
defined. She got horny, and Bobby solved that problem.  She loved him all
the time, whether they were in bed, having sex, or doing chores together.
Bobby was just ...  there.  Now she tried to think of what it might be like
if Ted was just ...  there.  How would that make her feel about Bobby?  The
answer was clear, to her.  Bobby would always be there, and she would
always love him.  She couldn't imagine her life without him in it, sexually
or otherwise.

   Was that how Ted felt?  Was that how Mamma felt?  Could Mamma imagine
her life without Ted being in her bed, from time to time?  Thinking of her
mother lying, forever alone in bed, was sad.

   Flo thought about how she shared Bobby with her sisters, and all those
other women.  That didn't bother her.  He always had plenty for her.  He
always made her feel so special.

   Could Ted do that too?  Obviously he did.  His other lover was Aunt
Prudence.  He didn't have as many women as Bobby did, but the two he had
never complained.

   She rolled, slightly, and her breast pressed into his chest.

   "There isn't really any 'us' right now," she said.  "But if there were
...  I don't think I'd want Mamma to be alone all the time."

   Ted's prick blossomed to life in his loose, blue, Raggedy Andy pants. 
Within fifteen seconds, as he thought of being able to make love to mother
AND daughter, his prick, with its strange banana shape, leapt into full
erection.

   "Do you think there ever could be an 'us'," he asked.

   "If how I feel right now is any indication," she sighed, "I'm going to
be very unhappy if there isn't ever an 'us'."

   His heart thundered in his chest.

   "Really?" he asked.  "Cause I feel the same way."

   "Do you want to kiss me?" she asked.

   "Desperately," he moaned.

   Suddenly they were on their sides, kissing passionately.  Bobby had
trained Flo well, and she was used to letting her passion go, now.  Gone
was the fearful, timid girl who had given her virginity to her brother. 
Flo knew what she wanted, and knew how to communicate that to a man.  Their
second kiss was a long French kiss, that promised many, many more, as she
wiggled an arm under him, and used her other hand to slide up and down his
back.

   He crushed her to him too, and his hand went from her back to her butt,
where their movements had caused her dress to slide up.  His hand hit her
panties, and then went onto warm flesh, and she moaned into his mouth.

   Her free hand slid to his hip, and then made him move back, so she could
grope for his prick.  She found it, and squeezed it, through the thin
cotton of his pants.

   Three kisses later, she pushed back, and pulled her arm out from under
him, panting.  She stood, reached behind her and unzipped the dress.  With
a shrug of her shoulders, it dropped straight down, to slide off her
breasts, hang up briefly on her hips, and then fall softly to the blanket.

   She stood in the cool air, her nipples already stiff and rubbery, erect
from both passion and the cool air.  They itched so much that she had to
lift her hands and squeeze them, as he looked up, his mouth hanging open.

   "You're so beautiful," he sighed.

   She got down on her hands and knees again, her heavy breasts hanging,
and attacked his pants.  There was a ripping sound and he lifted his hips
to let her slide them down.  She pulled his underwear down with them, and
his bent boner sprang free.

   She stopped, her eyes wide.  She'd never seen anything like it, of
course.  Bobby's was the only one she'd ever seen.  This one was thinner,
and without the wrinkles and bumps that Bobby's foreskin created.  But the
most obvious difference was the bend, a full ninety degrees, from where it
sprouted from just on top of full, round balls, to the tip, which seemed to
be kissing his abdomen, where his pubic hair started.

   She stared at it, while he pulled at his shirt and bow tie.

   Finally he was naked.  She was still staring but her hand reached for
the strange looking thing.  He sighed as she gripped it, experimentally,
trying to figure out how to stroke it, like she stroked Bobby's.  It didn't
work very well.  She noticed how smooth it felt, by comparison to Bobby's
veined and bumpy one.  She smoothed her hand over Ted's balls, which had
less hair on them, but looked just as big and full as Bobby's ever did.

   He sat up, making her back up, and then stood up, pulling her with him.
As soon as she was standing, he dropped to his knees, and his fingers went
to her panties.  The chill of the night air penetrated her consciousness as
she felt him slide her panties down.  She stepped out of them and jumped as
she felt his face press against her pubic hair.  His tongue was warm as it
probed, sliding over her slippery pussy lips.

   "It's cold," she whined, thinking about how he could do that later.  She
didn't know when, or where, but she knew she'd ask him to do that later.

   They scrambled back into a prone position, pulling the blankets over
them, and she wiggled into his arms, loving his heat first.  Several kisses
later, she felt hot, as his hands explored her naked body, and a finger
felt to see if she was a virgin.

   "Have you ever ...?" he gasped into her mouth.

   "Yes," she panted back.  "But only with one other man."

   Both of them were too impatient for more foreplay.  Later, they'd learn
to spend an hour, building up to this point, but right now, he needed to
feel her warm, clasping pussy around his prick, and she needed to be
filled.

   He crawled on top as she spread herself open for him, without a shred of
shame or doubt.  He reached to position himself, and then, with a groan,
slid all the way into her in one, slow lunge.

   It was different for both of them.  To Ted, she felt excruciatingly
tight, as if her pussy was trying to defend itself, and keep him out.  To
Flo, who was actually used to a penis that was larger in diameter, the
feeling was of something smooth, warm and hard being used to touch her in
ways she'd never been touched before.

   Flo had a g-spot too, just like her mother.  And when the up-thrusting
tip of Ted's prick slid over it, she felt something she'd never felt with
Bobby.  Bobby went deep inside her, and punished the end of her sexual
canal.  Ted's prick seemed to slither inside her, more gently, in a way,
but touching her pussy walls in ways that Bobby never could.

   Her first orgasm was one of the hardest she'd ever had, and she squealed
her joy at it, her voice loud in the quiet darkness.  He kept going, and
she squealed again, as her pussy rippled and her cervix dipped and opened,
in anticipation of what was to come.

   With Bobby, when the tip of his prick slid past her cervix, to stretch
the tissue beyond it, the top of his knob caressed her cervical lips.  But
with Ted, when the tip of his prick got to her cervix, which was as far as
it would ever go, the bend forced his slim, arrow shaped glans between
those lips.

   It was while the tip of his prick was peeking into Flo's womb, straining
to get further, that he stopped.

   "This," he gasped, "is the spoils of combat!"

   He sighed, and let that penis belch her womb full, to overflowing, with
his thick, rich sperm.

   Ted produced prodigious amounts of semen, as either Mirriam or Prudence
would have been able to testify to.  Once Flo's womb was awash in the warm
fluid, the pressure forced his following spurts back out, around the head
of his prick, and down the ill fitting joining of his prick with her pussy
walls.  A surge of spunk burst from her pussy lips, where their attempt to
clasp the base of his penis was imperfect, and she felt heat on her clitty.
With an agonized groan of satisfaction, Florence had another climax that
made her go rigid in every muscle in her body.  Her muscles stayed rigid
for fifteen full seconds, before they all went limp at the same time.  Her
lungs pulled air into them, and then made it burst back out, to be able to
refill them over and over, as her starved blood demanded more oxygen.

   They cuddled and kissed for ten minutes.  Ted was used to having to
satisfy two women, sometimes at the same time.  His recuperative powers
were strong.

   They spent three hours under the blankets.  Neither said more than ten
or fifteen words.  Their bodies did all the communicating for them, as he
came into her four more times. 
================================================== They were haphazardly,
mostly dressed, when they walked from behind the barn.  Flo could feel the
semen running down her legs, clear to the knees already.  She couldn't
believe how much he had squirted in her.  She found it easy to believe how
much she had loved it, each time he had added to what was already there.

   Their good night kiss, by the car, was long enough that she finally
pushed him away.

   "Not again," she moaned.  "It's running down my legs already!"

   "I want to see you again," he panted, that being the only thing he could
think of to say.

   "I'm free tomorrow," she panted back.  "and every day after that," she
added.

   "Deal," he sighed.

   She made him get in the car, and stood, watching him drive away.  She
knew her panties were in his pocket ...  had seen him steal them, while
they were getting dressed.  She went into the house as quietly as she
could. She was in no shape to be seen by anyone, right now.  She went by
Bobby's door without a thought, and gave a sigh of relief when she got into
her room without meeting anyone.  Turning on only her reading lamp, she got
undressed again.  The shirt she had taken off to get into costume was lying
on the bed, and she cleaned between her things with that, amazed at the
amount of white goo that was coating her legs, and still dripping from the
mouth of her sex.

   She sealed her pussy lips closed with three fingers, and jumped into
bed, where maybe it wouldn't leak quite so much.  She yawned, feeling warm
and happy.  She was satisfied.  She didn't compare it to what she felt like
when Bobby satisfied her ...  she just enjoyed the feeling of being full of
Ted's warm spend, and the afterglow of all those orgasms.

   She was asleep within minutes.  She never looked at her pill container.
She forgot that completely.  She slept peacefully, a smile on her face,
that might not have been there had she looked at that pill container. 
Instead of having empty pill pockets, all in a row, it looked more like
someone had picked and chosen which pills to swallow, on a given day,
taking one from here, today, and one from over there, the next.

   That's not what had happened, of course.  Of the thirty-one pills in the
packet, she had taken seventeen, over the course of a month.  The last
three pills sat mindlessly in their pockets, looking like little sugar
pills, which was about as effective as the seventeen she HAD swallowed had
been, taken on random days.

   Those seventeen pills had confused her ovaries, a bit.  Those ovaries
got mixed chemical signals, and, when it was time to drop an egg into a
fallopian tube, they weren't quite sure what to do.

   They erred on the side of nature ...  which said "Egg awaaaaay!"

   As she lay there, sleeping peacefully, that egg was being bombarded by
tens of thousands of happy, eager sperm cells, all fighting to see who got
to claim the spoils of combat.

   By the time Flo woke, feeling refreshed and wonderful the next morning,
and DID think to check her pill packet, one of Ted Brandywine's most fond
fantasies had come true.

   He was going to be a father.  Chapter Two

   While Florence was being impregnated by Ted, the brother she would no
longer need that night was away from home again.

   His original agreement with Chester Chumley was to provide "relaxation"
to Chester's wife, Felicity, one night, every other week.  Friday had been
chosen by Felicity, as the night when, every other week, Bobby would sleep
with her all night.  The obverse Friday night was supposed to belong to
Annie, who was Felicity's maid.  He had gotten both of them pregnant, a
little more than a month ago.

   Neither woman, however, was satisfied with one opportunity to lie
heaving and groaning with passion, beneath Bobby every other week.  In
truth, they loved the time they just spent lying there with him after
making love, just as much.  Chester was firm, though.  He felt like it was
his fault that both women had become infatuated with Bobby, but he wasn't
going to just let the man take over his whole family.  He insisted that his
wife sleep with him every other Friday night.

   So, the women came up with a solution of their own.  It was simple,
really.  On the night that belonged to Annie, Felicity crawled in bed with
him long enough to have three or four orgasms, and get filled up with the
sperm that had already impregnated her.  Then she got up to go take a
shower and sleep with her husband.  That left Annie the rest of the night
with Bobby.  Of course, the next Friday night, it was reversed.  Annie let
Bobby ring her bell, and then left, so that Felicity could have the rest of
the night with him.

   Since they tended to want to start around seven or eight in the evening,
both women had the time with him they craved, and both women got some
attention every week.

   Neither woman was far enough along with Bobby's baby to show any signs
of being pregnant just yet, which meant that both women could be taken in
any position, with no discomfort.  Both women had learned, too, that
sometimes, when Bobby was very rough with them, it was deliciously fun. 
Whoever got him all night was fortunate enough, in her own mind, that she
got to see all the different faces of Bobby's lovemaking.  Rough ... 
gentle ...  sweet ...  quick ...  maddeningly teasing ...  using only his
mouth, or fingers ...  the variety was as prolific as the orgasms they had
with him.

   After six Friday nights with him, both women were thoroughly addicted.
====================================================== Another member of
the Dalton family was out, with a member of the opposite sex, on Halloween
night too.  That was Linda, who was Bobby's seventeen year old sister.  She
was out with her boyfriend, Paul.  They had been going together now since
last forth of July, when she more or less fell in love with him at first
sight, at the fourth of July carnival.

   Paul, a verified science and math geek, had been totally unprepared for
a girl like Linda to get interested in him.  She was one of "those girls"
to him, a girl who was not available to someone like him, or his friends.
He had geek friends who were girls, but they were different.

   That there had been another date, after he took her on every ride in the
carnival, had been the pinnacle of his life, to that point.

   She had been dragging him to higher and higher peaks ever since.  He had
spent four months in an almost constant state of amazed gratitude that she
was still interested in him.  He knew it couldn't last, but he was enjoying
the hell out of it while it did.

   Late in July, she had kissed him ...  over and over.  He had almost
spurted in his pants and was horrified by his boners, which she ignored,
even though each time he got one it stuck out like a sore thumb.  He knew
she was aware of them, but she never said or did anything.  He was still
embarrassed by them, but not nearly as much, any more.

   In August, she took him skinny dipping, at night, in the pond on her
farm.  She had kissed him then too ...  naked ...  in the water.  Nothing
else had happened.  Nothing else needed to happen.  He had found
perfection. He was the perfect gentleman, both because that was just part
of his value system, and because he didn't want to do anything that was
"too far" or "too fast" or might risk the unbelievable joy he'd stumbled
into.

   In September, she got tired of him being a gentleman.  She had taken his
hands, and just put them on her breasts, without saying a word.  Then,
while he felt, and squeezed, almost insane with the ecstasy of touching a
girl's breasts, while she was kissing him like she meant it ...  she had
touched the front of his pants ...  which was sticking out like a sore
thumb.

   He had almost cried when he spurted, just from her touch.  She knew what
had happened, but she kept kissing him anyway, telling him what a
compliment it was.

   She wasn't a slut.  He knew that.  He'd have fought anyone who called
her that, even though anyone in the school could probably pound him to a
pulp.  Sluts would have sex with anybody.  And she didn't have sex with him
...  not really.  It was more like she was pulling him closer and closer
towards that terrifying activity.  At the same time he could tell that,
while she wanted to go closer and closer, she didn't want to go any faster
than she was making things go.  He was relieved, in one sense, because, if
she was willing to take charge of things like that ...  he didn't have to.
That was good, because he was clueless about what to do next.  And even if
he'd have known that, he thought ...  he wouldn't know WHEN to take the
next sexual step.

   Not that those things were all they ever did.  Not at all.  In fact,
those tantalizing, excruciatingly pleasant moments of passion were rare. 
They spent three evenings a week together now, doing homework together,
putting picture puzzles together or some other activity.  She helped him,
for example, with various science experiments he wanted to do.  He came to
realize she was much more intelligent than the goofy, somewhat ditzy front
she put up for most people.

   Paul wasn't stupid either.  It was obvious that, while she was not a
slut, she had done all these things she did with him ...  before.  She was
too accomplished at it.  But he didn't know who she had done them with. 
She had been completely centered on him since the night of the carnival,
that had so changed his life.  She didn't go out with other boys, or even
flirt with them.  She was friendly, and he had personally seen two jocks
ask her out.  She had said "No, I have a boyfriend ...  but thanks." She
hadn't asked him to be her boyfriend.  She hadn't told him he was her
boyfriend.  It was almost like she had just decided it, quite suddenly.  It
wasn't like it didn't really matter what he thought about it.  It was more
like it was simply a fact of life.

   Not that he was complaining.

   His parents loved her.  She was a "nice girl".  They knew that.  They
didn't have to tell him to leave his bedroom door open, when she was there,
doing homework with him.  She always left it open herself.  She never
touched him, or kissed him when they were in his bedroom.  She saved that
for when they were alone.

   Like tonight.

   They'd gone to the "Thrill and Chill" at the movie house, where three
horror films in a row had been screened.  It had been a riot of thrown
popcorn, screams, and laughter as a theater full of teenagers had vented
their emotions, while watching one good movie and two old groaners.

   But now, as they drove aimlessly around in the dark, she was cuddled up
to him, with her head on his shoulder.  He knew what that meant, by now. 
It meant she wanted to make out.

   He parked behind the feed mill, in the shadows, and she crawled over the
seat, into the back, almost gracefully.  He followed, feeling clunky.  She
reached for the front of his pants on the very first kiss.  All he could
think about was shooting off in his pants again.  He didn't want to do
that.

   "Wait," he moaned.

   "What's wrong?" she asked.

   "I don't want ...  that ...  to happen again," he said.

   "Oh," she said.  "I didn't mind."

   "Yeah," he said.  "But you're not the one who has to stay in wet, sticky
pants."

   "Oh!" she yipped.  "I'm sorry," she said, kissing him quickly.  "I never
thought of that."

   "I like doing this," he said, weakly.

   "I LOVE doing this," she sighed.  "With you," she added.

   Her original touch had gotten him hard.  Her words finished the job, and
he felt the tip leak.

   "I don't know what to do," he moaned.

   She was quiet for a minute.

   "Paul?" came her soft voice.

   "Yeah?"

   "I love you."

   It hit him like a ton of bricks.  He had been living a dream for four
months ...  a fantasy, that had gone on and one as he watched in disbelief.
He had worried every day that she would tire of whatever it was she was
attracted to in him, and go away, to leave him a crushed and empty shell of
his former self.

   "Do you love me?" she asked.  Her voice sounded scared.

   He couldn't speak.  Her eyes were wide and white, in the dark.  She
expected him to say something, but he had no breath.  He nodded
frantically, in panic.

   "Can you say it?" she asked, with something else in her voice that he
couldn't recognize.

   He nodded frantically again.  He realized he was gasping for breath.  He
held up one finger, telling her to wait.  He felt like he was going to pass
out.

   She waited, silently, and he had never been so thankful in his life that
somebody had done what he asked her to.  Slowly, he got control back,
breathing deeply.  He tried to think analytically, since that calm Ed him,
usually.

   "Just a minute more," he panted.

   Still she sat, silent ...  waiting.

   Finally he felt like he could move forward.  He had to have some answers
first, though ...  he needed to understand this, or it would sweep him
away, and he didn't think that was wise.  If there was even a single chance
that she meant what she'd said, he didn't want to run any risk whatsoever
of screwing this up.

   "Before I answer that," he finally said.  "Can I ask you a question?"

   She nodded, like he had, only not frantically.

   "Why?" he asked.

   "Why do I love you?" she said.

   He nodded, and was proud that he could do it normally.  Just her words,
asking if that's what he meant sounded like music to his ears.

   "I'm not sure I can put it into words," she said.  "I just know I do.  I
knew it on the Ferris Wheel."

   "Clear back then?" He was astonished.

   "It's much stronger now," she said, as if that were the most reasonable
thing in the world to say.  "You're sweet ...  you care about my feelings
...  you don't treat me like I'm stupid." She took a breath.  "You make me
laugh, and you make me want to do the naughtiest things."

   His prick leaked again.

   "You think I'm pretty," she went on.  "I think you're handsome."

   He blinked.  He was the farthest thing from handsome there was, in his
opinion.

   "You're smart.  You help me with my homework, and I actually understand
it when we're done.  My grades have gone up a whole grade point since last
year, and I'm not falling behind in any of my classes." She seemed to stop
to think.  "I love the way you kiss me, but that gets back to doing naughty
things.  I already said that one," she said, matter-of-factly.  "I don't
know ...  I just can't put it into words."

   Paul felt the panic squeeze his body, and a maniacal laugh built in his
chest.  With strength from someplace he didn't recognize, he clamped down
on it all.

   "You did pretty well for not being able to put it into words," he said.

   "I have to know if you love me too," she said, quite seriously.  "It ...
matters to me."

   "I'm a geek," he said.

   "I know that," she said.  "I don't care about that."

   "Jocks ask you out on dates," he said.

   "I don't want to be with them.  I want to be with you."

   "I'm afraid," he moaned.

   "Why?" she asked.

   "I'm afraid you'll leave me," he sighed.  There.  It was out.  He was a
stupid geek, who didn't have any self confidence.

   "If you love me, I'll never leave you," she said, taking his face in her
hands.

   "What does that mean?" he whined.

   "Do you love me?" she insisted.

   "YES!" he shouted.

   She didn't flinch.  Instead she kissed him, still holding his face.  It
was a sweet, gentle kiss that he'd remember for thirty years.  Of course,
what she said next may have had something to do with that.

   "Then it means that I want you to be my boyfriend until you get up the
courage to ask me to marry you.  It means I won't want to wait very long
after school for the wedding.  It means that, some day, I want to have your
babies." She kissed him again.  "And it means that, when we're old and
gray, I want to be able to kiss you like this, whenever I want to."

   Then she kissed him with a fury that took his breath away.  He actually
ended up on his back, with her on top of him as her hungry lips threatened
to suck the life from him, like the vampire in the second movie they'd
watched that night.

   She broke it.  "I know a way ...  so that you won't make a mess, and
have to sit in wet, sticky pants," she panted.

   She didn't wait, or ask if it was all right.  She just attacked his belt
and his pants, pulling at them.  He had to help her, even though his mind
was stuttering, and he couldn't think straight.  He looked down as she
freed his stiff penis, the first time she'd seen it, or touched it
directly. He knew, deep in his heart, that it was going to make a mess on
her face, if she didn't move it, and move it damn quick!  He took in a
breath to tell her, and, right before his eyes, she swallowed him whole.

   He jerked, and a ragged shout left his lungs, carried on the air he was
going to warn her with.  He actually felt his balls jump, just before his
cum rocketed out, into her mouth.  He felt the terror of surprising her,
but it was blown away by her "Mmmmmmmmm" as she took what he offered,
obviously gladly.  He heard her swallow, and then swallow again, the
gulping noises loud in the quiet car.

   She sucked him for what seemed like five more minutes, long after he was
soft, and harmless again.  He lay as if dead, as if she was the vampire who
had sucked his life out, through his prick, rather than his veins.  He had
the errant thought that she had done THIS before too, but he just didn't
care.  She had done it for HIM this time.  And, with the conviction of
youth, he was quite sure she'd never do it for any other man again in her
whole life.  =================================================== On
November first, around seven in the morning, Mirriam went to Forence's
room. Her angst about how the date had turned out had kept her awake. 
She'd actually heard Flo come in, and had wanted to burst out of her room,
to ask what had happened.  Doubt, and not a little fear had kept her from
doing that.  If it had gone badly, and Flo was disappointed, she didn't
want to make the girl go through admitting it.  If it had gone well, she
didn't want to interrupt the flow of happiness.

   She was ambivalent about those words ...  "good" and "bad".  The were
relative.  What was good for Flo, might mean that Mirriam would be alone
again, except for Bobby.  She would always have Bobby ...  she knew that
... but it wasn't quite the same.  What she had with Bobby was so deep that
it claimed her very bones.  She loved Bobby even more than she'd loved Joe.
But that had to be secret, and it was fun to be open about things,
sometimes, like with Ted.

   So, what was good for Flo, would be bad for Mirriam, and vice versa.

   She knew the answer as soon as she entered the room, where her daughter
lay sleeping.  She smelled the answer.  She knew that odor well ...  the
odor of Ted's emissions.  The Raggedy Ann costume was on the floor, and she
picked it up.  Another shirt was nearby, and, when she picked that up, it
was still damp.  She brought that shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply.  It
was the odor of Ted.

   With a sudden urge that she didn't understand ...  would never
understand ...  she went to the bed and pulled the sheet off of her naked,
sleeping daughter.  Flo was lying on her back, one arm thrown up above her
head.  Her pubis was a mess of sperm, some of it still wet, it was so
heavy.

   She was putting the sheet back over her daughter, when Flo opened her
eyes.

   "Good morning, darling," said her mother, forcing happiness into her
voice.  "I take it you had a good time."

   "I know why you love him," said Flo, not sounding sleepy at all.  "I
won't take him away from you."

   "You already have," sighed Mirriam, sitting on the bed.

   "No, Mamma, I haven't," said Flo, sitting up.  The sheet fell from her
breasts.  There were two red spots on them, where Ted had sucked too hard,
for too long.  "He loves you, Mamma."

   "Sharing him with Prudence was one thing," said Mirriam, her voice
strong.  "Sharing him with you is another."

   "That's not how it's going to be," said Flo, taking her mother's hand.

   She brought it to her lips and kissed her mother's fingertips.

   "You won't be sharing him with me."

   Mirriam felt anger at the stupidity of her daughter, for passing up a
chance for long term happiness, and started to tell her so.

   "I'll be sharing him with you," said Flo. 
==================================================== Bobby's sexual impact
on the women around him didn't necessarily mean they all had sex with him.
In Constance's case, he was the first man she kissed, and the first man
whose penis she saw.  She had fantasies about making love to him, but,
after she met Tim, those fantasies played out with him, for the most part.
While it is true that Constance shared some relatively minor sexual moments
with Bobby, her relatively major moments were all spent with Tim.

   Such a moment came in November when, while Prudence was at Mirriam's
with the twins, and Tim was at Constance's house alone with her, he asked
her to marry him.

   Like most of the other women her age, in that day and age, Constance
believed that a girl should be a virgin when she went on her honeymoon.  Of
course, she had the same problem all women have had, who wanted to be
virgins on their wedding night.  That problem was that it is normal to want
to give yourself sexually to the man you love ...  and you inevitably love
him long before the wedding.

   Constance had wanted to feel Bobby's penis inside her for years.  She
had resisted that temptation.  Now, on a cool, crisp November evening,
after hearing the words she had at one time thought she'd never hear, her
suppressed desire burst from her in a way that completely overwhelmed Tim
Appleton.

   Tim, for his part, was just a normal, average guy, who had lusted after
females ever since he started growing hair under his arms, and around his
penis.  He was a good guy, and he learned to care about Constance, at the
same time he got to explore that mystical world of sexuality that all men
want to explore.  He did, in fact, love her, as amorphous and difficult as
that concept is to describe, and he had no intention of hurting her, or
hurting "them" by pushing her farther, sexually, than she was willing to
go. He numbered himself among the world's luckiest men, in fact, because
Constance let him touch her, and brought him incredible ecstasy with her
mouth on his prick.

   Had one of his friends said "You know, if you ask Connie to marry you,
you might get lucky and get a piece of ass," Tim would not have thought it
was funny.  If that friend had leered and said "I'd ask her to marry me if
it would get my dick wet," there would have been a fight.

   Every young man who pops the question has a little inevitable angst
about how that question will be answered, and Tim was no different.  He
hoped she'd be happy.  He hoped she'd say yes.  To that end, it is fair to
say he was not entirely surprised when she showed her emotions by crying
happy tears, and kissing him.  It wouldn't have been unreasonable for him
to hope that she'd give him a blow job too.

   What Tim was not prepared, however, for them to end up naked as
jaybirds, on Connie's bed, as her pussy sank down on his prick.

   Things moved somewhat faster than Tim was prepared for, to give him his
due.  That she wanted him naked, on her bed, worked in with his hope ... 
or expectation ...  for the blow job.  That she wanted to be naked too, was
icing on the cake.  That she kissed him BEFORE filling her mouth with his
spunk, was appreciated.  Then, suddenly, she was over him, his prick in her
hand, and he watched in both amazement and disbelief as the tip spread her
pussy lips, which then dropped like a stone.

   Instantly, his prick was surrounded by hot, sucking pussy.  A half
second after that, his brain registered what was happening.  His balls, so
far away from his brain, took another three seconds to jump with joy.  That
jumping expelled the contents of his scrotum, which flowed through a tube
into his urethra, and took the path of less resistance, going out the tip
of his penis, instead of into his bladder.

   In street talk, Tim blew a serious nut before he had taken a single
stroke.

   Now, with accomplished, and experienced lovers, premature ejaculation is
a problem.  It can, in fact, lead to the breakup of an otherwise fine
relationship.  With first-timers, though, it isn't quite so devastating, or
at least unsatisfactory.

   In fact, it felt fantastic to Tim, who suddenly approved eagerly of the
acceleration of the relationship.  Constance wasn't unhappy either, because
her experience tended to center on what that milky white spunk did, inside
a woman.  Right then, Constance wasn't looking for an orgasm ...  not
really.  What she was doing was sealing the deal, so to speak.  In many
cultures, the act of copulation legitimizes, or results in "marriage". 
Constance Harris, once she accepted Tim as her intended mate ...  mated
with him.

   To her, it was that simple.

   What was not so simple, was her reaction, as she lay there in her
lover's arms, with a belly full of his spunk.

   "We can't do this any more until we're married," she said.

   "What?!" Tim's voice was agitated.  I think most men in his situation
would have been a little agitated.

   "I said we can't do this any more until we're married," said Constance,
proving that women don't understand the nuances of inflection in the male
voice.

   "But it was fantastic!" he moaned.

   "Yes," she sighed.  "It was."

   "But you're on the pill ...  right?" he said, hopeful that she would see
reason.

   "Yes, but that doesn't mean anything," she said.

   Tim was getting his first dose of female logic.  At least it was the
first dose he got from a girl who really mattered to him.

   "I don't understand," he moaned.

   "We shouldn't have done this UNTIL we were married," she said, more or
less calmly.  "I love you so much, and when you asked me to marry you ... I
couldn't help myself this time." she explained.

   "Constance, will you marry me?" asked Tim, only half kidding.

   She was less than amused.

   "If you think I'm just going to lie down and let you take your pleasure
with me any time you feel like it, BEFORE we get married ...  you have
another think coming!" she said.

   "But Honeeeeeey," he moaned.

   "You'll have to be satisfied with what we've done before," said
Constance.  There was no flexibility in her voice at all.  "Now, when
should we get married?"

   "Tomorrow?" suggested Tim, who was still trying to think with his little
head, which was still somewhat dazed by its recent experience.

   "Silly," she said, smiling.  "That's one of the reasons I love you.  I
love it when you're silly like that."

   She sat up.

   "Now, get dressed.  We have to go tell everybody!" Chapter Three

   November and December came and went, with the Dalton family gatherings,
which now included Prudence, Constance and the twins.  Tim too, since he
and Constance had become engaged.

   Bev was three months pregnant, and radiant.  Bill was bursting with
pride.  Mary was five months pregnant with her second child, and happy that
this one was conceived with Fred, her husband.

   Linda had Paul over for Thanksgiving dinner, and it was obvious they
were completely caught up in each other.  Repetitions of her oral love for
him had convinced him, beyond doubt, that she was completely honest about
how she felt for him.  The rise in his level of self confidence had led
him, on his own, to offer to reciprocate, which she had gleefully accepted.


   Ted, at various times, sat with various women.  An observer would have
thought he belonged to Prudence, at one dinner, to Mirriam, at another, and
to Flo, if they'd been there when he sat with her.  Her younger sisters,
long used to the odd relationships that the Dalton women had with men, took
everything in stride.

   Suzie was sixteen and, like Flo had at that age, seemed to have no
interest in boys or men whatsoever.  She was very serious about her studies
because, of them all, she wanted to go to college.  A scholarship was the
only way that would ever happen and she pursued grades that would hopefully
get her a scholarship, with single minded attention.

   Suzie did show an interest in Paul, but it didn't threaten Linda in the
slightest.  Suzie simply saw, in Paul, the brilliance and capable mind,
that made him at the top of their class.  They also had hundreds of things
in common, in terms of interests.  Suzie was fascinated with Biology, and
Paul was, more and more, thinking of going into Medicine.

   Negotiations, of a sort, were conducted, as Mirriam, Prudence and Flo
debated Ted's future fate.  Ted was even there for one such session, but
his opinion was not asked for.  Somehow, all of them knew that he would
formalize his relationship with Flo.  What shape that would take, was all
that remained in question.

   When Mirriam opened her Christmas present from Bobby, she thought it was
going to be jewelry, because it was a tiny box.  She unfolded the paper
inside, to see a set of keys.  She looked around, bewildered, and Bobby
calmly led her to the window.  Outside, parked in the yard, with a big red
ribbon wrapped all the way around it was a brand new 1973 Chevrolet Impala.


   "The truck will work fine for farm stuff," he said, his hands on her
hips, as she stared at the beautiful car.  "But with the baby and all, I
thought this might be a little more comfortable."

   "You can't afford that!" she gasped.

   "Yes, I can," he said.  "I'm doing just fine, and you deserve this."
============================================== By December, Flo knew she
was pregnant, but hadn't told anyone.  She went, by herself, to the doctor,
who sat for a moment, and stared at her when she told him why she was
there.

   "I'm just going to open a branch clinic in your house," he sighed.  "You
Dalton people are going to provide for my retirement, and I just want you
to know I appreciate it."

   Florence giggled, and they got down to the business of confirming what
she already knew.  =============================================== "There's
something I need to talk to you about," said Flo.  It was New Year's Eve,
and they were having a quiet celebration at the farm, except for Bobby, who
was at a party at Chumley manor.  They were sitting, and watching the New
York City countdown on TV.

   Ted turned to her, smiling.  "Shoot," he said.

   She pulled him up and took him into the dining room, which was, at the
moment, empty.  She sat, and gestured to the chair next to her.  He sat
too.

   "It seems that I should have been more regular about taking my birth
control pills," she said.  She hadn't had sex with Bobby since Halloween
night.  She'd avoided it completely, based on her examination of her pill
case, the next morning.  And, she'd taken her pills ...  finally ... 
religiously every day since.

   He blinked.  He'd been through this with Mirriam, before, and his hopes
had been dashed.  He didn't have any reason to believe that Flo had another
lover.  The thirty or forty times they'd made love since out behind the
barn, had suggested she was dying for him ...  each time.

   Florence, though, was well aware that, throughout her mother's
pregnancy, Ted had hoped that the baby was his.  It had been obvious to
them all that it was not.  It had been obvious to Flo that it was Bobby's.
That was another reason she had stayed away from him.  Besides, he was busy
with other women, she suspected, and with Linda, which she knew.

   "There is no chance that this baby is anyone else's but yours," she
said, her voice quiet.

   The hope in his eyes made her want to drag him off to her bedroom that
very instant, but she controlled herself.

   "How long?" he asked.

   "My due date is July thirty-first," she said.

   She smiled as she saw him do the calculations in his head, counting
backwards.  His eyes got big.

   "Star gazing with you is apparently very dangerous," she said, smiling.

   Then she got more serious.  "I know how you feel about getting married
again - I'm not asking for that - but I just thought you'd want to know."

   He stood up and paced, his hands in his back pockets.  This was no new
thing he was thinking about.  He had thought about almost nothing else for
the last month.  Spending more and more time with Flo had made him re-think
his casual attitude about the relationships he had with Mirriam and
Prudence.  The negotiations had resulted in him still being welcome in both
women's beds, though with much less frequency than he'd been there in the
past.  Both women accepted him only when they knew they were at their
lowest chance of fertility.  He hadn't minded, because Florence had taken
over everything else, basically.

   But the tentative, if comfortable relationship he had with Mirriam and
Prudence was also missing something.  Basically, he had finally realized
that it lacked commitment.  He hadn't thought he needed that, or that he'd
want to give it, either, for that matter.

   Flo made him feel differently.  He turned to her.

   "Look," he said softly.  "I know what you're going to think, when I say
this, but it's not what you think, OK?"

   "OK," said Flo.

   "I know how ever since I've gotten here, I've catted around, and talked
about how bad marriage was and all that.  But time changes all things. 
I've been thinking about this a lot, Flo.  It isn't because of what you
just told me.  It's that too, but not all that.  I want to know you'll be
there.  I want to come home to you ...  sleep with you.  I want you to
think about giving me a chance to show that I can be a decent husband."

   The women knew him better than he knew himself.  That was one of the
things that had bothered both Mirriam and Pru.  They had seen this
evolution in his attitude, and both were, at different times, afraid he'd
ask THEM to marry him.  Their attitudes about that had not evolved.  So Flo
wasn't as surprised as he thought she would be.  She stood up, put her arms
around his neck and kissed him.

   "I'd be proud to be your wife," she said.

   Before he could say another word, she pushed him away.

   "Don't you go ANYWHERE!" she yipped.  "I'll be right back!"

   She all but ran to the kitchen.  Shrieks of female joy erupted.  It
sounded like someone's favorite football team had just scored the winning
touchdown in the last ten seconds of the game.

   Then there was the stampede, as Mirriam, Prudence and Florence all ran
back into the room to envelop him in soft, female flesh. 
=================================================== It was about one in the
afternoon, and New Year's day, that Flo opened the door to Bobby's room,
and saw that he was there, still sleeping.  She'd gone to bed ...  with Ted
...  before Bobby had gotten home.  Ted had gotten up and eaten breakfast
with those who were up, but needed to go check his furnace, which had been
giving him trouble lately.  He'd had to re-light the pilot light twice,
now, and it was bitterly cold outside.

   Most of the others had gone back to bed.  The twins were watching a
football game on TV.

   She sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Bobby's bare chest.  She
had always been amazed at how warm he was, even in winter, like this, with
only a sheet over half of him.  He woke up, and rubbed his eyes.

   "Haven't seen much of you, lately," he said, yawning.

   "I was too busy getting pregnant with Ted's baby," she said, as if she
had only said "I've been busy."

   He blinked, and his eyes came open wide.

   "You're kidding!" he said.

   "Nope," she said, still tracing her fingers over his chest.  "If you'd
have been here, it probably would have been yours.  I forgot to take my
pills three days in a row."

   "When did all this happen?" he asked, looking up at her.

   "Halloween night," she said.

   "But that was your first date!" he said.

   "Uh huh."

   "Wow.  How's Mamma taking it?" he asked.

   "She's delirious.  She was afraid he was going to ask her to marry him,
instead of me."

   Bobby did a double take.  "He asked you to marry him?" His voice was up
an octave.

   "See what happens when you neglect me?" she said, smiling.

   "I know," he said.  "This thing with the Chumley women has really been
taking a lot of my time."

   "I'm going to want to hear about that some day," she said.

   "Maybe," he said.  "So what did you tell Ted?"

   "I told him I'd marry him."

   Bobby grinned.  "I knew you had a brain in that head somewhere."

   She slapped his chest.

   "It's complicated.  I'm not taking him away from Mamma and Pru.  They
still get him sometimes, but I'm not sure he'll let us ..." She didn't
finish.

   "Sweetheart," he said, taking her hand and kissing her palm.  "I only
gave you what you needed.  If you don't need that any more, I'm happy for
you!"

   "But I still love you," she sighed.  "I'll always love you.  I'll always
love what we did.  I'm going to miss that.  He's so different from you."
Her finger traced the shape of Ted's bent penis on Bobby's stomach.  She
wasn't aware she had done it.

   "We'll see what happens," He said.  "Don't worry about that.  You have
everything to be happy for."

   "OK," she said.  "Can I at least have another kiss?"

   They should have known better.  The kiss turned into a grope, which
turned into her shirt falling open and, since she was braless, her nipples
getting sucked.  In no time at all she was heaving up at him, pushing her
pussy up onto his long stiff prick, that felt so completely different in
her than Ted's did.

   "I wish it had been me," sighed Bobby, as he gushed into her.

   She didn't say it out loud, but her thought was "Maybe someday it can be
you," as she felt him spurting.

   She got up and got dressed just in time.  She went downstairs, as Ted
was coming in the back door, complaining that his furnace had gone out
again.  Flo simply went back to Bobby's room and asked him if he could fix
that.

   "It's New Year's Day," said Bobby.

   "You owe me," said Flo.

   "That's not what I meant," said Bobby.  "It's probably the thermocouple,
and I can't buy a new on today."

   "You don't have one?" she asked, expecting him to be able to do
miracles.

   "I've got a used one in the tool shed," he said.  "It came out of a
furnace that got thrown away.  I can try putting that one on."

   She kissed him soundly, and then stood back up.

   "Well get up then.  My fiancée needs you!  I don't want to go to a cold
house tonight, when I go home with him."

   They all trooped over to Ted's house.  Fifteen minutes later Bobby
re-lit the pilot light.

   "Now we wait," he said.  "We should know in ten or fifteen minutes."

   It stayed lit, and Flo just stayed there, when Bobby left. 
=================================================== There were two more
"last times" for Florence, as she did very little planning for a very
simple ceremony that would take place in the farmhouse where she grew up.
They had no reason to wait, as far as Flo was concerned, so they set the
date for the last day of January.

   As scandalous as it would have been, if people had found out about it,
Flo basically just moved in with Ted, during January.  She stayed there at
night too, which was the scandalous part.  She only spent two nights of the
month at the farm.

   Both nights, she slept with Bobby.

   "It's like I have to have sex every single day!" she moaned, as she came
to him the first time.  "I'm not supposed to be doing this with you!"

   He shushed her and then made her wiggle with passion.  They slept and he
made love with her again in the morning.

   The second night, she just came in, stripped and climbed on top of him.
She hadn't figured out yet, with Ted, how to delay her orgasms ...  how to
stay at the peak of pleasure, without tumbling over the cliff.  With Ted,
when the tip of his prick scraped her G-spot, she just had orgasms ...  for
as long as he kept going.

   That was the night before the wedding, when she decided she'd do at
least one thing traditional about getting married.  That one thing was not
letting the groom see her before the ceremony.

   She was the second Dalton woman to walk down the aisle, to meet her
groom, with her brother's sperm in her.  She was the first, though, who was
walking down the aisle pregnant with a baby that actually belonged to the
groom.  ================================================= February of 1973
was a cold month, and people stayed out in it as little as possible.  Bobby
stayed busy, because the cold froze pipes that had to be thawed, and broke
pipes that had to be repaired.  He had three customers who couldn't shovel
their own snow, mostly elderly folks.  He never seemed to remember to
charge them, when he was done, and moved on to another job.

   His Friday nights were the same, each spent at the Chumley manor. 
Felicity and Annie were now about five months along, showing nicely. 
Naked, their gently swelling bellies were almost mesmerizing to Bobby, and
he spent hours stroking those bellies, and talking to the children inside
them.  Both women, of course loved it when he paid homage to their ultimate
femininity, and then slowly abandoned the baby, to pay homage to their
other feminine parts as well.

   Both learned to ride him, often doing so for an hour at a time, talking
to him about all kinds of things.  Both learned how to inflame him, and
make him spurt, even when he didn't want to, yet.

   Chester had never seemed healthier.  At eighty-one, he walked more, and
spent more time on the grounds of the estate, planning a garden that he
intended to plant in the spring.  He, too, ran his hands over his wife's
swollen abdomen, as he kissed her for hours and thanked her for giving him
this gift.  That it was another man's baby didn't faze him at all.  He knew
that the child in that belly would grow up believing he was its father. 
Later, when he was gone, perhaps Felicity would tell the truth about it. 
He wasn't worried about that.  He'd get his chance, however belated, to be
a father ...  to act like a father.

   Chester also quit worrying about the relationship between Felicity and
Bobby.  That she loved Bobby, he knew.  But when she was with her husband,
she made it very clear that she loved him more.  If it took an hour to make
his balls give up, she spent it, sucking him until he came.  She made it
plain that she needed his lips on her nipples, and his fingers in her
pussy, giving her pleasure.

   Now, more than halfway through her pregnancy, Chester was thinking how
nice it would be to have TWO little ones, running around, calling him
Pappa. =============================================== On one of the Friday
nights in February, when it was Felicity's turn with Bobby, she lay with
him, resting her belly against him.  Annie had left, looking glassy-eyed,
and Felicity had just cleaned all the spunk Annie had left behind off of
Bobby's prick, by the simple expedient of sucking it clean.  It was only
semi-hard, and she knew they would spend some time cuddling and talking,
before he would pin her to the bed and make her squeal.

   "I met a woman the other day," she said, between soft kisses.  "I gave
her your number."

   "Oh you did, did you?" asked Bobby, tweaking one of her stiff pink
nipples.

   "She needs you very badly," she said.  "Much worse than I did."

   "Oh she does, does she?" he responded.

   "Yes," she said, reaching to feel if he was getting hard yet.

   "Did she say so?" he asked.

   "Goodness no," said Felicity.  "Well, in a way, I suppose.  She said
something that made me think of you."

   "What was that?"

   "She said she needed to get laid."

   "You have the most interesting conversations with people," said Bobby,
laughing.

   "Well," said Felicity, getting ready to slide down and suck him back to
life, "I met her at the fundraiser I sponsored for the kids ...  you know,
my little project?"

   "I know," he said, stroking her cheek.  She had started a small
foundation that paid for transportation and lodging expenses for the
parents of children with cancer.  That let parents be with their children
during hospitalizations.  Her "little" project had raised half a million
dollars, in four months.

   Felicity fondled his balls, while she kept talking.

   "She owns a radio station in Hutchinson, or runs it or something.  She
offered to do some public service announcements for us.  We were just
talking about the rigors of doing business, and she seemed very tense.  I
think she got a little frustrated or something, while we talked.  It just
popped out.  She was embarrassed by it."

   "So you embarrassed her even more by giving her my number?" he laughed.

   "She seemed sweet, and wasn't wearing a ring," said Felicity, taking his
prick in her hand.  "I've never met a woman who was that tense.  Now hush.
I have work of my own to do."

   She closed her mouth over him again and sucked, using her tongue to push
at his foreskin and twirl it around the glans.  She massaged his balls ...
the balls that had produced the sperm that had made her belly swell ... 
and which held a special place in her heart, while she felt him stiffen. 
She put Amanda Griggs, the woman she had been talking about, out of her
mind.  ======================================================= At that
moment, in a town sixty miles away, Amanda Griggs was lying in her own bed,
in her father's house, which seemed very empty to her.  She hadn't been
sleeping well lately, and felt exhausted.  It was the same, tonight.  Even
exhausted, she couldn't get to sleep.

   Amanda had been a happy child, growing up in a normal family.  Her
father, Ron Griggs, was the owner and General Manager of KDEF radio
station, which went from being WFY on the AM band, to KDEF on the FM band,
while she was a teenager.  She had, therefore, been held in high regard by
most of her friends, who thought it was just TOO cool to have a father who
played the music they loved, on the radio.

   That music had been Big Band, with all the greats, like Tommy Dorsey,
and Gelnn Miller, as well as a ton of lesser known artists.  Amanda had, of
course, taken an entry level job at the station, when she got out of High
School, in 1963.  Eight years later, when she was twenty-six, her father
had a stroke.

   She knew every facet of the business, by then, and it just seemed
obvious, to her, that she should be the one to take his place at the helm
of the station.  The rest of the employees saw it differently.  She didn't
have nearly enough experience to run the station, and they all knew it.

   If she had called on them, some of whom had worked at the station for
fifteen years or more, things might have gone better, for all of them.  The
problem was that, by then, Amanda was convinced, as many people with a type
A personality are convinced, that she knew everything.  If people would
just listen to her, everything would be fine.

   It was ironic that her employees felt the same way.  If she would just
listen to them, everything would be fine.

   In the end, they had to listen to her.  Her father made that clear, even
though he couldn't talk, because of the stroke.

   In the years since, revenues had steadily fallen, listenership was down,
and the station was close to being in trouble.  What her father had taken
thirty years to build, she managed to let decay in two.  She didn't
understand it.

   That was because she wasn't looking at things with objectivity.  She ran
the station the same way her father had run it, in every detail.  He had
been successful for years.  Why wasn't she able to continue that success?

   Rodney, her program manager, gently tried to tell her that Big Band
music had had its day, but had fallen from favor.  He had tried to tell Ron
the same thing, almost ten years earlier.  Neither had listened to him. 
Rock and Roll were dirty words, according to them.  Noise!  That's all it
was.  Where were the clarinets ...  the trombones ...  the saxophones?  No,
from Ron's perspective, the problem was that new cuts weren't being
produced in numbers large enough to bolster the play list, with new tunes.
THAT was the problem.  His employees weren't looking hard enough for new
artists, new groups, and new recordings.

   Ron had, in fact, been in the middle of such a rant, when the stroke
hit.

   He was doing better.  He could get around in his wheel chair.  As he had
so many times in the past, he wished his wife were still alive.  She'd be a
great comfort to him now.  He couldn't talk, and couldn't write legibly
either, which meant that he couldn't tell poor Amanda about all the
thinking he'd been doing, the last two years.

   Ron had plenty of time to sit by the radio, moving the dial by brushing
one unruly finger against the knurled knob that changed the reception. 
He'd listened to the three dozen stations within range of the home radio
set for hours.  He'd listened to his own station too.  That was when it
finally sank in how sadly out of date KDEF was.

   The commercials were flat, and the same ones, time after time, all day
long.  The music was still vibrant, but he recognized now that other
stations had gone on without him.  He had, before the stroke, thought of
himself as a preservationist, going against the grain, to make Big Band
music available to people who couldn't find it anywhere else on the dial.
Now he realized that all the other stations had to be right.  They were all
playing the same stuff, either country or rock and roll.  It still grated
on his ears, but that was obviously what the paying customer wanted to
hear. And, they had lots of advertisers who, he knew, were paying lots of
money for their ads to be broadcast on the air.

   It was only worse when Amanda came home each night and assured him she
wasn't going to change a thing.  She did that regularly, telling him
everything was fine, and that the station was exactly the same.

   That, Ron thought dismally, was the problem.  He wished he could tell
her that.

   He also wished he could tell her that, by sinking herself heart and soul
into the station, she had left something else behind.  As the boss's
daughter, she had been a social pariah, when she first started working
there.  She had worked hard, to overcome that, but it hadn't worked.  Now,
as the General Manager, she was still a social pariah.  She still put in
long days, didn't date, and had no boyfriend.

   And that meant that, as long as he was alive and trapped in this broken
body, Ron would have no grandchildren, to watch, to be entertained by, and
to ease his suffering by introducing joy into his life.

   Though Ron Griggs didn't know it, as his daughter lay in her bed,
staring at the ceiling, she was thinking along the same lines.  She wasn't
thinking about giving her father grandchildren, but she WAS thinking about
how, with no man in her life, and no prospects that met her rigorous
standards, she felt empty.  She also felt horny.

   That part, she was used to ...  almost.  Since being a teenager she had
played with the man in the boat between her legs.  She had done that
routinely, almost efficiently, using two fingers held stiffly, and whipping
them back and forth between her spread legs.  She didn't insert anything in
her pussy.  That wasn't what brought the tingling relief.  Her clitty,
almost trained, by now, yielded up an orgasm within about ninety seconds,
usually.  It was quick, it brought relief, and then she was done.  No man
had ever been able to satisfy her, the way she could satisfy herself.  She
had tried, like most young girls try, to find a man who made her tingle. 
She had even let two boys get her naked and push their stiff adolescent
pricks into her.  That had felt good, she had to admit, but on both
occasions, they had satisfied themselves, and not her.  Her girlfriends all
told her that, with time, that would change ...  that older men were better
at taking care of the needs of a woman.

   Then, when she started working at the station, she didn't have time for
men.  They were disorganized, and impetuous.  They took too long, playing
mind games, and sexual games.  They also wanted to be satisfied, which she
didn't know how to do.  Men were just too much trouble.

   Amanda was the kind of woman who paid attention to her conscious
thoughts.  Logic and reason were her bywords.  That was why, as she lay in
her bed, that mid February Friday night, she couldn't understand why she
felt so jittery and uncomfortable.  She had whipped her clit into shape, as
she thought of it, and the orgasm was over.  She should be able to go to
sleep, but she couldn't.  It was almost like she needed to do it again. 
That wasn't how things were done, though, so she ignored that possibility.

   Her mind wandered back to the woman she'd met at that fundraiser, where
she had thought she might be able to find some new advertisers.  Instead,
she had given away valuable time on the air for public service
announcements.  Felicity Chumley had been very smooth, and urbane.  She had
talked with surprising insight about the challenges of doing business, and
the pitfalls for women doing business.  She had seemed to understand
Amanda's complaints about her various difficulties.  Amanda had found
herself sharing information with Felicity that she would never have planned
to share.

   Later, as she'd examined what had happened, she thought she knew the
answer.  With that gently swelling abdomen, the pregnant woman had been
almost mesmerizing.  Nobody could resist a pregnant woman, especially when
she was beautiful and rich, like Felicity was.  Amanda knew something about
the Chumleys, and, looking at that belly, it had been clear to her that
Chester Chumley was not the man responsible for it.  The Guiness people
would have been flocking around him, if that were the case, so they could
enter him into their book of world records.

   Whether it had been Chester Chumley's baby or not, Felicity had been the
poster woman for happy, carefree femininity.  She just radiated the persona
of a well fucked (obviously) and satisfied woman.  It had been that almost
overwhelming persona that had caused Amanda to blurt out: "I need to get
laid!"

   Amanda had been so mortified that she almost fled, but then!  The woman
had calmly pulled out a piece of paper and written down a name and phone
number.  She'd smiled and handed it to Amanda, saying that the man whose
name was on that paper could take care of that little problem.

   Amanda had been floored.  The woman had all but admitted that she'd been
unfaithful to her husband ...  though, come to think of it, that pregnant
belly already made that clear.

   Amanda sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed.  Her purse
was out in the dining room, on a table in one corner where she kept her
keys and other things she needed to take with her each day.  She padded out
there, staying barefoot, even thought the floor was cold, so that the
scrape of footwear wouldn't wake her father.

   She went to the pocket where she put papers like the one Felicity
Chumley had handed her.  That pocket was to be gone through, occasionally,
and mined for valuable information.  Anything not valuable was thrown away.


   She discarded three notes then and there, since she was going through
them.  Efficiency was important.  When she looked at the last piece of
paper, without finding the man's name and number, she felt something akin
to panic.  Where was it?  It should be there!  That's where she put things
like that.

   She ended up dumping the purse, even though it wasn't scheduled to be
reorganized until next Wednesday.  She finally found the little wadded
piece of paper in with her cosmetics, which was NOT where it was supposed
to be!  She frowned, wondering how on Earth that had happened.

   Ignoring the clutter on the table, she smoothed the wrinkles out of the
paper.

   "Bobby Dalton", she murmured, staring at it.  Bobby Dalton was the man
who, at least in part, was responsible for Felicity Chumley's relaxed and
happy countenance.  She recognized the number prefix as being a Granger
exchange.  That didn't made sense.  Surely, if Felicity was running around
on her husband, she wouldn't do it with a town man.  She would import a man
for something like that, who wouldn't be known in town.  Or go to him.  One
of the two.

   She frowned, and stared at the name.  Bobby.  A childish name ...  one
that suggested a childish man.  Surely he was a man, and not a boy.  Could
he be just a happy bumpkin?  Maybe he was one of those men who had no
drive, or ambition, and who could be manipulated to do whatever a woman
wanted.  That would be nice.  She wished there were more men around like
that ...  men who would just do as they were told.

   She suddenly recognized the ache in her loins for what it was.  She was
STILL horny.  Her private ritual hadn't worked, this time.

   She left the clutter on the table, including the note, and went back to
her bed.  Pulling up her nightgown, she lay back and brought her two stiff
fingers into play.  A minute later she shuddered and let out a hiss of air,
just like always.

   She covered herself, and lay, taking inventory.  She felt better.

   But, with a soft moan of frustration, she also knew that it hadn't
worked again.  Chapter Four

   The next morning Amanda had to drag herself from bed.  She hadn't slept
well.  She hurried to get her father taken care of.  He'd had insurance
that covered loss of work from a thing like this, so, financially, they
were fine.  The insurance also covered hiring a person to check in on him,
occasionally, during the day, so she knew that his other needs would be
taken care of while she concentrated on making the situation at the station
improve.

   She had no idea how to do that, though, and that was her major
frustration.  This morning, added to that, was the lingering feeling of
being sexually unsatisfied, though she didn't recognize it as that.

   She saw the contents of her purse still scattered on the table, and
chastised herself for not taking care of that the night before.  The note
from Felicity got another glance, and was then put where it belonged.

   Kissing her father, she went to work.

   She took Sunday and Monday off, generally speaking.  That was because
Saturday was a day when there were fewer people around the station, and she
felt like she could get more done.  Depending on how Saturday went was what
determined if she worked Monday or not.

   She knew something was wrong when she saw Rodney's car, parked halfway
between the lines of two parking spots.  She didn't see him when she went
in, and would have gone looking for him except that there was a piece of
paper on her desk, where she had told employees again and again never to
leave anything.

   It was a note from Julie, her ad manager, and it said that another
advertiser had cancelled.  It went on to say not to worry about firing her,
because she was looking for another job and would keep Amanda apprised of
the progress on that.  Amanda's heart sank.  The previous ad manager had
also quit, and it had been hard enough to find Julie.

   Then Rodney came in and told her that the machine they used to cover the
six hour period each night, when no one was in the building, had eaten one
of their irreplaceable tapes.  Someone at the salt mine outside of town,
who knew him, had called, waking him up, and complained about the dead air
that had been going on for two hours.

   The tape was helplessly snarled and somebody was going to have to take
the machine apart to get the tape out, and find out why it had jammed in
the first place.  It would be off line for a week or more, and somebody
would have to come in and work the midnight to six shift, playing either
individual cuts, or albums.

   She wanted to pull her hair out.  The station couldn't afford to hire
another person for six hours a night.  Nobody listened then anyway ... 
except, apparently, salt miners.  She thought, briefly, about just shutting
the transmitter off at midnight, and powering it back up at six, but
discarded that idea.  That would cost almost the same amount, and was hard
on the equipment.

   Plus - and this was the most important thing - it would mean she had to
admit defeat.

   "I'll cover the night shift," she said, her voice tired.

   Rodney left, and she got into her purse to get a tissue.  She knew she
was going to cry.

   The little piece of paper that Felicity Chumley had calmly handed her
stuck up out of its compartment.

   She looked at it.  She pulled it out.

   She picked up the phone, and dialed. 
==================================================== Shortly after that
Bobby dialed his phone.  Annie picked up on the other end.

   "Hi, sweet cheeks," he said.

   "Bobby," she sighed.  "You can't call me at work."

   He laughed.  "I need to talk to Felicity."

   "Oh." She sounded pouty, but he knew she was teasing him.

   When Felicity came on the line, he got right to business.

   "Tell me about Amanda Griggs," he said.

   "She called you?"

   "Yes, and she was trying hard not to cry."

   "I told you she was tense," said Felicity.  "Things aren't going too
well at her radio station."

   "She wants to hire me as a consultant," said Bobby.  "What does that
mean?"

   "Oh," said Felicity, laughing.  "That's just a general designation that
lets her pay you, but doesn't necessarily spell out what you do, exactly."

   "She wants to interview me, later today."

   "Well, of course she does," said Felicity.  "You don't think she'd just
give you a time and date and then lie back on the bed naked, waiting for
you, do you?"

   "Well," said Bobby, grinning, "that's kind of what you do."

   He held the phone away from his ear while she spluttered and yelled at
him.  When he couldn't hear her any more, he put the phone back to his ear.


   "You know I love you," he said, his voice deep.

   "Men!" she spat into the phone.  "Now I'm horny, and it's going to be a
whole week!"

   "Tell me everything you know about Amanda," he said, moving on.

   "You just made me horny ...  and you want me to tell you how to seduce
another woman?" She was getting riled up again.

   "I'll ask Chester if you can have an extra afternoon, or something,"
said Bobby, grinning again.

   "Well ...  that's different," said Felicity.  Bobby had to cover a
laugh.

   He listened to her more detailed description of her conversation with
Amanda, and asked a few questions.  It wasn't much to go on, but at least
he had an idea of how strung out the woman had been acting.  The last thing
Felicity said was "Wear one of the suits I bought you, when you go talk to
her."

   "Yes Ma'am," he said, grinning again.

   "And I'll talk to Chester.  I'll call you and give you a time and date."


   He was laughing when he hung up the phone. 
================================================== Bobby parked his car in
the lot of the radio station, which was about a mile outside of town.  The
tower was right there by the building, which had seven or eight foot tall
letters on top of it, spelling KDEF - 101.5, held up by metal struts.  It
looked garish to him.  Hutch was a small enough town that everybody would
know what radio station it was anyway.

   There were two cars parked in the lot, which would handle ten or fifteen
at the most.  The front door was unlocked.  He could see a glassed-in booth
where a young man was sitting, wearing headphones, and talking into a
microphone.  There was all kinds of electronic equipment around him, and
his hands played a symphony, of sorts, always moving, picking this
cartridge up, and putting it in a machine, or pushing that button, and then
adjusting a dial.  While doing all this, he looked up at Bobby, waved, and
pointed to Bobby's left.

   Bobby turned and walked a few steps.  The office was glassed-in too, but
was larger.  Gold letters on the door said "Amanda Griggs - General
Manager".  He could see a woman sitting at the desk inside, talking on the
phone and moving papers around.  She looked almost as busy as the man in
the sound booth.

   He didn't wait, or knock.  He just walked in, picked an upholstered
chair, and sat down.

   She looked at him, and her voice stopped.  Then she said she was sorry,
and went on with the conversation, which seemed to be about getting
something repaired as quickly as possible.  She apologized for calling on
the weekend, and then asked what the estimate would be.

   She listened, paled, and then said "I know I said as soon as possible,
but I can't afford the weekend rates.  Monday will be fine.  How long do
you think it will take?"

   She listened again, said she understood, and then hung up.

   Bobby had been examining her, while she talked.  He was surprised,
because she looked young, maybe even younger than he was.  Her hair was cut
short, falling just below her ears, in what had, in earlier years, been
called a Pageboy.  She had full lips, and high cheekbones, that made her
look slender, though, from what Bobby could see, her body wasn't thin.  She
wasn't fat either.  She just looked ...  normal.

   "I'm Bobby," he said, and stopped.

   Now she looked at him.  He didn't know she was thinking the same thing,
that he looked younger than she'd expected.  She thought of him as a
gigolo, but she'd never met one, and really didn't know what to expect.  He
was certainly handsome.  The suit he was wearing had to have cost two
hundred dollars or more, and fit like a glove.  Her earlier image of him as
a bumpkin fled.  On the other hand, he wasn't full of himself, or
strutting, so maybe she could handle him.

   "I have fifteen minutes," she said, looking at her watch.

   "And what do you intend to do in these fifteen minutes" he asked.

   "I need to determine if you'll be suitable," she said.

   "Suitable for what?" he asked.

   She was flustered now.  How did one negotiate with a gigolo?

   "For ...  what you do," she said, haltingly.

   "I do all kinds of things," he said.

   That made her heart flutter a bit.  Her two brief liaisons with boys,
back in school, had been hurried things, in the back seats of cars.  They
had been exciting, to be sure, but also scary.  She was aware that people
did ...  all kinds of things ...  when they had sex, and what some of those
were, but she was completely without experience in those things.  Her mind
grappled with that, because, to be honest, she had no idea what she wanted
him to do.

   To deal with her frustration and muddled thoughts, she sank safely back
into organization.

   "Well," she said.  "We can talk about that later.  I just need to work
you into my schedule, for right now."

   "All right," he said softly.

   She flipped through her appointment book.  It never occurred to her to
have him come to the house.  Her father would be there.  She couldn't
explain to her own father who this man was ...  what he was there for.

   "I have half an hour Tuesday afternoon," she said, putting her finger on
the blank spot in her appointment book.

   "Half an hour," he said.

   "Yes," she said, almost impatiently.  She had spoken plainly.

   "And where ...  would I be providing my services?" he asked.

   She blinked.  She hadn't thought of that.  Obviously, it couldn't be at
the station.  And it couldn't be at home.

   "A motel," she said.  That would solve that problem.

   He stood up.  She expected him to offer his hand ...  to shake on it, so
to speak.  Instead he spoke.

   "Look, Amanda," he said.  "I'm not sure what you had in mind, but I
don't think it's going to work out.  I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

   She was shocked.  He couldn't turn her down!  He was being HIRED to
provide a service!

   "I don't understand," she said.

   "I can't do what I do in half an hour on Tuesday," he said.  "We need to
spend time together.  I need to get to know you, and you need to get to
know me.  I don't even want to spend any time with you at all, unless we
have at least four hours to spend together."

   "Four HOURS!?" she gasped.  "I never have that kind of time!"

   "That may be why you are so ...  unhappy." Bobby chose that word,
because the lines on her face suggested she spent more time being unhappy
...  or worried ...  than otherwise.

   "I am NOT unhappy!" she stated.

   "Your life is complicated ...  is it not?" he asked.

   "Yes, that's true," she admitted, "but I'm not unhappy!"

   "When your life is filled with stress, you need time to unwind.  You
need time for yourself.  You can spend it reading, or doing hobbies, or
exercising or, perhaps, interacting with another person."

   She was amazed at how smoothly and glibly he called sex "interacting
with another person".  She listened in amazement, as he continued.

   "If you're not going to take the time needed to effectively combat the
stress in your life, it won't matter what I do.  It would be a waste of
both our time, and a waste of your money."

   "But sex doesn't take four hours!" she blurted.

   "It's not all about sex," he said.  "You need someone to talk to ...  to
tell your fears and hopes ...  to be comfortable around ...  someone who
reduces your stress level, instead of adding to it."

   "You want to be ...  friends?" She was astonished.

   "I don't know if we'll end up as friends or not," he said.  "I'd like
that, but sometimes personalities don't mesh.  That's another reason for
spending time together.  If it turns out you're not attracted to me, why
waste your money?"

   She sat, stunned.  Now that she thought about it, it had seemed awfully
sterile.  She had called him out of a pure frantic need to do SOMETHING ...
something she could control ...  something she could arrange, perform, and
know was a success.

   "But I don't have four hours," she moaned.

   "Surely you don't work all the time," he said.

   "No," she said.  "But my father lives with me.  He had a stroke.  I
can't have you come to the house.  He wouldn't understand."

   "We can go on dates," he suggested.

   She hadn't thought of that.  A gigolo came, serviced you, and left. 
Wasn't that how it worked?  Still, a date did sound nice.  And it would get
her away from things for a while.

   She remembered the broken tape machine, and groaned.

   "We had an equipment failure," she said.  "I have to spend midnight to
six here, at the station, until we get it fixed.  If I go out on a date,
I'll be exhausted.  I'm already exhausted.  That's not going to work."

   "Six hours is much better than four," said Bobby.

   She blinked.  Of course!  Nobody would be in the station except them. 
She'd be busy, but only occasionally.  An LP would run for forty-five
minutes, and the other tape machines were set up for as much as an hour of
pre-recorded broadcast at a time.  That might not be so bad.  And ...  she
knew it would be hard to stay awake ...  at least until she got adjusted to
the change in waking hours.  She couldn't work that shift and come in days
too.

   She worried about that for a few minutes.  What were they going to do if
she wasn't here to keep an eye on things during the daytime?  Rodney would
have to step up to the challenge.  She started thinking of the pep talk
she'd have to give him.  And Julie!  She had to get Julie to stay.  She
didn't know how she'd do that, but she had to.

   "Amanda." His voice was soft, but insistent.  He didn't sound malleable
at all, at that moment.

   "I'm sorry," she said, instinctively.  She'd been saying that a lot,
lately.  "I have so much on my mind."

   "Why don't we do this," he said.  "I'll come over here, for the first
night or two, and we'll just see how things go."

   It was crazy, but she didn't know what else to do.  She looked around.
Where could they have sex in the station?  The only piece of furniture big
enough was the couch in her office.  She looked at it.  It was better than
the back seat of a car.

   "All right," she said.  Her mind perked up.  "Now, about expenses."

   He held up his hand.  "Let's just see how it goes.  We can talk about
that later."

   "I don't know if I can afford you," she said.  "This can't come out of
station funds.  We're hurting already.  I have some money my grandfather
set aside for me.  It was supposed to be for college, but I came here
instead." She felt her face get hot.  "How much do you charge?"

   "I don't actually have a set fee," he said.

   He seemed to be uncomfortable.  She didn't blame him.  It was in poor
taste to discuss these kinds of financial arrangements.  She was sure he
was used to women lavishing gifts on him, though, and she was in no
position to do that.  She had heard of high class hookers getting as much
as five hundred dollars a night.

   "I can't really afford more than ...  two hundred dollars a night," she
said, feeling fear in the pit of her stomach that he'd laugh at her.

   He smiled, and she expected him to leer.

   "It won't cost you anything near that," he said, instead.

   "Really?" she sounded very hopeful.

   "I just need to be compensated for other work that I miss," he said. 
"I'm a repairman, most of the time."

   Amanda was further amazed at him.  He dressed so well, and his voice was
that of an educated man.  He WORKED for a living?  She felt a sudden
intense curiosity about him.  He was so different than what she had
expected.  Maybe this would work out after all.

   "All right," she said.  Her voice was much softer than usual.

   "Stand up, please," he said.

   She did, not knowing what he intended.

   "Could you come out from behind the desk?" he asked, politely.

   She did.  She blushed as he blatantly looked her up and down.  His eyes
seemed to strip her naked.  No man had looked at her like this ...  not so
obviously ...  maybe ever!

   "You're quite beautiful," he said, standing up.

   That struck her too, but a much softer blow.  She had always wanted to
believe she was pretty.  Wanting ...  and believing, though ...  were two
different things.

   He came and reached for her hand, pulling it up and looking at it, like
he was looking for some flaw.

   "Your fingers look like they'd be good to play the violin with," he
said, off handedly.

   He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.  Just like
that!

   "I look forward to seeing you ...  tonight?" he asked.

   She was suddenly unable to speak, so she nodded, instead.  She looked at
his face.  He had blue eyes.  Very blue eyes.

   He grinned, and the tension between them was destroyed.

   "I'll bring a cross word puzzle book," he said.  "I expect you'll be
busy from time to time."

   "Yes," she agreed.  She would never have thought of that.  Chapter Five

   Amanda looked nervously at her watch.  It was half an hour past
midnight, and he wasn't there yet.  Things were already off to a rocky
start.

   Jerry, the night DJ had started a one hour tape already because she'd
been two minutes late.  In Radio, two minutes was like two hours.  He had
offered to stay and help her get situated, but she sent him on home.  She
didn't need to be shown what to do.  She was the General Manager.

   She wondered what he'd do, when Bobby got there.  Would he kiss her? 
Would he take off his clothes and strut around, trying to excite her?

   She paced.  She'd already brewed a pot of coffee.  She knew she'd
probably drink two pots a night, just to stay awake.  That wouldn't help
her stomach any, but it had to be done.

   She saw lights in the parking lot, and saw him get out of his car.  He
wasn't dressed in a suit, this time.  Just jeans and a parka, like
everybody else in the world.  He had a paper bag in one hand, and what
looked like a knapsack in his other.  Did gigolos bring their lunch with
them to work?

   He came in, said "Hi," and then took off his coat, tossing it on a
chair. He set the paper bag on the receptionist's desk, outside the sound
booth, and the knapsack by her office door.

   "I brought some doughnuts," he said, getting into the paper sack.  "I
have a sister who loves to make them, but doesn't eat them.  She says they
make you fat."

   He looked so normal.  For the first time she realized he was as tall as
she was.  He had on a faded cotton shirt, with a vague western cut to it.
His shoulders looked huge.  She looked at his waist, which was slim.  His
jeans were faded too, as if they'd seen a lot of wear.

   "You don't have to worry about that," he said, extending a pastry to
her. "You'll never be fat.  I can tell."

   She doubted that.  Her hips still seemed to be growing.  She was glad
her breasts hadn't kept pace.  She'd look like Dolly Parton if they had. 
Well, maybe not that big, but still ...  The doughnut was still warm.  She
bit into it and an explosion of sweetness filled her mouth.  This was
delicious!  He pulled a milk carton out of the bag.

   "I got chocolate milk too," he said.  "Can't have Matilda's doughnuts
without chocolate milk."

   He opened the carton and handed it to her.

   "I don't have a glass," she said, her voice muffled, because it was
mostly full of the most delicious doughnut she'd ever tasted.

   "Who needs a glass?" he asked, off handedly.

   She took a drink and set the carton down.  He picked it up and took a
drink too.  Amanda felt, for some reason, that that was a very intimate
thing to do, but he just accepted it as normal.

   She blinked.  Of course he would.  What was drinking after somebody,
when you were going to share other much more intimate body fluids shortly?
She checked the clock on the wall.  There was still twenty-two minutes to
go, before she had to change the tape.  The "box", which was a small
speaker on the wall, with a knob in the lower right corner, was turned
down. It wasn't supposed to be, because that picked up whatever the station
was broadcasting.  You couldn't tell if there was dead air, if the box was
turned down.  She went over to it and turned the knob.  Paul Whiteman
started coming out.

   "That sounds like the records my mother plays, sometimes," said Bobby.

   "It's the best music ever produced," said Amanda.

   "Mamma tried to teach my sisters and me how they danced, back then, but
we never really caught on."

   "I suppose you like Rock and Roll," said Amanda, her voice dark.

   "I'm not much on Elvis, or the Beatles," he said.  "I really like the
Moody Blues, and Three Dog Night.  The Beach Boys are old, but I still like
everything they ever did.  Jan and Dean too.  Mamma has some of their
records too.  Us kids kind of learned to dance to them.  Elton John does
some good stuff.  Dianna Ross makes me horny every time I hear her."

   "I've never heard of half those people," said Amanda.

   He looked astonished.  "That's impossible.  You run a radio station!"

   "We play big band music at KDEF," said Amanda.  "That's all we've ever
played and that's all we ever WILL play!"

   "Why?" asked Bobby.

   "Why?" She sounded confused.  "That's what we play."

   "Why is that all you'll ever play?  Don't people get tired of it?"

   "I don't," she said, stiffly.  "My father doesn't."

   "OK, but what about your listeners?"

   "Our listeners love big band!" insisted Amanda.

   "Can I ask you a question?" Bobby asked.

   She wanted to say "No!", but she got a grip on herself.  "OK," she said.


   "All the radio stations I ever listen to are always running giveaways,
or prize contests, and stuff like that.  They seem to have money to give
away, but this afternoon I heard you tell the repairman to come Monday,
because you couldn't afford his weekend rates." He looked at her.

   "That's not a question," she said, petulantly.

   "Your listeners may love big band," he said.  "But I bet you don't have
a lot of listeners."

   "That's not a question EITHER!" she shouted.

   "Why is the station in so much trouble?" he finally asked.

   "I thought you were here for sex!" she said, almost angrily.

   "Do you feel like having sex right now?" he asked, calmly.

   "NO!"

   "Then I'm not here for sex," he said.

   He was maddening.  He was supposed to make her feel better ...  not
worse!  The worst part of it was that he was right.  Everybody else in the
industry, in the Hutchinson area, was doing great.  KDEF had been at the
bottom of the ratings for years.  Her father hadn't cared.  They had enough
money to pay the employees, and run the station.  He served his loyal
listeners the kind of music they wanted.  Wasn't that what a radio station
was for?  The trouble was that their loyal listeners were dying off, or had
been captured by those other stations, with their flashy vans, and
promotions.  Of course most of those stations were in Wichita, where ad
revenues just poured in.

   With a jerk, she remembered what he'd just said.  He wasn't here for
sex. She forgot how they got to that point, so rattled was she.

   "If you're not here for sex ...  what ARE you here for?" she asked,
feeling almost paralyzed.

   "I'm here for whatever you need," he said.

   "I don't understand what that means," she whined.

   The box went silent, and stayed silent for ten seconds.  She flashed a
look at the clock.

   "SHIT!" she yelled, and burst into action.  They were outside the sound
booth, and she ran past him, tearing through the door, and to the tape
player.  Where was the next tape?  She hadn't put out the next tape!  She
looked around.  She couldn't remember where they put them.

   "WHERE ARE THE FUCKING TAPES?" she wailed.

   She'd been IN the sound booth before ...  lots of times ...  but she'd
never actually WORKED the sound booth.  Not for more than ten minutes.  She
knew the mechanics of it ...  but where were the tapes?

   "How do you turn this on?" asked Bobby, suddenly beside her.  His finger
was pointing to a turntable.  Jerry had left the record on it.

   She stabbed at a button, and the turntable started to turn.  She reached
for the needle and it scratched across an inch of record before she got
control of it.  She settled it into the first groove, looked to her left,
and punched a button.

   Johnny Alladin's Society Band began coming out of the box.

   "Thank you," she sighed.

   "No problem," he said.  "What do the tapes look like?  I'll help you
find them."

   Feeling stupid, she pulled the tape cartridge from the player and showed
it to him.  He looked around.

   "A bunch of those would fit in that cabinet over there," he said.  "if
there were about three rows of them, side by side," he added.

   She went to the cabinet and slid the drawer out.  He was right.  In
three rows across, and ten rows deep, there were thirty tape cartridges,
minus the one in her hand.

   The phone started ringing and she shoved the used tape into the empty
hole, and pulled out the next one in line.  The record was playing.  She
could answer the phone.

   "KDEF, the soul of music," she answered.

   "What's going on over there?" came a whining voice through the phone. 
"You people played that album last hour.  I don't want to hear it again!"

   "We're working on it, Sir," she said smoothly into the phone.  "We had a
little technical problem, but it will be fixed soon."

   "I don't want to hear that again," insisted the caller.

   "We'll get right on it," she said, trying to sound cheerful.  "After the
song that's playing, we'll have it fixed."

   She hung up the phone, before the man could tell her he didn't want to
hear Johnny Alladin again ...  again.  She went to the player, inserted the
new cartridge, and listened to the first cut on the record end.  With a
flourish, she pushed the button that started the tape player, and lifted
the needle off the disk on the turntable.

   The box went silent.

   The box stayed silent.

   "Ohhh fuck me to tears," she moaned.  "What now?"

   Bobby's arm went past her, and punched a button.  Stan Kenton's music
burst from the box, already past the opening.  She had forgotten to change
the device selector.  She slumped.

   "C'mere," said Bobby, softly.  "You need a hug."

   She let herself be drawn into his arms.  He crushed her to him, and she
was instantly aware that he was strong.  He wasn't just strong ...  he was
STRONG!  His hands smoothed across her back, and she just automatically
lifted her hands to slide them along his waist, and to his lower back.

   This felt good.  He was right.  She DID need a hug.

   "Take a deep breath," he said.

   She did.

   "Push your breasts against me."

   That rattled her.

   "Come on," he said.  "I won't hurt you.  Deep breath, and push your
breasts against me."

   She did it ...  mostly because she didn't know what else to do.

   "That's good," he said.  "Now rub from side to side."

   He helped her do that, which was good, because she hadn't intended to
follow that order.  She knew almost instantly, though, that she should have
listened to him.  That felt good too.  She had never rubbed her breasts
against a man, while arms of steel were around her.

   "Gooood," he said, drawing it out.  "Now, get another deep breath, cause
that's going to soak up a bunch of tension.  Hold it ...  let it work ...
now blow it out.  Push that tension out with it."

   This was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard in her life, but, as she
pursed her lips, and blew through them, she DID feel better ...  more
relaxed.  His arms grew less like iron.  He was letting her go.  He stepped
back.

   "Your breasts feel good," he said.  "I like your breasts." He smiled,
like he'd only said "I like that shirt."

   Amanda didn't know what to make of him.  What man just came right out
and said "Nice breasts, Amanda.  I really like them."?

   It had felt good, though.  And she did feel more relaxed.  Her stomach
didn't hurt any more.  The tape was in.  She glanced at the clock.  It was
ten minutes after one.  That was going to screw things up, because she'd
have to remember to change the tape at ten after two, instead of two on the
dot.

   "You're frowning," he said.  "You're getting tense again too."

   She looked at him.  He was right again.  She could feel the dull ache
coming back to her stomach.  On impulse, she told him why she was frowning.


   "It's only ten minutes," he said.  "I'll help you remember.  Or, just
start the next tape before the one that's in there runs out.  Start tape
number three at when it's two o'clock."

   Again, he had thought of a solution that she hadn't.  He had such a way
of cutting through all the confusion.

   "Now, come have another doughnut, and let me rub your shoulders."
================================================== She did.  The doughnut
was as good as the last one, though not warm any more.  The chocolate milk
had warmed up, ironically, but she decided she didn't care.  It was good
too.  She let herself be led to the receptionists straight backed chair,
and sank into it.  His hands came to her shoulders, and she almost moaned
as his strong fingers squeezed, and rubbed.  It was almost painful, and
yet, it felt divine.

   "Let your neck muscles relax," he said softly.

   Her head lolled forward, but that made it hard to breathe.  She tried
letting it fall to the side, but that stretched the muscles on the side
away from her head, and that hurt too.  She became aware that the chair
wasn't comfortable.  How in the world could Cindy sit in this thing all day
long?

   "This isn't working," he said.  "Is there a bed anywhere around here?"

   "No." Her voice was dull.  What he was doing felt so good!

   "Be right back," he said.

   When he left, she felt alone again.  She looked over to see him in her
office, taking the cushions off the couch, and laying them out on the floor
in a row.

   "Come in here," he called.

   She did, and lay down on the cushions.  Her shoulders hung over the
edges, and her arms fell to the floor, which felt odd, but wasn't really
uncomfortable.

   He got down on his knees and started working on her again.

   Within ten minutes, she thought she might die from the pleasure of it.
He seemed to know where every tight muscle was.  When his hands worked on
her butt, she didn't even flinch, even though it was the first time a man
had touched her there in as long as she could remember.

   "That's better," he said.  His voice was as soft as his hands ...  when
they weren't pushing a thumb clear through her body.  That's what it felt
like sometimes.  She squealed with the pain of it several times, but never
complained, because it always felt SO much better when he was done with
that part.

   "This would be better with warm oil, and if you were naked," he said,
casually.  "Tomorrow night, why don't you leave your bra off.  At least I
can get your back without running into it then."

   She thought that over.  He'd said it would be better if she were naked
...  just the kind of thing a man would say ...  but he hadn't tried to get
her to GET naked.  Not only that, he'd suggested that, when he did this to
her tomorrow night, she wouldn't have to be naked either.  She realized
he'd only given her information ...  not a suggestion.

   And the part about the bra ...  she'd felt him have to skip over it, and
she knew he was right about that.  When his hands slid, they created heat.
If he could slide all the way up her back, she knew it would feel better.
So, she reasoned, he wasn't just trying to get her to go braless.

   "I don't go braless," she gasped, as his fingers dug into her lower
back. "My breasts are too big." She groaned again as he bore down with what
felt like the heel of his hand.  "They'd bounce all over the place."

   "And that's a bad thing?" he asked, his voice light.  "I'd love to see
that."

   "I bet you would," she said, automatically.

   "Do your nipples get stiff, when you're excited?" he asked, as if it
were the most normal thing in the world to ask a woman.

   "I don't know," she said, which was true.  She whipped her clit into
shape each night, and went to sleep.  She didn't look at her breasts while
she did it.

   "Well, then," he said.  "We'll just have to find out now ...  won't we?"


   She didn't know what to think of that either.  He seemed so casual about
it ...  so easy ...  like it was just something to talk about.

   "Not now," she said "This feels too good."

   "Good," he said.

   She didn't know how long he kept going, but eventually, his movements
changed.  He used his fingernails to scratch, as if she had asked him to
scratch a special spot, that itched.  He went fast, and it just felt so
fabulous that she wanted to moan with the joy of it.  He did that
everywhere, even her butt, and then changed again, to strokes.  He slid his
hands all over her back, and butt, and legs too.

   It was so soothing.  It felt so good.  Her eyes closed.  He kept going.

   She slept.

   It wasn't the deep sleep it would have been if she'd have been on a real
bed.  It was more of a two hour nap.  She was unaware of that, of course,
unti she woke, a puddle of drool on the cushion under her face.

   She remembered everything, as if it had just happened.  She moved,
tentatively, expecting there to be pain from bruised and battered muscles.
There was none, and she felt good, instead.  She sensed that he wasn't in
the room.  Then she realized she had slept.

   She jumped up and looked through the glass surrounding her office, at
the wall clock in the sound booth.  It was three-fifty.  She had slept
through two tape changes!  With a moan of frustration, she started for the
booth, and then heard the box, playing a tune by The Dorseys.

   She entered the booth, and saw Bobby's feet, sticking out from under the
desk.  She looked at the tape player.  It had four tape cartridges in the
four slots.  They only used the top slot, because it was the only one that
worked.

   "What are you doing?" she asked.

   He wiggled out from under the desk.  There was dust in his hair.

   "Well," he said.  "You were resting, so I changed the tapes for you. 
Then I got bored, so I started looking around.  I found the manual for that
tape machine, and it said you could load all four slots and have them trip,
so that when one ended, the other would start automatically.  I tried that
at three, but it didn't work."

   "No," she said.  "The bottom three slots don't work."

   "They do now," he said.  "At least I think they do.  The manual said
that you had to have things connected a certain way.  Actually, it's kind
of fascinating.  You can wire this thing four different ways." He grinned.
"Anyway, I got to looking around, and saw that it was wired so that only
the top slot worked.  Whoever installed this thing robbed you guys of a lot
of function."

   She stared at him.  "You fixed our tape player?"

   "I'm pretty sure I did.  We'll find out in ..." he looked up at the
clock.  "seven minutes."

   "You can't go changing stuff, Bobby!" she said, angst bubbling up in her
body.  "What if you screwed it all up?"

   "All I did was do what the manual said to do, if you want to use all
four channels," he said.  "The wires were there ...  they just weren't
hooked up.  I didn't break anything.  I just hooked it up."

   "But ..." She stopped.  It was too late to do anything about it now. 
And, she was there.  All she had to do was take the tape out of the slot
and slam another one in, if what he'd done didn't work.  She was sure it
wouldn't.  This stuff was all very technical.  They had to hire special
people to work on it, whenever anything went wrong.

   She waited, on pins and needles.  She went to the cabinet and got
another tape, just in case.  She watched the little green light on one side
of the tape that was in the top slot.  It would change to red when the tape
hit the end.

   The sound faded from the box, and the light went red.  She leaned
forward and, in amazement, watched the green light come on next to the tape
in slot number two.  Benny Goodman's clarinet started crooning from the
box.

   "It worked," said Bobby, like a little kid who had fixed something. 
"Cool."

   She looked at him, with his blue eyes, and the dust in his black hair.
In two hours, he'd figured something out that none of the DJs had figured
out in ten years.

   "You're all tense again," he said, sounding sorrowful.  "Do you need
another hug?"

   "I think I do," she said, putting down the tape she hadn't had to use.

   She was ready for this hug, and liked it.  He might be a strange man,
but he was very interesting, and very talented, and he could give really
good hugs.  He didn't have to tell her to rub her breasts against him this
time, and it occurred to her that it would feel even better than it did if
she weren't wearing a bra.

   "Hey," he said.

   She lifted her head from where she had laid it on his chest.

   "How about a kiss too?" he asked.

   If he'd given her time to answer, she probably would have said "no". 
But he didn't.  He just kissed her.  The hug, and the kiss, combined made
things move in her that had been rusted into place for quite some time. 
They seemed to almost hurt, as they ground into hesitant movement again,
and the memory of warm lips on hers skulked back into her mind.  She let
that kiss go on ...  and on ...  and on some more, her body remembering how
much fun this was.  His hands simply stroked her back, like they had when
he hugged her, and she felt his hands hitting her bra strap, and changed
her mind.  She would leave her bra off tomorrow night.

   In fact, she could take it off right now.  She felt delicious tremors
shoot through her body at the thought.  She'd have to take her blouse off
...  he'd see her upper body naked ...  but he'd touch her.

   She pushed away.

   "I can take my bra off right now," she panted.

   "I like kissing you," he said.  "Let's wait on that until tomorrow."

   "But I feel so ...  I want to ...  you can't DO this to me," she moaned.


   "I'm not doing anything to you," he said.  "Except for reducing your
stress level a little.  Kiss me again."

   She did, and she was quite sure she felt her stress level rise, instead
of falling.  She pushed him away again.

   "I'm so hot," she complained.  "You're making me feel so hot and wiggly
inside!"

   "You think you need an orgasm, don't you," Bobby said softly.

   "Yes!" she moaned.  "I'm not supposed to have to ASK for it, though.  I
HIRED you!  You HAVE to help me!"

   He pulled her back to her office.  She expected him to strip, then strip
her, and make love to her on the cushions on the floor.  He picked them up,
instead, and put them back on the couch.  She had her blouse half
unbuttoned when he was done, and turned around.  He reached and stopped her
fingers.

   "You're always in such a hurry," he said.  "You're always anxious to do
something.  It's part of why you're so tense all the time.  You hired me.
Fine.  Let me do my job."

   "But I'm going crazy!" she yelled.

   He pulled her down to the couch, putting her back against the back of
the couch, and lying between her and the front.  It pressed her into the
couch, and both of them were on their sides.

   "Kiss me, and I'll give you some relief," he said.

   The promise brought her lips to his, and she kissed him like she'd known
him for months, instead of hours.  It felt so natural, all of a sudden,
that, when his tongue searched for entry, she just let it, and returned the
favor.  His hand slid up and down her side, again and again, coming to the
side of her bra, and then down to round over her hip.  Their argument had
calmed the fires in her, despite her cry that she was going crazy, and she
concentrated on the feel of his lips, and his hand.  It was really nice, in
a way that made her feel like he really did like doing this.  He wasn't
doing it just because she was paying him.  He LIKED kissing her.  It made
her feel good.  She felt the tension going out of her body, little by
little.

   They made out, basically, for ten minutes, changing from one kind of
kiss to another, frequently, just having fun.  He pulled his face back from
hers.

   "That's better," he said, his voice soothing.  "Now, I'm going to do
something for you.  It will feel good, but I want you not to get excited. I
want you to keep your cool, and talk to me, while I do this.  OK?"

   "What?" she panted softly.

   He didn't tell her.  He just did it.  His hand slid off her hip, down
below where her skirt was, and back up her bare legs, between them.  As she
sucked in air, his hand went up, found the waistband of her panties, and
dipped down into them.  His fingers played with her thick curls as she
automatically lifted her upper leg, to give him room.

   "Think!" he ordered.  "Think about what you like.  Do you like this?"

   His fingers swirled in her pussy hair, moving it, and making the skin
under it move too.

   "Yes," she gasped.  She moved her hips, trying to get her pussy up,
where his fingers were.

   "Stop that," he said.  "I'll get there.  Feel this first.  Find the spot
that likes this the most."

   "I don't understand," she panted.

   "Do you like this?" he asked, moving his fingers to stroke below her
pussy, pushing the gusset of her panties away from where she wanted to be
touched.

   "No," she said.  "I want you to touch me higher."

   "How about this?" He pressed three fingers together, and dragged them up
and over her pussy lips.  Her hips jerked as he didn't quite hit her clit.

   "Uh huh," she said.  "But it's not enough."

   He did it again, just sliding his three stiff fingers up and down her
slit.  He rubbed them in a circle, like she did, but with three fingers
instead of two.  It felt different.  It was good ...  nice.  The potential
for really good was there, but it was more like smelling food, before you
tasted it.

   "I like that," she said.  "But it's not enough."

   His middle finger, on the way down, suddenly bent and slipped into her.
He wiggled it around, not putting any pressure on her clit at all.

   "And this?" he asked, pushing his finger deep.

   "Uhhhhhh," she gasped.  She'd forgotten what it felt like to have
something in her.  He felt thick.  Her pussy liked this.

   "Uh huh ...  uh huh," she grunted, moving her hips again.

   He started moving his finger out, and then back in, fingerfucking her
very slowly.  He pushed the tip of his finger in different directions, as
he did it.

   "Ohhhh," she moaned.  "I'm so close.  You haven't touched the right spot
yet.  Please touch the right spot."

   "All right," said Bobby.  He altered the angle of his palm, and let the
base of his middle finger hit her clit.  He gripped her pelvic bone,
basically, squeezing his bent finger, and pulling.  Then he moved his hand
in circles.

   She went off immediately.  It was very close to what she did herself,
but had a vastly different feel, with the vaginal stimulation added to the
clitoral stimulation she was used to.  It wasn't a "strong" orgasm, in the
sense that it didn't make her feel like screaming.  She didn't feel like
she was flying apart, or going to explode.  It just felt good in a
ten-times-as-good way, by comparison to what she felt when she did it
herself.  It was a deeper-in-her-body kind of feeling, rather than the
shallow thing, right there at her clit - but ONLY at her clit kind of thing
she was used to.

   The relief was so strong, that it calmed her, instead of making her
excited.

   "Ohhh yeah," she sighed, pushing her hips at his hand.  "Ohhh fuck that
feels so good." She kept saying that, as the orgasm seemed to last much
MUCH longer than her usual ones did.  "Ohhhh Bobby I could feel this for
hours," she moaned.

   He kissed her, and she kissed him back, not frantically, but in thanks,
for what she was feeling.  He pulled back, his hand still moving.

   "Tell me when you're done," he said.  "I don't want to make you sore."

   "I wish we were naked," she moaned.  She couldn't tell if she was having
an orgasm, any more, or if it just felt completely wonderful.  She didn't
care.  She just wanted it to go on, whatever it was.

   "We can be naked later," he said.  "Right now, just feel this, and
relax."

   "Ohhh kiss me again," she sighed.

   She never told him to stop, but he started going slower and slower.  The
base of his finger still rubbed over her clit, but less often.  Eventually,
he began sliding his finger out of her, a little at a time, until suddenly,
his three stiff fingers, welded together, were rubbing up and down her slit
again, like when he had started.

   He did everything in reverse from there, too.  His fingers rose to play
in her hair, and then slid out of her panties, to slide down her thigh, and
come up onto her hip, and then up her side, while he kissed her.

   He pulled back and she stared into his blue eyes.  He dipped his head,
to kiss the exposed skin, where she had unbuttoned her blouse.  Her eyes
strayed past him, to the clock on the wall.  It was one minute until five.
She needed to change the tape.  As she watched, the minute hand clicked
forward.  She heard the box go silent, and tensed, preparing to push him
away.  The box began playing a song by the Harry Archer Orchestra, and she
remembered that the other slots worked now.  It HAD worked ...  again ...
automatically, like he had said it would.  The tape in slot number three
was playing now.

   She suddenly felt hemmed in by him.  They had been lying on the couch,
kissing, for most of a whole hour.  She couldn't believe it.  Of course
he'd also touched her ...  made her feel wonderful ...  given her what she
thought was the best orgasm she'd ever had.  But it had taken an HOUR!  She
liked it.  She was glad it happened.  But it was done.  Like she did when
she finished at night, and then went to sleep, her impulse was to go on
with something else now.  They were done ...  right?

   "We only have an hour before the morning crew will be coming in," she
said.  "Obviously, they can't find us like this."

   "Of course," he said, rolling backwards to fall off the couch with a
thud.  She leaned over to make sure he was all right.  He didn't seem
disturbed at all, and just got up.  She got up too, and it was while she
was doing that that she realized she felt like she'd had a whole night's
sleep.  She felt strong, and confident ...  ready to take on the world. 
She should be tired, and irritable.  She'd only had a short nap, after
taking care of her father, the evening before.  She'd worked all day, and
then come back to work at night.  But she felt wonderful.  She wasn't even
sure she'd be able to go to sleep when she got home, this morning.

   She started cleaning things up, putting away tapes, and straightening
her office.  It was busy work, really.  Bobby had found another manual
somewhere, and was reading it, his brow furrowed.  She looked at the front,
but all that was there was "MODEL RW-765 INTEGRATED BOARD" and she had no
idea what that even was.  She brewed coffee again, so it would be fresh
when the morning people came in.  Then she realized that it was Sunday, and
that only Adrian would be coming.  He would play pre-programmed material,
until the live feed from the Methodist Church came in, and monitor that
until it was time for more hymns, the noon news, and then that afternoon
programming that Rodney had already identified.

   She was reflecting on how relaxed she felt, when Adrian came in the
station and looked around.  He saw Amanda in her office and waved, then
looked to see Bobby sitting in the sound booth, still reading the manual.
As they watched, he reached out, as if to push a button on the console in
front of him.  The box droned on, playing the same tune it had, so whatever
he had done hadn't gone out over the air.

   Adrian stuck his head in the door.

   "Who's he?" he asked.  "I saw his car in the lot.  Did you hire somebody
to cover nights?"

   "No," said Amanda, wondering how she was going to explain Bobby.  "He's
a consultant." She remembered how he'd figured out what was wrong with the
multiple slot tape player.  "He's going over some of the equipment, looking
for glitches.  He got all the slots on the tape player working."

   "You're kidding," said Adrian.  "That's great!  That lets me do four
hours of programming without having to change tapes."

   "Yes," said Amanda.  "He'll be around for a while.  I don't know how
long, yet."

   "So he's a technical guy?" asked Adrian.  That was what they called the
people who came in and repaired the electronic equipment in the station.

   "No," said Amanda, knowing Bobby could never pull off impersonating a
technical representative.  "Not in the sense you're thinking.  He does
understand some of that stuff, but that's not why I hired him."

   "So," said Adrian, who was young, was going to college, and spent only
ten hours in the station each week, "what did you hire him for?"

   "I'm reviewing the stats, procedures and programming with him," said
Amanda, trying to think of something vague.

   "Are we going to modernize?" asked Adrian, hope beaming from his face.

   Before this morning, Amanda's immediate response would have been "NO!"
What came out of her mouth was "Maybe ...  we'll see." She immediately
wondered where that had come from.  She had no intention of changing the
format of the station.  Bobby was just there to take care of something
personal.  He wasn't there for the station at all.  But she couldn't just
tell Adrian that she'd needed to get laid, and had hired Bobby for that. 
As she stood, feeling relaxed, it occurred to her that she HADN'T gotten
laid.  She'd hired a gigolo - she still didn't know for how much - and,
while she felt pretty good right now ...  she hadn't gotten laid.  This was
all very confusing.  She was going to have to call Felicity and get some
additional information on how to deal with a man like this.

   Bobby looked up, saw Adrian, smiled, and stood up.  He closed the
manual, tossed it in a drawer, and came out of the booth.  Other than
saying "Hi" to Adrian, he ignored him.

   "So," he said.  "This was interesting.  I'll see you tonight."

   "Of course," she said, trying to sound brusque and businesslike.

   Without another word, Bobby picked up his backpack, slung it over a
shoulder, and walked out to the parking lot.  Adrian watched him go,
looking confused.  The consultant carried a backpack?  He was dressed in
faded jeans and an old work shirt?  What the heck kind of consultant was
he? Adrian had dreams of owning his own consulting business some day,
making the big bucks, working whenever he felt like it.  He hadn't
envisioned it being quite that casual.  He looked at his boss, who was
staring out at the man with a puzzled look on her face.

   "He fixed the machine?" he asked, not sure that he'd heard her
correctly.

   She snapped out of whatever she was thinking about.

   "Yes," she said.  "Come on ...  I'll show you." Chapter Six

   Sunday night, Amanda was eager to get to work.  The calm from her orgasm
with Bobby had lasted, as she showed Adrian how the player worked, and
drove home.  Her father was in good spirits, smiling at her, and making
noises in his throat.  She knew his mental function wasn't impaired.  She
could see sadness and joy in his eyes, and his spastic movements and grunts
had a quality to them that made it obvious he was trying to communicate
something.  She just didn't know what that was.  She had talked to him
about things in the past.  On this morning, she told him about Bobby.

   "I met a man last night," she said.  "He spent some time with me at the
station." She knew he'd want to know more, so she told him she met the man
through a mutual friend, and they'd talked a little, and found that they
liked talking.

   "It isn't serious or anything," she said, blushing slightly, as she
remembered what, to her, was a very serious orgasm.  "It's not like we're
going to date or anything.  He has a girlfriend," she lied.  She thought to
herself that maybe that wasn't a lie.  He DID have a girlfriend ...  lots
of them, in fact.

   "He's a farmer, over in Granger," she said.  "He seems to understand
mechanical things really well.  You know that four bay player we have,
that's never worked?"

   She told him about how Bobby had read the manual and figured out how to
wire it so that all the bays worked, automatically, instead of how they had
used it for the four years it had been in the station.

   Through it all, her father had made sounds, and his eyes had smiled, and
his arms had waved.  She wished she could understand him.

   Now, as she drove into the station parking lot, in the dark, she was a
little disappointed that Bobby's car wasn't already there.  She knew that
more would happen tonight.  As he had suggested, she had left her bra off,
feeling deliciously naughty as she covered her pear-shaped, heavy breasts
with a sweat shirt.  She'd put on the matching pants to that sweatshirt
too, because they had an elastic waistband.  If he wanted to put his hand
in there, that would let him.

   She'd applied a little makeup, and some perfume too.  That was all she
knew to do, really.  Her hair was washed, and lying straight to the bottom
of her ears, like it always did.  She'd looked at herself naked, before
getting dressed.  Her breasts seemed too big ...  or her head too small,
one of the two.  She'd decided her short hair made her head look smaller
than it was, but there wasn't anything she could do about that.  It had
been long once, but it just took too much time to deal with.

   She got out of her car, with the cooler she'd brought tonight.  She had
completely forgotten "lunch" last night.  His doughnuts had saved the day
there, along with the chocolate milk.  Tonight, she had food, enough for
both of them, and sodas too.  She also pulled two pillows out of the car
and, clutching everything in overburdened arms, she waddled to the front
doors of the station.

   Jerry was in the sound booth and waved at her, smiling.  She put
everything in her office, and went to see him.

   "Whoever fixed this thing," Jerry said, slapping the player with his
hand, "gets a kiss from me.  This has made my shift so much easier.  Did
you know we can pause it now?  Yeah, really!  You can pause it, do the
weather, play a commercial or whatever, and then start it right back up
again."

   "I'll tell him you said that," said Amanda, smiling.  "He might be here
tonight too."

   "I saw you brought in pillows," said Jerry.  He blinked, and then got
red in the face.  "I didn't mean it was for him," he gulped.  "I was still
thinking about the player.  I mean with that working, and you not having to
play commercials, you can actually get a nap now and then."

   Amanda also got a little pink, but not much.  She couldn't think of
anything to say.  She wasn't used to chit-chatting with employees.  Most of
them didn't seem to want to say anything to her very often.

   Bobby's car pulled up outside.

   "I guess that's him," said Jerry, peering through the windows into the
dark.

   "That's his car," said Amanda, wishing, suddenly, that Bobby had been
late, like last night.  She had no idea how he'd act, with Jerry there. 
Would he kiss her hello?

   Bobby appeared in the light that escaped the station front windows.  He
was in his parka again.  He had on slacks tonight, though, and what looked
like cowboy boots.  He was carrying his knapsack, and had something flat in
his other hand ...  something that looked about the size of an LP record
jacket.

   Amanda went to meet him, and was only mildly surprised when Jerry
followed.

   "Hi," said Bobby, smiling.  He set his knapsack down and handed what
were, in fact, three LP record jackets to Amanda.  Jerry's hand appeared
from nowhere, and took the records, before she could grasp them.  Bobby
started taking his parka off.

   "OH Man," said Jerry, looking at the three albums.  "The Moody Blues ...
Luthor Ingram ...  Roberta Flack.  This is good stuff.  Are we changing
formats?" he asked excitedly.

   "Now wait a minute," Amanda started.

   "Ohh MAN, I wish I could play stuff like this," said Jerry, interrupting
her.

   "I just wanted to ask her some questions about those," said Bobby. 
"They're my sister's records, and she wants to write some fan mail to
whoever that is on there.  I figured that somebody in radio would know
where to send them."

   "Oh," said Jerry, suddenly deflated.  "Well, your sister has good taste,
I can tell you that." He held up the Moody Blues album.  "I listen to these
guys on WNE..." He stopped.  He had about to add an "R" to that list of
letters, which were the call letters of one of Amanda's competitors.  "I
mean I was skipping through the dial, one day ...  you know ...  checking
out the competition, and heard them playing this kind of stuff."

   "You can go home now, Jerry," said Amanda, her voice tight.

   "OK," he sighed, knowing his boss was pissed at him.  He handed her the
records, and went to get his coat.  When he came back he stuck out his hand
at Bobby.

   "Thanks for fixing the player," he said.  "It made my job a lot easier."


   "No problem," said Bobby.  "You got a minute?  I wanted to ask you a
question about the interface board."

   Jerry took him into the sound booth, and Amanda could see them talking,
and pointing to various buttons and dials on the board.  She glanced at the
clock.  She only had three minutes until she had to take over, so she went
in to the room.  They were talking about commercials, and how they were
keyed to run.  She ignored them, and got out her first four tapes for the
night.  There was already one in the player - bless Jerry's heart - and she
loaded the other three bays, setting the extra tape on top.

   "Any time, man," said Jerry, as he left the booth.  "Let me know what
you figure out.  It sounds interesting, as long as everything happens on
time."

   "See you," said Bobby.  He watched Jerry go out the front door and then
turned to Amanda.  "You look good enough to eat," he said.

   "Oh really," she said, making it a challenge.  "In a sweat shirt and
sweat pants?"

   "I see beautiful unbound breasts under that sweat shirt," he said.  "I'm
looking forward to seeing them."

   "You're awfully bold," she said, feeling a tingle of happiness that he
was so forward.

   "I am highly motivated," he said.  "How's your father?"

   His abrupt change of subject startled her, but she relaxed.

   "He's fine," she said.  "I told him about you."

   "What did he say?" asked Bobby.

   "He can't speak.  I told you that," she said.

   "Yeah, but that doesn't mean he can't communicate," said Bobby. 
"Haven't you guys worked out signals?"

   "Signals?" she asked.  "Whatever are you talking about?"

   "Is he in physical therapy?" asked Bobby.

   "No," she said.  "The insurance paid for the hospital, and for the fact
that he can't work, but it won't pay for anything like that." She waved a
hand.  "Besides, the doctors all said the damage is permanent."

   "Oh," said Bobby.  "When do I get to meet him?"

   "You don't," said Amanda.  "In the first place, I wouldn't know how to
explain you to him.  In the second place, why would you want to?  You're
hired to take care of me ...  not him."

   "He's part of your life," said Bobby.  "If you had kids, I'd want to
meet them too."

   "Well I don't have any children," she said, "and my poor father has
enough troubles without worrying about some strange man being with his
daughter.  I just told him you were a friend of a friend and that we liked
to talk and that was it.  I even told him you have a girlfriend."

   "So," said Bobby.  "What are we going to do tonight?"

   "I thought you were in charge of that," she said.

   "All right," he said, briskly, "I AM in charge.  Why don't you get this
radio station prepped to run for four hours, and I'll get everything else
ready."

   She realized nothing was coming from the box and freaked out for a
minute, until she realized that the player was already on.  The green light
was showing.  Who had turned it on?  She looked at the box, and saw the
little white line on the dial in the off position.  She stepped over,
turned the knob, and heard music.  Jerry had turned it off.  Why did
everyone turn the thing off?

   She turned to see Bobby hauling a big roll of something into the
station. He put it in her office, and went back to his car to get an
identical one.  Then he got his knapsack and started pulling things out of
it.  She walked to her office door and felt a tremor go through her loins
as she realized he had brought in two thin mattresses, which were on the
floor, side by side.  He was putting sheets on them, and there were bottles
and jars of various things set aside.  He reached over, snagged the pillows
she had brought and put them on the mattresses too.  He jumped up, went
back outside, brought in two more pillows and two blankets and dropped them
in a heap at the foot of the bed he had constructed.

   "These are camping mattresses," he said.  "You were sort of falling off
the couch cushions, last night."

   Then he went to one of the turntables, and put a record on.  He seemed
to know which buttons to push, because another set of speakers that she
hadn't even known existed, came to life.  They were outside the sound
booth, in the entry area.  He pushed another button and the sound switched
to the kitchen area.  A third button made her office suddenly full of
music. She looked around, looking for speakers she hadn't known were in her
office, and spotted them, covered by louvers.  She had thought they were
part of the heating and cooling system.  He turned the box down until she
could just barely hear that something was broadcasting.

   "How did you know those speakers were there?" she asked, as he came back
into her office.

   "The manual said that you could pipe demo music anywhere you wanted to.
It just didn't tell me which button went to your office.  It's meant to let
you screen music that you might want to program into your play list." He
seemed to think that was a completely normal thing to happen - for a
complete stranger to be able to come into the station, figure things out,
and make things happen.  She was astonished, and a little embarrassed by
her lack of knowledge.

   "What is that?" she asked, listening to strings, what sounded like an
orchestra, but with a meld of male voices that were in beautiful harmony.

   He got her the album jacket.  "They're called the Moody Blues.  Their
first album was R&B, and they decided to try mixing rock with orchestral
music.  My little sister, Susie, bought the record, but I probably listen
to it more than she does."

   She surveyed the names of the tracks, which seemed to be the listing of
a whole day ...  morning, lunch and evening.  Her eyebrows rose when she
saw how long some of them were.  The first cut alone was much longer, at
almost six minutes, than any radio station could play.

   On the other hand, it was neither loud, nor annoying, as the rock and
roll she'd heard in the past seemed to be.  It didn't jangle her nerves. 
For pure listening, it was interesting.  She shook off her instant (and
quite normal) aversion to long tracks and then jumped as Bobby's hands came
around her body from behind her and cupped her heavy breasts.

   "I knew they'd feel wonderful," he said softly in her ear.

   The shock of feeling his hands on her breasts made her go suddenly weak,
and the album cover seemed to gain weight as it sagged toward the floor,
her fingers barely able to hold on to it.  He didn't do anything else, for
most of a minute ...  just held her breasts, squeezing them and moving them
around in circles.  She let her head go back to lie on his shoulder.  She
felt his lips on her throat in a brushing kiss.

   She turned, suddenly nervous.  He just stood there, smiling, his blue
eyes looking at her face.

   "I don't know what to do," she said, feeling stupid.

   "Be yourself," he said.  "Tell me what you want."

   "I don't know what I want," she said, knowing she was lying.  She'd
liked the feel of his hands on her breasts, even though it sucked the
energy out of her.

   "Another massage?" he asked.

   She knew what that felt like, so she nodded, feeling a rush of comfort
at being able to anticipate what would happen.  That wasn't so scary.

   "Take your clothes off," he said.

   Her tension shot up.  "All of them?" she asked.

   "Yes," he said.

   "But ..."

   "Take your clothes off," he said firmly.

   She dithered for a few seconds, and then gripped the bottom of the
shirt, starting to pull it up.

   "Are you just going to stand there and watch?" she asked.

   "Oh yes," he said, smiling.  "I've been wanting to see this since I met
you."

   She felt heat rush into her chest.  Men just didn't talk like this.  She
knew men wanted to see her naked, but his easy confirmation of that ... 
his confession that she had been on his mind all the time ...  made her
feel amazingly good.

   She pulled the shirt up, feeling the cool air on her belly, and the heat
in her face as she started to blush.  Almost violently she finished taking
it off, and stood, frozen, holding it in her hands.

   His eyes seemed to consume her.  They glittered as he stared at the skin
she had bared.  But they roamed all over, too ...  not just looking at her
breasts, but at her shoulders, and neck, and face too.

   "Keep going," he said softly.  "You're doing fine."

   "You're not going to ...  take yours off too?" she asked, her voice
breathy.

   "Not yet," he said.  "Maybe later."

   Maybe?  She already felt so shy she thought she'd shrink into a tiny
little ball.  The music suddenly swelled into a crashing symphonic chord,
that felt like the panic she knew was in her gut, trying to swell and get
out.  Then the orchestra dropped to almost nothing, as if it were part of
her mind, as she clamped down on that panic.

   She pushed her sweat pants down, thinking all the while that her plan to
allow him easy access to her pussy had been a waste of time.  She stood,
shivering, in only her panties.

   "Do I have to take them off?" she moaned, her fingers fluttering at the
waistband of her last article of clothing.

   "Not now," he said, "if it makes you feel better, we can wait on that."

   "It's cold," she complained.  She looked down to see her brown nipples
straining away from her breast flesh.  They looked hard, like they were
made of plastic.

   "I have something that will help with that," he said.  "Lie down, and
we'll get started."

   She did, on her stomach, for some reason, arranging a pillow under her
head, and then leaving her arms at her sides.  She felt better, now that
her front was covered, and decided she was being silly.  She'd hired him
for this, after all.

   "I have some special oil that has something in it that creates heat,
when there is friction," he said.

   It didn't feel hot, when he first put it on.  It felt cold!  She
wiggled, but as soon as his hands spread it, she felt the heat almost
instantly.  Not only was it immediate heat, it felt almost too hot, for a
few seconds, but then dropped to a soothing warm feeling that seemed to
flow from his hands, as they slid all over her back and shoulders.  She
remembered feeling like his hands were sucking energy out of her, and
almost laughed as she felt that energy flowing out of his hands again,
returning it to her ...  as heat.

   "Ahhhhhh, that's nice," she moaned, as his hands moved quickly to cover
her whole back, and the back of her thighs.

   "Did you lock the front door?" he asked.

   She tensed.  "Shit!"

   "I'll get it," he said.

   She was suddenly covered by a blanket, which was also cold, at first,
but then grew warm.  He was only gone a few seconds.

   "My butt is cold," she said, as he got back.

   He drew the blanket away, and her whole body shivered, until he rubbed
it again.

   "Turn the thermostat up," she moaned, feeling the warmth flow back into
her body.

   "You'll sweat, before I'm done," he said.

   "I don't care," she said.

   He was gone again, and then back before she could tell him where it was.
She heard the air begin to whisper from the vents, and his hands were back.
They slid into the back of her panties, and the warmth burst from his
hands, into her skin there.

   "Take them off," she ordered.

   He chuckled, and it went on as she tried to lift her loins off the
sheet, but couldn't.  She had to go to her hands and knees, briefly, so he
could slide them off her hips, to her thighs.  Then she lay back down,
feeling the heat her body had left on the sheets, and bent her knees as he
pulled the fabric over her calves and off her feet.

   Now his hands could move up and down her whole body, and she relaxed as
they did that.

   "That feels wonderful," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.

   "Just wait," he said.

   He worked her back for ten minutes, as the music swirled around them. 
The mixture of smooth symphonic tones, and the more rough voices, rising
higher than a man's voice should be able to rise, were just different
enough to make it interesting, and she began to try to listen to the words.
That was another reason she didn't like rock and roll ...  you could never
understand the words.

   The sudden sting of his hand, slapping her right buttock jolted her.

   "OW!" she yipped.

   He slapped the other side too, with an almost liquid sharp sound.

   "OWWW!" she complained, moving her arms to push up and turn to look at
him.

   His hands kneaded her butt, though, and she was amazed to feel what
seemed like every ridge of every fingerprint on all ten of his digits. 
Usually, her butt felt dead, but now the skin seemed to almost crawl with
sensation.  His oily fingers dipped between her legs, and the side of one
of his fingers brushed her sex.  She spread her legs farther apart,
instinctively.

   She felt more of the cool oil being squirted onto her butt, but she was
so hot there that now, the cool felt good.  His hands spread that, and she
felt even more heat.  The fingers of one hand slid down, over her rectum,
jolting her, and making her loins tense, and then that hot stuff was being
smeared all over her pussy lips.

   "UUUHHHHHH" she groaned into the pillow, as her butt came up and her
knees took the pressure of holding her loins off the sheet.  One of his
fingers slid into her, and the heat blossomed inside her as the oil mixed
with her own body fluids.

   His hand disappeared, leaving a ball of heat in her pussy, and his hands
went to her left foot, lifting it off the sheet.  She bent her knee and
felt him slapping her foot, all over, gently, and then rubbing it.  She
could feel the bones moving around, as he manipulated the foot and ankle,
even rubbing the webbing between her toes.  When he dropped that foot, it
felt alive, compared to the other one, as he lifted it to do the same thing
to it.

   He dropped that foot, now alive too, and his hands went to her hip and
shoulder.  She felt like she weighed nothing at all as he rolled her.  The
cool air assaulted her front, which had been so warm, and the even cooler
oil that he squirt on her belly made her jerk.

   Then the heat of his hands was moving all over her front.  Her breasts
suddenly felt like they were on fire.  Her nipples were the flame of a
candle.  She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the heat and soothing
movement of his hands up and down her legs and trunk.  He didn't touch her
pussy, but that was all right, because it was still a ball of heat, from
his earlier manipulations.

   His fingers went to her breasts again, and tried to squeeze and pull at
her nipples.  They were too slippery, though, to grasp the flesh.  Her eyes
popped open as his mouth closed over one stiff nipple, and he sucked.  She
lifted her head to see his lips slip off the nipple, as electric shocks
shot from that nipple straight to her pussy.

   "It tastes like peaches," he said, smiling.

   He went to the other nipple, and sucked the oil off of it too.  Then he
alternated, from one to the other as she felt more and more turned on. 
None of the men she'd been with had spent this kind of time on her nipples
- most had just roughly pinched them a few times - and she began to think
that she might be able to have an orgasm just from his mouth on them.  She
was making little noises now ...  uncontrolled noises, and her hands went
to his head to urge him to keep doing that.

   "Relax," he said.

   He stuck his tongue out, and dragged it all the way down her body, over
her belly button, to her glossy brown pussy hair.  She couldn't relax.  Her
nipples ached for more, and that tongue tickled!

   He crawled between her legs and lifted her knees, pushing them apart. 
Ten or fifteen minutes ago she'd have been embarrassed to death to be open
like that, with his eyes inches from her pussy, but now, the heat down
there needed attention ...  wanted to be looked at.

   She jerked as a single finger pushed at her oily clit, moving it around.


   "AHHHHHH," she groaned.  She lifted her head to watch his finger do a
couple of circles, and let it fall back down.  It rolled from side to side
and hair flipped barely across one eye.

   Then his lips descended on her clit.  She knew what was happening, even
though nobody had ever done this to her before.  She was past the disbelief
stage of things.  She knew she was being made love to, and that it was
good. She hadn't known this would happen, but it was good too.  This orgasm
...  the one that was crushing her right this second, was completely
different from the one he'd given her last night.  That one had been
sensuous, and long and sweet, like the way good chocolate lasts in your
mouth, going on and on.

   But this one ...  this one threatened to blow her away, like a leaf in a
windstorm.  She realized her pelvis was arching up, and that his hot hands
were under her, lifting her butt up.  She heard ragged screams that she
knew were coming from her own lips, and could feel the vibrations in her
throat as she made them.  It was too much.  There were too many sensations
vying for her attention.  Half her brain was making those screams, and
feeling the pins and needles that were pressing every bit of flesh in her
body, both inside and out.  The other half of her body watched, holding on
to sanity, keeping it safely locked inside her head, to be let out later,
when it would be safe.

   She heard wet slurping sounds, and realized that was his face, pressed
against her sex.  She felt an actual physical release, as something warm
shot through her urethra, and the calm part of her brain felt panic
pressing in as she was afraid she had just peed in his face.  She had no
knowledge that she had a Skene's gland, or that it could produce the steam
of soothing liquid that Bobby was sucking and lapping up.

   The buffeting slowed, and then stopped, and she lifted her head, to see
him lapping the folds of her pussy lips, from bottom to top, with the flat
of his tongue.  It was so delightful that she pushed her loins into his
face, bumping her clit on his nose.

   The calm part of her brain released her sanity, which settled
comfortably back into her mind.  Now THIS was sex!  She had never even
dreamed she could feel like that, during sex ...  or anything else, for
that matter.  At that moment, had she thought of it, she wouldn't have
cared how much he was charging her.  No matter if it was every penny she
owned, it would be worth it.

   "Again," she croaked.  "Please."

   He grinned.  "We're just getting started," he said, licking her sex and
pushing the tip of his tongue over her clit.

   He did it again.  Somehow, even though she was expecting it, this time,
it was just as powerful, and buffeted her body just as violently.  When,
what seemed like an hour later, he finally lifted his shining face from her
pussy, she lay as if dead, limp in all her muscles, except for the ones
straining to get air into her lungs.  She felt him kissing his way back up
her body, licking at her belly, and the lower round part of her breasts.

   "Noooo," she whined, as his lips fastened around a nipple again and
sucked, and she felt the zips of sensation re-awakening nervous paths
between her breasts and a pussy that now felt like it was sleeping.

   He ignored her, and she found enough strength in her to bring her hands
up ...  to push him away ...  she couldn't take more.  It would suck the
last energy from her body and she'd fade away into darkness.

   He stopped long enough to grab a pillow, and she lay, helpless as he
lifted her hips, and slid it under her butt, arching her pelvis higher than
the rest of her body, like a sacrifice, being offered to the old Greek
Goddess Aphrodite.

   "What?" she moaned.  "Noooo," she whined, as he stood, dropping his
clothes.  He stood up to expose a penis that struck terror into her heart.
She'd never seen either of the penises that had entered her, during those
quick unsatisfying unions in the back seats of cars.  This one was too long
...  too thick ...  it would tear her.  She dragged strength into her legs
and drew her knees up and together, trying to roll off the pillow, but his
hand on her knee stopped her.

   "Wait," she begged.

   Again, he ignored her and, with ease, forced her knees apart and crawled
between them.  That prick stuck from his blush of brown hair, hanging above
her pussy lips.  She watched in almost horror as he picked up the bottle of
oil, squirted some in his hand, and slicked it along his prick.

   "I can't take it," she moaned.  "Please ...  "

   Her breath froze in her lungs as he fell forward, to suck at her nipples
again.  Her thighs banged on his hips as she felt panic, and the exquisite
pain of her nipples telling her pussy lips to open in welcome.

   "Bobbeeeeeee," she groaned, her hands fluttering in his hair, unable to
push or pull.  "Pleeease I can't ...AHHHEEEEEEE"

   Her plea ended in a hoarse wail as she was filled.  Her sleeping pussy
leapt awake, to feel every ridge and bump on that penis, as it slid into
her tight sheath.  The heat exploded in her pussy, as his penis rubbed it
all along her pussy walls.  She lifted her head, expecting to see smoke,
but his head, still sucking her nipples, blocked her view.

   The calm part of her mind snatched her sanity back, slamming it in the
little box where it would be safe, while the rest of her brain delighted in
the feeling of being full, and hot and turned on like she'd never been
turned on in her whole life.

   She felt him hit bottom, and then slide back out immediately.  She
realized that she felt full, but not stretched ...  stuffed, but with no
pain.  It felt more like his hands on her body, than a penis in her pussy.
How could that be?  He raised up, on his hands and knees, and started
rocking back and forth.  It felt like the only part of him that was
touching her was his penis, and then she realized that her thighs were
still in contact with his hips.  She willed her thighs to drop ...  for the
outside of her knees to lie flat on the sheet, so that the only part of him
that WOULD be touching her was his prick.

   She felt the tendons in her groin complain at the stretching, but
ignored that, to concentrate on the feel of stiff flesh, sliding in and out
of her pussy.  It wasn't killing her.  It hadn't split her.

   It felt wonderful.

   She realized it felt like his finger had, the night before, just
massaging her.  At the angle she was lying, and he was kneeling, his prick
didn't press against her clitty.  She suddenly realized that, if it did
that, she'd be back in the maelstrom that was her earlier orgasms ...  the
kind that threatened to whip her sanity away in the winds of passion.

   He altered his angle, as she thought of that, and she felt the ZING of
the top of his penis scraping her clit.

   "AHHHHHH" she screamed, in anticipation of fighting for her life.

   He went back to his original stance, and she heaved a sigh of relief, as
the massage came back.

   "You like this," he said, breathing only a little quickly.

   "How can he do that?" she wondered.  She was gasping for breath, and he
was just stroking her, smiling down, looking at her twisted face with those
blue eyes.

   "Don't you?" he asked, leaning forward to zing her clitty again.

   "YES!  she screamed, in pure defensive reflex.  She sighed as he went
back to that massaging stroke.  "Please," she begged.  "I can't take
another one ...  not right now."

   "Sure you can," he said, grinning.

   "NO!  PLEASE!" she yelped.

   "You can take two or three more," he said, somehow letting his back sag,
so that his prick zinged her clitty again.  Each time he did that she
tensed, and jerked.

   "NO I CAN'T!" she begged.

   Her hands came up to push at him, while part of her brain told her she
was crazy.  This was the best her pussy had ever felt.

   She felt his hands grip her wrists, and he lunged forward, pinning her
wrists to the mattress by her head.  Her shoulders struggled, but had no
chance.  Worse, that altered his stance again, and now, as he stroked
smoothly in and out, her clitty was subjected to constant pressure.  The
orgasm she knew she couldn't take rushed toward her and her mouth opened in
an agonized scream that wasn't there yet.

   "Let it happen," he said, his mouth an inch from hers.  "Don't fight
it."

   He kissed her upper lip, and her lower lip, and the corners of her lips.


   "Welcome it," he urged.  "Open your arms to it, like a long lost
friend."

   It was too late anyway.  She felt the orgasm reaching into her belly
with a hand that was a foot wide, fingers curled, ready to grasp every part
of her that made her female and grip it tightly.  Her panic made her grasp
at what he'd said and, instinctively, she imagined her opening her body to
something falling from the sky ...  something that would envelope her in
that heat that his hands had given her in the beginning, back when she was
still wearing her panties.

   That image soothed her ...  the image that whatever was rushing towards
her would just be his hands, working inside her, instead of on the outside.
She surrendered then, knocking the calm part of her mind away from the box
that held her sanity.  The lid flipped open, and her sanity came out to
become her mental arms, reaching for the warmth.  At that instant, she
realized that the music from the record on the record player had just
reached a crescendo, and had suddenly dropped, and was beginning to move
on, getting faster, as the orchestra's sound swelled all around them.

   She was completely surprised when the orgasm slowed, and began to wash
over her like hot water.  It started everywhere at once, and the feeling of
warmth moved everywhere else, all at the same time, until if felt like her
nerves were highways, choked with traffic in rush hour, moving here,
slowing there.

   She felt her body shaking as the orgasm surrounded her, both mind and
body.  She took a very small bit of her concentration away from that, to
realize that he had speeded up, and was pounding her pubic bone with his
own as his prick, which no longer seemed either long or thick, somehow,
flashed in and out of her pussy.

   "Yesssss," he hissed, and in that hissing affirmation she heard more
desire in a man's voice than all the other men in her life combined.

   He went in and stopped.  She wanted to scream, now.  It was too soon! 
She was right in the middle of something she'd remember the rest of her
life!  He couldn't stop now.  Then, as she felt a rush of something that
was somehow a little hotter than what was already there, and a little
wetter than her pussy had already been, she also felt him begin to move his
loins in little circles.  Her clit hissed "Yesssss" like he had hissed, and
the rest of her orgasm, which seemed to have been stuck in traffic,
suddenly broke free and crushed her, like the ones he'd given her orally.

   She was aware of the pulsing beat of his penis, deep inside her, and of
the repetitive hot, wet feeling of his seed being injected into her.  Those
pulses were like the slap of his hand on her butt, earlier, that caused her
nerves there to come alive and feel everything.  Now her pussy came alive
and squealed with mingled terror and joy, as the orgasm shook her to her
very bones, and sucked the energy out of her until, once again, she was
limp.

   Now, the only muscles that moved in her, were those dragging air into
her lungs, and those attached to her lips, as he continued kissing her.

   She felt the whole world move suddenly, and realized he was rolling them
over.  She tensed, and then flopped, loosely on top of him, draped over him
like a wet rag.  She felt his arm move, and a blanket flipped up over her
torso.  Her legs weren't covered, but that was all right, because her torso
was burning up, while her legs felt cool and free.

   He was still in her, and the heightened senses in her loins could feel
him getting less stiff ...  shrinking ...  taking the full sensation away.
Now he was panting, and it was like the stiffness in his penis was being
blown out of his mouth.  She moaned and kissed him, trying to stem the flow
...  to re-inflate his penis.  She wanted to laugh, because she had been so
afraid of it before, and now wished it wouldn't go away.

   His eyes were open, staring up at her.  They had just made love.  This
was the first time she had looked down at a man who had made her feel like
that.  She was quite aware that she'd had no inkling of what it could be
like ...  that he had rocked her world from top to bottom, and side to
side. She was completely aware that she needed to make some kind of
response ...  to give him feedback on how he'd done.  She was intimately
aware that there were no words ...  would never BE any words, that could
express what she had felt.  She was at a complete and total loss for words.
Only one little word seeped through her vocal chords.

   "Wow!" she sighed.

   "Thank you," he panted.

   Then she did laugh, lying her head on his chest, while her body shook in
a different way.  Chapter Seven

   Amanda woke, aware that she had fallen asleep on his chest.  She heard
and felt his slow, steady breathing in her ear, and realized he was asleep
too.  She felt the sweat between them, and thought about now nice it would
be to have a warm shower nearby.  Her mind reviewed what had happened, and
she felt warmth of a different kind, inside her.  Another part of her mind
reminded her that she was supposed to be running a radio station and she
rose, in one fluid motion that astonished her.  She picked up the blanket,
that had fallen off her, and covered him with it, before turning to look at
the clock on the wall in the sound booth.  It was a little past two in the
morning.  That was all!  She heard the comforting sounds coming from the
box, and relaxed.  Then she heard the rhythmic tic tic tic of a phonograph
needle, at the end of a record.  Without thinking, she walked, naked, to
the sound booth and picked up the needle off the record.  She was reaching
to turn the turntable off, when she paused.  Feeling something dripping
down her inner thigh, she flipped the record over, and started the other
side.

   As the music started again, she went back to her office.  She pulled a
tissue from the box on her desk, and bent over to deal with the thick white
stream of semen that was running down her thigh.  She had to use two
tissues to sop it up.  Her pussy lips were flushed and thick, but not red
and raw.  Touching them with the tissue sent little pinpricks of sensation
to her loins.

   She stood up and saw that he was awake, just staring at her.

   "You ready for round two?" he asked.

   "Don't joke about something like that," she said softly.

   He pulled the blanket off of him and her eyes widened, as she saw his
penis, still looking shiny, standing up tall, leaning drunkenly toward his
head.

   "Ohhhh no," she moaned.

   "We can just cuddle," he offered, patting the sheet beside him."

   Feeling the flutter in her belly that the tissue had started, she sank
down beside him, telling herself this was a mistake, but doing it anyway.

   She was pleasantly surprised when he talked, instead of doing anything
other than drawing her up against him.  He ignored his penis.  Could men do
that?  Her pussy kept sending her tiny signals that said "I can go again.
What's wrong with you?" They were hard to ignore, but she tried.

   He started asking her about her youth, and growing up.  She seemed to do
all the talking, and he seemed to just lie there and soak it all in, his
blue eyes drinking her in too.

   "You're not anything like I expected either," she found herself saying.
She'd been talking about the radio station not being what she'd expected,
as a girl, right out of High School.

   He smiled.  "What did you expect?"

   "I don't know," she said, at a loss for words.  How did you explain to a
man that he had just altered your whole world forever, and that it was
scary, but was also impossibly thrilling, at the same time?  How did you
tell him that he had just raped you ...  except that you wanted him to do
everything that he did, after it was done?  How did you tell a man who was
almost a complete stranger, that you loved him ...  that you'd always love
him, because he was your first real man?  She took the easy way out.

   "I didn't really know what to expect."

   "I hope I didn't disappoint you," he said, tracing a finger along her
jawline.

   She barked a laugh that was on the edge of insanity, and, on impulse,
leaned over to kiss him, letting her lips, and the emotion behind them tell
him she wasn't disappointed, instead of trying to use mere words.  She
rolled back, to look at him.

   "Felicity's baby ...  you're the father ...  aren't you?" she asked.

   "I don't talk about other women," he said.  "Just like I won't talk
about you."

   "I understand why she's so happy now," said Amanda, ignoring him, but
feeling relief that he hadn't said anything.

   It occurred to her, in that instant, that she wasn't on birth control.
She had, in her mind, rehearsed demanding that he use a rubber, when ... 
if ...  it ever got as far as that.  She had been completely unprepared for
what had just happened.  He'd been so measured, the night before ...  had
taken things so slowly.  When he'd speeded up, she was caught up in the
whirlwind, and carried along.

   "Do you ever use a rubber?" she asked, suddenly.

   "No," he said softly, but firmly.

   "Not even if I asked you to?"

   "No," he said, just as firmly.

   "Why not?" she asked, mildly horrified.

   "Because what we shared is something that rises above everything else.
It's why we were created.  Some of the women take the pill.  That's fine.
It's their decision.  But mine is to be natural."

   The way he said it sounded so logical ...  so ...  natural.

   "What if I said we couldn't do it again, unless you used a rubber?" she
asked.

   "Then we wouldn't do it again."

   It wasn't a threat, but something like fear shot through her.  To be
denied that ...  it was unthinkable.

   "We can wait, if you want," he said, tracing his finger along her
jawbone again, "until you can get on the pill, and it's protecting you."

   The dim memory of someone explaining how the pill worked to her ...  and
that one needed to be on it a month, before it provided the maximum
protection, trickled into her mind.  A month.  Thirty days.  More, if you
considered having to make an appointment, and then go to the pharmacy.  She
thought about that.  Could she wait more than a month to feel that again?
Not in a million years.  Her body was urging her to pull him on top of her
again already.

   "Could you wait that long?" she asked, trying to draw strength from his
answer.

   "I could," he said, giving her hope, "but I wouldn't like it." Her hope
dashed as she felt the urge to mate grow even stronger.  He wanted her.  He
wanted her naturally.  He wanted his sperm to do what it was created to do
...  inside HER!  She was his chosen woman.  It didn't matter that there
were others ...  he had chosen HER too!

   Her logical mind told her it was ridiculous.  She wasn't going to marry
him.  She wasn't going to marry anybody.  The last thing she needed now was
to be pregnant.  She needed to spend her energy on the station, not some
man's baby.

   But deeper inside, a primal part of her demanded to be allowed its
chance ...  to be allowed to step to the front and help her fulfill her
destiny.  It might not get its way ...  she might not conceive ... 
PROBABLY would not conceive, it told her.  But it deserved its chance. 
That other part ...  the logical part ...  had had her, heart and soul, for
years.  Had it made her happy?  No!  Now, she had let something primal
happen.  Had THAT made her happy?

   Desperately happy, she admitted.

   "I don't want to talk any more," she said.

   Her hand went to his prick, and she felt a surge of elation when she
found it was still hard ...  still erect for her.

   "You be on top," he said.

   "I don't know how," she replied.

   "I'll teach you," he said, pulling her up and over him. 
======================================================== He taught her how
to sit on him, either straight up, with her abdominal muscles doing the
work of moving her hips, which moved him inside her, which massaged her,
the way she loved so much.  He taught her how to lean forward, and let her
thighs do the work, moving her clit back and forth against the base of his
penis, and how to move ...  just so ...  to stay on the knife edge of an
orgasm for as much as ten minutes, if she was careful.  It was like having
an ice cream cone, that you could taste only with the tip of your tongue,
until you put the flat of your tongue against it ...  licked hard ...  and
took a bite off the tip.  That explosion of cold sweet taste was her
orgasm, when she reached for it.  She found she could do it on command, and
even modify the intensity ...  the size of the bite, as it were.

   She'd never had this much fun doing anything she could remember doing.

   Through it all, he lay there, looking up at her, telling her she was
beautiful, and sexy, rubbing her breasts, and pulling at her nipples, when
that was the perfect thing to do.

   The only reason she stopped was because it was four-fifty on the clock
in the sound booth, and she had to go put a new tape in slot number one.

   When she padded back to her office, and he was lying there, his hands
behind his head on a pillow, his prick STILL stiff, she stopped.

   "I want you on top now," she said.

   "I'll cum in you again, if I get on top," he said.

   She got down on her hands and knees and examined the thing that had just
brought her an hour and a half of pure pleasure.  It no longer looked scary
or huge.  It just looked good.  She stared at his balls, full and round,
with hairs growing out of them.  Those balls were full of nature's finest
...  the sperm that had made Felicity Chumley glow with happiness, as her
fingers traced idly on her swollen belly.  If he got on top, when he was
done, would those balls be flat and empty?  She remembered having to use
two tissues to clean him up, from between her thighs, and that was after
sleeping on him for an hour.

   Something in her brain said "You can go on the pill tomorrow.  Call the
doctor and get the prescription tomorrow.  But give us OUR chance now!"

   She found the oil, and squirted some in her palm.  Touching a penis for
the first time in her life, she spread the oil on it, moving her hand up
and down.  The loose skin at the tip tightened, thinned and moved down, to
reveal an irregularly shaped knob.  She was fascinated.  A drop of pearly
liquid bubbled out of the tip.

   She flopped down on her back, anxious now.  "I want you on top," she
moaned.

   He was on her much more quickly than she expected, and she gave little
jerking yips as he mauled her breasts with his lips and entered her
immediately.  She flung her legs wide, feeling the heat of the oil
instantly.

   "Hold my hands again!" she demanded, putting them by her head.

   His hands came down on hers, pushing cruelly.  He started jackhammering
her, not building up to anything, just thrusting and pulling back as fast
as he could.  She saw her breasts jiggling like Jell-O, and her clit
started to squeal.  Suddenly he went in deep and pushed hard, moving in
circles again.  She was sure he was finishing, and it was too soon!  But he
didn't squirt.  He just stayed there until she had an orgasm, and then
started pounding her again.

   She only got two, this time, before he groaned and went in deep one last
time.  He didn't rub in circles this time.  He just pushed hard, moving her
along the mattress, as she felt the pulse and jerk of his penis as it
spurted her full of the seed that had swollen his balls.

   She lay there, helpless to fight him, her wrists captive.  He had taken
her.  She was his, and he was seeding her womb.  She was his slave, and, if
fate so decreed, she would bear him a son.  Her pussy muscles flexed and
clenched, squeezing every drop out of his prick, as it continued to pulse
and squirt in her.

   Then it was over, and they traded panting kisses again.

   "I can't ..." she panted, "go ...  without that ...  for a month."

   "Good," he panted back.

   She felt his penis give one last jerk.  She didn't feel anything, but
her pussy clenched one last time too, just to make sure there was nothing
left for him to give her.

   Her logical mind started screaming at her ...  calling her a fool.

   She kissed her lover, and told her mind to shut the fuck up. 
============================================================ They finally
got up at ten til five, because she told him the morning crew was sometimes
early.  He disassembled the bed, rolled everything up, and took it back out
to his car, while she pulled panties on to cover a leaking pussy.  She
finished dressing while he did that.  The other things, some of which he
hadn't even used, went back in his knapsack, while she made coffee.

   He came back in, looking around to see if anything had been forgotten.
He left the front door open to air out the station.  They couldn't smell
anything, but then they'd been submerged in it for hours.  He knew there
were residual sexual odors in the air, so he aired the place out.

   He put on Luthor Ingram, playing the track: "If Loving You Is Wrong, I
Don't Want To Be Right", and she laughed.  She liked the smooth voice on
the record.

   "This is what your competition is playing," he said.  "Now you
understand why your competition is doing so well."

   "I just thought it was all more of the same old stuff they had in the
sixties," she said, defending herself.

   "That may be what some of your listeners are saying about your play
list," he said.

   "I don't like you any more," she said, only half kidding.  "Besides,
Daddy would have another stroke if I changed things."

   "Let's ask him," suggested Bobby.  "We can play him a few cuts, and see
what he thinks."

   "Yeah," she said.  "Right.  Like he can tell us anything."

   "Invite me over," he said.  "Introduce me to him.  I'll have him
communicating in ten minutes.  I guarantee it."

   If this had been Saturday afternoon, the day before, she would have
scoffed and told him not to waste her time.  Now, though, after going
through a life-changing night with him, she believed he could do anything
...  at least anything he thought he could do.

   "We'll see," she said.  If they don't get the big player fixed today,
I'll have to stay tonight too."

   "Oooo," he said.  "I'll get to use the rest of my creams and oils."

   She couldn't imagine what the other things would do.  That heat stuff
had been impressive enough.

   A man came in the front door.  He waved at Amanda, and then stopped,
staring at Bobby.

   "That's Rodney, my program manager," she said, her voice low.

   Rodney came to the sound booth.

   "You're not playing that on the air, are you?" he said, his face a
mixture of emotions.

   Amanda picked up the needle, and the speakers in the building went
silent.  A Stan Kenton tune came weakly out of the box, until she turned it
up a little.

   "Bobby was just letting me hear some of the music he likes," she said.

   "You the one who fixed the four tier player?" asked Rodney, somewhat
gruffly.

   Bobby just nodded.  He turned to Amanda.

   "If you don't need me for anything else, I'll take off now."

   "I'll call you if I need you for anything else," she said,
automatically. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she'd be needing
him.

   The door hadn't gotten completely closed, when Rodney was all over her,
asking who this man was, and why she had let him touch the equipment.  He
wanted to know if he'd stayed all night too.

   Amanda felt her temper flare.

   "He's here because I hired him to be here," she snapped.  "And you're
not my father.  It doesn't matter whether he was here all night or not. 
He's helping me figure out what to do with this station," she lied.  She
had to lie.  Why else could she hire a man?  She couldn't tell Rodney the
REAL reason she'd hired him.

   "Are you finally thinking about a format change?" Rodney's eyes shone
with something like hope.  It couldn't be denied.  He looked SO hopeful, in
fact, that something in Amanda just couldn't crush that hope.

   "Maybe," she said.  "But just maybe!" she almost yelled, as he gave a
whoop of glee.  He calmed back down immediately, and re-assumed his normal
dour look.  He tried to act like he hadn't jumped for joy.

   "I'm glad you're thinking about that," he said.  It was, in the face of
his prior jubilation, ridiculous, but she didn't laugh, or make fun of him.
He'd stuck with her father for twenty years.

   "I'm glad that you're glad," she said.  "Maybe later, you could fill me
in on what you'd do ...  IF ...  we change the format a little."

   "I'll think about that," he said.

   She knew he'd already been thinking about it ...  for years. 
===================================================== Bobby went home and
slept.  Amanda did too.  Her father was up, and the caregiver was fixing
him his oatmeal for breakfast.  She kissed him on top of the head, and went
to her bedroom.  She had no trouble getting to sleep.  It wasn't until
noon, when she woke up, that she remembered she should have taken a shower
when she got home.

   She was getting out of the shower stall, drying herself off, when she
saw her father's wheel chair, in the open doorway of the bathroom.  He was
staring at her.

   "Ooo!" she yipped, pulling the towel to cover her nakedness.  "I'm
sorry," she said.  "I guess I forgot to close the door." Her father grunted
and waved his good arm ...  the one that still moved, albeit erratically.
He was obviously trying to say something.

   That reminded her of Bobby, and his pledge that he could help her father
communicate.  She had no idea how he'd do that.

   "Daddy?" she said.  She felt silly.  He couldn't answer her.  "Remember
that man I told you I met?  He says he can help you communicate."

   Her father burst into grunts, groans and moans, his hand waving in the
air frantically.

   "Should I invite him over?" she asked.  In her curiosity at watching him
move, she lowered the towel, uncovering her breasts, and didn't notice it.
He seemed to get even more agitated, and she took that as a "yes".

   "If they get the tape machine fixed today, I'll ask him to come over
here tonight," she said.

   He calmed.  In fact, he quit moving altogether, and his spastic arm went
to lie in his lap.  Then, it moved to grip the wheel of his chair, and he
pushed with the one leg that worked, backing himself up.  With great
effort, he shoved, grunted and pushed, moving himself bit by bit, down the
hallway.

   When she came out of her room, the radio was playing.  It wasn't on
KDEF. She assumed the caregiver had changed the station, and went to move
it back.  She found her father sitting by the radio, and that only
heightened her anxiety that he was upset about the radio station.  It was
starting a new song, one she'd never heard, by a man with a deep almost
hypnotic voice.  She couldn't help but listen to the words.

   I'm, I'm so in love with you Whatever you want to do Is alright with me
'Cause you make me feel, so brand new And I want to spend my life with you

   Her father made a noise and his hand flailed.  She broke out of her
trance, and her hand darted for the dial.  Her father got more agitated as
she turned it, and his hand flailed, hitting her arm.

   "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" she yelled in frustration.  "I'm TRYING to change
it back!"

   She reached for the dial again, and, once more, his hand flailed,
blocking her.  She stood up, impatient, suddenly.

   "All right!" she barked.  "If you don't want me to touch it, I won't
touch it!"

   She turned and stormed into the kitchen.  The caregiver was gone.  She
only stayed long enough to get him up, get his hygiene taken care of, get
him dressed, and get him fed.  She returned between eleven and one, to take
care of lunch, but, apparently, she'd already been there.  There were dirty
dishes in the sink ...  two meals worth, for her father.

   She fussed with getting herself something.  She was bending over to look
in the refrigerator, when she heard the static on the radio change.  The
same voice she had heard before wound the song to an end, as she stopped,
frozen.

   Let's, let's stay together Loving you whether, whether

   Her father had tuned the radio!  Not only that, he had tuned it back to
the original station is had been on!  She rushed to find his hand, held on
the table by sheer will, one finger a hair's breadth away from the tuning
dial.  As she watched in disbelief, she saw him flick his finger against
the knob.  The last bit of electronic mal-adjustment disappeared as the
announcer's voice boomed into the room: "That was Al Greene, with Let's
Stay Together, slipping on the charts to number ten this week after
spending a healthy sixteen weeks at number one on the R and B charts.  This
is Rick Valley, WRMZ, one-oh-nine-point-nine on your radio dial, moving on
with the countdown, after a word from our sponsor."

   Amanda reached out and turned the volume down.

   "You changed the radio, Daddy?" she whined.

   He went crazy with grunts, moans and his flailing arm, and she hugged
him.

   "It's OK, Daddy.  I didn't understand.  I'll leave it there, OK?  I'm so
PROUD of you!"

   His arm went around her waist, and she felt it tug ...  the only kind of
hug he could give any more.  She almost cried, and then kissed his cheeks,
patting his hair into place, where her chin had mussed it.

   "I'm going to call him, Daddy.  I promise.  If he can do anything, we'll
get it done.  Oh, I'm so proud of you!" She stood up.  "Did you turn it up
too?  Can you do it again?"

   She watched as his arm flailed, finally landing on the table in front of
the radio.  He inched his finger closer to the volume knob.  His shoulder
tensed, and she could sense how difficult this was for him.  Slowly his
finger approached the knob.  It wiggled, and he jerked his arm, until the
finger hit the volume knob.  The sound increased dramatically.  He grunted,
and tried again, bumping the knob with is finger until it went back down a
little.

   She did cry, then, and had to straighten his hair again after her long
passionate hug.  ========================================================
Rodney called around three, and gave her the good news that the machine
they used for night broadcasts was fixed.  She would not need to come in
that night.

   "That's great!" she sighed.

   "Is it?" asked Rodney.

   "What do you mean?" she asked.

   "Well, what with that guy spending the night there ...  I thought ..."

   "Don't think, Rodney," she said, her voice terse.  "And if you do, just
think about what you're going to recommend if ...  and I repeat IF ...  we
talk about changing formats."

   "Yes Ma'am!" he said.  He sounded entirely too cheerful for Amanda's
taste.

   She hung up and then immediately called Bobby.  He said he'd be there
around five.  He was sweet enough to ask if he should bring anything, but
she said she'd take care of everything.

   What she meant by that was that she planned on cooking dinner.  She was
a pretty good cook, but hadn't used her skills much in the last few years.
Now that her father could only handle soft foods, lest he choke, she cooked
even less.  So this was an opportunity to do something she loved doing, and
do something nice for Bobby as well.  Chapter Eight

   In one sense, things didn't go all that well that night.  Bobby got
there to find Amanda frazzled and upset.  It had been long enough since she
had cooked a full meal that she was a little rusty in the kitchen
department, and things weren't going like she had envisioned them.

   She met Bobby at the door but, because what was on the stove needed
constant watching, her introduction of Bobby to her father was hurried.

   "I'll just leave you two to get acquainted," she said, her mind
obviously somewhere else.

   She left, to return to a meal that went more and more South as she got
more and more frustrated.  That was the part that didn't go well that
night.

   On the other hand, when Bobby and Ron were abandoned, and left alone,
things went much better.  The first thing Bobby did was get into his
knapsack, which Amanda hadn't even noticed that he brought, and pull out
two beanbags that he had asked his mother to make.  One was green, and the
other red.  He held them up in front of Ron.

   "Hi," he said, smiling.  "I'm Bobby.  Can you point to the beanbag I'm
holding that is green?"

   Ron's spastic arm waved, going towards Bobby's right side, in which hand
he was holding the green beanbag.

   "That's great," said Bobby.  He switched hands, holding them far apart.
"How about now?" he asked.

   Ron's hand pointed the other way.

   "Hang on a minute," said Bobby.  "We need something to lay across the
arms of your wheel chair."

   Bobby went to the kitchen, where Amanda was fully involved in ruining
dinner.

   "That's the garage, right?" he asked, pointing to a door that was on one
side of the kitchen.

   "What?  Yes.  What's wrong?" asked the harried woman.

   "Nothing," he said.  "Go on with what you're doing.  I just need to look
in the garage for a minute."

   "Why?" Amanda looked at him like he was crazy.  "What are you doing?"

   "Trust me," said Bobby, smiling.  "That smells really good.  I can't
wait."

   He ignored her then, going through the door into the garage.  He looked
around for something he could lay across the arms of Ron's wheel chair, but
there was nothing there that would work.  He could make something at home,
but that wouldn't help them tonight.  Then, he smacked his forehead with
one hand and said "Stupid!"

   His trip back through the kitchen left a confused and even more
frustrated Amanda in his wake, because he didn't want to explain what he
was doing just yet.  She was busy, and he needed to fine tune the process
he had thought up.  Ron, of course, was still sitting in the living room.
Bobby pushed his chair to the dining room and was pleased to see that the
arms fit under the table.  That let Ron lay his arm on top of the table. 
Bobby put both bean bags on the table in front of Ron and went to sit down
across from him.

   "I'm going to ask you questions," said Bobby.  "You'll be able to answer
them either yes, or no.  Green means yes, and red means no ...  OK?"

   Ron's hand shot for the green beanbag.  He knocked it a foot away.

   "Good!" said Bobby, leaning over the table to put the green bag back
within Ron's reach.  "Just to make sure this is working, we'll start with
some silly questions.  Are you a woman?"

   Ron's eyes seemed to glitter, as they stared across the table at Bobby,
and, with much more control, his hand slid across to touch the red bean
bag.

   "Do you live in Hutchinson, Kansas?" asked Bobby.

   Ron reached for the green bag.

   "Let's try something more complicated," said Bobby.  "Are you
comfortable right now?" he asked.

   Ron's hand went to the green bag, and then, slowly, moved toward the red
one.

   "Can I interpret that to mean that you're physically comfortable, but
maybe worried about some things?"

   The hand went to the green bag and landed on top of it.

   "I don't blame you," said Bobby, smiling.  "I'd be worried about some
things if I were in your shoes too.  When Amanda gets here, we'll try to
work on those things.  For now, lets just figure out a list of things to
work on later.  Are you worried about the station?"

   Green bag.

   Are you worried about your personal finances?

   Red bag.

   "Are you worried about me?"

   Green bag.

   "That," said Bobby, is something we can work on now.  "You probably want
to know what my intentions are towards Amanda."

   Green bag.

   "Well," said Bobby.  "That's kind of complicated.  I like her.  Our
relationship is a little strange, or at least I'd think so if I were you.
It is not a boyfriend/girlfriend kind of thing.  I met her through a mutual
friend, who I was able to help.  She was having a some problems in the
emotional arena, I guess you'd say.  Amanda is having some problems like
that too, and all I'm here for is to support her, and help her decide what
she wants to do in the future.  I don't think there's really a name for
what I do.  It's kind of like I help people figure out what they want out
of life.  Then they have to decide how to make that happen.  If I can help
with that, then that's great.  If I can't, then they may not need me any
more.  Does any of that make sense to you?"

   The hand went to the green bag first, and then moved to the red one,
before going back to stop in between them.

   "Maybe I can explain it to you better some time," said Bobby.  "Or maybe
Amanda can explain it.  What I want you to understand is that I'm only here
for what Amanda needs.  One of those things was to be able to communicate
with you.  That's why I thought up the bean bags."

   Bobby stopped, and stared across the table for a few seconds.

   "It is not my intention to hurt Amanda in any way, or to make her life
more difficult.  Do you believe me?"

   The hand didn't move at all, for a few seconds.  Then, slowly, it went
to the green bag and rested on top of it. 
================================================== Amanda stuck her head
into the dining room, after looking for them in the living room and not
finding them.

   "There you are!" she said.  "How would you both like to go out to eat?"

   Her father's arm, which was lying on the table between two cloth things
of some type, lifted and landed on top of the red one.

   "He doesn't want to go out to eat," said Bobby, leaning back in his
chair and folding his arms.

   "What?" asked Amanda.  Then her frustration showed.  "I ruined dinner.
Nothing is working right.  What do you mean he doesn't want to go out to
eat?  How could you know that?!"

   Bobby got up and went to Amanda.  He took her elbow.  She resisted and
he squeezed.

   "Ow!" she yelped.  "What are you doing?  What's going on?" She sounded
like she was about to cry.

   "Just sit down for a minute," said Bobby, taking her to the chair he'd
been sitting in.  "I think your father is more interested in talking to
you, right now, than eating."

   Amanda jerked her elbow from his grasp, and her hand went to rub it. 
She was obviously about to yell at him.

   "SIT!" thundered Bobby.

   She did, rather abruptly, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.  He
leaned over and pointed to the red bean bag.

   "That beanbag is red.  It means 'No'.  The other one is green, and means
'yes'.  Ask your father questions he can answer either yes, or no, and he
can tell you things."

   Amanda turned her thunderstruck face toward her father.

   "Daddy?"

   Ron erupted, with grunts and moans, and his arm flailed uncontrollably
for a few seconds, but then landed with a thump on the green bag.

   "Can you really understand me?" Amanda's eyes were as big as saucers.

   Ron moved his hand back to the middle, and then returned it to the green
bag.

   "You can TALK to me?!" she squealed.

   The hand went firmly to the red bag, and then moved to the green.

   "That means yes AND no," said Bobby.  "In this case, I think it means he
can tell you things, but only if you ask him the right questions."

   Ron's hand thumped down on the green bag.

   Amanda lost it then.  Her frustration with dinner had keyed her up, and
her emotions were already at peak levels.  This put her over the top and
she burst into tears of happiness.  Bobby had to catch the chair as she
jumped to her feet and ran around the table to envelop her father in a hug
that almost strangled him.  She bawled with relief, that she could finally
"talk" to her father again, and sobbed about how much she loved him.  Bobby
just stood, grinning, until she realized that, while she was talking to her
father, he wasn't able to respond, because she was all over him.  When that
penetrated her brain, she scrambled back to the chair Bobby was holding for
her, and started throwing question after question at her father.

   Forgotten, Bobby slipped into the kitchen, to see how bad things were,
and if they could be salvaged.  The roast was overdone and tough, but
edible.  The bread she had tried to make was hard as a rock.  Even the
gravy was so thick it could be spread with a knife.  The mashed potatoes
weren't too bad but, all in all, she was right.  He slipped out of the
kitchen, into the garage, and out the door to his car.  Half an hour later
he was back with a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, with all the
trimmings.

   They were still talking when he brought it into the dining room and set
it out.  ====================================================== One of the
things they learned that night was that the doctors were wrong about Ron
only being able to handle soft foods.  His throat muscles worked just fine.
He just hadn't been able to tell anybody that, since the stroke.  As a
result, he got his first tentative bites of solid food that night, since
the stroke hit.  His tear ducts worked just fine too, as was made obvious
when Amanda fed him his first piece of chicken in years.

   By ten in the evening, much had been accomplished, but Amanda and Ron
were both emotionally and physically exhausted.  Bobby helped get Ron into
bed, which was a long process that involved bed pan and cleanup.  Bobby
laughed when Ron got an erection during the process.

   "Don't laugh," said Amanda.  "He does that all the time.  He can't help
it."

   "Especially now with a beautiful young woman handling him, like that,"
said Bobby.

   Ron hooted, which, during the night, had been identified as a sound that
meant "Yes".

   "That's terrible!" scolded Amanda.  "I'm your daughter!"

   Ron subsided, and was put to bed.  He seemed to be asleep before they
got everything settled, and left the room.

   Bobby found himself enveloped in warm, clasping woman.

   "I can't tell you how much you've done for us," she moaned, burrowing
her face into his chest.

   "It was just an idea," he said, stroking her back.

   "It was an idea that has changed our lives, Bobby," she said, looking
up. There were tears in her eyes again.

   "I'm glad things will be better." He kissed her nose.  "It's late.  I'd
better be going."

   "You can't leave," she said, holding him tighter.

   "You want me to stay?" he asked, surprised.  "With your father here?"

   She reached her lips for a kiss, and then said "Yes." Chapter Nine

   In her bedroom, Bobby took her in his arms and kissed her.

   "Tonight, you do only what I say," he said.

   Her natural urge to control things rebelled, and he saw that in her
eyes.

   "I'm in charge, tonight," he said.  "Next time you can be in charge."

   "You were in charge last night," she said, her voice sulky.

   "Did I give you what you needed?" he asked.

   She stared at him and stuck her lip out.  "Yes." She tried to pout
obviously.

   "I'm going to do that again tonight," he said.  In his mind he added "I
hope."

   "Why do you have to be in charge?" she insisted.

   "Because you like being in charge too much," he said.  "You think you
know everything, but you don't, and that limits your options.  I'm going to
teach you that there are always other options, and that you need to release
control, sometimes, so those options will make themselves known to you."

   "Oh, all right!" she said, impatiently.

   "And that's another thing," he said.  "You're impatient.  You want to do
something all the time.  You need to learn how to stop, and wait for things
to happen."

   "I don't like you," she said, petulantly.

   "Yes you do," he said.

   "No I DON'T!" she insisted, knowing she was being both argumentative and
lying to be that way.  She wondered why she insisted on doing that.

   She found her jaw grasped in his fingers, and his eyes boring into hers.

   "Tell me how you feel about me," he said.

   She felt a tiny thrill of fear, that was somehow not dangerous, because
she trusted him.  And yet, he was strong enough to do whatever he wanted.
He had proven that last night and, even though she knew she could pull
away, the strength in his fingers on her jaw made her feel weak, somehow.
This was all too new to her.  She'd never met a man like him, and she'd
always been in charge of whatever happened.  At the same time, what he had
brought her was fabulously precious ...  she knew that deep in her heart.
She wanted him.  She wanted him tonight.  But the only way she would get
him, was by HIS rules.  That caused another thrill of fear.

   "What are you going to do?" she asked.

   "You didn't answer my question," he said.  "Are you going to make me
spank you?"

   "You can't spank me!" she said, jerking away from his hand.

   "I don't have to stay, either," he warned.

   "That's not fair!" she whined.  "Why are you doing this?"

   "I already told you why I'm doing this.  I want you to surrender ...  to
me ...  just tonight.  Then you can be in charge again."

   "But I'm paying you!" she moaned, using the last defense she could think
of.

   "I haven't charged you a dime yet," he said.  "You hired me to give you
what you need.  I'm trying to do that, but you're so stubborn I may not be
able to."

   She curled her hands into fists, and felt the frustration building in
her.  Then, quite suddenly, she recognized that frustration for what it
was. It controlled her.  It DID limit her options.  She'd been frustrated
ever since her father's stroke, believing the doctors, who said he'd never
communicate again.  To them, communication meant talking, and her
frustration with that had blinded her to other communications options.  Yet
Bobby, in ten minutes, had come up with a way that, while cumbersome,
released her father from his silence.  The things she had learned, just
tonight, had blown her away.  Once she had learned the intricacies of
asking questions that could be answered yes and no, her mind had bubbled
over with them.  She had learned, for instance, that he had tuned that
radio to that station on purpose, trying to tell her that he liked that
music.  Having all the time in the world, he had painstakingly listened to
all the stations within reach of Hutchinson.  His business mind had taken
in the programming, commercials, and listener responses, and he had learned
that, while HE loved big band music, his station couldn't compete.  He had
used the only thing he could think of to communicate with his daughter, and
that was by leaving the radio on the station with the format he knew KDEF
should move to, before it failed completely.  Tonight, finally, thanks to
Bobby, she had learned how he felt.  For forty-five minutes she had fired
questions at him about what changes to make, and his elation at being able
to tell her what he thought she should do was clear.

   Bobby was still standing there, waiting for her response.  HE was
patient.  Despite his ability to burst into action ...  to overwhelm her
with his passion ...  he could stand and wait for her to react to
something. Before, she would have demanded that he do what she wanted.  Now
...  she envied his patience.

   "I'll do what you want," she said.

   He put his fingers under her chin, this time, instead of grasping her
jaw.

   "Tell me how you feel about me," he said.

   "You've changed my life.  You make me feel alive.  You let Daddy talk to
me.  I'm going to let you ...  I mean I want you to make love to me ... 
tonight ...  even though you won't wear a rubber.  I hardly know you but
... I love you," she said.

   "You know I won't ask you to marry me," he said.

   "Yes," she said.  "That would be ridiculous."

   "Why?" he asked.

   "Because I don't love you in that way.  I might be able to some day ...
I don't know.  A month ago I didn't even have a sex life.  This is all so
new to me I don't know what to think ...  but I know I don't think of you
as a potential husband.  I don't know why."

   "All right," he said.  "I wanted to make sure we were straight on that.
Go get me a chair."

   She started to ask why, but clamped down on her impatience and went to
get a dining room chair.  She bought it back and he set it against one wall
and sat down.

   "OK, I want you to take off your clothes now.  Are you wearing a bra?"

   "Yes ...  I knew Daddy would be here tonight."

   "Go ahead.  I want to watch you get naked for me."

   She felt silly, at first, unbuttoning her blouse, while he just sat
there and watched.  When her blouse was off, she reached for the clasp to
her bra.

   "Not yet," he said.  "I want to see you in just your bra and panties."

   She slid her slacks down and stepped out of them, feeling embarrassed,
somehow.  She knew that was silly, because he'd seen her naked ...  had
made glorious love to her.

   "You're beautiful," he said softly.

   Her embarrassment fled, and she felt the blush that resulted from his
compliment.

   "Thank you," she murmured.

   "I can't wait to see your gorgeous breasts," he said.  "Come here.  Let
me undo you."

   She stepped out of her shoes, and went to stand in front of him, her
back turned.  His fingers traced down her sides, to her hips, and then went
to the catch of the bra.  She felt it tighten, and then go loose.  For some
reason she crossed her arms, holding her bra to her breasts.  He turned her
around and gently made her move her arms.  He pulled the bra off her
shoulders, slowly, letting more and more of her breasts be exposed, until
it was hanging on her wrists, stretched across her abdomen.

   "So beautiful," he sighed.  He leaned forward and pulled her down a bit,
to suckle at one nipple.  She watched the top of his head, felt the crinkle
and saw the nipple he wasn't sucking stiffen.  When he let go, she
automatically offered him the other one.

   "Later," he said.  "Now the panties."

   She felt a stab of irritation that he hadn't made the other nipple feel
good, but pushed that away, suddenly anxious to be naked for him.  Her
shyness was gone, replaced by ...  something else ...  as she watched his
eyes watching her.  She felt the sudden urge to tease, and pushed her
panties down just enough to expose her pubic hair.

   "These?" she asked.  "Take these off?"

   "Yes," he said.

   "But I'll be naked," she said, making her voice complain.

   "Don't make me spank you," he warned.

   The thrill of fear shot through her again, and she pushed her panties
down, stepping out of them, and kicking them to one side.  She didn't know
what to do with her hands, and ended up putting them on her hips.  One foot
was away from her, and she stood, hipshot.

   "You are a very beautiful woman, Amanda," he said, the appreciation
clear in his voice.  "Any man would want you."

   She felt her pussy clench, and her nipples tingle.  Never had she just
stood in front of a man who appreciated her like that ...  with just his
eyes and words.  He stood.

   "Now ...  undress me," he said.

   She approached him eagerly, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

   "Slowly," he cautioned.  "Take your time and enjoy it."

   She slowed, and found that, as each button was exposed, and she saw a
little more of his chest and abdomen, it was exciting.  She'd always been
the kind of person who tears into a present, ripping the paper off,
impatient to see what was inside.  She'd never understood people who
carefully removed the wrapping, teasing themselves before unveiling what
was inside ...  extending the anticipation.

   Now she understood that.  When she got to his belt, he sat down,
suddenly, and offered her his boot-covered feet.  She tried just pulling on
them, but that didn't work.  He told her to turn around, and straddle his
leg.  She did so, knowing that she was sticking her butt in his face, as
she bent over to grasp the back of the boot heel, like he told her to.  His
hands came to her butt, steadying her as she pulled, and the boot came off.
She jumped as his fingers darted between her legs to stroke her pussy lips,
and then pulled back.  She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes smoky.

   "Now the other one," he said.

   With this one she spread her own feet wider, bending over and almost
wagging her butt in his face.  He put one hand on her butt, and reached
through her legs to stroke her pussy lips as she worked ...  not too hard
...  on his other boot.  She pulled, and wagged her butt, and pulled, until
he brought one slippery finger back and suddenly inserted it in her rectum.

   Her jerk caused the boot to pop off and she fell backwards, to land on
his lap.  His hands went around her and cupped her breasts.

   "That was nasty," she complained.

   "You were playing," he responded.  "Get up.  Now you can do my pants."

   She stood, still feeling the peculiar tingle in her rectum, where his
finger had entered her briefly.  She was astonished to feel an erotic urge
to have him play there some more, and pushed that away.  She concentrated
on his jeans, getting them undone and pulling them down over his hips.  She
pulled his underwear down with them, and sighed when his erect penis lunged
into the air in front of her face.

   She tore her eyes away from it, long enough to get the jeans over his
feet, and then took his socks off too.  She looked up to see him standing
with his hands on his hips, staring down at her.

   "Stay down there," he ordered.  "Touch me."

   She was only too glad to do that.  Her hand came up and she played with
his penis, sliding the skin back off the head, and watching, fascinated as
she made it slide back forward.  She moved it to one side, and saw that his
balls looked the same ...  full and round.

   "Kiss it," he said.

   She blinked.  She'd never done that before, and her natural inclination
was to believe that he had much more in mind than just a kiss.

   "Just a kiss ...  right?" she asked, her voice shaky.

   "For now," he said.

   She leaned forward, pursing her lips, and used her hand to make the
foreskin bunch up, covering the tip completely.  She kissed that, and
marveled at how soft the bunched up skin was.  It wasn't like his lips - it
was softer than that - but it was almost like kissing lips.  She rubbed her
lips against the skin, and felt it move around.  She liked that feel.

   "Use just the tip of your tongue and play with it a little," he said.

   Kissing it had been fun, so she let herself do what he said, using the
tip of her tongue to spear into the collar of soft skin.  She felt her
tongue run into the tip, under the skin.  It was hard and smooth, a
completely different feel, and it was fascinating.  She stopped to taste,
but the only sensation was of skin.

   He let her play, and it was only natural for her to push with her lips,
until they moved the collar of skin back enough that her lips could try
feeling the smooth hard skin of his glans too.  The new sensations were
curiously satisfying to her, and she realized that she liked doing this. 
She was surprised, because she'd always thought of what she was doing as
something nasty ...  something women were forced to do ...  and not
something women liked.  But she liked it.

   "Put the tip in your mouth," he said softly.

   Just ten minutes ago she would have rebelled at that, but now, she let
her lips slide back, moving wider as the thickness of what she was putting
in her mouth increased.  That loose skin got in the way, and she pulled it
back with her hand, until the whole head was uncovered.  Her mouth was
suddenly full of hard, slick skin.  It fit perfectly, like a huge pacifier,
and her cheeks caved in by instinct as she sucked.

   "AHHHHHHH" he moaned.  "That feels so good.  You're being a very good
girl, Mandy."

   She felt another surge of emotion.  Only her father had ever called her
Mandy.  No one else had ever tried, but she would have corrected them, if
they had.  Only the man she loved more than life itself could call her
that.

   And now Bobby, she realized.  Bobby could call her that too.  She sucked
harder, and took more of his penis into her mouth.  There was a point at
which it was unmanageable, and she didn't try going farther.  Instead, she
just enjoyed the feel of that part sliding along her lips.  She pulled back
and off, to swallow the saliva that had built up, and then slid her lips
back on.

   "You're very good at that," he sighed.

   She pulled off long enough to say: "I've never done this before."

   "I don't want to cum in your mouth," he said.  "Stop now."

   She didn't mind doing that either.  Sucking it was fun, but she wasn't
at all sure that tasting his semen would be a good thing.

   She stood, to be pulled in for a long kiss, with his penis rubbing
between her legs.  She thought it was odd he'd want to kiss her, after
where her lips had just been, and then remembered kissing him after his
lips were wet with her own juices.  She had tasted that tangy flavor, on
his lips, but had been so horny that she just didn't care.

   They stood there, kissing and rubbing up against each other for what
seemed like an hour, but was only ten minutes, and then he pushed her away.

   "Get on the bed," he said, going to his knapsack, which Amanda hadn't
seen him bring in.

   She lay back on the bed and watched as he drew out a hand full of rope.

   "This is the kind of rope they make halters out of, for horses," he
said, conversationally.

   She giggled, as a loop of the rope fell, and got hung up on his penis.

   "I'm going to tie you up tonight," he said, his voice calm.  It sounded
like he had just said something like "I'd like a pillow on the bed,
please."

   Concern flashed into Amanda, and she sat up.  He held up a hand.

   "Hush," he said.  "See these big loops here?" He showed her how one end
of a rope was tied into a loop that was probably ten inches in diameter. 
"This rope is soft, and your hands and feet will go in these loops.  You'll
be able to get out of them any time you want to." He pushed her back down
and she watched with wide eyes as he looped one of the ropes around her
left wrist.

   "See how you can hold on?" he said, wrapping her own hand around the
extra part of the loop, thereby making it tight on her wrist.  "Hold on
while I tie the other end to the headboard."

   That curious stab of exciting fear was back, and she watched as he tied
the other end of the rope to an upright post.  There was a gap between that
post and the rest of the headboard, which was oval in shape, and left four
corners empty at the edges.  He pulled her arm straight, and then loosened
the rope so that she could bend her elbow slightly.  Without another word,
he went and did the other wrist.  It was plain that by simply letting go of
the rope with her hand, she could slip her hand out of the loop.  Her mind
worked furiously, trying to figure out what he was doing ...  or more to
the point ...  WHY he was doing this.

   "You can't grip the loop with your feet," he said, moving to her right
foot.  "So, the loop there will be a little tighter, but you'll still be
able to wiggle your foot free if you want to."

   Of COURSE she'd want to!  Why would she let herself be trussed up like a
chicken ...  a sacrificial lamb?

   "Be patient!" he ordered, as if he could somehow read her mind.  "You'll
understand later." Again he added "I hope" in his mind.

   She subsided, and let him tie her remaining foot to the bottom of the
bed.  She was spread eagle, now, and felt uncomfortably exposed.  She
didn't like this already, but forced herself to remain silent, waiting to
see what he was going to do.  He got a pillow and slid his whole arm under
the middle of her back, lifting her like she was weightless.  He slid the
pillow under her butt.  Again, she had the mental image of herself as being
some kind of sacrifice ...  a virgin being given to a dragon ...  held
helplessly, waiting to be devoured.

   "I don't like this!" she hissed, unable to keep silent any longer.

   "Be patient!" he ordered again.

   He went to the knapsack and got a bottle out of it.

   "This is different than the one last night," he said.  "It will get hot
if I blow on it.  Then it gets really hot if I apply friction." She stared
at him.  "It also tastes like cherries," he said, grinning.

   He came to the bed and tipped the bottle onto two fingers.  She watched
as he reached out and rubbed her left nipple with it.  She felt the heat
instantly, and pulled at the rope on her left hand.  He moved to the other
one and did that one too.  Then he bent over and blew on the left nipple.

   She couldn't believe the heat that blossomed on the tip of her breast.
It felt like a warm biscuit on her fingers, or against her lips.  It felt
good.

   "You're going to have to lie there and feel these things for a while,"
he said.  "I'm going to tease you.  That's what the ropes are for.  I want
you to stay in them ...  to discipline yourself.  They are your aide ... 
your helper ...  to help you be patient while I tease you.  I'm going to
tease you a lot, Amanda, but I'll give you satisfaction ...  eventually. 
Don't speak, but tell me if you understand."

   She nodded.

   He wiped the new cream on her pussy lips, spreading them apart and
blowing on them while she squirmed.  With her butt in the air, and her legs
restrained, she couldn't move her hips, and it was at once frustrating and
curiously ...  fun.  She had to lie there and feel the oddly different
coolness of his breath, blowing on her, and the heat that the cream
generated.  He blew and rubbed at her pussy lips until she moaned, and then
put a big dab of the stuff right on her clit.  When he blew on that, she
groaned.  The heat was delicious.

   Bobby watched as her clit peeked out of its protective sheath.  He had
noticed, before, that it was smaller than others he'd seen, and more
protected, but just as sensitive.  That's why he had positioned her like
this, the night before, so he could fuck her without stimulating it.  She
came too quickly when her clit was involved, and he wanted to make it last,
so she could feel the difference between languid lovemaking, and the hot
pursuit of an orgasm.  Now, as her clit reacted to the gel, and began to
protrude, he flicked it with his fingertip.  She jerked, and moaned.  He
flicked it again, trying only to touch that organ, while he blew on it. 
She turned and twisted under him, though, and he had to put the heel of his
hand on her thigh, to steady his hand, so that, no matter how she twisted,
she couldn't get away from the tip of his finger.  He mashed down with the
tip, rubbing back and forth and got a hoarse cry of satisfaction as she
squirted a full stream of fluid at him.  He'd forgotten about that, but let
it splash against his chin, grinning as he continued to flick her clit and
she groaned her way through an orgasm.  He looked up to see the rope tight
around her wrists, her knuckles white with the strain of gripping the loop
and pulling.

   "Not fair!" she gasped, as he started rubbing the little organ gently.
"You're ...  killing ...  me," she panted.

   "I'm not killing you," he said.  "I'm teasing you.  You're a good girl
for keeping your hands in the loops.  I'm going to reward you for that
soon."

   Amanda heard his words and, with something like shock, realized how
tightly she was holding onto the loops.  She let go, momentarily, and felt
relief flood through her as she felt the looseness.  All she had to do was
slip her hands out, and she'd be free!  She felt him lick her clit, and
pressed her butt down against the pillow that was arching her loins up into
the air.  It felt so delicious.  The orgasm had been a different kind, with
all the sensation in one tiny spot.  She hadn't felt his skin against hers.
He wasn't weighing her down.  It had been as if her whole consciousness had
been able to cram into one little spot, that then exploded back out into
her body.  And the whole time she had stayed in the restraints.  She
realized, instinctively, that she would have touched him, if her hands had
been free.  She would have touched his head, or his shoulders ... 
somewhere ...  and she also realized that it would have been a different
kind of orgasm if she had.

   With a thrill of understanding, she thought about how, by taking away
some options ...  with the ropes ...  he had given her others, that she'd
never have known about.  With something like ecstatic hope, she waited for
more to be revealed, and re-gripped the ropes tightly.

   He licked his way up her loins, and rubbed some gel on her abdomen.  He
blew, and she almost cringed as the heat suffused her belly, seeming to
sink down inside her body.  That glow fused with the glow left over in her
pussy, and she suddenly felt hornier than she'd ever been in her life.

   "Pleeease," she groaned.  "I need you in meeeee."

   "Be patient!" he ordered.

   He rubbed then, smoothing his hand all over her belly, and her skin felt
on fire.  It was decidedly hot, but not the kind of hot that hurt.  It sank
into her bones, and she went limp, just feeling his hand rubbing over her
abdomen.  His hands moved toward her breasts, and she sucked in breath,
unable to imagine what that heat would feel like there.  He stopped to
dribble the stuff on her breasts, right onto her nipples, and she began
begging.

   "Oh please, Bobby, I can't take this ...  please not there ...  not on
my breasts ...  I'm burning up already, Bobby."

   "Hush," he said, and started rubbing her breasts.  The heat exploded,
feeling like she had bent over and lowered her breasts into hot water.  She
suddenly felt herself penetrated, and raised her head to see his penis
halfway in her.

   Her cry, half agonized ecstasy, and half relief at being filled, was so
loud that Bobby was afraid she'd wake her father, though he was two doors
down, and on the other side of the hallway.  He pulled out of her, and her
cry turned to a moan of "Nooooo".

   "Your father is going to think I'm down here killing you," he hissed.

   "I can't help it," she moaned.  "It feels so good!"

   "Discipline yourself," he urged her, leaning down to suck a nipple clean
of the heating gel.  He did the other one too, and then blew on her
breasts.

   The difference in feeling was so stark that it shocked her into silence.
Her breasts felt hot, from his breath, but her nipples, warm from the gel
and then his mouth, crinkled in the cool of his blown breath.  Now it felt
like her breasts were in warm water, that somehow had ice cubes down in it,
that touched only her nipples.

   "Put it back in ...  pleeease," she moaned, wiggling her hips.  She
lifted her head and saw it lying on her pubic hair ...  so close ...  but
so far.

   "You were a bad girl," he scolded, kissing her lips briefly, before she
let her head flop back down on the pillow.  "You yelled.  What would your
father think if he saw you like this?"

   She bit her lip, trying to keep quiet.

   "I'll help you," he said.

   He stood, straddling her, and she wobbled back and forth as his weight
shifted from one foot to the other.  He smeared his erect penis with the
gel, and walked forward until his feet were in her armpits.  He squatted,
and then had to push his penis down, because it was straining up.  He
rubbed her lips with the tip and she opened her mouth, lifting her head to
capture the tip.  Her lips slid off the foreskin, but she got a taste of
cherry.

   "Put this in your mouth, to keep you quiet," he said.

   He bent his knees more, letting her get her mouth to his prick. 
Intuitively, she blew, knowing what that would feel like, and he grinned,
using his hand to rub the tip against her pursed lips.  He dropped some
more, so she wouldn't have to strain upwards, and she kept her lips tight,
forcing the foreskin back as he pushed, and sealing her lips around the
dip, behind the head.  She sucked hard, and raked the tip gently with her
teeth.

   "Ow," he said mildly.  "You're being a bad girl again."

   She had had enough.  She let the rope slip off her left wrist, and
reached for him, gripping his balls and the base of his penis gently, but
firmly.  She left her right hand in the restraint, though.  He removed his
hand, and she pulled at him, letting her get more of his prick into her
mouth.  She sucked hard, and ran her tongue all around the head, tasting
the cherry stuff, and feeling her lips get hot from the friction of rubbing
them along his shaft.

   He let her suck him until she calmed down, and began to suck less hard,
and more lovingly, massaging his balls with her fingers.  His thighs began
to burn, though, and she was doing too good a job.

   "Enough," he said.  "I told you ...  I don't want to cum in your mouth."

   He pulled out, and she let him go, watching as he stood and then bent
over to put her hand back in the loop.

   "Where to you want to cum?" she asked, her voice ragged.

   "I want to cum in your pussy," he said.  "In your warm, slick pussy."

   "You're not wearing a rubber," she said, feeling an urgency in her loins
that she didn't understand.

   "No, I'm not," he said.

   "I haven't had time to get on the pill, yet, Bobby," she moaned.

   "You invited me here tonight," he reminded her.

   "I didn't know it would be like this," she panted, as he got back
between her restrained thighs.

   "You didn't know any of this would happen when you called me," he said.

   He gripped his prick and swabbed it between her pussy lips, up and down,
rubbing the tip gently over her clit.  She hissed and groaned.

   "Tell you what," he said, pushing in an inch, and then pulling back out.
"When the time comes, I'll let you decide."

   "Decide what?" she gasped.

   "Whether I cum in your sweet, unprotected womb ...  or on your stomach
...  right here." He reached and rubbed her abdomen, and the heat from the
gel exploded there again.  That heat seemed to sink down into her, and she
imagined her womb swelling as the heat sank into it.

   "I can't get pregnant," she whined.  "It's not the right time ...  I'm
not married!  I have work to do!"

   "Then you'll decide to have me put it here," he said, rubbing her belly
more.  "Instead of here," he added, sliding his prick all the way into her.

   She groaned, and her pussy fluttered, spasming in welcome.  She didn't
feel stretched.  Instead, she felt the heat from the gel still on his
prick, as it rubbed her tender inside flesh.  He was standing on his knees,
and moved his hands to lift her hips higher, so his penis wouldn't contact
her clitty.

   "Ohhh please don't stop," she panted.  "If you stop I'll just die!"

   "I won't stop," he said.  "This is your reward ...  even though you were
a bad girl several times, I love you, and I want you to be happy."

   "You love me?" she whined.

   "Like you love me," he said.  "Do you want an orgasm?"

   "Ohh please!" she moaned.

   He fell forward, pushed in deep, and rotated his loins, with his lips
just above hers.

   "Oh yes!" she sighed.  "Yes, Bobby, OH YES ...  HERE IT COMES ...  OH
BOBBY!  OH BABY YEEEESSSSSS!"

   He covered her mouth with his, and she quit talking, to start kissing,
pushing her head against him.  Her arms pulled hard, and shook the bed, as
her legs moved too, trying to draw up, but were stopped by the ropes. 
Again, the orgasm felt different to her, piercingly sharp as, unable to use
her hands or legs, she had to feel it only where they were joined.  His
thickness plugged her completely, and her pussy muscles hugged his prick,
squeezing as the sensations rippled through her belly.

   He raised his lips, to let her breathe, and she panted softly, as the
orgasm wound down.  Chapter Ten

   She had caught her breath, finally, after an orgasm that had left her
weak and helpless.  Only a small part of that was because she had strained
against the ropes as she came hard.  She was relaxing, as his hands moved
all over her body, stroking her gently.  The most amazing thing of it all
was that though she was still tied, she no longer felt restrained, really.
The ropes were now just something to hang on to as he took her on this wild
ride.

   "You want to be on top?" he asked softly.

   "Can I?" she gasped.

   "Yes," he said.

   Her hands slipped out of the ropes and he helped with her feet.  She got
on her hands and knees as he scooted under her.  Almost frantically, she
squatted, and sank down on him.  Immediately she leaned forward, dangling a
pear shaped breast in his face, and her hips went crazy, moving her clit
against the base of his prick.

   She couldn't get enough, moving unceasingly through four orgasms,
moaning and crying and kissing him, mashing her breasts in his face, and
demanding that he suck them, only to jerk them out of his mouth as she
raced through another orgasm.  She felt like she was rubbing her clit raw,
but couldn't stop, until finally she ran out of energy and fell onto his
chest, gasping weakly for air.e

   "I don't believe this," she panted.  "This can't be real."

   "It's very real," he said, into her hair, stroking her back.

   "All that time," she panted.  "And you didn't cum once."

   "You don't want to get pregnant," he reminded her.

   She raised up, putting her forearms on his chest, and looking down into
his blue eyes.

   "Why do I want to feel you cum in me, then?" she asked.

   "Do you?"

   "Yes!" she moaned.  "It feels so good and warm when you do that."

   "When was your last period?" he asked.

   "I finished up just before I met you," she said.

   "It's probably safe," he said.

   "But what if it's not?" she moaned.

   "Then you'll have my baby," he said.

   "You drenched me last night," she whined.

   "You might already be pregnant," he whispered.

   She sat up.  He was still hard ...  still deep inside her.  She looked
down at her flat belly, and her hands went to rub.  The residual gel there
heated up instantly, and she felt the ball of heat sink into her again,
bathing her womb with heat.  She tried to imagine a baby in there, being
warmed by her hands.  It was too bizarre.  She closed her eyes, filled with
hot prick, and rubbed more.  She brought her hands up to her breasts and
rubbed them.  Heat exploded in them too, like they were full of hot milk,
for a baby.  She felt that strange urgency in her belly again, like when he
had said he wanted to spurt in her pussy.

   She looked down at the man who had turned her whole world upside down.
Her mind coalesced into an understanding of this man that most women
wouldn't have been able to rationalize.

   "Do you want to get me pregnant?" she asked, her voice steady.

   "You don't want to get pregnant," he responded.

   "But do you WANT to get me that way?" she asked, leaning forward, her
eyes inches from his.

   "Yes," he whispered.

   Her belly did flip-flops, and there was a burning in her breasts that
wasn't due to the lotion.

   "You've done this before ...  haven't you?" she said, her voice still
steady.  "You've gotten other women pregnant ...  haven't you?"

   "Yes," he whispered again.

   Her pussy squeezed his prick, all by itself.  She could no more have
stopped it than she could have stopped her heart beating.

   "How many?" she asked.

   "Does it matter?" he asked.

   "Yes," she said, her voice firm.

   "Many," he said softly.

   "Many," she repeated.  "More than two?"

   He smiled.

   "More than five?" His smile didn't waver.

   "More than ten?" her voice went up and her pussy clenched again.

   "There are more than ten babies," he said, softly.

   She felt a weakness flow through her, but had to ask the next question.

   "Some women have had more than one of your babies?"

   He nodded.

   She sat back up and felt the prick that had made more than ten babies,
fully penetrating her pussy.  It clenched, yet again.

   "Mandy, honey," he said.  "If you don't want to have a baby, that's
fine."

   "I know that," she said.  "Be quiet.  I'm thinking."

   What she was thinking about was that she had a good job, that was going
to get better, if her father's plan worked out.  She knew the staff would
love it.  She would be busy.  She thought of the men she had seen in the
past ...  the pool of men she might have to choose from, if she wanted to
get married and start a family.  That pool was, in her opinion, shallow and
stagnant.  She knew that somebody could come along, out of the blue, like
Bobby had ...  but that could not be counted on.  She tried to imagine what
it would be like to enter the dating game ...  the time that would take ...
the false starts, and disappointments she'd likely face.  She was thinking
about her father, and how she had no idea how long he had left.  Could he
wait, while she tried to find a mate, and make him a grandfather?  Did she
even WANT a mate?  The thought of that was foreign.  At the same time, the
thought of her father as a grandfather was as natural as it could be.

   She looked down at Bobby.  He was gorgeous.  He was smart.  If she WERE
looking for a mate, she'd want someone like him.  She closed her eyes and
remembered last night, when he had flooded her with his warmth ...  his
seed.  He had known she was unprotected ...  that he might be breeding her
...  like he had bred other women.  Ten babies!  MORE than ten babies!  She
felt the urgency in her loins, and recognized it for what it was.  Her
loins wanted her to fulfill her destiny as a woman ...  to take a man's
seed, and procreate with it.

   With her eyes still closed, she rubbed her belly again, and again felt
the heat sink into her insides.  This time she imagined a tiny little Bobby
in there, with a tiny little forelock.  He was smiling, looking at her with
blue eyes, saying "Thank you, Mommy, that makes me feel warm!"

   She giggled.  It was insane!  She must be crazy!  She giggled some more,
and felt her pussy muscles clenching his prick.

   She opened her eyes and looked down at him.  He looked so peaceful,
lying there.  She leaned over to kiss him, and felt a zing in her clit. 
Suddenly she was rubbing furiously, reaching for another orgasm, that was
almost instantly within reach.  She panted into his mouth, licking his
lips, sucking at his tongue.  Ahhhhhh ...  there it was ...  another
delightful orgasm, courtesy of Bobby Dalton, the man she had hired to fuck
her.  As soon as she was done, she rolled off and splayed herself open.

   "Fuck me, Bobby Dalton," she panted.  "I hired you to fuck me.  Now, get
to work!"

   She laughed as he rolled, his urgency clear.  He was an animal, slamming
into her and rutting, bouncing her as she kept laughing.  She taunted him.

   "Are you going to cum in my pussy, Bobby?" she laughed.  "Are you going
to make a baby in me?  I'm not going on the pill, Bobby.  I'll never go on
the pill.  Fuck me, Bobby!  Fuck me all night long!"

   He stiffened, and pushed hard ...  so hard that she slid up the bed and
her head hit the headboard.  Then she felt heat of a different kind, from
the inside out, this time, and that strange urgency in her belly yipped,
like a wild Indian, in time with the pulsing spurts of his seed as he
powered it into her womb. 
================================================== Sixty miles away, while
Paul Engle's parents were playing bridge at another house, Paul and Linda
Dalton were lying on the couch in Paul's living room.  Paul was now used to
the fact that Linda was his girlfriend.  He was also used to what Linda was
doing to him as her warm mouth covered and sucked his adolescent penis.  He
was also used to making her feel good the same way, as he lapped and sucked
at the wet folds of her vulva, until she shuddered and told him she was
cumming.

   The new part of this was that they were naked ...  completely naked ...
gloriously without clothing, and were engaged, for the first time, in what
was commonly called sixty-nining.  They had never had the chance to take
off all their clothes.  When they went on dates, Linda wore dresses, or
skirts, if she planned on getting her pussy licked.

   There were two problems with this not-so-innocent scenario, at least
from the viewpoint of a concerned parent.  The first was that Paul, was
finally able to view himself as a virile male of the species, who had
attracted an eminently beautiful and interested mate.  His former
insecurity and disbelief were gone, and he was finally able to react like a
male.  The second was that Linda was used to having a man fuck her socks
off, when she was completely naked with him.

   For those two reasons, when Paul suddenly reversed his orientation to
Linda, and she spread her legs for him, he suddenly had the urge to find
out what her pussy felt like, wrapped around his teenaged prick.  And,
since this was what Linda had been slowly manipulating him toward, she was
only too glad when the blunt tip of Paul's penis began to force entry into
her pussy.

   No words were spoken as his penis went deeper and deeper, slowly and
tentatively, almost like someone walking through a house in the dark ... 
feeling his way ...  worried about running into some obstruction.  Linda's
sigh of completion, finally feeling the penis of the boy she loved, deep
inside her, was all that was needed for Paul to realize that she wasn't
going to stop him, or complain.  He was pretty stupid, for being a genius.
Men are that way sometimes.  If he'd have stopped to think, rationally and
logically, he'd have realized that this was the very first time that he had
taken a sexual step with Linda on his own.  Every other thing they'd ever
done had been at her suggestion.

   But he didn't think about that, as he bottomed out in hot, clasping
pussy, for the first time in his life.  In fact, he didn't think about much
anything.  He merely reacted.  His body, on heightened alert anyway, was
assisted by his emotional state, which was, to tell the truth, spastic in
the extreme.  He made two strokes, and blasted his lover full of potent
teenaged spunk.

   Being a genius, Paul was relatively sure that it was supposed to last
longer than that.

   "I'm sorry," he groaned, both disillusioned with his first foray into
complete sex, and, at the same time, elated beyond measure that he was now
a real man.

   "It's OK," murmured his lover.  "You can go again in a few minutes."

   Again, had the genius stopped to think about it, he might have wondered
how she knew that ...  or why she was so patient with him.  He might have
suspected that it was on the edge of possibility that she had done this
before.  In truth, he HAD thought that in the past, as she taught him to
kiss, and seemed to be awfully accomplished at sucking him dry with her
warm mouth.  But Paul was the kind of guy who would never even begin to
think that the woman who had just given him the precious gift of her
virginity, could be anything less than ...  a virgin.

   What her calm, whispered encouragement resulted in, was the final
connection between the synapses in Paul's body that, in turn, resulted in
him coming to the decision that he must never let this woman leave him, in
any way, shape or form ...  that he must find a way to get her to marry him
...  that she would have his children some day.

   Paul Engle was in love.

   Like most men, he was finishing a race, weak and panting, while the
woman involved had already finished, showered, done her hair, and was
waving a sign of welcome as he staggered across the finish line.

   Perhaps it was because he was weak, staggering and panting, that he
reacted to the last connection of the synapses in his body in the way he
did.

   "You HAVE to marry me, Linda," he gasped.

   "I thought you'd never ask," said the beautifully coifed woman, holding
the welcome sign, at the finish line.  Chapter Eleven

   Amanda was insatiable, that night, waking Bobby three times, and
demanding that he fill her again.  In the morning she mistook his piss
hardon for desire for her, and climbed on, riding him through two orgasms
before he pushed her off by pure brute force and hopped to the bathroom. 
Had it been outside her room, in the hallway, he'd have hopped out there
naked, so urgent was his need to empty his bladder.

   She was waiting for him, her legs and arms in the restraints again, when
he came out, and he laughed.

   "Don't laugh at me, you bastard!" she snarled, pulling at the ropes. 
"You made me this way!"

   She had told him, between times, as they lay panting, about asking her
father questions about the station, and about his answers that told her he
approved of a format change.  He stood over her, leaned down to suckle at a
nipple, and then calmly reminded her of that.

   Her eyes opened wide and she strained to look at the clock.  It was
almost seven ...  on a Tuesday morning ...  when she needed to be at work,
talking to Rodney and the others.  She scraped her wrists, trying to get
them out of the restraints she had put herself into, her lust suddenly
banked, and jumped up out of the bed as he stood, grinning at her.

   "I hate you!" she said, unconvincingly.  "I'll be horny all day, and
it's all your fault."

   "Come on, now," he teased, pulling her against him and feeling her butt.
He ground his now-limp penis into her groin.  "Don't be like that."

   She fought him with a tiger's strength, pushing and slapping at him to
get away, and stood, panting and wild-eyed.

   "Are you going to get dressed and come with me?" she asked.

   "You're so impatient," he teased.

   She looked down, to see a thick stream of Bobby's spunk draining out of
her.  She wasn't surprised.  She'd demanded that he squirt in her every
time they'd made love.  As she watched, a string oozed out, stretched, and
dropped to the floor with a wet plop.

   "If you didn't make me pregnant last night, it isn't possible for you to
make me pregnant," she hissed.

   "I only gave you what you needed," he said, his face suddenly calm.

   "I know that," she said, just as calmly.  "I'm going to need it again."

   "That's what I'm here for," he said.

   Then it was her that hugged him, gripping him tightly and pushing her
breasts into his chest.  She kissed him feverishly, several times ... 
impatient kisses ...  hungry kisses, and then pushed him away.

   "Get dressed," she said, her voice pleading.  "Come with me.  You helped
make this happen.  You should be there when I tell them."

   "OK," he said.  "Even though I'm worn to a frazzle, and dead tired, I'll
go with you.  I'd probably fall asleep on the way home anyway."

   "Stay here today," she urged.  "You can fall asleep on me tonight."
================================================= Her father was up and in
the kitchen, sitting by the kitchen table while Doris, the morning
attendant fixed his oatmeal.  Amanda was thinking too fast to think about
the fact that Bobby was there, with her, in front of her father, but, in a
peculiar bent of mind, stopped to inform Doris that he could have real
food. Then she had to demonstrate how to question him, using the bean bags.
kissing her father on the forehead, she told him she loved him and
literally ran from the kitchen, to find Bobby already in the car, with the
engine running.

   Since Bobby was driving, she had time to think, and that was when she
realized that her father had seen Bobby in the house, early in the morning,
coming from the direction of her room.  She moaned and covered her eyes
with her hand.

   "What's wrong?" he asked.  She told him.  "You're a grown woman," he
said.

   "Yes, but Daddy's always been very conservative about things like that,"
she sighed.  "I don't know how to explain this to him."

   "You'll find a way," said Bobby.  He sounded confident, and that made
her feel a little better.

   By the time they got to the station, she was excited again, and had
pushed the problem of her father to the back of her mind.  She whisked into
the station like a whirlwind, barking at the employees, except for the DJ
on duty, to meet her in her office.  Once there, she introduced Bobby.

   "Some of you know about this man.  I hired him ...  as a consultant. 
He's been working with Daddy, and has worked out a way to communicate with
him."

   "You're a therapist?" Rodney's voice squeaked.

   "He does the same things that a therapist does," said Amanda, answering
for Bobby, who smiled.  "That's not important.  What's important is that we
found out Daddy thinks we should have a format change."

   Eyes darted at other eyes, all of which were avoiding Amanda.

   "I know, I know," she sighed.  "You've been trying to get both Daddy AND
me to do that for a long time.  OK, we're going to do it.  How many of you
ever listen to WRMZ in Wichita?"

   More eyes darted back and forth.  Belinda, the college girl who made the
pre-recorded tapes that Amanda had used on the nights she worked the sound
booth, as well as the ones used when no one was in the station, timidly
raised her hand.

   Amanda snorted.  "Just one of you?  Or is she the only one who's willing
to tell the truth?"

   Two more hands went up, the receptionist ...  and Rodney.

   "Good," said Amanda.  "If you listen to that station, you know what
Daddy likes, because he's had our radio at home on that station for ...  I
don't know how long.  Like a dope, I thought the people taking care of
Daddy kept changing it, but then, thanks to Bobby, I found out otherwise."
Actually, she lied about that, but figured it wasn't important.  What was
important was getting people to accept Bobby as part of the team, because
she wanted Bobby around her from now on, at least sometimes.

   "You're serious?" asked Julie.  "We're going with rock?"

   "We're going with what people are buying," said Amanda.  "I don't want
to get into a corner here," she said.  "e may be the first multiple format
radio station in the state.  And I want to find advertisers who will
sponsor a long song program too, where we can play things that are five ...
six ...  seven minutes long.  Nobody else is doing that, and I want KDEF to
be the pioneers of that kind of flexibility.  Start talking to people whose
customers are between sixteen and thirty.  Tell them what we want to do and
try to sell half hour sponsorships.  We're going to try to run half hour
slots with nothing but music, and the listeners will then be told who
brought that uninterrupted music to them.  Got it?"

   "Yes MA'AM!" squealed Julie.  "Can I start now?"

   "Don't be so impatient," said Bobby, his voice soft.  Everybody looked
at him.  "You don't even have a suggested playlist for them to look at ...
samples for them to listen to.  Get your ducks in a row before you start
shooting at them."

   "Oh," said Julie, deflating a bit.  "Yeah." She looked embarrassed.

   "Don't feel bad," said Amanda, slapping Bobby on the arm.  "If I had a
nickel for each time he told me I was too impatient, I wouldn't need to run
a radio station to eat."
======================================================= Amanda didn't call
Bobby for almost a week after the decision was made to change the format of
the station.  That turned out all right for Bobby, though, because, during
that week, Rhonda Wilson delivered his daughter, who she named Elizabeth.

   Rhonda and Herb were still married, but now it was admitted to be a
marriage of convenience, which suited them both.  Rhonda, having been
pulled out of her shell by Bobby, loved being pregnant.  She loved the
attention it got her when she was out in public.  Men looked at her
differently than they had ...  IF they had ...  looked at her before.  She
felt confident and happy.  Like the other women, she loved the father of
her baby, but that love wasn't the kind of love most women tend to lavish
on their mate.  It was more like Bobby was her best friend - best male
friend - someone she would cherish forever, but never own, or claim
exclusively.

   Her best female friend, Janet Griswold, who had been responsible for
getting Bobby and Rhonda together in the first place, was less happy. 
Rhonda had been emotionally dependent on Janet for years.  That was no
longer the case, though they were still best friends.  In truth, Janet was
little envious of Rhonda, because Rhonda was almost always happy, these
days.

   Janet stood in the hospital room of her best friend, and admitted that
she was nervous and skittish.  There were two reasons for that.  The first
was the baby she was holding ...  Rhonda's baby ...  cute, adorable,
darling Elizabeth, who was so tiny, and so perfect that it just made
Janet's womb quiver.  The second was that Elizabeth's father was there too,
standing right next to her.  Janet could feel his breath on her face.  She
had looked up at him earlier, as they examined the precious bundle of joy
in her arms.  She had immediately decided never to look into those blue
eyes again.

   That was because they made her womb quiver too.

   At thirty-one years of age, divorced twice, and childless, as she held
little Elizabeth, Janet Griswold knew that she needed to get laid.

   She had hired Bobby, as a joke, for twenty dollars, to bed Rhonda.  That
twenty dollars had resulted in both Rhonda's and Janet's worlds being
turned upside down.  That upset had been caused by Bobby making love to
Rhonda almost endlessly, as far as Janet was concerned.  She couldn't
remember the number of nights she had called Rhonda, asking her to get
together, only to be told that Bobby was coming over that night.  Now, as
she held the fruit of all those unions, and saw the delight on her friend's
face when she looked at Bobby and their baby, she wanted, in the worst way,
to hire Bobby to do the same thing for her.

   The most frustrating part of it all was that she couldn't do that.  Well
...  to be truthful ...  the most frustrating part of it was that she
couldn't figure out WHY she just couldn't do that. 
===================================================== After a week of
working her tail off, organizing the efforts of her staff, and coming up
with a new business plan, Amanda recognized in herself, some old habits
that she no longer liked.  She was impatient and bossy.  She made up her
mind and resisted the input of people she now realized knew a whole lot
more about the radio business than she did.  She was fighting progress.

   She knew the cure for that, though.  She called Bobby. 
========================================================= Daddy was in bed,
and the dishes were cleaned up.  Her tummy was full and she felt an
electric anticipation for the hours ahead.  Tomorrow was Saturday, and all
she had to do in the morning was get up and take care of Daddy.  She still
hadn't talked to him about Bobby.  Her father had seemed glad to see him
again ...  had hooted at him when he arrived.  Bobby had made a table that
strapped onto the arms of Ron's wheel chair, so that the bean bags could be
used anywhere.  It was held in place by Velcro straps, and worked
perfectly. Once it was installed, they'd done a little talking with the
beanbags.

   She'd done much better with dinner, tonight, and Daddy had made the
motions that she now recognized meant he was tired and wanted to go to bed.
He'd seemed just as alert as ever, but she got him ready for bed anyway. 
He'd had another erection when she did the final cleanup of the day on his
groin.  That had only made her want to get to Bobby even more. 
================================================== "I want you to be in
control again," she said to Bobby, as she pulled him into her bedroom.

   "I didn't bring any ...  toys," said Bobby, taking her hand in his and
kissing her fingertips.

   "I don't care," she said.  "Make me do something.  I don't care what. 
Just be in charge.  Please?  I need you to straighten me out again."

   "Have you been a bad girl?" he asked, with mock severity in his voice.

   "Yes," she said meekly.  "I was a bitch at work.  They're trying so
hard, but I was bitchy to them."

   "I have to punish you," he sighed.

   "I know," she said, her voice young.

   "It's time for that spanking I've been warning you about," he said.

   She blinked.  "No!  Bobby!  That's not what I meant!"

   "Quiet!" he warned.  "Don't speak unless you have permission."

   "B.." The "but" died in her mouth as she clamped it closed.  She had
asked for this.  She needed this.  She hung her head.

   "Take your clothes off," he said.

   She stripped quickly, and stood before him.  She felt a rush of pressure
in her chest as he stared at her naked body.

   He sat on the bed, and told her to come to him.  When she did, he
grabbed her waist and pulled her down over his lap.  He WAS going to spank
her!

   "Bobby!" she yelped, flailing her arms, trying to get a purchase on
something with her hands ...  to resist.

   SMACK!

   The crack of his hand on her tender left butt cheek stung, and she
jerked.  The hand stayed there, though, and massaged.

   "Owwww," she complained, wiggling on his lap.

   SMACK!

   "OWWWW, BOBBEEEEE," she whined.  Her right buttock joined the left in
stinging.

   His left hand, in the middle of her back, kept her there.

   "Why were you a bitch at work?" he asked, rubbing the skin he had just
slapped.

   "I don't knoooowww," she moaned, tensing when his hand left her backside
...  anticipating another blow.

   SMACK!  He didn't disappoint her.

   Finally she bit her lip, and didn't respond.

   SMACK SMACK!

   "Uhhhhhh." She couldn't keep it in.

   She jerked again as his hand went from rubbing her butt, to dipping
between her legs to stroke her pussy.  Her outside leg sprang open, to give
him room.

   "You're wet," he said softly.

   "Uhhhhh," she groaned again as his finger found her clit and abused it.

   He pushed her off his lap so quickly that she wasn't prepared, and fell
to the floor with a thump.  She got up, and shot a look filled with daggers
at him ...  then watched, as he stood and started taking his clothes off
too.  When he was naked, and she saw his prick straining out from his body,
she wanted to giggle at the giddy anticipation of feeling it in her.  She
hopped up and crawled on the bed, to get into position.

   His hands clamped down on her hips as she got both knees on the bed. 
Her feet were still hanging off.

   "I didn't tell you to get on the bed," he said, his voice low ...  angry
sounding.

   SMACK!

   "AHHHHH," she complained.

   It wasn't until she suddenly felt the blunt head of his prick slide
along her pussy lips, that she looked around and realized what he was going
to do.

   "No!" she yipped.  "Not like this!"

   SMACK SMACK!

   The stinging pain reminded her that he was still in charge ...  that she
had put him in charge.  She didn't want to be taken like some animal.  It
was degrading!  To be mounted like a dog, or a cow was just unacceptable.
She tried to pull away from him by crawling forward, but his hands on her
waist stopped her, pulling her back against him.

   "Don't move!" he ordered.

   Her plan was to act like she was acceding to his demand, and then
explode into action, to get away from him.  She was secretly pleased when,
as she calmed, one of his hands left her hips.  She bunched her muscles to
move, and was astonished when his prick penetrated her, without warning,
and his hand came back to her hip.  He pulled and shoved his loins forward
at the same time and ...  suddenly ...  she was full of prick.

   "Uhhhhhh," she groaned.  Her arms felt weak, and her elbows bent, and
the next thing she knew, her forehead was on the bed, her ass sticking up
in the air.

   This felt different.  She couldn't put her finger on why, but it felt
different.  It was almost like when he had a pillow under her butt, and was
fucking her on his knees.  It felt good, in that massaging kind of way that
she could feel all day long and never get tired of.  She dragged her right
hand under her and felt for her clit.  Ahhhhhhh, yes!

   SMACK!

   "You may not have an orgasm yet!" he barked.

   SMACK, SMACK!

   "Oooooooo," she complained, taking her fingers away from her clitty. 
"Not fair!"

   SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!

   "Ooooowwwww," she whined.

   He rubbed her stinging bottom, and she sighed as he stroked.  His thumb
ran over her rectum and dug in a little.

   "Oh please, Bobby," she moaned.  "Not there ...  please, oh please
Bobby."

   "Will you be a good girl?" he asked, just rubbing her tight sphincter
with the tip of his thumb.

   "YES!" she squealed.  "I PROMISE!"

   "And you'll quit being a bitch at work?" he prodded, rubbing her tight
rear hole again.

   "YES!" she screamed.  "OH YES, BOBBY, I PROMISE ...  JUST please, not
there."

   "Some women like it there," he said, teasing.  He prodded harder, but
kept stroking.

   "Pleeeease," she begged.  "That's so nasty.  I couldn't take that.  I
mean it ...  please?"

   "Remember this, the next time you start getting bitchy at work," he
said, and pressed his thumb inside her.

   "AHHHHHHHHH" she screamed, pushing back at him, because she couldn't
push any other way.

   He took his thumb away, and stroked her butt again.  She took in a
sobbing breath and blew it out again.

   "I'll be good," she whined.

   "I believe you," he said, stroking her back.  His hands slid around to
cup her hanging breasts and squeeze them gently.  He squeezed the nipples
too, pulling at them.

   "Uhhhhhh," she moaned.  "It feels so good, Bobby, but I want to cum ...
please?"

   "Well, if you're going to be a good girl ...  I guess I could let you
cum," he said.

   With an almost sob of relief, her hand darted back to her clit, and she
wagged her fingers against it, spreading her knees.  Her head was still on
the bed, and the power of the orgasm that slammed into her made her put her
mouth into the bed so that her scream of completion didn't wake up her
father.  All the time, Bobby stroked her with his prick, moving faster as
her pussy squeezed and milked him.

   He leaned over her, putting his abdomen on her lower back, and his hands
on the bed beside her.  That let him use his abdominal muscles to hump
rapidly.

   "I'm gonna cum, Mandy," he grunted.  "I'm gonna cum in your sweet
pussy."

   "Yessss," was what she said, but the bed muffled it, and it came out
sounding more like "Mfffffff".

   "What?" he asked, speeding up even more.  "You want me to pull out? 
I'll shoot it on your back, if you want me to."

   Her arms pushed, and her head came around, her short hair flying.

   "NO!" she gasped, her eyes hot.  "In me, Bobby."

   "You're gonna have my baby," he warned.

   "I KNOOOOOW," she wailed, pushing her but back at him hard.

   "OK, baby," he crooned, reaching to touch her hair.  "This is for you."

   He slammed in four more times, and she felt the first spurt.  He pulled
back a little and hit her again, and she felt the second spurt.  He kept
doing that, pounding into her as he spurted, and she had to use all the
strength in her arms to keep from falling forward.

   The entire time, she looked over her shoulder at him, her brown eyes
locked with his blue ones, as he seeded her garden. 
=================================================== As he had done before,
once that "session" was over, Bobby cuddled with her, and she was in charge
again.  They both knew she was ultimately in charge, whatever happened, but
Bobby knew she would let him push the envelope sometimes, and that she
somehow needed him to do that sometimes.  Once he had done it, though, he
let her decide everything else for the night.

   Again, she decided to wake him, only twice this time.  Once she rode him
for an hour, moaning her way through five orgasms, and telling him how much
she loved him.  He didn't spurt in her, that time, and she fell asleep on
his chest.

   The next time, though, she wanted him on top, and she wanted his sperm,
telling him how much she wanted him to cum in her, and whispering that she
was going to have his baby, if only he would cum in her.  Her kiss, as she
felt him spurt was hungry and full of the passion of a woman who has
finally given in to the demands of her body.  She still thought it was
crazy to let him impregnate her ...  but she couldn't wait to learn that it
had happened.  Chapter Twelve

   In the morning, Bobby got up and got dressed with her.  He helped her
get her father up, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world
for him to be there, early on a Saturday morning.  Ron seemed relaxed, and
if Bobby's presence bothered him, it didn't show.  They used a hospital
bottle, a sort of portable bed pan, to relieve Ron's bladder.  Other
elimination needs could be done, with his help, by moving him to the
bathroom in his chair, and then transferring him to the toilet.

   Once that was done, Amanda started to bang around in the kitchen,
throwing together breakfast, and Bobby sat down with Ron at the dining room
table again.  The bean bags were already there, and Ron reached for them,
obviously wanting to talk.

   "OK," said Bobby.  "What shall we talk about?  The radio station?"

   Red bag.

   "The weather?" Bobby joked.

   Red bag.

   "Your daughter?"

   Green bag.

   "And me?"

   Green bag.

   "Has Amanda told you anything?"

   Red bag.

   "Well, you may be handicapped by your condition," said Bobby, "but
there's nothing wrong with your mind, and you probably know I spent the
night."

   Green bag.

   "Does that bother you?" asked Bobby.

   Ron's hand went toward the green bag first, and then dragged slowly back
to the red one, which he covered with his hand.

   "I think I'd feel the same way if she were my daughter," said Bobby. 
"All I can tell you is that I have only done what she asked me to do.  I
know that sounds strange, but it's true.  My concern is for her needs.  Can
you understand that?"

   Green bag.

   "Do you want to know if I love her?" asked Bobby.

   Again, Ron's hand drifted toward the green bag first, and then reversed
and landed on the red bag.

   "Do you want to know if she loves me?"

   Green bag.

   "Well, then," said Bobby, smiling.  "We'll just ask her when she gets
here with breakfast."

   Changing the subject, Bobby began asking him questions about his first
car.  There was surprise in Ron's eyes, but, by judicious application of
the rules of the game sometimes called twenty-questions, Bobby learned that
Ron's first car was a 1938 Chevrolet coupe.  It was black, and had a six
cylinder motor in it.  That as far as they got before Amanda came in with
plates of eggs, bacon and cereal.  She went back for milk and juice. 
Plates, utensils and glasses came out of the china cabinet in the dining
room

   "So," she said, sitting down.  "What have you guys been talking about?"

   "You, actually," said Bobby.  "And me."

   She had been reaching for the plate of eggs, and her hand stopped in mid
air.

   "Your father would like to know if you love me."

   She took her hand back, looking everywhere except at her father.

   "I know I should have talked to you before this," she said.  "but I
couldn't figure out how to say anything." She finally looked at him.  "Are
you mad at me?"

   His hand thumped down hard on the red bean bag.

   She glanced at Bobby, and then back at her father.  "It's hard to
explain," she said softly.  "Bobby makes me feel good.  I love being with
him.  He's so different than any other man I've ever met.  I DO love him
... in a way ...  but it's kind of like puppy love, I think." She looked
guardedly at her father.  "Does that make sense?"

   Green bag.  There was no hesitation.

   "I missed so much ...  going to work at the station," she said.  Ron
hooted and she went on.  "I'm not mad about it, Daddy.  I wanted to work
there ...  to work with you.  I'm not sorry either ...  but I missed
things. I don't know how to be with a man ...  a man I don't know.  I DO
want to get married some day, but this isn't the right time, and Bobby
isn't the right man.  I don't even know how to look for the right man,
Daddy."

   Ron hooted and his hand waved at Bobby.

   "I like him, Daddy," moaned Amanda.  "But he's not the right man.  I
love being with him, but something inside me tells me he's not the man I
want to spend the rest of my life with.  I'm sorry." She looked like she
was about to cry.

   Ron's hand slammed down on the red bag, and then he waved at Bobby
again.

   "Are you saying that I might help her learn how to find the right man?"
asked Bobby.

   Ron hooted and his hand crushed the green bag.

   Amanda's relieved grin split her face.  "Yes!" she yipped.  "I don't
mind that.  Bobby CAN help me that way.  I know he can."

   It was quiet for a while.  Amanda knew that progress had been made, but
she had to ask one more question.

   "Daddy?" she asked.  "Can Bobby keep coming to see me ...  here ...  at
night?"

   Ron's hand stayed dead in-between the two bags, not moving, not
trembling, as if he somehow had complete control over it again.  Then it
lifted and landed softly on the green bag.

   There was some boo hooing, and Amanda kissed the poor man so many times
that he finally pushed his hand against her, hooting in a different manner.
His eyes were dancing, though.  The rest of breakfast was pleasant, and
almost normal, with the exception that Amanda had to feed her father. 
==================================================== What happened after
breakfast, though, went far beyond what most folks would consider "normal".
Had Bobby stayed, it might not have happened, but he had things to do and,
after breakfast, went on his way.

   It came about innocently enough, when Amanda asked her father if he was
ready for his sponge bath.  He was usually bathed by the home help worker
every other day, but Amanda wanted him to be comfortable on the weekend, so
she sometimes bathed him.  Now that she could communicate with him, though,
she asked first.  With the bags she determined that he did want a bath so
she pushed him to his room.

   Getting him in bed wasn't as hard as she had thought it would be.  He
could stand on his good leg, though his bad one dragged.  Pulling him up,
she had him hold her shoulder with his good hand, while she pushed the robe
off of his shoulders.  It dropped as she steadied him, and she turned him,
swiveling on his good foot.  He fell backward with a hoot, and lay, with
his lower legs hanging off the bed.  She wrestled him up on the bed, until
he was lying comfortably on his back.

   That was when she noticed his erection.

   "Daddy!" she said, her voice scolding.  "You've got to stop doing that!
You're embarrassing me!"

   He hooted softly, which she took as an apology.

   "I'll be right back with the water and sponge," she said.

   She got that from the bathroom, and almost dropped it all as she
returned, to see him obviously trying to grip his erect penis.  She
stopped, in the open doorway and watched.  He finally caught it, and she
heard a soft moan escape his lips.  The hand jerked, and flew off.  His
penis flopped down onto his pubic hair.

   She backed up, feeling her face flush, and cleared her throat before
walking back into the bedroom.

   She pretended she hadn't seen what he'd done, but this was the first
bath she'd given her father since Bobby had expanded her world so much. 
Stroking her father's skin, and hearing the soft sounds that she now
recognized as pleasure, coming from his lips, she felt a different kind of
compassion for her father than she ever had before.  She knew he'd lost his
job, due to the stroke.  He'd lost the function in more than half his body.
He'd lost the ability to speak.  He'd lost his independence.  Now she
understood that he'd lost any possibility for sexual outlet too.

   It seemed odd to think of him as a sexual being.  That part was normal.
Children rarely see their parents as sexual beings, even though the
children themselves are the strongest evidence of that relationship.  Now,
though, because her own sexual life had blossomed so vibrantly, the
compassion she felt for her father was able to include compassion for that
part of his loss.

   He had regained the ability to communicate, thanks to Bobby.  It
occurred to her that she might be able to help her father, like Bobby had
helped her.  She skipped his penis and balls, going on down to his legs
first.  Then, when everything else was done, she took his erection in her
hand and swabbed it with the sponge.

   "Close your eyes, Daddy," she said, softly.  "Think about Mommy."

   She gripped his penis, and stroked it, like she had stroked Bobby's.

   The sounds he made were pitiful, and she was afraid she'd made a
terrible mistake, but, when she looked, his eyes were tightly closed.

   "Think of Mommy," she said again.  "Mommy is going to help you ... 
through me."

   Like Bobby, her father had a foreskin, and she knew how to do this.  She
watched the tip, looking for that clear little bubble of stuff that would
tell her it was working.  It came quickly, and his breathing doubled in
speed.  She remembered that, when Bobby wanted to cum ...  inside her - she
felt a thrill at that thought - he speeded up.  So she went faster.  His
honking moan of completion warned her, and semen shot two or three inches
up into the air as she kept stroking him.  It fell straight down, to coat
her thumb and forefinger, as well as the head of his cock, which began to
soften rapidly in her hand.

   As he gave a long sigh, that sounded decidedly happy and relieved, she
cleaned him up with the sponge.  She looked up at his face, and he was
looking down at her.  She didn't need the bean bags to know that he was
grateful.

   "I know it's wrong," she said softly.  "But these are special
circumstances.  I'm more than willing to do this for you whenever you need
it, because I love you."

   His hand came up off the bed, and reached for her head.  She dipped into
it, and felt him slide his hand down the side of her hair.  She kissed him
on the lips, this time ...  just a soft, quick kiss.

   "That was from Mommy too," she said, blinking teary eyes.

   She took the basin of water and sponge back to the bathroom and washed
them both out.  When she got back, his eyes were closed, and his breathing
was regular and slow.  She covered him with a blanket, and left the room.
She didn't feel one bit of shame or guilt for what she'd done.

   These WERE special circumstances. 
===================================================== They managed to pull
the new format together with an ad campaign that had the centerpiece phrase
of "At KDEF, we love you, and we're going to prove it on Valentines day."

   Julie found four new sponsors who agreed to give sponsoring half hour
segments of unbroken music a try, for a month.  DJs announced that changes
were being made, and that on Valentines Day, those changes would become
apparent.  Record companies were contacted, and provided music for the new
format.  When Valentines day came, and the six o'clock morning show took
off after the news and weather, they waited ...  anxiously ...  watching
the three phone lines that came into the station.

   All three lit up within ninety seconds, as Roberta Flack sang "The First
Time, Ever I Saw Your Face".  Cindy, with a tremor in her voice answered
the first line.  Rodney picked up the second, and Amanda picked up the
third.

   They were kept busy for the next three hours, as Roberta Flack was
followed by such selections as The Beach Boys, playing "In My Room"; Harold
Melvin and the Bluenotes, performing "If You Don't Know Me By Now"; Rick
Nelson, singing "Garden Party" and Dr.  Hook, with his hit "Sylvia's
Mother", Amanda didn't like Dr.  Hook, because she said it was too sad. 
Then Elton John's "Crocodile Rock" came on and she joined Rodney and the
others in dancing to it.

   Notes were scribbled and piled into two piles - positive and negative.
When the phone calls started to taper off enough that Cindy could handle
them all, there were twenty-three notes in the combined negative piles and
over four hundred positive comments about both the variety of the music
being offered and the uninterrupted flow of that music. 
==================================================== Throughout March
Amanda celebrated the positive response to the format change, both by
listeners and advertisers, by calling Bobby to her bed, at least once a
week.  If she was having a dizzyingly happy day, she often followed that up
by straining up against him as he stroked her happy pussy, and bathed it in
his semen.

   Julie began having trouble selecting advertisers, because, with the new
format, they had less time to air commercials.  That competition led to
increased ad revenues as advertisers began upping the ante, to get their
commercials on the KDEF airwaves.  Competitors who began losing ratings
shares to the newly revamped station stopped joking about "K-Deaf", and
started paying attention to the idea of having all different kinds of
segments in a daily broadcast, from a half hour of oldies, to a half hour
of the emerging country rock.  KDEF broke all the rules of radio, and the
money and fans poured in.

   There were bumps in the road, of course.  Amanda's penchant to be in
control raised it's ugly head from time to time but, once her employees had
tasted success, when they thought she was being obstinate, they told her
so.

   They also figured out that the best way to calm Amanda down was for her
to spend some time with Bobby.  She never admitted to her sexual
relationship with him, but they figured it out.  Seemingly innocent
comments told them things.  An example was one day when she said: "Oh, I
saw Bobby last night, and he said that our bumper stickers are showing up
all over the place in Granger," caused Jerry to take Rodney aside and say
"If she's in this good a mood because she saw Bobby, we need to get them
together more often."

   In fact, a day long argument, at the station, about whether to hire one,
or two more DJs, and eliminate the pre-recorded midnight to six program,
caused Julie to call Bobby herself.  Julie had calculated that they could
bring in twenty percent more money, if they used a live DJ at night, and
ran commercials.  Amanda insisted that things were wonderful, and there had
been no complaints.

   When Bobby knocked on her door, later that night, for an unscheduled
visit, Amanda was delighted.

   "To what do I owe the honor of this?" she asked.

   "You've been arguing with them at work," he said, his face calm.

   "They CALLED you?!" she moaned.  Then her eyes lit up.  "I've been bad
...  haven't I?"

   "I'm afraid you have," said Bobby, sadly.

   "Ooooo goody," she said.  She looked at the knapsack in his hand.  "Come
in," she said.  "Let me just get Daddy ready for bed, and then you can ...
deal with me." Her eyes were hot as she said it.

   "Do you want help with Ron?"

   "No," she said.  "We have a little routine, now.  I can do it by
myself." ====================================================== Their
little "routine", as she called it, involved relaxing her father, before he
went to sleep.  They had found that he slept much better, and with fewer
interruptions to his sleep, if he was ...  relaxed.

   It had been an almost inevitable progression.  Once she had masturbated
him, she had been almost eager to do it again.  It was one way she could
brighten his life.  To that end, she didn't exactly tease him, but she gave
up trying to be modest around him.  If she left the door to the bathroom
open, while she took a shower, he was usually sitting there, in the
doorway, when she got out and dried off.  She timed that to coincide with
his bedtime, so that his inevitable erection could be ...  relaxed.

   Stroking him to completion did the job, but it required cleanup.  The
obvious solution, to her, was to take him in her mouth, when he ejaculated.
Bobby had never cum in her mouth, always wanting to put his sperm in her
belly, where it might find an egg to fertilize.  She was a little nervous
about both tasting semen, and about taking her own father's penis into her
mouth.  The tasting was done after she masturbated him, one night.  She
cleaned him up, but left some semen on her hand and, while she was in the
bathroom rinsing the washcloth she had cleaned him with, she simply ran her
tongue through the stuff, while she was close to a toilet.

   She was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't icky at all.

   The next morning, she had gone, naked, to awaken her father.  He had
become erect almost instantly, and she had said "All this cleanup is a
problem, Daddy.  I hope you won't think badly of me for skipping that
part." Then she had sucked him.  He'd gone almost crazy, but it was obvious
that it was satisfying for them both.

   Now, as Bobby waited in the living room, she got her father into bed.

   "Bobby's here to make me feel good," she said, stroking him slowly. 
"But you're my Daddy, and I need to take care of you first." She lowered
her mouth to his cock, and he hooted softly, reaching to brush his unruly
hand against her hair.

   He bucked, and she sucked him dry.  She ran her hand over his chest.

   "I love you, Daddy," she said, smacking her lips.

   She tucked him in and then went to get her own satisfaction. 
===================================================== Amanda found herself
tied up again, but this time it was in a chair, with her wrists behind it,
her butt on the edge of the seat, and her ankles in loops fastened to the
back legs.  She was almost obscenely exposed, this way.  She felt so wet
that she knew she was dripping on the edge of the uncomfortable wooden
seat.

   Bobby stood in front of her, still clothed, his arms folded.

   "What are you going to do?" she asked, meekly.

   "You need to be reminded," he said, "that your staff supports you, and
only has your best interests at heart," he said.

   "Yes," she agreed, "but they want me to spend money, Bobby!"

   "Have you spent money changing the format of the station?"

   "Too much!" she moaned.

   "Is the station doing better?"

   "Yes," she said meekly.  That was true.  Revenues were already up over
four hundred percent.

   "You argued with them about what songs to play," he reminded her.

   "I don't LIKE some of them!" she moaned.

   "Are you doing this for you ...  or your listeners?" he asked.

   "All of us," she said, sticking out her lower lip, and pouting a little
bit.

   "I'm going to give you something to remind you of that," he said.

   She watched, her breathing increasing, as he got into his knapsack.  He
brought out a two quart bowl, and left the room.  When he came back, it was
full of water that was steaming.  He put the bowel on the floor, between
her spread thighs.  She saw him pull out a can of shaving cream next, and a
straight razor, and she suddenly realized what he was going to do, just as
he said it himself.

   "I'm going to shave off your pussy hair, Amanda.  Your pretty pussy will
be as bare as a baby's butt when I'm done.  Every morning, when you get up,
it will remind you that your staff knows what they're doing.  It will
remind you not to argue with them, unless you have a good reason.  Every
time you touch yourself, and feel that bare skin, it will remind you that
the station is doing fine, and that you should just enjoy that."

   "You can't do that!" she panted.  She gripped the loops holding her
wrists tightly.

   "Why not, Amanda?" he asked, dipping a washcloth into the hot water and
putting it on her mons.

   The heat almost, but not quite, burned her.  It was exquisite, like the
heat of the gel he had rubbed on her pussy lips in the past.

   "It's so slutty!" she gasped.

   "My mother shaves her pussy," said Bobby, calmly.  "So do two of my
sisters, and ...  other women I know."

   Amanda felt weak and flushed.  He knew that his MOTHER shaved her pussy!
And two of his SISTERS!  The only way he could know that was if he had seen
them.  Her mind thought back to her father, lying on the bed, writhing as
she sucked him.  She still tasted him on the inside of her mouth.

   She was distracted from that thought by the sound of shaving cream
squirting out.  It felt impossibly cold, after the heat of the washcloth.
He rubbed it all over her mons, not being careful.  His fingers pushed the
slippery stuff onto her clit and she arched her back, with a jerk.

   "You have to sit still," he said.  "I don't want to cut you."

   "I can't," she panted.  "Not if you touch me like that."

   "Like this?" he teased, diddling her clitty with one cream-covered
fingertip.

   "Yes," she moaned.

   "Sit still!" he ordered.

   He waited, until she settled, and then flipped the razor open.  She
looked at the shiny blade with fascination.  She used a safety razor to
shave her father.  This instrument looked so dangerous, in comparison.  She
watched, holding her breath, as he brought it against the skin above where
her hair started.  She could see it drag the skin, and feel the sharp edge,
as it slicked down.  Suddenly, she saw pale white skin, where there had
always been curly brown hair.

   He lifted the razor, to wipe it on a towel, and the air rushed out of
her lungs.  She saw her breasts rising and falling quickly.

   "Sit still," he admonished her.

   It went much more quickly than she would have dreamed it could.  Her
glossy brown hair, milky-white and cream-covered now, disappeared, to be
wiped onto the towel.  She could feel his breath on the newly shaven skin,
which felt new and alive in a way she had never felt before.

   Finally he seemed satisfied, and wiped her clean with the hot washcloth.
He wasn't careful about that, either, rubbing her clit and split roughly.

   "AHHHH," she groaned, as the rough cloth scraped her sensitive clit.

   She looked down to see something alien ...  something so strange that
she couldn't believe it was her own body.  Her pussy lips were fat and
thick, dark pink.  Her inner lips protruded, making it look like some
strange blossom was emerging from her body.  Her sex looked like it had
been put on display.  As she watched, her lips peeled open, looking like a
mouth, opening, to receive a tongue.

   He stood and stripped, efficiently.  She felt the familiar rush of
emotion as she saw his straining prick, knowing that it was straining for
HER ...  that he wanted HER.  And she wanted him too, desperately now.

   He fell to his knees and buried his face in her split.  Had she been
able to push with her feet, the chair would have tipped over, so hard did
she jerk.  He gave her her first orgasm tied to the chair, and she thought
she might pass out from the joy of it.

   Then he untied her, whisked her to the bed, pushed her roughly on it,
and mated with her. 
======================================================== "I can't believe
you did that," she murmured as they lay, entwined in each other's arms. 
Her pussy felt warm and full, and she knew that was the feel of his semen
inside her.

   "It's not slutty," he said softly.

   "I can't help thinking that," she sighed.

   "They'd have shaved you anyway," he said.

   "Who?" she asked.

   "The doctors ...  when you have my baby."

   Within a frenzied minute and a half, she was riding him, her pussy
muscles working on his prick, to suck more baby juice out of it. 
==================================================== There is more to
Amanda's story, but you have the gist of it.  Her type-A personality, once
she found fulfillment in ways that did not involve having power over other
people, morphed into something softer.  Letting others help her, she was
transformed into a relaxed and successful radio innovator.  She went from
being sexually frustrated, though she didn't know it at the time, to
happily anticipating a love life, at least in the immediate future, that
included Bobby and whatever Bobby's sperm and her body decided to
accomplish together.

   She was happier, her father was happier, her staff was happier, and the
radio listeners of Hutchinson Kansas were happier too.

   I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking that it was never
discussed about what Bobby eventually charged Amanda, for his ... 
consulting.  I'll go far enough to tell you that much, before we move on
with Bobby's story.  It happened like this:

   It was late March, and Amanda was looking back, over her shoulder, as
Bobby stroked her from behind.  She was waiting for him to reach around and
play with her breasts.  She'd already had two orgasms, while he rubbed his
face in her bald pussy.  Her father had obviously loved that bald pussy
too. His erections were both more frequent, and harder now, than they were
when she first touched them.

   "Cum in my pussy, Bobby," she sighed.

   "Don't you want to cum again, first?" he asked, stroking her with long,
slow and deep thrusts.  She watched her butt jiggle as his skin hit it.

   "I want to feel you spurting in me," she said.

   "The customer is always right," he said, grinning.

   He sped up, lay on her back, pulled at her nipples and then she felt the
rush of warmth that she now craved, even more than an orgasm.

   As they lay together, and she traced her fingertips across his chest.

   "How come you've never charged me anything?" she asked.

   "I didn't do this for money," he said.

   "Why did you do this?" she asked him.

   "I like you.  You needed me."

   "And you wanted to impregnate me," she added.

   "Of course," he said, smiling.

   "You've missed a lot of work because of me," she said.

   "True," he admitted.

   "How much?" she asked.

   "I haven't figured it up," he answered.

   "I should pay you something," she insisted.

   "If you want to, I'll take it," he said.

   As they made love again, she tried to imagine how much this was all
worth.  Her personal bank account was bulging, because of the bonus
structure that was built into the station business plan.  All of the
employees had already earned more in bonus money, in just one month, than
they had gotten in the previous five years.  For the last three years,
there had been no bonuses at all.  Everybody was happy, and it wasn't just
because of the bonuses.  The station was a vibrant, exciting place now, as
new, interesting music was discovered, and new, interesting programming was
initiated.  How did you put a price tag on that?  Bobby's part in that was
difficult to parse out, too.  The staff had done the work that had
quadrupled ad revenues in only a month.  But they had only been able to do
that when she let them ...  and it was Bobby who was responsible for
getting her to let them.  She knew that firmly.

   Later, when he was leaving, she tucked a check in his shirt pocket.

   "This is my thanks to you," she said.  She kissed him.  Her father
hooted gently, behind her, in his wheel chair.  "And Daddy's," she said. 
"He told me how much to give you."

   "Thank you," he said, simply.

   "There will be more," she said, rubbing her loins against him.  "I'm
going to need you for a while longer."

   "We can discuss that later," he said.  "The money isn't important.  Even
if there's no more, you'll have me until you don't need me."

   "That's why we love you," she said.  "Now, you go on.  I need to take
care of Daddy now."

   "I can stay and help," he offered.

   "I won't need your help for that," she said. 
====================================================== On the way home,
Bobby narrowly missed running into the ditch on the side of the road. 
That's because he pulled the check out, just to glance at it.

   It was for five thousand dollars.
   


  
gigolo9_amanda_all